"There is too," it said impatiently. "It's at 225 East Lindon, Topeka."

"You're not trying to sell it?"

"I'm giving it to you, baby. Did you get it? 225 East Lindon Drive, Topeka, Kansas." The caller hung up.

Jerryberiy flopped back on the bed. He was tired. It could be a gag. Topeka, Kansas. Who would be telling Jerryberry Jansen about it? Jerryberry's beat was Los Angeles.

Oh, well. He heaved himself upright and called the police.

The Topeka police were spending all their time answering the phone. "We know," said Detective Sergeant Hirohito. "That's the same address he gave everyone. Thank you for calling; we're already on it." He hung up. "Another one. Los Angeles. He must have called every newscaster in the country."

"God, I hope not, They won't all keep their mouths shut. We've got to have time to check this out."

Hirohito drummed his fingers on the desk. "There's only one way to get it. We'll have to put the whole area under riot control."

"What? No. If it's a false alarm, we could get sued for obstructing business! There are a lot of mail order houses in the area, not to mention a messenger service—"

"Calm down, Jack. Now we both know this is going to hit the news sooner or later, probably about now. What's going to happen then?"

Jack Shorter grinned; "Sure. Flash crowd!"

"It'll be the first time we ever put the riot control on before the riot started. The newstapers'll probably call it the Riot Club Riot."

Most of the news programs reported the incident along with a bulletin from the Topeka Police Force. We have not yet had time to erect barricades, and the suspects could be armed. We strongly advise citizens to stay out of the affected area …

"They always say that," CBA's commentator, Wash Evans, told his audience. "But you never pay any attention. This time they mean it. There's no telling what kind of weaponry a Looters' Club might have picked up in the last ten years. We know they've raided a few sporting goods stores in there, and there have been a few shoot-outs. Do not go to see the riot. You get a better view on teevee."

Nobody paid any attention.

Central Riot Control. The theory was simple enough. You divided all of the municipal areas in' the United States into areas of approximately four blocks by four blocks. Outside the cities the areas were far bigger, the flash crowds far less likely. When a flash crowd gathered, there were switches at the police stations that would affect all of the displacement booths in one or more riot control areas. With riot control going, the booths in the area would not admit incoming passengers except from the police stations. They would send only to the huge Central Riot Control Building in Nebraska.

The Permanent Floating Riot Club kept maps of most of the riot control areas in the country. There were tens of thousands of them, and they were stored in an expensive computer on the third floor of the Club.

In simple curiosity, Benny had once looked up the area the Club itself was situated in. He had been amused to find that Lou Garcia—who lived three blocks away—was in the same riot control area. Lou may have done that deliberately. If the Club was ever put under Riot Control, he could simply stroll home.

He was going to regret that bit of cleverness.

Benny had not called every newscaster in the country. It would have taken too long. He had called about twenty of the most famous. Now he hung up and strolled out into the street.

This area hadn't changed much over the past decade. In fact, that was true of most municipal areas. The new buildings were all going up in rural and desert areas, where men could work and live with more elbow room and prettier scenery than their city cousins, without sacrificing anything in the way of mobility. Here in the civic center the buildings just sat there growing older: brick and concrete darkening with smog, small buildings growing grimy. The people were generally older too. Benny had once noticed that you could tell a citizen's age further away than you could tell his sex, by the tenacity with which he hugged the sidewalk instead of strolling down the center of the street, or by whether he looked both ways for phantom cars before crossing.

As he crossed an intersection Benny glimpsed the Club building three blocks down. Nothing happening there. And there were no barricades yet. But there were people leaving nearby booths, flicking in at a good rate, it seemed, and they all walked like young men.

He entered Lou Garcia's apartment building and rang Garcia's bell in the lobby.

It seemed pretty well foolproof at this stage. If Garcia wasn't home, then he was either at the Club or elsewhere. If lie was at the Club, they'd hold him. If he was somewhere else, he wouldn't be able to flick in. The cops must have put this area under riot control by now. In either case, Benny would have time to search his apartment. He had been in Garcia's apartment many times. There was a hall closet that Garcia always kept locked...

"Yah?" The intercom.

"Benny. Can I see you?"

Hesitation. Then, "Sure. Come on up." The main door buzzed open.

Well, he was home, and it was going to be a little sticky. It would still work out. Lou couldn't flick out now even if he got past Benny.

Benny had a gun in his hand as the elevator opened. There was nobody in the hall. Benny walked down to Lou's door and rapped.

"Just a minute," Lou Garcia sang out from inside.

Benny's mind flashed ahead. Suppose the money wasn't in Lou's apartment? Well, that would be that. But Garcia wouldn't keep the money in a bank. He wouldn't dare. And there was that permanently locked closet. And he'd always had the money available when needed. And...well, it was a gamble.

He mumbled words under his breath, rehearsing what amounted to a speech. "Someone blew the whistle on us," he would say... "Someone gave the cops the Club address. I'll tell them it was you. Hell, they'll probably figure that out for themselves. You're the only one who had anything to gain. I'll tell them you were running off with the Club treasury. Yost can't flick out," he would say. "Half the Club must have been at the Bloomingdale's flash crowd when the riot control came on. They'll come trickling in looking for you. But if you give me half the treasury—" Better settle for a third. Damn, if Lou had been out he could have searched the apartment and had it all. He could still do that if he were to shoot Garcia. But he'd known Lou too long for that.

"A third of the treasury, and we just wait till riot control goes off. Then we flick out in separate directions. Dial at random, settle wherever we land, live on the money the rest of our lives. Who could find us?"

It was taking Garcia a long time.

Benny kicked at the door. "Open up, Lou!" He kicked harder, and the door flew wide, and Benny ducked to the side just in case. No bullets. He went through fast, but nothing happened. Lou Garcia wasn't in sight.

He wasn't in either bathroom. He wasn't in the kitchen or on the balcony. Benny tried the closets last. The one that had always been locked opened easily, and there was nothing inside at all.

So. Lou had gotten out. (How? There was only the one door.) Which left Benny to search the apartment in peace. Unless Lou bad taken the treasury...

Benny peered over the balcony. Lou could have reached the street by now... but he wasn't in sight. He might have been hidden by the milling crowd below. The flash crowd was developing nicely. As Benny had expected, they had come flicking in from all over, arriving outside the affected riot control areas and strolling in to see the excitement.

If the cops found Benny now, he'd claim he was one of them. He'd flicked in to watch the arrests. But the same went for Lou, unless Lou was carrying the treasury, in which case he might have some explaining to do.