George Henry Smith (1922-1996) was a journeyman author of science fiction, fantasy, and horror fiction. Although never a top-tier name in the business, he was productive and successful, publishing over 100 novels and scores of short stories. This at a time when most publishers were paying two cents per word.
Many of Smith’s novels were, shall I say, lurid in nature. Among the titles: “Love Cult,” “Girls Afire,” “Sorority Sluts,” “Four Bed Wildcat,” and “Country Club Lesbian.” Oh, my.
Smith’s non-erotic short story below appeared in the final issue of “Super-Science Fiction,” one of the more sensational of the old pulp magazines. SSF began in December 1956 and published 18 issues before going under in October 1959.
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The Great Secret
By George H. Smith
Published in Super-Science Fiction, October 1959
“We can’t seem to put a finger on this guy at all, sir,” Detective Lieutenant Bolasky said to the District Attorney. “We know that he’s blackmailing these people, but we can’t figure how or what about.”
District Attorney Waters ran a neatly manicured hand through his silvery hair and frowned at the report on his desk. “These are big people, Bolasky. We can’t let this phony crystal gazer get away with this. What can he have on them anyway? What can they possibly have in their pasts that they’re willing to pay him to keep quiet about?”
“That’s the strangest part of the whole thing, sir. We’ve checked into the past of every one of the people Maraat has been working on, and so far we haven’t been able to find a thing they could be blackmailed for.”
“I see. Then why…?”
“We don’t know. All we do know is that nearly all of the people he has approached have paid him off.”
“Nearly all? You mean some of them haven’t?”
“Approximately twenty-five of them have kicked in with very large sums of money. Doctors, lawyers, politicians and prominent business executives. Maraat is so sure of himself that he even takes checks, and we can’t touch him because no one will make a complaint. They won’t tell how he’s doing it, in fact, they won’t even admit they are being blackmailed. Whatever it is, they’re scared to death of him.”
“But what about the ones who don’t pay off?”
“There were five of them. They had Maraat kicked out of their offices, but within a week of his visit they all committed suicide.”
“I don’t get it,” the D.A. said angrily. “There must be something you and your men are missing.”
“I just wish that were true,” Bolasky said sadly. “Well, I guess we’ll have to turn him loose.”
“If you people can’t get any evidence against him, we have no other choice.”
“I hate like hell to do it, but we can’t hold him on suspicion any longer.”
“Tell you what,” the D.A. said as the other man turned to leave. “Before you do that, bring him up here. I’d like to see him and maybe I can get something out of him.”
The detective looked worried. “he’s awfully funny, Mr. Waters. Are you sure you want to do this? Most of the men at headquarters prefer to stay as far away from him as possible.”
“Well, no wonder you’ve been unable to get anything on him. Bring him up here and I’ll question him myself. I guarantee I’ll find out how he’s blackmailing those people.”
A short time later, two police officers escorted a small, dark man into the District Attorney’s office. He seemed insignificant enough except for his eyes, which glowed and sparkled strangely.
These seemingly bottomless pools of mystery made the D.A. uneasy as Maraat took a seat opposite him. To hide his disquiet, Waters spoke loudly and brusquely.
“I’ll come straight to the point with you, Maraat. We know you’ve been practicing blackmail, but we don’t know how you’re doing it. We’ll find out sooner or later, of course, and you’ll make it easier on yourself if you tell us all about it now.”
The man’s thin lips curved in a smile. “I’ll be glad to tell you all about it, Mr. Waters.”
“What? You mean you’ll confess?”
“I’ll tell you about it, Mr. Waters. We won’t need your stenographer.”
“What is all this? If you’re so willing to confess, why didn’t you tell them down at headquarters?” Determined not to let the man see how nervous he was becoming, Waters nodded to the stenographer to leave. He wished suddenly that he had never sent for Maraat.
“It would hardly have been worth my while, Mr. District Attorney, to confess to those non-entities. I knew that if I waited long enough you would send for me.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“I knew, Mr. Waters, I knew.”
The man must be lying, but his eyes said he wasn’t. Those eyes! They were enough to drive a man mad.
“Then suppose you tell me what it was you knew about the pasts of those persons who paid you such huge sums of money.”
“I know nothing of their pasts, nothing. What I know about them, Edmond Waters, is in the future.”
“What?” Waters felt suffocated, as though he were about to choke. It was those eyes, those unblinking, unwavering, somehow truthful eyes. Could they see into the future? Into his future?
Maraat leaned back in his chair with a smile of satisfaction and dropped his eyes from the D.A.’s face. “So you see, Mr. Waters, it was really very simple. I just went to these persons and told them that I could see the future and that I wanted money.”
“You mean that they paid you for keeping something secret that they were going to do in the future? For not telling others?”
“No, not secret from others, Mr. Waters. For keeping it a secret from them. You see, I know when you are going to die. The year, the day and the hour. But for a rather large sum of money and your protection… I won’t tell you.”
The District Attorney’s hand had already reached for his check book. “How much?” he asked.
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