"Ah, two-ten Sunset Way, Hallandale."

"We could find it, you know."

"But the big straw hat and the gla.s.ses didn't work so well, Bonny Lee. That cop wasn't fooled."

"Because you flinched. Remember? You tried to ask him what was going on, he'd never looked twice, believe me. You be okay, sugar, just head up and ready to spit in their d.a.m.n eye. I'll get me some clothes on."

It was a quiet street of small ugly stucco houses on the sizable plots of pre-war Florida, their ugliness softened by the tropic plantings which had grown up in almost vulgar profusion. Professor Wellerly's house, tinted a faded pink, was more obscured than the others on the street. It was a hot, sleepy afternoon. A power mower made an angry snorting sound several houses away. Birds were yelping, raiding a fresh store of berries on the tall bushes lining Wellerly's driveway.

A laundry truck pa.s.sed them. Bonny Lee slowed and, when the truck was out of sight, she turned into the weedy sh.e.l.l driveway of a boarded-up house.

She turned toward him. She had changed to a black and white checked shirt, a white crisp skirt. "Sugar, I don't wanna be no nuisance woman, but how about you show up right here? I mean so I'll know nothing is messed up."

He nodded, gave himself the full hour just in case. It seemed odd to him that it was easier to get used to the redness than to the silence. The abrupt silence was so absolute it was like being enclosed in a padded vault. He slapped his thigh just to a.s.sure himself he had not lost the power to hear. He took off his shoes and walked back three houses to the Wellerly house. After he got beyond the screen of plantings he saw the blinds were closed. When he went around the corner of the house a mockingbird startled him. It hung there motionless at the same height as his face. He circled it and saw the back b.u.mper of a car parked behind the house. He realized Bonny Lee's guess might be absolutely correct. He looked at the car. It was a newish cheap dark sedan, and might logically be a rental car. There was a dark blue baseball cap on the front seat.

He circled the house and found it was completely closed up. He tried several ways to gain entrance and was stymied by the leaden inertia of all objects in the red world. Remembering what Bonny Lee had told him of the odd behavior of objects, he picked polished stones out of a big planting pot. They were the size of plums and lifting them was like pulling them up through heavy glue. He released nine of them in midair, properly positioned, five in front of the back door, four in front of a back window. He then gave each of them a l.u.s.ty push toward target, aiming them at latches and hinges and frames and locks. They stopped the moment pressure was taken off them. He remembered his promise and hurried back to the car where she sat, looking up at him with the unchanged expression of concern he had seen on her face in the instant of departure.

He clicked back to normal time, and heard a distant thudding, crashing, splintering, tinkling of gla.s.s.

"What in the world are you, "

"Back in a minute," he said and turned her off along with the rest of the discovered universe.

He hurried back and hid behind the car and turned the world on, then thought better and turned it off immediately. The shattered door hung from one hinge. The window was completely gone. He went into the kitchen and discovered that the stones had gone through the door and window and across the kitchen and into the dish cabinets and cupboards, and he suddenly felt ill to think of what could have happened had Wilma been standing there. A new lesson learned.

They were in the living room. Two beefy young men were stopped in the middle of a card game. The room lights were on. Apparently, back in the normal world it was hot in the room. They were shiny with sweat. The big one with light hair had his shirt off and a hand towel draped around his neck. He had intricate faded tattooing on his forearms and biceps. The other was shorter and wider, and burned dark by the sea. Both of them had long sideburns, coa.r.s.e, thickened features, that impenetrable look which is a combination of slyness and animal hungers and a taste for brutality.

The dark one held a card poised. Both of them were looking toward the kitchen with startled expressions. Wilma Farnham stood by a book-lined wall near the small coquina rock fireplace, books from floor to ceiling. Her brown hair, in an unkempt cascade of wispy strings made her small face look smaller. Her gla.s.ses were crooked, her blouse half out of her skirt, her mouth oddly slack with surprise as she too stared beyond him toward the kitchen. The drink in her hand was tilted and, as she stood off balance, a dollop of it was stopped halfway to the floor.

He went to work. It was difficult work, but in its special way, enjoyable. Within fifteen subjective minutes he had the tattooed one and the dark one neatly arranged. He had found it easier to work on them when they were suspended horizontally in the air a yard above the figured rug, but it had taken every ounce of his strength to bend them, straighten them, hoist them into that position. He'd wrapped their wrists and ankles with heavy twine which, in the red world, reacted like thick copper wire. He'd stuffed their mouths with toweling and tied it in place. Finally he had sheathed them in bed-sheets, wrapping it like foil, then wound them from ankle to shoulder in clothesline. Bending it around them was like wrapping them in copper tubing. He had to grasp the rope at some distance from them in order to get that leverage which made the task easier.

He hurried back to the car. Bonny Lee looked startled when he reappeared.

"What's this little delay, hah?"

"Sorry. Look, I got to get back there in a hurry, but you can come in there now. Through the back door. Bring the car in and turn it around, facing out."

"Okay."

He twisted the stem and walked back through the deadness of the silence. Wilma had used the several seconds to move closer to the two mummies, and again she was spilling as she stared at them. Kirby felt mild regret at missing the chance of seeing them fall simultaneously, side by side. At first he was going to appear, carelessly, thoughtlessly, in front of her. Just in time, he went back to the doorway off to one side and slightly behind her. He stepped into normal time and normal s.p.a.ce and said, "Wilma!"

