'I am Father Forms of the Holy Roaming Catholic Church.'
I pulled out my canceled AAPP card and flashed it briefly at him.
`Where's your collar?' he asked.
'In my pocket,' I answered, and with dignity removed the white clerical collar I'd brought with me to-wear on the inter view show but which the Die had vetoed at the last moment to attach it around my black turtleneck sweater.
`Well, get outa here, Father,' he said.
'Bless You, I suppose.' I moved nervously past him back into the smoke-filled studio and with a lumbering gallop made it without breathing to the main exit in back. I stumbled to a stairwell and began staggering downward. At the foot of the first flight two other policemen were squatting oil either side with guns drawn; another was holding three giant police dogs who barked viciously as I neared. I made the sign of the cross and passed them to the next flight downward.
And downwards I went, blessing the sweating policemen who surged past me after the villains, blessing the sweating reporters who surged past me after the heroes, blessing the freezing crowds which surged around outside the building, and generally blessing everyone within finger-shot or blessing, especially, myself, who I felt needed it most.
It was snowing outside: the sun shining brightly out of the west and snow swirling down at blizzard pace out of the southeast, stinging the forehead and cheeks to give my head a uniform system of bonfires. The sidewalks were clogged with immobile people staring dumbly up at the smoke billowing out of the ninth-floor windows, blinking into the snow, using their sunglasses against the glare of the sun, turning off their ears to the din of horns coming from the immobile cars clogging the streets, and finally pointing and ahh-ing as a helicopter swept away from the roof far above accompanied by a fusillade of gunshots. Just another typical mid-April day in Manhattan.
Chapter Ninety-six
Lil held herself against me for about fifteen seconds, snow falling from my head and getting tangled in her blonde hair. I was exhausted. Arms about each other, we turned and staggered down the hall toward the living room.
`Are you all right?' she asked.
`Probably,' I answered. `But I sometimes get the impression the world is disintegrating even faster than I am.'
As we entered, H.J. arose from a chair and came over to pump my hand.
`Incredible show, Luke,' he said, blowing cigar smoke against my chest and placing a chubby hand reassuringly on my shoulder. `Don't see how you do it sometimes.'
`I didn't plan any of it,' I said. `Didn't know it was going to happen When Eric asked me for tickets to the program, I thought he and his friends had become my fans. Hypocrites!'
'Not too good for our image, though. Did you consider that?'
`Was anyone killed?' Lil asked from beside me.
I moved over to the couch and with a groan collapsed beside Jake, who, dressed in white T-shirt and black Bermuda shorts, smiled warmly at me. His feet were bare and his' hair looked as if it had last been cut two months ago, by Edgarina.
'Yes,' I answered. `Can I have something to drink?'
`Sure,' Lil said. `What would you like?'
`Hot chocolate.'
`You're beautiful, Luke baby,' Jake said, smiling benevolently. Lil headed for the kitchen.
`Thanks.'
`It's the white collar. You on a religious kick again?'
`It's a disguise. People trust priests.'
`I'm a little high,' Jake said, still smiling blissfully.
`Or at least they trust priests a little more than they do dicepeople.'
'But not so high that it interferes with my brilliance,' Jake added.
`You're melting on my couch,' H.J. said, staring down at me.
`Oh, I'm sorry,' I said.
As I stood up, a buzzer sounded off from somewhere and H.J. hustled off to answer it while I brushed off some snow.
`Are the police after you for the TV show?' Jake asked.
`I would guess so.'
`You ought to consider changing your personality,' he said.
I looked back at him and he burst into a grin.
`You're melting on his rug,' he added.
`Oh, sorry,' I said and moved toward the hallway, where I met H. J. returning.
`The police are on their way up,' he said neutrally.
I drew out a die.
`I'd like to try to get out of here and think things over,' I said. `Is there a way?'
`What's happening?' asked Lil, coming from the kitchen.
`You can go down the service stairs to the basement garage,' H. J.- said.
`What's happening?' Lil asked again.
`Is there a car I can use?'
`My Lincoln Continental is-there. I'll phone down and tell the man to have it ready for a friend.'
A loud knocking came from the end of the hallway.
`Be sure to make a note of the mileage,' H.J. said. `For income-tax purposes. I consider this a foundation business
expense.'
'I've got to run, Lil,' I said. `I'll phone when I get wherever I go.'