The Loo Sanction

'And so you began to seek me out?'

'And so I began to seek you out.' That was it. His story was improvised and thin, just covering the major events with little of that extraneous fabric that fills out the good lie. There was nothing to do now but sit and see how it went down.

Strange was silent for a time, his pale eyes looking phlegmatically out onto the salon scene playing mutely before him. Then he nodded slowly. 'It is possible. Both your recent actions and my research into your past would seem to bear your story out. The only thing that disturbs me is the coincidence of it all. But then... I suppose coincidence exists.' He turned to Jonathan and rested his pale eyes on him. 'Why don't you take supper with Grace and me this evening. We can talk over the details of the Marini sale. Assuming all goes well, you might care to sample our exotic entertainments later. By way of a nightcap.'

'I've had a hard day.'

Strange laughed. 'If it weren't so late and the streets weren't empty, I would tempt your fatigued appetite by sending a couple of my men out in a van to pick up something from the streets for you—fresh from the garden, you might say. A schoolgirl on her way home, perhaps, or a nun just back from confessional?'

'Don't you have some trouble with cooperation from those you abduct?'

'Oh... not if they're properly prepared. We use a concoction of hallucinogens and cantharis that seems to be effective—Oh, my dear Dr. Hemlock! I wish you could have seen the cloud of disgust that just swept over your face! I would have thought you had a more leathery conscience than that.'

'It's not conscience. Just taste.'

'In this business only the bizarre is profitable. The basic components of sex are so mundane: a little heat, a little friction, a little lubrication. One must dress up such cheap raw materials considerably if he hopes to vend them at high profit. Packaging is everything. But, ah... here we are at last.'

Two-mouths entered through the mirror door bearing a tray with two glasses. Jonathan could not repress a surge of repulsion when he looked at Strange's glass, the gray-tan yeast powder already settling in the tangerine juice and collecting at the bottom. Strange sipped off some of the liquid, then swirled the remainder to carry the yeast back into temporary suspension while he drank it.

'Looks ghastly,' Jonathan commented.

'You get used to it. In fact, one comes to rather like it.'

Jonathan turned away in gastronomic self-defense. Out in the salon, one of the flapper hostesses caught his eye. As she chatted with a costumed customer, she brushed aside a vagrant wisp of amber hair with the back of her hand. She was only a few feet from the wall of one-way mirrors, and he could see the bottle green of her eyes.

'What interests you so much out there?' Strange asked, joining him at the glass wall.

'Your clients,' Jonathan said, indicating a group of men chatting with supercilious gravity, blithely ignorant of the risible effect of their outlandish costumes.

'Hm-m. Silly asses. Look at them, playing out their dumb show of authority and power. Pompously going through the motions of statecraft. They are finished as a people, the English, but they haven't sense to know it. There was a time when Darwinian laws applied to nations as well as to individuals—when the weak and incapable disappeared. If it hadn't been for the sentiment of other nations—yours particularly, Dr. Hemlock—1950 would have marked the end of this effete social organism. I enjoy making them dress up like that, and they take great delight in doing it. It's a national trait—pageantry, make-believe. A nation of people who thirst to be what they are not. That probably accounts for their production of so many gifted actors.'

'You despise the British, then?'

'More scorn, I should say.'

'But I thought the Germans rather admired and imitated them.'

'Oh, we have much in common. Our weaknesses, to be specific. Our army organizations were modeled after theirs. It was the British, you know, who first experimented with the concentration camp as a vehicle for the final solution to genetic problems.'

'No, I didn't know that.'

'Oh, yes. In the Boer War. Twenty-six thousand women and children died of disease, malnutrition, and neglect. Vitriol in their sugar; small metal hooks implanted in their meat—that sort of business. Oh yes, the British have been world leaders in many things. But no longer. Now they inflict themselves on the Common Market and become the economic sick man of Europe. In fifteen years only Spain and Portugal will boast a lower standard of living. And it's their own fault. With myopic management and the laziest, least competent workmen in Europe, they suffer from congenital inefficiency. Not the placid, happy inefficiency of the Latins, with their manana mentalities and hedonistic lassitude. No, the British brand of incompetence is involute and labored. It's a bustling, nervous inefficiency that fails to make up in charm and quality of life what it sacrifices in productivity. The Briton has become a compromise between the Continental, whom he used to despise out of contempt, and the American, whom he now despises out of envy. His is a land of Old World technology and New World beauty. And that's all there is to say about the British.'

Jonathan was going to protest against this gratuitous attack on their hosts when Strange continued, 'You know, during the war there used to be a riddle in contempt of the Belgian army. One used to ask, 'What would you do if a Belgian soldier threw a hand grenade at you?' And the answer was, 'Pull out the pin, and throw it back.' If the question were asked of the British soldier, it would be totally academic because the hand grenades would arrive six months after the promised date of delivery, the workmanship would be faulty, and the army would be on strike anyway.'

'If they disgust you so, why are you here?'

'The police, old man! It is a popular myth that British criminals are Europe's most clever, just barely kept in rein by the brain-children of Conan Doyle and Ian Fleming. These people glory in their train robbers and confidence men, their Robin Hoods from Stepney Green. It is typical of their blinkered Weltanschauung that it never occurs to them that it is not the dash and cleverness of their petty hoodlums that win the day, it is the monumental incompetence of their police. For a man in my profession, the British police are the most comfortable in Europe, just as the Dutch are the least. Of course, if you were interested in civil liberties, it would be quite the other way around. Surely the table is laid for supper by now. You must be looking forward to meeting Amazing Grace again.'

Conversation in the small paneled dining room was light and oblique, never touching on the matter of the Marini Horse, nor indeed on the events that had led to this peculiar early morning supper. Amazing Grace conducted the chat with the skill of a geisha, giving both men opportunities to display wit, and leavening all with her personal touch of ribald earthiness. As was her preference in social moments, she was nude, and so the room was kept warm and cozy by a gas fire set in a fireplace of curiously wrought iron. While she and Jonathan dined on rack of lamb, Strange went through a series of dishes featuring pallid substances with mealy aromas. In place of the wine they enjoyed, he drank goat's milk. It was only with the fruit and cheese that his diet and theirs converged. The cheese board bore many cheeses, yet only one. There was Danish blue, Roquefort, Gorgonzola, and Stilton. Strange explained that, next to yogurt, the blue-veined cheeses were best for digestion. The fruits were all organically grown and free from insecticides, and there were no bananas which, it seemed, were eatable only in the tropics where they were allowed to ripen naturally.

Jonathan admired the way in which Amazing Grace excelled as hostess, enthroned on her special elevated chair, and he remarked in passing that she had all the social graces of a parson's daughter, together with some of the traditionally suspected appetites.

'But I was a parson's daughter,' she said with a rich laugh. 'Not that all that many people have heard of The First Evangelical Synagogue of the Blessed Lord and All His Works.'

Two-mouths brought in the brandy and coffee on a tray, then joined Leonard against the wall in silent vigil.

'There's a certain social advantage to eating in the destructive way you two seem to enjoy,' Strange said. 'The arrival of brandy is the accepted signal for talk of business. And, as I have none of my own, may I use yours for that purpose?'

'Well, if things are going to get serious,' Grace said, 'I'll slip into a robe. I wouldn't want my bobbing little boobies distracting anyone.'