Surreal continuing story: walking through doors and passageways

[NDP]

“Is _____ your name?” Ms. Thallwood begins.

“Yes,” I answer.

“For how long?” she continues.

“Since I was born,” I answer.

"And when was that?

“On _____ , 19_.”

Thallwood pauses for a few minutes as she apparently tries to figure out what to ask me next.

“Ms. Thallwood, do you have any further questions for Mr. _____?” inquires Judge Cantrell.

“Uhh … yes,” she quietly answers. “Yes, I … do.”

A few seconds go by. I see Judge Cantrell is growing visibly impatient. Eventually, Thallwood comes up with another question.

“Mr. ____,” she starts. “When was the first time you heard about Mr. Lemoyne?”

“About __ weeks ago, Alice Terwilliger and I found some treadles on the property of her parent’s house,” I answer. “With the treadles was a nameplate from Mr. Lemoyne’s company. Alice then told me about how Lemoyne had been trying to pressure her family into selling him the property.”

“And when was the first time you saw him?”

“I saw him trespassing onto the Terwilliger’s back yard on the evening of ____ _, 200.”

“How did you know it was Lemoyne?”

“Alice told me it was.”

“She was with you?”

“Yes.”

“And where were both of you at the time?”

“We were looking out of Alice’s bedroom window.”

“Is this a clear paned window or is there a screen on it?”

“There’s a screen on it.”

“And you said it was night?”

“Yes.”

“Does the back yard have any outdoor lighting?”

“There’s a porch light. I remember that was on at the time.”

“Does it light up the whole back yard?”

“No.”

“Did it luminate the area of the back yard where you saw Lemoyne?”

“Somewhat–it’s not total pitch darkness.”

“Could you make out Lemoyne’s features at the time?”

“Well, he seemed to be kind of an older man. He was also wearing dark clothes.”

“Do you remember anything about what his face looked like at the time?”

“Just that he seemed a bit old.”

“But Ms. Terwilliger was the one who identified him?”

“Yes.”

“So you relied on what she said?”

“Yes.”

Thallwood goes back to her table, picks up some photographs, and hands them to me, Judge Cantrell, and the prosecution. It’s a picture of Gwen seated on a piano bench with her back turned to the piano.

“Do you know the woman in this photograph?” she asks.

“Yes,” I answer.

“What is her name?” Ms. Thallwood continues.

“Gwen Berry,” I say.

“Who is she?”

“She’s a friend of Alice’s.”

“Do you know what she does?”

“Until recently, she was a clerk at R. Kane Books.”

“Is she also a singer?”

“Yes, she used to be in a group with Alice. In fact, Gwen, Alice, and the rest of their group will be getting back together to perform again soon.”

“Does Gwen know Lemoyne?”

I pause. I don’t know whether I should mention everything I know about how Alice and I got Gwen to spy on Lemoyne for us.

"Yes, " I answer.

“Okay,” she states. “Oh … who is the woman in this photo again?”

“Gwen Berry,” I say feeling somewhat bothered by such a dumb question.

“You’re sure of that?”

“Yes.”

“Your honor, I’d like to submit this photograpy as an exhibit,” she says to Judge Cantrell.

“Exhibit admitted,” Judge Cantrell replies. “This exhibit will be identified and labelled as D-1.”

For a few minutes, questioning stops so we can put I.D. stickers on the copies of the photo.

Thallwood resumes by asking…

[dougie_monty]

“And are you attending ______ University?”
“Yes.”
“What is your major?”
“Law.”
This gives Ms. Thallwood, and Mr. Gingerich, the jitters. I happen to notice the merest trace of approval from the judge.
“Did you recently have mail sent to you at your dormitory that you considered suspicious?”
“Yes, I did.”
Ms. Desmond notes that the post office’s report has been entered into evidence, alond with an incident report submitted by the college police and attested to by Bob Long.
“Did you witness a murder on the campus at that time?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Did you see any kind of assault at this time?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Did you see any evidence of assault?”
“Yes, I did. I saw a man named Howard Albert with a sword in his chest.”
Ms. Desmond again refers to the police report.
Ms. Thallwood continues: “What did you do after you were permitted to walk around on the third floor of the dormitory building?”
“I went into my own dorm room.”
“What did you do in there?”
“I called Alice.”
“Did you have intimate relations with Alice?”
Alice and I glower at Erika. Professor Fields speaks up. “Your Honor, I will recommend an objection to that question as irrelevant.”
“Objection sustained, Mr. Fields,” says Judge Cantrell, as he glares angrily at Erika. “Ms. Thallwood, please stick to the matter at hand.”
Erika sighs. “No further questions.”
Judge Cantrell asks Mr. Gingerich: “Do you wish to question the witness?”
“Uh–no, Sir.”
The judge, annoyed with defendant’s counsel, says, “Witness is excused. Mr. _____, you are not to discuss the matter for which you have been deposed with anyone except the parties to this case.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I say, and step down.
The judge adjourns the deposition session for lunch.
Alice and I, along with Professor Fields, Mr. Bartholomew, and the prosecutors, go to the lunchroom in the court building. Salbert, in a suit although still bearded and gruff, meets us there, politely greets the others, and speaks to Alice, Professor Fields, and me, privately. He sounds happy.
He shows us a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle, and specifically an article he insists we look at. “This may be a vital matter.”
The article:
EQUIPMENT MANUFACTURER INVESTIGATED
Frazier-Pace Manufacturing of Livermore has been indicted by the State Attorney General’s office for alleged manufacture of faulty refrigeration equipment.
The investigation was ordered following a series of tragic and suspicious incidents at various refrigeration and air-conditioning concerns in central California…
At Atwood Industries, in 1992, a faulty tank, apparently manufactured by Frazier-Pace, exploded, killing a man named Alexander Z. Lemoyne, son of builder Victor Lemoyne of Lodi. According to onlookers, the young Lemoyne faced plant supervisor, English-born Paul Terwilliger, and spoke just before he froze to death, saying “I lay my eternal curse on you…”
We read that and sigh… :rolleyes:
I ask Mr. Bartholomew, “Do they get this paper in the facility where Lemoyne is detained?”
“They certainly do. He’s in a detention room in this building.” This gets an unhappy reaction from Alice and me, but the lawyer assures us we won’t see Lemoyne on this trip. "In fact one of the routine things that was found in the search of Lemoyne’s house in Piedmont was his subscription form for the Chronicle.
Alice comments, “And for ten years Lemoyne thought my Dad was responsible for his son’s death…” This is an overwhelming thought and Alice almost passes out at the table. Salbert and I help her pull herself together. She takes some deep breaths and gets back to normal.
The lunch hour ends. We return to the judge’s chamber and Messrs. Bartholomew and Fields present their amicus curiae brief; then Mr. Winthrop and Ms. Desmond approach to continue with the deposing; now it’s Alice’s turn. She is duly sworn in and Mr. Winthrop begins the questioning.

