“I demand my constitutional rights!” Vito was standing firm.
“J. P.! You've got to do something about this!”
“Ouch!” Melanie grabbed her just-pinched derriere. “A man youah age!” she chastised one of the big businessmen. “Y’all should be ’shamed of youahself!”
“The Commissioner's going to hear about this!” J. P. was roaring.
“. . . what can happen to the best of plays in the hands of an incompetent Philistine of a director,” the author was complaining to the ingenue.
“I am not now and have never been a member of the Communist Party,” Quentin was assuring a policeman and a reporter.
“Terrific party, Carlotta,” a matronly looking woman was assuring her. “You always have the most fascinating people. Such diverse types, and they mix so well!”
“The nerve of that Lindsay with his civilian review board,” one of the cops was protesting to another indignantly as he jabbed his billy into Strom Huntley’s kidney. “What’s he think we are? buncha sadists or something?”
“. . . fine thing when a man goes to a business meeting and . . .”
“. . . all that damned director’s fault!" the ingenue insisted. “He told me to show a lot of bosom. How was I supposed to know it was too much?”
“My only regret is that I have such weak kidneys to give for the CIA! ” Strom Huntley said staunchly.
“Don’t miss that one there,” a reporter instructed one of the photographers. “He rings up a nickel every time a light gets switched on.”
“I’ll take it right to Katzenbach!” J. P. shouted.
“It seems, my boy, that you are quite a catalyst,” Professor Stynestein was commenting to Archie.
“Lester, more champagne!” Carlotta called.
“Wait a minute!” the inspector climbed on a chair and bellowed. “Hold everything! Now, all you people quiet down! ”
At the voice of authority, the hubbub subsided.
“Now, the only important thing is that this young fellow here is under arrest on suspicion of committing murder,” the inspector announced, pointing at Archie. "Now then, young fellow, do you wish to make a statement?”
“Yes,” Archie replied formally. “I wish to make a statement.”
“And what is that statement?”
“Simply this.” Archie held his chin high. “I have to go to the bathroom!”
“Very practical under the circumstances,” Professor Stynestein murmured sotto voce.
“It’s his constitutional right,” Vito agreed.
"All right! All right!” the inspector signaled to one of the policemen. “Take him to the bathroom,” he instructed.
“That’s really not necessary,” Carlotta protested. “He’s been toilet-trained since he was a year old. Not that we forced him, you understand, but—”
“Lady, I believe you!” the inspector interrupted. “I think I must be losing my mind,” he added to himself. “But he’s under arrest for murder and he’s got to be guarded,” he explained. “Go on, Flannery, take him to the john.”
The cop named Flannery took Archie by the arm and led him from the room. “Where is it?” he asked. Archie showed him.
“Wow!” the cop exclaimed as he closed the bathroom door behind them. “This is about the plushest can I ever seen.”
“Yeah,” Archie agreed. “Italian marble. It was sculpted in Florence and flown here piece by piece to be assembled under the supervision of the Japanese architect who designed it.”
“What's that gizmo?” the cop pointed.
“A special, electrically powered, custom-made bidet-like toilet imported from France,” Archie told him.
“Well, I'll be damned! How does it work?”
“These jets here eject warm water to cleanse the user.” Archie pressed a button and demonstrated. “Then these jets eject warm air for drying.” He pressed another button.
“What’s that there for? ” Flannery pointed to a third button.
“That's an alternate, in case the user’s in a rush.” Archie pushed it. “See, it’s a brush with a disposable felt surface for quick wiping.”
“You mean there are people who are too lazy to wipe their own-—?”
“As old F. Scott Jazzage put it,” Archie reminded him, “ ‘the very rich are different from you and I.’ And as somebody else—I forget who—-said, ‘With the rich and mighty, always a little patience.’ ”
“And what’s that? ” Flannery pointed to a switch which was set apart from the other buttons.
“Strictly for female use,” Archie told him. “It sets in motion a small grappling mechanism for extracting sanitary tampons.”
“Oh.” Flannery blushed. “Well, I guess you'd better-—-"
“Yeah. I guess I had.” Archie stared at him quizzically.
“I gotta stay here with you. Sorry,” Flannery apologized.
“Oh, all right.” Archie quickly concluded his business and flushed the toilet. “Want to try it?” he suggested to Flannery.
“Gee, I really shouldn’t. I mean, I'm supposed to be guarding you.”
“Oh, go on. You’ll probably never have another chance. Even a cop should have a little luxury in his life some time or other.”
“Okay.” Flannery took out his gun and pointed it at Archie apologetically as he lowered his pants and seated himself. “Can’t afford to take any chances," he explained. “The inspector would skin me alive if I let you get away.”
“Perfectly all right,” Archie assured him. “I understand. . . . How do you like it?”
“This is really living,” Flannery enthused. “Say, what kind of fur is this seat covered with, anyway?”
“Sable.”
“No kidding?” The cop chuckled. “Now ain’t that something?”
Archie grinned back, casually stretched, and as he lowered his hand flicked the fourth of the switches about which Flannery had inquired. Silently, the extraction mechanism activated itself. It took a few seconds for it to affect Flannery.
The perils of automation, Archie thought to himself as the policeman screamed. Flannery’s feet shot out from under him and straight up in the air as the unthinking gizmo failed to distinguish between the target for which it had been created and the one which was available. His arms also shot up as he was pulled downward and forward. As the hand holding the gun flailed helplessly, Archie delivered an up-from-under karate chop to Flannery’s wrist. The gun went spinning as Archie’s other hand came down hard and hit smack on the nerve target of Flannery’s neck. As the mechanism released its excruciating hold and retreated back into its socket, the cop pitched forward on his face, unconscious.
Archie quickly clambered over him and pulled himself up to the high, small window set in the bathroom wall. He extended his arms straight out and wriggled through the window headfirst, scraping quite a bit of skin from his shoulders and hips in the process. A less lanky boy might not have been able to manage it, might have gotten stuck halfway through. But Archie pulled through, and a moment later he tumbled headfirst into the evergreen bushes ringing the side of the town house.
He huddled there a moment, getting his breath back and casing the situation. He could see half a dozen police cars pulled up at the curb on the side street. There were three or four policemen stationed on this side of the house as well.
It was a predicament. Flannery might come to any minute and sound the alarm. If Archie simply tried walking past the cops, they'd be sure to stop him and ask questions. And the odds were against his sneaking past, or making a successful run for it.
As Archie considered this dilemma, luck took a hand and its solution rolled up on four double-tired wheels. It was the truck of a private garbage-disposal company, and Archie watched as the driver climbed down from the cab and explained to the cop in charge that they’d been hired to dispose of the refuse from the Jones party. The cop gave his approval and the driver led three other men around to the side of the house were Archie was hiding.