To Sail Beyond The Sunset: The Life and Loves of Maureen Johnson

Chapter 22 - The Better-Dead List

A noise woke me up. I was still in that pitch-dark lorry, clutching Pixel to me. ‘Pixel, where are we?'

‘Kuhbleeert!' (How would I know?)

‘Hush!' Someone was unlocking the lorry.

‘Meeroow?'

‘I don't know. But don't shoot till you see the whites of their eyes.'

A side door rolled back. Someone was silhouetted against the open door. I blinked.

‘Maureen Long?'

‘I think so. Yes.'

‘I am sorry to have left you in the dark so long. But we had a visit from the Supreme Bishop's proctors and we have just finished bribing them. And now we must move; they don't stay bribed. Second-order dishonesty. May I offer you a hand?'

I accepted his hand - bony, dry, and cold - and he handed me down while I held Pixel in my left arm. He was a small man, in a dark siren suit, and the nearest thing to a living skeleton I have ever seen. He appeared to be yellowed parchment stretched over bones and little else. His skull was completely hairless.

‘Permit me to introduce myself,' he said. ‘I am Dr Frankenstein.'

‘Frankenstein,' I repeated. ‘Didn't we meet at Schwab's on Sunset Boulevard?'

He chuckled, a sound like dry leaves rustling. ‘You are jesting. Of course it is not my original name but one I use professionally. You will see. This way, if you please.'

We were in a windowless room, with a vaulted ceiling glowing with what seemed to be Douglas-Martin shadowless skyfoam. He led us to a lift. As the door closed with us inside Pixel tried to get away from me. I dung to him. ‘No, no, Pix! You've got to see where they take me.'

I spoke just to Pixel, almost in a whisper, but my escort answered, ‘Don't worry, Milady Long; you are now in the hands of friends.'

The lift stopped at a lower(?) level; we got out and we all got into a tube capsule. We zoomed fifty yards, five hundred, five thousand, who knows? - the capsule accelerated decelerated, stopped. We got out. Another lift took us up this time. Shortly we were in a luxurious lounge with about a dozen people in it and more coming in. Dr Frankenstein offered me a comfortable seat in a large circle of chairs, most of them occupied. I sat down.

This time Pixel would not be denied. He wriggled out of my arms, jumped down, explored the place and examined the people, tail up and poking the little pink nose into everything.

There was a wheelchair in the circle, occupied by an excessively fat man, who had one leg off at the knee, the other amputated higher up. He was wearing dark glasses. He felt like a diabetic to me, and I wondered how Galahad would approach the case. He spoke up:

‘Ladies and gentlemen, shall we get started? We have a new sister.' He pointed with his whole hand at me, like a movie usher. ‘Lady Macbeth. She is -‘

‘Just a moment,' I put in. ‘I am not Lady Macbeth. I am Maureen Johnson Long.'

He trained his head and dark glasses at me slowly, like a battleship's turret. ‘This is most irregular. Dr Frankenstein?

‘I am sorry, Mr Chairman. The contretemps with the proctors spoiled the schedule. Nothing has been explained to her.'

The fat man let out a long sibilant sigh. Incredible. Madam, we apologise. Let me introduce our circle. We are the dead men. All of us here are enjoying terminal illness. I say "enjoying" because we have found a way - hee, hee, hee, hee! - to relish every golden moment left to us... indeed to extend those moments because a happy man lives longer.

Each companion of the Committee for Aesthetic Deletions - at your service, Madam! - spends his remaining days in ensuring that scoundrels whose removal will improve the human breed predecease him. You were elected in absentia to our select circle not merely because you are a walking corpse yourself but as a tribute to the artistic crimes you committed in attaining that status.

‘With that synoptic explanation out of the way, permit me to introduce our noble companions:

‘Dr Fu Manchu.' (A burly Irishman or Scot. He bowed without getting up.)

‘Lucrezia Borgia.' (Whistler's mother, with tatting in her lap. She smiled at me and said, ‘Welcome, dear girl!' in a sweet soprano.)

‘Lucrezia is our most accomplished expunger. Despite inoperable cancer of the liver she has counted coup more than forty times. She usually -‘

‘Stop it, Hassan,' she said sweetly,' before you tempt me to put you on your proper track.'

‘I wish you would, dear. I grow weary of this carcass. Beyond Lucrezia is Bluebeard -‘

‘Hiyah, babe! What are you doing after?'

‘Don't fret, Madam; he is disarmed. Next we have Attila the Hun - ‘ (A perfect Caspar Milquetoast, in shorts and singlet. He sat utterly still, save that his head nodded steadily, like a nursery toy.)' - next to him, Lizzie Borden.' (She was a young and beautiful woman, in a provocative evening gown. She looked quite healthy and she smiled happily at me.) ‘Lizzie is kept alive by an artificial heart... but the fuel that powers it is killing her slowly. Lizzie was formerly a Sister of the Order of Santa Carolita, but she fell out of favour at the Cathedral and was assigned to medical and surgical research. Hence her heart. Hence her fate. Hence her commitment, for Lizzie is ‘a specialist; she terminates only the priesthood of the Church of the Divine Inseminator. Her teeth are very sharp.

‘Next is jack the Ripper -‘

‘Call me Jack.'

‘- and Dr Guillotine.'

‘Your servant, Madam.'

‘Professor Moriarty is lurking back there, and with him is Captain Kidd. That completes our circle tonight, save for myself, chairman for life if I may be permitted a jest. I am the Old Man of the Mountain, Hassan the Assassin.'

‘Where is Count Dracula?'

‘He asked to be excused, Lady Macbeth; he is indisposed something he drank, I believe.'

‘I warned him that Rh-negative would poison him. Hassan, you pretmtious old fraud, this is ridiculous. My name is not Lady Macbeth and I am not a walking corpse; I am in perfect health. I'm lost, that's all:

‘You are indeed lost, my lady, for there is no spot on the globe where in the long run you can escape the Supreme Bishop's proctors. All we offer you, all we can offer you, are some moments of exquisite pleasure before they find you. As for a name, do please pick one that pleases you. Bloody Mary, perhaps? But surely it is prudent to suppress your real name when it is posted in every post office in the realm? But come - enough of business for the nonce. Let sweet music play and good wine flow. Carpe diem, my cousins! Drink up, enjoy the moment. Later, when we again come to order, we will hear nominations of new candidates for termination.' He touched a control on the arm of his wheelchair, spun round, and rolled to a bar in ore corner.

Most of the others followed him. Lizzie Borden came over to me as I stood up.

‘Let me welcome you personally,' she said in a grade, warm contralto. ‘I do especially appreciate what you did that got you condemned, as it is much like my own case.'

‘Really?'

‘I think so. I was a simple temple prostitute, a Sister of Carolita, when I fell from grace. I had always been attracted to the religious life and believed that I had a true vocation while I was still in high school.' She smiled and showed dimples. ‘Eventually I learned that the Church is run solely for the benefit of the priesthood, not for the good of our people. But I learned it too late.'

‘Uh, are you really dying? You look so healthy.'

‘With luck I can expect to live another four to six months. Here all of us are dying, including you, my dear. But we don't waste time thinking about it; instead we study our next client and plan the details of his final moment. May I get you something to drink?'

‘No, thank you. Have you seen my cat?'

‘I saw him go on to the balcony. Let's go look.'

We did - no Pixel. But it was a beautiful clear night; we stopped to look. ‘Lizzie, where are we?'

‘This hotel is near the Plaza, and we're looking north. That's the downtown district, and beyond it, the Missouri River.'

As I expected, Priscilla set new highs for screaming irrelevancy. She blamed everyone - me, Dr Rumsey, Donald, President Patton, the Kansas City school board, and unnamed others, for the conspiracy against her. She did not blame herself for anything.

