“Mr. Ind’dni, I’m in trouble.”
“The identical same, madame, or more so?”
“More so. Dr. Shima has disappeared.”
“Has he indeed? Best to describe event.”
After Gretchen had finished a carefully edited account, Ind’dni sighed. “Yes. To be understood. Most probably Dr. Shima found your fantastic conclusions about Hundred-Hander situation as difficult to stomach as did I. He is in hiding from you and has my sympathy. But he must not leave the Guff in his flight. An A.P.B. must be broadcast.”
“Not an A.P.B., Subadar!”
“Alas, what else can I do? However, I promise this: every effort will be made to keep taint of scandal from media. Code Nemo will be used.”
“What? Code Nemo?”
“So. You have never heard of Code Nemo?” She could sense Ind’dni’s internal smile. “I did tell you that I do not lack resources, Miz Nunn.”
After contact was broken, Gretchen muttered, “To hell with his A.P.B. and Code Nemo. My staff can lick his staff anytime.”
She managed her way out of the penthouse, safed it, and got down to the street, where full sight returned. When she arrived at her apartment, it was in time for a dramatic tableau. Her staff was assembled, gathered around Shima, staring at him and restraining him. Shima was stark naked and struggling politely.
“Blaise!” she exclaimed.
“The name is Wish, my dear. You may call me Mr. Wish.” He gave her the glassy smile.
She shook her head like an animal trying to dislodge an infuriating fly.
“He just crunched in, Miz Nunn. Security downstairs says he asked for you by name.”
“By name? He asked for Gretchen Nunn?”
“No, Miz. Just ‘Gretch.’ He said that Gretch from the Guff lived here and knew Mr. Wish. Security thought it was one of our codes and let him up.”
“You may release me,” Mr. Wish smiled. “I have nothing to grant any of you.”
She understood. “No, none of us. You can let him go. He’s harmless.”
“Miz Nunn, why does he call himself Mr. Wish? We know he’s—”
“He isn’t anybody you ever saw or heard of. Mr. Wish was never here. Understood? Thank heaven I can trust you. Now out, all of you.”
When the study was cleared she closed the door and stood contemplating the courteous Mr. Wish. “No, none of us. You poor schnook, you’ve been backtracking on your own death-wish trail. It’s really hit you hard, hasn’t it? Went right over the brink into the deeps.”
“I remember you, Gretch,” Mr. Wish smiled. “I tried to help you once. Do you remember me?”
“You’re the one that’s got to be helped, Blaise,” Gretchen murmured. “There’s an A.P.B. out, and if you’re picked up in this character… Like down will come baby, cradle, and all.” She got a giant bath towel and tossed it across his lap. “Here, wrap this around.” Then she sat and breathed deep. “Now how the hell am I going to bring you out of it? Fake a suicide for Mr. Wish? What good would that do? Chem-shots? I wouldn’t know what to prescribe. What you need is a psychic shock, and it’s got to be homeopathic, but what, what, what?”
Mr. Wish adjusted his toga and said, “I don’t think I could help the one I was following anyway.”
“Not unless you catch up with him.”
“It’s not that. I can’t find my aids. I don’t seem to have them with me.”
Gretchen’s smile was exasperated. “Did you try your pockets?”
“I must have left them somewhere. Locked up, of course. Can’t be too careful with lethal modules. I wonder where.”
“Happy to say I can’t help, Mr. Wish.”
“It doesn’t matter, my dear. I’d have to find the key first.”
“Oh sure. The key first, of course, and then the lethal modules which—” Gretchen broke off abruptly. It took her a full five seconds to acknowledge her appalling idea. She began to tremble and rock, shaking her head. “I can’t. I won’t. There’d be no enduring that.” And all the while she knew that she could, would, and have to endure. It took long minutes to compose herself. She went into her bedroom, got something from the night table, and clutched it in her palm. Then, smiling almost as glassily as Mr. Wish, she called Ildefonsa Lafferty.
“Nellie? BB calling. No, not from the hive; my own place. Nell, I’ve got a crise psychologique and I—No, love, it’s not more intellect; just French for something heavy. My problem’s here now, and I don’t want him to know what I’m talking about. Yes, it’s a he. I can’t handle him. I think you can because it’s one of your specialties. Can you come over right away? No, love, no hints. You’ll see for yourself when you get here. Thanks, Nell.” She broke the connection. “All right, Blaise. I’m going to unlock that drawer.”
This was Gretchen Nunn’s professional protocol. She greeted distinguished clients at the entrance to her Oasis. She met the fringe celebrities at the impressive door of her apartment with her staff in attendance. The bread-and-butter customers were ushered into her workshop where she was seated, working while she waited. (Mills Copeland, chairman of CCC, would have been deeply offended, had he known.) Gretchen met Ildefonsa Lafferty at the door of her study and ushered her in.
“Thanks for coming to the rescue, Nell. This one’s a bummer.”
Ildefonsa was blazing in lettuce sequins. “Who could resist the tease, BB? Of course it was a tease. I’ve got your number. No matter what you do, you’ve always got a second intention.”
“I protest, Nell.”
“Why deny it? That’s the grabby part of your tease. I ask myself what she’s up to now, and I have to find out.”
“I swear it’s a straight rescue.”
“Like I’m supposed to believe you? Is that thing your crise psychologique?” She indicated the glassy Mr. Wish with a hip.
“That’s it.”
“You said ‘he.’ You didn’t say a null in a toga.”
“He’s in shock and he’s got to be stung out of it… Back to normal.”
“What’s so hot about normal? Why not let him enjoy?”
“I need his evidence-verbal for a case.”
“Why call me?”
“Because you know something I don’t know.”
“What, in particular?”
“How to sting men.”
“Well, I never yanced a zombie, but there always has to be a first.”
Gretchen smiled with thin lips. “If that’s the way it has to be, feel free.”
“Is there any other way?” Ildefonsa strolled to Mr. Wish, inspected him casually, then bent suddenly and looked hard. “My God! I can’t believe it. This is Hero.”
“Hero? It’s Dr. Blaise Shima. What hero?”
“Hero, short for Hiroshima. Chase him into bed, BB, and you’ll find out why.”
Gretchen kept her mouth shut.
“So that was your second intention,” Ildefonsa said. “What happened to him?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I can’t handle him.”
Ildefonsa prowled around Shima. “Well, well, Hero. Long time no connect. Miss me, stud?”
“The name is Wish, my dear. You may call me Mr. Wish.”
“God knows, you were a maiden’s wish come true, stud.” Over her shoulder, Ildefonsa threw, “He doesn’t know me?”
“He doesn’t know anyone.”
“Including himself?”
“He thinks he’s some character he invented named Wish.”
“So you want to get rid of that character?”
“That’s the op. Bring him back to himself.”
“Any ideas?”
“You were my only idea. I thought, ‘Nell is the one to make him conscious.’”
“Thanks, but my usual op is knocking them unconscious. I don’t know about the retro ploy. Might be interesting. You want him to remember he’s Shima?”
“That’s the scam.”
“Hmmm…” Ildefonsa meditated while Mr. Wish beamed up at her, looking like a pleasant Roman senator. Then, “Hey, Hero, remember this?” She began to sing in her peanut-whistle voice: