Life was much too much for me.
I went back to bed.
About four in the afternoon, the ringing phone woke me up. Using two hands, I got it to my ear. A gruff voice said, "Inkswitch?" I grunted, "Yes."
"This is the local Internal Revenue Service office, Inkswitch. We were just making sure we had your correct address." He hung up. I swung off the bed. Ouch. That (bleeped) Miss Pinch! If I didn't show up, the message was very clear! She would turn me in! It had to be her. She would have this address or could get it if she dug enough into Octopus Personnel. How else would IRS be interested? I had never filed a return in my life! Nothing for it. Miss Pinch had to die. Both she and Candy Licorice. I would have to recover those receipts. I had better figure how to blow up the safe. I got dressed as best I could. I had not brought much in the way of explosives for such purposes. I took all I had. I put it in the pockets of my overcoat. I also stuffed the duelling pistols in, one on each side.
I hobbled down and got a cab. I had it drop me a block away from Miss Pinch's apartment.
Since it was winter, it was dark already. The rush hour had ebbed. I limped along the darkened street with grim determination.
The basement areaway was pitch black. I had to feel my way along. I took out the right-hand duelling pistol. I cocked it. I pressed its cavernous muzzle against the bell. I stood back.
I wished they had known about silencers in 1810. This was going to make an awful roar!
I could hear someone coming in the hall inside. A thread of light. It was Candy in her gingham frills. I knew I had made an error. I should have rung three times. That was probably the signal for Miss Pinch. She had used it before.
This time the signal for Miss Pinch was Candy undoing the inside latch.
BONK!
A blackjack hit me in the head from behind!
At least, I think it must have been a blackjack.
I went out with stars exploding all around me. I heard the duelling pistol fall.
Miss Pinch had been standing in the areaway's blackness waiting for me to ring the bell, facing away from her!
That was all I knew just then.
When I awoke, all my clothes were off. I was chained, spread-eagled on the bed, bandaged hands offering no resistance.
Miss Pinch, fully clothed in a mannish suit complete with slouch hat and bow tie, was standing there looking at me.
"Inkswitch," said Miss Pinch, seeing I had now come to. "I have just voted you the top jackass of the year. And we'll soon see how loud you bray."
She reached for the brace of duelling pistols lying on the casket with the explosives from my overcoat. She spun them expertly, one in each hand. She pulled back the mammoth flintlock hammers. She pointed them at me, one at my head, the other at my belly.
She pulled both triggers!
A flash of sparks!
She laughed gaily.
"You forgot to prime them, Inkswitch. Not a single grain of powder in the priming pans!"
It seemed to amuse her mightily. She cocked them once more. She held them very close to my side. She pulled the trigger of the left-hand pistol!
A shower of sparks scorched into my skin. I bit my lips. I would not scream. That's what set these idiots off! Candy was peeking through the door of the inner room. "May I come in? Now that I won't see him undressing?"
"Come in, sweetheart," said Miss Pinch. "Ooo!" said Candy. "Its body is all black and blue!" "Colored meat," said Miss Pinch. "We're going to have colored meat tonight. Now, do you want a drumstick or a wing, you dear girl?"
Candy flinched. "Oh, horrors! Are you trying to suggest that I actually touch a man? You know that is forbidden to us by the instructor. The thought is horrible to me!"
Miss Pinch was quite disturbed she had upset her. She stroked her soothingly. "I promise to stand by Psychiatric Birth Control teachings." Then she had a bright idea. She was very anxious to please. "Watch this!"
She turned the cocked pistol upside down. Too late to yell, I saw powder trickling from the touch hole into the pan!
She pulled the trigger!
BLAM!
The gout of red flame shot across my stomach!
The heavy bullet plowed into the wall. Down came a display of knives!
Black-powder smoke rolled through the room.
That powder burned! The sparks began to eat into my flesh. I could not reach them to beat them out.
I screamed! I was so deafened for the moment I could hardly hear myself. Then after a bit my hearing returned.
Neither of those monsters was in shock.
