Surreal continuing story: walking through doors and passageways

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1001

“What would you recommend? Jock prefers a formal suit, and would just as soon not have haggis served at the reception.”
I mull this over a moment.

“Well, my opinion is that Jock may consider wearing his police dress blues. Do any officers do that these days?”
Hermione, Winifred, Bob Long, and Lieutenant Clay—his leg still bandaged from the shootout in the bank—are present. They have been to a few cops’ weddings, they say, but never did an officer get married wearing dress blues.

I suggest, “How about the formal suit, with perhaps a bow tie, pocket hanky, and cummerbund in the Dumfries tartan pattern?”
Lorna, Jock and the others think this over for a minutes. Jock shrugs. “I can accept that,” he says. Lorna nods.

“As for the haggis—how many of you Scots present have ever eaten it?”
They all shrug and shake their heads.

“Have you ever eaten Philadelphia scrapple?”
A few of the Scots nod. (Scrapple is corn-meal mush with pork bits.)

“Well, then, why not include scrapple at the reception instead?” Jock and Lorna nod.
I add, “Hey, my ancestry is mostly Irish, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I would wear a green suit and have corned beef and cabbage at my reception.”

“Or that I would choose steak and kidney pie,” says Alice.
I blush. The Scots giggle and tease me slightly; Alice and I look down.

“Then it’s settled,” says Lorna, clasping Jock’s hand. “You’ll wear a formal suit, trimmed properly with the Dumfries tartan pattern, and we’ll have Philadelphia scrapple instead of haggis at the reception.”
“Done,” says Jock with a smile. He kisses Lorna. :slight_smile:

I ask, “Has anyone in your families, in fact, ever married wearing the tartan?”
“Not since we can recall,” says Rachel McManus, Lorna’s mother. The senior Ms. McManus resembles Julie London more than her daughter does. She wears a black pantsuit with a pink pullover. She carries a purse displaying the McManus tartan pattern in petit point.

“Let’s get back to the music,” says Johnny Goss. I return to the drumset. I give the downbeat for “Give Peace a Chance,” and the others join in.
Jock’s father, Duncan Dumfries, is surprised by this choice. In a booming voice the elder Dumfries, bearing a resemblance to Wilford Brimley, says, in his heavy burr, “Young man, you chose that to play at your wedding?”

“Yes, I did, Father,” says Jock. “Lorna and I have liked it for years.”
Duncan shakes his head and shrugs. “Well, boy, I guess ye know what ye want.”

We continue with the wedding music rehearsals. I note that the Scots seem mesmerized by the lovely contralto voice of Jeanette Strong. The Scottish music we play delights the group, and Jeanette, a seasoned performer, tailors her temperament and interpretation to her audience.
When the set is over, we get a round of applause. We musicians leave the stage, and introduce ourselves to the Scots.

“You sing beautifully, young lady,” says Elizabeth Dumfries, Jock’s mother. “Are you Scottish?”
“No,” says Jeanette, standing next to me. “My dad was from an old Yankee family in Connecticut, but his mother’s family was named Granucci. My Mom’s maiden name was Luglio.”

“You’re about as Italian as you can be,” comments Rachel McManus.
“And such a tall woman!” says James McManus, Lorna’s dad, who rather resembles Peter Jennings. Jeanette contrasts with my pudgy, baldpate appearance in the guise of Jerry Britton.

James Parker approaches. He wears a sharkskin suit that seems a half-size too small. Some in the audience snicker. He mutters, “My wife put this suit in the washer by mistake. I’ll have to see Pete and Loora.” :smiley:
“They’re in Mr. Sharp’s office translating Ms. Rimpau’s book,” I say.

“We’d like to visit Red now,” Parker says. “You, Alice, Ms. Strong, Susan Bradley, Claudia, Joan, Jan Oranjeboom and me. It’s really routine. We want to give him the stone urn and ask him about Madame Zoozoo.”
“Why bring Jan Oranjeboom along?” I ask. (I assume Red would like to see his descendant Claudia again, and we would need Susan to interpret her ASL. And Red is always delighted to see Jeanette.)

Parker explains. “Pete and Loora are busy, and Cornelis had to take Hannah to the doctor,” he says. We want to have one of the Oranjebooms come along, to discuss the use of incantations and to find out how similar Nicholas’ nineteenth-century rites were to Ms. Rimpau’s.”

We bid goodbye to the Scots for now. The people Parker requested dress suitably and go down to the sub-basement; we have Stan and Joe lower the stone urn in after us, into the Hellmouth. Red greets us cordially; he too is in light clothing, as are Al the Alien and Mike the Morlock, who accompany him.

1002

I notice Al and Mike have at least five wristwatches on each of their arms. I also see clocks everywhere.

“Why all the timepieces?” I ask. “Is there a need to be punctual down here?”

“Oh, that’s just a hobby of mine,” Red answers. “I’ve developed an interest in watches and clocks. I make them, wind them up, and let them be.”

“I guess it’s harmless,” Parker comments.

“Except when Daylight Savings Time begins and ends,” Al says. “It’s a real bitch to change the time on all these clocks. Last time we did it, it took a whole day.”

“And more clocks keep being made!” Mike complains. “By the time we do this again next Spring, it will probably take a full week!”

“Well, a man needs his activities,” Red chuckles. “Now, it’s my understanding you’re down here to see me about an old acquaintance of mine named Madame Zoozoo and a stone urn of hers.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” I tell Red. “How well did you know her?”

“Our paths crossed numerous times in the 19th century,” he explains. "The first time I met her…

1003

“…I could hardly understand her. We wrote down a lot of what we wanted to tell each other. She had a thick West Indies accent.”
“But that accent is an offshoot of Irish,” says Parker. “Ms. Rimpau wrote her book of ‘incantashuns’ in Dutch.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “In college I took a semester of Spanish with a professor who was from Argentina. She spoke English with a German accent, but her Spanish did not carry any kind of foreign accent.”
“But as time passed,” says Alice, “you became accustomed to her accent.”

“I sure did,” says Red. “Remember, I grew up in China and India—I became familiar with literally hundreds of languages. English was actually a second language for me.”
“Speaking of time,” I say, “When autumn comes, why not just let most of the clocks run down for a few days, and rewind and reset them after the last Sunday in October?”

“I never thought of that,” say Red, Al, and Mike, almost in unison.
“Back to Zuzinda,” says Red. “She and Crisdel and I were rivals in a sense, but they didn’t observe Wiccan rites as I did. She practiced voodoo and Santeria, as they call it now; Crisdel practiced ‘white magic.’”

I figured as much from what we’ve read so far of Crisdel’s book, Parker thinks to Alice and me.
“Did you eventually work together with either of them?” asks Jeanette.

“Yes, I did,” says Red. “Once Noah, Zuzinda, and I realized we were not encroaching on each other’s specialties, we all got along just fine. I understand that there’s at least one book out about me, that someone kept up near the roof exit of the Morpheus.”
“Yes,” says Alice. “We found that book months ago.”

“So you should be able to compare the three of us through our writings.”
“Of course,” says Joan, “You had had to deal with the family of Phileas Sikes-Potter.”

“Indeed we did, Ms. Breastly,” says Red, scowling. “I don’t mind telling you that he struck sparks off all three of us and the difficulties you all have encountered are a result of that enmity.
“One more thing—have you been to Victor Lemoyne’s home in the Oakland area to check out the writings he kept? From what some of the extraterrestrials who lived here told me, he had data on all of the Sikes-Potter family members and minions in a thick, white binder. If anyone has done a search of his home they’ll find it.”

“My uncle is in charge of Lemoyne’s assets now,” says Alice, “in place of Pula Kinlai, who is in jail. Thanks for the lead. I’ll contact Uncle Phil and ask him if he can get any binders from Lemoyne’s home examined and released to us.”
Red now turns to face the 16-year-old Jan Oranjeboom, who introduces himself.

“I’ll bet you have the power of sorcery, young man,” says Red.
“Yes, I do, Mr. Nicholas,” says Jan, a bit surprised. “How did you know?”

Red smiles. “As Zuzinda and I got to know each other, when I was in the West Indies, she told me about three Dutch families—Oranjeboom, Vos, and Goes. Every member of the families was a full-fledged sorcerer. Is your mother’s maiden name Goes, or Vos, Jan?”
“It’s Vos,” says Jan.

“Does your mother have any brothers or sisters?”
“No, sir,” says Jan. “She was an only child.”

“Is that a fact!” Exclaims Red. “Most of the people named Oranjeboom, Vos, or Goes had large families.”
“Well, I have a brother and two sisters,” says Jan. “My brother Cornelis’ wife Hannah—her maiden name is Goes—is due to give birth in a few weeks.” Red reacts appropriately.

“So you and Crisdel and Ms. Rimpau worked together?” asks Parker.
“Actually, no, we didn’t,” answers Nicholas. “We had different specialties.”

Red now gives an elaborate description of how he and Crisdel and Zuzinda worked in harmony for years, until her death in 1909 in Haiti; she had suffered chronically from cholera. Red refers us to the books, including the one we found in the stone urn; he even suggests Lemoyne may have had copies in his own library, whether he ever read any of them or not. Alice and I agree telepathically that it is unlikely he would have cared much for such reading.
Parker and Breastly are satisfied.

We present the urn to Red. “Thank you,” he says. “I think I can fit an arc-light into this; it’ll make a good beacon down here.”
We bid him goodbye and leave the Hellmouth. As we ride the elevator back up to street level, we comment on Red’s story.

“It sounds as if he worked very well alongside those two, Crisdel and Rimpau—rather unusual for a man who has been isolated so much of his prolonged life,” says Alice.

Now Alice asks me to accompany her to Max’s Photo Shop, to pick up some prints and buy some film to use at the wedding. While we’re there—it’s about a block away from the Morpheus so we walk—we meet Tom Bakke. He doesn’t recognize me right away, because I still look like the pudgy, balding Jerry Britton.

Bakke walks back to the Morpheus with us. Traffic is slow on Bradford, because of construction a few blocks down the street; we see the same “beater” Jeanette and we saw during our high-school mission, stopped for the long red light. The same kids are inside. Alice may still look like the “anime-eyes babe” to them, but I sure don’t resemble the “head-cheese boy” they hollered at. Bakke recognizes them, however. When they jeer us, he shoots back:

1004

“Sorry, boys. The lady isn’t interested in seeing your collection of Star Wars action figures.”

“Hey, I’ve got a light sabre right here to show her,” the teenage driver of the klunker proudly retorts. The other kids in the car snicker However, I get the sense it’s not because they think it’s a smart remark but rather because they know the driver is making a real dumbass of himself.

“Such class,” Alice says with perfect sarcasm. “Such wit. Such maturity. It’s such a shame I have to do this.”

Alice raises her eyebrow and the car’s…

1005

…hood.
“Hey! What the [insert your favorite expletive here] happened?” whines the driver.

Traffic in front of the clunker moves forward. I look down the street and see workmen moving cones out of the street, opening another lane. Cars behind the “beater” start honking.
As Alice, Tom, and I walk away, the driver gets out and slams the hood down. He returns to the driver’s seat. The car stalls. With a little more cursing the driver starts the car. Now the light turns red again. :smiley: The other kids curse the driver.

