the thirteenth letter, part 3

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"imelda - what are you doing in here?" the young intern looked up. doctor danielson was standing in the doorway with her hands in the pockets of her white coat and she did not look pleased. "i - was looking for a message i wrote down - from doctor djinn's wife." "on what, imelda? hasn't the hospital issued you your own notepad?" doctor danielson stepped into the room, her dark eyes glowing like coals in a fiery furnace. "i must have misplaced it." "and have you reported it missing?" "i - no, the doctors have all been so busy - with all the patients from the great thruway accident - i didn't want to disturb them" "oh, imelda, imelda, you are such an inept little liar - you know the people in supply and hr are not dealing with the thruway accident." doctor danielson moved up to the drawer imelda had been looking in and put her hand in it. "nothing - just as i knew." she glared at imelda. "after all we've done for you - all the hours of training - the relocation - to reconstruct you into some semblance of a halfway useful citizen - and this is how you repay us - by being a snoop and a sneak and a very naughty girl. i am going to have to report you to the board. " "oh, please, doctor! please! i never want to go before the board again! they are so mean!" the doctor laughed. "you think the board is mean - you have a lot to learn, young lady." "please!" "then tell me what you were really looking for." 'i was - it's about doctor varney," "and what about doctor varney? what does a little worm like yourself have to do with doctor varney?" imelda swallowed hard. "i wondered if - if the things they say about him are true. " "such as?" "that he is - a vampire!" "well of course he is a vampire. doctor varney is a vampire, just as doctor wagner is a werewolf, and doctor zorro is a zombie. and doctor benway is a banshee and doctor gogol is a ghoul. what of it? do you think it makes them bad doctors?" "in my village, we - we had a different way of seeing such things -" "in your village! but you are not in your village now, are you?' imelda clasped her hands and looked down at them. "no. the police came - and dispersed the village." "and a good thing too. but are you grateful? apparently not. ah, it is a good thing for you we have contact laws or i would give you a good shaking," imelda stood a little straighter. "so - i have told you the truth. will you report me to the board?" "i'll think on it." "oh! and will you tell doctor varney?' "what should i tell doctor varney? that you exist? i think that would be news to him." a tear appeared on imelda's cheek. "oh, you are so cruel!" "ha, ha! i knew it! so you thought a scrawny little shapeless thing like yourself would attract the notice of doctor varney! no, my child, i think the good doctor prefers more full-blooded females, if you get my drift." a tiny spark flared in imelda's eye. "like yourself, i suppose"" "how dare you!" the doctor advanced and grabbed imelda by the shoulder, then immediately shrunk back in horror at what she had done, clutching her heart. imelda stared coldly at her. a small smile formed on her lips. 'so doctor, it has come to this. we have each others measure now. i will not report you for violating the human contact laws - i am sure a fine set of fingerprints can be taken from my uniform -" the doctor buried her face in her hands in despair. '" - and you of course will say nothing to either the board or doctor varney. good night, doctor." "i could use a drink. and a smoke." mike mean patted his pocket. his flask and his pack of smokes had been left behind when they had come to parallel 17. "hey, you shouldn't even talk about such things here." pete paused in his recital of the laura poll case and turned halfway from the window to glance at sally who was watching doctors and wives. mac the mailman had crept up closer behind her and was watching too. 'i hope my friend didn't offend you, miss," pete said to sally. 'he didn't mean any harm." "no. it's cool," sally answered. 'so, how's the show?", pete asked politely. "it's ok, they've had better episodes." imelda walked down the corridor. as she neared the end, a figure came around the corner. it was doctor varney. he started to walk past her, then stopped. "are you all right, intern? your eyes are a little red." "oh no, doctor. i am just a little tired." imelda smiled up at him. "and i was thinking about the unfortunate victims of the thruway accident. i know it is a bit old-fashioned, but i was saying a little prayer for them. my eyes get a little red when i pray." "how thoughtful. and who do you pray to, if i may ask?" "you may ask. i pray to baalu, an obscure god but a powerful one." "a god, not a goddess. interesting." the doctor fixed his penetrating gaze full force on the girl. "are you a student of religion, doctor?" doctor varney gave a short laugh . '"no, just a concerned citizen who fully supports the enlightened initiative to abolish the worst elements of superstitious hatemongering while respecting and preserving the cultural traditions of all deserving peoples. by the way, i was heading to the ward reserved for the thruway victims. a very unique and interesting complication has surfaced with one of them. i could use all the help i can get." he smiled. "unless you are too tired." "oh no, doctor." they both looked up. doctor danielson was walking down the corridor toward them. as she passed them she ignored imelda, but nodded to doctor varney. "good night, doctor." "good night, doctor danielson." "shall we proceed?". doctor varney asked imelda. imelda smiled and fell in behind him. as she followed him up the corridor she turned and watched the retreating back of doctor danielson and stuck out her tongue.

