Surreal continuing story: walking through doors and passageways

[dougie_monty]

“Inasmuch as Jack and Eloise Sharp, and Mr. Galloway, and Professor Fields, Alice Terwilliger, and ________, are involved in producing the benefit performance, we’d like very much to arrange a meeting with this Jay Orange, in order to ensure that there are no misunderstandings or conflicts.”
Jan is perspiring, on his forehead and the palms of his hands. With his fair complexion, Alice and I—and all the others—can tell he has really backed himself into a corner.

Now George Galloway approaches. “Jan, we’d like to contact Jay Orange right away. Do you have a telephone number, a postal address, or an e-mail address we can use to reach him?”
From the expressions on the faces of Pete and Loora, Alice and I can tell that young Jan Oranjeboom has just about run out of resources. His knees are shaking.

Finally Gwen herself steps forward. Jan fidgets, and, after some awkward fumbling with his jacket, he takes from one pocket a small pad of paper with a printed e-mail address on it. He drops the pad onto the carpeted floor.
Gwen picks it up and reads it. Jan starts to approach Gwen to take the pad back, but Pete and Loora restrain him.

Gwen reads the print. “‘Kerriescoifs@hotmail.com’ … this is for the hairdresser’s place next door to the Morpheus!”
Alice and I have zeroed in on Gwen, this time with our ESP. She is totally candid and truthful.

Jeanette Strong approaches, swiveling sensuously under her modest dress and holding her huge red purse in front of her. There appears to be a side seam partially burst open. She sees the pad Jan had, and Gwen now holds.
“I’ve been looking from some things I kept in my purse, for the last few days,” she says in her low register. “Gwen, that pad looks like mine.” Puzzled, Gwen shrugs and hands the pad to Jeanette.

“I’ve been missing a few other things, too—some guitar picks, a tube of lipstick, and an old locker key…”
Loora asks for help from Stan and Phil. They hold Jan still while Pete checks Jan’s outside jacket pockets.

The other items Jeanette was missing are in the pockets. Every one of us, Pete and Loora especially, fix their eyes on Jan. He is stuck and he knows it.
“Vell, ve’re vaiting, Jan,” says Loora, her accent expressing her impatience.

Jan frowns and sits on a bench, with everyone still facing him.
“There is no Jay Orange,” he says. “The ‘talent agency’ is me—Jan Vos Oranjeboom. I wanted to ensure that people reading the flier would notice Gwen Berry.” Gwen steps closer to Jan, more puzzled than anything else.

“So I asked Laurance to give some copy to his Dad, to add to the flier. The ‘copy’ consisted of the phrase ‘with Gwen Berry.’”
Jan takes a folded photocopy page out of his inside jacket pocket. He hands it to his father. It’s a copy of an ordinary typewritten page.

Pete reads it.
“Laurance—give this to your Dad when he prepares the flier draft. Tell him Gwen has an agent called ‘J Orange’ or something—that all contact with Gwen must go through this agency. He can take it from there.

“Jan O.”
“Well, now we know what you did to get featured billing for Gwen,” says Pete. “Now we’d like to know why, Jan O.”
Jan glances briefly at Gwen, then turns back to face his parents.

“The fact is, Mom and Dad, I love Gwen, and I wanted to make sure she would get a potential audience’s attention.” He’s about to cry. So is Gwen.
“Jan, if you wanted to help Gwen, you should have taken the matter up with your mother and me and we could discuss it with Gwen and Mr. Rudolph. What you did was underhanded—and you could have ruined the act. Ms. Berry and her partners have never tried to be anything other than equal to each other.” Gwen, Alice, Amy, and Lena nod in assent.

Jan now breaks down. His parents stand close to him. Gwen’s face is streaked with tears. Alice and I clasp hands snugly.
“Vell, Jan, I t’ink you’ve been punished enough,” says Loora. “But vhat vere you doink vit Ms. Strong’s stuff?” She hands Jan a hanky to dry his eyes.

“It fell out of her purse on the sidewalk a few days ago,” he answers. “I picked it all up but decided to pretend that I had an e-mail address I could use—and the ruse developed from that.” He hands the items, including the pad, which Gwen had returned to him, to Jeanette. “I’m really sorry, Ms. Strong.”
Cornelis and Hannah approach. Loora, her accent subdued now, speaks. “Cornelis, drive Jan home.” They leave with him.

We’re about to discuss the mangled Shakespeare quote now, as spoken in Spanish by Lupe and in English by the derelict that Lt. Clay arrested. (We now know the man’s name to be Dennis Walsh; none of us remember him offhand.)
But now, we comment on Jan and his mythical talent agency, and his ‘love for Gwen.’ Mr. Galloway comments first.

[NDP]

“I wouldn’t be too hard on him; love can make you do crazy things.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” I say, “but the whole talent agency ruse is rather unusual.”

“Not really,” Gwen states, “he frequently told me that he wants to get involved in the entertainment industry as an agent. And, given his drive and tenacity, I think that would be a good fit for him.”

“Do you know what gave him the idea to pass himself off as your agent though?” Alice inquires.

“I told him a few horror stories about what happened to me when I was first trying to get my music career started,” Gwen answers. “I didn’t have an agent at the time and I think that hurt me. When I later mentioned I wanted to get back in the game again, Jan said that I needed to be protected this and offered my services. I told him I thought his offer was really sweet but never directly hired as my agent. Given what’s happened, I probably should’ve tried to dissuade him a little better.”

“That’s okay,” Mr. Galloway assures, “I think this situation is now mostly rectified with little damage to anyone. Now, if no one minds my changing the subject, what about what Lupe’s curious quote?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Professor Fields remembers. “Let me go get her.”

Fields rushes out of the room and returns a couple minutes later with Lupe.

“Lupe, we were wondering about something,” I tell her. "Whenever you got a split, you said, ‘¡Somos los sueños de quienes se hace materia!’

“I did?” Lupe says incredulously.

“Yes,” I answer. “That quote, in English, translates as ‘We are the dreams stuff is made of.’ What did you mean by that?”

“I really don’t know,” Lupe tell us. “Even though it was only earlier this evening, I only have a vague recollection of saying something when I got a split. Strangest thing–it was like my mouth wasn’t connected to my brain. It was moving but I had no sense of what it was saying.”

“Are you familiar with the quote?” Professor Fields asks.

“No, I’m not,” Lupe replies, “but it seems to be a play on that Shakespearean quote that was also said at the end of The Maltese Falcon. You know: it’s the stuff dreams are made of.”

“But you haven’t heard or seen the mangled Shakesperean quote anywhere before today?” inquires Alice.

“No,” she answers. “What does it mean anyway?”

“To be honest, we don’t know,” Fields says. “That’s why, after we heard you utter it a few times, we asked you.”