Alice, still feeling whimsical, whispers to Tom. He chortles and says, “Sure, go ahead!” She turns back to the car—we’re about fifty feet back of it now—and lifts an eyebrow; a moment later, we hear the driver yelp. We hear one of the other kids say “Stud!” to the driver. I use ESP and find out his fly is torn open and he has a hardon—probably his hormones’ reaction to Alice. The boys guffaw loudly at the driver. Now the light turns red yet again. At this point, the woman at the wheel of the car behind gets out of her car. She wears black toreador pants and a leopard-pattern “bird cage” top, over an overripe figure. She swivels wildly as she walks forward to the driver’s window.

“Will you get the hell out of—You PERVERT!!” She obviously saw the kid’s exposed erection.
The light turns green. The embarrassed driver steps on the gas and the car lurches forward. The steaming-mad woman returns to her car and drives away. The other cars move as well.

Alice, Tom, and I get a good laugh. Now I use ESP again.
I say, “That driver just said, ‘I ain’t coming around here again! Wherever head-cheese boy is now he can have that anime-eyes babe!’”

We return to the Morpheus. It’s lunchtime and our group is in the conference room. Tom approaches Dr. Clouse and Vickie Sanders. They all were in the formal choir at Rio Hondo High, and start their own conversation.
Again, De Caro’s has catered the lunch. Alice and I enjoy antipasto and veal parmigiana; we have small glasses of sherry. For dessert there is a serving of spumoni. We sit at a small table in a corner.

“Alice, you didn’t tell me you know psychokinesis,” I say.
She gently clasps my hand.

“I have a lot of abilities I haven’t told you about yet,” she says with a smile. “Up to now I rarely felt the need to use psychokinesis, at least since I met you. I released that car’s hood latch, caused the car to stall, and tore that kid’s fly open with the power. It’s rare I would use it for something other than self-defense.”
“Perhaps you could have used it against Foraker and Donoho when we were in the attic,” I say.

“I suppose I could,” Alice answers. “I could have pushed them together while twisting the shotguns out of their grip, and they would start fighting.”
“Did you use psychokinesis when we were at the high school?” I ask.

“Indeed I did,” says Alice. “You may remember Bobbie Cold, who approached us after French class one time, and Margie Stewart, who tried to be the boss of the cheerleaders.”
“Go on,” I say.
“Well, Bobbie and Marge approached me one time in the girls’ locker room and tried to tell me they wanted you, and if I didn’t stay away from you they’d jam my glasses up my rear end. I could tell that a lot of other girls were watching. I used psychokinesis and moved the two girls’ arms in such a way that they pulled their own slacks and panties down. That deflated Bobbie and Marge real quick—the other girls started calling them ‘Lez flashers’!”

“Well, they had it coming,” I say.

Now, the day of the wedding of Jock and Lorna has finally come. We all get ready, at the Sharps’ place. We use Jack’s big limo, Eloise’s van, and my Lexus to get to St. Aloysius’ Church.
As we park, I sense the presence of Leo, Thurlow, Ulrica, and countless other ghosts, as an unofficial security force.

Alice, Hermione, Winifred, Samantha, Thalia, April Blonda, and Doris Sharp wear low-backed dresses (Mary keeps a close eye on her daughter). Just before everybody gets out of the cars, I say “Shadowskeedeeboomboom” and Alice duly clouds the minds of the non-DXM part of the wedding party, about the wings. Everyone is in fancy clothes, including Doris’ sister Frannie, setting up her photography equipment. Alice and I routinely check the crowd for Thurman or Myrtle, or anyone else we sense may try to spoil the proceedings. (I have a plastic, flat-sided seltzer bottle with Dr. Diem’s compound in it, in my inside coat pocket, ready to shpritz.)

We greet Jock, in a black-and-white tux tastefully trimmed with the Dumfries tartan pattern. Jerry Britton, of course, is not present—he’ll stay at the Sharps’ place. I join Jeanette, Phil, and Johnny at the bandstand. Jeanette wears a flower-pattern, pink flannel dress, and is obviously also wearing underwear whose outlines are not visible.

Angus appears. He wears the McPherson tartan: He had discussed this with Lorna and Jock, who agreed it would be proper since he is to play the bagpipes. And he skirls quite an impressive set of them; he plays a traditional Scottish tune.

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As he does this, I look over the crowd again. So far, no suspicious characters.

Angus finishes his number and everyone applauds. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Leo vaguely manifest himself long enough to give me an “OK” sign. Apparently, everything’s going smoothly. I give a relieved sigh.

“Hey, does anybody know any songs that have bagpipes in them?” Phil asks. “Angus want to do some numbers with us.”

“Well, there’s In a Big County by Big Country,” I say.

“Oh yeah,” Phil says. “80’s one-hit wonder.”

“That’s good,” comments Angus. “But, for a Scottish bagpiper, it’s kind of a cliche`.”

“Okay, how about AC/DC’s It’s a Long Way to the Top If You Wanna Rock & Roll,” I suggest. “That’s got an even longer bagpipe solo in it.”

“Yes, I know,” Angus states. “I’ve also done that one quite a few times. I just don’t know if this the right type of place to do it, though. What does everybody else think?”

For a few moments, we mull it over. Then, Johnny says…

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“Let’s do ‘It’s a Long Way,’ then.” He tells Angus, who nods; he takes the sheet music out and sets it up. Jeanette, Phil, Johnny, and I do likewise.
I see the “Brahma” message on Jerry’s high-hat again. Just before I give the downbeat, I notice an older man—in his mid-sixties—in a plain brown suit, seated in a pew directly across the nave from us.