Candy, panting and hot-eyed, was hauling at Miss
Pinch and trying to yank down her own clothes at the same time. "Pinchy, Pinchy. Take me!"
Miss Pinch looked at her. "So soon?" She looked back at me reluctantly. But Candy was kissing her passionately. "All right," said Miss Pinch. She grabbed her, carried her off to the other room and slammed the door.
Moans, groans and shrieks.
Silence.
Low, savage muttering.
Silence.
At least I had had a half-hour reprieve.
Miss Pinch came out. She still had her shoes on. She stood and cursed me. She called me every vile name I had ever heard of and some that I hadn't.
Finally she ran out of vitriol. She sat down on the couch. "Men!" she said, with burning contempt. "Torturers of women!"
"Miss Pinch," I said, "I think you have a psychological problem. I think, perhaps, some childhood experience may have caused you to reverse roles with..." I couldn't think of a thing that would account for this monster!
"Well, go on, Inkswitch. Let's hear some juicy tales about you and the little girls in the neighborhood. Possibly gay little anecdotes of how you threw them on a beach of pointed rocks and did a frolicking dance on their faces! Or perhaps how you had a little sister that you carefully made into a whore. Oh, I'm sure you could tell us lots of stories. We would not be amused. For such crimes, Inkswitch, you should be beaten! You will be beaten, Inkswitch!" She turned.
"Candy!" she yelled into the other room. "The (bleepard) just confessed! Come in here!"
Candy came out. She was naked. She watched with interest while Miss Pinch got a big truncheon.
"Now," said Miss Pinch. "You're going to hear some real screams, you darling girl."
"I don't have a sister!" I yelled.
"You will when I get through with you," said Miss Pinch. And laid on with a will. She drew back at last. "Now confess! Did you make your little sister into a whore?"
I confessed hurriedly that I had.
"Then this beating is going to do you lots of good," said Miss Pinch and began in earnest!
It must have been nearing midnight. They had depleted the record cabinet. The room was full of marijuana smoke. They were both naked and exhausted after numerous trips to the other room.
Miss Pinch unchained me. I somehow got into my clothes.
She stood naked in the hall, holding the door open, oblivious to the icy wind.
"You obviously have not had company training, Ink-switch. It is all too plain to see that you prefer sex-smashing a woman down into a bed. You are perverted, Inkswitch. Don't you know that that makes babies and babies are forbidden? Think Psychiatric Birth Control, Inkswitch. Rockecenter would fire you out of hand if he thought you favored old-fashioned sex! So we are doing you a favor, Inkswitch. We will gradually win you away from your male beastliness. Consider it our blessing, Ink-switch."
"Oh, I do," I faltered.
"Very good, you contemptible (bleepard). We will see you here tomorrow night. Without pistols. Primed or unprimed. And without fail."
She stopped. "Oh, I almost forgot. Here is another hundred dollars. You weren't very good tonight. Maybe more tomorrow night. So show up, Inkswitch."
She slammed the door.
The hundred-dollar bill fluttered down beside my feet.
I shivered, beaten, in the cold wind.
PART THIRTY-THREE
Chapter 1
The next day, when I awoke, I came to the conclusion that things were not going very well.
The morning paper confirmed it.
You would not think that a wad of wood pulp, crushed flat, messily smeared with some carbon, could constitute a deadly weapon. But a newspaper is all of that and more. Any direction it is pointed, it can kill. Especially when motivated by an idiot. One who does not seem to know who he is pointing at.
The target person was supposed to be Heller, whatever name they called him, however many doubles he might have. The person it wounded, this morning, was me!
There it was, right on the front page:
TEN-BILLION-BUCK SUIT SETTLED
WHIZ KID TRIUMPHS OVER OCTOPUS
OIL GIANT WRITHES DOW-JONES SOARS
The ten-billion-buck Whiz Kid suit has been settled out of court for an undisclosed amount.
The Director of the Federal Reserve Bank issued an emergency statement that the bank would open this morning and resume business.
