Also, the Countess was not riding on a broomstick. She was riding along in a van with a posh interior. The curtains were closed and she had on interior lights.
"That squad car seems to be interested in us," came Bang-Bang's voice through a curtain, beyond which must have been the driver's seat. "He's checking the license plate."
"They aren't stolen, are they?" said the Countess.
"Hell, no-beggin' your pardon, ma'am. Mike Mutazione has his own stamping machine. You couldn't trace the plates I just flipped on if you were the governor of New York!"
The screamer was dwindling.
"He's gone now," said Bang-Bang.
"You better take us to that hidden place they used to transfer booze in," said the Countess Krak. "We don't have time to play tag with the police. We've got work to do."
If she would just look outside or mention an address, I'd have her! But all she was looking at was that (bleeped) cat. Ye Gods, its purr was so loud in the speaker, I thought for some time it was their engine! What an insufferable feline!
They drove on. I had no way of knowing their destination or location unless they made a mistake and mentioned it.
Eyes glued redly to the viewer, I overpaid my cab at the apartment and stumbled in.
I got out of my disguise, still watching the viewer.
They stopped!
Mister Calico jumped out of the Countess's arms and went through the front curtain. Then Bang-Bang's hand came into view and swept the dividers aside. I could see straight through their windshield.
A warehouse!
But where?
There are hundreds of thousands of warehouses in Manhattan. Still, they might drop a clue.
The Countess Krak must have been sitting in an easy chair that pivoted. When Bang-Bang entered the back, she swung it around.
There, lying on a couch crossways to the van, was the Whiz Kid double.
He was tied hand and foot.
He was gagged.
His black outlaw costume wasn't doing him any good at all. His eyes were wild with fear.
I suddenly detected a new sound. I turned up the speaker volume. Lapping water! This warehouse was over some stream or river! An old bootleg warehouse! It would have a trap door where they could unload small boats up through the floor or dump bodies into the tide!
Gods help the Whiz Kid double, I thought. The deadly Countess Krak was going to end his days as soon as she was through with him! Oh, the poor double! Imagine being in the hands of such a murderous monster! I shuddered. But better him than me.
"Bang-Bang, if you will just step outside and make sure we're not disturbed, I think I can make him talk."
"Pretty bloody, eh?" said Bang-Bang. "In that event I'll also take the cat: he's pretty young to be watching violence, even if he does have a criminal record."
The Countess Krak was taking off the double's gag.
"Does that cat have a criminal record?" spluttered the double. "I thought he was a lawyer!"
"What's the difference?" said Bang-Bang. "To his long list of murders, we now have to add kidnapping. But what's going to happen now is too strong for him. I wouldn't give two catnip mice for your life, kid. So answer the lady polite. The cat and I will be right outside and I'll let him in again if you don't sing."
This was far too confused for the double. "I'm innocent. I don't know anything."
"Go along, Bang-Bang," said the Countess.
Bang-Bang halted at the side door, holding it open. I couldn't see anything but warehouse wall. "I'll loosen up one of the old trap doors," he said. "Just in case he doesn't talk." The cat jumped out and Bang-Bang closed the door.
"I don't know anything," said the double. "I just do what I'm told."
"Ah," said the Countess Krak, "but who tells you?"
My hair went straight up underneath my bandages. In sweeping horror, it was fully borne home to me that if this double knew the name of Madison, the Countess Krak would grab Madison. And if Madison was questioned, he would mention and describe the man he knew as Smith-me. And the Countess Krak would know absolutely that I was behind all this. I would be DEAD! The image of the sightless eyes of the yellow-man rose between me and the viewer. The blood in my eye tinted it red. I had to sit down as my knees began to shake.
"I won't tell you who tells me," said the double, buck-teeth truculently protruding.
"Ah, well," said the Countess Krak. "You leave me no choice."
She reached down to a shopping bag and pulled out the hypnohelmet. She pulled it down over the horrified head of the Whiz Kid double and turned it on. He suddenly slumped in his bonds.
She picked up the helmet microphone. "Sleep, sleep, pretty sleep. You will now tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, or be indicted for the felony of perjury. Who gives you your orders?"
"A man."
"What man?"
"I don't know."
Krak took a recording strip and put it in the helmet slot and pushed the button to Record. "Now," she said, "you will begin to tell me everything you know about becoming the double of the real Wister."
The double began his tale. He was an orphan, born in Georgia. By government student loans he had gotten into the Massachusetts Institute of Wrectology. He was getting along when suddenly he was called in and told that a man wanted to see him. The man had offered him a job. Money and women. He was simply to follow orders and appear where he was supposed to and say what he was told to say.
He had wanted to know what about his school and the man said that would all be cared for, that he couldn't fail.
The man had said that from time to time it might look like he was being put in jail but that wasn't anything to worry about because there was a REAL person, Jerome Terrance Wister, and that if the chips fell the wrong way, it would be THAT one who would go to jail, finally.
He had wanted to know how come this fellow had the name Wister also; he had heard once that he had had a brother but had never known where he was. His own name was Gerry Wister and he dimly recalled the brother's name was Jerome. But the man said not to worry about that, it didn't make any difference.
"You mean," said the Countess Krak, "that you believed that the man you were helping to wreck was your own brother?"
"Well, sort of," the double replied, "but the man explained that they were just trying to make my brother famous."
"By putting him in jail?"
"Well, there was all that money they offered me and the women they promised."
The Countess Krak pushed the mike into her chest. "What primitives! No sense of honor!" Then, to him, "Continue."
The double rattled on in the muffled way of the wholly hypnotized.
The Countess Krak was beginning to get impatient. She was tapping her foot. She had heard a lot of this history of racing and Atlantic City and Kansas before and the only difference now was that she was hearing it was all cooked up by somebody.
I was very, very nervous.
The double at length ran down.
"So what was the name of this man?" said the Countess Krak.
"I called him Ed."
I began to breathe more easily. The double had had no dealing directly with Madison.
But then at the next question, my heart missed a beat.
"Who pays you?" said the Countess Krak.
She might hit paydirt with this!
"Cash in an envelope."
"What's on the envelope?"
"Nothing."
Her foot was tapping faster with impatience. "Is there anything IN the envelope except cash?"
"Only the receipt I sign and give back to Ed."
"And what is on the receipt?"
"The amount. And I initial it."
"Anything else?"
"Only the letters F. F. B. O."
"What do they stand for?"