Hey you Chorley-grills you’re one hell of a corner combo great street trio have a smack on us have a blast Nell I think it would only be polite to make a contribution of appreciation Sure Prissy drop some change in their pessary Hey twins you dig the way big-tits cuddles her clarry-o-net in her cleavage you want to ride it hobby horse Mary how about that fat-ass on the horn Bimmy beats your hammer-hung ass any time Maybe Nelly-belly but could she try blasting it from her other end Have a bomb you suckers Have a blast Have a buzz Listen you want to trade your slide-horn for a squeezebox with only one key missing I HAVE IT I HAVE IT they ought to dress their act with CLOWN makeup where’s Norah NORAH DAHL-ing did you bring my coshmetics cos-meshiks Dixie didn’t we shtow a clown hit height hat in yr closet or wash it in Joaney Cabbages no she don’t room with us well you make childsloug out’ve chabbage don’t you Hey play an upbeat funeral march for the b/w bashtard Chorley-girls Wacht auf, verdammte dieser Erde I don’t think these grills speak England my Mummy says that music is the Juneversal language Hey pessary-grills you tollerday donsk you talkatiff scowegian you spiggotty angleasy you phonio saxonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn all they twig is B-flat so go on making music and come with wiz no with us to the heiths hoyts hits howls highs heights got it at last Shrrist I’m bombed we’re all bombeddd buzzzzzz bobbed bombed bombeddddddddddddddddd
* * *
Ind’dni and Shima located Gretchen at last. They caught a glimpse of her profile through the open window of a magnificent black brougham; she was seated on the far side of the legendary PloFather, who was making one of her rare public processions. The carriage was drawn by camels, of course, and escorted by tough P.L.O. soldiers. Sheikh Omar ben Omar was up front in the open coachman’s box supervising the outing. Every so often he scattered bronze piasters to the excited crowds. An occasional scrofuletic was permitted through the cordon to be touched by the PloFather’s spidery hand. In this psychosomatic century her touch cured the King’s Evil as often as not.
Using every karate trick he knew, Shima twisted through the crowd to the edge of the cordon. “Gretchen!” he shouted. “Gretchen! Can you hear me? It’s Blaise. We’ve got to go to a funeral.”
“What? What?” Gretchen leaned forward and peered past the PloFather. “Is that you, Blaise?”
“Yes. Can you hear me? We have to attend Winifred Ashley’s funeral.”
“Who? What?”
“Winifred Ashley. She’s dead. She was killed. Don’t make any deals with the P.L.O. The Queen Bee’s dead.”
The brougham door was thrust open and Gretchen was out like a shot followed, amazingly, by the psychomancer, Salem Burne. Shima hustled her through the crowd to Ind’dni who was waiting at the fringe. Burne followed.
“Most welcome, madame,” Ind’dni said. “It is permitted to inquire whether we found you in time? Have you completed contract with P.L.O.?”
“Yes,” Gretchen gasped.
“Extremely odd. Why, then, did the PloFather permit your departure?”
Still too breathless to speak, Gretchen could only point to Burne.
“Good evening, Mr. Burne.” Ind’dni nodded courteously. “I take it you have some influence with the PloFather?”
“Good evening, Subadar.” Burne was smooth and polished as ever, despite his rough passage through the mob. “I take it this is in confidence?”
“Most certainly.”
“The PloFather is my patient.”
Shima was flabbergasted. “You have to be guffing!”
“Why so surprised, doctor?” Burne permitted his controlled face to reveal humor. “I told you that most of my patients are women.”
“But—”
“And the PloFather takes my advice. I suggested—one never commands a patient—that it would be best to release Miz Nunn.”
Gretchen finally caught her breath. “Now what’s all this? Regina dead? Killed?”
“Alas yes, madame, by Mr. Lafferty in bizarre circumstances. Lafferty was subsequently killed by Dr. Shima… in self-defense.”
“What? Regina? Droney?” Gretchen shook her head. “What a scam. Unbelievable! What happened? How? When? I—I’ve got to be filled in.”
“Most assuredly, Miz Nunn, but not in this crowd. Where will you feel most receptive? My office? Dr. Shima’s penthouse? My apartment?”
“No, mine. Let’s go.”
“Then I’ll be taking my leave,” Burne said. “Good evening to you all.”
“No,” Gretchen said. “That wouldn’t be fair, after all you’ve done for us. You were in on the beginning; you should be in on the end.”
Transport was impossible to find during the evening rush hour, so they were forced to walk to Gretchen’s Oasis in the Guff’s “Old Town,” which had once been the despised Lower East Side of Old New York. Now it was fashionable, expensive, and glamorously restored, from delicatessens to pushcarts. Gretchen’s Oasis had been cut, tunneled, and excavated out of the giant masonry pier of Brooklyn Bridge.
There was an outrageous uproar pounding out of the apartment as the four approached from the elevator; cacophonous music from competing brass, piano and harpsichord, singing, screaming, shouting, buzzing; and there were competing songs: HAIL! HAIL! THE GUFF’S ALL HERE… THERE ONCE WAS AN INDIAN MAID… THAT MASTURBATIN’ FORNICATIN’ SON-OF-A-BITCH COLUMBO… SWEET VIOLETS SWEETER THAN THE ROSES… ROLL ME OVER IN THE CLOVER…
“Jesus God!” Gretchen exclaimed. “What’s all this?”
“The Golem?” Shima was still on edge.
“Surely not in multiple, doctor,” Ind’dni murmured.
“Hardly an atmosphere for consultation,” Burne said. “Perhaps my place in Hell Gate?”
“D’you think it could be the PloFather striking back at me? She—” Then Gretchen saw one of her staff standing stricken alongside the door. “Alex! What’s all this?”
“They’re crazy, Miz Nunn. They broke in.”
“Broke in? Through Security? How?”
“I don’t know how. They broke in and threw me out. No drones in here, they said. No male animals. This is a queen cell, they said. Then they chopped through to the Raxon apartment under us for more room and ordered up food and—”
“They? Who they?”
“Lunatics in crazy costumes. Go in, Miz. You’ll see. They’re waiting for you. Dozens and dozens and dozens of them.” He pushed the door open.
There were indeed dozens and dozens and dozens. The Raxons, mother and three daughters, had not only surrendered their apartment downstairs, but joined the swarm. Gretchen’s two girl assistants had joined. Three of the Security guards from the Oasis lobby (women) had joined, which accounted for the unprecedented break-in. The two apartments had been transformed into a giant duplex with a makeshift ladder thrust through the crater in the smashed floor. Figurantes, columbines, ballet girls, pulcinellas, soubrettes, even a belly-dancer clung to it like grape clusters, heaving, shouting, singing.
Hi-ho, Gafoozalum,
The Big Bang of Jerusalum.
Hi-ho, Gafoozalum,
The vengeance of the rabbi.
With yancey glance and lustful look
She lured him to a secret nook.
She cracked his crotch and out she took
The pride of all Jerusalum.
Hi-ho, Gafoozalum,
The Big Rang of Jerusalum.
Hi-ho, Gafoozalum,
The malice of the rabbi.
But she was swinging on her kang;
He missed her mouth and hit her bang.
He knew it by the feel of fang
In the fancy of Gafoozalum.
The four crowded the doorway and stood, gaping at the spectacle. Young Alex had reported correctly; there wasn’t a man present. Shima, Ind’dni and Burne didn’t dare enter; only Gretchen took a few steps into her apartment.
Suddenly Shima said, “Looking at all these women, something just occurred to me, Ind’dni.”