'That's right. But how-?'
'Never mind that. Can you meet me over there right away?'
'As quickly as possible. But I'm afraid that won't be very quickly. Traffic's jammed up all over the city.'
When the cab I'd called pulled onto Queens Boulevard, I saw that Singh hadn't been exaggerating. The transit strike had traffic tied up for miles. It was ridiculous in the direction I was going, and it was absolutely impossible coming from the other way. It was the evening rush hour, and cars coming from the city were averaging about a yard a minute.
We were doing a little better, but not much. Finally I couldn't take it any longer, and I got out and walked. I trudged some twenty blocks before I came to Highman's apartment house. Considering the transit mess, I figured it might be hours before Singh got there. I was just about to go it alone when my figuring was proved wrong.
Singh came pedaling up on a bicycle, his face quite composed under his white turban. 'It's the only way to travel,' he told me as he parked the bike.
'You are truly a unique eunuch.' I grinned at him fondly. 'Come on. The lion's den awaits.'
The same acne'd faggot answered the doorbell. He hadn't changed since my first visit. He was still sweating for S.M.U.T. Singh waved his sharp, curved kukri under his nose, and we kept going through the S.M.U.T. offices back to Highman's private quarters.
'Look out!' Singh cried out, shoving me aside.
He'd seen them before I had: two gorillas behind the half-opened door, ready to pounce. They sprang out with guns blazing, but thanks to Singh's warning I was too fast for them. Using a table in the hallway for cover, I had time to aim more accurately. I fired twice and they both went down.
My gun was still smoking as Singh and I stepped over their bodies. I knew them both – though from different places. The first was one of the hoods who'd tried to kill me in the bordello. The other was the fellow who'd packed the violin case back in Salisbury.
'So I was right,' Singh murmured, looking at the first.
I remembered then that he'd guessed the vice ring hooligans were really taking their orders from the same people who ran S.M.U.T. He'd guessed it that morning after the blackout in his hotel room. Now, with them playing watchdogs for
Highman, there could be no doubt. Only these watchdogs were through woofing for good.
'Those shots,' Singh said. 'They'll know we're coming.'
'No,' I disagreed. 'This place is all soundproofed. It's a good bet that those shots were never even heard.'
We continued cautiously into the interior of Highman's apartment. I led the way through the living room to the kitchen door. I shoved the door open and plunged in gun-first.
And there was Dr. Nyet!
She was perched on the kitchen table, a steak knife in her hand. The tip, of the knife was black with caviar. Dr. Nyet was smearing it on Ritz crackers.
'Steve Victor!' she exclaimed, surprised.
'Dr. Nyet.' I returned the greeting.
'Then you know.'
'That I do.'
'Oh.' She considered it a moment. 'Well, would you like some caviar?' she offered.
'No, thanks.'
'It's really delicious. I love caviar.' She smiled. 'Ethnic will out, I suppose.'
She was wearing a low-cut peasant blouse and a skirt that was carelessly high on her thighs. She looked as blonde and sexy as she had the night we'd fanned the flames with our passion. Now my eyes gave me away, and she was amused at what they said I was thinking.
'Remember, Mr. Victor?' she said sultrily. 'How could I forget?'
'It was a glorious blaze, wasn't it?' There was mockery in her sigh.
'But very out of character for Dr. Nyet,' I remarked. 'I was told the name came from your reluctance to have sex.'
'That was before I became a victim of my own experiments,' she explained. 'You see, I tested the formula out on myself before I was forced to hide out in the brothel. Later, while I was actually working there, I did ust the opposite, of course. But the side effects of my formula must have lingered.'
'What side effects?'
'The side effects which make it strongly aphrodisiac. They can't be done away with – not if it's to counteract birth-control pills.'
'Steve Victor!' It was an exclamation coming from behind me.
I swung around fast, sure that I'd find Highman with a gun in his hand. Singh turned with me, but we were both wrong. Highman had been so shocked to see me alive in New York that he'd spoken my name without stopping to think. If he had stopped to think, he might have gone away silently and fetched a weapon. Now it was too late. He stood there with – of all things – a baby in his arms!
'Hello, Oscar.' Dr. Nyet made a kitchy-koo motion toward the child.
'What are you doing with a baby?' I blurted out to Highman.
'He's my son. Since his mother's demise, he has no one but me. Don't look so surprised, Mr. Victor. All kinds of people become parents. And I'm a good father, too. You should see me change a diaper.'
'I'll bet. The question is, how do you find time between changing diapers and making formulas to go about taking over the world?'
'Fatherhood keeps few men from their work, Mr. Victor.'
'Okay then, back to business. Hand over that formula.'
'All right,' Highman agreed.
'All right?' Dr. Nyet broke in. 'Just like that? You're just going to hand it over to him?'
'The man is pointing a gun at me, Dr. Nyet. I never argue under such circumstances.'
'But what about S.M.U.T.? Are you going to throw away everything we stand for just like that?'
'I don't believe in being a martyr,' Highman told her. 'I owe it to my child to survive as best I can.' He set the baby down on a chair and reached inside his jacket pocket for the formula.
Singh and I were both looking at him, and Dr. Nyet made her move before we could stop her. She shot off the table with the steak knife in her hand and plunged it into Highman's chest. It left a nasty smear of black caviar on his white shirt. She grabbed the papers from his hand as he fell, pulled out the knife, and scooped up the baby.
'Victor,' Highman said, blood bubbling to his lips. 'Look out for Oscar.' He pitched forward on his face. He was dead.
That dying request was going to be hard to grant. Dr. Nyet held the squalling orphan slung over one arm now. In the other hand she held the steak knife poised at the infant's throat. 'Stay where you are, Mr. Victor,' she said. 'Or I'll kill the baby.'
'Isn't it enough that you've made him an orphan?'
'That was only half my doing. You can blame his father for the other half.'
'Surely you wouldn't hurt an innocent baby. Where are your motherly instincts?' Singh asked.
'S.M.U.T. comes first. Highman may have forgotten that, but I haven't. Either this baby and I go out of here together with the formula, or neither one of us goes out alive. Don't cry, Oscar,' she added automatically, rocking the child.
'See. You do have womanly instincts.' Singh pounced.
'Of course I do. But S.M.U.T. is more important to me.'
She was standing alongside the stove now, and I had a sudden inspiration. I put the gun down and slapped my hands together sharply. The gamble paid off. A frypan shot out of its niche in the wall and dropped on the stove. En route it clipped Dr. Nyet's wrist and sent the knife flying from her grasp.
She darted out the kitchen door and into the living room, still holding the baby. She opened the French doors and poised on the small balcony outside them. But Singh was right behind her, and he grappled with her there. He wrested the infant from her just as I came to his aid. He stepped backward as I stepped forward, bent on grabbing the formula from Dr… Nyet's hand. She pulled away from me violently.
Too violently. The motion carried her over the edge of the balcony. Her scream seemed to echo in the air long
