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"Uh, one two eight South Canal," Lafayette repeated dully. "I never heard of it. But I'll try to get there ASAP."

"South Canal?" Mickey Jo repeated in a dismayed tone. "You sure you don't mean East Canal? And whatdaya mean, you never heard of it? It was you mentioned it. All I said was—"

"I know," Lafayette said quickly. "I was just sort of thinking aloud, only I wasn't thinking. I mean—"

"Skip it, Laugh." Mickey Jo patted O'Leary's hand with a hard little palm. "We don't want to go and get you all mixed up again. Let's just go chow down." She rose quickly, and Lafayette was again impressed by her neat little body. He got to his feet and glanced toward Special Ed, busy behind the bar.

"What about the, uh ... tab?" O'Leary muttered.

"Don't kid me, Laugh," the girl said, tugging at his arm. "I know all you guys got unlimited expense accounts. So does Ed; know, I mean." She pulled at Lafayette's arm; he followed, and in a moment they were outside in chill evening air, on a gritty sidewalk beside a pitch-black street. The moonlight glowed pinkish-white on the upper stories of the facades opposite.

"Just a minute, Mickey Jo," O'Leary said, hesitating before starting across. "You seem to know more about things than I do. Do you know where the gray room is? I have to find it; that's where Frumpkin hangs out, and he seems to be holding Daphne there, and—"

"Who's this Frumpkin?" the girl cut in. "I don't know anything about the Gray Room—lousy name for a restaurant; let's go to the Schnitzel Haus over on Central."

"It's not a restaurant: this is serious," Lafayette corrected.

"If it's so serious, why don't you just go over there and break it up?" Mickey Jo asked reasonably. "After all, it's your wife with the guy."

"It's not like that. And anyway, I don't know where it is."

"Then, how do you know they're shacked up there?" the girl wanted to know.

"I saw them—lots of times—only it's not what you're implying. He's holding her there against her will."

"If you saw the place, you oughta remember where it's at," Mickey Jo stated with finality.

"Where it is," Lafayette corrected automatically. "I have no idea where it is, otherwise I'd get there as fast as I could. Poor little Daph ..."

"What's he got, chains on her, ropes, kinky stuff like that?" Mickey Jo demanded.

"Why, no, she's wearing a simple white dinner gown, very elegant."

"Then what makes you say he's holding her there? Maybe she likes a fellow provides her with elegant dinner gowns."

"You don't get it at all," Lafayette complained. "Who do you work for? Who do you think I am?"

"My immediate chief is Mel Grunge," Mickey Jo said, "if it's any of your business. He's assistant chief, Information Services—pretty big shot. And I think you're a poor boob named Laugh, which your marbles is a little scrambled—which don't mean we can't put on the feed bag together. Maybe we'll run into Daphne and her boyfriend." She tugged at Lafayette's arm.

He resisted. "It's not like that!" he objected. "He's not her boyfriend!"

Mickey Jo looked at him sympathetically. "They say the husband is always the last to know," she murmured. "But, what the hell, two can play at the game. I'll try and keep yer mind off the whole thing."

"Try to keep my mind off," O'Leary corrected tonelessly.

"That's'what I said. Come on."

"Wait," Lafayette objected. "Do you know where the Y is ? And what time is it?"

"You want the YM or the YW? The C or the J? The YMCA's about two blocks north, and it's six-thirty. Why?"

"She said 'Seven p.m. at the Y', Lafayette told her.

"Oh. 'She', huh? I got a idea you don't mean this Daphne dame—I mean Mrs. Laugh."

"No. Docter Smith. She's rather severe-looking, but not bad. But that has nothing to do with it."

"So, you already got a date, Laugh? Whyn't you say so? Hey, did you want them pictures you had? You left 'em on the table. You're a deeper one than you look, I guess, Laugh. Well, it was nice knowing ya, kid. So long. Mickey Jo Obtulicz ain't a gal to break up nothing you got going. Good luck, and thanks for the beer."

"Wait! I haven't asked you—" Lafayette started.

"I know," the girl cut him off. "But it's A-OK, Laugh. I din't mean to butt in on nothing."

There was a scrape of shoe-leather from the darkness ahead; then a vague form took shape, moving directly toward them. Mickey Jo yelped in alarm and clutched O'Leary's arm.

"It's cool, lady," a blurry voice came from the darkness. "How's it, Sir Al? Glad to see ya, an' all, you bet." Then the mysterious figure was directly in front of O'Leary.

"It's me, Marv, your old pal," Marv said. "Doncha know me, Al? After all we been through." Marv's calloused hands clutched at O'Leary as if afraid of losing him. Lafayette disengaged gently and turned to the girl.

"Nothing to fear, Mickey Jo," he said. "This is my friend Marv I told you about."

"Al, where you been? How'd you get here?" Marv moaned. "When you done that neat sneak, right troo the wall an all, I thought our troubles was over. But you never came back, and old Cease come inta the cell to work me over and left the door open, so I clobbered him good and took off. Only some guys said they was some kind o' Feds grab me and quiz me plenty. I got lots to tell you—"

"Later, Marv," O'Leary said soothingly. "I'm sorry about ducking out on you, but I got lost—I'm still lost. This place seems a lot like Colby Corners, so maybe we're closer to home than I thought."

"Al!" Marv cut in. "You mean you don't know? You poor guy, you got a awful shock coming."

"Don't know what?" Lafayette asked, absent-mindedly encircling Mickey Jo's slim waist and hugging her gently.

"C'mere," Marv said soberly, tugging at O'Leary's arm. He followed as Marv led him off a few steps to the intersection, where the pink moonlight gleamed across the worn brick street unimpeded. His face pale in the wan light, Marv looked at O'Leary earnestly. "Now, easy, paclass="underline" Just turn slow and look up."

O'Leary complied, squeezing Mickey Jo's hand, which somehow he still held. She returned the pressure. Glancing up casually, Lafayette allowed his gaze to drift to the bright orb of the full moon. He gasped, tried to speak, but uttered only a croak.

"My God!" he managed at last. "Mickey Jo, look at it! Look at the moon!"

"Sure, I see it, Laugh. Purty. Romantic-like. But you got a late date, remember?"

"Romantic my eye!" Lafayette yelled. "It's falling! Ye Gods, look at it! You can see every crater—it can't be more than a hundred thousand miles away! Doesn't anybody care? Isn't anybody doing anything about it?" As he spoke, he was hastily measuring it with his thumbnail held at arm's length. Nearly a full degree, he decided.

"Easy, Al," Marv said. "It ain't exactly fallin; it's already fell. I mean she's spiraling in real slow, about half a mile a year, they say, and pretty soon it'll hit Roche's Limit and then we'll see some fireworks!"

"But it can't, Marv!" Lafayette protested. "That's the moon! It's been gradually receding for five billion years; it can't just turn around and start coming in!"

"I guess it can if it gets a big enough push from a near-miss by a hundred-mile planetoid. Happened back in the Cretaceous, they say; had something to do with killing off a lot o' big critters they call deenersoors or like that. Not to worry: we still got another fifty thousand years, about, before she breaks up; and then look out."

"Do you realize what this means?" O'Leary groaned. "We're in a totally different manifold of loci from Artesia and all the old familiar places! I'll never get back! I'll never find Daphne!"