*Find out who that man is, please, Leo, * I say.
Wilcox, he replies.

Fortified by the message on the drumset, I follow the notes on the music on Jerry’s stand exactly—and I had only heard AC/DC’s song a few times. I remember the Russian River Rats having played it.
Angus plays the solo. I’ve rarely heard long runs like that by bagpipes, but I think back to the fifth “Brandenburg Concerto” by J. S. Bach, in which there is a long solo on the harpsichord.

Now we finish the AC/DC song and get a round of applause, except from some older people—apparently some are Abromowitz’ parishioners. I hadn’t gone over Lorna’s guest list, but I assume that since she is Catholic she invited some of the members of St. Aloysius’ Church. I use ESP on one old woman and find she is indeed Jo Periwinkle, the ex-WAC from World War II—77 years old but quite healthy and lucid.
Wouldn’t you know—Angus now says, “Here’s sheet music for something I play, out of the Baroque period.”

“Who ‘Baroque’ that period?” I ask, maintaining Jerry’s impudent character. The wedding party laughs. I still see no sign of Stout or Fife.
Angus hands us sheet music for the Second Movement of Bach’s “Brandenburg Concerto No. 5.” I never before saw that piece arranged for bagpipes, guitar, bass, piano, and drums, but there it is. Angus plays the long solo, and gets a round of applause before the piece is over.

Meanwhile, I get a telepathic message from Leo.
That man is Artur Mortimer, Leo tells me.

I don’t think he was invited, I say. Have you notified the League?
I’m doing that right now, Leo says.

We finish Bach’s piece and the group applauds. I glance at Alice, seated in the front row with Lorna’s bridesmaids. There’s a pause before we’re to play any more music.
I’ve contacted Parker, says Leo. He says that if “Arty Morty” disrupts the proceedings, to shpritz Dr. Diem’s compound—not at Mortimer, but straight down on the floor. Then I am to signal to Alice, telepathically, the message “The hyena has bolted.” And Parker says they’ll take it from there.

I glance at “Arty Morty,” who is quiet; according to my ESP he is without guile or evil intent. Parker had said, in any case, that Mortimer was quite cooperative when he (Parker) and Breastly gave him orders about what to do when he was suspended from the League. Parker, Breastly, Fred, or even Buster, would notify us. Otherwise, we have orders to avoid Mortimer as much as possible.
Alice and other DXM people present catch my eye as if to say, We got the same message you did and we know “Arty Morty” is present.

Now Father Abromowitz gives us the cue. We set up the sheet music for the processional wedding march. Angus does likewise.
I give the downbeat and we start to play. Angus’ bagpipe playing sounds almost like a church organ as he plays the melody.

And Jock, accompanied at this point by his father, Duncan Dumfries, approaches the altar. Father Abromowitz takes his position.
And now comes Lorna, approaching the altar alongside her father. Everyone oohs and aahs at the sight of Lorna, wearing her mother’s lacy white gown. She also wears a small gold tiara, and orange blossoms, and carries a splendid bouquet. Jack Sharp II and Lorna’s flower girl, little Maureen, follow Lorna, carrying the end of her train. I notice that Lorna is already shedding tears—as is Jock. So are others looking on.

The bride approaches the groom. Lorna and Jock join hands. The music stops and Angus sets his bagpipe down. He, Alice, and the bridesmaids assume their positions with Jock and Lorna. Jeanette and Phil set their guitars down and sit down; Johnny turns around on the piano bench.
Father Abromowitz begins the ceremony.

“Dearly beloved, we have come to join this man John Dumfries and this woman Lorna McManus in holy wedlock…”
The priest gives an eloquent speech on the meaning of marriage. I make eye contact with Alice, and see a few tears on her cheeks. I know I am doing likewise. With ESP I note that Leo, Thurlow, Ulrica, and Luigi are on alert, as are Hermione, Winifred, and Bob Long, on duty though in formal clothes.

I say telepathically to Alice, again, “Shadowskeedeeboomboom,” and she acknowledges; she’s ready to carry her mind clouding to the next level. And I notice all the other DXM people present now wear their Yellow Fox pins; I put mine on.
The priest now turns to Lorna and says, “Do you, Lorna McManus, take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” answers Lorna, stammering from strong emotion.
“And do you, John Dumfries, take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” says Jock, just as emotional as Lorna.

Abromowitz says, “The rings, please.” Jack Sharp II approaches, carrying a tiny pillow with the rings. At the priest’s direction little Jack waits for him to finish the ceremony before Jock and Lorna each take one ring, to put on the other’s hand.
Abromowitz now says, “If there be anyone present who can say why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, let him or her speak now or forever hold their piece.”

1008

“I do!” a voice says.

As if on cue, everyone in the church gasps.

I scan the crowd for the objecting party and think to myself, “Why did they have to include that section? You’re just inviting trouble when you do.” On a hunch, I look toward where Arty Morty is sitting. My hunch is wrong; he’s just sitting in the pew with a slight grin on his face. He’s apparently amused by the cliched melodramatic scene that’s broken out.

“Who said that?” shouts Father Abromowitz.

“I did!” the voice says. It seems to be coming from the rear pews. However, when we look back toward there, we don’t see anyone.

“Will whoever is objecting to the wedding of John Dumfries and Lorna McManus, please step into the center aisle,” Father Abromowitz commands.

