Katz-Van Ryn roared with laughter. "But of course! Of course! She wanted to make sure it was fresh. Typical! Typical!"
"And there's a fascinating parallel with us," I went on. "We only see ten cents' worth of the total spectrum, smack in the middle. As one artist to another, wouldn't it be sensational if we could see all the way from one end of the liverwurst to the other—the whole nine yards?"
"My God, Blackie! What an idea."
"Which is what I'm offering you."
"What!"
"In exchange for your sixth sense."
"Are you serious?"
"Dead earnest, Rinso, and we can do it. Think, man! What could your talent do with a vision that extends beyond the ultraviolet and infrared? No more past, present, and future hangups. No more rages and feuds. You can get back to your real work and create what's never been seen before."
"My God! My God!" He was staring into space. "To paint the aura of people and things, their vibes, radiations, unconscious receptions and perceptions, ESPs . . . Picasso tried but he was just guessing . . ."
"And you won't have to guess."
"You're not putting me on, Blackie?"
"Look at me, Rinso. Read hard and deep. I'm wide open. Look into me and decide."
We made intense eye contact for at least a minute, never blinking, until his eyes rolled up to heaven and his big body seemed to sag. "You're telling it true," he whispered at last, "though there's a lot of fog blocking parts of your life. I think you've saved me. I don't know how I can ever pay you. It's a deal. What do we do now?"
"The Black Hole," I said. "Rotten Adam Maser will lead the way."
As we came in through the ebony doorway I was so intent on the Who What When Where Why of the brick-eater which Rinso Van Ryn might discover that the scene in the reception room came as a shock and nearly stripped my gears.
The corpse was propped upright in a gold brocade wingchair sort of like a mythical king on a throne, and at its feet lay a Nubian slave girl. Only she wasn't Nubian, slave, girl, or alive—she was the empty, sagging skin of Glory Ssss. The lower body was whole but the upper was in tatters. Evidently the renewed Glory had wriggled out that way.
Macavity took it in his stride, went to the foot of the iron stairway, and shouted up, "Nan, we're back."
From above came the sound of a shower over her reply. "Be right down, Dammy." Her voice sounded a little higher in pitch, more clarinet than oboe, and I wondered what the rest of her newdom would be like.
"Don't be too long. Alf, the pitchman absolute, has brought back our artist."
Rinso tore his eyes away from an amazed inspection of the room and demanded, "What the hell is going on in this museum?"
"Tell him, Blackie."
"The deal stands just as agreed," I said. "No ifs, ands, or buts. Your sixth sense in exchange for ultra-vision. Fair enough?"
He nodded.
"We'd like to ask a favor before Macavity removes your sixth sense."
"What favor?"
"Use it one last time."
"Use it? On who?"
"That body."
"Holy Moses, you're all crazy in here," he growled. "I'm getting the hell out."
"Wait, Rinso. Let me explain." And I told him about the brick schtick and the mystery shopping list. Not boasting, I'm a pro and know how to sell a story, and Van Ryn was grabbed. He gave me an approving punch on my shoulder.
"You're the one, Blackie," and he crossed to the kingly corpse. Adam and I waited while he concentrated on it for long minutes. At last he turned, shaking his head. "Nothing, Blackie, but nothing."
"Because he's dead?"
"Because he's completely unreal. Out of this world. Same like him," and he pointed to Adam. "Yeah, I cased him, too. Another weirdo from nowhere. You sure keep crazy company."
More crazy company swept down the stairs to join us, the new Glory, even more staggering than when I'd first met her. She was lighter, more octoroon than quadroon, and the mica flashes of her skin had become odd glows when she moved, as though reflecting rosy spotlights. There were streaks of silver in her hair, and the great golden eyes were hypnotic.
And I was hypnotized. Adam saw it, chuckle-purred, and made genteel introductions as though we were all meeting for the first time. After a warm greeting to the equally stunned artist, Glory turned to me.
"My kid sister told me all about you, Alf." She gestured at her shed skin.
"Glory Hallelujah," I responded.
"She's your boa, Blackie," Rinso burst out.
"What?"
"I saw her in your future when I cased you."
"His feathered boa to decorate him?" Glory laughed. "I'd like nothing better."
"No, lady, his boa constrictor." To me, "I saw you two tangling and strangling together."
"As they glory in the joys of fornication," Adam hummed. "Enough already, Maitre. Come into my den of iniquity and I'll consecrate our contract." He shot me a perplexed brow-lift. "Do we say 'consecrate' in the late twentieth, Alf?"
"I think you're reaching for consummate."
We heard no warning from the outer door but the dead man's identical twin oozed in. He was wearing a raggedy sweatsuit and had a black box hanging from his neck. He took a quick pan, then pressed a button on the box.
"Parlatta Italiano?" it squawked. "Sponishing? Ingleeze? Frenesing? Dansk? Germanisch?"
"Etruscan," I said.
"Shut up, Alf. English would be best for us, sir. Greetings and welcome."
Another button. "I sank you. I see my brudder get here too lately."
"May I ask where you're both from, and why?"
A lightning survey of Adam from head to toe. "Haha. Hoho. Another parallelogram like usly. Which cosmos you?"
"Far futurewise."
"We past. We call The Hive. What you?"
"We call ours The Zoo. How'd you come through?"
"Hole same like here."
"Where?"
"Numero quatro planet."
"So there's another hole on Mars to another neighbor. More wonders. What is your name, please?"
"Name? Name?" A complete blank.
"Termites!" Rinso exclaimed. "That's what they are and that's why I can't scan anything from them. They're only parts of a colony."
"I see. Thanks, maitre. Tell me, sir, why did your hive brother come looking for steel objects?"
"Needly to digest."
"My God!" I broke in. "Gizzard stones! Of course. And that's why he was trying to chew off the bricks. Diamond bort is even harder than tool steel."
"Enlighten me, Alf."
"We have life forms that swallow hard stones to help the gizzard fragment food to make it digestible. We've found little heaps in the fossil remains of dinosaurs, dodos, and giant emus. Some species ate still doing it today."
"Correctly. Correctly," the box agreed. "No stones the brudder. Starving deathly. None left in hive so come for help."
"Too late, I'm afraid," Adam said. "What now, sir?"
"Must take back."
"Ah? You bury your dead in your cosmos?"
"No bury. Eat." And exit the termite carrying his lunch, leaving an appalled silence behind.
"No wonder they need gizzard stones," I said.
"D'you think he might have tried to eat us?"
"Not without your diamond dust."
"Please, Blackie," Rinso pleaded. "I've got to get out of this freakshow. This is no place for a nice Jewish boy from the Bronx."
"Right, Rinso. Go with Svengali and let him do his thing, but I'm warning you: once you've seen his psychshop, the artist in you won't want to leave."