When Max reached the car he removed his motherly-looking clothes and changed back into his shoes and his telephone.
“Well?” Blossom said.
“It paid off,” Max reported. “Noel has resigned from FLAG and taken a job with T. C. amp; S.”
“Typewriters, Computers amp; Stuff? That big, worldwide computer manufacturing organization? Whatever for?”
“The triple cross,” Max said. “She’s gone into business for herself. Apparently she’s discovered that that’s where Fred is hiding, and she’s gone after him on her own. Instead of turning him over to FLAG, she’ll peddle him herself. To the highest bidder, no doubt.”
“That doesn’t sound very nice,” Blossom said.
“No, it isn’t. But it’s a living.” Max started the engine. “One thing though, now we know where Fred is,” he said. “It’s a natural. What better place for a computer to hide than among the world’s largest collection of computers?” He turned the car into traffic. “T. C. amp; S. is only a few blocks from here. We may be able to wrap this case up before dinner.”
“What makes you think she’s been sitting around waiting for us to catch up with her?” Blossom said. “By now, she’s probably robotnapped Fred again and skipped the country with him.”
“You forget-the Chief has agents posted at all the airports, train stations and bus terminals. She could never slip through the net.”
“And boat docks,” Blossom said. “But she could have rented a car and driven him out of the city, you know.”
Max glared at her. “Now, you tell me. Why didn’t you mention that while I had the Chief on the phone?”
“Little me? Stupid me? A woman?”
“I think I detect a note of sarcasm,” Max said. “This is no time to let personal feelings creep into our relationship. We’re a team. We have to pull together. So, from now on, knock off that bilge, and just do what I tell you. And the first thing I have to tell you is: don’t be sarcastic!”
“Oh… go talk to your shoe!”
“That’s better,” Max said. “It would be a good idea to have the Chief station agents at all the rent-a-car garages.” He reached down, while driving, and removed his shoe, then spoke into it.
Max: Chief… this is 86. I have just been informed by a reliable source that a FLAG agent may be trying to sneak Fred out of the country by automobile. I’d suggest that you post agents at the rent-a-car joints and at all the main highways leading out of the city.
Chief: We did that hours ago, Max. We do something besides sitting around here on our chairs, waiting for you to call, you know. Control is the brains of the operation.
Max: Sorry, Chief. I suppose you’ve posted agents at the ferries, too.
Chief: Ferries?
Max: She could smuggle him aboard a ferry and slip him out of the city, you know.
Chief: Now, you tell me! Why didn’t you mention that when you called about the train stations, airports and bus terminals!
Max (sharply): You’re supposed to be the brains of this outfit!
Chief: Oh, sure, sure, sure, put the blame on me. All I have to do is sit around here and think, I suppose. That’s all you know about it. You, you’re off chasing FLAG agents all day, what do you know about it? Who is it has to keep this place tidied up? Who is it who has to listen to all the complaints? Who is it who has to play nursemaid to all the agents around here? You know what I get all day? ‘I need a new gun!’ ‘Why don’t you ever assign me to any of the out-of-town cases?’ Complaints, complaints, complaints. I can’t do one little thing right! I don’t know why I stay in this place! Pick, pick, pick! That’s all I get, picked on!
Max (sympathetically): I’m sorry, Chief. You’re right. I should have mentioned the ferries. Now, will you stop crying, please? Look, as soon as I wrap up this case, I’ll take you out to dinner. That’s a promise.
Chief: Cross your heart?
Max: Cross my heart with butter beans on it.
Chief: You’re a nice secret agent, Max.
Max: Welllll… you’re a nice Chief.
Chief: I’ll station some agents at the ferries. They’ll complain about it-‘Why do I always have to watch the ferries?’-that’s what I’ll get. But I’ll do it.
Max: So long, Chief. And… take it easy. And remember: Tomorrow is another day.
Chief: Big deal! All my days are alike. Complaints, com Max hung up and turned his attention back to the driving.
“What did he say?” Blossom asked.
