"As far as I know he wears pants."
"You've made it with him?"
"That's what you paid me for, isn't it?"
"Oh, I'm not complaining," I says. "I just wondered if a guy like that can get it up."
"He's got no problems in that department," she tells me.
"Trust me, I know."
"I'd like to trust you, babe," I says. "I really would.
I'd hate to find out you've been diddling me. Then I'd have to come looking for you. You know?"
"How could I diddle you? I haven't clamped you for money, have I?"
"No," I admit, "you haven't. But there are all kinds of swindles.
Like maybe you and Willie and the blond broad are figuring to glom on to that ZAP pill for yourselves and leave poor Bobby Gurk on the outside looking in."
She shakes her head. "If we had that fucking pill and were going to cross you, would we still be around? Use your head."
"Maybe you haven't got the pill yet," I says, "but you know how to get it. Then you'll split. I wouldn't do that if I was you, babe. You know what they say, You can run, but you can't hide."
"I don't know what you've been smoking lately," she says, "but you've sure got some crazy ideas. Hey, how about an encore on the floor?"
She wants to change the subject-right?
"No," I says to her. "You come over here and do me."
I want to get her down on her knees, because now I know for sure Teddy O. is right and the three of them, Willie and the two women, are figuring to dick me.
I had given Laura every chance in the world to come clean and let me in on what's going onbut, no, she wants to play it cute.
So I got no choice but to do it Teddy's way.
I make a meet with him the next day, and we talk about how we'll do it.
"I got a lot of "Listen, Teddy," I says to him, guys in my organization, and a couple of them are heavies. So if you need some backup, just say the word."
"I don't think so," he says, "but thanks for the offer. We don't want a mob scene."
"Then you and me will manage it," I Says.
"What's the script?"
I'm guessing the blonde, that Jessica Fiddler, is the key.
She's the one banging the chemist-right? So we hit her when she's alone in her house. It shouldn't take long. All we want is the name of the chemist and where he lives."
"Piece of cake," I says. "I'd like it if we can scare the shit out of her without no rough stuff."
"Maybe she don't scare," Teddy says. "Then what? "
"Then you take over," I tell him.
He nods. "What I'll do is get to know her routine, when she's home, when she goes out. Then we'll pick a good time and pay her a visit."
"Whenever you're ready, just give me a call-" He looks at me. "You sure you don't want me to handle this by myself?"
"Nah," I says. "I'll come along. I want to get a look at this broad.
Maybe after the chemist is out of the picture, she'll be cruising for a new boyfriend. Like me."
We both laugh. I'm bullshitting him, of course.
I got no particular interest in the blonde. But I don't want Teddy O. leaning on her by himself.
Accessory to a homicide is a rap I don't need.
I know there are more inspired research chemists at work today, but I have frequently comforted myself with the belief (possibly mistaken) that few have my talent for self discipline. This applies not only to my professional assignments but to my personal life as well. I think I can say without fear of serious contradictions that I am a singularly regulated man. I never act on whim or make capricious decisions.
So you can imagine my surprise and wonderment at what occurred during my brief attendance at a cocktail party given by the saleslady of a boutique patronized by my wife. in fact, I put in an appearance only to please Mabel.
Ordinarily I try very hard to avoid social functions. I am just not very good at them, and I am certain my awkwardness and discomfort are obvious.
Two unusual things happened. First, I was engaged in conversation by an elegantly dressed man who claimed to be in the pharmaceutical business.
To my astonishment, he lost no time in making it very plain that he was prepared to pay me large sums of money if I would divulge to him trade secrets of Mcwhortle Laboratory. Naturally I rejected his offer immediately.
The second curious incident involved a shapely young woman, rather flashy but quite attractive. I can only report that she "came on" to me. She did not seem inebriated, and frankly I was bewildered by her behavior. I know very well that I am far from being the handsomest of men, and most people find me cold and aloof, not realizing that my reserve springs mainly from shyness.
In any event, I was nonplussed by her warm and intimate manner and then embarrassed when it became clear that she was suggesting a sexual liaison. Of course, I rebuffed her advances as politely as I could, but she insisted on giving me a slip of paper (obviously prepared in advance) with her name, Jessica Fiddler, and her address and phone number.
It was possible she was a prostitute and distributing her "business card" to all the men at the cocktail party, but I was inclined to doubt it. I had the feeling that she had singled me out, but for what purpose I could not have said.
But even more unaccountable was my reaction to that bizarre meeting. I have claimed to be the most self-disciplined of men, and I truly believe that. Yet in the days and weeks following the cocktail party I found I was thinking frequently of Jessica Fiddler, wondering about her motives, and fantasizing about what might have happened if I had accepted her generous invitation. This invasion of my thoughts came at a particularly unwelcome time, for I was working very hard to bring the ZAP Project to a successful conclusion.
I was being badgered frequently by Mrs. Gertrude Mcwhortle, who was in turn being constantly annoyed by Colonel Henry Knacker.
Actually, I was very close to completing the project. I had succeeded in developing a testosterone formulation I judged would be effective on humans, and I had converted the liquid into pills not much larger than a 325 mg aspirin. I produced a dozen pills and put them into a small plastic container. The only step remaining was testing on humans.
As I have stated before, I had every intention of trying the ZAP pill first. It was the moral and ethical thing to do. And yet now that the moment had arrived, I confess I felt a certain amount of, perhaps not fear, but trepidation. The chances of fatal poisoning were, I told myself, so slight that they could be ignored.
But I was entering the realm of behavior modification and, quite honestly, I was not certain of the ZAP pill's effects on humans. I thought ruefully that my situation was somewhat akin to that of Dr.
Frankenstein, not knowing if I might produce a monster or a saint.
After a great deal of reflection, I decided it would be too risky to ingest a ZAP pill at the laboratory with so many people nearby. I thought it best to take the pills home, lock myself in the den, and swallow the pill in solitude. But before I did that, I planned to leave a detailed document instructing my wife and the authorities what actions to take in case I died, lapsed into a coma, became unconscious, or began behaving in an antisocial manner.
It was then the last week of August. I took the container of ZAP pills home and carefully concealed it behind a stack of journals in the den.
I did not inform Mrs. Mcwhortle or Colonel Knacker that the ZAP pill had been finalized. I hoped after my test I could assure them that it had no injurious consequences.
I could have conducted the trial immediately, of course, but I admit I dithered. It was not fear of death so much as fear of an irreversible personality change. After all, even if the pill had the desired effect of increasing aggression, I could not be absolutely sure it would not be permanent, even though the result had been temporary when the testosterone formulation had been injected into mice. And also there might be side effects I hadn't anticipated.