“Thanks,” he said.
“That’s a heck of a lot of buildup for one word,” Max said.
“It isn’t what he says, it’s how he says it,” Blossom said. “There was a lot of feeling in it. He really appreciates your help.”
“Great-that makes my job all the easier,” Max said. Then, addressing Fred, he said, “Fella… if you don’t mind my calling you that… my mission is to bring you back. With, your brains, you’re invaluable to the nation that controls- Let me put it another way. It just so happens that-as matters stand-we are the Good Guys, and everybody else is the Bad Guys… or is that ‘are’ the Bad Guys? Anyway, we’re the Good Guys, and whether it’s ‘is’ or ‘are’ is their problem; let them worry about it. Or should that be ‘are’ their problem?”
“Rorff!”
Max sneered. “Anybody who spells the way you do is in no position to give advice on grammar. Stay out of this!” He turned back to Fred. “Fella… this is how it stands. Being the Good Guys, we’re willing to give you a choice. Self-determination it’s called. You can join up with us-that’s choice number one. Or we’ll take you apart, transistor by transistor, and ram you down your own slot. That’s choice number two.” He glanced at his watch. “You have three months to decide.”
“Three months?” Blossom said incredulously.
“Belay that!” Max said. “I meant three seconds. This is a calendar watch, and I always get the seconds and the months mixed up. Minutes, I confuse with weeks. I remember in the summer of ’61 I spent the whole month of May trying to boil a four-minute egg.” To Fred, he said, “I’m counting, fella…”
Fred’s arm ascended. The nickel clink-clanked through his anatomy. Down went the lever. His eyes revolved, accompanied by “peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta, dippa-dotta-boop!” Three lemons appeared. He spoke:
“Man who sits on firecracker should watch out behind!”
Max stared for a second, then turned in bafflement to Blossom. “Man who sits on firecracker should watch out behind?”
She giggled. “I guess he gets that from me. I watch a lot of old Charlie Chan movies on TV.”
“What does it mean?”
“I think it means there’s something going on behind us.”
As one, they turned.
And found themselves facing a large automatic pistol being held by Noel.
“Steeek ’em up!” Noel said.
Max slumped dejectedly. “I knew I’d met you somewhere before. It wasn’t Paree, Illinois, and it wasn’t the summer of ’61. It was just a few minutes ago in the basement. You know,” he said reprovingly, “you made a clumsy mistake down there. That door didn’t lead to a private office, it led to the East River. We could have been severely injured.” He pointed to the pistol. “And that goes for that gun you’re holding, too. Guns are not toys. They’re dangerous weapons. Especially in the hands of a female. Now, give me that-”
Noel fired. A little round hole with singed edges appeared in the sleeve of Max’s jacket.
“See what I mean!” he said disgustedly. “You could have killed me!”
“She’s a FLAG agent,” Blossom whispered.
“Nonsense. She’s just a nice girl from Paree, Illinois, who doesn’t know a thing about handling a dangerous weapon. Now, look-” he said to Noel.
“Silence!” Noel snapped. “I will speak with Fred.”
Max turned back to Fred. “Okay, you tell her what a dangerous weapon a gun is.”
“I will do the telling,” Noel said. Then, speaking to Fred, she said, “This fool is lying to you. It is really we who are the Good Guys. He is the Bad Guys.”
“I think that should be ‘are,’ ” Max said.
“Silence!”
“Okay, okay,” Max shrugged. “If you want to be one of those people who makes mistakes in grammar…”
“Come with me,” Noel said, addressing Fred again. “I will take you to the land of love, love, love. We will-”
“Could you be a little more specific about that?” Max broke in. “The land of love, love, love could be practically anywhere.”
“Let it suffice to say that the land I represent is the Good Guys,” Noel replied. “I would not work for anyone else. Surely, you believe that. Knowing me as you do, could you imagine me in league with the Bad Guys?”
“It would be difficult,” Max admitted.
“Well, it wouldn’t be difficult for me!” Blossom said. “I think she’s working for-”
“Ah-ah-ah!” Max said, stopping her. “No names, please. That’s the first rule of a secret agent-”
“Second rule,” Noel corrected.
“That’s right-I forgot the one about never leaving your secret code book on a lunch counter.” To Blossom, he said. “The second rule is: No names! If you go around mentioning names you’re liable to find out that you and your adversary are both working for the same client. It could get sticky.”
“Silence!” Noel said again.
“Sorry. I just can’t resist the opportunity to explain these little inside technical aspects.”
Once more, Noel spoke to Fred. “This is what I can offer you,” she said. “Your own apartment on the Champs Elysees. A credit card-paid up-with Carte Blanche. An introduction to Brigitte Bardot.”
Max whispered to Blossom. “There’s a clue there. Keep listening; a slip of the tongue, and she may reveal her client.”
“I, too, offer you a choice,” Noel said to Fred. “You can come with me peacefully, or I will put a bullet through your main transistor. You have two seconds to decide!”
“Don’t listen to her,” Max said to Fred. “I’ll match her offer-item for item-and throw in seventy-five cents cash!”
“Silence!” To Fred, she said, “The time is fleeting!”
“Or, to put it another way,” Max said, “tempus fugits, eh?”
“Exactly,” Noel nodded.
“A-ha!” Max cried. “I’ve got it! You’re Panamanian!” To Blossom, he explained, “I had a teacher in sixth grade who used that phrase. ‘Tempus fugit, tempus fugit,’ she kept saying. She was Panamanian as — ”
“Siiiiiiilence!” Noel shrieked.
“Can’t take the pressure, eh?” Max said smugly.
“What is your decision?” Noel said to Fred.
Fred’s arm came up. He dropped the nickel in, and pushed down his lever. “Peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta, dippa-dotta-boop!” His eyes rolled three lemons. He spoke:
“Woman who sits on firecracker should watch out behind!”
“His needle’s stuck,” Max said.
“No… look!” Blossom said, pointing.
They all looked.
Boris had appeared in the doorway. He was dripping wet; a pool of water began to form at his feet. He was gripping an automatic pistol that was even larger and more evil-looking than the one Noel was holding.
“Stuck ’em up!” Boris commanded.
Noel’s arms flew skyward; her gun clattered to the floor.
Relieved, Max lowered his arms. “You got here just in the nick of time,” he said to Boris. “Difficult as it is to believe, this nice little girl from Paree, Illinois, has turned out to be a FLAG agent. She works for-”
“Ah-ah-ah! No names!” Boris cautioned. “And stuck up your hands!”
“I think you’re a little confused, Boris,” Max said, raising his arms again. “It’s the young lady here who’s the FLAG agent. I’m the Good Guy.”
“How do I know?” Boris said. “I am only a simple tourist from Zinzinotti, Alleybama. To me, simple tourist that I am, there is only one solution. I will shoot you both.”
“Peeeg!” Noel snarled.
“That’s Panamanian,” Max explained to Boris. “And, about that other thing-let’s talk it over. I think you’d feel very foolish if you shot us both, and then discovered later that you’d shot a genuine Good Guy along with a Bad Guy. I might add that it certainly wouldn’t enhance the reputation of Zinzinotti, Alleybama. I’m afraid you’d get a good knuckle-rapping once you got back home.”