“I’d rather not say. It’s very sad.” He pointed. “There’s the T. C. amp; S. Building. Now… if we can just find a parking space…”
Much, much later that afternoon, Max, Blossom and Fang entered the building where Typewriters, Computers amp; Stuff had its offices. Max approached the starter who was standing near the elevators.
“Pardon me,” he said. “I’m looking for a computer-”
“You came to the right place, friend,” the starter said. “We got thirty-six floors of computers. Anything special you got in mind? We got computers that add, we got computers that subtract, we got computers that multiply and divide. Long division, short division.”
“How about a computer that quotes Charlie Chan?” Max said.
“If it exists, we got it,” the starter said.
Max signalled to Blossom and Fang. “This is the place,” he said.
“There’s a tour starting in ten minutes,” the starter said. “Go to the tenth floor. There, you’ll find a crowd of people standing around complaining. They’re complaining because the tour was supposed to start a half-hour ago. Join them. They’ll be standing on one foot, then the other. You can do that, too. It will help pass the time. Actually, it will probably be another half-hour before the tour really starts. That ten minutes is just a rough estimate.”
“On this tour,” Max said, “will we be shown every computer in the building?”
“Every blessed one,” the starter said. “And if the tour director likes you he may even take you across the street and show you the computer over there. It isn’t ours-but if the tour director likes you, he gets carried away.”
Max thanked the starter, then led the way as he and Blossom and Fang boarded an elevator.
“Fifth floor,” Max said to the operator.
“The starter said ‘ten,’ ” Blossom said.
“The tour doesn’t start for half-an-hour,” Max said. “That will give us time to do a little scouting around on our own.”
“Gee… is that wise?”
“It’s preferable to getting mixed up with an eager-beaver tour director,” Max said.
“Five,” said the operator.
They got out. The elevator door closed behind them. Facing them was a frosted-glass door marked: EMPLOYMENT
“Fred may have gone in here,” Max said. “He’d want a job if he planned to stay here. He isn’t the kind who’d be happy just sitting around rolling his eyeballs. We’ll check it out.”
Max opened the door. They entered a large room that was chock full of computers. Attending the machines was a slender, bifocaled young man.
“Come right on in,” the young man smiled. “I’m Mr. Wright.”
“I’ve been looking for you for simply years!” Blossom giggled.
“Stow that,” Max snapped. To Mr. Wright, he said, “We’re on the trail of a computer. We thought-”
“Now, now,” Mr. Wright smiled, “don’t be nervous. No evasions. I know why you’re here. After all, this is EMPLOYMENT, isn’t it? And I know exactly how you feel. You’re afraid of the computers. You think of them as some sort of Black Magic! Well, that’s silly, of course. They’re machines, that’s all they are. Simple, everyday, complex machines.”
“That’s reassuring,” Max said. “But-”
“Of course, if they take a dislike to you they can be nasty, I’ll admit that,” Mr. Wright went on. He glanced warily toward the computers, then whispered. “See that one over there? The one with the black patch over its left hiccometer?”
“Hiccometer?”
“Sometimes it hiccups,” Mr. Wright explained. “The hiccometer measures the hiccups per revolution. Anyway, last Thursday it stole my lunch.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Max said.
“Cross my heart. I put my lunch down for just a second, and the next thing I knew it was gone. It hates me.”
“It’s probably not you personally,” Max said. “It probably just has a bad disposition. Maybe something it ate. I’d suggest an Alka-Seltzer.”
“Oh, no, no, no, it hates me!” Mr. Wright insisted. “I don’t know why, but it does. It certainly isn’t because I’ve given it any reason to. I treat it like all the other computers.”
“Maybe that’s it,” Max suggested. “Perhaps it wants a little special attention. Try singing it a lullaby.” He looked thoughtful for a second. “Or patting it on the back the next time it has hiccups.”
Mr. Wright sighed sorrowfully. “Well, that’s my problem, not yours. You’re here to be tested, and I’m here to test you, so let’s be about it.”
“Tested?” Max said. “For what?”
“To determine what occupation you’re best suited for.”