After telling us she has to check the dishwasher, Lupe leaves the room. We then turn our eyes to Professor Fields who says…

[dougie_monty]

“We may want to ask the other members of the Sharps’ household staff.”
Fred speaks up. “That would be Fifi Charpentier, and two other maids; Bob McMillan, the gardener; and Raul Guzman, the chauffeur. He’s Lupe’s other brother.”

“What do you have in mind?” asks Alice.
“Well,” says Professor Fields, “I’m concerned that one or more of them may have been contacted, in a way we may not even have perceived, by Red Nicholas. So far nobody else has spoken that phrase—in any language—except for that derelict Dennis Walsh; and we’ve seen it elsewhere only at the Hellmouth entrance and on the one ingot that Stan Brown and Bob Blonda examined.”

“Actually, I think they’re all like that,” I say. “All of the 23 ingots that weren’t ‘blank’ had the same cryptic inscription, apparently in Latin.”
We muse on this.

After Cornelis, Hannah, and Jan left the restaurant, we had all returned to the Sharps’ mansion. Now the only ones present are Alice, Jack, Eloise, Mr. Galloway, Professor Fields, Fred, Hermione, Jeanette, Jane Bradley, and me—and Buster, whom Fred has brought over to the mansion again.
“How do we find out who may know the quote, in any language?” asks Alice, who sits on my lap now. Buster hops onto Alice’s lap and purrs softly.

“I thought you’d never ask,” answers Eloise.
“Jack and I have been DXM people for a while, but none of you have asked what our special talent is.”

“What is it?” Alice and I ask, together.
“Well, for one thing, we’re both master hypnotists,” says Jack. “We can do memory probing to find out from Lupe, Bob, Raul, Fifi, and the others, what contact they may have had with Nicholas or some other, mysterious entity that may have passed the mangled quote along to them.”

Alice looks apprehensive. “That sounds like prying,” she comments.

Eloise smiles. “Oh, it’s only for a few minutes. The last time I did it was in the kitchen with Lupe, when she had laryngitis. She was quite unhappy with the doctor who was treating her; she sensed he was making aggressive sexual advances to her. She was traumatized, and her roughened voice didn’t help matters. I took her to that psychiatrist Maggie Johnson for sessions. She responded well; the doctor who treated her for laryngitis is facing serious professional discipline.”

“So you’d have no problem probing Lupe’s memory for information on her source for the quote,” I say.
“None at all,” answers Mrs. Sharp. “It only lasts a few minutes. She isn’t even aware that I’m doing it. She sits with me at the kitchen table, or works in the kitchen, or even sings in Spanish to her records.”

I am glad the Sharps don’t abuse the confidence that they have with their staff.
Now Jack and Eloise go to conduct their hypnotic interviews with Lupe and the others.

“I’m going to run a make on Dennis Walsh, to find out where he got the quote,” says Hermione. She leaves; Alice and others see her off.
Mr. Galloway and Professor Fields go their way, with Fred, to contact the rest of the staff. Alice, Buster, and I retired to Bedroom No. 35 for the night.

In the morning, we go over to the Marsh Medical Building; Alice picks up Lorna McManus on the way. I drive while the two women sit in the back seat and fill each other in on what’s been going on. Neither the car nor I can get a word in edgewise. :rolleyes:
Alice, Lorna, and I all have appointments. Alice is going to her dentist for a cleaning; Lorna will have a “Pap smear,” she says. I go to the office of psychiatrist Dr. Maggie Johnson, to discuss the fainting spells I have had, as well as some of the stress involved with producing the benefit at the Morpheus.

I’ve already resolved to be discreet with Dr. Johnson: avoid mentioning wings, telepathy, Al the Alien, or any other supernatural stuff, although I know Laura Clouse has spoken to Maggie about me already—and I know the psychiatrist myself very well.
Dr. Johnson, a lithe, youthful, bespectacled blond woman in her 60s, now calls me into her inner office.

[NDP]

After the usual introductions, I review my medical history and tell her about my recent fainting incidents.

“And they seemed to start not long after you started your relationship with Alice?” the good doctor asks.

“Yes,” I answer, “I don’t recall having many fainting spells before I met Alice.”

“Do you think that your relationship is particularly stressful or emotionally taxing?”

“Quite the opposite; I can’t recall a time in my life when I’ve been happier. Alice is, to me, such an ideal woman that I sometimes wonder if she’s for real.”

“You’ve had no disagreements or difficulties so far?”

“Well, there was that time when we were headed downtown in her car and seemed to get lost in a deep forest. I remember getting upset with her because she kept insisting we weren’t lost. However, after turning a corning and going around a hill, we found ourselves downtown.”

“Have there been any other arguments?”

“Off the top of my head, I can’t think of any right now.”

“So you and Alice are a happy couple?”

“Almost ecstatically happy.”

Dr. Johnson pauses for a moment and gets a box–with dimensions of about 9" by 12" by 3"-- out of her desk. She then sits back down in her chair with the box in her lap.

“Getting back to your fainting spells,” she says resuming her questioning, “have you noticed these incidents having anything in common?”

“I do seem to have sort of strange sensation or awareness of something,” I tell her. “I can’t pinpoint it exactly but I suddently feel like I’m in a dream and about to wake up. It’s as though for a nanosecond, I have sense that my situation is not real.”

“And what was happening around you at the time of your fainting incidents?”

For a few seconds, I scan my memory. I then tell Dr. Johnson…

[dougie_monty]

“I was in the Morpheus Theatre. We’re producing the AIDS benefit they’re putting on.”
“Oh, yes. I’ve heard about thew place being restored, and Laura Clouse told me about the various people performing and working backstage.”

“Well, in the two fainting episodes I had, I felt overwhelmed by the presence of so many women—Alice included.”
“Who are the women?”

I name all the women who have been in the Morpheus since we began the series of rehearsals, including Eloise Sharp; the other married women—Mary, Louise, Jane, Loora, Hermione, and Winifred; Samantha Hoffman; Jeanette Strong; and Prester John’s Aunt.
“What’s ‘Prester John’s Aunt’?” asks Maggie.

“That’s a musical combo Alice is in. The other members are Lena Martínez, Amy Dolan, and Gwen Berry. I don’t really know them personally.”
“Have you been attracted to the other women in Prester John’s Aunt?”

I pause and say, “Well, only Amy. She’s a 5’10” brunet and quite stately…but I am not close to her. I’ve met Gwen at the R. Kane Bookstore near the university. And I understand Lena is gay.”
“Can you give me a little more detail on either of the syncopal episodes?”

“Well, one of them happened after Dr. Laura examined Alice and me. This came after we suspected we may have been exposed to U-235 radiation; we’d both visited the Astoria Column in Oregon, though not at the same time; and someone sent me a letter suggesting the exposure.”
“Laura told me about that.”

I continue. “Well, she said I showed no signs of the radiation. But she had gone to high school with me, and she later told Alice about me pigging out on head-cheese sandwiches and beer, a year after I graduated, and getting violently ill. But it wasn’t until I saw all the women in the Morpheus standing close by me, after the physical and the head-cheese reminiscence, that I fainted. All the women, including Alice, were dressed the same.”
“How were they dressed?”

