Hypnosis.
Mindset.
Subliminal ads.
TV sets.
Satellite TV.
Set.
Setting.
Dosage.
'
'
Ann looked at me with a puzzled frown.
'Ann!' I shouted, jumping up from the chair. 'I've got it figured!'
She took a sip of the liquor and continued to frown. 'Got what figured?'
'How to kill God!' I felt a surge of excitement rush through me. All doubts about my intentions fled-this was what I wanted to do. Reaching for a notepad and pen, I scrawled a list of anything that came to mind.
She nearly snorted in a delicate sort of way. 'That easily?'
I kept scribbling. 'Easy to conceive, difficult to execute. That's how God's managed to survive this long.' I took her drink and slapped the note in her hand. 'Let's get back to Auberge.'
She followed me out of the office, reading the list as intently as a tax auditor. 'Mescaline, psilocybin, LSD, THC, fentanyl, STP, BZ, DMT, MDMA-are you singlehandedly trying to bring back the Sixties?'
'That's when the first step toward mass deicide began.' We zoomed down to ground level in a blissfully operative elevator. The evening sky was dark and clear.
'Tryptophan,' she continued, 'Vasopressin, B-12, phenylalanine? Getting a bit health-conscious, aren't you?'
'I'm going to need it.'
We passed through the old Bonaventure Hotel, striding past the dozing night clerk. One couldn't call the tenants in this high-rise anything but marginally wealthier bums than those who inhabited Arco North.
She read the remainder of the list. 'What's all this other stuff for?'
'I'm not sure yet,' I said, reaching for a cigarette. We entered Auberge at the hatch on Fourth and Hope. 'I'm certain, though, that there's something still lack-'
'Oh no,' piped the squeaking voice of Isadora Volante. 'Who let you two in?'
I looked down at the telepathic runt, tapped the cigarette on the back of my hand, and raised it to my lips, smiling.
14
Eyecatcher
I wasn't too specific when I asked Isadora for her help in a little plan of mine. She agreed to help me after I pointed out that we'd saved her from Zacharias and after she determined that my credit was good. That left me free to concentrate on the setup.
The next day I canvassed advertising agencies from Capistrano Beach to Oxnard. By noon my ears begged for relief from the avalanche of garrulous pitches. Only a few of the alleged people with whom I spoke sounded more original than sandwich boards and handbills.
The handful of impressive ones I invited up to the Union Bank Building for a final decision in my office. Getting them to come to Old Downtown required that I reveal how much I was willing to spend on the campaign. After finding that out, none of them had any qualms about the campaign's contents, either.
Two days later, a dozen advertising types gathered in my office to win my business. They scuttled, strode, or swished in with their presentations in hand. I seated them around the room in a rough semicircle.