“You mean you can test me and tell me what job I should have?” Max said. He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I already know what job I’m best suited for. And, at the moment, I’m on the trail of a computer. Actually, ‘robot’ describes him better, I suppose. He has revolving eyes and a lever at his side and goes: ‘Peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta, dippa-dotta-boop!’ ”
“Oh, you are in trouble,” Mr. Wright said. “You’ll never find a job like that. In the first place, I don’t think any such robot exists. And in the second place, if it did, who would want to find it? Now then,” he said, smiling again, “if you’ll just answer a few questions for me, I’ll jot the answers down on this card, then we’ll turn it over to the computers.”
“If I do that for you, then will you do me a favor and discuss my robot with me?” Max said.
“Cross my heart. I might even sing you a lullaby.”
“Fire away,” Max said.
“Here’s the first question: If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, how many peepers… uh, peppers, that is… did he have to pay in income tax?”
“That would depend on how many dependents he had,” Max replied.
“Well, just for the sake of argument, let’s say he had a wife, three children, a cocker spaniel, and an old maid aunt who lived in the spare room.”
“Three peepers… uh, peppers,” Max said.
Mr. Wright punched a hole in the card he was holding. “Too bad,” he said. “But that was close, anyway.” He punched another hole. “I’ll give you that for good behavior,” he said.
“Just for curiosity’s sake, what is the right answer,” Max said.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Mr. Wright replied. “You see, these weren’t Peter’s peppers that Peter Piper picked. He was an employee of the Pickled Pepper Packer’s Association. I imagine the Association paid him something for picking the peppers, but I wouldn’t know what it might be. I don’t pry.”
“Next question,” Max said.
“Oh, that’s just a waste of time,” Mr. Wright said. “You wouldn’t know any of the answers, anyway. I’ll just punch your card full of holes and we’ll put it in the machine. That’s the fun part!”
“Anything to get this over with,” Max said wearily.
Mr. Wright took the card to the machine with the black patch over its hiccometer. “Now, for heaven’s sake, behave,” he said to the machine. “We have guests!”
The machine hiccuped.
Mr. Wright sighed, then fed the card into the slot. He punched a button. The machine whirred, hiccuped again, then disgorged the card.
“Here’s the answer,” Mr. Wright grinned, returning to where Max, Blossom and Fang were waiting. “It says-” His grin disappeared. Horror spread over his countenance.
“Yes…?” Max said, a little worriedly.
“It says you’re best suited to tend the computers that decide what occupation a man is best suited for!” He began to cry. “That’s my job!”
“Probably an error,” Max said.
“Error, my great grandmother!” Mr. Wright screamed. “It’s sheer nastiness! That machine did it on purpose! It hates me!”
“Rorff!”
“You’re right,” Max said. To Blossom, he said, “Let’s get out of here!”
As they departed, Mr. Wright snatched up his lunch pail and charged at the computer, revenge gleaming in his eye!
“I don’t think that’s the job that guy’s best suited for,” Max said, as they returned to the elevator.
“Or maybe it was the computer,” Blossom said. “Maybe it wasn’t suited for the job it was doing.”
The door of the elevator opened. They stepped aboard.
“Ten,” Max said to the operator.
“If you’re going on the tour, it’s already left,” the operator said.
Max looked at his watch. “We’re early,” he said. “It’s another five minutes until it will be an hour late in leaving.”
“I guess it’s early today,” the operator said. “But if you want to catch it, I can drop you at the ninth floor. That’s where it’ll be about now.”
“Nine,” Max said.
The car stopped. The operator opened the door. “Nine,” he announced.
Max, Blossom and Fang stepped out-and were nearly trampled by a thundering herd of tourists.
“That’s the tour,” the elevator operator informed them. The door closed.
Max and party joined the crowd.
The tour director, a bright-eyed young man, clearly-judging from his dress-a graduate of Brooks Brothers, was addressing his followers as he led them along the corridor.
