The Frumious Bandersnatch

winter,” which was before the poem turned so serious, and which always evoked a sigh from Margie (or Alice or Mary or Jeannie).

He was so young then.

Handsome, too, he guessed.

Or maybe not.

He had graduated from high school at the age of seventeen, had attended college for a year before he was drafted to fight in one of America’s far too many wars. Transported to a foreign land, he saw for the first time in his life (and grew old all at once) a wasteland that was a far cry from Eliot’s poignant mix of memory and desire. Wounded in battle and shipped back to America when he was still only nineteen, he’d returned to college for a year and a half, and then, abruptly, decided to join the police force.

The Wasteland through which he and Barney Loomis drove on this fading May afternoon was not very much different from that devastated landscape in which Carella had fought all those years ago. Not so very different at all.

“Christ, whatis this place?” Loomis asked, appalled, and parked on the corner of Norman and 185th.

“DON’T PULL NOTHINGfunny now,” Kellie said, and hefted the rifle onto her hip to show she meant business.

Tamar pulled a face. Her left hand was handcuffed to the radiator, what the hell could she try to pull?

Kellie set the glass of tea on the floor, within reach of Tamar’s right hand. She picked up the glass and took a sip of tea.

“Who are you supposed to be?” she asked.

“President Bush.”

“After next year, that mask may be dated.”

“What do you mean?”

“He might not be elected again.”

“Who cares?” Kellie said, and shrugged.

“You wear that mask, people will ask who you’re supposed to be.”

“Youalready asked that. Anyway, I won’t have to wear it after tonight.”

“Why? What happens tonight?”

“We drop you off. Goodbye, Tamar Valparaiso.”

“You mean that?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Whose plan?”

“Ours. Me and the guys.”

“Arafat and Hussein?”

“Yeah,” Kellie said, and grinned behind her own mask. “Those are good masks, ain’t they?”

“Very good.”

“Better than this one. I wanted Queen Elizabeth. Or Hillary Clinton. Instead, he gets methis jackass.”

“How do you know that’s the plan?”

“Cause we’re partners, the three of us. They’re out right this minute, picking up the ransom money.”

“How much are you supposed to get?”

“None of your business.”

“I hope it’s a lot of money.”

“Oh, it’s plenty all right.”

“How much?”

“Never mind.”

“I just want to know how much you guys think I’m worth.”

“You’re worth plenty, honey. Especially now.”

“Why now?”

“You’ve been all over television. You don’t sell ten million copies of ‘Bandersnatch,’ I’lleat this friggin mask!”

“So how much did you ask for?”

“How’s the tea?”

“Fine. Did you make it?”

“No, it’s Snapple.”

“Who’s paying the ransom?”

“Barney Loomis, who do you think? You know him, right?”

“Of course I know him.”

“You know everybody in the business, I’ll bet.”

“No, but he’s the CEO of my label.”

“You know Mariah Carey?”

“Never met her. How much ransom is Loomis paying for me?”

“Enough to make it worth our while. J. Lo? Do you know her?”

“How much is that?”

“How much do youthink you’re worth?”

“Ten million records, you said? How about a million bucks?”

“Oh, sure, he’s just about to pay a million.”

“How muchis he about to pay?”

“Enough.”

“How much is enough?”

“A quarter of a mil, okay?”

“Nice payday,” Tamar said, and drained her glass.

Kellie looked at her watch.

“In fact,” she said, “they should be picking it up just about now.”

LOOMISpicked up the ringing telephone.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Loomis?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to make a right turn on a Hun’ Eighty-fifth. Drive south for five and a half blocks. On the lefthand side of the street, you’ll see a wrecked automobile in front of a red brick building with no address numbers on it. Park behind that car. We’ll be watching you from that minute on. We’re in telephone contact with our partner. Any tricks and the girl dies. Repeat.”

“Five and a half blocks south on a Hundred Eighty-fifth. Park behind the wrecked car on the left.”

“And about tricks?”

“Tamar dies.”

“I think you’ve got it. By George, he’s got it!” Avery said playfully, and hung up.

“You heard,” Loomis told Carella.

“I heard. I should be giving all this to our people. You’re making a mistake here, Mr. Loo…”

“Then youdidn’t hear. Any tricks, and she dies. You want that onyour head, Detective Carella?”

Carella guessed he didn’t want that on his head.

“WRECKED CAR” had to be a euphemism for the rusted automobile skeleton that had been stripped, torched, and then abandoned in front of a building whose probably-brass address numerals had been similarly desecrated. Only the ghostly images of an 8, a 3, and a 7 remained on the wall to the right of the entrance door,