“They were all wearing ill-fitting white blouses and faded jeans. All of them. Even Alice. I guess it was an overwhelming sense of ‘womanness.’”
“Have you had sex with any of those women?” the doctor asks.

“Only Alice. We’ve ‘done it’ maybe two dozen times.”
“You don’t fear she may get pregnant?”

“No—I use condoms and she is on the Pill.”
“Are you considering getting married to Alice?”

I smile, and blush deeply. Apparently Dr. Johnson senses this is a subject she’ll want to save for later on, to discuss with me. :o
“Do any of the women at the Morpheus usually dress that way—the ill-fitting blouse and the jeans?”

“Only one—Mary Blonda, whose husband Bob is a manufacturing foreman—”
“Oh, Mary—Mary Smith?” The doctor’s face lights up. “What does she look like?”

“She looks like a taller version of Dolly Parton. She has three kids. She’s often careless about her clothes.”
Maggie smiles and reminisces. “Mary Smith was in some biology courses I taught at the university…she was bright, studious, friendly. She was always at the head of the class. So she married Bob Blonda. I met her later—her husband wasn’t present—when she was pregnant with her third child, and she had two toddlers with her.”

“Well, her youngest is nine-year-old George, who has just discovered girls himself. And her daughter April is a lovely young lady in her own right.”
Now the psychiatrist takes some papers out of the box, and sets the box on the desk. She asks me a serious of questions, apparently from a standard psychological test. I answer as well as I can.

Dr. Johnson seems to be as much of a dedicated professional as she was when I had had sessions years ago with her. She diagnosed mental problems I had at the time, arising from my father’s mental history and his emotional state when I was growing up (he had been a shell-shocked war veteran), and my stormy childhood. As I have noted above, Dr. Maggie Johnson showed me considerable respect and concern; she was one adult who never treated me like a stupid kid.

Now she writes down the results of the questions she has just asked me, and stacks the test papers on the desk.

She removes other folders from the box, which she sets by itself out of the way. She writes something down, quickly, on the top page. Then she asks me:

[NDP]

“Do you ever feel intimidated by women?”

“No,” I answer, “not in the slightest.”

“Did you have any problems with your mother?” Dr. Johnson inquires.

“Mothers: the psychiatrist’s favorite subject,” I comment.

“I’m just trying to pinpoint the reason why you felt so ‘overwhelmed’ by the femininity of those groups of women that you passed out,” she explains.

“Well, I don’t think whatever problems I might’ve had with my mother were any more different than most sons,” I say.

“How about your sister?”

“I think my relationship with her is quite good.”

“What’s your shirt collar size?”

“Excuse me?”

“What’s your shirt collar size? How long have you been wearing it? Does it feel especially tight?”

“What does that have to do with my fainting?”

"If you’re wearing a shirt collar size that’s too small, it could be restricting the flow of blood to the head so that you’re more susceptible to passing out when you’re stressed. Okay, I realize it’s a longshot possibility but–

“I’m quite sure on at least one of the occasions when I fainted, I didn’t have the top of my shirt buttoned up.”

“Well, now we can rule out that as a possible cause.”

Dr. Johnson writes some more things down on the top page and then searches through her folders for a few moments before pulling out a glossy photo from one of them. She then holds the photo up in front of me. Needless to say, it’s rather disturbing–and familiar–to me.

“_______,” the doctor inquires, “what is this a photo of?”

I gulp and say…

[dougie_monty]

“That is a picture of my mother, wearing a similar outfit.” (Apparently I am able to answer the psychiatrist’s question myself now—at least partially.)
This picture, taken about 1954, is of me, then age 5, with my mother, whose name now is Donna Niles. (Her last name was ________ at that time, not Niles—my parents divorced and she remarried years later.)

In the picture she wears an ill-fitting white blouse and blue jeans, not common for women then, I suppose. She also wears old-fashioned glasses, and her hair, almost black then, is in a simple wave style. She stands with me in front of our house in Indiana. (She is still alive today, at age 73.)
Dr. Johnson makes some routine notations in her notebook. Now she gives me a standardized series of IQ tests, including the “Kuder Preference Record,” which suggests my potential career choices, rather than gauging intelligence.

She now resumes the questioning.
“Have you felt that some people are out to get you?”

I thought it would come to this.
“Well, I’ve found that there are such people—and I can give you some very real examples.”

I list for her some recent incidents:
–The armed gunmen in the body shop, foiled when we slipped and fell on an oily sidewalk.

–McGowan in the Starbuck’s, shooting red food dye and distracted by a sexy woman (Jeanette, whom I describe as different from the Mary Blonda stereotype).
–Lemoyne chasing Alice and me on a dark street, and surrendering to the police rather than face a crowd of angry veterans.

–The burglars who stole my tools and cell phone number, and made off with the ingot in Fukushima’s van.
I think these four are enough. I chose these to tell Dr. Maggie about, because other people witnessed them, and there are police reports on file. I sidestep the supernatural elements.

“Did you tell Laura Clouse about these incidents?” she asks.
“Only about the gunmen. She happened on the scene when the officers were arresting the gunmen. She took some pictures.”

“I’ll have to talk to her about that.”
Now I get a telepathic message from Dr. Clouse herself, who I believe is right next door: I heard everything—I’ll show Maggie the pictures.

Now Dr. Johnson is a little less formal, and speaks more openly to me. “Are you performing in the benefit?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m singing ‘Fer the Good Times,’ a spoof by Homer and Jethro of a song recorded by Ray Price. I also play some classical stuff on the piano.” (Or maybe only one or two classical titles, depending on Mary Blonda’s editing of the program.)

“I’d like very much to attend,” she says. “Can I buy tickets at the Morpheus? It’s not far from here, I know.”
“No, but I can sell you some tomorrow.” We have arranged with Loora and Merriwether to have their shop print up tickets.

“All right, come to the office tomorrow between 8 and 11:30 a.m., and I’ll buy tickets then. How much are they?”
“Fifteen dollars apiece,” I say.

Dr. Johnson closes her notebook and sees me to the door. “I’ll have your diagnosis for you tomorrow,” she says.
I bid Maggie Johnson good-bye and leave the office. I escort Alice and Lorna out, from their appointments; they’re still a bit woozy from the anesthesia, so I drive, back to the Sharps’ mansion.

The car sings upbeat music, this time in a New York Italian accent much like the one Brad Garrett uses on Everybody Loves Raymond.
When we reach the mansion, we go on inside. Fred is at the door. I sense the call of nature and use a bathroom just off the foyer.

On the way out, my shoe strikes a strip of wood on the door jamb, close to the floor, and knocks the strip off. I see something sticking out. I pull on it. It’s another book. I manage to pull it out of the hole, and push the wood back. I’ll have to give the book to Fred.

