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He shook his head and put on a robe wondering how many seconds again before the teeter would totter. With his hand halfway down the robe’s left sleeve he stopped, hearing the door chime. The home manager announced nothing; a not unexpected failure.

“Shall I?” Nadine inquired archly, expression implying a fallen woman should not be exposed to morning visitors.

“No. Me.”

He answered the door after putting on slippers. Beyond the antique eternal plastic screen was a young man he had never seen before: red haired, pleasantly round faced and intent with a quick smile and the air of a salesman. Salesmen did not come to this section of the shadows.

“You’re Richard Fettle?”

“Yes.” He pulled on the other sleeve.

“My name is not important. I have some questions to ask. For society’s sake I hope you will answer.”

That formula For Society’s Sake had become a nervous joke in the shadows and even in the combs but this was not a joke. Of course they would become interested. There was news here and he was a part of it. Celebrity publicity sensation.

“Excuse me?” Richard fumbled, hoping he might be allowed to close the door.

“May I come in. For society’s sake.”

In the kitchen Nadine stood like a cat with fingers spread shaking her head. No. Don’t.

The untherapied so seldom called pd. Here was statistical safety a perfect ground to ply their trade of perfection rooting out correcting. He hoped he was wrong and the formula and posture were part of a sour joke.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Mr. Richard Fettle.”

“Yes.”

The red haired man lifted an eyebrow as if to say quid-pro-quo you are you and the rest is formality.

“Come in,” Richard said. He could not think of a way to dissemble.

“Please don’t get in a rough,” the man said. “I only have a few questions.”

+ Want to say Who do you think you are? Self appointed God of all? Hate this cowardice Don’t get in a rough keep silent my gut

“You were a friend of Emanuel Goldsmith?”

Nadine had backed into the kitchen doorway, leaning against the thick enamel covering the doorjamb eyes cautiously blank. Richard wished to concentrate on her and on the age creamed white paint. + Puzzle that out think about the century old wood here before any of this. But he forced himself to look at the man.

The visitor wore a simple black suit, cuffs rising a few inches above shiny black shoesocks, narrow red tie against green shirt, sleeves short above wrists making him appear tall and lanky but in fact he was shorter than Richard by six or eight centimeters; about Nadine’s height.

“I was,” Richard said.

“Did you know he was capable of murdering people?”

“I did not know that.” + Would you punish me for that? It’s the truth; I told the pd; did not know.

“Did he ever tell you he was going to do such a thing?”

“No.”

“I don’t recognize this woman. Was she a friend of Goldsmith’s?”

+ Perverse honesty here; hate this man but spill my guts to him.

“She knew him. Not as well as I did.”

“Do you know what I am?” the man asked Nadine. She nodded like a child caught eating forbidden candy.

“She didn’t know him well at all,” Richard said.

“She’s part of de Roche’s clique, isn’t she? Like you?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you all a little culpable for what happened?”

Swallowing. “Not my brother’s keeper.”

“We are all our brothers’ keepers,” the man said. “I live for that truth. You should have known what your friend was capable of. What we do or neglect to do affects all; what anyone does affects us.”

+ Punish us all then.

“You do not know where Goldsmith is?”

“I assume the pd have caught him.”

The man smiled. “Our reluctant colleagues haven’t the slightest idea where he is.”

“Colleagues.” Richard managed a brave but brief smile.

The man returned the smile.

+ Admires my stage presence.

“Our local chapter is interested in this case because it seems possible that a man of fame and privilege might be able to escape justice. You know. Hide out with friends and become a folk hero. Get in silky with the blandly ignorant.”

“Heavens. I hope not.”

The man’s smile thinned. “We are not thugs. We are not fanatics. We are vitamin supplements to justice. Please do not misunderstand my visit.”

“Never.” His fear put him on the edge of giddiness. + Suicidal.

“I doubt you’ve done anything wrong in this case,” the man said. “We can’t always know the souls of those around us. But I warn you: if you do hear about Goldsmith, if you learn where he is and do not tell the pd or your local chapter for society’s sake, that would be very wrong indeed. You would hurt a lot of people who are hungry for justice.”

“They’ve hired you, contracted you?” Richard asked voice hoarse coughing swallowing back the roughness.

“Nobody hires us,” the man said calmly. He returned to the door and nodded politely at Nadine. “Thank you for your time.”

“You’re welcome,” she said small mouselike. The man opened Richard’s door stepped out of Richard’s apartment and walked down the long balcony to the stairs.

“I’m going,” Nadine said, spinning suddenly and running to grab her few clothes toothbrush handbag from the bedroom and bathroom. “Unbelievable,” she said. “Unbelievable. You.”

“What about me?” Richard asked, still stunned.

“They’re after you.”

“I don’t know why!”

“You defended him! You’re his friend! Christ, I should have known. Anybody silky with Goldsmith. Christ! Selectors. I’m going.”

He did not try to stop her. In all his life he had never been visited by a Selector before, had never attracted their attention.

“Call the pd,” Nadine said as she reached for the door-knob. Her body arched as if it would take substantial pull to open the door. The door swung free and she tilted off balance for a moment then glared at him. “Call the pd or do something.”

Miserable moaning softly to himself Richard went to his bedroom and lay back on the bed, turning away from the streaks of dried fluid at the edge of sheet where Nadine had sat up after they had made love. He stared up at the earthquake cracked plaster of the old ceiling. + How many people have died since that ceiling was put in or the wood how many millions have suffered horribly even since we made love last night hundreds per minute around the world punish them all.

He stilled, slowing his rapid breath. One hand gripped the sheet. He turned his head to one side neck tight corded, drew his mouth into a horrid smile and sat up abruptly, one fist pounding the bed rhythmically, looked around the apartment stood up and twisted his upper body threw head back raised fists shook them at the ceiling mewed faintly the mew turned into a howl swung his arms around stamped his foot crouched eyes showing clear blue through a mask hair before them gray and stringy he danced pranced around the bed lifted fists stumbled back on the bed stood again kicked the mattress with bare foot ran into his small living room with a sudden pumping of long skinny bare legs howled reached for an old vase full of dead flowers swung scummy water glittering in a silver crescent fingers released the vase it whirled on its long axis parallel to the floor across the living room into the kitchen hit cabinet doors beneath the sink shattering brown dried flowers fanning out in a clump on the floor still circled by the neck.

Richard turned to the bedroom and leaned forward, walking and stumbling until he lay back on the bed again cycle complete nothing accomplished but the most primitive useless release. He sucked back his own inadequacy and helplessness in negative sobs.