Archer?”
“No, Shelly’s a dentist.”
“You are partners with a dentist.”
“I didn’t say he was my partner. I said we shared an office. Look, doc, we’re getting nowhere here. Someone is feeding you a line, and you’re taking it in. I’ve got a long way to go and a lot to figure out. I’ll take off now. There are some people who need some help, and I can see you’re not going to cooperate.”
“What people?” he said, still writing. I considered ripping the pad from his desk or his nose from his face.
“Mae West and Cecil B. De Mille, to name two,” I said through closed teeth.
“And, let me get this straight, you think Jeffrey Ressner is planning to hurt them, and it’s your responsibility to protect them.”
“You’ve got it straight,” I said. The lawn mower was out of sight. I wanted to get up and change my angle so I could see him. He was steady and, if not sane, at least something to hold on to. “Look. You can just check your files to know about this thing with movie people. The son of a bitch went to Mae West’s house four days ago dressed in drag and tried to kill me.”
“Mr. Ressner tried to kill you?”
“Do you think we can carry on what’s left of this conversation without you repeating everything I say? It’s like listening to a dead echo.”
“Sorry,” he said. “A dead echo?”
I put a finger in his face and said, “I’m going.”
“What happened at Mae West’s house?” he went on, ignoring my farewell.
“Jeremy saved my damned life,” I said.
“Jeremy’s the midget,” he said.
“No, the giant. That’s it. I’m going. If I find Ressner, I’m turning him over to the cops. I think I’ve had it over my head with the Winning Institute.”
“One last thing,” Winning said still ignoring my anger. “Mr. Pevsner, your sister has asked us to keep you here for observation for a few days, possibly longer. She’s told us that you’ve had sessions like this before and can be self-destructive. Mr. Pevsner, we found the gun in your car.”
“It’s registered,” I said. “Just put it back, you son of a bitch. It’s my property. I don’t have much property, but what I’ve got, I like to protect.”
“Your sister says that in fact you have quite a bit of property back in Arizona.” Winning rose and looked at me. “Her check to us this morning was quite generous. Now why would a sister you don’t have give us a generous check?”
I drew in my breath for one last try before I threw Dr. Winning’s tolerant body through the window.
“I’ve been set up,” I said. “Ressner pretended to be you, got me up here, took my wallet, paid someone to call saying she was my sister.”
“Why would Mr. Ressner do that?” Winning said reasonably, putting his pipe down in a neat wooden ashtray.
“To get me out of the way while he goes for Mae West and De Mille. Because he doesn’t like me and thinks he has a score to settle. Because he is a nut, something you are supposed to know something about.”
Winning wrote something and put the pad down.
“Nope,” he said sadly, “Where would Jeffrey Ressner get the kind of money that came here this morning? And your story. Put yourself in my position, Mr. Pevsner.”
“Peters,” I corrected, making a fist.
“Peters,” he said with a smile. “If there is some kind of plot by Ressner, we’ll find out about it. Why not just cooperate with us for a day or so? You can have a nice rest here, all paid for. We’ll check your story, your brother, your friends.”
Our eyes met, and I could tell that I was being humored. I tried to think of a way of breaking through that tolerance, and then I gave up.
“You know what I think I’ll do?” I said.
“No, what?”
“I think I’ll just walk out of here quietly if I can, but if I can’t I’ll bounce you off the wall.”
Winning wasn’t fazed.
“Like a dead echo?” he said and put his hand under the desk. I could hear a buzzing sound in the hall and realized he had hit a hidden button.
I turned to the door as M.C. strode in with Nurse Grace a pace behind him.
“Mr. Pevsner will be staying with us for at least a day or so,” said Winning, tapping his notepad.
“Step out of the way, M.C.,” I said, holding out my arm.
“No trouble,” he said, blocking the doorway.
“I think we’re a little late for that,” I said, easing to the right with the idea of a fast dash past M.C. and a wild end run over Nurse Grace.
“Maybe so,” he said. Everybody in the damn place was reasonable.
“I’m going now,” I said, taking a step forward.
M.C.’s head shook a soft no. I turned to Dr. Winning, who watched with sad paternal eyes. I was one of his now.
I made my move and threw my shoulder at M.C. He side-stepped and grabbed for my arm. He missed. I pushed Nurse Grace and headed down the hall. I got no more than ten feet before M.C. caught me around the waist and lifted me in the air. I felt like a football about to take part in a brutal punt return.
“Go easy, my man,” he said in my ear.
I threw an elbow at his head and felt it connect. My elbow hurt but he didn’t loosen up. Instead he sat me on the ground. I could hear footsteps coming up behind us and caught a glimpse of Nurse Grace’s white shoes.
“You need some help?” she said.
“Just put him out,” said M.C. still softly, as if he wanted this over with so he could get on to more important things. He grabbed my right wrist and clamped it tight. Nurse Grace was on her knees, and I could see something in her right hand, a hypodermic needle.
“I’ve been vaccinated,” I said, struggling to get free.
“Not for this trip,” said M.C., and the needle went into my forearm.
I think Koko tried to stop them. At least he was there almost instantly and happier than ever before. He was beautifully clear and, for the first time, in color. I wanted to open my eyes and tell M.C. and Nurse Grace that Koko had appeared in color, but I couldn’t. Koko took my hand and led me to the inkwell. I had things to do, people to save, but he was not to be denied. We balanced at the end of the inkwell, and just before we plunged in, I could see a pen descending on us. The pen looked suspiciously like a needle.
When I awoke, I had the feeling that just seconds had passed. I was lying on a bed. To my left was another bed. Beyond that bed was a wall with a small, barred window leading to the night. A circular fluorescent light fixture in the low ceiling revealed white walls. On the other bed, a powerful-looking man with brownish-yellow hair reclined comfortably in bright green and red pajamas and read a book. It was
We looked at each other for a few moments before I turned my back and closed my eyes. But I couldn’t sleep and knew it. If anything, I had a headache from too much drugged sleep. When I was feeling under the blanket to find out what I was wearing (it turned out to be a pair of hospital gray pajamas), I realized that since I was a potential psychotic, my roommate must also be a mental patient. I might be unwise to turn my back on him. In turning quickly to face the man in the bright green and red pajamas, I forgot about the stitches in my head.
“You got a headache?” the man said. “You want a drink?” He leaned forward, blinking.
“No. No thanks.”
“Mind if I exercise?” He put his book aside and stood next to me between the beds.
“No.”
The man suddenly disappeared, and it took me a few seconds to realize that he had dropped to the floor. Leaning dizzily over, I found him sitting crosslegged, teeth clenched, and red-faced. He grunted slightly and turned redder. As the red began to turn to white, he relaxed and turned on his stomach. It seemed as if he had gone to
