Her heart leaped; there wasn’t a hint of resentment in his tone. “No, sir. People in my class don’t have last names.”
“Strike the ‘sir’ bit, will you.”
“Thank you, s— Mr. Wish.”
He winced in agony. “Don’t remind me of that incredible insanity, Gretchen. I—How’d everything go with Homicide?”
“Oh, I snowed them.”
“And the chairman?”
“I snowed him, too. You’re off the hook.”
“I may be off the CCC hook but I’m not off my own. D’you know, I was seriously thinking of having myself committed this morning.”
“What stopped you?”
“Well, you, partly.”
“Only partly? I’m indignant. You gave me to believe that I had you in my thrall.”
“And I got involved in this patchouli synthesis and… and sort of forgot.”
She laughed. “You don’t have to worry. You’re saved.”
“You don’t say ‘cured.’”
“No, Blaise, not any more than I’m cured of my freak blindness. We’re a pair of freaks, but we’re saved because we’re aware. We can cope now.”
He nodded unhappily.
“So what’s your plan for today?” she asked cheerfully. “The battle royal with patchouli?”
“No. To tell the truth, I’ve just been going through the motions. I’m still in one hell of a mess, Gretchen. I think I’d better take the day off.”
“Perfect. Bring two dinners. No funny business; we’ve got to have a war council. We’re both in one hell of a mess.”
* * *
“You’ve told me everything?”
“Everything, Blaise.”
“Nothing left out by oversight or undersight?”
“Not even by second sight. I’m in the fact business, man.”
“So am I, ma’am, but I’m a chemo and you’re an intuitive, which means I’m cerebral and you’re visceral.”
“Are you claiming I think with my gut?”
“Certainly. You must know that you really do feel the answer to a problem first. Then your mighty brain produces a proof construct.”
“And how do you work?”
“Exactly opposite. After I find a fact, I try to translate it into feeling. That’s how I create perfumes.”
“Then tell me this, mighty creator, is a Lethal-One fact or feeling?”
“It could be pure rut for all I know. Listen, if the war council is starting, kindly get off me.”
“Yes, you think best vertical.”
“What gave you that idea? Psychodynamics?”
“I know how you make love.”
“Which leaves me in doubt. No more jokes, Gretch. I want to be profound.”
“Proceed cautiously.”
“We ought to hate each other.”
“Yes? Why?”
“Because we think exactly opposite. You’re psych-oriented and I’m chem-oriented. We’re opposite poles, but that makes us an ideal team; a sort of psychemo—What are you laughing at?”
“I just thought of some twentieth-century pejoratives we could call us.”
“Don’t shock me, I beg.”
“Blaise, I never.”
“Gretchen, you always.”
“Only professionally.”
“Oh? Who told me just this morning, no funny business? What a way to refer to love!”
“And who forgot to bring two dinners?”
Shima took a beat and then muttered, “My very good friend, Mr. Wish.”
Gretchen cut the comedy. “Right on, man. Thank God you can joke about that.”
“Gallows humor,” Shima said without humor.
There was another pause. At last Shima faced the firing squad. “You think this mess is connected with Mr. Wish?”
“Think? I know. It has to be.”
“Your gut speaking?”
“Yes.”
“So we can’t just slough off the skeleton mystery as another Guff maggot and let it go at that?”
“How can we? Take a hard look at what’s hanging over us. I’m prime suspect in a Lethal-One. What’s more, I’m guilty as hell.”
“Not of a Lethal-One. Lethal-Just.”
“What difference does that make? Both our careers are hanging.” Gretchen took a breath. “Even if I do justify the Lethal to Ind’dni, it’ll become public record and I’ll lose my reputation for guaranteed discretion, which is a big part of my sell. Ind’dni will be forced to bring in Mr. Wish publicly, and where’s your career?”
Shima thought that over. “You’re right. Either way it’s a bummer. But believe me, Gretch, if you have to involve Mr. Wish to save yourself, I’m game.”
She kissed his back. “What I love about you, Blaise, is that I like you. You’re a nice guy. Thanks for the offer, but the Wish truth won’t answer everything for Ind’dni. Don’t forget those damned skeletons.”
“I wish I could; but surely they’ll be the Subadar’s problem, not ours.”
“Wrong. They’re still our problem. Who did that to the goons? How? Why? Will it be done again? All that’s Ind’dni’s problem, yes, but answer this: Was the outrage really meant for me or for you?”
Shima stared at her. “You mean, could the goon butchery have been a goof?”
“Yes. It could have been intended for us. And if so, will it be tried again, so how can we cop out?” Gretchen grimaced. “We’ve got to defend ourselves, but don’t ask me against what.”
Shima frowned. “Then let’s fall back and regroup. Ind’dni mentioned other malignant outrages?”
“He did.”
“Not specifying?”
“He said, ‘Not of record’ because they were too outré to be believed.”
Shima shook his head. “They’d have to be damn fantastic to be considered outré in the Guff today.”
“He gave me the feeling that they were worse than what happened here.”
“And you don’t know what happened here?”
“Not a clue.”
“You did safe the door after I left?”
“I did.”
“Then how in God’s name did he get in? Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph! Incredible! You saw nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Then you couldn’t see through his eyes. That means he’s blind. Impossible!”
“He or she…” Gretchen hesitated. “But blind? I don’t know. I’m feeling for something else.”
“Feeling. You felt nothing while you were waiting for Homicide?”
“Nothing. I—Wait. There was a sensation of cold for a few moments, but I was half-naked, and anyway, we’re all used to drafts and chills most of the time. ‘Where You Beez Come God’s Big Freeze?’”
“Cold. Hmmm. Impossible entry and sudden cold. Did you hear anything?”
“Not a sound.”
“Any other sensations?”
“None. No, wait. A strange odor, I thought.”
“That’s my department. What kind of odor? Sweet, sharp, cloying, pleasant, unpleasant?”
“Strange and sickening.”
“Entry. Cold. Silent. Sickening smell. And then consumed the flesh and blood of the dead goons?”
“Every particle. The bones were clean.”
“And then left through the safed door, but leaving it safed. Impossible exit. Punkt. And where are we? I’ll tell you where this half of the psychemist is… Nowhere! So much for data-power. What were those pejoratives you had in mind?”
“You jump around so, Blaise.” Gretchen giggled in relief from the tension. “The Jig and the Jap.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why aren’t you laughing?”
“Am I supposed to? I don’t know what a Jig is. I’m a sort of Jap, yes? You’re a Jig?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’s a Jig?”
“A Black.”
“Why is it funny?”
“Because it didn’t used to be.”
“How long ago?”
“Couple hundred years.”
“It hasn’t improved any with age. All right, Miz Jig, your turn.”
“This can’t be data’d, my dear Jap. It has to be felt’d.”
“I usually start with an empiric equation.”
“Very handy at times, but in this case where would we put the equals sign? No, we have to feel it.”
“I don’t know what to feel.”