After a couple of seconds Phil decided regretfully that keeping himself
scrunched against the yielding floor with both eyes tightly closed was
not going to help. He opened them cautiously, blinked at the flooring,
and tried to nerve himself to look up. Meanwhile:
"Brimstine, what's keeping that FBL man?"
"Now don't worry, Mr. Billig. He'll be here any minute."
"I'm beginning to doubt it. What if they're lying about sending a man,
and actually they're planning to raid us, counting on picking up the
green cat when they do?"
"The government wouldn't dare do that, Mr. Billig. They need the green
cat, or they think they do."
"Then why isn't that FBL man here?"
"I tell you not to worry, Mr. Billig. Relax. Let Dora stroke your
forehead."
"Pfui!"
Considerably puzzled, Phil lifted his chin off the flooring and
cautiously swiveled his head. The Mr. Billig he'd heard mentioned
with so much awe turned out to be a very gaunt dark man who looked
at first glance thirty, at second seventy, and at third a mystery to
which youth-prolonging hormones might provide a clue. He was dressed in
severely cut black sports togs. Moe Brimstine bulked a lot bigger, but
only physically--his blunt manner had altered to that of a servant with
clownish privileges. Even his black glasses now looked a trifle comic.
The other member of the trio was a breathtakingly beautiful violet
blonde whose dress consisted of an endless spiral of fine silver wire
over a white satin sheath. She was sitting on a table, watching the
others with a cold smile. Mr. Billig was pacing steadily as if engaged
in some kind of road-work, while Moe Brimstine was hovering behind him
like an anxious trainer.
But to Phil the one overwhelming fact was that they weren't paying any
attention to him at all. Apparently his crashing with the aquarium
into the room hadn't been of enough importance to rate a glance--or if
there had been a glance, it had been a mighty short one. Besides being
utterly mystified and quite frightened, Phil felt a bit piqued.
"I don't think you should take that attitude toward Dora, Mr. Billig,"
Moe Brimstine was saying. "She's a very clever girl; just how clever
even you might enjoy finding out. Isn't that right, Dora?"
"I am infinitely skilled in giving pleasure to men, women and
children," Dora said with a yawn. "Among other things I have memorized
all the important pornographic books written since the dawn of history."
"Pfui and trash! Brimstine, you still don't seem to realize just how
serious this is. I guess I should tell you that, according to my latest
information, the government is all set to indict not only three of
our governors and a half hundred of our mayors, but also four of our
national senators and a dozen of our representatives."
This news did seem to take Moe Brimstine aback. "But that's the whole
lot," he said softly.
"Not quite, but almost," Billig snapped.
"It would mean the absolute finish of Fun Incorporated."
"And what have I been saying to you?" Billig demanded.
Phil sat up a bit morosely and settled his chin on the back of his
right hand to watch them. This maneuver attracted no attention
whatsoever. He gave up trying to figure it out.
Moe Brimstine had recovered his spirits with a happy shrug. "Anyhow,
you've got the green cat, so you're safe."
"Have I got it?" Billig demanded, stopping his pacing. "How well have
you got that cat locked up, Brimstine?"
"Look, Mr. Billig, I got it in a copper cage where nobody can get at it
and it can't get at nobody, even electronically. Besides, it's still
stunned. You can't ask for more than that, can you?"
"Maybe not," Billig allowed grudgingly. "But then I come back to my
other point: How can we be sure the government needs the cat so badly
they'll be willing to quash all those indictments in exchange for it?"
"Now, don't worry about that, Mr. Billig. That's one thing we can be
sure of. We've known for at least a month that finding that cat has
been the absolute top priority, top secret job of the FBL, the FBI and
the special secret service."
"But why should it be?" Billig was pacing again. "Just a funny colored
animal. It doesn't make sense."
"Look, Mr. Billig, we've been all through this before. They're
absolutely convinced that cat is terribly dangerous. They think it can
control minds and change personalities, and they seem to think they
have cases to prove it, including four top officials who've managed to
skip the country, apparently headed for Russia. They've taken all sorts
of secret steps, not only to find the cat, but to guard the president
and all important officials from any possible contact with it. As far
as our information goes, the first government theory was that the cat
came from Russia, that the Lysenko view of genetics was true and that
the Russkies were able to breed intelligent animals with extrasensory
powers, for use as spies and saboteurs and possibly to replace a large
part of the world's population. But now the government seems to believe
that the cat is a mutant or monster of some sort and that it's in a
position to conquer America--the whole world even--by controlling
feelings and thoughts."
Phil sat up indignantly. He wanted to say, "Why, Lucky isn't like that
at all." In his interest in the conversation, he had almost forgotten
his incredible situation.
"I know, I know," Billig was saying, "but what do you think about it,
Brimstine?"
Brimstine shrugged. "I think they're nuts," he said happily. "The cat
didn't seem anything peculiar to me, though I'm taking no chances. I
think it's all a grade-A delusion, a top secret panic."
"You think they're nuts and you expect me not to worry," Billig
groaned. "Where's that FBL man?"
"On his way," Brimstine assured him. "Everything's going to turn out
all right."
"That's what you told me when the president first started to take
action against Fun," Billig flared. "You said it was just a bluff, a
sop to the midwestern vote. You told me Barnes was a drunken farmer who
could be got at twenty ways. You told me it would all blow over, like
the other six times. Well, it didn't. Something happened that changed
things."
"I know," Brimstine admitted, seeming for once at a loss for easy words.
"Do you know yet what happened?" Billig pressed.