"Gin," I said with a shudder.
"GIN? With pot? Oh, Jesus Christ, Inky, you need some time on the streets. You NEVER mix alcohol with drugs, you dumb (bleep)! You could kill yourself. And yesterday. Maybe the night before. Did you drink anything?"
"Vodka."
"Well, Jesus Christ, Inky. No wonder the good old grass didn't work yesterday. Honest to Pete, Inky, you need a nursemaid."
"Not you," I flinched.
"And I thought all the time something must be wrong with the Acapulco Gold. Jesus, Inky. You listen to me. You lay off that alcohol. It's the killer. Stick with pot every time."
She ran off and rummaged around in the bathroom
and came back with two bottles and a glass of liquid. "Vitamin Bi. And aspirin." I was trying to push the glass away. "It's just water," she said. "Now be a good boy and open your mouth." She literally poured the bottle of Bi into my mouth and made me wash it down. Then she gave me two aspirin and made me wash them down. She looked at her watch: it was a new one, Mickey Mouse's hands pointing the time. "Jesus Christ, I'm going to be late for school if I don't run the whole way. When I'm gone, fix yourself some strong coffee. And next time, don't go running down pot! Alcohol! You're too stupid to live!"
I gave her as hard a scowl as I could manage. "(Bleep)!" I said.
She picked up her purse and went to the door. She stopped. She said, "It's too bad you're such a no-good, unappreciative jerk, Inky. You need your diapers changed constantly but who'd bother."
"Get the Hells out of here!" I screamed. I had missed my third opportunity to kill her! And that would be the last one. I would look back on it with longing from that day on.
I awoke in the late afternoon.
Amazing! Unless I shook it violently, my head didn't ache. Incredible as it might seem, that (bleeped) kid had been right about something: it must have been the alcohol!
I got myself some strong coffee and, wonder of wonders, I could think. And thinking brought my attention to the viewers. I uncovered them and turned them on.
Captain Bitts was teaching Heller some card game. They seemed to be in the main salon of the yacht, a room decorated in amber and beige carpets and brass. Poker. Bitts was explaining what hand beat what and Heller was being very attentive. I thought, you better watch it, Captain Bitts, that sneaky Heller will probably take you for a year's pay if my experience with him held true. But who cared what happened to Captain Bitts?
Crobe was en route to his lecture.
The Countess Krak's was blank.
I looked back at Heller's. Through an open door, he could see an empty expanse of sea. I thought to myself, you know, that Raht must really have reformed: there that yacht was, clear down in the Caribbean, and yet Heller was still on the screen. So Raht must be down in the Caribbean, too. And he could tell me exactly where that yacht was in case I wanted to do anything to it.
I got the two-way response radio and buzzed it.
"Yes?" Raht's voice.
"Where are you?"
"New York office," he said.
Ah, he had planted the activator-receiver someplace. "When did you get back?"
"I haven't been gone," said Raht.
"Wait a minute," I said. "Didn't you follow that Royal officer (bleepard) down to Atlantic City?"
"Oh, did he go there?" said Raht.
I began to get confused. "He's out on a yacht. Didn't you even follow him to Atlantic City? You must be tagging him around. His screen is still live."
"The 831 Relayer is still off," said Raht. "Actually, it's still on the TV antenna of the Empire State Building."
Unease began to run through me with icy feet. "Look, I had him on the screen clear to Atlantic City so you MUST have been following him. I think you've gotten tangled up some way. Maybe a more-than-unusual attack of terminal inefficiency."
"Well," said Raht, "I'm not tangled up but I won't say nobody else is. According to you, the gadget is good for two-hundred-mile range. Atlantic City, straight line, is only about a hundred miles. So he still must be within two hundred miles of you."
"He is further than that. He's in the Gulf Stream and that's clear down in the Caribbean."
"I beg your pardon, Officer Gris. The Gulf Stream runs between Cuba and Florida, comes all the way up the U. S. coast, runs quite near New Jersey, goes past New York and then crosses the Atlantic to England and goes on back to the Caribbean. So he's within two hundred miles of New York or he wouldn't be on your screen."
"Wait a minute," I said. "There's something wrong. Your figures must be all out. The woman got on the yacht and went to Atlantic City and went off my screen."
"Well, you've got her electronic box, Officer Gris. I haven't. Did you drop it or something?"
"Are you inferring I mishandle equipment?"
"Well, if the Royal officer was still on the screen in Atlantic City, then wouldn't you say the woman should have been? You better check her boxes, Officer Gris. They weren't mishandled by me when I had charge of them."
I had had quite enough of his impertinence. I clicked off.
I sat back, rather incensed at his accusations. Then it occurred to me that maybe the activator-receiver of the Countess Krak might have become inoperative. Spurk was not infallible. Maybe if I shook it or kicked it, it would turn on again.
I tried to remember where I had put it. I went around searching. Dimly I recalled lifting a pillow and putting the box under it. But it wasn't on the sofa and hadn't fallen behind it. Then, with a surge of memory I recalled putting it on the top shelf of the closet.
There was a pillow up there. I gave a jump and grabbed its corner. The unit flew off the shelf and hit the floor with a crash.
I picked it up and, by plan, shook it. Nothing rattled. I turned it over.
It had a pressure switch on the back. It was off. Idly, I punched at it. Maybe putting the pillow on it or the gathering weight of the pillow had pushed it.
Movement caught my eye. The viewer was sitting over there. It lit up.
The full import of this took several seconds to sink in. And then a freezing horror began to chill my bones.
THE COUNTESS KRAK WAS WITHIN RANGE OF ME!
For days she had not been observed!
She might this very moment be picking the lock of the front door to come in and kill me!
Something worse than terror gripped my throat.
I raced to the front door and looked. No. She wasn't there.
I sped back to the garden and looked around.
No. She wasn't there.
I wrung my hands in extreme agitation.
WHERE WAS THE COUNTESS KRAK?
Shocks of that character are very hard on one. They shorten the life span. And in this case, I felt with certainty I might only have seconds to live.
It was Teenie's fault for distracting me. It was Adora's fault as well. Were they in league with the Countess Krak? Was the Countess Krak paying them to keep my attention elsewhere while she sneaked up to do me in?
I made myself stand very still in the middle of the floor. Aloud, I said, "Steady. Be calm. Your heart is still beating. There is hope yet. Steady. Be calm."
THE VIEWER!
If I looked at the viewer I could tell where she was.
Half expecting to see my own face in it, I stared at the screen.
A shabby building was on the viewer. Then she turned. She was looking at cars going by. She must be standing on a corner. Rush-hour traffic was heavy. People were going home.
Another view of the shabby building. The ground floor had a porno store. The second floor had a massage parlor. The third floor had the offices of the National Association of Mental Stealth. She looked back at the traffic.
My wits began to work. Didn't I know that building?
Krak turned and looked at it again. This time her eyes went to the fourth floor. Yes!
THE LAW OFFICES OF DINGALING, CHASE AND AMBO!