[NDP]

“What is your name?” Winthrop asks.

“Alice Penelope Terwilliger,” she answers.

“When were you born?”

“___ of _______, 19.”

“And where?”

“London, England.”

“Where do you live now?”

“________, ___________, U.S.A. on the campus of _________ University in Hansey Hall. Although I do spend a lot of time at my parents’ house which is in the same city.”

“So you are a student?”

“Yes–a graduate student to be exact. I’m trying to earn a Ph.D. in English Literature.”

“You said you were born in 19___. That would make you about ___. I’m guessing you took some time off between your B.A. and when you started grad school. Is this correct?”

“Yes. I attended Cambridge University in England as an undergraduate. I earned my degree there when I was 19.”

“19?”

“Yes. I started there when I was 15.”

“That’s impressive Ms. Terwilliger. I take it you were a bit of prodigy.”

“Yes–if you want to put it that way. I’m not really comfortable boasting about it.”

“No need to be modest Ms. Terwilliger. Now, what did you do between the time you graduated from Cambridge and when you started grad school?”

“I did some work for the British government. I started as an intern and eventually got a job researching and gathering information. I have a lot of family members who’ve worked for the British government so it’s kind of a tradition with us.”

“Okay, let’s get back to your background later. How long have you known Mr. Lemoyne?”

“Well my family has known him for some time. I recall my father mentioning him while I was growing up. It seems as though he’s had eyes on my parents property in ________ for some time.”

“Did your family have any other connection with Lemoyne?”

"Yes. For a time, my father employed Mr. Lemoyne’s son, Alexander, at a plant that manufactured refrigeration equipment. Unfortunately-

Alice’s voice trails off. This is a subject she’s uncomfortable with.

“What happened with Alexander Lemoyne?” Winthrop inquires.

Alice says, "What happened was…

[dougie_monty]

“A tank of Freon ruptured, according to the company’s incident report.”
“Did your father tell you about this?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Your Honor,” says Mr. Winthrop to the judge, “I’d like to submit this incident report prepared by Atwood Industries on May 3, 1992, concerning the accident. Proceed, Ms. Terwilliger.”
“Alexander Lemoyne was a technician there. He took the full force of the expelled Freon. He was stunned but he didn’t react right away. Before he died–“Alice’s voice breaks a little here–“he looked at my Dad and said, ‘I lay my eternal curse on you.’”
“Those were his words?”
Yes.”
Mr. Gingerich stands up and says, “Your Honor, we’ll press an objection. Ms. Terwilliger’s statements about this incident are hearsay.”
Judge Cantrell sighs. “Mr. Gingerich, this is all covered in the company’s report. Objection overruled.”
Mr. Winthrop then presents a copy of the death report on Alexander Lemoyne.
Now Ms. Desmond speaks. “Ms. Terwilliger, did you handle any written contact from Victor Lemoyne?”
“Yes, I did, once.”
“Tell us about it.”
“At R. Kane Books near the college. Gwen Berry handed me an envelope.”
“Did you know that envelope had been sent to you by Victor Lemoyne?”
“Not offhand.”
Ms. Desmond says, “Your Honor, I’d like to mark this police report concerning Ms. Terwilliger’s treatment at the scene as P-3, and her hospital report as P-4.” (The envelope Gwen handed Alice was P-1 and the package I got at the dorm was P-2.)
Ms. Thallwood says, “Your Honor, we will stipulate as to the contents of those reports.”
The judge, Mr. Winthrop, Ms. Desmond, Alice, Profesor Fields, Mr. Bartholomew, and I look at her in surprise. Lemoyne’s fingerprints had been found on the envelope and the hospital report included the physician’s diagnosis of Alice’s condition as consistent with parathion poisoning. Mr. Gingerich doesn’t react.
“Are you sure you want to stipulate to that?” the judge asks.
“Yes, sir.” Apparently everyone else in the chambers shrugs mentally. :rolleyes:
The judge says, “You may continue, Ms. Desmond.”
“No further questions, Your Honor,” she says. “Your witness,” she says to Ms. Thallwood, still distracted.
“Ms. Terwilliger, were you present when Mr. _______ found a package, alluded to in these proceedings, near the door to his dormitory room?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“He testified he telephoned you from the room. What did he say?”
Alice, still glum, says, “He said, ‘Alice honey, I need you…please come…pick me up.’”
“Did he sound happy?”
“No, not at all.”
“Did you have intimate relations with him at that time?” Alice and I glare at her.
The judge has had enough of this. “Ms. Thallwood, I have told you several times to stick to the matter at hand! If you ask an irrelevant question like that one more time I will hold you in contempt of this court!”
Erika backs down. “I withdraw the question, Your Honor. No further questions.”
The judge says, “Mr. Gingerich, do you intend to question this witness?”
Mr. Gingerich isn’t paying attention.
“Did you hear me?!”
He snaps out of it. “Yes, I did, Your Honor. No questions.”
The judge sighs and says, “Witness is excused. Ms. Terwilliger, you are not to discuss your testimony with anyone other than the parties to this case.”
Alice and I, and Professor Fields and Mr. Bartholomew, file out of the chambers. We return to the cafeteria, where Salbert, still in full beard and suit, waits. We all sit at the same table. Alice has been feeling glum since she started her testimony and I sit next to her, my left hand clasping her right. She explains that, while she was not a friend of Alexander Lemoyne, he had seemed like a fairly decent person–more so than his father. In fact nobody was happy about that fatality.
“What happens next?” I ask Professor Fields.
“Well, in the next few days they will take statements from Lemoyne, Gwen, Bob Long, those campus cops, and the clerks at the post office, and some other people.”
“Will they want my Dad to give a statement?” Alice asks.
“I don’t know. He hasn’t received a subpoena, has he?”
“Not that I know of.”
“And then they’ll conduct the arraignment,” the professor cointinues. “It may be a few weeks before you would be called to testify at the actual trial. Sometimes the sworn depositions will suffice. Judge Cantrell will do that on rare occasions; he knows the accused has a right to see those testifying against him.”
“Still, I can’t help but wonder about Lemoyne and his lawyers,” I comment. “He left his fingerprints on those things he sent Alice and me, and his lawyers don’t seem to have a clue. At least we didn’t have to face that Paul Newsome.”
“And you won’t, apparently,” says Mr. Bartholomew. “According to the Daily Journal he has been suspended by the State Bar, pending an investigation, because of the situation with Judge Shagnasty and Jerome Goldberg.”
“It was bad enough Erika kept trying to bring sexual matters into the testimony,” adds Alice. I’m glad the judge rebuked her.”
“Well,” answers Fields, “now they can’t bring that issue up, in the remaining depositions or the trial.”
We all leave. Just before we leave the table I glance at a fancy gold ring on Mr. Bartholomew’s left hand–with “DXM” engraved on it. Isn’t that interesting. and George Galloway had told me the attorney’s name was Edmond Spencer Bartholomew–so that ring doesn’t have his initials. Well, well, well. I tell Alice about this.
We get down to the parking lot and the lawyers get in their cars, and leave. Alice and I start up, for the long drive back home.
Alice drives. The car is a nearly new powder-blue Volkswagen “Beetle.” We have luggage in the trunk and stuff on the rear seat, including a small case with my Magnum, Arthur’s shotgun, and the samurai sword.

