Something inside me snapped. I began to babble. I heard myself saying, "My real name is Jettero Heller."
"Nonsense," said Candy, laughing. "Next you'll be telling us you're that other name you scream in your sleep, 'Officer Gris.'"
"No, Sultan Bey," said Mrs. Bey nee Pinch. "Make up your mind to it. You are our lawfully wedded husband, for better or for worse, and even though you aren't
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much, we'll have to get used to it and so will you. Become accustomed to the fact that you are now probably the most married man on the entire eastern seaboard. The knots are irrevocably tied. Let's have some hamburgers and go home."
Chapter 5
In the early dusk of spring, we drew up at last before the apartment which I had left, only that dawn, a free man.
We went inside. A new surprise had been readied. Already shocked, I had not been prepared to behold anything else new.
The whole place was garlanded. The symbols of Aphrodite—doves, swans, myrtle, pomegranate, clamshells and sea foam—had had added to them arches of orange blossoms.
And there were two new people there: a girl named Curly with brown eyes and brown hair, a not bad-looking thirty in a combat jacket; the other a very pale willowy thing with a pretty face and soft lips named Sippy, dressed in absolutely transparent gauze.
They had "The Wedding March" going on the record player and they showered us with rice and did a rather mincing dance and kissed everybody, crying, "Happy weddings to you!"
It was disconcerting. What were they doing there?
I was tired after the long drive and showing signs of
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strain. I edged over to Mrs. Bey nee Pinch. "Give me my money now," I said.
"Oh my, dear husband," Mrs. Bey nee Pinch said. "There's cake and other things."
"Here," said Sippy, holding out a glass, "try some of this champagne."
Ex-Pinch and the late Miss Licorice, now Mrs. Candy Bey, had their capes off. Curly rolled out a wedding cake on a tea trolley. With elaborate gestures quite like a sexual approach, she gesticulated with a knife.
She put my hand on the hilt. She put Candy's on mine. She put Mrs. Bey nee Pinch's fingers gripping ours and all three of us cut the wedding cake. It had TWO brides on it! The man, at the very first thrust of the knife, fell over. An omen?
Then they played some pop music and everybody ate cake and danced with one another. I was thirsty and drank quite a bit of champagne. The cake kept sticking in my throat and I kept having to wash it down.
Inevitably, they broke out the marijuana. The joints circulated. Blue smoke began to haze the air. It didn't help my throat a bit.
They were getting quite drunk and stoned. Curly did an impersonation of Rockecenter at his last personnel inspection, making sure that Sippy was still a virgin and when Curly produced a limp dishrag, for some reason it sent them all rolling on the floor with glee, holding their sides.
I took another drag on the joint I was smoking and frowned. I didn't get it. But then, I philosophized, drunks will guffaw at anything, especially when they're high on pot.
Gaily laughing, quite giddy, Candy rummaged in the record cabinet, told Curly and Sippy the joke and
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then played "Sweet Little Woman, Please Marry Me." It was torture to listen to.
I pulled Mrs. Bey nee Pinch to the side. I said, "Miss Pinch, give me my money now."
"Adora," she said, drunkenly. "You must learn to call me Adora now, dear husband. I am no longer Miss Pinch."
"Whatever your name is," I said. "Give me my money now."
"Oh, dear husband," she said. "A marriage isn't legal unless it is consummated. Don't you want to consummate the marriage?"
"No," I said.
"Aha!" cried Mrs. Bey nee Pinch, and I saw she had become more than a little tipsy. "Trying to give yourself a legal out, are you?" She thrust her face into mine. "You know very well that a marriage that isn't consummated can be annulled." She turned, "Hey, you girls, listen to this (bleep)! He's trying to give himself lepl grounds to cancel out his marriages!"
Four faces, close to, glared at me.
"No, no!" I cried, quite frightened. "You told me that if you had sex you might miscarry!"
"You think I didn't think of that?" snarled Mrs. Bey nee Pinch. "I knew you'd try to weasel out! We've got two virgins here, just for the purpose of consummation!"
"Wait a minute," I begged, "this is crazy!"
"Now he's trying to annul it by accusing us of insanity!" shouted Mrs. Bey nee Pinch.
Candy shook her head. "The courts won't uphold that, dear husband," she hiccupped.
"This guy doesn't know his law," said Curly.
"No, no," I cried, distractedly. "I'm not trying to get out of anything. I just want my money."
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"Oh," said Sippy, in blear-eyed shock. "Did he just marry you girls for your money?"
"And how will THAT look in the newspapers?" cried Mrs. Bey nee Pinch.
"He trifled with their affections," slurred Curly. "A monster!"
A vision of Crobe's cellological freaks went spinning around my head. "I've had enough of monsters!" I shouted.
"Call us monsters, will you?" shouted Mrs. Bey nee Pinch. "You CREEP!" And she threw a glass of champagne in my face.
"No, no," I cried, spluttering. "This is all a misunderstanding!"
"Oh, yeah?" said Mrs. Bey nee Pinch, "Well, do you admit you're married or don't you?"
