Joan sighed. (A girl doesn't have any privacy these days. All right, let's see if we've been robbed.)
She went into her bath, sealed the door, bolted it by hand, removed a stack of towels from a lower cabinet, fiddled with the ceiling of the cabinet; the back panel slid aside, disclosing a safe. (You think my mother's birth date will open it?) (I'd switch on the sun lamps over the massage table first, then run the cold water in the hand basin.) (No privacy at all! Honey, did you really pay a bribe with your pretty tail once?) (Not exactly. I just improved the situation. Let's see if we've been robbed.)
Joan opened the safe. Inside was money enough to interest a bank auditor. But the packets had not been packaged in a bank; they were not that neatly jogged and the total for each was hand-printed. (Plenty of moola, dear—and either nobody found this safe, or they never figured out the additional bolts. Either way, it settles one thing. We won't put lake's sweet note down the hopper.) (Let him think we did, huh?) (If he asks.) (Then cry on him later and admit that we couldn't bear to part with it.) (Eunice, you have a mind like a pretzel.) (That's why it fits so well into yours, twin.) (Could be.)
Joan put the letter inside, took out two packets, put them into a purse in the dressing room end—closed the safe, shut off the sun lamps, shut off the water, spun the dial, slid the panel back, replaced the towels, closed the cabinet. Then she stepped to the bath's intercom, pressed a touchplatc. "Chief O' Neil."
"Yes, Miss Smith?"
"I want my car, one driver, and both Shotguns in thirty minutes."
There was a short silence. "Uh, Miss Smith, Mr. Salomon apparently forgot to mention that you would be leaving the house."
"For excellent reason. He did not know it. Did he mention that I am no longer a ward of the Court? If not, have you learned it from some other source?"
"Miss, I haven't learned it from an official source."
"I see. Then you are learning it from me. Officially."
"Yes, Miss."
"You don't sound happy, O'Neil.. You could check by phoning Judge McCampbell."
"Why, yes, of course."
"Are you going to, O'Neil?"
"Perhaps I misunderstood, Miss. Weren't you telling me to?"
"Are you recording?"
"Certainly, Miss. I always do, with orders."
"I suggest that you play it back and answer your own question. I'll hold. But first—how long have you been with me, O'Neil?"
"Seventeen years, Miss. The last nine as your Chief."
"Seventeen years, two months, and some days. Not enough for maximum retirement but it has been long, faithful, and unquestioning service. You can retire this morning on full pay for life, if you wish, O'Neil; faithful service should be appreciated. Now please play back while
I hold." She waited.
"Be switched, Miss—I must need a hearing aid. You didn't tell me to call the Judge. You just said I could."
"That is correct. I pointed out that you could check on what I told you—officially—by making such a call. You still can."
"Uh, Miss, I don't see what you are driving at."
"I'm sure you can figure it out. Do you wish to retire today? If so, send up Mentone; I want to interview him."
"Miss, I've no wish to retire at all."
"Really? You gave the impression that you were looking for another job. Perhaps with Mr. Salomon. If so, I do not want to stand in your way. Retirement at full pay is available to you, O'Neil."
"Miss, I like it here."
"I'm pleased to hear it. I hope you will stay for many years. O'Neil, have you ever discussed my comings and goings with anyone?"
"Only when you've told me to, Miss. In which case I always have your order on tape."
"Fine. Wipe this tape and I'll hold while you do so."
Shortly he said, "Wiped, Miss Smith."
"Good. Let's start over. Chief O'Neil, this is Miss Johann Sebastian Bach Smith speaking. I want my car, one driver, and both Shotguns in thirty minutes."
"They will be ready, Miss Smith."
"Thank you. I'll be shopping. Is there anything I can pick up for Mrs. O'Neil?"
"That's most kind of you, Miss. I don't think so. Shall I ask her?"
"If you do, it is only necessary to say that my car is going out. If she has a list, I'll be happy to have Fred or Shorty take care of it. Off."
(Boss, you scared the pee out of him. Was that nice?)
(Running a feudal enclave in the midst of a nominal democracy isn't easy, Eunice. When Johann said ‘Frog,' everybody hopped—my security boss especially. O'Neil has got to know—they've all got to know—that Johann is still here... and that no one, not even darling Jake, reviews or vetoes what I say. Unless he marries us, in which case I'll go female and let him decide everything.)
(That'll be the day!) (I might, dear one. Tell me, did you obey Joe?) (Well... I never bucked him. I suppose you could say I obeyed him. Except that I fibbed, or sometimes kept my mouth shut.) (I'd do just about the same. I think a perfect arrangement would be to do exactly what a man tells me to do... but wangle it so that he tells me to do what I've already decided to do.)
Joan felt, rather than heard, her chuckle. (Boss, that sounds like a recipe for a perfect marriage.)
(I find I like being female. But it's different. Now what shall we wear?)
Joan settled on a bandeau, a knee skirt, an opaque cloak with hood and yashmak, plus low-heeled sandals, all in subdued colors. She was ready in less than thirty minutes.
(How's our face, Eunice?) (Okay for - a ‘shopping' trip. No need to call Winnie; the little baggage probably hasn't bad much sleep.) (Nor do I want to call her; she might want to come along. Let's go, sweet—we're out to break a two-thousand-year record with no help from the Holy Ghost.) (Boss, that's not a nice way to talk!) (Well, I'll be frimped! Eunice, I thought you weren't a Christian? Zen. Or Hinduist. Or some such.)
(I'm not any of those things, Boss. I simply know some useful spiritual disciplines. But it is rude to joke about anything someone else holds holy.) (Even, in my mind? Are you telling me what I must not think? If I could reach you, I'd spank you.) (Oh, you can say anything to me, Boss—just don't say such things out loud.) (I didn't and don't and never have. Quit nagging me.) (Sorry, Boss. Love you.) (Love you, little nag. Let's go get knocked up.) (Yes!)
She took the front lift to the basement; O'Neil met her and saluted. "Car is ready, Miss—and both drivers and both Shotguns."
"Why both drivers?"
"Well, Finchley should be on call. But Dabrowski is bucking my authority a touch. Claims he's senior to Finchley. Do you wish to settle it?"
"Of course not; you must. But perhaps I can smooth some feathers."
"Yes, Miss."
He conducted her to her car; both teams were lined up by it, they saluted in unison. She smiled at them. "Good morning, friends. I'm glad to see you all looking so well. It's been a long time."
Dabrowski answered for them, "It has indeed, Miss Smith—and we are glad to see you looking so well."
"Thank you." Her eyes traveled across them. "There is one thing no one has told me... about the tragedy that started this strange sequence of events. Which team was driving the night Mrs. Branca was killed?"
For a long moment no one spoke. Then O'Neil answered, "Finchley and Shorty had the duty that night, Miss Smith."
"Then I must thank them—for Mrs. Branca and for myself. Although I know that Dabrowski and Fred would have acted as bravely, as promptly." She looked at Finchley, then at Shorty, her face unsmiling but serene.
"Which one of you avenged Eunice? Or was it both of you?"
Finchley answered. "Shorty got him, Mrs.—Miss Smith. Bare hands, one chop. Broke his neck."