“Just out of its teens,” he said, in a well-modulated voice, “the computer is beginning to affect the very fabric of society, kindling both wonder and widespread apprehension. Is the computer a friend or enemy of man? Will it cause hopeless unemployment by putting men out of work? Will it devalue the human brain, or happily free it from drudgery? Will it ever learn to think for itself? The answers will not be in for quite a while. But one thing is already clear. Swept forward by a great wave of technology, of which the computer is the ultimate expression, human society is headed for some deep-reaching changes.”
There was a scattering of applause.
The director smiled back at the tourists. “I read that in a magazine,” he said. “Memorized it word for word. Are there any questions?”
“What did it mean?” a middle-aged lady asked.
“Haven’t the faintest,” the director replied. “Something about a change-I got that much out of it. But… let’s not worry about it. I’m sure it won’t have any effect on any of us. Any other questions?”
“Where’s the washroom?” a small boy asked.
“I have a question,” Max said. “Has anybody here seen a computer with revolving eyes and a lever at its side that goes ‘Peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta, dippa-dotta-boop!’?”
The director eyed him coldly. “We don’t have a computer like that,” he said.
“I didn’t say it was yours, I asked if anybody had seen it.”
“I think that is abominable manners, coming in here plugging our competitor’s computers,” the director said. “Get a tour of your own. Don’t come sneaking in here trying to steal my tour!”
“I don’t want your tour-” Max began.
“Oh-ho!” the director sneered. “ My tour isn’t good enough for you, eh?” He addressed the crowd. “Did you hear that? He says you’re not good enough for him.”
There were indignant mutterings.
Max sagged. “I give up,” he said. “I promise I won’t try to steal your tour.”
“That’s better,” the director said victoriously. “But don’t think I’m not going to keep an eye on you. One false move, and-” He spoke to the group again. “Forward!”
They entered a gigantic area that was lined, row after row, with computers. The machines were happily humming away.
“None of these look like Fred,” Blossom said.
“You’re right,” Max said. “I guess we better drop the tour and-”
“Rorff!”
“That’s a point,” Max said.
“What say?”
“He reminded me that Fred disguised himself with a false beard when he tried to hide in the Village. He may be trying the same thing here.”
Blossom looked around. “Not a single beard in sight.”
“I meant he might be trying another trick. The only thing to do is check out each and every one of these computers. The one that says ‘Peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta’ is Fred.”
“Then I guess we better stick with the tour,” Blossom sighed.
The director halted the group at the first machine. “Now this computer,” he said, “is busily at work on a problem given it by one of our great universities. Hear the gears meshing? Grind, grind, grind! It’s sorting through all the possible answers to pick out the correct one.”
“What did the college ask it?” a voice inquired.
“Where, on campus, to put the new parking lot,” the director replied.
At that moment, Max sidled up to the machine, and, in a quiet voice, said, “Fred? Is that you, Fred?”
“You, there!” the director snapped. “What are you doing?”
“You wouldn’t believe it,” Max said.
“Try me.”
“I was merely asking this computer if it was Fred,” Max replied. “There, see, I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”
The director screeched at the top of his voice. “Guards!”
Two uniformed men came rushing up.
“Him!” the director said, indicating Max.
“What did he do?” one of the guards asked.
The director put a hand to his brow. “You wouldn’t believe it.”
The guards grabbed Max. “That’s enough for us,” one of them said.
“Help! Fang!” Max called.
Fang covered his eyes with his paws!
“Just wait’ll the next time you come whining around for some liverwurst!” Max growled.
The guards dragged Max away. Blossom and Fang trailed after them.
“He’s innocent!” Blossom protested. “All he did was ask a computer if it was Fred!”
The guards stopped. They peered at Blossom.
“Better bring her along, too,” one of the guards said finally. “They’re probably working as a team!”
“Rorff!”
“You, too!” the guard said incredulously. “All right, the three of you, then!”
The guards took Fred, Blossom and Fang to a small room down the corridor. The room was furnished with hard-backed chairs, a desk, and a spotlight.
“If you’ll be seated…” one of the guards said politely.
Max and Blossom occupied chairs. Fang settled down on the floor.
“All right, Harry, bring on the rubber hose,” one of the guards said to the other.