She looked so ferocious, reeling there, that I got down on my knees, clasped my hands before my face and said, "Please, please. Please believe me. I admit, so help me Gods and hope to die, that I am married!"
"Good," said Mrs. Bey nee Pinch. "You heard him, girls. He knows now he is thoroughly married. Drink up so we can get on with this 'consummation'!"
The champagne gurgled into mugs, overspilling.
The four of them stood and raised their drinks which clinked together in an apex of arms.
"To a happy married life!" cried Mrs. Bey nee Pinch.
They guzzled down the whole of their mugs, glug, glug, glug, glug!
They threw their glasses at me!
I ducked amidst the splintering crash.
When I dared to look up from the floor where I had been protecting my head, I was hit by Curly's combat jacket.
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A pair of pants went sailing past my hair. A shoe hit me.
I crawled under the sofa for better protection. Another version of the wedding march was booming out:
Here comes the bride,
Fit to be tied.
To how many boyfriends,
Has this chick spread wide?
Here comes the groom,
A relic from a tomb,
All the guests are laughing
As he meets his doom.
I dared to peek out.
I could see the bottom of the bed.
Feet were twisting and turning, four pairs.
"Oh, you darling!" came Candy's voice.
"What's going on?" I pleaded, staring. "I'm the husband!"
"Beat it, buster," came the drunken voice of Mrs. Bey nee Pinch. "This ish OUR conshummation, not yoursh!"
A champagne bottle exploded in a cascade of fizz.
I stared at the bed. A voice floated to me, "Kiss me, kiss me, KISS ME!"
Another champagne bottle exploded all by itself.
The foam flooded across the ravaged cake. The fallen bridegroom twisted over on his side and then sank from view in the froth, feet first.
It dimly occurred to me that something, I could not figure what, had pushed these girls back toward lesbianism. Possibly it was a hangover of psychiatric
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conditioning. I knew I hadn't had anything to do with it.
Something was troubling me.
I somehow didn't feel that my marriages had been consummated. I felt more like a fifth wheel.
I went to my lonely room and fell into a sleep raped with nightmares in which I was Heller pretending to be that clerk in the city halls who travelled about so miraculously marrying everybody. Soltan Gris was in the coffin that Heller the clerk kept using for a marriage ceremony desk. The Manco Devil even got married to Lombar Hisst while Rockecenter, in gales of laughter, stood in as best man.
But what really woke me up sweating was when a Manco Devil stepped out of the coffin and pointed a finger at the middle of my forehead. He—or was it a she?— said, "Ask yourself. Is this all happening to you because you did it to Heller?"
I knew right then, as I stared into the spinning darkness, that things were going to get WORSE!
Chapter 6
Never drink alcohol and take dope at the same time.
The result can be near fatal, as I found out when I :woke to another terrible day.
I heard Mrs. Pinch Bey and Mrs. Candy Bey preparing to go to work. I crawled out just in time to catch Adora before she went out the door.
"The money," I croaked.
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Her eyes, as she glanced at me, told me how awful I must look standing there with the cold air on my naked flesh. "We can't be late for work after playing hooky yesterday," she said. "There's no time to go into it now." She dived a hand into her purse and drew out a few dollar bills. She tossed them on the floor. "Just so you don't go robbing banks. We'll take the other up this evening." She was gone.
Nervously, I stared after her. Then I picked the seven dollars off the floor and went back to my room.
A cold shower did not do the least good. I found some aspirin. I took it. It made me feel fuzzy. Then I began to feel drunk all over again: they say champagne does that when you drink water the morning after. I shouldn't have taken the aspirin with water.
I couldn't lie down. I was too spinny and jittery.
I turned on the viewers. Crobe was puttering around a laboratory, doing something with a snake. The Countess Krak's was blank: that was good news for me, it meant she wasn't within two hundred miles. Heller was sitting looking at an untouched breakfast: at least I had him worried sick.
The butler's voice. "Some men, sir. I think they're from the court."
"Well, kick them out," said Heller.
"I can't, sir. There's police with them and they've got guns."
The shabby man in the shabby coat with the shabby hat pulled down over his eyes, unable to look at anybody straight, had followed the butler in. He placed an order in Heller's hand.
"He's served!" called the shabby man toward the door. "You can go ahead."
Heller read the paper. It said:
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SUPERIOR COURT
Wister vs. Wister SEIZURE ORDER:
To protect all property, rights and assets of the PLAINTIFF, Toots Wister, and to prevent actual assets from being hidden under the mask of false or fabricated identity or titles, under the community property laws of this state, said assets shall be frozen by the order of this court until actual titles can be established.
The DEFENDANT shall hereafter and whereas and at once surrender up all bank accounts, assets, possessions real and personal and everything he uses and claims he does not own.
Superior Court
Hammer Twist
Judge
Dingaling, Chase and Ambo
"What the blast is this?" said Heller.
A heavy voice said, "It's a court order and I come along to be sure it's fulfilled without trouble. You pulled a gun on the process server the other day." It was Police Inspector Grafferty!
Men were filing into the condo, picking up things and making lists.
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"And what happens if I throw you crazies out?" said Heller.