the thirteenth letter, part 4

the thirteenth letter, part 2

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"how much disrespect can we take? how long are we going to wait here?" mike mean watched jeanne d'arc's back as she exited tania's cubicle, leaving him, along with pete street, mac the mailman, and the archangel gabriel to look out the window or watch doctors and wives with sally. pete chose to look out the window. "we won't wait too long. there's another case i want to ask these people about, that we might have crossed paths on." mike shrugged and went to stand at the window himself. some small vehicles, most of them certainly police, flashed through the night sky over the dim city lights. "so what's this other case?" "the laura poll case." mike nodded. "you are still working on that?" he laughed. " how is that a suspicious development - after all this time?'" pete looked over his shoulder at mac the mailman and sally. mac was standing a yard behind sally watching doctors and wives over her shoulder. mike got the message - they were non-police. pete took a pad out of his shirt pocket and began writing on it. laura poll was a young woman who had disappeared under suspicious circumstances some years ago. she had been the talk of the town and the belle of the ball. tall and blonde, she had won the miss galaxy contest (two years before tania kelly was fourth runner-up) and had been third runner-up in the miss multi-universe contest the next year. while preparing for the miss mega-universe contest the next year, she had plunged wholeheartedly into training for her chosen branch of police work - paracrime, and starred on intergalactic football and lacrosse teams. although she seemed to have a full plate with her careers as an athlete, a beauty, a crimefighter and a debutante, she had also become involved in politics, in the last hectic years of politics in the universe, and joined the blue party of fidel castro as a volunteer. at blue party headquarters she met the dashing young comte de gobineau-richelieu. they fell in love and her troubles began. pete paused in his recitation. mike raised an eyebrow but refrained from comment. pete continued. laura and the comte applied for a marriage permit. because of their wide and varied combined interests (the comte was a renowned numerologist and astrologer, a multi-level fencing champion, an expert on poisons in his capacity as a lieutenant in the developing crimes unit, and an actor in popular shows {including the role of the vampire on doctors and wives} as well as having risen to third position in the blue party below fidel and che guevara), the permit had to pass through an ever expanding circle of bureaus and departments, including the most important and prestigious police departments. the permit proceeded slowly, sometimes seeming to disappear. in addition, laura's meteoric rise had caused malicious tongues to come out of the woodwork. "get on with it." said mike out loud. on the last night of her confirmed existence , laura had made a leaping catch for a touchdown in the left corner of the end zone with 2 seconds left to give the notre-dame de paris reds a victory over the mexico city blues in the third round of the super bowl eliminations. the game had been played in the colosseum. although the comte de