"Someone tried that before. He said he was going to yell in their faces, and now he has earth in his face," said the Indian.
"I'm not him," said A. H. Baynes.
"You're going to get killed." Baynes gave him a tolerant smile.
"How much of the take do you want?" Ban Sar Din asked.
"It's all yours."
"You mean we're partners, but I get to keep all the money?"
"Yes. And I'll provide the plane tickets for your people too," said Baynes.
"Okay, partner," said Ban Sar Din.
The next day, fifteen thousand dollars' worth of first-class airline tickets arrived by courier pack. They were all for one airline, International Mid-America, a medium-size carrier that served the Midwest and South America.
At first, Ban Sar Din thought that Baynes must have gotten some incredibly reduced rate, but then, something on the tickets appeared odd. None of them had a name written in. Were they stolen? Was that why the American executive had given them to him free? A thing to think about, reflected the Indian.
He heard the chanting out in the ashram. He knew he had to go out there and pass out the handkerchiefs soon. They were beginning their frenzy.
Ban Sar Din had always lived in fear that one day the chanting would stop and they would come into his office after him. When he had forgotten the handkerchief the other day, he had thought he was done for. But it had all worked out for the best. Somehow Kali had told them-who could believe these American kids?-that since Ban Sar Din didn't have the rumal on him, he was the Holy One. The one who came with the rumal was going to be Kali's lover. Which was another word for dead. All in all, it had worked out well. He was stronger than ever in the ashram.
He stood up, ready to take some of the tickets outside, but stopped. Something was wrong with a stack of first-class airplane tickets as high as a phone book, and all without the purchasers' names.
He phoned International Mid-American Airlines, IMAA.
"I have some tickets that I think were stolen," he said.
"Just a minute, sir."
The chanting from the ashram grew louder. He could feel the walls hum with the name of Kali, and he could hear the joyous, almost orgasmic frenzy of the young people. Even his desk calendar was jumping. If they weren't all crazies, he would have liked to join them. But they might turn on him. Who knew with these people?
He watched his calendar jump and vowed that when he could afford it, he would line the walls and doors of his office with steel, put in a lock that could stop a tank, and build a secret rear exit to the alley and keep a very fast car parked outside. He would not necessarily have the motor running.
He heard a pounding on his door and changed his mind about the motor running.
IMAA finally came up with the right person. No, those tickets had not been stolen. They had been purchased the day before for cash. No, they did not know the name of the purchaser. Yes, anyone who had such a ticket could use it.
"Thank you," said Ban Sar Din, and stuffed two round-trip first-class tickets into two yellow handkerchiefs. He had the tickets, why not use them? At least it would keep the crazies busy a little longer.
They were thumping on his office door. He opened the door and with a flourish of his holy robes ducked the knocking motion of one of the followers and strode out in the ashram. He thought it was a bit crowded today. That accounted for the extra strength of the chanting.
Was the cult growing? Ordinarily, when he presented the sacred rumal, there were, at most, seven kneeling before him. Today there were closer to fifteen. There were faces he didn't recognize. Older people. Younger people. He was happy he had thought to bring double handkerchiefs and double tickets. He spoke in the Gondi tongue as he normally did and told them that Kali was proud of them but that She was hungry for Her offerings.
But before he had a chance to tell them that this day he had brought twice the normal instruments for the offerings, two phansigars presented themselves for the rumals.
"She knew. She knew. She knew," chanted the followers.
Ban Sar Din only nodded knowingly. Then he got out of there fast.
Numbers 120, 121, 122.
The Walford family was taking its first vacation trip outside the country and they found that international travel was more problem than pleasure, at least when they needed help with the baggage. IMAA personnel were absolutely worthless, they thought. Fortunately, some decent young people were there not only to help them but also to give them a lift to Acapulco.
Number 123.
Deeter Jackson was the only man ever to be selected by the Grain Society of Troy, Ohio, to visit the Argentina Feed and Utility Show with all expenses paid. Of course, he didn't expect someone as lovely as the passenger next to him on the IMAA flight to be interested in that. But not only was that beautiful young woman interested, she said she wanted to visit Troy, Ohio. It had always held a fascination for her. Maybe Deeter could take some time and tell her all about it. In her hotel room in Argentina.
Number 124.
Mrs. Pruella Nascento thought that if IMAA charged so much for a first-class seat, the least they could do was coddle an egg properly.
"She's right," a passenger across the way told the stewardess. "I hope you don't mind my butting in. But I think that I just wouldn't want to fly again in an airplane where they can't even coddle an egg correctly."
Mrs. Pruella Nascento did not mind the passenger butting in. She was found dead along a roadside the next morning and the time of her death was fixed at one-half hour after she left the aircraft. The coroner could tell because the yolk of the egg had been only partially decomposed by her stomach acid.
Number 125.
Vincent Palmer Grout did not speak to strangers on airplanes, did not like to discuss his business, did not even politely answer inquiries about his opinion of the weather. There was always some kind of weather and Vincent Palmer Grout saw no need to discuss this fact with strangers.
Oh, well, somebody was willing to give him a lift into the city? Well, he would accept that, if the person did not presume to be too friendly.
When they asked if they could put a handkerchief around his throat, he said, "Absolutely not. Who knows where it's been?"
When they did so anyhow, he became enraged and he would have given them a piece of his mind, but he couldn't very well talk if he couldn't get air into his throat, could he?
Number 126.
Who said there still weren't nice young people in the world who cared about the elderly and were willing to help also?
Number 127.
"Are you from Dayton too? Really?"
Number 128.
"I collect watch chimes. Wife doesn't think anybody else in the world would be interested in watch chimes. Boy, will she be surprised."
Ban Sar Din was ecstatic. The rumals were coming back stuffed with money and jewels. Better airlines produced better passengers, and better passengers produced better corpses with fuller wallets. He still did not know what was in it for A. H. Baynes, but he knew what was in it for him. It was only the best restaurants from now on.
He ordered nylon-reinforced rumals and he insisted on a full four-color picture of Kali on each one. He even ordered two gross, just in case, and threw out the old cheap ones.
He had contractors set steel plates around his office, install double-bolt locks, and cut in that secret exit door to the alley, where he parked his new Porsche 9115C.
A newspaper reporter at a wire service got a telephone call late one night, just before he was ready to go home.
"I have got the greatest story of your career. How would you like to hear about multiple murders, ritual murders? Huh? Is that a news story?"
"Who's this?"
"Someone who wants to help."
"I can't just take information over the phone. Who are you?"