---

Alice and I have almost returned to her parents’ property. We’ve been discussing the matter at length, along with contacts with Fred, Buster, and Salbert, who said he’d make his own way back–I don’t doubt it.
Alice has switched the radio off. I notice an interesting monogram on the dashboard near the clock.
Then I hear a voice, in a New York accent like Fran Drescher’s, coming from the radio speakers, saying, “Alice, can I have some oil? I’m getting a little low.”
This startles me. “Who said that?”
“I did. This is the car speaking, duhhh…”
I say, "Alice, you’re going to have to explain this one to me. I’ve met your talking cat. And now you have a talking car? Shades of Knight Rider!"
“Thanks a lot!” the slightly impudent New York voice snaps.
Alice, with a happy smile, pulls into a service-station lot and parks, and asks me to get the 20W50 oil the car uses. I add it in the engine; we pull the car over to a space away from the pumps and the building, and Alice explains to me about the car, which she addresses as Car, being able to speak.

[NDP]

“A few days ago, a friend of mine installed an experimental advanced computer with a voice feature to the car,” she says. “It monitors what’s going on with the car and tells me if anything’s wrong or needs to be done. And, most important, it does quick internet reseach and relays messages.”

“Why the Fran Drescher voice?” I ask.

“It’s one of many I can use,” Alice continues. “There are about 50 different voices this car can speak in. So, if I want, I can reprogram it to speak another way.”

“Can it drive itself?”

“Not yet. But who knows? Maybe that will be a feature on the upgrades.”

As she says this, I look around the dashboard for any new buttons, dials, or screens, I don’t see any.

“Who’s the friend who installed the car computer?” I ask.

"It was…

[dougie_monty]

“Jill McMillan. Remember her? She was a friend of mine from the college library. Already got a B. A.–summa cum laude, and a Master’s. She’s working on a doctorate in computer technology.”
Summa cum laude? I think. Well…I probably wouldn’t recognize Ms. McMillan if I met her, but I know some of the honor students at the college are young women who are positive knockouts–with beautiful personalities as well. Maybe Jill is one of these.

---

Back at the Terwilligers’ we discuss what has happened. Buster saunters into the den. He comments that, given Lemoyne’s, Erika’s, and Larkin’s blunders, and the fact that Newsome is out of the running, the “game is iced,” as they would say in sports talk.
“But remember,” he adds, “Mr. Galloway made a good point and so did Fred. It’s the old adage—‘Trust in God and keep your powder dry.’”
We tell Buster his point is well taken.
Now our visitors have returned–Gwen, Amy, and Lena; The Cigar Band; and Jane, Louise, and Sally. Also, the insurance adjuster Harriet McKenna has returned to finalize the claim Paul made for the damage the kumquat caused to the roof and Alice’s bedroom. And again I note how Lena seems attracted to this prim, businesslike woman. I have not asked Alice about Lena’s personal situation–all I still know is that Lena played the drums for Prester John’s Aunt, and now teaches school in Las Vegas. Jeanette hasn’t relented–she continues to try flirting with me, which annoys Alice and me to a limited degree…:rolleyes:
Anyway, Jane first sets up her steel guitar in the den and plays Patsy Cline’s hit “I Fall to Pieces.” She sounds very much like the late Ms. Cline–except that her voice is a major fifth lower.
Then Jane, Sally, Jeanette, and Amy set up to sing some quartet music, including a barbershop-quartet song sung by the crew of Station 51 on Emergency!: “Goodbye, My Coney Island Baby.” Jane is wearing a white tank top and heavy blue jeans; Sally is similarly dressed; Jeanette has on a tight blue pullover and red jeans; Amy is wearing a white dress that looks much like a nurse’s uniform. Except for Jeanette, the women are wearing industrial-strength bras. With Jeanette, it shows, even when they aren’t moving around for any reason. I just wonder what impression they will give when they perform, wearing, as Jane says they plan to, long white gowns.
While they practice one lively quartet number Arthur and Daniel come into the den and see them. Daniel comments impudently…

[NDP]

“Sounds like a reunion of Lilithfest '97–1897.”

I want to say something about how a guy who collects and meticulously cares for garden gnomes shouldn’t make snide comments about someone else’s apparent lack of hipness, but tact gets the better of me.