gobineau-richelieu professed to despise american style football, he had been in attendance to see his beloved perform. but he had a report due to his chief in developing crimes, as well as one to che guevara regarding suspected infiltration of the blue party, so he had gone outside to work on them. when cheering within the ancient edifice signalled the thrilling end of the game, and news of laura's heroics spread like wildfire among the throngs waiting in the surrounding streets and alleys, he put his notepad away and looked around. ten feet away, a ragamuffin selling flowers from a basket was staring at him. "fresh cut flowers, sir, good for any happy occasion." the comte approached the young man and took out his identification. he smiled. "do you have a number and name?" "77H-rt569-h56d42-9574ff28, sir. people call me little jojo." "these flowers wouldn't contain poison , would they?" "no poison here, sir. these are the flowers of love. cut by the god of love himself." the comte showed little jojo his badge and smiled again. "be careful, i happen to have some knowledge of the subject." "of course. i recognized you right away, monsieur le comte. i never miss an episode of doctors and wives. the vampire is my favorite character." "all you street urchins say that." the comte took some lilies out of jojo's basket. "cut by the god of love himself, eh? and who might that be?" "the god of love keeps close counsel, sir." "all right, i will take these lilies. what do i owe you?" "whatever you will. it is my pleasure to serve the deservedly renowned count and the heavenly miss laura." "take this, then." the comte took a coin out of his pocket. one side of the coin depicted the last roman emperor, augustulus, playing a game of badminton with attila the hun, while st helena, the empress theodosia, and a male and female lion watched. the other side showed pascal, william wilberforce and robespierre being thrown into the fiery furnace by the empress maria theresa as johann sebastian bach played the harpsichord and blind tom played the piano behind her. "thank you." jojo tapped his forehead with the coin and disappeared. only later did the comte wonder how jojo, a citizen with no apparent police credentials, had known of his connection with laura, which was, or should have been, confidential knowledge pending the issuing of the marriage permit. in the months of investigations which followed, the comte, in spite of or as some thought because of, his positions and connections, was repeatedly - some would say insultingly - led back to this point as he was interrogated and reinterrogated by the departments assigned to the disappearance. in vain did the comte point out that he had never had the opportunity to give laura the flowers. this point was contemptuously brushed aside by both the scientific and magical departments - and, in their last years of existence, the political and religious departments as well. although the comte had taken his number, little jojo was never found. this added to the burden of suspicion, and the comte's career with the police was destroyed, although he continued to enjoy renown in the fields of astrology, numerology and alchemy (a new interest) and as an actor, where his portrayal of the vampire on doctors and wives remained a favorite with the public.