I thumb through it. Its title is Livers, Herring, and Nicholas—a Sequel. From what I read, I howl with delight!! Oh, Alice and Fred and Mr. Galloway—and James Parker of the DXM League—will want to see this! I carry the book with me as I return to Alice and Lorna, who have recovered from the anesthesia. We sit down, Alice and I with arms linked; I’m sure Alice will ask about the book. First I ask her and Lorna about their appointments…

[dougie_monty]

[The Narrator did tell Dr. Johnson about his collar size–17 1/2. And the photo was a print he had given Dr. Johnson in a session they had years before, and the psychiatrist had kept the picture.]

[NDP]

“Just the usual female stuff,” Lorna says, “and, by the way, this now means I can now ask you about your next prostate exam. Turnabout’s fair play.”

“What’s that book you have there?” asks Alice.

“Livers, Herring, and Nicholas—a Sequel,” I answer. “I found it hidden in a hole in the bathroom by the foyer.”

“From the title alone, I know I have to see it,” she says. “Have you looked through it?”

“I just found it a few minutes ago, so I’ve only scanned it.”

“Do you mind if we take all take a look?” inquires Lorna.

“I don’t think it should hurt,” I state as I put the book on a coffee table so all three of us can see it.

I open the book to it’s halfway point. On the pages, the following words are crudely typed repeatedly from top to bottom: Solipsism est suus own bravium. I turn the back of the book; the same sentence covers the pages. A turn toward the book’s front reveals likewise.

“Argh,” I exclaim, “can’t anybody write in English around here?”

“It’s Latin,” Alice informs. “I know what it means.”

“What?” I ask.

“Well, roughly translated, it says, ‘Solipsism is its own reward.’”

Alice, Lorna, and I sit silently and ponder what all of this means.

“Things just get curiouser and curiouser,” Alice comments after a few minutes.

Fred walks in the room and sees us with our puzzled expressions. He says…

[dougie_monty]

“I see you found that book! I’ve been looking for it for years! I wasn’t even sure it was in the mansion! What room did you find it in, ______?”
“That bathroom off the foyer, next to the hallway leading into the kitchen.”

“Where in the bathroom was it?”
“I stubbed my toe on a strip of wood at the bottom right edge of the door jamb, on my way out. The strip of wood fell off, and I saw this book poking out ever so slightly. I managed to get it out, and put the wood strip back.”

Fred pauses for a minute.
“Now I remember, “ he says. “Jack and Eloise once hired a carpenter to remodel some of the rooms near the foyer. He’d been a friend of Jack’s in the Army. They trusted each other fully for years. Jack had the book, but since it made no sense to him by itself, he asked the carpenter to hide it away. But the man died without telling any of us where he’d hidden it, and none of us could ever find it.”

“What was the carpenter’s name?” asks Lorna.
“Beauregard Pettibone,” says Fred. He was from Natchez, Mississippi. He had the strongest Southern drawl I ever heard.” Now Fred scowls.

“I guess you didn’t care much for Pettibone yourself,” I say.
“No, I didn’t,” Fred answers. “He was something of a racist. He called me ‘Rastus’ and ‘boy.’ The Sharps have always been close to me and my wife Letitia and our kids, and Pettibone kept quiet when anyone named Sharp was around. But I think he caught on that I wouldn’t whine or cringe before him.”
“Getting back to today,” says Alice gently, with her arms around me, “My dental appointment went just fine—but the dentist said I’ll need a small filling put into a back molar.”

I turn and peer deeply into Alice’s mouth. “I don’t see anything that needs a filling, Alice, honey, but I’ll take your word—and your dentist’s word—for it,” I say. “That’s as healthy a set of teeth as I have ever seen.” Alice smiles and kisses me.
I turn to Lorna.

“Well, I haven’t had a prostate exam yet, Lorna, but I have had a cystoscopy—and if your Pap smear was as much as an ordeal for you as the cystoscopy was for me, I must sympathize with you fully.”
I grip Alice’s hand firmly and try to express, facially, my sympathy to her and Lorna. They understand me.

Fred winces too. He says he’s had a cystoscopy himself—twice.
“As cryptic as that book is,” says Fred, “I have to ponder the League’s ruling about pursuing the matter of Nicholas. Granted it’s hard to look before you leap.”

“Go on,” I say.

“After all,” says Fred, “How much ‘depravity’ did he engage in while he was up on the surface? Andy Sharp caked his face with makeup and Artie Brown ate a few bugs. And maybe Red conned George Sharp into pulling off that naked-woman hat trick. And Leo and Salbert have been down in the cavern—they saw no opium or other such things, not that Red couldn’t have hidden them. And Dr. Clouse told me she saw no evidence that he had ingested any such drugs. She should have her test results by now and be ready to make a diagnosis.

“As for the silver ingot and its message, those two guys at Loora’s business—Merriwether and Fukushima—tried to puzzle it out. They even did a Google search, they told me. So did I; and I followed one link they gave me, referring to a Lodi silversmith in 1885, named Gregory Rimpau. He often signed his work ‘Ggrvmp.’”

“So what do we do now?” asks Alice, sitting on my lap.
“I gave all this information to Parker at the League headquarters this morning,” Fred answers. “He’ll send us a fax about it, at the Morpheus, in a day or so.”

“We may also want to do a thorough Internet search concerning the word ‘solipsism,’ says Alice as she wraps her hands around my wrists. Fred and Lorna leave now, to take care of other business. Alice and I go upstairs.
The next day, I stop by Loora’s building to pick up some tickets, for Dr. Johnson. While I’m there, I get a printed copy of the page from the Internet site about the silversmith Rimpau.

I return to the Morpheus’ lot, and park the car. Then I walk the two blocks to Dr. Johnson’s office. I meet Dr. Laura Clouse in the waiting area. The psychiatrist appears; she calls me and Laura into the office. She buys three tickets; then, with Laura Clouse present as another doctor, Maggie Johnson gives me her diagnosis of me, with a full explanation:

[NDP]

“Your fainting spells were caused by a repressed memory you had of your mother suddenly resurfacing when you saw all those women dressed in a similar way,” she says as she hands me a binder with my name on it. “It’s all discussed in more detail in this report. I have two copies–one for you and one for Dr. Clouse.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. “This should be interesting reading.”

“I think we’ve gotten to the root of the problem and you shouldn’t have any more episodes,” Dr. Johnson continues. “However, if you keep having fainting problems, see me immediately.”

“Well, I certainly appreciate your help,” I say, "I was really worried about–

“Oh, one other thing before both of you leave,” the psychiatrist says as reaches into her bag and pulls out…

[dougie_monty]

“…a slightly soiled portfolio that looks as if it has been left in a vacant lot for a few days.”
“The embossing on the cover, in a small box near the top, reads ‘1633 South Bradford Street.’ Is that the address for the Morpheus Theatre?”