“As you wish,” a muffled voice says. We hear footsteps from the back of the church and, into the aisle, emerges somebody who, I’m quite sure, I’ve never seen before in my life because there’s no way I could forget a person who looked like that . For one thing…

1009

…he is very short; he looks as if he hasn’t been near a bathtub or clean clothes in a month. He wears a cheap suit that appears to have been in a dumpster for a week. His hair and fingernails suggest Struwwulpeter or Don King/Patty LaBelle. He looks like Belker from Hill Street Blues, as if he were out of work for three months.
I glance at Lorna. In the year or so I have known her I have never seen such anger in her eyes. I read her lips; she mutters “Thurman.”

The scuzzy man is her pipsqueak cousin, Thurman Stout.
I also see a woman across the way, who has apparently been trying to catch my eye.

I whisper to Phil, while everyone else—Thurman included—is silent, “That woman in the green-and-white dress—is that Myrtle Fife?”
“She is,” says Phil. “She’s Jerry’s ‘groupie.’”

I make a telepathic announcement to the DXM people present; if I were speaking, I would holler at the top of my lungs:
The person objecting is Thurman Stout! Myrtle Fife is also present! She is sitting just off the aisle wearing a green-and-white dress and carrying a yellow walking stick!

The DXM people present react. If looks could kill…
Arty Morty slumps backward. He almost looks as if he has gone to sleep!

Time to use Dr. Diem’s compound, Alice thinks to me.
Your wish is my command, I reply.

I draw the spray flask out of my coat before Thurman can continue. I take aim with the sprayer, and squirt Mr. Stout at the base of the neck.
“Hey!” he bleats.

“Oh…oh…oh…No! No!!” I surrender! I don’t object, Father Abromowitz! I withdraw my objection to this marriage! (cough, cough) Aaaaah!”
Stout runs out of the church. As he runs into the distance his voice fades into a frantic series of coughs.

We settle down.
Abromowitz now asks, “Is there any other person present who objects?”

I look in the direction of Myrtle Fife. She hesitates, then sits back. I still have the seltzer bottle out. She sees it. She stands up and, carrying her walking stick, says, “I don’t object either.” She walks out—I can see her get into a car and drive away. I use ESP and note she is heading out of California altogether.
“Very well,” Says Father Abromowitz, “No one else objects to this marriage.”

He now turns to little Jack, who presents the pillow with the rings to Jock and Lorna.
Lorna, her eyes swimming with tears, takes one ring. She slips it onto Jock’s finger and says, “With this ring I thee wed.” Jock does likewise. Both of them seem just about to break down.

Abromowitz now says, “By the authority vested in me by the State of California, and as a minister of the Church, I declare that Jock and Lorna are now man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
The tears flow, including from Jock and Lorna themselves. They wrap their arms around each other and kiss as if there is nothing in the world but the two of them.

On the priest’s cue, we of The Cigar Band start playing the wedding recessional.
When the recessional is over, and Jock and Lorna have signed papers for Father Abromowitz, we all go to the reception in the large rectory room adjoining the nave. Abromowitz locks the outside doors of the nave. We all gather in the rectory.

Alice and the bridesmaids, as well as Angus, gather around Jock and Lorna. I sure can’t get a word in. Frannie sets her equipment up and takes several pictures of the couple, as well as of the best man, the Maid of Honor, and the bridesmaids. I notice Lorraine Adler in the crowd; I glance at Abromowitz, who assures me the reporter is authorized to be present. She will probably add this to the next wedding column in the Courier-Times.

We musicians carry our instruments and equipment, including Angus’ bagpipes, into the spacious rectory room and set them up there.

Now, however, we all sit down to eat. My Mom, who has had several meetings with Lorna, brought a large cast-iron pot of chili she made with jalapeños. There is pot roast, green-bean casserole, and corned beef and cabbage (my suggestion). No haggis. Mando Guzman did much of the cooking; a few dishes, like my Mom’s chili, were “pot luck.” His sister Lupe, along with the Astorbilts’ regular cook Louis Duval, assisted Mando in preparing the meal.

We musicians will play again, after the meal is finished. We see the lovely white wedding cake, which looks too good to eat. Frannie takes pictures of the cake, which Alice tells me is “multi-flavor”—part of it is chocolate; part is spice; part is white cake, and layers of other flavors, all covered in white icing.
Now, however, James Parker talks to Father Abromowitz. He sends us DXM people a telepathic message; Short meeting in the vestry. That includes you, too, Mortimer.

We all go into the vestry, under the watchful eye of Parker. I see Arty Morty shuffling along. Among those heading into the vestry, I notice the entire Oranjeboom family—including Hannah, who looks like she will deliver within a week or so and uses a wheelchair, pushed by Cornelis. Alice, of course, comes along; she links arms with me. We all gather in the vestry, surrounding Arty Morty. Every eye in the room is on him; I even sense the presence of Leo and Ulrica.

Parker demands that Mortimer explain the presence of Thurman and Myrtle at the ceremony.
I use ESP on Mr. Stout. He is stuck and he knows it.

1010

Excuse me–that should be "I use ESP on Mr. Mortimer!" :o

1011

Excuse me–that should be "I use ESP on Mr. Mortimer!" :o

1012

This time the browser screwed up, and printed that last post twice! They should apologize!
Onward…

1013

“Uh … I really don’t know what you mean,” Mortimer obfuscates. “Frankly, I think the presence of Thurman and Myrtle livened up what was a rather routine wedding ceremony.”

“Cut the bullshit, Morty!” Parker snarls. “We know that you knew about Thurman’s and Myrtle’s plan to crash the wedding. Now, tell us why they were there.”