the thirteenth letter, part 3

the thirteenth letter, part 1

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nadia nelson, aka 94H-543rt-y77h94-087764, poured tea for tania and larry into little china cups, then put the tiny teapot on a low table between them that looked made of cardboard, and sat back gently in her rocking chair. mrs nelson was short and stout with a bright red face and kinky white hair. she looked at the two detectives as if expecting them to speak first. tania looked down at the cup which she was holding in her fist like a can of soda. larry held his correctly, by the miniscule handle. he smiled at the old woman. "thank you , mrs nelson. as you know from our previous visits, everything we say will be recorded." he touched his shirt pocket. "of course. do you like the tea?" "it's delicious," larry answered. "good. now, the reason i left my message is - i remembered something pope anastasius xliv told me - well, not me personally but our discussion group at st bibiana's parish - about the seven deadly sins - ' "excuse me." larry interrupted. "let me get the pictures out of my folder so i can refresh my memory on exactly what we are talking about." he put his teacup and saucer down on the table. "of course. take your time." mrs nelson smiled at him. "can i say something?." asked tania. "of course, dear." tania clenched her teeth at the "dear," but pushed on. "i have a question - what do these things have in common - racism, sexism. homophobia, hatred, cruelty, abuse and power?" "we have been over this before, dear - i know the answer - that none of them are listed in the seven deadly sins." "thank you. i just wanted to get that on the record." "it's a little stuffy in here," said larry. "maybe detective kelly would like to step outside and get a little air." "i'll drink to that." tania finished her tea in one gulp, put the cup down and left the tiny apartment. "she seems a little - overwrought," said mrs nelson. larry laughed. "you should meet her sister." tania walked slowly down the street outside mrs nelson's apartment. it was 3075th st at 448th avenue in the 18th level but a hand drawn cardboard sign on a wall above her head proclaimed it the "street of dreams". there were only a few people on the street. she assumed they were police like herself. there were a number of small churches of various sects. she took a pad out of her pocket and noted them, to check later against the list of redeemable religions. she kept walking. two small churches faced each other across the intersection of 3075th st and 449th avenue. one was dedicated to elvis, the other to kerouac. a man outside the church of elvis and a man outside the church of kerouac were shouting at each other across the street. "you are a false prophet! you teach false doctrine!" "arrogant blasphemer!" both retreated inside their respective buildings when they saw tania approaching. she drew up to the church of elvis and was about to pass it when something behind the window caught her eye. she stopped and went inside. no one was inside except the man who had been shouting at his rival on the sidewalk. he was big and burly, with short brown hair and a neatly clipped beard, and wearing a red checked lumberjack shirt a size too small. he looked at tania warily as she approached the low counter he had retreated behind. she showed him her identification and badge. the man shook his head and spread his hands. "no unspeakable crimes here, sister. elvis is the god of love." "number, please." "73H-42we9-69j55t-873280y. people call me mike - mike fink." "that's not much of a number, mike. low on the high side, high on the low side, wouldn't you say?" "i know my rights, miss." "all you scripture shouters know your rights. and it's detective to you, not sister or miss." "yes, detective." tania picked a couple of pamphlets off the counter. "elvis' greatest wisdom to live by." "eternal message of love." she flipped through them. "i see you are big on love, mike. but of course as you testify and spread the word you are careful to observe all human contact laws, right?" "yes i am." "great." she dropped the pamphlets back on the counter. "but that's not why i'm here." she nodded at a shelf behind mike. "what's that you've got there?" he looked behind him. "just some paper." "looks like envelopes, too. you like to write letters, mike?" "not much. i like to testify in the street, where folks can see and hear me." "so who uses the paper and envelopes?" "well, there was a young fellow used to help me out here, sweeping up and such - those were his." tania went behind the counter and rummaged through the paper and envelopes herself. "well, there are no stamps, at least. did this person have a number?" "he was called little jojo. i could look up his number." "if you 'd be so kind." mike went into a back room and came back with a little notebook with loose slips of paper stuck in it. he took a slip out and handed it to tania. "i have all my papers here if you'd like to look at them." "i am sure your papers are in order, preacher." tania read the number on the slip. "77H-rt569-h56d42-9574ff28. that's an even worse number than yours, mike. so what happened to our friend little jojo, did you cut him up and eat him?" mike's face got a little redder. "he started getting strange ideas. he - started thinking he was the god of love himself - setting himself up over elvis. so i had to let him go." "obviously. but you haven't kept in touch - you don't know where he is now?" "no." tania nodded toward the window and street. "what about across the street - the kerouac place. might he be over there?" "kerouac! kerouac is the falsest of false gods! even little jojo wouldn't sink that low." mike calmed down and shook his head. "he was just a little man with big ideas," "and you are a big man with little ideas." "I don't think that was called for." tania ignored this. she copied little jojo's number down and put her pad in her pocket. "little jojo," she said. 'the god of love, likes to write letters. i like it. we might have done some good work here tonight, mike. you might have been a useful citizen for once in your life." mike unclenched his teeth. "thank you." tania walked out into the street. after a moment's hesitation, she headed for the church of kerouac.