"You get ninety days for contempt of court," said Grafferty. "Say, haven't I seen you someplace before? I never forget a face."
"What shall I do?" said the butler.
"Follow them around and make sure they don't steal anything," said Heller. "But first tell the chauffeur to get out a car."
"You can't use any cars," said Grafferty. "And you can't live here, either. We're padlocking the place."
"What happens to the staff?" said Heller.
"They get padlocked, too," said Grafferty. "Are you sure we ain't met before?"
Heller picked up his hat.
Two policemen stopped him, removed his wallet and took the money out of it.
Heller took back the empty wallet. He went into his room to get some clothes.
"Can't touch those," a court marshal said. "You're lucky we don't strip you of them you got on. The only thing that stops us is indecent exposure laws."
Heller walked out. Just before he got in the elevator, he bumped into the police inspector. Grafferty said, "I know where it was. Police lineup for sexual offenders three years ago. You got off then, but you won't the next time. I'll see to it personally."
Heller exited from the front door of the condo. The doorman didn't salute. Heller walked over to him. "I've got to make a phone call. Can you lend me a quarter?"
"I'm sorry, sir," the doorman said. "But them was bailiffs that just walked in. I don't know what the trouble is, but nobody ever gets out of a court alive. Even a dime would be at risk. Have a good day, sir."
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Heller started downtown on foot. He had most of the length of Central Park to go.
He covered it and entered Columbus Circle. He went down Broadway, all the way from 59th Street through Times Square and on down to 34th Street. Then he went the final part of a long block toward Fifth Avenue and was in the shadow of the Empire State Building.
He stopped. He took out a piece of paper and, glancing around, put it up against the building and wrote a note. He wrote so fast I could not follow it.
He watched the entrance to the building. He stood there for some time. A young man came running out, probably a broker's runner. Heller paced him. At the corner, where the young man was waiting for a light, Heller stepped close to him and pushed the paper into his hand.
"Don't look at me," said Heller. "Turn around and get this to Izzy right away."
The young man must have been from Izzy's own office. He waited for the light. Heller crossed. He glanced back. The young man hadn't followed him. He was gone.
Heller went up the street to the Sukiyaki Bar and Grill. He went in.
A Japanese came over.
"Give me a glass of water," said Heller.
"You no order food? You no order drink?"
"Give me a glass of water," said Heller.
"I'm most sorry, we don't serve water. If you broke, go to Salvation Army soup kitchen."
"You like this place?" said Heller.
"Yes."
"You don't want this place wrecked?"
"NO, sir!"
"Then bring me a glass of water."
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"I can't, sir. You can sit there. But no money, no water."
Heller waited half an hour. Other Japanese staff passed by, frowning at him. New York is no place to be without money. I heard somebody say once that the place was as hard as a whore's heart. True, by my experience.
I was beginning to taste some satisfaction in this plight of Heller's. Oh, there was no doubt he was finished. It was even curing my headache. Krak gone. Cars gone. Condos gone. Disaster all around him. I began to smile. This was worth everything I had been put through lately.
Izzy suddenly slid into the seat opposite him. He was pretty flustered, his hair untidy, his horn-rimmed glasses askew, his beak of a nose rubbed red.
Heller handed him the court order. "I didn't want to chance anyone following me to the office. They might not know of its existence. I've noticed it before: people seem to know where I am and whe
re I go."
Izzy nodded. He was reading the court order.
"That can't be very legal," said Heller.
"Well, legal is whatever the lawyers say it is. They try anything, Mr. Jet. And usually get away with it. I'll give this to Philup Bleedum: it will take months for him to untangle it and years to settle the case and he's one of the fastest lawyers in town."
"Now to something important," said Heller. "What did the detective agency say?"
"Well, they've covered all the hotels. No one of that name or description registered. They've covered the hospitals and morgue. No sign of her anywhere."
"Blast!" said Heller. "The poor kid must be really hiding. And from nothing! These suits are just a pack of lies."
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"Most suits are," said Izzy. "The total design of the legal system is wrecking people's lives so the lawyers can get rich. The trouble is, this fake Toots Switch doesn't have a dime. The lawyers just take such cases to get 50 percent of any court award. You can't recover damages from such people for all the wreckage they cause. By the way, they've already been to the office this morning."
"What?"
"Yes. A court order to attach your salary. But as you don't get any, it doesn't have any force. They try anything. They don't even have a judgment yet. But you were very wise not to come in. As I was en route here, I picked this up. Have you seen it?"
He handed Heller a paper. The front-page story said:
WHIZ KID BIGAMIST
SECOND WIFE SUES
FOR DIVORCE
Dingaling, Chase and Ambo today filed suit in Superior Court on behalf of one Dolores Wister nee Pubiano de Copula.
Alleging marriage by a village priest to the notorious outlaw Wister, otherwise known as the Whiz Kid, while he was on the run in Mexico, the delicate Mexican flower bared her tale of woe to the assembled media. It was a very pretty tale.
Posing as a revolutionist, the Whiz Kid, according to the suit, stole into the village and her bed in the depths of a romantic Mexican night and (bleeped) her thoroughly.
Mission Earth 6: Death Quest Page 21