“Max. .” 99 trembled, “. . I’m frightened. .”
“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” Max replied. “Unless, of course, the Red Cross has a drive on for blood donations. Frankly, what bothers me most is my tum-tum. We’ve been in a dozen restaurants today, but we haven’t had anything to eat yet. I’m getting really hungry.”
“Me, too,” 99 said. “What I wouldn’t give for a good American meal!”
They reached the section of piers and docks. Along the street, facing the water, was a long row of low buildings. Most of the buildings were dark. But in the distance they saw a glow of light.
“According to the directions we got from that taxi driver, this is the street,” Max said. “The Chop House must be down there toward the end of the wharf.”
“I hope we’re not on a wild goose chase, Max.”
“As hungry as I am, 99, I sort of hope we are on a wild goose chase. In fact, I’m so hungry that if I had a wild goose, I’d like to have it stuffed with a second wild goose. Or a large chicken, at the very least. I’m so starved that-”
“Max!” 99 suddenly cried, pointing. “Look! There at the end of the wharf!”
Max peered ahead. He saw a brightly-lighted building. The flashing neon sign above it said:
JOE’S AMERICAN DINER
“Saved!” Max shouted happily. “American food!”
“Hurry, Max!”
They raced toward the diner.
“Max, see those signs on the windows!” 99 cried joyously. “See what they serve! After that horrible foreign food, isn’t that a sight for sore eyes! Look! Peanut Butter Burgers! And Rice Krispies Burgers!”
“And Marshmallow Burgers!”
“And Home-Baked Mom’s Apple Pie Burgers!”
They rushed up to the door of the diner. Max whipped the door open and they dashed in-and immediately plummeted downward.
“99, we’re falling through the air,” Max said. “We’re dropping into the water.”
“Max! What happened to the diner? It disappeared!”
“I think I can explain that, 99.”
“What happened!”
“Blug-Blug-Blug,” Max replied, hitting the water and sinking beneath the surface.
A moment later, Max and 99 reappeared, gasping for breath. They began treading water.
“Max. . what. . what did you say?” 99 gulped.
“I said. . Blug-Blug-Blug. .”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, I think we’ve finally made contact with the KAOS agent, Whitestone. Remember? The Chief told us that he’s a master illusionist. That diner we saw didn’t really exist. It was an illusion. Whitestone used it to try to destroy us. He hoped that we’d drown.”
“Max! That’s terrible!”
“It certainly is. I had my heart set on a peanut butter burger.”
“We better get back to the dock, Max.”
“In our condition, I think you’re right. I think it’s a dry dock.”
They dogpaddled to the dock, then climbed up out of the water. “Well, at least we got where we were going,” Max said. “There’s the Chop House over there.”
99 looked. “That taxi driver was right,” she said. “That’s a den of thieves, if I ever saw one. If he’s never been down here, I wonder how he was able to describe it so well.”
“Oh, I suspect he’s been down here often enough,” Max smiled. “Those tall, white-haired, distinguished-looking cab drivers get around more than they like to admit.”
“What shall we do now, Max?”
“What else? Go in and ask for Dr. Livingstrom. That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”
As they approached the doorway of the Chop House, a small, wizened, hobbling man came out. He was carrying an unlit cigar in one hand.
The man spoke to Max. “Got a match, Mac?”
Max hit him with a karate chop, dropping him to the sidewalk.
“Max! Why did you do that!” 99 squealed, peering down at the prostrate little man.
“99, for heaven’s sake, didn’t you recognize that? That was the old match trick. If I’d delayed for just a second, reaching for a match, he’d have fired at us with that poison gas gun.”
99 looked around. “What poison gas gun, Max?”
“The cigar. You don’t really think that’s a cigar, do you?” He bent down and picked up the cigar from where it had fallen on the sidewalk. “You see, if you unroll these tobacco leaves, inside you find. . uh. . more tobacco leaves. Well, it could have been a poison gas gun, 99. It never pays to take chances.”
The little man began to stir.
“I think we better get inside,” Max said, urging 99 on. “You can’t depend on these little short guys having a sense of humor.”
Inside, the Chop House was dimly-lighted, foul-smelling and smoke-filled. There were tables and booths, most of them occupied by fiendish-looking men and wicked-looking women. Satanic-looking waiters were snaking in and out among the tables, delivering orders. Just inside the doorway was a sign saying: No Children Allowed After 6 P.M.
“A wise policy,” Max said. “At least, they’re keeping the welfare of the community in mind.”
“What now, Max?” 99 whispered.
“Play it cool,” Max replied. “Act as if we belong here.”
“Right.”
With Max leading the way, they entered and sat down at a table. A waiter appeared.
“Yeah, what’ll it be?” the waiter growled.
“Our usual,” Max replied.
“Yeah? I don’t remember seeing you in here before. What’s your usual?”
“Two peanut butter burgers,” Max replied.
“And I’ll have the same,” 99 said.
The waiter stared at Max. “Now I know I ain’t never seen you before,” he said. “I ain’t never even heard of nobody that ate a thing like a peanut butter burger. Where you from, Mac? The Moon? Anyway, we don’t serve no food. Unless you want to put our free lunch in the category of food. Which hardly nobody but a tourist with a cast-iron stomach does. All what we serve is drinks. You want a drink?”
“If we’ll have to settle for that, yes,” Max replied. “Two milks.”
“Milks!”
“On the rocks,” Max added.
The waiter shrugged and departed.
“That was close, Max,” 99 whispered. “I think he was getting suspicious-until you told him to put ice cubes in the milks.”
“Ice cubes? Is that what ‘on the rocks’ means, 99?”
“Yes, Max.”
“Live and learn.” He squinted his eyes, peering into the cigar and cigarette smoke, looking about the room. “I don’t see any tall, white-haired, distinguished-looking master illusionists,” he said. “We must have given that KAOS agent the slip.”
“I hope so,” 99 said. “A person who could make us see what didn’t exist-the way he made us see that diner-would be hard to handle.”
“You’re right. But I think-”
Max looked up. A small, olive-skinned man, dressed in a flowing white Arab burnoose, was standing at the table, grinning down at them.
“Permit me,” the little man said. “I am Hassan Pfeiffer, at your service.”
Max shook his head. “Whatever you’re selling, we don’t want any,” he said.
“Perhaps if I joined you at your table we could discuss the matter,” Hassan Pfeiffer said, still grinning. “My goods are in great demand. I have jewels, stolen from King Solomon’s mines. I have fresh eggs, stolen directly from under the chickens, still warm. I have teflon-coated fry pans, stolen from Macy’s Department Store, Pahzayk branch. I have-”
“No, nothing, thanks,” Max broke in.
“I have the jewel stolen from the eye of the idol.”
“No, really- Uh, what idol?”
“What difference does it make? An eye from an idol is an eye from an idol. They’re all alike. Oh, maybe one glitters a little more than another, but, at base, they’re all the same, just a hunk of worthless paste.”
“No sale,” Max said.
“I have a genuine chain-driven saxophone-the only one of its kind,” the little man went on.