the thirteenth letter, part 2

the twelfth letter, part 2

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sally was slowly chewing her cucumber and lemon grass sandwich. tania watched her approvingly. "i see you have good mastication. you have so many things going for you, sally. that is why we would really appreciate your cooperation in this matter." sally finished swallowing the portion of the sandwich she had been chewing. "ok, but i want to watch my show first." tania looked up and saw larry motioning to her at the doorway behind sally. "excuse me." she got up and went out in the corridor. larry held a thick blue folder in his hand. "i just got something on the nelson case. why don't we check it out? let's leave her here, let her watch her show, and when we get back she might be more cooperative. i can go myself, if you want to stay with her." "sounds like a good idea. i'll go with you." she went back to the desk and took a screen out of a drawer. "all right, we are going to let you watch your show. then we will be back. what was the show again?" "doctors and wives. it's the fourth most popular show." "anything else we can get you?" "a strawberry and papaya drink. a cold strawberry and papaya drink. that orange and papaya drink wasn't really cold enough." "we'll do our best. and i'll tell you what, you can watch the whole show even if we get back before the show is over. how does that sound?" "great." the nelson case, or as it was sometimes called, the nelson-vasari case, had frustrated tania and larry for a long time. an elderly woman named nadia nelson, 79% human, had come home from work to find a crude drawing on her apartment door of the twelve apostles playing a game of canadian football against a team comprised of the seven deadly sins, pontius pilate, nero, caligula, agrippina and vergil. besides the basic crimes of intrusion and unlicensed contact, she had been particularly offended by the inclusion of vergil, dante's guide, on the second team, and she became a demanding, though not overwhelmingly cooperative victim. the first drawing had lasted until the arrival of the unclassifiable crimes unit but disappeared 24 hours later, to be replaced by another, which was then replaced by yet 24 hours after that, for a total of 103 days. they then began appearing for one day at a time at intervals of 103 days, and this had continued until the time larry got sally a frosty strawberry and papaya drink and he and tania left her to doctors and wives. each of the succeeding drawings showed a variation or extrapolation on the original. st paul emerged as the coach of the apostles, and julian the apostate as coach of the second team. many of the drawings had dialogue in balloons, in an unknown script and language which had so far defied all attempts at translation. the case had quickly become contested between different branches of law enforcement. were the pictures the result of technology or witchcraft? the unlicensed technology department and both the white and black magic departments were consulted and involved but no progress was made by any and after the obligatory territorial clashes, they agreed to pass it to unspeakable crimes. from the beginning, tania and larry had agreed to concentrate on finding the perpetrator, rather than ascertaining his methods. with their limited resources, they could hardly do otherwise. so nadia nelson became their primary focus. tania, who had strong opinions on christianity and did not think it should be classified as a redeemable religion, had little patience with the devout old woman, and so larry had become the lead in their interviews. they took the elevator to the roof and got into a small two-seater with larry at the controls. "so what's up?" asked tania as they took off. 'i didn't think it was time for another picture." "the old lady remembered something. i am surprised you came - you didn't even ask if we were going to see her." "i didn't want to watch doctors and wives." sally finished the sandwich and the strawberry and papaya drink. she got up and stared out the window at the lights of the city. she saw larry and tania glide into the sky in the two-seater and disappear. she stood there, listening to doctors and wives but not watching it. after a while she noticed the reflections in the window of some people behind her and she turned to face them. in the front of the group was a short muscular young woman with close cut blonde hair, wearing a metal vest. she stared at sally with dark green eyes. four people stood behind her - pete street, the head of the suspicious development unit, mike mean, mac the mailman, and the archangel gabriel. "hello," said the young woman to sally, "i'm jeanne d'arc, head of the unspeakable crimes unit. you must be 1H-38y56-6616gt-65398a, the young woman getting the threatening letters." she continued to stare intently at sally. "where are detectives kelly and lyndon?" "they went somewhere. " "they left you alone?" "they left me so i could watch my show. when it's over they will be back to question me - question me some more. they questioned me before," "you told them you would watch the show if they left you alone?' "yes." jeanne d'arc looked at the screen. "but you weren't watching it. you were looking out the window." "i was listening to it - it's the same thing," "no. it is not the same thing.' "it is to me." "look, we know you have been through a lot. we empathize with your trauma but we ask that you observe the rules of common courtesy and truthfulness - that's all. now these people are here to see the detectives. you say they will be back soon?" "maybe before the show is over." "good. then i will leave them here to wait. now sit down and watch the show like you said you would." 'i was listening to it - it's the same thing." "you have some attitude, don't you? is it because you are 100%? well, let me tell you something, i am jeanne d'arc and i'm 200%. so i don't need any of your sasparilla, young lady . do you understand?" sally shrugged. "i guess."

