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EPISODE 40
"Well, that is that," sighed Karyl,
"and Zack's gone with then. Gone...
to a better situation in one bold stroke."
Then, her voice turned hard and bitter.
"That's the way a real
man gets ahead in the real world."
"He would have chosen me," Jacob protested. "He could have taken any of us, if it
hadn't been for... Harvey!"
Harvey looked up at the mention of his
name. He'd meandered only as far as the
porch during Bill Blood's escape, then turned back towards the potted palm with
someone else's glass of blue champagne, fingers already digging, compulsively,
at Howard's drying vomit, which had a passing resemblance to lobster newburg. The plastic palm fronds waved and susurrated
in disgust.
Ruth knocked the glass from his fist, only
succeeding in watering the palm.
"Don't you ever have
enough?" She backed away, with a
gesture of loathing. "I cannot even
contemplate what detestable lunacy should have caused me to accept your
marriage proposal..."
"You were pregnant, remember?" he retorted. "And the boy doesn't look anything like me, does he?" Harvey
beseeched the guests.
"Well, I've got a story,
too," Beatrice replied. "Wayne... the great war hero. That's what they all believe... well, let me tell you, he was nothing but an errand boy for
a corrupted Colonel, miles from the front.
A cheap black-marketeer! Do you know how we save our money for Wayne's
guns and ammunition? He's still got a
forged ID for the PX out by Bingham's Ferry..."
"Well, a black-marketeer is a criminal," Karyl
said, "and a criminal's, at least, a man.
It's in the genes. But Jake,
here, he's so cool he could keep a whole Good Humor truck of popsicles and
cherry sundaes stiff with what he's got below the belt."
"But Ferdie..."
Mimi Kull protested, glancing round the room.
No Ferdie.
"Ferdie?"
"I don't think that was William
Blood, either," Howard told Betty, drawing her away from the rest of the
humiliated salesmen. "It looked sort of like the man on the TV,
but where was that wart? It wasn't
there."
"They do all sorts of things with
make-up," Betty answered.
"Howard, there are secrets only women and politicians know. It's something that you shouldn't even ask about."
"Well, alright," Howard,
"but I don't think I'll vote for him." He sighed.
Gloom had settled in, the guests sulking and glowering. Harvey, finding nothing to eat but dirt,
champagne and vomit, touched a cigarette to the guttering candelabra.
"Whatever were his faults,"
said Ruth Swan, with a wave to take in all the salesmen, "Zack showed
initiative. Like Waldo. Either one is worth the lot of you."
"Tell me about it," Mimi
seconded, still looking around corners for her husband, peeping out the
window. "When I hear Waldo talk
about insurance, well... my insides just go soft and creamy."
"I've even had dreams,"
yawned Karyl, "all about that owl statue that he
keeps in his study..."
"Enough!" somebody shouted
and the others all looked, bewildered, for it was as if another voice was speaking...
someone's middle name. "I've had
it!" sneered Harvey. "No more! No more fish sticks, overtime, and no more
low-tar Hit Parades for me!"
He yanked the cigarette out of his
mouth and hurled it into a wastebasket, stuffed with wadded, crumpled-up Civil
Defense forms.
"I'll be the next Vice president," he vowed. "Just watch my smoke! Then watch out, Waldo, I'll take over. I'll be boss!
I'll have a secretary and a news ports car and
the rest of you had goddam better get out of my way. Ruth and I... we're local people, not like
all the rest of you. We graduated from
high school! It's been torn down, now,
that doesn't matter. They had motto, which we
believed in... "Invenimus Vimit
Facimus".
Jacob, standing by the restless potted
palm, sniffed and look down. When he
looked up, again, the frond that had been by his chin was brushing his
nose. "Venom, voodoo,
vomit..." he muttered, through his drink.
"Is that Latin?" asked
Beatrice.
"Damn straight," Harvey
replied. "And it means 'we will find
the way... or we will make it!'"
He raised his right hand to his neck
and tore off his shirt and tie in one abrupt and savage move, then turned his
back to all. Their gasps and cries even
drowned out the hi-fi.