Mortiner smirks and says…

1014

“Well, there’s no point in ‘obfuscating’ further, as NDP put it. I liked the idea of ‘livening up’ the proceedings, since it seemed to me that Ms. McManus had a rather stodgy wedding planned…”
Mortimer sighs, seeing that Parker is unmoved.

“OK, Mr. Parker, I’ll level with you. I knew full well Thurman and Myrtle wanted to recreate the prom scene in the movie Zapped! at this wedding—and then wreak havoc with a reality shift.”
Arty Morty pulls a folded sheet of paper from a hip pocket. Alice and I use ESP on it: No hidden booby-traps. He hands it to Parker. It reads:

Mortimer—your mission is to sneak Thurman Stout and Myrtle Fife into the wedding party at St. Aloysius’ Church, at the wedding of Jock Dumfries and Lorna McManus. Signed, Pula Kinlai.

That’s all it says.
“And now Stout and Fife have bolted, since our own operatives intercepted their efforts,” says Parker.

“You must have a personal interest in this matter, Mortimer,” says Alice, her big brown eyes flashing in anger at the disgraced DXM official.
“Sure I do,” he says. He pulls out his wallet and extracts a sheaf of $100 bills.

“Kinlai gave me these. This was just before he plowed his car into a lamppost—when Quincy Davies tried to rob Kerrie’s Coifs.” He hands the bills to Parker, who scrutinizes them.
Parker scowls. He’s noticed something. He hands the bills back to Mortimer.

“Morty, ordinarily I would bring you up on charges of accepting a bribe. I still have a good mind to do that. But I know you are quite perceptive—and I want you to examine these bills yourself!”
Arty Morty does so, using a professional skill he had developed as a DXM person. Now he scowls. I see the veins in his neck bulging.

“That little SOB Kinlai!” he growls. “All the serial numbers are the same!” He nods and hands the bills back to Parker.
“You already knew Threshold was up to no good,” Parker says grimly.

“Good God, what a fool I’ve been! Well, Mr. Parker, I plead guilty. Do with me what you will. What I did is tantamount to dealing with the Devil.”
Mortimer pulls a small booklet from his inside coat pocket. I scrutinize it too with ESP; no surprises.

Mr. Parker opens it. It contains data on locations and names of Threshold officials—other than the Bullruss, Ellison, and Coulter we already know about.
“You’d never gather that much data in a million years on your own,” Morty says.

Parker nods. He smiles for the first time since he arrived.
He turns to Alice and me. “Take this into Father Abromowitz’ office,” he says. “Make two complete copies on the Xerox there.” We are ready to do so. “But I want you to see this first.” He now turns to Pete and Loora.

“Put Mortimer into a ‘glass cell,’ he says.
Pete and Loora turn to Morty and say together, “Holy Jack Webb!”

Now Morty sits in a huge Plexiglas box, on wheels, with vents, a chair, and sliding doors and shelves inside. It’s about the size and shape of a refrigerator crate.
“I’ll take him with Hermione and Bob Long to the offices at the Galaxy 100 Mall,” Parker says.

“Why are you keeping him here in a box, Mr. Parker?” asks Loora’s son Jan.
“We don’t want to miss the reception ourselves,” says Parker. “Mortimer can even eat a meal here before we leave with him. We’ll bring the box into the rectory room.”

“He gave you information you wanted,” Jan replies. “Will that make a difference?”
“We’ll put it down that way,” says Parker, in his best Joe Friday imitation. Morty nods glumly.

We get the pages copied for Parker. He puts them in his portfolio and hands me Morty’s original; I put it inside my coat. Now we all leave the vestry.
We of the Cigar Band set up and play “Give Peace a Chance.” Most of the wedding party enjoys it. I notice even Arty Morty, in his box, likes the tune.

As for Jock and Lorna, they will go on their honeymoon just after the benefit. Now they sit at the main table, where they both soak several hankies with tears. Alice has rejoined them; she does likewise, as do the bridesmaids. Even Angus gets teary. Among those sitting near the newlyweds are my Mom Donna Niles; Samantha; Mabel Fafoofnik; and Sylvia Goldstein—all of whom have endured failed relationships, as has Alice, of course. All of us are glad to see Lorna and Jock endure outsiders’ efforts to disrupt their wedding.

We musicians now take a break. Morty seems to be either asleep or just laid back in his transparent box; Hermione, Artie Brown, and Bob Long—as well as Leo and Thurlow—guard him.
Parker calls Alice and me aside again. We return to the vestry.

“Well,” I say, “I guess this mission is over—and the benefit is about due.” (I know Hannah Goes Oranjeboom is about due, too.)
Parker says, “There is one errand I’d like you to handle before then. I’ll spell it out. According to Elwood, an English teacher at the high school, and the principal’s secretary, will be out of town tomorrow. We’d like you to substitute, in your own identities, for teacher Roger Spratt and secretary Lois Green, for one day. Your real college records will suffice. Elwood can put it through the school district’s personnel office.”

“Will we have any special tasks?” I ask.
“Only one,” says Parker. Joe Rodríguez, on the football team, doesn’t pay attention in English class—he only talks about football. Hades may pressure you to pass him just to keep him eligible. And he even tries to cajole the principal.”

I chuckle, “Hades won’t get past us,” I say. “It’s good that school is out—I’ll be in the classroom grading papers if Hades shows up.”
Now Alice, Parker, and I return to the reception. I return to The Cigar Band; Alice returns to sit with Lorna and Jock. Parker, Hermione, and Bob Long cart Mortimer away. The reception continues.