Unfortunately, Daniel has more wiseass remarks to make…

[dougie_monty]

…involving the physical endowments of Jane, Sally, Amy, and especially the braless Jeanette.
“Quartet? Looks like an oc-tet to me! …:D…”
The four women stop their a cappella practice and turn the air blue cursing at Daniel for his chauvinistic remark. Jane, whose husband Joe is an ex-Marine, and Jeanette, an experienced traveling performer, especially, make remarks about Daniel that could curl his hair, until Paul comes into the room and quells the ruckus and reprimands his 34-year-old son, who should really know better. I don’t say anything and neither does Alice. Daniel takes the hint and leaves; the quartet resumes the practice. Alice and I excuse ourselves and go into her bedroom down the hall.
“I’m really disappointed in his attitude toward visitors–he’s met Amy so many times, and you’d think he’d be more courteous toward an older woman like Jane, who is so nice.”
I commiserate. “I’ve known Jane and Sally for a while, of course. I respect Jane and her family too much to make a remark like that; and I don’t even bother questioning Jeanette’s behavior.”
Then Buster comes into the room. In case he has something to tell us, I quietly close the door.
“Those women are still practicing,” he says. “It looks like Daniel took Paul’s hint. He went to his own room to stay close to Hermione; she goes on night duty later.”
I suggest Daniel had it coming. “Okay, so he doesn’t care for women who sing in a low voice. Did he have to make a snide remark about their bosoms?”
“Hey, you’re the one Jeanette was flirting with,” Buster points out.
“Yeah, I know,” I answer.
Now I want to discuss something with Alice that’s more serious and personal.
“Alice…do you have any more information about that ‘Astor’ column in Oregon, and the ‘23’ thread running through these events? I regret I haven’t paid as much attention as I should have…”
Buster suddenly excuses himself. “I’ll get back to you later; I’d like to go pester Eda for lunch now.” He goes out into the hallway, and deliberately catches a claw on the door to close it behind him. Then I can hear him meowing in the distance; he’s gone into the kitchen.
Then Alice and I, sitting on her bed, realize that while discussing things we have almost completely undressed each other! :eek:
“No wonder Buster left,” Alice comments, sitting right up against me, in only her panties. “And he waved his tail in the direction of my Portishead CD just before he went into the hallway.”
I have only my boxer shorts on as I go to the CD and set it on the player, but wait for Alice to tell me to start it. I go back to the bed to sit down again. Now she has slipped the panties off, and sits on my lap.
So now she goes into a detailed answer to my serious question…and it looks like she’s just about to remove her glasses…even as she speaks so eloquently, I see her pupils expanding, and her cheeks reddening; I glance at the inside of her right wrist and can see the pulse point, telling me her heartbeat is quickening. Despite her obvious passion, she remains articulate as she spells the matter of “23” and “Astor” out to me:

[NDP]

“Fred called me right after we got back,” she states. “He did some more research on the Astoria Column and has a theory on how it ties into the numbers written on the Lemoyne paper.”

As she says this, she lets down her long auburn brown hair which tumbles all the way down her back. I begin nuzzling her neck all the while listening closely to what she says.

“There are about 164 steps leading to the top of the Astoria Column,” Alice continues as she moves her hands over my chest. “Lemoyne ‘bought’ seven of them as part of restoration fund-drive. There are also seven successive multiples of 23 listed on the sheet of paper of which the highest number being 151–the last multiple of 23 before 164.”

She then giggles.

“That’s it,” I say. “Build my confidence.”

“No, I wasn’t laughing at what you think I was laughing at,” she explains. “You just kind of tickled me a bit around my wings.”

“Well … okay,” I say with a smile. “Continue with Fred’s theory about the column and the numbers.”

“Anyway, Fred thinks the numbers on the sheet correspond to the numbers of the steps in the column that Lemoyne ‘bought.’” she says. “As you might remember, Lemoyne and some of his flunkies hung around the column while it was being restored in 1995. Then, there was that incident where somebody broke into the column after hours, did something, and left. Lemoyne et al., was picked up not far from the scene of the crime and even though he was never charged with anything, he suddenly stopped hanging around the column after that.”

“So Fred thinks the numbers on the paper are the numbers of the steps in column Lemoyne ‘owned?’” I ask Alice to make sure I understand. “And that he might’ve done something with those steps while the column was being restored?”

“That’s pretty much it,” she whispers as she begins to passionately kiss my face.

“What did he do with those steps?” I murmur.

“We still don’t know yet,” Alice breathlessly says. “He could’ve buried something in the concrete, … left some strange, arcane markings, … it could be anything.”

“I think we should try to find out more,” I quietly say. “But let’s take care of some other things first.”

And we do until…

[dougie_monty]

…we climax, and decide we’ve had enough fun for a while. As usual, we thank each other for the encounter and stay embraced for a little while. I’m delighted with how Alice has let her hair grow longer and I stroke it for a little while.
Then we go wash up and get dressed, and go make lunch; we make sandwiches and heat a large bowl of soup, and pour lemonade for each other. Hermione, now in uniform and going on duty soon, joins us.
“Alice, Gwen said they’ll be wanting you to join the jam session in the den soon.”
“Thanks, Hermione,” Alice says.
Alice’s sister-in-law is a tall, willowy blonde with a whimsical manner about her that she only sheds when doing police work. She has her service revolver with her, and all the other trappings; still she’s quite a beauty. I think Daniel was really lucky to find her–as I was Alice.
She asks me, “Do you know that Jeanette Strong was coming on to you?”
“Yes, I do,” I say. “I used to date her–”
“Oh, she told me,” Hermione says. “She knows you didn’t like her brother Nate interfering, and her cigars. But Nate has mellowed in all this time and she doesn’t light up as much as she used to.”
I firmly grip Alice’s hand. “Do you mean I should respond in kind?”
“Oh, no…I just mean you shouldn’t consider her an outcast…just deal with her the same as you do with the others.”
I decide not to take Hermione’s bait–if that’s what it is–and simply nod. :rolleyes:
She continues. “And I noticed your friend Lena Martinez when that insurance lady was here, Alice.”
Alice asks, “What do you mean?”
Hermione says, “Well…”

[NDP]

let me put it this way: is she fond of the Indigo Girls?"

“I remember she used to listen them quite a bit in college,” Alice answers. “In fact, on our club dates, we covered a couple of their songs.”

“Well, there you go,” Hermione states.

“‘There I go?’” Alice repeats.

“Of course, not that there’s anything wrong with it,” Hermione adds.

Suddenly, Alice and Hermione are repeating dialogue from “Seinfeld” episodes. I feel the need to step in.

“Alice,” I say. “What I think Hermione is trying to suggest is that Lena prefers the company of women to men.”

“You mean you think Lena is a lesbian,” Alice says to Hermione.

“Well, I don’t want to assume anything,” Hermione responds somewhat backing off in tone.

“She is,” Alice states. “I’ve known it for years. Her family’s known it for years. My parents have known it for years. Even Daniel’s known it for years.”

“Oh yeah,” Daniel says after poking his head into the room. “It was bleedin’ obvious the first time I met her.”

“That’s because he tried hitting on her and got shot out of the saddle,” Alice says to Hermione. “By the way, this was obviously before he met you.”