the thirteenth letter, part 1

the twelfth letter, part 1

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sally walked home from work slowly. the street was deserted as usual. when she approached her building she saw a police wagon outside. a woman and a robot wearing the pink and green uniforms of the unspeakable crime unit drones were standing beside it. "1H-38y56-6616gt-65398a? ' the woman asked sally. "that is i," said sally. "investigators kelly and lyndon would like to see you at headquarters." sally nodded. "can i take my sandwich upstairs and leave it?" the woman officer looked at her suspiciously. "i am afraid there is no time to waste. the investigators have a full case load and are very busy. you should be happy they have time for you. you can eat your sandwich in the wagon on the way over." "but i like to eat it while i watch my favorite show." "oh?" said the robot. "what show is that?" "doctors and wives" "hey, that's my favorite too. who is your favorite character?" "the vampire" "mine is the new intern" "yes, i like him too." "i hate to interrupt," said the woman officer. "but we are on a schedule here. now get in the wagon." "but my sandwich - ," sally began. "eat in the wagon. and make sure you eat it now. we don't want it stinking up the wagon." "yeesh." the woman opened the back door of the wagon. sally got in and sat on a bench. "are you going to handcuff me?" "no, just make sure you finish the sandwich before we get to the building." she closed and locked the door. the two officers got in the front and they drove off. samantha watched from a window in the 46th floor of sally's building. mike mean and mac the mailman watched from a doorway. the wagon drove down a ramp into the parking garage of the police building. the woman officer got out of the passenger seat of the cab and went around to the back and opened the door. sally was sitting inside still holding her uneaten sandwich. "i told you to eat that sandwich." "i am not hungry right now." the robot drove the wagon away into the interior of the garage. larry was still annoyed over his encounter with mac the mailman and mike mean. "a great little guy," he repeated. "is that an official category on that level? i felt like - like -" "you did right to back off," said tania. "i'll do some research on it, see where we stand." the uniformed woman from the wagon appeared at tania's desk with sally. sally was still holding her sandwich. "here is your victim," she said. "i have to tell you she has been acting more like a perpetrator." "oh?" tania glanced at both of them. "what's the problem?" tania listened as the problem with the sandwich was explained. larry looked out the window. "we will have to have the sandwich analyzed," she told the officer. "take it down to the lab - put a priority 13 on it." "a priority 13 - what does that mean?" asked sally. larry turned from the window, "it means i'll go get you another sandwich if you are hungry." "i want this sandwich. it's mine." "if it comes in here from outside, it has to be analyzed." said tania. 'that is the way it is - no exceptions." "but it's mine! i made it myself." tania nodded to the officer and she took the sandwich out of sally's limp hand and left. sally flopped down in the chair in front of the desk. a single tear appeared at the corner of her left eye. "i don't like this. i don't even want to be here. i want to watch doctors and wives and eat my sandwich." "larry, why don't you get sally that sandwich you offered. please." "sure. do you want something to drink?" "yes," sally mumbled. "ok." larry turned from the window and left. tania and sally were now alone. tania looked at sally and forced her to make eye contact. "now, sally, i know how traumatic this whole situation must be for you, and up to now you have been nothing but helpful - a real hero. but you have to keep on helping. i am going to forget this little episode with the sandwich - i will have to report it of course but i will code 19 it." "you didn't even ask me what kind of sandwich i wanted. or what kind of drink." "there is just one sandwich and one drink every day. we are on a limited budget here." tania smiled. "we are in constant warfare with the other law enforcement agencies for funds." "i don't care." "well. let's get on with it." 'i don't want to get on with it. i want to watch my show and i want to eat my sandwich." tania made a note on a small pad in front of her. "100%?" she wrote. "sally , that is what we all want. we all want a world where people can watch their shows and eat their sandwiches. but right now that is not possible. there are a billion psychos in all the evil cities of the universe. and we have to do all we can to catch them. and we have to cooperate with the other law enforcement agencies - even though they steal our money so we can only have one sandwich and one drink every day." tania smiled again. sally didn't smile back but was silent. "now," tania continued. "up to now you have been a very lucky young lady. i see that you have no relatives and no friends, so your chances of being oppressed or abused are - or i should say were - far below the norm. but it also makes our job that much more difficult because it is hard to get any leads. that is why we need your help. but with your help we will - we will - catch this character. because that is what we do here - we catch psychos. all right?" "i guess so." at that moment larry reentered the office with a plastic bagged sandwich and a blue and orange can. "cucumber and lemon grass on ten grain. only made three days ago. looks pretty good. and a healthy orange and papaya drink"