In a sudden stop-press announcement in the small hours of this morning, a spokesman for Boggle, Gouge and Hound stunned the assembled media, stating "Octopus Oil is out of danger. We have just met with Swindle and Crouch and reached total agreement on an out-of-court settlement of Wister vs. Octopus Oil."
Swindle and Crouch, when reached, stated, "No comment." But their representative was seen at the courthouse removing the case from the court dockets.
Speculation as to the amount of settlement was rife. The president of the New York Stock Exchange promised that the Exchange would again open its doors.
The dollar is expected to soar against foreign exchange.
The Seven Brothers, in a predawn meeting, pledged the closest possible support to one another.
A director of Peril-Cinch, the world's largest stock-brokerage firm, stated, "Now that this threat is out of the way, we can expect Dow-Jones to rise this morning and have coffee. The panic sell-off of Octopus stock (most of which we bought ourselves) has been ended, and we extend our condolences to the suckers who sold. Octopus stock will now soar. God bless the Whiz Kid and American youth."
Wister, exhausted from his battle, smiled wanly. "I did it all for America." When asked what he would do with the undoubtedly huge amounts of the settlement, he just smiled quietly.
(See page 18 for photos of the Octopus Oil Building and courthouse.)
Later editions carried much the same story. I did not have to look at TV or radio to know what they were saying.
My attention was on something else. I was watching the gaping slit under my door.
Swindle and Crouch had been mentioned again in the same story with Boggle, Gouge and Hound.
Snakes were going to come crawling under that door any minute!
I was sure of it.
I ached. The resident doctor, when I had come in around midnight, had rubbed some ointment mixed with "Tch, tch, tch. We must learn not to put our stomach up against certain things," but it hadn't helped a bit. I was bruised and raw!
With a conviction seldom equalled in the Apparatus experience, I knew I had to get out of New York. It was too small for me and Pinch. But I also knew that it was impossible. Heller was winning!
At home in Turkey an unknown assailant from Lombar would rub me out if I left Heller triumphing in New York.
It was a matter of off-the-barbecue-stick and into-the-flames if I left things in this condition.
I tried to get practical. A baseball bat taken to Madison was all I seemed to be able to think of.
Something desperate was called for.
Moaning from pain, I tried to lie down. Moaning from pain, I tried to stand up.
I compromised. Half-reclining in a chaise lounge I tried to think. An idea greater than any idea I had ever had was absolutely mandatory!
Before I could do anything else, Heller had to be smashed, smashed, smashed!
But how?
Chapter 2
My eyes, sort of glazed, at first did not register what they were looking at.
The viewer was on.
It may have been the bright red colors that drew my attention. They were so glaring, they were painful.
It was Babe Corleone! She was sitting in the back seat of a big limousine that had just stopped. She had on a red gown and a red cape that was printed here and there with black hands. She was wearing a red veil.
The costume she had mentioned! I knew I was looking at the start of Gunsalmo Silva's funeral!
There was a man in black sitting beside her. She was talking to him petulantly. "True, true, Signore Saggezza. You have been a good consigliere. True, true, the Corleone family has had none better. True, true, true, I must take your advice. But I don't care what the hell you say, I am going to go to this funeral!"
"Mia capa, I plead with you again. It is not wise! The report is just in. The church is swarming with the lice of Faustino Narcotici! This could start a gang war!" He saw he was getting nowhere. He looked with appeal straight out of the viewer. To Heller!
Of course. Heller. I would be getting no picture at all unless Heller was there. My wits were too soaked in pain to concentrate well.
I could make out Heller's own image in the limousine glass. He seemed to be wearing a red tuxedo under a scarlet ski parka with a hood and snow-mask. Everything red. He must be sitting on a jump seat.
Heller looked outside. There was a church seen through the leafless trees of a park. All around the limousine, near to hand, men were packed thickly, facing outward. They held riot shotguns in their hands. They were dressed in black overcoats and black slouch hats. Corleone soldati, soldiers alert for war. They were very tense.
Heller turned back. Babe was sulking behind her red veil. The consigliere was still looking at Heller in appeal.