“And I was pretty drunk at the time,” Daniel adds. “In fact, I think I might’ve later honked on her shoes. Of course I’m not sure because most of the rest of that night is pretty fuzzy to me”

“Yes, you did,” Alice states. “But don’t worry–that didn’t turn Lena gay.”

“That’s a relief,” Daniel says. “For a moment, I was afraid there was something about me that repulsed women.”

To that, Hermione says…

[dougie_monty]

“So far as I know, the only reason I can think of is your impudence.” Hermione does not often speak so sternly unless it’s to someone she is arresting. Daniel is accustomed to her talking turkey to him, and he backs down.
Trying to defuse the situation, I simply comment, “Well, if Lena just looks at Ms. McKenna, as she seems to be doing, it’s probably nothing to be anxious about. Probably everyone has thoughts that cross their mind but don’t make any stops.”

“And then there’s Jeanette,” says Hermione. “I’ve been to performances of The Cigar Band myself. If she weren’t a strapping six-footer I doubt she could get away with the way she dresses. With her size and deep voice I bet a lot of men in the audience think she’s a man in drag.”
I’m glad to have quashed the possible argument between Daniel and Hermione.

“And Jeanette seems to be attracted to you, ______.”
As Hermione says this I edge slightly closer to Alice. I want to ensure that she knows my acquaintance with that blond Amazon has ended and I will have none of it. Jeanette lives up to her last name; she is strong-willed–and so am I. I just wonder what she would do to Lemoyne. :eek:
Now Eda comes into the room and says, “Hermione, it’s 2 p.m. You’d better be going.”

She and Daniel embrace briefly, then she turns to go.
Just before she goes out of the kitchen I notice a curious–and familiar–bulge across Hermione’s back, under her uniform shirt. I’ll take this up with Alice in a minute, but now it’s just Alice and me in the room–and Buster saunters into the room, and leaps onto the counter where he can easily communicate with Alice and me.

Before he speaks, I tell Alice, “I checked that hyperlink on the SDMB about the Astor Column. That’s really an unusual item…I somehow get the feeling one might need binoculars to view the entire display.”
“Or wings,” suggests Alice.

I turn to Buster. “You were right about others with wings, I believe…”
“You noticed?”

“Sure. Hermione must be quite clever to conceal them from the other officers on the force–but she’d sure have trouble flying on duty in that shirt and slacks.”
Buster nods–however a cat might be able to nod. And I also sense how Daniel might have the merest bit of knowledge about ourwings.

“I also wanted to tell you that Fred has found out about the use of the Morpheus Theater–you know, that Jack Sharp owns. Jack and Eloise are out of town but he wanted you to know you ought to get out there and start your groups rehearsing. He just finished having repairs made backstage. Jack asked Fred to tell you.”
Alice takes an appointment book out of her shirt pocket and duly makes a notation.

“I also wanted to relay some more good news to you–Salbert says Lemoyne has stumbled badly yet again.”
“How so?” Alice asks.
“Well…”

[NDP]

when he was taken into custody after he tried to nab you and Alice a few days ago, they found three daggers with iron blades in his possession," the feline states. “That all but guarantees he’s going to out of circulation for awhile.”

“Yes, that is good news,” I say. “Except for the part about us almost getting stabbed.”

“McGowan is also probably going to be put on ice,” Buster continues. “Not only did he help Lemoyne escape but he’s also the one who gave him the iron daggers.”

“I don’t know if Lemoyne’s latest stunt was the product of desparation or stupidity,” comments Alice.

“Probably a little of ‘Column A’ and a little of ‘Column B,’” I say.

“And a little of ‘Column C’–insanity,” adds Buster. “From what I’ve been told, Lemoyne’s insisted on wearing an iron mesh vest and demanded to be kept in a cell with iron bars. He says he has to do this to be protected from–and these are own words–‘otherworldly beings.’ What’s with his new iron fetish anyway?”

“He thinks the sidhe–fairies–are out to get him,” Alice explains. “Gwen Berry told us about this earlier. Apparently, Lemoyne believes iron repels fairies like garlic repels vampires.”

“Jeez, what a nutball,” the cat states. “You don’t think he could get out of this by way of an insanity defense?”

“Professor Fields thinks we can defeat any insanity defense they might raise,” I tell him. “We’ve already discussed this with him.”

“I hope so,” Buster says. “Because, from my perspective, Lemoyne seems crazier than the proverbial shit-house rat.”

Our conversation is interrupted by my cell phone ringing. I answer it and …

[dougie_monty]

…it’s the concierge from my dorm. She says that a building inspector has ordered the building to be closed for a few days, starting the day after tomorrow, because of apparent vandalism–someone has been tampering with the gas lines which connect to heaters and stoves and a huge tank in the basement that heats all the water. She says if I need to get anything from my dorm room I’d better do it right away.

I tell this to Alice and Buster.
Alice asks, “Perhaps someone is still out after you.”

“Maybe,” I answer. “Then again it may be routine–the building is 120 years old and is often in a state of disrepair. Still, I think I should go pick some stuff up and make sure I have everything shut off. In fact I don’t have much stuff in the dorm that I’d need to remove; should be a simple matter.”
Now Eda comes into the room–and says I have a call from the house phone.

I answer it. It’s Professor Fields.
He says, “You and Paul Terwilliger may want to prepare a damage suit against Lemoyne. Just because he’s in federal custody doesn’t mean you can’t sue him for the treadles and trespassing and surveillance; you get the idea.”

“That reminds me,” I reply. “How about the people in the Norton Medical Building?”
“That’s already under way; The $45 million damage suit brought on after the building collapsed. That’s a class-action suit, and Mr. Bartholomew is handling that case. You may be called to testify about it.”

I don’t know about that one. I was still in the Trailer Zone when I heard the first rumbles preceding the building collapsing. :rolleyes:

I prepare to leave for the dorm, because Alice is about to join Prester John’s Aunt for jamming. At the door I give Alice a passionate kiss; I see Jeanette nearby and sense she may want the same. But just then Fred Moreland drives up and offers me a ride; apparently he wants to discuss something with me.

We get to the dorm and I make sure everything is shut off–computer, stove, stereo, whatever; important papers I stuff into a large portfolio. I go over the room one more time and, satisfied, lock it up.
In the elevator I meet–Howie Albert. I greet him.

“I hope you recovered from that sword,” I ask. He’s not a friend, but I still want to be cordial; after all, had it not been for him I would have been skewered! (Incidentally, with all the iron in my bed in the dorm, and in the frame of the Terwilligers’ house and shed and tower, Lemoyne’s notion that we are sidhe whom iron would repel makes no sense. )

“Yeah, I’m all right,” he says, in a voice much like that of the character Alfred from Miracle on 34th Street. “Just a flesh wound–like they say on TV medical shows.”

