“He's not interested in your short stories, Rubin. He's interested in money. Right?” said Beatrice.
“I'm interested in the law. You put an alligator in a person's swimming pool to kill him. I've told you a hundred times, Beatrice, that you can't threaten, maim, buy, destroy, and knife your way out of everything. There comes a time when the world catches up to you. You are going to do time on this alligator thing. That's it. We can cop a plea and with a little bit of finagling here and there, get it down to six months. That is a light sentence for attempted murder.”
“No plea,” said Beatrice.
“I cannot get anyone on a jury to believe that cockamamie negative-force nonsense. You're going to do serious time if you don't plead. Jurors do not read Dance of the Alarkin Planet. And if they did, they wouldn't believe it.”
“They have been programmed by failure not to believe,” said Rubin.
“Rubin, you have not paid taxes for twenty years. No jury is going to accept that you owe your first allegiance to the universe. Not when they pay their taxes for sewer systems, national defense, police forces, and various other things that make a civilization.”
“We're in religion,” said Rubin. “They cannot tax religion. We have a right to be free of governmental oppression.”
“This is not exactly a church here,” said Glidden, pointing to the rolling California landscape of the Dolomo estate.
“Have you ever seen the Vatican?” said Beatrice.
“You are comparing yourself to the Roman Catholic Church?”
“So they have been here a bit longer,” said Beatrice. “But they, too, were persecuted in their time.”
“And we offer two more sacraments— the holy character analysis and blessed success on earth. Granted, they have been here longer,” said Rubin. “But in a time warp a couple of thousand years is nothing.”
“I don't know which one of you is crazier. The lady who thinks any threat to anyone will do, or you and your cockamamie fairy tales.”
“Our money is not crazy,” said Beatrice. “The checks are good.”
“Listen. I am just a human being. I have weaknesses. Juries are made up of human beings. They have weaknesses too. But don't underestimate the strength of their beliefs. They may not believe in negative vibrations. Most of them will not believe that the planet Alarkin exists. But they do believe that the President of the United States exists. Now, do you want to tell me about that, Beatrice?”
Beatrice Dolomo adjusted her halter. She cleared her throat.
“No,” she said.
“Some Americans might find it disturbing to hear that you have threatened the President of the United States. Did you do that, Beatrice?”
“I take whatever actions I have to. If I let the world bully me, I would be bullied by everything. Rubin and I would be nowhere if I listened to people who said I should know when to quit. I never quit. If I listened to them I would be the wife of a nobody science-fiction writer, at a time when science fiction is not selling.”
“So you threatened the President of the United States,” said Glidden.
“We used to eat tuna fish for Sunday dinner. Rubin wore vinyl belts and polyester suits. We were intimately familiar with every tenant-protection law on the books. We learned how to delay evictions by months.”
“So you threatened the President of the United States. You did,” said Glidden.
“Diamonds? Hah. I had a glass ring. It cost two dollars and thirty-five cents. When Rubin proposed to me he promised he would buy me a ring as soon as he sold his next book. He said every penny he made from Dromoids of Muir would go toward getting me that ring. And do you want to know something?” said Beatrice, her temples throbbing, her face flushing with the heat of her anger. “Do you want to know something?”
“Beatrice, please let go of my face. I can't talk,” said Glidden. His client had risen from her seat in fury. Her red-lacquered fingernails were now digging into his cheeks.
“You want to know something?” she yelled again.
“Yes, please. I certainly do,” cried Barry, who wanted his cheeks back with as little puncturing as possible.
“He kept his word. Rubin wasn't lying. He spent the entire proceeds of Dromoids of Muir on that two-buck ring. And you're telling me to back off?”
Barry felt his cheeks go free, and quickly began dabbing at the blood with his handkerchief.
“Yes, Beatrice. I want you to back off. I will be no good to you if you get still another charge against you. I can't keep up with them.”
“We didn't threaten,” said Rubin.
“The attorney general of the United States phoned me last night to tell me one of your Poweressence nuts at a formal state dinner mentioned to the President that the only way he could save himself from death was to have all federal charges against you dropped. That is not a threat? It seems like a threat to me.”
“You mean Kathy Bowen, that lovely, talented actress? That sweet girl who has seen her career blossom since she joined Poweressence? The Kathy Bowen we knew would be attending that state dinner? She did it on her own.”
“With Kathy Bowen's boobs, I could have been Jayne Mansfield. Yes, that Kathy Bowen— the one who danced with the President and said he was going to die if he didn't lay off you. That lovely girl who will never be invited to the White House again. That one.”
“She's a movie star,” said Rubin. “Lots of movie stars understand Poweressence because they already receive positive vibrations from the universal force.”
“I have movie stars as clients too. I know movie stars. They receive their vibrations from the universal farce. I got one movie star who believes he is the reincarnation of Genghis Khan. I got another star who bathes her duff in seaweed. I got another star who believes that blowing up children's hospitals will further the Marxist cause. I got more movie stars than I know what to do with, and I have yet to meet one with enough sound judgment to make it legitimately into junior high school.”
“Not only are we not copping a plea but we are going to be found innocent,” said Beatrice.
“She's right,” said Rubin.
“Well, if you get nearly eternal terms, don't blame me.”
“Of course I will,” said Beatrice. “If you don't have a witness against us, then I certainly will blame you if we are found guilty.”
“Don't count on that kind of luck,” said Glidden. “Less than one percent of witnesses retract their testimony. The odds are a hundred to one against you.”
“On the contrary,” said Beatrice. “The odds are in our favor. Can I get you a bandage for your cheek wounds?”
“You might try letting the blood flow stem itself naturally,” said Rubin. “In course number thirty-eight, we offer that technique for $1,285, but you can have it free. It's a general-health maintenance program.”
“I'll take the bandage,” said Glidden.
“I'll get it for you,” said Beatrice. “Rubin has a lot to do.”
Rubin Dolomo shuffled out of the room, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He wheezed his way down to the spacious basement and ground out his cigarette on the concrete floor. Neatly hung up on one wall were several dozen rubber suits. He got into one with great effort. He hated the way it stuck to him, hated the weight and heat it concentrated on his body. Normal breathing was hard enough for him, but the suit made it almost impossible. But Beatrice was right— he had a lot to do and no time to waste. He snapped on the rubber face mask and adjusted the goggles.
The founder of Poweressence, the hope of humanity, waddled to the rear of the basement, where an airtight door, like that of a submarine compartment, was set into the wall. He turned the wheel unlocking the door, and entered. The five herbs and three chemicals that made up the formula lay in separate barrels. As Rubin ground the herbs, his goggles began darkening, a sign he was going to pass out soon. But he knew he could make it. He'd made it before.