Smoot laid a finger on a jittery line in the end credits and read it aloud.
" 'Special thanks to Helwig X. Wurmlinger, special consultant.'"
"On what?"
"If this were the poltergeist episode, I'd say poltergeist. But it's the killer-bee episode, so it's gotta be-"
"Killer bees!" Tammy cried joyously.
"There you go. Call the 'X-Files' production office in Toronto, and they'll point you in the right direction."
"Shouldn't I air a preliminary report first?"
"With stuff from stuffy old books and morgue shots? No way. We need a talking head for credibility."
"Oh, all right..."
At her desk, Tammy worked the phone.
"I'm doing a story on killer bees," she explained.
"They're old hat," the "X-Files" production office told her.
"My story will prove they've hit New York. A guy's already plotzed with his brain eaten out."
"Damn!"
"What's the problem? You're way down there in Canada."
"Canada is up. And we already did a killer-bee episode. We can't do another. We're already in secondary syndication."
"Tough break. Now, how about Wurmlinger's address?"
"All my Rolodex has is a telephone number."
"Shoot," said Tammy.
After hanging up, Tammy immediately dialed the number of Helwig X. Wurmlinger.
"Hello?" a low, buzzing voice said.
"Is this Earwig Wurmlinger?"
"It is not. And I cannot talk to you at present."
"This is for TV."
"I will have no statements until I have examined the victim."
"Which victim?"
"Why, the deceased medical examiner, of course."
"I saw the autopsy. They think it's bee poison."
"Toxin. Bees produce venom. Poison is another secretion entirely."
"How about I meet you at the New York morgue?"
"Impossible."
"Why?"
"Because I am about to catch a flight for Los Angeles and the L.A. County morgue."
"But the New York morgue is here in Manhattan," Tammy protested.
"I do not know what you are talking about, but the stricken medical examiner is in Los Angeles."
"Are we talking about the same M.E.? Died of a bee sting?"
"A suspected bee sting. After autopsying a person who appeared to have succumbed to the same malady."
"There are killer bees in L.A.?"
"I deal in theories," Helwig X. Wurmlinger said stiffly, over what Tammy realized was a background buzzing.
"And I deal in coincidences," exulted Tammy. "I'm on my way to L.A. See you there."
Turning to her cameraman, she said, "It's a bicoastal story. Can you believe it? Bicoastal. My story has gone nationwide, and I haven't even been on the air yet!"
Chapter 10
On the flight to Los Angeles, Remo found he had time on his hands.
The flight attendants were ignoring him as if he didn't exist. There was only one exception.
"Don't I know you?" asked a fleshy blonde whose lips were so red they were almost black.
"Search me."
"You look familiar to me," she said as she lowered his seat-back tray and laid down a monogrammed napkin.
"All stewardesses look the same to me," Remo said truthfully.
"How's that?"