“Yes, it is,” I say.
“I found it on the floor in the hallway near the restrooms in Sam Chu Lin’s yesterday. The hostess said she didn’t know who had left it there but she recognized the address and thought one of your party might have left it there—though she admitted the custodians would have picked it up if your party had left it there. It wouldn’t be there for two days.”
The three of us sit together long enough for Dr. Johnson to show us what is in it. We see:

 Two sealed manila envelopes, each with a caduceus printed on the front.
 A photocopied page from an unabridged volume of the complete works of Shakespeare, apparently from The Tempest.
 An ancient envelope, with the top torn open, and containing a thick handwritten letter. Envelope and letter are yellow with age. The return address is “Gregory Rimpau, 779 23rd St., Hayward, California,” and the destination address is “Nathaniel Nicholas [Red’s father], 1631 South Bradford Street, ______, California.” The postmark is just barely visible; it reads “June 23, 1885.”
 A composite photograph of five people, full-figure front views. The pictures have names: “Rank,” “Locke,” “Knattey,” “Calley,” and “Kalp.” The figures of Rank and Locke are crossed out with lipstick that has started to fade. The other three figures have jail bars drawn crudely over them. In the lower right is a desk-calendar page, held on with a paper clip, bearing the date “April 29, 2003.” The elaborate signature “Letitia Lemoyne Frazier” appears in blue-green ink on the calendar page.
 One other sealed 8x10 manila envelope that is blank on the outside though it has contents.

We’re all puzzled by this. Just before Dr. Clouse and I leave the psychiatrist’s office, I notice a loose register receipt in the portfolio reading, across the top, “Bradford Stationers—Personalized Office Supplies.” The date on the receipt is “April 30, 2003.” The only item recorded purchased is the rather cheap portfolio, made of imitation leather stiffened with cardboard. The soiled portfolio appears almost new although its contents are obviously considerably older.

We bid Dr. Johnson goodbye. Dr. Clouse has no appointments today and she and I walk back to the Morpheus.

“Who is Letitia Frazier?” asks Laura.
“She is the sister of a builder named Victor Lemoyne, who has been nothing but bad news—our own J. R. Ewing. He’s in jail now awaiting trial on various charges.”

“If his sister’s signature wasn’t on that calendar page, I might expect his picture to appear,” Laura comments. “Maybe she goes to Sam Chu Lin’s, herself. From the looks of this portfolio Carol [Woo] and the others were glad to get rid of it. It looks really crummy—like it was in a dumpster for a week or more!”
“Of course, I don’t know where she—Letitia—has been all this time, either,” I reply.

“What are you doing with it now?” Laura asks.
“I’m slipping it into this big paper bag. Hermione, Alice’s sister-in-law, will want to check the portfolio and its contents for fingerprints—and you and Alice and I may want to use ESP on it. I’m going to show it to Fred Moreland, too.”

“The Sharps’ butler?”
“Yes, he looks a lot like the actor who played Bill Cosby’s dad on the sitcom.”

We get to the Morpheus and wave to Artie Brown on the way in. Down at the seats, we meet Alice, who embraces me. She wears the Mary Blonda outfit again! But she also wears a large brooch pinned to the blouse; it reads “JUST KIDDING!” I kiss her.
Mary Blonda sits in the front row, directing the proceedings. She wears an Audrey Hepburn-style beatnik outfit! All of the people present are DXM people. I emit a telepathic message, rather cordial, saying, “Fred, Hermione, front and center.”

She flies out to the first row, from the wings of the stage. Fred approaches. This is the first time I’ve seen Hermione fly; she wears a tube-top and light blue cutoffs. The others present don’t react to seeing her fly.
Except for Fred. He says to her, “You really shouldn’t fly like that,” as I hand him the paper sack with the portfolio. Hermione acknowledges Fred’s admonition. She senses what we want to do; she walks backstage long enough to get her fingerprint kit, at least to tell if there are any unfamiliar fingerprints on the materials I’ve brought in. She dons a light-blue overblouse.

We all sit down and Fred, holding the paper bag by its handles, speaks.
“Where did you get it?” he asks me. Alice sits next to me with her near hand on my knee.

“Dr. Maggie Johnson said she picked it up off the floor at Sam Chu Lin’s, two days after we were there,” I say. “She kept it covered in a box in her office and showed it to me after my appointment.”
Fred, who still has the book I found at the Sharps’, looks quickly over the contents.

“We’ll have to examine the contents more fully,” he says. “Have you and Dr. Clouse used ESP on the envelopes’ contents?”
“No, not yet,” I say. “For all we know the League may want to check them out.”

The kids, including Claudia, return to the stage area. Now Dr. Maggie Johnson comes in, accompanied by Daniel, Roman Merriwether, and Professor Fields.

[NDP]

But before we get back to the matter of rehearsals, Fred motions Alice and me aside.

“I was going over Livers, Herring, and Nicholas—a Sequel with some the DXM people,” he says, “and I just thought I would pass on some interesting things I found out about the book.”

“Like what?” I inquire.

“Well, it was ‘written’ (if you can call it that) by William Astorbilt–Lord Astorbilts grandfather,” Fred tells us.

“He wrote that?” I state incredulously. “That psychotic Latin typing about solipsism? What did all that mean anyway?”

“Well, I know solipsism is the theory or belief that the self is the only reality,” Alice informs us. “I don’t know if that sheds any further light on this subject though.”

“It might,” Fred says, “After he helped imprison Red Nicholas in the Morpheus, he and his family went to India. There, he became deeply engrossed in mysticism and the search for the ‘true’ reality. Unfortunately, the more involved he got in his pursuit, the more mentally unhinged he became. He eventually left his family and ended up spending most of the rest of his life wandering around Asia. Occasionally, he would return to England to see his family and friends but the visits always ended up being disturbing experiences. He would frequently babble on incoherently and in nonsequiturs about what Red Nicholas, reality, and Asian mysticism. I suspect that book was written during one his periodic trips back home.”

“What finally happened to William Astorbilt?” Alice asks.

Fred draws us in closer and quietly says…

[dougie_monty]

“Astorbilt was subtly influenced by Nicholas—a little at a time. He became such a disruptive person to others that he was jailed in India several times during World War II. The last time, he escaped and wandered into occupied Thailand, then occupied by the Japanese. Nobody knows what happened to him when the war ended; even Japanese POW records don’t show anything, and the postwar government of India, which had a fugitive warrant out on him, presented a writ of extradition to the royal government of Thailand in 1947. The writ was never carried out. William Astorbilt vanished without a trace.”

“Very likely the Japanese executed him,” says Alice.

