[Okay, that’s another minute. Only a hundred and five to go. Now what?]
But he knew now what. Behr-Bleibtreau, that’s what. Behr-Bleibtreau knew too. The man still smiled, but Dick sensed that the smile had shifted, amusement no longer but something preceding damage. Perhaps he sensed Dick’s dread and was annoyed that it had not been enough to silence him. (Though in a way he had been silenced; he could think of no more ways to kill time.) Looking at his panel, Dick was suddenly consumed with sympathy for them. The professor had their tongues, and now he was after his. He thought of signing off early, declaring the evening at an end, paying the lost revenues from the remaining commercials out of his own pocket. But then the professor would have his tongue too. Dick, who had no character, wanted to beat him.
The mistake the others had made was that they had gone too far. He would keep it down. He would ask Behr-Bleibtreau how he liked Hartford, to compare it with other places he had been. Behr-Bleibtreau was waiting to see what he would do. Just keep cool, Dick warned himself, small talk, everything low key and easy, no more drama. Just relax and say—
DICK GIBSON: (almost shouting) All right, Professor, what the hell’s all this crap about a loaded gun?
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Please pass the sandwiches.
DICK GIBSON: The sandwiches? I’m talking about loaded guns.
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: I’m talking about sandwiches. Is there turkey? Is there dark meat?
DICK GIBSON: [Grabbing his microphone suddenly. If they saw him his radio audience might think he was an ace reporter, urgent, shirt-sleeved, like someone on the radio in the movies with a scoop.]
Ladies and gentlemen, you don’t know what’s been going on here tonight! My panelists are unable to speak! This man has something to do with it. It’s a trick. Perhaps they’re hypnotized. I don’t know how he does it, he doesn’t touch them, he swings no pendulum, but something’s happened, something’s up! He’s after me too. (to Behr-Bleibtreau) Is that it?
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: I don’t see the bottle opener. Would you swing the lazy susan around this way, please? Perhaps it’s on your side of the tray. Oh, never mind. Here it is.
DICK GIBSON: Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t have a bottle opener. He’s not looking for one. There isn’t even any soda in his hand. I don’t know what his game is, but he’s giving you a false picture.
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: No more turkey? I’ll take the corned beef. I’m asking for indigestion, I think, but it looks marvelous.
DICK GIBSON: Don’t believe him. He’s not asking for indigestion. He’s not eating!
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: The bread’s stale. Where’s the mustard? Would you pass me that plastic knife?
DICK GIBSON: The bread’s fresh! There’s already mustard on the sandwiches!
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: It’s rather warm in the studio. May I take off my jacket?
DICK GIBSON: He’s wearing a sweater.
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Whoops, sorry. That was clumsy of me. I seem to have smeared some ketchup on my glasses while I was getting out of my jacket. Could you hand me one of those paper napkins?
DICK GIBSON: He’s still in his sweater. He doesn’t wear glasses. The napkins are right in front of him.
JACK PATTERSON: Here you are. Doctor.
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Thank you. Professor Patterson.
DICK GIBSON: Patterson never opened his mouth. Behr-Bleibtreau’s a ventriloquist! What’s going on here? Why are you lying to my listeners?
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: But it’s you who are lying, Mr. Gibson. I must confess I don’t understand what you hope to accomplish.
DICK GIBSON: What do you want?
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: I want a napkin. I want the mustard. I want the plastic knife.
DICK GIBSON: What color are the walls in this studio?
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: The walls? Pale yellow, aren’t they?
DICK GIBSON: They’re white! What color’s my tie?
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Well, it’s all colors. There’s red and there’s green. It’s a pattern. It’s all colors.
DICK GIBSON: It’s blue, it’s solid blue! What are you doing? I’ll ask the people in the studio. What color is this tie I’m wearing?
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: All right, there’s no point in that. Leave it alone. All right, I’ll confess. I’ve been having some fun with you.
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Very clever imitation of my voice, Mr. Gibson. You ought to do this sort of thing professionally — in nightclubs.
DICK GIBSON: Thank you very much, Doctor.
DICK GIBSON: You mean you ought to. Ladies and gentlemen, I didn’t imitate him. He imitated me.
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Look out!
DICK GIBSON: He also imitated me saying “Ladies and gentlemen, I didn’t imitate him. He imitated me.” I haven’t said anything since I asked the studio audience about the color of my tie.
DICK GIBSON: He said that too.
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Look out! He’s got a gun!
DICK GIBSON: Oh, ho! That was a mistake, Dr. Behr-Bleibtreau. I think I’ll just sit this one out. I don’t see any gun. If he has one — whoever he may be — he should be making some demands along about now. He should be saying “Hands up! Give me your money and nobody’ll get hurt,” or “Don’t anyone move, I’m taking the woman with me.” People with guns can be very articulate about what they want.
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: What if they’re suicidal?
DICK GIBSON: What are you talking about? What do you mean?
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: What if they intend to kill themselves? What if the gun is still concealed and they intend to shoot themselves?
DICK GIBSON: Look, come on. Who’s supposed to have this gun? If someone really has a gun—
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Tell him. (silence) Go ahead, tell him. I release your tongue. You may speak, (silence)
DICK GIBSON: There. You see? I don’t deny, of course, that Mr. Behr-Bleibtreau could come up with an appropriate voice, but I wonder how convincing his bang bang would be.
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Tell him!
DICK GIBSON: Tell me.
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Ncy chymyc Tell him.
MEL SON: What do I have to lose? It’s almost all up with me anyway. Gibson’s tie is brown and yellow stripes. The walls are green.
DICK GIBSON: Mel? Is that you, Mel? Is he doing your voice?
DICK GIBSON: (whispering) (I didn’t ask that.)
MEL SON: It’s me.
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Show him the gun, why don’t you?
[Mel Son takes a revolver out of his pocket.]
DICK GIBSON: What is this? Mel, what’s happening?
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Does he have a gun?
DICK GIBSON: Yes.
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Did you say yes or was that me imitating your voice?
DICK GIBSON: I said yes.
BEHR-BLEIBTREAU: Speak up. Will Dick Gibson deny that Mel Son has a weapon in his hand? Supposing for a moment that the audience has been hearing two Dick Gibsons, a real one and an imposter — which is not the case — that would still leave the real Dick Gibson to deny the existence of the gun. Does he deny it?