the twelfth letter, part 2

the eleventh letter

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mac the mailman was still frightened five days after his encounter with tania kelly and larry lyndon. he eased his weary bones onto the bar stool at chuckie's and looked around through the murk. there were five other customers at a bar that would seat fifty. the television was showing the parliamentary debate on the proposal to raise the human corruption tax. the sound was turned down to a hum and no one was watching it. barbarian the bartender was down at the other end talking to someone mac couldn't recognize in the dim light. "nice place they've got here." mac looked up. a friendly roundfaced fellow, a stranger, had sat down beside him. this was the first stranger who had spoken to him in a while. "yeah." mac stared at his ginger ale "francis rondelay farqhuar." the stranger extended his hand. mac had heard of people "shaking hands" but had never done it or seen it done. he ignored the outstretched hand. the friendly roundfaced fellow did not seem to mind. "and what might your name be", he enquired. "89H-4J75T-3309SP-563298. sir" "and what do your friends call you?" "i don't have any friends." "well then, what do you call yourself, in the silence of your lonely room?" "i don't have a room - i sleep on the radiator at the postal annex." the friendly roundfaced stranger glanced at the empty-looking bag at mac's feet. "hot work, eh?:" "no, the streets are air-conditioned" "what's in the bag, if you don't mind my asking?" mac was visibly agitated. "look, why don't you just arrest me? whatever i did, i did it. i confess. just get it over with and take me away." he started to cry. "my friend, my friend, you seem to be under some strain. what gives you the idea that i am a police person? i'm just a friendly guy." "you sure?" mac pulled himself together, "you got to understand, this police person over on level 15 gave me a pretty good hiding the other day. maybe i'm a little bit jumpy." "a good hiding, eh? i like a person familiar with the good old human usage." the friendly round-faced stranger nodded at mac's bag again. "so, what's in the bag?" mac shrugged. " a book. a couple of books. take a look, if you want." he took a sip of his ginger ale. the friendly round-faced stranger took a quick glance around the bar. he reached into the bag and took out a small book. "sherlock holmes in the lost city of the queen of darkness" he read the cover.' with guest stars jesse james woodrow wilson mata hari orson welles and pope anastasius xvii. hey, this looks pretty good." he flipped it open. "lots of pictures." "that's right - i like books with pictures." "a man who likes pictures and is familiar with the old usage. what else have we got here?" suddenly barbarian the bartender appeared in front of them wiping the bar with a clean rag. "can i get you something, citizen, or are you just talking to my friend here?" "i'll have a cherry coke with just a touch of ice," the friendly round-faced stranger replied cordially. "coming right up." as barbarian the bartender turned to get the cherry coke, the door opened and tania and larry and mike mean entered. mac put his head down into his ginger ale. the place grew so quiet the sound of the parliamentary debate could be clearly heard. walter cronkite was moderating a debate between william gladstone and catherine de medici. gladstone was taking the blue position. "the human corruption tax was passed for the express purpose of raising money for the schools. but with the implementation of the new population freedom initiatives there is actually a surplus in hand - hardly a reason to raise the tax." he nodded to walter cronkite. "all the more reason," catherine responded for the green position. "to use the surplus money to actually fight corruption, whether or not this was the stated intent of the original bill. i think we can all agree that human corruption remains our most pressing problems - at all level and all parallels." "but citizen," walter cronkite asked, "don't you think many people would argue that human contact, not human corruption, is still our most pressing concern?" barbarian the bartender looked at an anonymous customer with a root beer float in front of him. "pretty interesting stuff, huh? but i liked last week's better, the one between che guevara and ann coulter -" larry looked up at the screen. 'turn that garbage off" "yes sir" mac glanced up, he noticed that francis rondelay farquhar had disappeared. he looked around to see if there was a back door. then he looked down into his drink. the friendly roundfaced stranger had shrunk to the size of a spider and was flailing around in the ginger ale. he signaled frantically to mac to drink the ginger ale so he wouldn't drown. mac was a malleable individual and he complied with the request without thinking through the hygienic consequences for himself. "is it really you, little man?" larry was looking down at mac. he turned to tania behind him. "didn' t we see this guy in level 15 a few days ago? how coincidental is this?'" "sir,' mac began, "i'm with the communications services - in a subordinate position to be sure -" "did i ask you anything ?" mac was so nervous he knocked his glass to the floor, where it shattered. francis rondelay farquhar scurried away under the rack of displayed bottles. mike mean shoved tania aside and put his hand on larry's arm. "hey fella, this is parallel 12. we don't do things that way here." "oh? what's this character to you?" "just stop bothering him." larry looked down at mac. "i was just talking to him," he said. "what's the problem? " "i don't like the tone of your voice. and he just looks like a great little guy." 'a great little guy?" larry looked over at tania and at barbarian, who was standing behind the bar within earshot. "what's that supposed to mean?