1015

However, when I return to the drum stand, I discover that some anonymous person has left a folded slip of paper in my seat. I open it up and see it’s a request–a rather odd one, though. Someone wants to hear us play…

1016

…something called “Bitchin’ Guy.”
I know what this is about. I call Jeanette, Phil, and Johnny together and show them the note. They nod.

“I read you loud and clear,” says Jeanette. Alice has followed me over to the bandstand and Jeanette shows her the note.
“I never heard of a song with a title like that,” says Alice.

“There isn’t one, so far as I know,” I say. “Could you ask Katrina Oranjeboom to come over here a minute?” I ask. Alice returns to the tables; I see her talking to Loora’s older daughter.
Alice returns with Katrina, who has already blossomed out to the point that she jiggles and swivels almost as much as Jane or Jeanette—and she isn’t yet thirteen years old!

When Katrina approaches, I ask her, “You know the music from the Almost All-Star Band album by Bob & Tom, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” she says.

“Good,” I say. I take a file folder containing blank staff-lined paper from Jerry’s portfolio; I’ll replace it myself later. I set one sheet on Jerry’s music stand.
“Can you put the album theme music on this page?” I ask.

“Sure,” Katrina says. She blinks and touches her cleavage twice. She then takes the three other pages, says “Jeanette, Phil, Johnny,” and the music appears on the three other pages, which she sets on the other three music stands.
The other musicians gather around Alice, Katrina, and me.

“What’s this for?” asks Johnny Goss.
I explain telepathically, as I hand the note I found, in the seat, to Johnny.

The person who wrote this is a fan of the Bob & Tom radio show in Indianapolis, I think to them. The mention of ‘Bitchin’ Guy’ tipped me off to that.
I still don’t follow you, says Johnny telepathically.

I got the sheet music—with the help of Ms. Oranjeboom here—so that the Bob & Tom fan will be located when we announce and play the album theme. Oh—and if there’s a royalty charge I’ll pay it myself.
Fine, thinks Johnny in agreement.

He steps up to the microphone and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a request from the audience.”

I notice a plain-looking woman in a green dress and black pumps, and wearing thick eyeglasses, raising one eyebrow. I emit a telepathic alert to the ghosts.
Johnny continues, “Our next number is the theme from the Almost All-Star Band album by Bob Kevoian and Tom Griswold.”

I give the downbeat.
All four of us sing and speak through the song. The woman I’ve located sways to the music. I identify her to Leo and Ulrica as the person who left the note.

Most of the wedding party, including Jock and Lorna, enjoy the song; again, some older people don’t. We get applause; we bow.
I see Leo talking to Artie Brown and Cornelis Oranjeboom, just inside the hallway. Cornelis steps over to me and says, “We saw her—we’ll detain her and take her to the Morpheus before you finish up here.” He then approaches his little sister Katrina and high-fives her.

The reception continues without incident. Everyone eventually gets out onto the dance floor, except for us musicians. My Mom gets several compliments on her jalapeño chili. Lupe and Mando baked the wedding cake; it’s really good.
We all finish up now. The Sharp family stays behind to clean up and lock up the church for Father Abromowitz. Eloise tells Alice and me that Samantha and Thalia have prepared one of the larger dressing rooms as a “bridal suite” for Jock and Lorna; after the benefit they’ll go on a belated honeymoon.

Alice and I and the others return to the theater too. Joan Breastly briefs us for our Friday mini-mission at the high school—we’ll meet with Elwood and a vice-principal named Harvey Newman, in the administration building at 7 a.m. Friday.
Now, however, we have immediate League business to conduct. Artie and Cornelis bring the green-clad woman, quite sullen, into the manager’s office. Alice and I go in, along with Joan Breastly, Parker, Fred, George Galloway, Leo, and Buster—whose expression is particularly baleful.

“Arty Morty was not the only one at the wedding to turn traitor,” says Fred. I notice the young woman, whom I never saw before the reception, wears a DXM ring.
“We flushed you out at the reception,” Joan tells the woman. “Now give your name and tell us what you were doing there.”

The woman sighs and answers:

1017

“My name is Jennifer Elster and, before you jump to any more conclusions, let me state that I have nothing to do with those pathetic incompetents at Threshold.”

As she says this, her demeanor becomes cool and cocky–belying her ordinary and awkward appearance.

“So why were you at the reception?” Fred sternly asks.

“I like weddings,” Elster sarcastically answers. “Seeing yet another couple of deluded people blindly bind themselves together is, for me, a source of high hilarity. I also heard the band you had booked had an impressive repertoire so I decided to test them out. Hence, the request for ‘Bitchin’ Guy.’ Sure enough, they passed with flying colors. Also, kudos on jalapeno chili. You don’t see Tex-Mex served at many receptions these days.”

“Oh, come on Ms. Elster!” Joan says with rising anger.

“Hey, it’s true,” Elster explains as she pauses to light a cigarette. “Of course, there were other reasons why I was at the reception.”

“And those would be?” I ask.

“I was keeping an eye out for what Stout, Fife, and Mortimer might try to pull,” Elster replies as she confidently takes a puff. "I knew beforehand Threshold was going to be targeting this ceremony but I didn’t know exactly what kind of caper they were going to do. Naturally, being Threshold, it turned out they had some hackneyed wedding-objection stunt planned along with the mass denuding ripped off from that stupid 80’s teen-sex romp starring those guys from ‘Charles in Charge’ before they were going into that reality shift which, I must admit, would’ve been a real bitch for everyone concerned and–

“Excuse me, Ms. Elster,” Parker interrupts, “but would you mind putting out your cigarette?”

“Oh, right,” she says with a mildly annoyed tone as she casually snuffs out her heater in a paper cup half-filled with water. "This is California isn’t it? Anyway, I suppose you want to know why I’m wearing this DXM ring?