While she was ranting, Jim shoved an injector against hera tranquilliser, Thorazine, I think, or something about as powerful. We got her imo my car and ovar to the hospital. Bell Memorial used the bed-first-paperwork-later check-in method, so jim got her treatment started at orce. That done, he ordered a barbiturate for 9.o p:m, and authorised a wet pack if she failed to quiet down.

I signed all sorts of papers, showed my American Express card, and we left - back to Jim's office, where he took a sample of my blood and a vaginal smear. ‘Maureen, where was it you sent the boy?'

‘I don't think he had anything to do with it, Jim.'

‘Don't talk like your daughter, you stupid little broad - We don't guess; we find out.'

Jim dug into a reference listing, called a doctor in Grinnell. ‘Doctor, we'll find the lad and send him to you. Are you equipped to do the Morgan test? Do you have fresh reagents and a polariser at hand?'

‘In a college town, Doctor? You can bet your last dollar I do!'

‘Good. We'll track him down and chase him right over to your office, then I'll wait at this telecode for you to call me back.'

We were lucky; Donald was in his dormitory. ‘Donald I want you to go straight to Dr Ingram. His office is downtown, across from Stewart Library. I want you to go right now, this instant.'

‘Mama, what is this all about?' He looked and sounded upset.

‘Call me at home, tonight, from a secure phone, and I'll tell you. I won't discuss it over a screen in the hallway of a dormitory. Go straight to Dr Ingram and do what he tens you to. Hurry'

I waited in Jim's private office for Dr Ingram's call. While I was waiting Jim's nurse finished my tests. ‘Good news,' she said. ‘You can go to the Sunday school picnic after all.'

‘Thanks, Olga.'

‘Too bad about your youngster. But with the drugs we use nowadays she'll be home in a couple of days, as healthy as you are.'

‘We cure ‘em too fast,' Jim said gruffly. ‘Catching something nasty used to teach ‘em a lesson. Now they figure it's no worse than a hangnail, so why worry?'

‘Doctor, you're a cynic,' Olga countered. ‘You'll come to a bad end.'

After an agonising wait, Dr Ingram called back. ‘Doctor, did you have reason to suspect that this patient was infected?'

‘No. But he had to be eliminated, under a VD trace required by Missouri state law.'

‘Well, he's negative on both of those and on two or three other things I checked while I was at it. He doesn't even have dandruff. I don't see why he would be included in a VD search; I think he's still a virgin. How shall I bill this?'

‘To my office.'

They switched off. I asked, ‘Jim, what was that about Missouri state law?'

He sighed. ‘Clap and pox are among the many diseases I must report but for venereal diseases I not only have to report them but also I must co-operate in an effort to find out where the patient contracted the disease. Then public health officers try to follow each infection back to its source - impossible, since the original source is somewhere centuries back in history. But it does serve to thin it out. I know of one case here in town where spotting one dose of clap turned up thirty-seven other cases before it ran off the map, to other cities or states. When the track does that, our public health officers pass along the data to those other jurisdictions and we drop that search.

‘But locating and curing thirty-seven cases of gonorrhoea is worth while in itself, Maureen. The venereal diseases are ones we stand a chance of stamping out, the way we did smallpox, because - do you know the definition of a venereal disease?'

(Yes, I do, but go ahead, Jim.) ‘No.'

‘A venereal disease is one that is so terribly difficult to catch that only intercourse or deep kissing is likely to pass it on. That's why we stand a chance of stamping them out... if only the idiots would co-operate! Whereas there is no chance, none whatever, of stamping out the so-called common cold. Yet people pass on respiratory infections with utter carelessness and aren't even apologetic about it.' He was explosively profane.

I said, ‘Tut, tut! Ladies don't talk that way.'

The screen was blinking and its alarm was sounding as I got home. I dropped my handbag and answered it - Donald.

‘Mama, what's this all about?'

‘Secure phone?' I could not see what was behind him - just a blank wall.

‘I'm in one of the round proof booths at the phone company.'

‘All right' I know of no gentle way to tell a boy that his sister has big and little casino, a full house. So I put it bluntly. ‘Priscilla is ill. She has gonorrhoea and syphilis:

I thought he was going to faint. But he pulled himself together. ‘Mama, this is awful. Are you sure?'

‘Of course I'm sure. I was there when she was tested and I saw the test results. That's why you were tested. I was greatly relieved to learn that you are not the one who gave them to her.'

‘I'll be there at once. Uh, it's about two hundred and forty miles. Coming up, it took me -‘

‘Donald.'

‘Yes, Mama?'

‘Stay where you are. We sent you to Grinnell to get you away from your sister.'

‘But, Mama, these are special circumstances. She needs me -‘

‘She does not need you. You are the worst possible influence on her; can't you get that through your head? She doesn't need sympathy; she needs antibiotics and that is what she is getting. Now leave her alone and give her a chance to get well... and to grow up. And you grow up, tool'

After enquiring about how he was doing with his studies, I shut him off. Then I did something I avoid doing as a matter of principle but sometimes must do through pragmatic necessity; I searched a child's room.

I think a child has a right to privacy but that right is not absolute; his parents have an overriding responsibility for everything under their roof. If the circumstances require it, the child's right to privacy may have to be temporarily suspended.

I am aware that some libertarians (and all children) disagree with me. So be it.

Priscilla's room was as untidy as her mind, but that was not what I was after. I worked slowly through her bedroom and bathroom, trying to check every cubic inch, while leaving her clothes and other possessions as much as possible the way I had found them.

I found no liquor. I found a stash of what I thought was marijuana but I was not sure how to tell ‘grass' when I saw it. That it probably was ‘grass' was made almost certain in my mind by two things: two little packets of cigarette papers under the bottom liner of another drawer, and a lack of any tobacco of any sort, loose or in cigarettes. Are cigarette papers used for any purpose other than rolling cigarettes of some sort?

The last odd thing I found was at the very bottom of a catch-all drawer in her bathroom: a small rectangular mirror, and with it a Gem single-edge blade. She had a big make-up mirror that I had given her, as well as a three-way that was part of her dressing table; why had she bought this mirror? I stared at those two items, mirror and razor blade, then looked elsewhere in her bathroom, and found, as my memory led me to expect, a Gillette razor that required double-edged blades, and an opened packet of double-edged blades - but no Gem razor. I then searched both bathroom and bedroom a second time. I even searched the room and bath that had been Donald's, although I knew them to be as bare as Mother Hubbard's cupboard; I had cleaned after he left. I did not find a stash of white powder having the appearance of powdered sugar... which proves only that I did not find such a stash.

I put everything back the way I found it.

About 1.0 a.m. the front door chimed. I answered it from bed. ‘Who is it?'

‘It's me, Mama. Donald.'

(Dirty names!) ‘Well, come in.'

‘I can't, it's bolted.'

‘Sorry, I'm not awake yet. I'll be down.' I grabbed a robe, found some slippers, went downstairs and let my youngest son in. ‘Come in, Donald. Sit down. When did you eat last?'

‘Uh, I grabbed a Big Mac in Bethany.'

‘Oh, Lordy.' I fed him first.

When he had polished off all of a giant Dagwood and had eaten a big dish of chocolate ice-cream, I said, ‘All right, why did you come here?'

‘You know why, Mama. To see Priss. I know you said she didn't need me... but you're mistaken. Ever since she was a baby girl, when she was in trouble, she came to me. So I know she needs me.'

(Oh, dear! I should have fought it in court. I should not have left my two youngest in the custody of - Regrets, regrets! Father, why did you have to go get yourself killed in the Battle of Britain? I need your advice. And I miss you dreadfully!) ‘Donald, Priscilla is not here.'

‘Where is she?'

‘I won't tell you.'

Donald looked stubborn. ‘I won't go back to Grinnell without seeing her.'

‘That's your problem. Donald, you two have outworn both my patience and my resourcefulness. You ignore my advice and disobey necessary orders and you are each too big to spank. I have nothing else to offer.'