the twelfth letter, part 1

the tenth letter

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"whoever did this to you, sammy, i swear i'll get them. i'll get them if i have to unravel the universe to do it" mike mean stood in the rain. water streamed off the brim of his hat, glowing red in the light from the police car's flasher. a couple of uniformed cops got out of the car. they moved into the line of the camera, blotting it out. pete street, chief detective of the suspicious development unit, turned off the projector. he was sitting in the projection room with mike mean, his best friend. a couple of bottles of scotch stood on the table beside the projector. otherwise the room was bare. outside the rain was winding down. pete took a swig from one of the bottles. "you got to watch yourself, mike. do what you got to do, but keep the noise down, especially with the cameras running." "they are always running." "this is true." pete thought for a moment. "unspeakable crimes unit, from parallel 17, contacted us on this. they have some interest." "parallel 17!" mike sneered. "those girly-men! what do i care about them?" he took a hit from his almost empty bottle. "what do you care about them?" "actually they are mostly girlies, not girly-men. and it's not what i care, it's what the brass cares. so i say to you again, be careful, mike." "sammy was a great little guy." mike scowled. " i don't care how many parallels or levels i have to go through to get his killer. you know he played his number every morning for thirty-three years - and never won, not once. but he kept playing. what heart. you've got to love a guy like that." "he played the same number for thirty-three years and never won? how many digits was it?" "there you go - that's the kind of question some pointy-head numbers cruncher down at headquarters would ask. but guys like sammy and alexander the great and st george and danny the dragon - they don't ask about numbers or odds because they've got heart." pete laughed. "ok. but not to win in thirty-three years - that's impressive. what was the number, do you know?" "why, do you want to play it?" "go on, mike." pete waved his bottle. "if you get in trouble, i'll do what i can but it may not be much." mike picked up his own bottle and put it in his pocket. he went out the door of the projection room. he went past the elevators and down the stairs. when he had gone down two flights he stopped and went back up. he went up to the roof. the archangel gabriel was standing on the corner of the roof, looking down at the street. "what's the word on the street, mike?" "not much, gabe, what's the word in the skies?" "st stephen, that's the word." mike nodded. he looked down at the street. the rain had stopped but fog was swirling. tania kelly and larry lyndon were getting out of an unmarked car in front of headquarters.

the eleventh letter

the ninth letter

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ferdinand's untimely demise had not been ultimately foreseen by the human resource department even after trixie had given notice. gratefully, george ming the head of human resources had accepted the reprimand from p-77 in time to get home to watch the smash palfrey show. as george let himself into his apartment he noticed samantha waiting outside, still dressed in her work uniform of pink and blue. he was mildly shocked and hoped she would have the good sense not to approach him. "hello george". samantha shouted. "hello george!", she repeated when he seemed not to hear her and dropped his keys. "samantha, this is very improper,' he mumbled weakly. " i believe it violates section 8, rule 3 of the human contact act of 129." "oh pick up your keys george," samantha smiled. 'and stop being such a big baby. i am here about ferdinand' s untimely demise, and an exception is made for death in section 10 of the act." "which rule?" "rule 4." george relaxed a little at this confident assertion by samantha. "well then, let's see what you've got - but you can't come in!" "i would never come in, george, whatever gave you such an idea?" samantha laughed. "what i have here is a petition signed by 46 percent of the people in the department requesting that the suspicious development police investigate ferdinand's untimely demise - that's all." when edwin, who was lurking in the shadows in an alley across the street, saw and heard samantha's laughter he was mad with jealousy. poor george!

the tenth letter

the eighth letter

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edwin's life had been meaningless until he saw samantha. fortunately he had seen her in time to give his life meaning. going to work in the morning had become almost bearable. how, he wondered, had he ever survived before? i love you, i love you, he repeated over and over to himself as he put the cans on the shelves. jared elwood, the store manager, noticed edwin talking to himself. kindly disposed toward edwin, he merely made a mental note of it. later in the day something strange happened. meanwhile samantha continued in her daily routine. not knowing of edwin's existence, naturally she did not think of him. of all the desperate humans in the universe, she had attracted edwin. perhaps it all meant something - but perhaps not.

"notice anything different?" "it looks like he's working up to something." "no, the whole style is different - he is using some kind of program. instead of just writing. i'm surprised he's gone to a program so soon - he's only up to 128." "which i suppose you counted," "yes, there are 128." "i don't care. all i care about is CATCHING him."

the ninth letter