“Where is it, Bert?” the other asked.
“You had it last,” Bert said. “Remember-that little old lady who snuck in and tried to get the computer to give her the winner of the Derby.”
“No, you had it after that,” Harry said. “That little old lady who tried to get the winner of the World Series from the computer-remember?”
“But, after I worked her over, I gave it to you,” Bert said. “I remember distinctly. I handed you the rubber hose, and I said, ‘Here’s the rubber hose, Bert.’ ”
“I’m not Bert, I’m Harry,” Harry said. “You’re Bert.”
Max broke in. “Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, could you get this over with? We’re in a bit of a rush.”
“Well, I don’t know about him,” Harry said peevishly, indicating Bert, “but I can’t do a thing without the rubber hose. He knows that, too. That’s why he hid it!”
“How would you like a rubber hose right square in the mush?” Bert said belligerently.
“If all you two are going to do is stand around arguing,” Max said, “we’re going to leave.”
Harry sighed. “All right, I’ll interrogate you. But it won’t be my best effort. I just don’t work well without a rubber hose.”
Bert spoke to Max. “The last time he used it,” he said, referring to Harry, “he dropped it on his toes. That’s how well he works with it.”
Harry pulled back a fist.
“Boys, boys, boys!” Max interceded. “If you can’t work together, we’re going to have to separate you! Now, settle down!”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said, lowering his eyes sheepishly. “But he started it.”
“He started it!” Bert shouted.
Harry cocked his fist again.
“One more outburst like that, and somebody’s going to sit in the corner!” Max warned.
Bert kicked the floor.
Harry muttered.
“Now then, let’s get on with it,” Max said. “Harry, you start off.”
“How come he’s always first?” Bert said crankily. “I’m never-”
“Bert!”
“Okay, okay!” He turned away. “Nobody ever lets me go first.”
Harry eyed Max menacingly. “Where do you think you get off going around asking computers if they’re Fred,” he said, beginning the interrogation. “Who do you think you are-anyway?”
“I refuse to answer on the grounds that that’s a ridiculous question,” Max replied.
Harry grinned. “Right there, that’s where I give you the old rubber hose,” he said. “Could you scream-just to get me in the mood?”
Max shrieked horrendously.
“That’ll teach you to act wise with the authorities,” Harry said grimly.
Behind him, Bert said, “My turn.”
Harry turned to him. “Your turn, Bert,” he said.
Bert faced Max. “This Fred you’re looking for, what does he look like?” he said.
“He has revolving eyes, a lever at his side, and goes ‘Peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta, dippa-dotta-boop!’ ” Max replied.
Bert faced back to Harry. For a second, they stared at each other. Then they retired to a corner and spoke to each other in low tones.
“What now?” Blossom whispered to Max.
“Somehow, I think we’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest,” Max said.
Harry and Bert came back. “On your feet,” Harry said.
“My friend here,” Max said, indicating Blossom, “would like to know what now?”
“Do you really think of me as your friend?” Blossom glowed. “How good a friend?”
“Stow that,” Max snarled.
“We’ve come to a contretemps-whatever that means,” Harry said to Max. “You mentioned a guy with revolving eyes and a lever at his side and goes Peep-a-dotta-you-know. And it just so happens that the new president of the company, just named to the post today, has a lot in common with that description. So Bert and me think that maybe this Fred might be one of the Big Boss’s relatives. We don’t want to take no chances. So we’re going to check it out. Then, boy, are you going to get it!”
“Come along,” Bert said, leading the way to the door.
They left the room and walked along the corridor.
“This new president of the company, just named to the post today, what’s his name?” Max asked.
“Let’s see…” Harry said thoughtfully. “Ned? Jed? Dred? Something like that. What is it, Bert?”
“Fred, I think,” Bert replied.
“There’s another coincidence,” Harry said to Max. “Your Fred and the new company president, just named to the post today, have the same name.”
“Fantastic!” Max said. “Two people with revolving eyes and a lever at their side that go ‘Peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta, dippa-dotta-boop!’ Fact is sometimes stranger than fiction, eh?”