‘You won't tell me where she is?'

‘No.'

He heaved a big sigh. I'm going to stay here until I see her.'

‘That's what you think. Son; you are not the only stubborn member of this family. Any more of your lip and I'll call your father and tell him to come get you because I can't handle you -‘

‘I won't go!'

‘- and then close this house and take an apartment for myself at the Kansas Citian - a single apartment, big enough for a sand box for Polly, not big enough for another person. I was about to move into an apartment when you and your sister showed up... so I changed my plans and rented this house, especially for you two. But neither of you have treated me decently and I'm sick of trying. I'm going to bed. You can stretch out on that couch and get a nap. But if you are not gone when I get up, I intend to call your father and tell him to come get you.'

‘I won't go with him!'

‘Your problem. The next step could be juvenile court but that is up to your father. As a result of your choice, six years ago, he has custody.' I stood up, then recalled something. ‘Donald, do you know marijuana when you sec it?'

‘Uh... maybe.'

‘Do you, or don't you?'

‘Yeah... I do.'

‘Wait here.' I was back in a few moments. ‘What is this?'

‘That's marijuana. But, shucks, Mama, everybody does marijuana now and then.'

‘I don't. And no one living in this house is permitted to. Tell me what this is for.' I reached into one pocket of my robe, got out that mirror so inappropriate to a girl's room, reached more carefully into the other pocket, got out that single-edged razor blade, placed it on the mirror. ‘Well?'

‘What am I supposed to say?'

‘Did you ever cut a line of cocaine?'

‘Uh... no.'

‘Have you seen it done?'

‘Uh... Mama, if you are trying to tell me that Priss is hooked on coke, all I can say is that you must be out of your mind. Of course, most kids these days have tried it once or twice but -‘

‘You have tried it?'

‘Well, sure. The janitor at our school sold it. But I didn't like it. It rots your nose out - did you know that?'

‘I knew that. Has Priss tried it?'

He looked at the mirror and blade. ‘I suppose so. It looks like it.'

‘Have you seen her try it?'

‘Uh... once. I chewed her out about it. Told her not to do it again.'

‘But, as you have told me and as she says herself, she doesn't like to take orders. And apparently did not take yours. I wonder if it's the janitor at her present school?'

‘Uh, it could be a teacher just as easily. Or one of the seniors, a Big Man on Campus. Or a book store. Lots of places. Mama, they clean up the neighbourhood dealers every now and then - doesn't make the least bit of difference; there's a new pusher the next week. The way I hear it, it's the same everywhere.'

I sighed. ‘It beats me, Donald. I'll get you a blanket to pull over you.'

‘Mama, why can't I sleep in my own bed?'

‘Because you're not supposed to be here at all. The only reason you're being indulged even this much is because I don't think it is safe to let you go back on the road without something to eat and a few hours sleep.'

I went back to bed, could not sleep. After about an hour I got up and did something I should have done earlier: I searched the maid's room.

I found the stash. It was between the mattress and the mattress cover, at the foot of the bed. I was tempted to taste the least trace of it, having some notion from biochemistry of what cocaine should taste like - but I had sense enough - or was chicken enough - not to risk it; there are street drugs that are dangerous in the tiniest amounts. I took it back up with me, locked it, the ‘grass' and the cigarette papers, and the mirror and blade, into a lock box I keep in my bedroom.

They won. I lost. They were too much for me.

I brought Priscilla home, cured but sullen as ever. Two Public Health officers, a man and a woman, called on us (Jim's doing, with my co-operation) almost as we were taking off our coats. They wanted to know, gently and politely, Priscilla's contacts - who could have given the bugs to her and to whom she could have passed them on.

‘What infections? I'm not ill, I never was ill. I've been held against my will in a conspiracy! Kidnapped and held prisoner! I'm going to sue somebody!'

‘But, Miss Smith, we have copies of your lab tests and your medical history. Here, look at them.'

Priscilla brushed them aside. ‘Lies! I'm not going to say another word without my lawyer.'

At which point I made yet another mistake. ‘But, Priscilla, I am a lawyer; you know that. What they're asking is quite reasonable, a matter of public health.'

I have never been looked at with such contempt. ‘You're not my lawyer. You're ore of the ones I'm going to sue. And these two characters, too, if they don't quit heckling me.' She turned her back and went upstairs.

I apologised to the two Public Health officers. I'm sorry, Mr Wren and Mrs Lantry, but I can't do anything with her, as you can see. I'm afraid you'll have to get her on the witness stand and under oath to get anything out of her.'

Mr Wren shook his head. ‘It would not work. In the first place, we have no way to put her on the stand; she has not broken any laws that we know of. And we don't know of anyone who has. In the second place, a youngster with her attitude simply takes the Fifth Amendment and shuts up.'

‘I'm not sure she knows what the Fifth Amendment is.'

‘You can bet she does, Mrs Johnson. Today all these kids are street smart and every ore of them is a chimney-corner lawyer, even in a rich neighbourhood like this ore. Put ore on the stand and he'll holler for a lawyer and the ACLU will supply one pronto. The ACLU figures it is more important to protect a teenager's right to clam up than it is to protect some other teenager from infection and sterility.'

‘That's ridiculous.'

‘Those are the conditions we work under, Mrs Johnson. If we don't get voluntary co-operation, we have no way to force it.'

‘Well... I can do one thing. I can go talk to her principal, tell him that be has VD running around loose in his school:

‘It won't do any good, Mrs Johnson. You will find that he is extremely leary of being sued.'

I thought about it... and had to admit (the lawyer in me) that I had nothing to tell the principal if Priscilla refused to co-operate. Ask him to run ‘short arm inspection' (Brian's Army slang for it) on all his older boys? He would have hundreds of parents on his neck before dark.

‘What about drugs?'

‘What about drugs, Mrs Johnson?'

‘Does Public Health deal with drugs?'

‘Some. Not much. Drugs are usually a police matter.'

I told them what I had found. ‘What should I do?'

‘Does your daughter admit that these items are hers?'

‘I haven't had a chance to talk to her about them yet.'

‘If she won't admit it, you may have great trouble proving that the key items - the cannabis and the powder that may be cocaine - are hers, rather than yours. I know you are a lawyer... but perhaps you need to see a lawyer who specialises in such matters. There is an old saw about that, is there not?'

(‘A man who is his own lawyer has a fool for a client.')

‘Indeed there is all right, I'll take advice first'

Donald showed up right after that. He had not been on the couch on Saturday morning; I had assumed that he had gone back to Grinnell. It was now evident from the speed with which he showed up once I fetched Priscilla home from the hospital that he had stayed in Kansas City and placed himself somewhere near to watch for her return. Evident, but not true. He had learned somehow what hospital she was in - I could think of three simple ways - then arranged for someone to let him know when she was dismissed - again, three simple ways, including bribery if he could afford it. Never mind; he showed up.

The door chimed.

I buzzed the door phone. ‘Announce yourself, please.'

‘It's Donald, Mama.'

‘What are you doing here?'

‘I've come to see Priss.'

‘You can't see her.'

‘I'll see her if I have to bust this door downt'

I reached up and set off the Argus Patrol's ‘Mayday!' ‘Donald, I will not let you enter this house.'

‘Try and stop me!' He started kicking the door.

Priscilla came running downstairs, started to open the front door. I grabbed at her; there was a scuffle, we both went down.

I'm no fighter. Fortunately Priscilla was not trained, either. Brian had taught me just one thing: ‘If you have to do it, do it fast. Don't wait'

As she was getting up, I punched her in the stomach - no, the solar plexus. She went down and lay there, trying to gasp air.

I heard from outside, ‘Mrs Johnson! Argus is here:

‘Nab him and take him away! I'll call you.'

‘Nab who?'

‘Uh -‘ Priscilla was trying to get up again. I punched her in the same spot; she went down the same way. ‘Can you wait around for twenty minutes or a half-hour? He might come back.'

