by Mel Gilden
"As you've probably guessed, something went wrong. The android took over, just like an evil twin in a pulp magazine." He shook his head and laughed a little at his own foolishness. "I had a lot of time to think in that cell. I'm going out of the android business. I don't want what happened to me to happen again." He pointed at Mr. Daise, now chewing on something with an energetic sideways motion. Hanger stood nearby smiling, so it was probably the candy bar. Mr. Will said, "Mr. Daise and I have been talking. He's invited me to be on the board of directors of Surfing Samurai Robots."
I thought about two egos that size in one room and the fights they would have when the glow of their rescue wore off. I said, "That's fine. What about those things in that third cell?"
Mr. Will shook his head. "They'll decompose soon. I'll see that they're taken care of till that happens."
The party continued around us.
Bingo said, "Darken Stormy is not really a bad person, you know."
"No," I said. "She just made some bad friends." She also wouldn't be young forever. We both looked at Mr. Will.
He shrugged and said, "I guess that if she needs a lawyer, she'll have the best."
Bingo kissed him on the cheek. I couldn't beat that with anything, so I didn't try. Instead I said, "What about the credulity gas?"
Mr. Will shook his head. "Another bad byproduct of the android business. Another reason to stop. Credulity gas was created by accident. I was going to find out what was going on and stop it, but my android threw me into the sneezer before I had a chance."
"You and Mr. Daise'll do fine," I said.
It was a little intimate, but there was enough room in the two limousines for all the exclusive people. Mr. Will drove one and the newscaster bimbo drove the other. Mr. Daise, in camel mode, loped alongside. I don't know where they went but it was far away from the Sign of the Times Sign Cemetery.
I took Zamp and Bill and the surfers home. It was another hot day, and the freeways were full of cars containing people who had called in sick so they could go to the beach. The drive west was long and sweaty, and though the car was very crowded nobody complained. Bingo said that after all that time in a dungeon the outside world was overwhelming and seemed a little fake. Just watching it took all your energy and concentration.
After a while the traffic got heavier and the air got cooler. I had plenty of time to think but I didn't do it. I had only one question left, and as far as I could tell, there was no way to figure out an answer. Only Whipper could fix me up. Either he would or he wouldn't.
When we arrived in Malibu he met us at the door. His father had found out he was working at Willville and had sent him home, more or less permanently. Not everything was straight between them, but they both wanted to talk.
The surfers sat around the living room getting used to being home. I went to the hall closet, took a breath, and opened the door.
"Clothes, Boss," Bill said.
"Yeah." On the floor was a pile of stuff that looked like erasure rubbings—all that was left of the android Zamp.
I found Whipper in the kitchen with Bingo and the real Zamp. Bill hopped onto the counter and swung his legs. As I sat down I heard a Gino and Darlene movie begin on the TV. Everybody has a different idea of comfort.
We sat nodding at each other. Bingo put out four brewskies and for a while they took our entire attention. The cold flow cut through tension and fear. No. The brewski was cold and it tasted good, but it would take more than a little alcohol to loosen the kinks in my back.
Whipper said, "You pulled it out again, Zoot. You gnarly dude."
"Gnarly, cool, and bitchen. But I still need a question answered."
"Ask away, Holmes."
"Did anybody ever find out why you and the other surfers weren't affected by the credulity gas?"
Whipper took a big swallow of his brewski. He went on so long I almost took the can away from him. But at last he lowered it and said, "I found out. It's the yoyogurt."
Bingo and Zamp and I looked at him with surprise. Then we laughed. I could have figured it out after all. The fact that the surfers ate yoyogurt was probably the only thing about them that was different from everybody else in this case.
Whipper said, "What about you, Zoot?"
"What about me?"
"You know all about me now. What about you?"
"Let's just say that if you thought Bay City is a lot farther away than Santa Monica, you wouldn't be wrong."
"You got that right," Bingo said.
We sipped some more till Whipper said, "What happened at the neighborhood meeting?"
I was about to answer when Bingo said, "It doesn't matter."
When we'd all put down our cans and were looking at her, she said, "I had a long talk with Max Toodemax in the motel room."
"Motel room?" Whipper said, very curious.
Zamp told him it was a long story.
While Bingo told the long story to Whipper I walked outside with Bill and Zamp. The Sun hung about halfway up the sky, shining onto the crowded beach. Wind blew a smell of the sea at us, without a hint of credulity gas. Products would have to rise or fall on their advertising or, in a pinch, on their merit.
Zamp said, "What now?"
"Now," I said as I sat on the brick wall that divided Whipper's private deck from the public walkway, "I want to see Bill's brochure."
"Sure, Boss," Bill said. He opened a door in his side and handed me a folded piece of slick paper. "I'm fully equipped."
"I'll bet you are."
I unfolded the garish sheet. Zamp and I leaned together over it while Bill watched us with something in his eyes that I can describe only as pride.