Harvey had tattooed his back.
The Waldo Gray Insurance owl ruffled
its feathers with his every breath. A
web of cherubs, serpents, hearts pierced through with
daggers, devils, telephones and naked women fanned out towards his biceps. He posed and flexed.
And Betty's nose began to twitch.
"Look!" she pointed. "A fire!"
Harvey's cigarette had set the papers
in the wastebasket on fire. Dark, blue
smoke wafted up.
"Oh my... my..." worried
Ruth, "first the battery ran down and then you made a fool of yourself
before all my relatives. And, now, we
have a fire! And those... those terrible
tattoos, Harvey, they weren't there the last time that we... did you get them
after work? Have you been sneaking off
to Ziggy's?"
"Never you mind!"
he retorted, grabbing a half-filled bottle of champagne. "Nobody asked me what my middle name was.
I don't care, now. I won't
tell. I'll prove it, instead!
He poured the champagne into the
wastebasket. There was a thunderclap, a
fireball and Harvey staggered back. His
pants were burnt to tatters and the owl tattoo to a smoky and leering
buzzard. Leaping blue flames nuzzled
Waldo's drapes.
"Fire!"
Betty cried again, just in case someone had missed it the first time.
"Someone call
the firemen," Howard called out.
Jacob stretched his lanky frame and
smiled, sadly. "They wouldn't give
us the time of day, not after Waldo cancelled their insurance policies. Besides, who's afraid of a little fire? Not me..."
He pulled Wayne's gun from the pocket
of his blazer, swaying slightly as he pretended to take a careful aim. He fired.
A tongue of wounded flame jerked across the bottom of the windowsill,
igniting the other set of drapes.
"Stop him!" warned
Beatrice. "Wayne, he's drunk. Get a hold of yourself! I'll bring you some of Marlene's hot espresso
coffee," she decided, pushing through the guests back to the dining
room. "That will wake you
up..."
"I don't drink espresso," Wayne said, dreamily, staring at the
fire. In its shadows and cavortings, immeasurable Canadian evils presented their
possibilities. His eyes dropped to his
hand, whose fingers twitched, as if to hold the gun. Where had it gone? He'd heard a shot! But the only sounds now were the muted hi fi,
the chatter of the guests and a distant hiss from the Italian machine.
"Betty," Howard dictated,
"help me look for a fire extinguisher. There has to be one in Waldo's library. These people aren't going to be of much
use," he added.
The big stuffed fish regard both
Slacks with bemused and tired gazes as they searched all the shelves and
crannies of the library. In Waldo's
desk, Howard found drawers of rusty nails and screws and bolts, dead spark
plugs, pens that didn't write and stubby, used-up candles. He gave the metal safe a shake, but it
protected its contents. Betty, on her hands
and knees, crawled underneath the table.
"Darling," she cried out,
"there are some wires here, and metal boxes. Is this a new kind of safety
contraption?"
Howard bent and peered under the
table. "Christ, Betty," he
swore, "it's a Norwald Group Thinkometer. That conniving Waldo!"
"What?" asked Betty,
scooting backwards from the table so as not to bump her head when she stood up.
"It's a device that measures
thinking," Howard told her.
"You attach it to the armrests of somebody's chair. The pressure people give off while they talk
about themselves tells you whether they've told the truth." He was backing up slowly, following a tiny
wire across the carpet and up the wall to a six foot swordfish with a little
button, just under its bill.
"Watch!" he said and pressed the button.
The side of the fish fell away. Within, a teletype was clicking, and torrents
of graph paper with a host of zigzag lines tumbled to the floor.
"Results!" he said
triumphantly.
"None of this has anything to do with safety!" Betty warned. "Howard, I'm frightened! We should leave this place."
"We'll leave," he
vowed. "I've found out all I
need. The boss makes people who want to
buy policies sit in his office, where he's got another one of those... things!" Betty cringed. "He asks them about their bad habits
and, then, sometimes sends them out.
I've lost a lot of commissions that way.
And now, turns out he's had this
one all along... for us!"
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