‘Certainly. We'll stay as long as you need us. I'll call in.'

‘Thank you, Rick. It is Rick, is it not?'

‘Rick it is, Ma'am.'

I turned round, grabbed my daughter by the hair, lifted her head, and snarled at her. ‘Crawl upstairs, go to your room, and stay there! If I hear another peep out of you, I'll punch you again.'

She did exactly as I told her to, crawled away, sobbing, and crept upstairs, slowly. I made sure all doors and windows on the ground floor were locked, then I called Dallas.

I explained to Brian in bitter detail what had happened since I had last called him to report on our children, what I had tried to do, what had actually happened. ‘Brian, I can't cope with them. You must come and get them.'

‘I want no part of either one of them. I was relieved when they ran away. Good riddance,'

‘Brian, they are your children and you have custody.'

‘Which I happily turn over to you.'

‘You can't; it takes a court to do that. Brian, since I can't handle them, if you won't come for them - or send someone for them - all I can do is have them arrested -‘

‘On what charges? Sassing you?'

‘No. Delinquency. Incest. Use of drugs. Possession of drugs. Running away from custodial parent, Brian Smith of Dallas, Texas.' I watched his face as I read off what I would tell the juvenile court. He did not flinch when I said ‘Incest' so I concluded that it was no news to him. He did not flinch until I named his name and city.

‘What! The newspapers would have a field day!'

‘Yes, in Dallas I imagine both the News and the Times Herald would feature it. I don't know whether the Kansas City Star would touch it or not. Incest is a bit whiff for their editorial policies. Particularly incest involving a sister with two of her brothers, August and Donald.'

‘Maureen, you can't mean this.'

‘Brian, I'm at the end of my rope. Priscilla knocked me down not twenty minutes ago and Donald has been trying to break down the front door. If you won't come here by the very next rocketplane, I am calling the police and swearing out warrants, all those charges - enough to get them locked up at least long enough for me to dose this house and get out of town. No half measures, Brian. I want your answer, right now.'

Marian's face appeared beside his. ‘Mother, you can't do that to Gus! He didn't do anything. He told me so, on his honour!'

‘That isn't what they say, Marian. If you don't want them saying it on the witness stand, under oath, Brian will come here and get them.'

‘They're your children.'

‘They are Brian's children, too, and he has custody. Six years ago, when I left them with you, they were well-behaved children, polite, obedient, and no more given to naughty spells than any growing child. Today they are incorrigible, uncivilised, totally out of hand.' I sighed. ‘Speak up, Brian. What will you do?'

‘I can't come to KC today.‘

‘Very well, I'll call the police and have them arrested. Have them taken in and then swear out the warrant, the criminal charges.'

‘Now wait a minute!'

‘I can't, Brian. I'm holding them off temporarily with the patrol, the private police who watch this neighbourhood. But I can't keep them here tonight; she's bigger than I am and he's twice as big. Goodbye; I've got to call the cops.'

‘Now hold it! I don't know how soon I can get a ship.'

‘You can hire one; you're rich enough! How soon will you be here?'

‘Uh... three hours'

‘That's six-twenty, our time. At six-thirty I'm calling the cops:

Brian got there at six-thirty-five. But he had called me from the field in North Kansas City well before the deadline. I was waiting for him in my living-room with both children... and with Sergeant Rick of the Argus Patrol and Mrs Barnes, the Patrol's office manager, who doubled as matron. It had not been a pleasant wait; both rent-a-cops had been forced to demonstrate that they were tougher than teenage children and would brook no nonsense.

Brian had taken the precaution of fetching four guards with him, two men, two women, one pair from Dallas, one pair from Kansas City. That did not make it legal but he got away with it because no one - I least of all I - cared to argue technicalities.

I saw the door close behind them, went upstairs and cried myself to sleep.

Failure! Utter and abject failure! I don't see what else I could have done. But I will always carry a heavy burden of guilt over it.

What should I have done?