“Yes, we do,” Fred authoritatively states. “We were under the impression that you turned traitor against the League.”

“That’s not true,” Elster says. “I haven’t done anything to undermine they’ve done. Let’s just say, however, my relationship with the League is now somewhat tenuous. I kind of have my own way of doing things and my own interests. The League isn’t too crazy about my independence.”

“So were you tailing Threshold for the League or for some other reason?” Alice asks.

Ms. Elster sighs as though she’s annoyed and says…

1018

Oops!:smack: The third paragraph from the bottom should read:

“That’s not true,” Elster says. “I haven’t done anything to undermine what they’ve done. Let’s just say, however, my relationship with the League is now somewhat tenuous. I kind of have my own way of doing things and my own interests. The League isn’t too crazy about my independence.”

1019

“I had other fish to fry. I wanted to flush out the Threshold operatives as much as you did.
“Specifically, Thurman Stout and Myrtle Fife have been involved in a securities counterfeiting ring in Terre Haute, Indiana—hence the connection to the Bob & Tom Show.”

Ms. Elster takes a folded sheet of paper from her purse. It’s a newspaper article from the Indianapolis Star, telling about the efforts of the FBI and the Indiana State Police to close the operation down.
“And Stout and Fife and Mortimer were arrested?” Fred asks.

“No, Mr. Moreland—no one has been arrested, but the matter has been under investigation for several weeks. Stout and Fife had been living in Cheap Charlie’s EZ Lay Motel in Terre Haute when local police, acting on an FBI tip, stopped them. The two enveloped the cops in a cloud of darkness for ten minutes and fled. It was a while before I found they had come to California.
“Incidentally, Mortimer was not involved in anything I’ve dealt with in Indiana, let alone a counterfeiting ring.”

“Securities, eh?” I ask.
“Yes,” Jennifer answers. “Bonds and stock certificates. They even had a computer hacker—the guy suddenly developed spinal meningitis and collapsed on a street. Paramedics took him to the hospital; when the hospital personnel examined him they found a business card for Cheap Charlie’s and a letter from a well-known counterfeiter named Paul Litwhiler, who lived outside of Terre Haute and had done time in the federal prison on McNeil Island.”

“How did you find out that Stout and Fife came to California?” Alice asks.
Jennifer smirks. “I have ESP myself. And we have DXM people in Indiana who do genealogy. So far as we could tell, the only person in the States related to Stout and Fife, was Lorna McManus. The league newsletter regularly prints information on members’ upcoming marriages.”

“We’re going to have to have that newsletter,” Alice comments.
Jennifer nods and continues. “I put two and two together. I shadowed Stout and Fife out here and, sure enough, they were in the wedding party at St. Aloysius—until you squirted that guy in the neck, _____.”

“You sound like a private investigator yourself,” says Joan.
“I am,” answers Ms. Elster. She shows us her badge and an ID authorizing her to practice as a private detective in the State of Indiana. “Of course, I can’t act as a detective out here, since my authority does not extend outside of Indiana. Oh, by the way, ________—I bet that stuff you squirted was compounded from your cat friend here [she glances at Buster] by Trinh Diem. I know Dr. Diem very well.”

“So you’re saying that your duties as a private eye overrode your League objectives,” says Parker.
“That’s it,” Jennifer answers. “And I know the League does not condone violation of the law. Private eye work is my forte, my bread and butter. I’ve been a practicing PI in Indiana for seven years now and I wouldn’t trade it for any other avocation.”

We all sigh, with some relief. Even Buster reacts.
“Ms. Elster,” says Joan, “You have presented your side of the matter with considerable eloquence. It’s obvious that we owe you a serious apology—we see now that you have not acted in sympathy to Threshold or even to Artur Mortimer.”

Ms. Elster reacts stiffly. “Ohhh! That damned bastard! I wish I could have arrested him! I was in Bakersfield last summer visiting my family. And we were in the back yard swimming pool. ‘Morty’ climbed over the fence and, before anyone could react, he tried to corner and hump me—and my brother!” :eek:
“We didn’t know about that,” says Fred. “It looks like we have another charge to bring Arty Morty up on—and you can go ahead and file assault charges on him yourself if you see fit to.”

Jennifer’s demeanor, and that of the rest of us, becomes less tense now.
“Well,” she says,” I understand Alice and ______ have a ‘mini-mission’ at the high school in the morning.”

“You have ESP all right,” says Alice.
Ms. Elster nods. “In fact, I’d like to, if I may, participate in your mission myself, assuming Fred, James, and Joan here—and Mr. Buster—have no objections.”

The others shrug. “I guess there are no objections,” comments Buster.
Now we all go to the conference room. Jock and Lorna are in their Bridal Suite. We greet my Mom, the Cigar Band (Jerry has returned), and Eloise. We have a lot to talk about, with them and with Jennifer Elster, before the mini-mission.

1020

Ms. Elster, however, excuses herself to go to the restroom to change her clothes (she was undercover). While she’s absent, we engage in small talk about the wedding, the reception, and how everyone’s holiday is going. But when Elster returns, we are struck silent at her changed appearance.

A different person than the Jennifer Elster we were introduced to has entered the room. Gone is the awkward plain-looking girl in an ill-fitting green dress from the wedding reception. In her place, is a woman who confidently strides over to the conference table wearing a white blouse and gray charcoal Chanel suit, sits down, and crosses her legs. Her glasses are gone and her neck-length blonde hair–which previously drooped limply over her forehead—is now stylishly set back off her face.

“Did I miss anything while I was out?” Elster asks.

I tell her…