“That’s a possibility,” says Fred. “But William was quite a courageous person. In prewar India it was so much easier not to rock the boat. Besides, even with the drive for independence in India—muted as it was by the war—the Indian authorities didn’t want to kill an upper-crust Englishman; and even the Japanese hesitated to imprison a British civilian—especially one with Astorbilt’s charisma. You’ve seen the way Red Nicholas operates, he of the silver tongue.” [We all nod.] “Why, shortly after the war ended, a Japanese intelligence officer admitted Astorbilt had actually convinced a number of Japanese occupation soldiers to join him in his mystic, off-beat pursuits. He spoke fluent Japanese. But all contact with him in occupied territory was lost by the time of V-J Day.”

I think now about my original impression of the Sequel book. Why didn’t I bring this up to Fred sooner? :o
“Fred, let’s have another look at that book,” I say, as our three most recent visitors approach the first row. Dr. Maggie Johnson in particular wants to speak up; she’ll have her chance.

Fred opens the book to the first page of the “solipsism” sentence.
“I figure that, while the ‘solipsism’ statement may have meaning, it may also contain a coded message,” I say, as I take out the jeweler’s loupe Merriwether had given me.

Well, I was right. I scan the text on the first page; the second; the third. Then I put the glass away and use my unaided eye as I scan pages at random.
“Fred,” I say, “Use this loupe and tell me if you notice anything out of the ordinary about this text. In fact, you may even be able to tell, without the loupe.”

Fred takes the glass. He sees what I saw. With only Alice, Mary Blonda, George Galloway, and me, close enough to hear him, Fred says, “I see what you mean, ______!” He chortles.
“What is it?” asks Alice, clinging to me.

I show her the text on the first page.
“You’re right,” she says, even without a magnifier. “At least two fonts were used—this is the Baconian Cipher!”

I remember this cipher as set down in the January-February 1981 issue of Games, by contributor Norma Gleason. Of course, it goes back to the 16th Century.
Even Fred has never heard of this. Alice explains it to him.

“Each group of five letters in the printed text stands for one letter on the encoded text. Look closely and you’ll notice that two fonts are intermingled—and no two lines have the same combination of fonts.”

Alice illustrates this with a short list on a sheet of paper:
A—11111
B—11112
C—11121
D—11122
E—11211

“And so on,” says Alice. I and J were the same letter and U and V were the same letter for purposes of the cipher. What letter was used from each font, is, of course, irrelevant. It’s sort of a binary code. The number 1 means any letter in font #1, and the number 2 means any letter in font #2. In each line, the printed text is to be divided into groups of five letters thus—SOLIP SISME STSUU SOWNB RAVIU M. The final ‘M’ is a null letter.”

Fred scans several pages at random. “By George, you’re right! I’ll show this to Parker—”
“Would you allow me to attempt to break the code first?” asks Alice demurely. “After all, I am an amateur cryptologist in my own right, and I do know the Baconian cipher—even though I never saw that issue of Games _____ mentioned.”

Fred smiles. “Very well—be my guest, Ms. Terwilliger.” He hands Alice the book. She and I high-five, and embrace, despite gentle jeering from Daniel.
Now Dr. Johnson wants to talk to us, perhaps about what’s in the portfolio; apparently she asked Professor Fields and Mr. Merriwether to join us. (I begin to sense that perhaps the psychiatrist and the assayer may be—or only recently have been accepted as—DXM people too.)

I sense the psychiatrist has unfinished business with me (not related to my sessions with her) and Alice.
With Mr. Galloway, Fred, Mary, Dr. Clouse, and the three men she has just appeared with (Daniel, Merriwether, Professor Fields), Dr. Maggie speaks, concerning the portfolio and other matters:

[NDP]

“I talked to some of the people at Sam Chu Lin’s and it seems as though Letitia Frazier has been frequenting the restaurant a lot recently,” she explains.

“I think that makes her the likely owner of the portfolio,” Fred adds. “I wonder if she realizes it’s missing.”

“Oh, I think so,” Professor Fields states. “She knows it’s gone. In fact, and this just my theory, I think Ms. Frazier may have deliberately ‘lost’ the portfolio in the bathroom.”

“What makes you think that?” I ask.

“Well, let me first ask Dr. Johnson if she’s found out anything else about Ms. Frazier,” Fields says.

“Yes,” she replies, “the people at the restaurant told me that Frazier, during her visits, asks a lot of questions about the Morpheus and the people who are involved in its restoration and the upcoming AIDS benefit.”

“There you go,” Fields comments.

“‘There you go?’” I repeat.

“Ms. Frazier is probably up to something,” Fields answers. “She likely left the portfolio in bathroom with the expectation it would eventually get to _____, Alice, or someone with the DXM League.”

“There are some other things you should know,” Dr. Johnson tells us. "It seems…

[dougie_monty]

“There is vital information about Nicholas and his family in the envelopes you haven’t opened yet—as well as in that opened letter from the silversmith to Nathaniel Nicholas.”
“Do you mean the envelopes with the caduceus on them?” asks Alice.

“Yes,” says Maggie. “And the blank one as well.”
Alice and I silently scrutinize the three unopened envelopes with our ESP, without letting on to the doctor that we’re doing so. We sense some kind of suspicious substance coating the printed pages.

“You can be sure that Ms. Frazier would use the vital information as bait—to get you to read the pages and be affected by any poison present, much as her brother has tried to do,” says Dr. Johnson. Alice and I haven’t told her what we’ve detected.
“What is Letitia doing now—I mean, what legitimate occupation does she have?” asks Dr. Clouse.

“She runs a small computer hardware store chain; it’s a business she inherited from her parents. They sell consoles, monitors, printers, all kinds of computer equipment,” says Professor Fields.
“What were the parents’ names?” asks Mr. Galloway.

“Jasper and Cloris Lemoyne,” says Fields. “They died within a few weeks of each other about 18 years ago.”
“Cloris Lemoyne…I think I’ve heard that name,” says Dr. Clouse. I’ll arrange a hypnosis session with Eloise: I’d like to try to remember where I’ve heard that name, Laura says telepathically to Alice and me. We nod acknowledgment.

Now Hermione speaks up.
“I can use the fingerprint kit, and the computer in the Sharps’ private office, to identify any unknown prints on the portfolio. The papers I’ll have to check at the crime lab, with magnesium powder.”

Hermione starts to go to that office, with the portfolio in a large plastic bag. She also carries gloves and, of course, she has access to the sophisticated photographic and chemical-analysis equipment at the police station.
“There’s a couple of other things you might do, Hermione,” I suggest. “That receipt from Bradford Stationers. Use the ‘mag powder’ on it, and identify the sales clerk from it. We’ll want to know how she got a personalization affixed to the portfolio—assuming, of course, it was Letitia Frazier who bought it.”

“It’s possible someone else could have bought the portfolio—and Letitia stole it, or found it discarded, and put the papers in it,” says Alice, her arms wrapped around me.
“Well, we’ll know more about it once Winifred and I have examined the portfolio and its contents,” says Hermione as she goes off to check the portfolio with her fingerprint kit.

Now we’re ready to continue with the dress rehearsals.
James Parker arrives. He says, “I have been authorized to be present while you communicate with Red Nicholas.”