They came to an impressive door marked: PRESIDENT
(Just Named to the Post Today)
“Inside,” Harry said.
They entered. Seated at a desk in a small reception area was a gorgeous brunette who looked remarkably like Noel.
“Two tourists and a dog to see the new president for purposes of identification,” Harry said to the girl.
“Rorff!”
“Okay, okay,” Harry said. To the receptionist, he said, “Make that three tourists, no dog.”
Max bent over to Noel. “So we meet again,” he said slyly.
She lowered her eyes, smiling girlishly. “You remember…”
“I never forget a summer,” Max said.
Noel spoke to Bert and Harry. “You two can go now. The new president, just named to the post today, will handle this.”
“Yes’m.” They departed.
Rising, Noel hooked a thumb toward another door, which was marked FRED
“Inside,” she said.
Max led the way. He opened the door, then halted. Seated at a large, ornately-carved desk was a robot-like computer with a lever at his side.
“The resemblance is absolutely amazing!” Max said.
Blossom edged past him. “Fred!” she cried.
Max’s mouth fell open. “You don’t mean-”
“That’s my Fred!” Blossom said. Then, suddenly not so sure, she said, “Aren’t you, Fred?”
Fred’s arm came up. His nickel dropped into the slot. “Peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta, dippa-dotta-boop!” The lemons came up. He spoke.
“Hiya, gang.”
Blossom ran to him, embraced him. “Fred… my poor Fred!”
“Poor Fred!” Max said. “He happens to be president of T. C. amp; S., that’s all.” He moved closer to Fred. “How did you do it, boy?”
“I rose through the ranks,” Fred replied. “It took me all afternoon practically, but I did it. I demonstrated that I know more about computers than anyone else on the staff.”
“That makes sense,” Max nodded.
“He weel not be president long, however,” Noel said. “I am only waiting for nightfall. Then I weel take heem weeth me to zee land of love.”
“We’ll see about that!” Max said meaningfully.
“Who can offer him more than love, romance?” Noel smiled.
“It just so happens,” Max said, addressing Fred, “that I am authorized to offer you cash. What’s your answer to that?”
“Man who talks about cash but doesn’t say how much is about as much use to computer as bum transistor,” Fred replied.
“I intended to get to that-the amount,” Max said. “What would you say to twelve dollars and eighty-six cents?”
“I offer you love and romance unlimited,” Noel said.
“Yes, but try putting that in the bank and drawing interest,” Max countered. “With twelve dollars and eighty-six cents, on the other hand, put it in a savings account and within ten or twelve years or so you can run it up to thirteen dollars. Put that in your mechanism and digest it!”
Fred’s gears ground. Then came the reply. “Pooey!”
“Is that yes or no?” Max asked.
“I think you’re both horrid,” Blossom said. “Fred has all that you’re offering him, anyway. Love-why, as president of a big company, I’m sure his employees just adore him. And money. With his job, I’m sure he makes at least twelve dollars and eighty-six cents.” She turned to the robot. “Isn’t that right, Fred?”
“True,” Fred said. “But there are other considerations. For one, I don’t think I’m cut out for a career in business. As Charlie Chan says, ‘Man who always breathes in, and never out, should not go near the water.’ ”
“I’m not sure I get the connection,” Max said.
“I’m not in my element here,” Fred explained. “Do you know what these people are doing with these computers they’re building? They’re selling them!”
“That’s the business,” Max said.
“But selling them! As if they were so many machines! I had a very unfortunate experience with the practice earlier this afternoon. I met a cute little computer in the Assets Receivable Department. We made a date for later. Then suddenly she was sold. Bartered off like some inhuman contraption to a department store chain. It opened my eyes!”
“Enough of this chitter-chatter!” Noel said. “If you are not interested in love, then-”
She was interrupted as the door suddenly burst open. Boris charged in.
“Stuck ’em up!” Boris commanded.
“You forgot one little thing,” Max pointed out. “You didn’t draw your gun.”
