"Yes."
"And you just agreed to start doing it this minute?"
"Yes," said the parole officer. He grabbed pads of forms and busily began to write.
When he finished, the Countess Krak said, "And now you think you should give me signed copies, do you not?"
"Yes," he said.
She reached over and took the "Copy to Parolee" sheets.
"You enjoyed this conversation, didn't you?" said the Countess Krak.
"Yes."
"And you did all this at your own suggestion?"
"Yes."
"Good day," said the Countess Krak and walked away.
She threw the flowers in a litter can on the street and got into the cab. She handed Bang-Bang the copies.
He looked at them bug-eyed. He leafed through them hurriedly again. "Jesus!" he said.
"Get going, Bang-Bang," said the Countess Krak. "We have another stop to make."
Bang-Bang edged over into Lafayette Street, heading north. All of a sudden he exploded. "I'M FREE!"
He was suddenly driving at high acceleration. "Jesus Christ, Miss Joy, I'll admit that you're probably the most beautiful woman in America, but who the hell would ever guess that (bleeped) ape would fall for a DAME!"
She was not paying much attention. She was looking in her purse. She had the torn wrapper of the Eyes and Ears of Voltar package. It said Perfume to make a person say yes to anything. Pre-antidote necessary.
"Blast," she muttered. "I only have one more of these. I better save it for another time."
Oh, she was dangerous, all right!
"Here we are," my cabby said. "That's twenty-one dollars. You get to the part yet where Lauren Bacall is killed?"
"Not yet," I said grimly.
"That's the best part," he said as he drove off.
I agreed completely!
I surely didn't want to be seen in company with a hit man. People remember these things.
Knowing I was pushed for time, I rushed into the hospital and located the accounting office.
With my hat pulled down to hide the better part of my face, I told the clerk, "I'm Attorney Grouch of Grouch and Grouch. I am here to pay the bill of Torpedo Fiaccola and spring him."
The clerk found the bill. "That's $5,100, please."
"Wait a minute," I said. "It was $4,900 yesterday."
"The additional is for his room while we detained him and for his shots."
What could I do? Nothing. I paid it. I said, "When
you let him go, tell him he is supposed to report back to Dr. Finkelbaum."
She made a note of it and I rushed off. I had to get down to the financial district to Boyd's of London and get his hit man insurance. But there were no taxis in sight and no subways were handy. I raced over to Second Avenue and boarded a downtown bus, Number 15.
New York buses lurch around and roar, dive into and away from curbs and make an awful fuss. But they don't get anywhere very fast.
I thought I had better check up on the Countess Krak. If I was fast enough I could get her hit before the day was done. I balanced the viewer on my knee and watched.
(Bleep) that Bang-Bang! Driving at speed, he had gotten her almost to the ROTC offices at Empire University! They pulled up at the door. The Countess Krak pushed a pad and ballpoint through the cab partition.
"Now, Bang-Bang, write a request in proper form for a leave of absence from class and drills for a couple weeks." And she watched while he printed it quite laboriously.
At the bottom he had drawn a line and left a space. He indicated it. "That's for the endorsement of Colonel Tanc, U. S. Army. He's got to initial it or it's no good, and it's got to go into the files. But Tanc won't sign it, Miss Joy."
"What kind of a man is this Colonel Tanc?" said Krak.
"Regular Army," said Bang-Bang. "Posted here to run the Reserve Officers' Training Corps for Empire. He's a military martinet, stiff as starch. Hound for discipline. Very proper. Never does the slightest thing irregular. He thinks these student officers are just play soldiers
and beneath contempt. Wister, being a senior, holds ROTC rank of lieutenant but that's not Regular Army and we ain't even sworn into the service, thank God. But when we graduate, and Wister is sworn in, Wister will be an army officer and I swear to Pete, Miss Joy, the colonel doesn't even consider us up to a Regular Army buck-(bleep) private-beggin' your pardon, ma'am. He'll never grant this, probably even assign punishment drill. I wouldn't advise you presenting this. You could blow the whole show."
Two plump black women in the seat behind me were looking over my shoulder at the viewer interestedly. One said, "I didn't know they were doin' no rerun of Sophia Loren in the morning, but that sure as hell is Marcello Mastroianni."
"Naw," said the other, "that's Humphrey Bogart, plain as the nose on your face, woman. But I didn't know he played with Sophia Loren and that sho' as hell was her voice."
"Look at that," said the other, "you don't see her face, only what she's lookin' at. I know a Hitchcock film when I see one, only it's in color. Did Hitchcock ever direct Sophia Loren?"
I ignored them. Riffraff.
"Now, this could be a little dicey, Bang-Bang," said the Countess Krak. "You park right there and be ready for a fast getaway."
Bang-Bang, in alarm, said, "You be careful!"
"Oh, indeed I will. This could be very dangerous."
Bang-Bang groaned.
"No, that ain't Sophia Loren," said one of the black women. "That's Lauren Bacall and Bogart. I'd know her voice anywhere."
"You're right," said the other. "I jus' got the names mixed. I know this film. It's the one where Bacall gets killed, but I didn't know it was in color."
"Yah, Hitchcock directed it, all right. You only see what she's looking at. Horror film."
The Countess Krak took an envelope out of her purse. She wrote on it From Lieutenant Wister, ROTC. She put the leave request in it. Then she produced a little glass bubble and inserted that in the envelope. She sealed the flap. The action startled me. What was this vicious female making? A letter bomb? Was she going to kill the colonel?
"You won't change your mind?" pleaded Bang-Bang.
"You keep that motor running," said the Countess Krak. "Get ready to make those tires scream if this goes wrong."
She got out of the cab, and using the window as a mirror, she fluffed her hair and straightened her jacket. She walked in through the entrance.
There was a huge sign there. It said:
REGIMENTAL DANCE MARCH 28
Full Uniform Bring your girls, girls, girls
"Hmm," said the Countess Krak. "So this is Lieutenant Wister's life in the ROTC."
There was a sergeant at a waiting room desk. When she entered, he stood up and blinked and looked like he was going to offer her a chair.
She paid no attention to him. She sailed right on past him, heading for the door marked Colonel Mark Q. Tanc, United States Army. She opened it and marched in.
Colonel Tanc was sitting at his desk, surrounded by flags and cannon shells. He looked the very proper officer-tunic, shirt, tie, eagles on the shoulders and campaign ribbons by the score to account for his bitter and disapproving face.
The Countess Krak had the envelope in her hand. Her thumb and forefinger crushed the glass bubble inside it and it made a tiny crack.
She handed it toward the colonel and he, glaring, would not have touched it at all if she hadn't used the magician's forcing twitch of the hand which makes people take things.
The colonel, removing his baleful glare from her face for a moment, read the inscription. "Wister?" he snarled. "Do I have a man named Wister?" He began to open it.
"Oh, indeed you do," said the Countess Krak in a lilting voice. "And I have the honor to be his sister. He could not come himself, today. His poor, dear grandmother lies dying in Sleepy Hollow, ready to leave him a million bucks if he avoids the wolf and comes out of the woods in time with a basket of lunch on his arm."