Suspended liquid fellonto her bare instep.She swung around, took one uncertain step and peeredat him. She pushed her gla.s.ses into place and said, "Loanbeehole, Sir Lanschlot, as I live and bree!" "Are you drunk!"

She tottered toward him, smirking. "Za skunk, cutie bug. Bessa my life in selfless devotion a duty, 'n you know what I get? Fleece looking for me. An that Bessy girl asking me things I don't know'nything about. Ol' Omar's stone cold dead, 'ny got no job, 'na hole thing's giving my dear brother a nervous stomach, "n you, you silly man, I popo, propozizhun you, firse timin my lousy wretched choked-up life I gotnuff guts. 'N whattayou do?" She put her nose inches from his chin and looked up at him cross-eyed. He could hear the Sunbeam snoring into the drive. "Whattayou do? Run! An then, " She backed off slightly. "An then here I am, poor incent girl at the mercy of those two sailors an all they want to do is play cards. Course I'm drunk, fren! Firse time." She burped herself slightly off balance, recovered, beamed at him and said, "I like it!" She turned vaguely and stared at the shrouded figures. They were both making small helpless spasms and smothered grunting sounds. "What happened alluva secon to Rene and Raoul?" she asked plaintively.

Bonny Lee came in and stared at Wilma. Wilma swung around again and held Bonny Lee in an inquisitive squint, pushing her gla.s.ses back against the bridge of her nose. "Who you, pretty fren?" Wilma asked.

"Wow!" Bonny Lee said. "I figured in your picture you looked like a school teacher. Excuse me all to h.e.l.l."

Wilma peered at Bonny Lee, pulled herself together with precarious effort and said, attempting precision, "Ektually, my dear, I yam more the cerebral type."

Bonny Lee sighed. "You want to talk to her, I guess, don't you, sugar?"

"If possible."

"Who's in the packages?"

"Rene and Raoul, seafaring men."

"They look like they'd keep. See what you can do about some coffee, Kirby." Bonny Lee gave a hitch at her skirt and marched toward Wilma. It was as though she had rolled up her sleeves and spit on her hand. She marched Wilma, wailing protests, sputtering with indignation, into the bedroom wing.

All Kirby was able to find was some instant coffee of an unfamiliar brand. But it looked dark and smelled strong, and the label said nothing about how it would improve sleep. In the other end of the small house were the distant sounds of conflict, yelpings and the roar of water. He went in and checked Rene and Raoul. They were still until he checked their bonds, and then they began thumping and grunting again. He could hardly blame them. It must be very uncomfortable in there, he thought. The sheets were getting wet with sweat and beginning to cling. It was very muggy inside the house.

He filled a big pottery mug with strong steaming coffee and took it into the bedroom. The bathroom door was ajar. Wilma's clothes and Bonny Lee's clothes were on the bed. He put the mug on a table and walked back out. Bonny Lee seemed to be winning. All he had heard was the rushing roar of the shower mingled with a heartbroken whimpering. He fixed the knots more securely and went over and studied the bookshelves. Professor Wellerly apparently acquired books in every field of human knowledge, providing the t.i.tle was dull enough and the binding sedate. He gathered up the spilled cards, shuffled them and dealt random poker hands. The gold watch would considerably simplify poker. He evolved various methods and decided the most useful one would be to freeze the scene in the instant the dealer was reaching to pick up the deck which had just been cut. Take the cards and arrange for three or four strong hands, and give the others nothing so they would fold. Give yourself the best hand, by a narrow margin. Like four little threes against three pat hands, a flush, a full house, aces up, and a high straight. Put the sorted deck back under the reaching hand, sit back and wait for the action.

"Kirby, sugar!" Bonny Lee called. He went in. Bonny Lee was dressed again. Wilma sat huddled on the edge of the bed wearing a man's summer robe that was like a tent on her. Her hair was darkened and flattened and she looked sullen and drowned. She stared down at the floor.

"Sip the nice coffee, sweetie," Bonny Lee ordered.

"No thank you," Wilma said in a precise but muted voice. "I think I might be going to be ill."

"Sip the pretty coffee, sweetie, or we strip again and I trot you in and wedge you under that cold water and I take that big brush and I scrub off all the hide you've got left."

Wilma hunched slightly and humbly sipped her coffee.

"You know, she's not really so bad, except how she don't even try, for G.o.d's sake. She's got a real cute figger."

"Figure."

"Figure," she said carefully.

"h.e.l.l, I'm sorry, Bonny Lee."

"I'm not. Not at all. You keep it up. Anyhow, she has got a real cute, figure, sorta like boyish, but not enough so anybody's going to get confused. But geezel, them wire gla.s.ses and that ratty hairdo and them Salvation Army clothes, "

"I have no urge to be cheap and obvious," Wilma said.

"Stay snotty and I'll stomp your spectacles, sweetie. You're not obvious for sure. All the men in the world are in a big candy store, and you're out there in the dark knocking on the window with a sponge. You ever hear a whistle in your life? Ever get pinched?"

"Thank you, no."

"Do you some good, sis. Makes you stick out on top and swing on the bottom. I'd put bright green contacts on you, give you a Cleopatra beehive, put you in something too tight to sit down in, and four inch heels, and learn you to be walken slow, with your shoulders back and your belly in and your b.u.t.t stuck out, dangle earrings and musky perfume. Not my style, but in gear like that, sis, you'd make strong men cry."

"Cleopatra beehive?" Wilma asked shyly.

"Not exactly beehive. The Egypt bit, like Liz."

"Liz?"