Boris looked at his empty hand. “An honest mistake,” he said. “I meant to draw it.” He began going through his pockets. “It was right here a minute ago. Let’s see, I had it when I forced that elevator starter to reveal the whereabouts of Fred. Where did I go from there? Oh, yes, I met the tour director. But did I use it on him or not? No. I wanted to conceal it from him. He looked like the nervous type. So I-Ah, yes…” He produced the gun from the handkerchief pocket of his jacket. “Stuck ’em up!” he commanded again.
“Au contraire!” Noel said, drawing her own gun and pointing it at Boris. “You stuck ’em up!”
“Not so fast!” Max said, drawing his gun and aiming it at Noel. “If anybody’s going to stuck ’em up, it’s you!”
They stood fixed. Boris with his gun on Noel, Noel with her gun on Boris, and Max with his gun on Noel.
“Your move,” Max said to Blossom.
“Gee, I’m sorry. I don’t have a gun.”
“Send out for one,” Max said. “And hurry. As it is, nobody can make a move. We could be here for weeks!”
“It looks like a stand-off,” Fred said. “Which leaves me free to go.”
“Would you mind telling us where you’re going?” Max said. “I’m a little tired of chasing all over the city without a clue to where I’m going.”
“Yes-I’ve made my decision,” Fred said.
“Which is it?” Noel said. “Love?”
“Or cash?” Max said.
“Hold it!” Boris said. “I haven’t yet made my final offer. Come with me, Fred. I will see to it that you are awarded the highest honor of the land. My government will make you a Worker First Class. At the beginning, you get a little tin medal. But after fifty years you can retire with a gold watch. Think about it! Where can you buy a gold watch for love or money?”
“Any jewelers,” Fred said.
“I retract my previous statement,” Boris said. “Don’t think about it.”
“I can’t help but think about It,” Fred said. “Thinking is the thing I do. And, after serious thought, I have decided-”
“Yes?” Noel said.
“I have decided to cast my lot with love,” Fred said.
Noel smiled. “I’m not surprised. There’s one born every minute.”
“Look,” Max said, “before you make a final final decision, I’d like to raise my offer to a full thirteen dollars.”
“I will do even better than that,” Boris said. “A tin medal, a gold watch, and three weeks vacation every year in Siberia.”
Fred shook his head. “Love it Is,” he said.
Noel lowered her gun. “Gome along, darling.”
“Not that kind of love,” Fred said. “I was referring to Universal Love.”
“Universal, unischmersal,” Noel said. “We got all kinds.”
“No,” Fred said. “I’m returning to the U.N. I should have stayed there in the first place. It needs me. There, I can work not for one nation, but for all nations. All that are paid-up members, anyway.”
“Dirty capitalist trick,” Boris grumbled.
“You know,” Max said, “if you look at it in the right light, this way, we all win. Fred will be working for all of us. All of us who are paid-up, that is.”
“Dirty capitalist trick,” Boris grumbled again.
Noel shrugged. “Well, you can’t win ’em all.”
“I better be going,” Fred said. “There’s a particular problem I have to work on.”
“I’m sure you can solve it,” Blossom said fondly.
“I’m not sure,” Fred said. “The problem is this. I learned while at the U.N. that there are some countries that produce so much food that they can’t use it all. They have to store it-at great cost to the governments. Then, on the other hand, there are other countries that produce so little food that some of their people are starving. I’m sure that somewhere there must be an answer to it.”
“Mmmmmm… it’s a puzzler, all right,” Max frowned.
“The answer is obvious,” Noel said. “What those starving people need is love.”
“Who can eat love?” Boris said. “The answer is to send them all to Siberia.”
“Well, it’s a tricky situation,” Max said. “But if anyone can solve it, I’m sure you can, Fred.”
Fred looked worried. “I keep telling myself there’s a simple answer,” he said.
“Rorff!”
“Ridiculous,” Max said.
“What say?” Blossom said.
“It’s too ridiculous to repeat,” Max said crossly.
“So long, gang,” Fred said, moving toward the door.
“Good luck in your new post,” Max said.
“Don’t be a slave to nobody,” Boris called. “Remember, you can always have a job with us. And tin medals don’t grow on trees!”