This surprises me slightly since I didn’t even know we had specifically planned to do this.
Fred asks, “Do we talk to him directly, on use the phone line, or what?”

“Use the phone line,” says Parker. “We understand that you’re concerned about a questionable magic trick performed by young George Sharp, and you want to know if Red Nicholas had anything to do with it, and, if he did, just how George managed to do the trick. [Dr. Maggie, Merriwether, and Daniel are not present; they’re watching the rehearsals while we’re in the conference room.] This is a specific concern since small children were exposed to nudity, as I understand it. I’ll listen on an extension.”

“The phone line to Nicholas is in the manager’s office [not Jack Sharp’s private office, where Hermione is examining the portfolio],” says Fred.
Now Hermione leaves the Morpheus altogether, to have the portfolio examined in the police station’s crime lab.

We continue with the dress rehearsals. Prester John’s Aunt performs; I sing “Fer the Good Times”; Jeanette does her thing with The Cigar Band and the Contralto Quartet. This frees those of us who will participate in the contact with Nicholas to leave the stage area and go to the manager’s office.
Hermione phones us to say she and Winifred are now examining the various papers.

We tell Parker that Eloise and Jack have properly reprimanded their son George for the trick.
“What was the trick?” asks Parker. “All I know so far is that it involved nudity.”
“George called a little boy from the audience. The kid vanished while George drew the naked Anna Luglio, age 18, out of an ordinary top hat,” says Eloise. “Anna and the boy were not harmed during the trick—other than that Anna appeared naked before a group of small boys.”

“I understand Nicholas is less interested in TV now—he conducts sort of a ‘discussion forum’ in the Hellmouth cavern now,” says Parker. We nod.
Jeanette gets on the phone to Nicholas, with Parker listening on an extension. After the cordial, formal greetings, Jeanette demurely asks her family’s old friend:

[NDP]

“We were wondering about something Mr. Nicholas,” she states. “Nothing big. Just a question about a magic trick.”

“A magic trick?” says Red. “Why ask me about a magic trick?”

“Well, the trick in question was performed by George Sharp a short time ago,” Jeanette explains. “Do you know anything about it.”

“What kind of magic trick was it?”

“George called a little boy from the audience and the kid vanished while George drew the naked girl out of a top hat.”

For a second there’s silence on the line followed by chuckling.

“Was it a big top hat?” inquires Red as he tries to stifle his laughter.

“No, a regular sized one,” Jeanette answers.

“I think I do know something about that particular trick,” Red admits. “In fact, I have to confess, I played a role in it.”

“What kind of role?”

“Oh, a notable one,” Red says. “It started that evening when your group invited me to join them for dinner at that restaurant.”

“DeCaro’s?”

“Yes, I think that was the name of it. Anyway, while there, I noticed young George Sharp making eyes at the waitress there–what’s her name?”

“Anna Luglio.”

“I struck up a conversation with George during which it became very evident to me that he lusted after her form. He didn’t say it out loud of course, but I knew what he was thinking.”

“So you can read minds?”

“I can do more things than you can possibly imagine,” Nicholas states with an air of smugness. “Well, somehow our conversation turned to the subject of magic tricks. George told me the show that’s coming up and said he’d like to do something for it. Apparently wants to be the next Houdini and I, being familiar with all secrets of the art, offered some advice on what kind of act he should do. At that time, Miss Luglio returned to our table and I quickly persuaded her to participate. From there, George’s whole routine fell into line.”

“So how did he do it?” Jeanette asks.

“George really didn’t do it by himself,” Red explains. “All he had to do was hit his marks and signal me so I could ‘intervene.’”

“So how did you it?”

Again, there’s silence for a second followed by mild chuckling.

“My dear,” Red says authoritatively, “a good magician never reveals his secrets. Let’s just say it was a matter of mind over matter.”

Parker, who’s been listening to the whole conversation, has quickly grown flustered. He hands Jeanette a note that apparently tells her what to ask Red next.

Jeanette clears her throat and says…

[dougie_monty]

“Red, we think you should know that George’s audience for the trick was about two dozen boys from the class of Eloise Sharp’s grandson, Jack Sharp II—George’s nephew.”
Nicholas is surprised.

“Do you mean George demonstrated the trick to an audience of children?” he asks.
Eloise comes on the line. Parker is listening with considerable interest.

“That’s exactly what he did,” says George’s mother. “He drew Anna out of the top hat to the gasps of the little boys and said ‘Any other boys wanna see if my magic hat is a fake?’ I approached and stopped the act. Pete and Loora Oranjeboom stepped up—”
“Good God!” exclaims Nicholas, angrily. “I specifically told George to demonstrate that trick to your husband and you, and Mr. Galloway, and Alice Terwilliger and ________. Not to an audience of little boys! He should have told all of you about the trick, beforehand. It sounds as if he sprang that trick on you all out of the blue!”

“That he did!” says Eloise ruefully.
“What happened next?” asks Red.

Jeanette comes back on the line.
“Pete and Loora walked on stage. They raised their arms and said something in Dutch. Anna disappeared and the little boy reappeared. He was fully clothed and returned to the seats. Then Anna came out of the wings with her clothes on, and returned to the front row herself.”

Nicholas is stunned—by at least two issues here. He sounds as if he is about to cry.
“Dear God in Heaven… I did not want to expose that young lady to a group of little boys… I have let Ferruccio and his family down…” We hear some sobbing. Jeanette is almost ready to break down herself.

Now Nicholas composes himself.
“The Oranjebooms… so they raised their arms and said something in Dutch?”

“Yes,” says Jeanette. “Eloise and I didn’t make it out—we don’t know any Dutch and Eloise was still angry with George.”
“Hmmmmm… I believe I know that incantation, though I don’t know any Dutch myself. So they raised their arms—and then the little boy reappeared?”

“That’s what happened, all right,” says Ms. Strong.
“Write this down, Jeanette. I think you all should know that you must not speak the incantation—in any language—with your arms raised.”

“Why not?” asks Jeanette.
“Because all people present will lose their clothes if you do! The clothing will appear in a pile on the floor nearby. I would compare it to the prom scene in the movie Zapped!, which I watched on a DVD last week. All the kids in the prom scene were suddenly stripped.”

Now Nicholas dictates the incantation to Jeanette. She writes it down twice, handing one copy to Parker and giving the other to Eloise, who stuffs it into her cleavage. Parker reads the copy Jeanette gave him.
“Why didn’t the people present at the time lose their clothes when Pete and Loora spoke the incantation?”

“Because Anna was already present, naked,” says Nicholas. “If only one person present is already naked, nobody else will be affected. It also doesn’t work if a ghost is present.”
Leo, Alice and I say telepathically to each other.

