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EPISODE 34

The sullen, hatless salesmen gathered in the boss' living room, enveloped in dusty silence, broken only by a weak, wet sneeze from Harvey Swan.

"I think I caw't a code," he whimpered. Karyl shrugged and filled a grimy glass reposing on the coffee table.

"Silly boy! Champagne kills those bad old germs."

"Not to mention fish and Presidents," Howard muttered, for Betty's ears alone. She averted his glance. Jacob, Wayne and Ruth were talking a low but angry tone, no doubt about the thwarted mission. Betty, looking past them, saw the widow pinching Ferdie on the ear. His wife was in the kitchen. Mrs. Harwood giggled.

"They're so cute!" Her fingers clung, as if to money. "Cute ears."

"Really?" Ferdie pried her fingers off and glanced about. No Mimi. "Well, I've always thought so myself. But my wife thinks that they're too big."

Betty never heard the widow's answer, for the hi-fi clicked and Nat King Cole began to sing again. Karyl turned the volume up and glanced towards Howard.

"Dance?"

He flushed. "I'm sorry... no... I can't... you see, there is a Chinese mystery that must be solved."

"Of course there is," said Karyl condescendingly. "Zack?"

The rented beatnik took her hand, and all but Howard and Betty rose to the occasion. Nobody danced with their spouse. Howard ran his teeth over his tongue as the telephone began ringing. He picked up the receiver.

"Hello! Vote for Bill fuckin' Blood!"

"Hi," answered a familiar voice, "I'm Paul Hayes of the Guild Society. And I have questions for you, Mr. Gray..."

"You're not Paul Hayes," barked Howard, "you're that punk salesman from Ecolotron. And I'm still not Mr. Gray. Good night!"

"Excuse me, my lists are..." but Howard had already hung up, disgusted. Mimi Kull had let Wayne lead her about the room, but broke away as they reached the coffee table. The Avon Lady's sample case lay open, like a ravished tomb. She picked up a can of deodorant, and pressed the button. It hissed back.

"Passion," Mimi sighed. "I've never smelt this brand before. Not from a can," she added.

"That's not Passion," Ruth disputed, "it's Rapture. More... I want to smell. Romantic. Just like roses. Passion smells like violets."

"What's this?" Beatrice asked, picking up another can. She pressed, it hissed. "Smells just like apples. Heaven?"

"Spring!" the widow challenged. Beatrice scowled and sprayed it into Mrs. Harwood's face.

"She was right," cried Mimi, spraying Passion, or perhaps Rapture, towards Mrs. Ray who... ducking... caught its brunt on her shoulder and neck, not in the face. Ruth tackled Mimi and held her down while an angry Beatrice lathered them both with Spring... or, maybe, Heaven. But the widow's eyes had cleared, and she picked up another can. Aiming for Ruth, she missed... but covered Karyl, who was reaching for the case.

In just an instant's time they all had cans, and fought and snarled and sprayed, their curses thudding to the floor through clouds of mist and fragrance like the little, poisoned insects tumbling, now, from the ceiling. Harvey waddled back towards the dining room, his hands and lips still glistening with grease. Jacob raised his glass in a salute to the combatants and, into it, dropped a tiny brown and orange bug. There came an electric crackle and a cloud of hot, red steam, and Howard saw a hot, fist-sized thing flitting through the smoke; Jacob dropped his drink with a squeal and it rolled under the couch, the hi-fi clicked and Nat King Cole began to sing again. The widow tackled Karyl, pinning her to the carpet with a bared knee against her throat, spraying her with superhuman fury. As the can emptied, she looked up, brushing the reeking hair out of her eyes, pointed and screamed.

"It's moving!"

"What is?" Harvey asked, having returned, licking something from his fingerprints.

"A bat!" cried Mimi and the rented beatnik together. Howard looked up. There it was, the... something... veering above the roiling clouds of scented antiperspirant.

"It must have come inside, from the country," Beatrice said in an accusing tone. "I know bats. It might be a vampire, or have rabies. Wayne," and she lowered her voice, "...get the gun."

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