“Vive l’amour!” Noel said hatefully.
Then Fred was gone.
“Well, gang,” Max said, “I guess we can all stow our guns. In the final analysis, Mankind has won the day. We know now that we have a computer working on the side of Universal Brotherhood. That ought to make us all sleep more peacefully at night, eh?”
“Eet makes one weep,” Noel said, putting away her gun, and, at the same time, picking up a heavy paperweight from Fred’s desk.
“Da,” Boris said. He deposited his pistol in his handkerchief pocket, and, simultaneously, palmed the knife-like letter opener that was on Fred’s desk.
“It’s been fun,” Max said, shaking hands all around. “I hope we’ll all meet again soon.”
“Rorff!”
“Oh… that’s right, you’re with me. Sorry.”
“So am I,” Blossom said.
“I’m trying to forget that.”
“Bon soir,” Noel said, leaving.
Boris backed toward the doorway. “Eef you’re ever in Zinzinotti, Alleybama, you stop in,” he said. “Hear, y’all?”
“Southern hospitality,” Max said, brushing a tear from his eye. “It gets me every time.”
“Well, imagine that!” Blossom giggled. “It’s dinner time. And I just happen to know of the darlingest, most secluded French restaurant. We could-”
“I have a dinner date,” Max said. “With the Chief.”
“Oh. Well, I could join you. Then later, you and I-”
“Which reminds me,” Max said. “I better report in and tell the Chief that the case is closed. He’ll be wondering.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Blossom said.
Max removed his shoe and spoke into it.
Max: Chief? This is 86.
Chief: That you, Max?
Max: Yes. I’m happy to report, Chief, that the case of the gallivanting computer has been solved.
Chief: You have him? You’re bringing him in?
Max: Not exactly, Chief. He’s decided to work for another outfit. There are a lot of details, but, in a nutshell, he’s going into the food business.
Chief (slowly, furiously): Max… your… assignment… was… to… bring him in!
Max: Chief, if you look at it in the right light, that is only a small detail. You have to take the broad view. Look at it as history. By letting Fred go, I may have ensured the peace of the world for the next ten centuries.
Chief: That’s all well and good. But what am I going to tell my superiors? This isn’t my Secret Service, you know. I don’t own it.
Max: We’ll discuss it over dinner, Chief. I’m positive that between us we can think up an acceptable excuse. Incidentally-(He glanced at Blossom)-do you mind if I bring along an unwelcome guest?
Chief: Nothing, but nothing, could faze me now!
Max: Meet you in half an hour, then, at our favorite French restaurant. Over and out.
Chief: What’s that ‘over and out’ business?
Max: I’ll explain that, too, Chief. So long.
“The Chief says he’ll be happy to have you as his unwelcome guest,” he said to Blossom.
“I gathered that.”
“Rorff!”
“You, too,” Max said. “But only on one condition-that you don’t embarrass me by asking for a sauce on your liverwurst.”
They left the office and walked down the corridor toward the elevators.
“I must have picked up a bullet during the fray,” Max said. “I’m limping.”
“You didn’t hang up your shoe,” Blossom pointed out.
“Oh… yes.” He hung up his shoe.
They stepped aboard an elevator, descended to street level, then left the building and walked toward the French restaurant.
“You know,” Max said sentimentally, “there’s something about this case that is very reminiscent. It’s just as if it’s all happened before.”
“Oh?”
“Rorff!”
“I think you’re right,” Max said, brightening. “It’s been almost like a repeat of the summer of ’61. The only difference is, then it was ping-pong balls, this time it was a computer.” He turned to Blossom. “Did I tell you, by any chance, about the summer of ’61?”
“Yes,” Blossom said grimly.
“Well, a good story always bears repeating,” Max said. “It began in Paree, Illinois. There was a gorgeous little brunette there. I wonder what ever happened to her? But, that’s neither here nor there. As I was saying…”
They had reached a corner. As Max ambled on, talking, Blossom made a sharp left turn, and, unnoticed by Max, disappeared into the gathering dusk.