We exit the elevator on the ground floor. Just before he goes his way I hand him a card Amy gave me, that she had printed up, for Prester John’s Aunt.
“Sounds like an old-fashioned medicine,” he says.

I smirk. “Actually, it’s a musical combo. My girlfriend Alice is in it. They’re going to be at that AIDS benefit the college has scheduled.”
Howie takes the card and goes on his way.

I return to the car. I get in and Fred, who was present when I handed the card to Howie, comments; “That’s Howard Albert, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say. “He’s fully recovered.”

“What did you give him?”
“A business card for Prester John’s Aunt,” I answer. Somehow I sense Howie may want to meet Lena Martinez…

Now, as we head back to the Terwilligers’ place, Fred tells me more about what’s been going on with the DXM league. Apparently he knows I was in contact with Professor Fields, including the mention of Edmond Bartholomew, whom I believe to be a DXM person himself. I say, “I sensed that he is in some kind of administrative capacity with the league.”

[NDP]

“He’s kind of our in-house counsel,” Fred says. “All legal matters that somehow involve the DXM are run by him. We use Fields too but not as much–only when we need to consult somebody who’s more experienced.”

As we talk, I notice the traffic’s slowing down and backing up. Then, the car comes to a dead stop at a traffic barrier.

“Why’s the street blocked off?” I ask Fred.

“I’m not sure why,” he answers.

A minute later we find out the reason: a parade. All down the thoroughfare, there are bands marching with teal uniforms, clowns with blue fright wigs, and floats consisting of oversize boxes of Q-Tips, dental floss, and moist towelettes. Further down the street, I can make out the vague shape of a huge balloon.

“Did you know anything about this parade?” I ask Fred.

“No,” he answers. “And I read the paper and watched the news on TV this morning. There wasn’t a word.”

Suddenly, a powder blue Nash Rambler that’s been slowly creeping along the parade route pulls over to the side of the street where we are. The four car doors fly open and we are terrified when out of the car comes…

[dougie_monty]

Grungy, mean-looking bikers carrying guns, chains, and baseball bats studded with nails. The driver, who looks like he’s on some potent narcotic, is carrying an AK-47 or a similar deadly firearm.
Fred says, “Push that button on the dashboard marked ‘Ralph Ellison’!”
I fumble and say, “Oh, here…”
“Confound it, man, push it!! NOW!!!”
I push it. Nothing seems to happen, but the bikers suddenly stop, now with blank looks on their faces. Fred motions for me to get out of the car on the other side, and before we do, he takes a package with a big roll of French bread from the back seat.
“Just after you close the door,” he says, “Push that purple button near the door handle twice!” I do so, and we seem to be able to walk through the car! Fred slips behind the bikers’ car for a moment. I notice a bag of raw vegetables on the Nash Rambler’s rear seat. “Get the car’s license, number,” Fred says. I do so.
Now the traffic ahead of us starts to move forward. The driver of the car behind the Nash Rambler honks and curses at the bewildered bikers to get a move on, who are so bewildered they meekly comply. Fred tells me to push the purple button again; I do, just as we return to the car. We get back in and Fred pushes the “Ralph Ellison” button again.
Now the driver behind Fred’s car honks and we move forward. As we get to the cross street we find out why: A float broke down, as sometimes happens in the Rose Parade. I look behind us and the bikers’ car has not moved.
“I bet you had something to do with that!” I say as we continue on our way.
“I sure did,” answers Fred with a smirk. “I gouged the soft bread out of that roll and jammed it into the Nash Rambler’s tailpipe! They were able to start their car again, but the bread blocked the exhaust, smothering the engine.” Fred takes out his cell phone to report a stalled car on the street behind us. He gives the car’s license number I wrote down.
“What happened when I pushed those buttons?” I ask.
“Well, you read that book Ralph Ellison wrote, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did—The Invisible Man. Oh—I get it now. But what about that purple button on the door?”
“That made us ‘phantom’—so we wouldn’t be solid and people wouldn’t run into us. Safety first.”
I say, “I noticed that bag of raw vegetables—“
“Very likely connected with the cantaloupe and the onion,” Fred says. “That little bearded man and those bikers are probably in the same gang; some other people originally under Sikes-Potter’s aegis. Even though Lemoyne is in jail you and Alice will still have potential adversaries to deal with.”
“Hey, but without his financial backing they’re not as fearsome as they would be otherwise.”
“Well, don’t declare victory just yet,” Fred cautions.
We get back to the Terwilligers’ place and I thank Fred for the trip—and the information. Man, that DXM League has some surprising defenses!
I return inside and go back to the den, and watch Alice and her combo. Alice blushes slightly as I appear, and I sit there as their lone listener, since Jane, Louise, and The Cigar Band will be leaving soon and are in the kitchen with Paul, Eda, and Winifred, who herself is about to go on duty.
Prester John’s Aunt finishes the jam session, with Alice playing Rachmaninoff’s C-sharp minor Prelude, with gusto. I applaud, and the women bow modestly. Lena, Amy, and Gwen join the others in the kitchen. Alice joins me on the couch, in a close embrace; after we do a little bit of smooching, Buster comes into the room and hops onto the front of the piano, over the keyboard. I tell Alice what happened with the poor man’s Doo-Dah parade and the Nash Rambler; she has a worried look at first but smiles when I tell her how it came out.
“Maybe we should have expected this,” Alice comments. “If the bikers had approached you and me, we would just slip out of the car and take wing. But Fred doesn’t have wings.”
“No, and he’s older, too,” answers Buster. “That’s why he has that car. And with the bread he used you can guess that he also has some non-surreal tricks up his sleeve.”
“I figured that. He must also have read the issue of Games that came out in March 1979. That trick was mentioned in the ‘Answer Drawer’ for the Photocrime article in that issue.” (I also suspect he had something to do with the float in the parade stalling, too.)
Now Buster tells us more about the bikers and the little bearded guy, who rolled the produce down the street at us.

[NDP]

“The bikers were thugs-for-hire,” he states. “Not directly connected to Lemoyne anymore but still part of the whole system that revolved around Sikes-Potter. They’re taking orders from someone else now.”

“Who?” I ask. “That short guy with the beard?”

