I was really supposed to assassinate God! And there were forces out to stop me.
And then I realized what was happening.
'What're you up to, Blondie? You're laying a program on me as thick as the one Beathan tried.'
She stared with those black saucers for a moment, then said, 'Everything will seem more important right now. Don't pay any attention to it. We've got work to do.'
'What do you mean `we,' girlfriend?'
She stood to lean over me. 'Do you think that after what happened to me I don't have a grudge?' She looked as though she'd volunteer to pull the trigger on Number One all by herself. 'This sort of thing has gone on long enough. It's all gone on too long.'
'I work alone.'
'Have it your way. The offer's there. What's that on your fingers?'
I didn't want to know. I raised my hand and saw grey gunk under a few nails. Memories flashed back. My stomach tried to beat the high jump record. I pressed up under my solar plexus to lift my diaphragm off the lurching organ. The sick feeling passed.
It was a technique I used a lot in my occupation.
A corner of my light blue hospital robe served to wipe the particles of dead flesh from beneath my fingernails. 'Leftovers,' I muttered.
She wasn't distracted. 'I can help you on this. I
to help you. I know someone who can straighten you out on a few things about what god is.'
I relented. 'Do I have time to put on something less drafty?'
She showered and changed her outfit to a skintight peacock-blue Danskin top and a ruffled turquoise dress. After taking my measurements in a giggly stoned manner, she hopped into the stolen Porsche to head for Hollywood. She was gone until well after noon.
I took the opportunity during her absence to look around. After all, even if she hadn't actually told me to make myself at home, I was certain that such was her intent.
A quick glance through the medicine cabinet revealed nothing but the usual assortment of feminine colorants and perfumes. No medicine. Healthy sort.
One room contained an odd collection of metal and crystal sculptures. Copper and onyx and silver and amethyst glittered under the light from a ceiling lamp. The curtains were drawn. Bronze and quartz and gold and peridot scattered colors about.
Her bedroom barely enclosed a king-size bed decorated with an Egyptian motif. Lots of silk-screened papyrus leaves and scarabs. Stylized cobras. Very sexy.
I cut my tour short since I didn't know how long she would be out. I spent the next hour waiting for her, looking through her library. Real books, not plaques. Only a few of them were fiction. A good number concerned religions around the world and in antiquity. She owned books on history, mathematics, physics. The usual computer manuals were stuck here and there. All in all, a good balance.
Ann returned a few minutes after I'd settled onto the living-room couch. She tossed a navy blue pinstripe business suit my way.
I held it up. A lovely wool blend, not like the reflective stuff I usually wore to merge with the crowd. It fit in with the current style-wide lapels and shoulders, baggy pants with cuffs. Nostalgia for a time even I didn't remember.
A light yellow oxford cloth shirt and a navy-hued silk tie with nearly invisible maroon polka dots completed the outfit.
'Tasteful,' I said, draping the wardrobe over my arm.
'Don't forget these.' She pulled a pair of black wingtips out of a box and handed them to me along with a pair of black socks.
'Over the calf,' I said with appreciation. 'You know all the tricks of the trade.'
