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The morgue wagon and a trio of other bluecoats arrived shortly, accompanied by a pair of plainclothes detectives from the Hall of Justice. Fortunately, Quincannon was acquainted with neither of the dicks; they exhibited no interest in him. Nor did Maguire any longer. San Franciscos finest, a misnomer if ever there was one, found suicides and those peripherally involved to be worthy of little time or attention unless they were prominent citizens. Sullivans eyes twinkled wickedly. "Youre absolutely right, Con. There aresome things you would not resort to, even to save the Neol patent position. You wouldnot sell your own grandmother into white slavery even if it would win the interference and solve the whole problem." He paused, then added maliciously, "Would you, Con?" I asked myself what the hell Tamur meant, for he was an historian and supposedly committed to fact. This was not their Apocalypse. Madam? Purnie could wait no longer. The tides were all but covering one of the animals, and soon the others would be in the same plight. Disregarding the consequences, he ordered time to stop. By midnight Madame Giocondas headache had become intense. All day the derelict walls and ceiling of the sound stage had reverberated with the endless din of traffic accelerating across the mid-town flyover which arched fifty feet above the studio’s roof, a frenzied hypomaniac babel of jostling horns, shrilling tires, plunging brakes and engines that hammered down the empty corridors and stairways to the sound stage on the second floor, making the faded air feel leaden and angry. He put down the novel and stared unseeing at the wall opposite. He had been an operative with the Pacifists for more than three years now. He was, he realized, probably their senior hatchetman. An agent could hardly expect to survive so long. It was against averages. None of them ate much. At 9:15 the sound of rotors beat against the house. The big helicopter bad arrived from Moscow. It is an appealing concept—if only because it is a concept, and provides at last something like an informative synonym for decadence. (Perhaps even closer is Theodore Sturgeons definition of “perversion”: anything you do to the exclusion of everything else.) "There is a reason," she said. "They call it therapy." Only the lock on the suitcase, she said. Heres your jammas.” She handed me the bag and ponderously pulled herself upright again. They were all three bald and shirtless. Two wore jeans cut off at the knees and thick belts, and the other had checked shorts and a red leather cap and a pistol stuck in his belt in the middle of the front at the buckle. He was older. The others looked like kids and they held back as they neared and let the older one come up alone. He was a small man, but looked tough.You got gas, he said, a flat-voiced statement of fact. At nine sharp, at the instant in which the Red Egg definitely selected his victim, a scream echoed in the cathedral square, piercing the belly of the tumor.All right, then—kill me! a man about forty years old, a chimney sweep by trade, had flung out. He was alone in the world and he understood that his work put him in constant mourning. “Why such hesitation?” repeated the man, looking upward. “Kill me!” He loosened the front of his shirt. Powerful hands covered his mouth and made him shut up. It was necessary that suicides should not disrupt the sequence of events. Rideout stiffened visibly. He said nothing for nine or ten seconds while the wind wailed and one of the horses let loose with a mournful whicker. Then, warily,What about Pauline Dupree? As he worked his way past one creature after another, he tried at first to not look them in the eye, for he felt sure he had done something wrong. Then he thought that by sneaking a glance at them as he passed, he might see a sign pointing to their purpose. He limped by one who had in his hand a small shiny object that had been emitting smoke from one end; the smoke now billowed in lifeless curls about the animals head. He hobbled by another who held a small box that had previously made a hissing sound whenever Purnie was near. These things told him nothing. Before starting his climb up the knoll, he passed a tripon which, true to its reputation, was comical even in fright. Startled by the loud explosion, it had jumped four feet into the air before Purnie had stopped time. Now it hung there, its beak stuffed with seaweed and its three legs drawn up into a squatting position..