“Not likely,” the cat answers. “From what we know, the short bearded man is basically a contact person or errand boy for someone higher up–someone who’s trying to put back the pieces that fell apart when Sikes-Potter died and Lemoyne got busted. Oh, by the way, can you hand me that leather-strip cat toy by your foot?”

“Sure,” I say tossing the toy over to Buster. “Do you or anybody else in the League know who it is?”

“We have a list of suspects,” the tomcat replies as he begins to chew on the leather toy. "Unfortunately, it’s a long list. We’re still trying to analyze each and every candidate to see who’s new up-and-coming Mr. (or Ms.) Big. I think it will take about—

Buster stops talking with the sound of approaching footsteps. We look at the doorway leading to the kitchen and see Gwen Berry enter the room.

“Hi, Gwen,” the cat says. Obviously, he knows her.

“Hey, Buster,” she says while giving him a pat on the head. “How goes the battle?”

“You know how it is,” he replies somewhat wearily. “Chop off one head and two grow in its place. By the way, how was life up close and personal with Lemoyne?”

“Ugh,” Gwen answers. “I wanted to take a 30 day shower after that. I guess you know all about his ‘fairy conspiracy’ and his iron fetish?”

“Alice and ____ filled me in on it,” Buster responds.

“That really is odd,” I comment. “You would think if Lemoyne noticed all the iron that’s around you, me, and Alice, he would realize his ‘iron repels sidhe’ theory is absurd.”

“I told him that once,” states Gwen. “But he explained that iron lost its power to repel if it was alloyed or was covered up by something like wood or concrete. I still thought it was pretty whack though.”

“And where did he get the whole ‘iron repels fairies/sidhe’ idea?” I ask. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I have,” Alice says. “I’ve read quite a bit about it. Also, the belief was especially strong in Britain and Ireland.”

“Well anyway, at least I don’t have hang around Lemoyne any more,” Gwen says with a sigh of relief. “The reason I came in here is because I’ve written some new songs and I was wondering if I can sing them at the show? Can I play them on the piano?”

“I don’t see why not,” Alice replies. "In fact, I’m really interested in hearing what you’ve been doing—

We suddenly see something large cast a shadow outside. Gwen, Alice, Buster, and I all rush to the window to see what it is. It’s a huge balloon–much like the ones from the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s the vaguely shaped one I glimpsed in the parade. Except now, I can make out what it is. It’s…

[dougie_monty]

…a balloon of Spongebob Squarepants. I also remember, vaguely, an old movie titled The Red Balloon in which a balloon follows a little French kid.
“They don’t know when to quit any more than Lemoyne did,” comments Buster. “______, get that magnifying glass on the ebony table next to the door. Then turn that high-intensity lamp on. And be quick about it–the balloon seems to be getting closer.”
“I get it,” I say. I switch the lamp on and point it toward the balloon’s shadow, and hold the magnifying glass in front of the lamp. This reminds me of how I burned holes in pieces of paper as a kid.
The trick works. We hear a faint hissing sound, then a farting sound–and the balloon goes totally limp and falls to the ground.
We go outside and gingerly approach it. I happen to touch the Spongebob balloon material with my foot and it shrivels into a tiny blob of lifeless rubber. Only a tying line and a small slip of paper remain with the rubber.
Alice picks it up. There’s a typewritten message on one side. It reads:
"Fooled ya, huh? I bet you thought this was a bomb or a balloon full of explosive gas! Just a trick! Nyanyanyanya! See ya later!
“Sikes-Potter Enterprises :p”
We decide to take the rubber, the tying line, and the note to Winifred in case she can pick up fingerprints from it. But Alice happens to turn the piece of paper over and reads:
MASTER PLUMBER
WILLIAM J. TOPP
[address, URL for web page and phone number follow]
and in handwriting–in green ink–I read:
“Contact Sonny Berger”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” says Gwen, who has come outside with Alice and me.
I decide it’s time to do some communicating. "We need to contact the executor of Sikes-Potter’s estate. It’s likely some agent or flunky of his is involved. Alice, didn’t your great-uncle say Sikes-Potter was a professor at UC Berkeley?’
“Yes, he did,” she says.
“And–William Topp! He was the plumber who worked on the pipes in the bathroom! Winifred already told us they have his fingerprints!”
“Who is Sonny Berger?” Gwen asks.
“He was, or is, the head of the Hell’s Angels,” I answer. “It’s likely Topp or someone else hired some Hell’s Angels to harass us. But those bikers don’t often go after people in cars, or use automatic firearms for anything.”
So we go to the local police station and Alice talks to Winifred, Arthur’s wife, working in the crime lab. Alice gives her the paper, the rubber, and the tying line.
After we get back to the Terwilligers’ place Alice comments, “Who ever took Lemoyne’s place isn’t particularly wise. Writing that note to us on the back of Topp’s flyer was quite foolish.”
I get an idea. I tell Alice, and she says “Go ahead if you think it’ll help–but stay out of sight!”
I put on light-blue coveralls and a blue ski mask, and carry a pair of high-powered binoculars. The coveralls have holes in the back I slip my wings through. From behind the tower I go up into the sky, and fly towards the address given on Topp’s flyer. It’s near the college–in fact, it’s down the street from the pharmacy we went to for the prescriptions.
Sure enough, a police car parks in front of the place. I hover, unseen, as two armed cops, whom I don’t recognize–I only know Hermione, Winifred, Bob Long, and Lt. Don Clay–go in, and, after some noise and hollering, they come out with a man in gray coveralls, handcuffed. Just as they come out the door with him, I note that a tower clock nearby strikes ten.
When I return, Alice tells me that she got a phone call, that mystified her. She says, “The caller said angrily, ‘You’re in big troub-’ and then a clock chimed ten!”
“Well, that would point to Bill Topp!” I say.
Buster is with us. “It sure looks that way. It could be that as the cops carted Topp out the door some kind of spell was broken. And there may be more to that than even Topp’s arrest. Who knows?”
The phone rings again; Alice answers again. She says, "Oh, very well…all right…well, we’ll see you in the morning. “Bye, luv.”
She hangs up. “That was Hermione. She said that just as Winifred got that flyer from you a finance company across town made a complaint about someone breaking into their offices over the weekend, last week. It seems Bill Topp had been working on pipes at a business next door and some papers he left at his worksite matched up with what we gave Winifred. It seems Topp is a professional burglar as well as a plumber. And there was a leather line much like that tying line.”
“Man! What a coincidence!” I say. “Hey, we’ll take what we can get.”
Now what we’ll want to do is locate the executor of Sikes-Potter’s estate, identify the little bearded man’s contacts, and find out who hired the Hell’s Angels. Alice, Buster, and I decide the second of the three will be hardest. We call Professor Fields and fill him in; he’ll be over tomorrow.
Meanwhile, The Cigar Band has been jamming. We go watch. Jeanette is in a long flannel dress without underwear again, but oh, how she can sing in that contralto voice! Johnny is a countertenor whose voice seems higher than Jeanette’s. Phil and Jerry are also in great form. Alice doesn’t care for Jerry’s personality but listens as well. Gwen, Paul, Eda, Alice, Buster and I are the audience; Paul allowed the combo to light up their cigars. As usual, Jeanette has a panatela and Jerry a fat Cuban cigar.
Their music is pretty much standard, but they play misheard-lyric songs and Dr. Demento-style stuff as well. When they finish we mingle with them; Jeanette doesn’t seem to flirt as I was used to her doing, and Alice is cordial to Jerry Britton, the corpulent, balding drummer whose impudent manner had repelled her before.
And somehow we sense something out of the ordinary about The Cigar Band–especially when I see they all wear a familiar ring, like Mr. Bartholomew had on…

