'You may be black,' he said, 'but you look juicy to me.'
'Any results?' asked Jerry.
'We needed you. You were fucking about.'
'Well, I'm not fucking about now.' Jerry tied his gun by its trigger guard to a lock of his hair so that the weapon rested against his neck.
The black box stood on the bench. A score of fine leads ran from it and were connected to other instruments. Jerry pulled them out.
'You won't need those. It's to do with instinct, you see.' He flexed his fingers.
There's more than one way of skinning a cat,' said Koutrouboussis mildly.
6
Just found: $10,000,000 in pirate treasure! Millions still untouched!
'That ought to do it.' Jerry straightened up and closed the lid of the box. 'Ready to go, Mr Koutrouboussis.'
'Glad to hear it.'
There was a wet sound behind them. Flora Hargreaves supported a bleary Frank who had his needle-gun in his hand.
'You look nice in rubber,' Jerry said, 'but it's all that's holding you together.'
Frank groaned. 'I've a moral duty to perform, you filth.'
Jerry tilted his head so that his gun swung onto his shoulder. Frank steadied his hand.
'Why are you involving yourself in this, Flora?' Jerry folded his arms across his chest.
'I give back what I get, you bastard.'
Then you'd better give me Frank.' Jerry laughed. 'You know very well what will happen if you hit the box, Frank.'
'Well — Jerry — I don't — have to — take the — risk...'
Frank drooled.
'I suppose not.'
'You're the only — one — who knows which — button — to press...'
'Well. Mr Koutrouboussis...'
Koutrouboussis screamed as Frank's gun moved and the needle hit him in the knee.
'Good,' said Frank thickly. 'It's...' He squeezed the trigger again but Jerry was sliding across the floor and taking cover behind a rustling hallucimat, untangling the vibragun from his hair and brushing the cobwebs from his nose just as the door opened again and Bishop Beesley and Mitzi, closely followed by a man wearing the red robes of a Roman Catholic cardinal, entered the room. They all wore crossed bandoliers of bullets and carried Italian Mausers. Mitzi took Frank's needle-gun away from him and darted a disgusted look at Flora who was nursing her injured breast.
'By the way, Mr Cornelius,' said Bishop Beesley as he frisked Frank for pleasure. 'You'll be happy to know we've taken Karen into the fold again, poor thing.'
'How is she?'
Beesley shook his head. 'She's not the woman you remember, I'm afraid. Is that the box? Would you mind, cardinal?'
The cardinal hung his gun over his shoulder and lifted the box in his arms.
Mitzi glanced at Flora, then at Jerry, and with a gesture of compassion plugged Frank in the heart. Frank slapped down on the floor.
'Just a minute!' Jerry was offended. 'That was my bloody brother!'
'He was going to kill you, Herr Cornelius.'
'Still, it's my job.' Jerry stayed behind the hallucimat, his vibragun raised. 'You'd better put that box down, cardinal.'
The cardinal turned his swarthy, questioning features in Bishop Beesley's direction.
'Oh, Mr Cornelius knows his weapon would seriously upset his machine's mechanism.' Beesley lowered his rifle. 'It's not our intention to destroy either you or your invention, Mr Cornelius, as you well know. We intend to save both — for everybody's benefit. We have a great deal of work to undo yet, haven't we?'
Jerry sighed.
'I've got a good mind to...'
'Of course you have. You're so impulsive.'
'You couldn't operate it.'
'Perhaps not.'
'Oh, take the fucker.'
Mitzi looked at the needle-gun. Then she frowned at Flora and, by way of an experiment, stitched a line of slivers across Flora's throat.
As the blood sprang out, Flora put her hand up, then let it fall again, then toppled backwards. Mitzi laughed and shot Koutrou-boussis while she was at it.
'Do you believe in premonitions?' Jerry asked as they left.
'It depends on the source, Mr Cornelius.' Bishop Beesley rummaged in his pocket and found a large piece of walnut fudge. 'We'll be seeing you soon, I hope.'
Four: Final Operation
Guilt and fear are amongst the most soul-destroying, fatal and disintegrating emotions and experiences that come to man. Guilt because of wrong doing, unconfessed, unrepented of, and uncleansed causes havoc and must be got rid of by Jesus alone. Psychiatrists have their couches to handle this, but they are helpless for only Jesus can meet this need. Did you know that it has now been revealed that there are more psychiatrists that commit suicide than any other profession, so it is obvious they do not have the answer. Jesus, alone, upon full, whole-hearted, and honest confession, is able to deal with a guilt complex and cleanse and deliver utterly.
End result: CANCER OF THE CERVIX
The March issue of McCalls reports that 'Cancer of the cervix seems to be linked with the early loss of virginity and promiscuity on the part of young girls, according to three recent reports... patients with cervical cancer... had a greater number of sexual partners than comparable women who did not develop cancer... Monogamy in sex appeared to reduce the risk of cancer.'
Newsweek (October 21, 1968) reports that: 'Researchers have long suspected that cancer of the cervix, which afflicts some 40,000 women per year, is a venereal disease... most common among promiscuous women.'
... 'Enlightened modernists' cry for more sexual freedoms to undo the repressive sexual inhibitions of society and make people better off. How could these self-impressed, lawless intellectuals explain the fact that the large majority of students who need psychiatric help have already experienced this sexual freedom?
They simply IGNORE these facts. They rant about sexual permissiveness and sexual looseness. Proof? They don't need it. Satisfy the animal lusts of the people and they will all flock to your side.
I
Come away, Melinda
Jerry didn't mind the bombs as much as the rock scene. He wouldn't care what they sent so long as it wasn't Simon and Garfunkel.
It was like something out of 1962.
He switched off the radio.
Time to turn the lamp on bright.
2
You're easy to love
A killing scene from now on. You couldn't stay smooth for ever.
He began to assemble his gun again, ignoring Matron's panicky knock on the door.
He picked a scarlet shirt with a huge rolled button-down collar and frilly cuffs, scarlet velvet bell-bottoms, crimson suede boots, vermilion frock coat, scarlet cord cap. He combed his milk-white hair and crooned a tune to himself, clipped on his yellow chamois shoulder holster and stepped out into the soft night and his smooth car.
As he drove, he considered the stars. It would all be over in a flash.
3
Sisters of mercy
Somewhere a clock had stopped.