“Simply stated,” Nicholas continues, “the trick was sort of ‘beam-me-up-Scotty.’ [Nicholas has obviously been watching Star Trek reruns.] The little boy was teleported backstage and naked Anna, already in the wings, was teleported up through the hat—‘beamed down,’ in a sense. The incantation reversed this, returning the little boy to the stage and Anna back to the wings. She had already undressed before George hit his marks, and she put her clothes back on before coming back to the seats.”

“I think that’s all we’ll need for now…thanks very much, Mr. Nicholas,” says Jeanette.
“Did the Sharps reprimand George?” asks Red.

Eloise comes back on the line. “We sure did,” she says. “I made him apologize to Ferruccio and Sofia, and Anna and her parents [Tomasso and Lucrezia], and all the little boys’ parents. Jack and I are satisfied that he learned his lesson.”
“That’s good,” says Red. “I told him how to prepare for the trick and he failed to inform you. I assure you, Mrs. Sharp, I would not deliberately embarrass Anna or her family, nor would I try to cause trouble for your grandson and his classmates. I’ll talk to you later.”

Although we don’t necessarily accept Nicholas’ sincerity, he did answer our question.
“It would be good to have someone like Coldfire—of the Teeming Millions—to read that incantation, since I believe he speaks Dutch,” says Alice, standing close to me. Eloise takes the slip of paper out from between her boobs and hands it to Alice. She reads it and hands it to me; I read it and give it to Jeanette, who shows it to the others present. (It’s not the misquote from The Tempest.)

Parker leaves. The rest of us return to the stage area. We’re satisfied with Nicholas’ explanation; it would take his sorcery—or that which Pete and Loora have mastered—to pull off the trick. Teleportation, no less. We decide that we’ll discuss this with Pete and Loora later.
Now the FBI agents Steptoe and Colfax return. They have good news. They obtained search warrants for the homes of Argo Rank, Minerva Calley, and Maya Kalp—and John McGowan. They have found a huge amount of evidence against these people.

[NDP]

"In fact, as you may know, Maya Kalp is ready to roll over on Calley and Victor Lemoyne,: adds Agent Colfax. “With her testimony and all this evidence, I don’t think a jury will take long deliberating over this bunch.”

“Let’s not get too cocky,” Agent Steptoe warns. “You never know what might happen between now the trial.”

However, Colfax and Steptoe have other reasons to see us. It seems…

[dougie_monty]

They are also doing a follow-up investigation into the bank robbery that culminated in the fatal shooting of Argo Rank on the roof of the Morpheus.
We all discuss this—Alice, Mr. Galloway, the Sharps, Mary Blonda, Salbert, Samantha… we agree that we saw nobody enter the Morpheus from the inside, except for the two agents who climbed the stairs carrying an empty body bag.

“That would be Schiller and Heinsdorf,” says Steptoe. “Flagler, Sanborn, Kahne, and Holscher were already on the roof chasing Rank.”
“Any one with a healthy physique can jump from the adjoining building to the Morpheus’ roof—that is, could do so, until that building’s owners set up barriers on the parapet a few days after the shooting,” says Jack Sharp. “No other nearby structure is anywhere near that tall.”

“What’s in the adjoining building?” asks Colfax.
“It’s an office building,” says Jack. “The first-floor tenant is a hairdresser’s place, known as Kerrie’s Coifs. There’s a dance school on the second floor.”

We all nod. (Vera Tedson goes to the dance school all the time. She often appears at the Morpheus in leotards.) The agents fill in a few pages in their notebooks.
“We would also like to ask you about the armed confrontation you had with five gunmen in Hector Guzman’s body shop on Amoruso Street—on the other side of this block.”

This is an unusual question…
“I believe officers Robert Long and John [Jock] Dumfries have a police report on that,” I say.

“We’re not concerned with the confrontation itself,” Steptoe says. “Calley and those gunmen are in custody. We’ve been tracking an alleged shipment of stolen automatic weapons and we’d like to ascertain whether the ones those gunmen had, were part of the shipment.”
Steptoe produces a portfolio. Before he opens it, he asks, “Who all were in your party at Guzman’s place when the gunmen appeared?”

“_______, George Galloway, Philip Ramírez, Lena Martínez, Joseph Bradley, and me,” says Alice, clinging to me.
Steptoe now opens the portfolio and shows us pictures of various weapons—mean-looking automatic rifles and sub-machine guns. Alice and I, and Mr. Galloway, look at the pictures.

“That looks like the one,” Alice says, pointing at a particularly fearsome rifle. I look at it, too, and nod.
“AK-47,” says Colfax. He and Steptoe nod. Mr. Galloway looks and nods too.

“Bradley, Ramírez and Martínez are not around right now,” says Alice.
“That’s all right,” says Colfax. “Three of you agreed on what the guns looked like. I understand the weapons were all damaged at the scene.”

“They were,” I say. I let it go at that. :rolleyes:
“That’s all for now,” says Steptoe. “We’ll probably be off-duty the night of your benefit. We’ll get back to you.” The agents smile, and then go on their way.

“Well, that’s a new wrinkle,” says Mr. Galloway. “Most likely Lady Calley will now also face a charge of possession of stolen automatic weapons, on top of her other charges.”
We all muse about this.

Now Fields and Bartholomew come in, with news of their own.
“Erika Thallwood has been suspended from her legal practice and may face criminal charges.”

“What charges?” I ask, though I’m fairly sure I already know—as does Alice.
“Forgery and suborning perjury,” says Fields. “Remember that fax that was sent to the Sharps by mistake?”

“I sure do,” I answer. I sense that Alice is getting horny.
“Erika persuaded Lemoyne’s sister to make a sworn declaration about that ‘contract’ to the Terwilligers’ property. [March 6 posting—d.m.] The court clerk thought something looked wrong and gave the supposedly 107-year-old document—the contract—to the police. They found it was not drawn up around 1896; the paper had a watermark with a World War II theme, and the ink was a modern formula.”

“I can guess what tipped off the clerk,” says Alice, pushing her bosom and one hip against me.
“Absolutely,” replies Fields. “That 90-day period mentioned in the contract includes Leap-year Day—and 1900 was not a leap year. Anyone drawing up a contract in 1896 would have known that. So the period of January 1, 1900, to March 30, 1900, inclusive of both dates, was eighty-nine days, not ninety. Ms. Thallwood has cooked her own goose—and Letitia’s—and Lemoyne’s.”

Bartholomew says, with tongue slightly in cheek, “_____, you may want to sue Erika for calling you an ‘idiot’ in the contract.”
We all chuckle at this. “All in good time,” I reply.

Well, we’ve been due for some good news…
Now we will be going to the House of Tracy, for the beginning of the men’s and women’s divisions of the bowling tournament; the mixed division will resume in two days. Meanwhile, we notice George and Betty Galloway, Jack and Eloise Sharp, Jeanette, Amy, Phil, and Johnny heading for private dressing rooms. Alice and I take the hint, and we sneak off to a dressing room, ourselves, for some extracurricular activity.