[NDP]

that’s green with what looks like a blue sapphire in the middle. I wonder if they’re part of the DXM League too so I decide to ask Johnny about the rings. However, I remember to approach the subject delicately as the DXM likes to keep its existence covert.

“Nice set Johnny,” I begin. “The misheard lyric set’s a riot.”

“Yeah, I think we’re in the groove again,” Johnny says as he puffs on his cigar. “But I am a little worried that some of the goofy stuff we do is getting a little stale.”

“Oh no,” I say. “It still works. No need to change a thing. Those are nice rings you and the group have by the way.”

“Uh…yes,” he says hesitantly. “They’re special rings.”

“I know an attorney, Edmond Bartholomew, who’s got a ring like that too. Do you belong some kind of club or something?”

“Yes…We belong to the same club as Bartholomew and…uh…can I talk to you privately for a second?”

Just as I thought. The ring has something to do with the DXM League. Johnny and I go to a corner of the room where he takes me aside.

“I suppose it’s safe for me to tell you now,” Johnny says in a near whisper. “This ring can only be worn by members of a secret organization–one whose existence cannot known by the public.”

“Really?” I say expecting him to mention the DXM League next.

“Yes,” he continues. “But I trust you and Alice. You seem to be already aware of this group’s existence.”

“I confess,” I say. “I know what group you’re talking about.”

“Good,” he answers. "This will make this a little easier for me. The rest of the Cigar Band and I–along with Bartholomew–belong to–

Almost as if to deliberately build suspense, Johnny coughs. (Apparently the cigar’s getting to him.) He wheezes so as to catch his breath. Then, he coughs again a few more times to clear his throat.

Finally, in a soft whisper, Johnny speaks. “We belong to [deep breath] … the [deep breath] … Green Lantern Fan Club.”

“The rings are for the Green Lantern Fan Club?” I say trying to hide my incredulity.

“Yes,” Johnny answers as he gets his voice–and his breath–back. “The greatest fucking comic book superhero ever: the Green fucking Lantern.”

“Really … that’s interesting,” I comment. “Of course I haven’t read the comic book recently so I really don’t know what’s going on in it.”

“You should,” he states as we move out the corner of room. “We’ve been keeping tabs on you and Alice and we think you’d be great additions to our organization.”

“Well, I’ll mention it to Alice and we’ll certainly consider it,” I say politely. This conversation is getting more awkward by the second.

Fortunately, my cell phone rings and gets me out of this uncomfortable situation.

“Excuse me Johnny,” I say as I answer the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi ____,” says the voice on the line. “It’s me Bob Long. You know that plumber Bill Topp we just picked up? We just found him dead in his cell.”

“My God!” I exclaim. “What happened?”

“We don’t know yet,” Long answers. “He was just sitting quietly in his cell and–one second later–he just suddenly leaned over dead with a strange vacant grin on his face. They’re doing an autopsy now to find out the cause of death.”

“That is a shock,” I say.

“And there’s more,” Long continues. "It seems…

[dougie_monty]

…that little bearded guy took Alice’s warning to heart. It looks like he’s ready to cop out."
I guess Rita Waterford isn’t the only person to have had enough of this outrage. “Incidentally, what’s his name? Alice and I never asked the cops who arrested him…”
“Clell O’Houlihan,” says the sergeant. Well! Now there’s an Irish name! It’d be easier to guess that he was with the sidhe rather than Alice (and for my part, my ancestry is mostly Irish).
“Why did he decide to turn state’s evidence, if that’s the proper term?” I ask.
“Well, maybe it isn’t yet–the only thing he’s been charged with is rolling giant projectiles down the street–there were about three dozen witnesses who saw him, while he was not aware of it. From what we know, he was stiffed of his ‘fee’ same as Rita Waterford was. I guess money talks in this regard.”
“Where is he now?”
Bob is a little less anxious at this point. “He’s in the hospital, but still in custody. It’s odd–he has a mild case of malaria, just enough to keep him off his feet. He’s being treated kindly there. They’re treating him with quinine and when he’s recovered he’ll be in a regular jail cell.”
“Just a hunch, Bob, but did Bill Topp show any malaria symptoms?”
“No. He looked more like he’d been the victim of strychnine poisoning–but, of course, the autopsy will tell us. There’s nothing at all to compare Topp with little O’Houlihan. What have you and Alice been doing lately?”
“We’ve had people meeting to start rehearsing for the college AIDS benefit. Alice’s group Prester John’s Aunt; these five married women I know; and The Cigar Band–”
“Ah, I know them well–if you know what I mean. Well, I’ll talk to you and Professor Fields tomorrow.” Bob and I ring off.
Well, that was an interesting call! That’s a shame about Topp even if he was a criminal. And I hope O’Houlihan isn’t the victim of some sinister plot…
I return to the den. The Cigar Band has packed up their instruments; they’ll be setting up in a few days at the Morpheus–Alice has already contacted Jack Sharp about our preparations for the place. Johnny Goss, Jeanette Strong, Jerry Britton, and Phil Ramirez are taking a break. Alice has been chatting with the combo as I return to the room; they greet me. Phil, the left-handed bass player, is the only one still holding a cigar.
And then Buster walks into the den. I close the door behind him. Sure enough, the big cat leaps up onto Jeanette’s lap.
Green Lantern indeed!