I Will Fear No Evil

"Yes, Miss."

He conducted her to her car; both teams were lined up by it, they saluted in unison. She smiled at them. "Good morning, friends. I'm glad to see you all looking so well. It's been a long time."

Dabrowski answered for them, "It has indeed, Miss Smith—and we are glad to see you looking so well."

"Thank you." Her eyes traveled across them. "There is one thing no one has told me... about the tragedy that started this strange sequence of events. Which team was driving the night Mrs. Branca was killed?"

For a long moment no one spoke. Then O'Neil answered, "Finchley and Shorty had the duty that night, Miss Smith."

"Then I must thank them—for Mrs. Branca and for myself. Although I know that Dabrowski and Fred would have acted as bravely, as promptly." She looked at Finchley, then at Shorty, her face unsmiling but serene.

"Which one of you avenged Eunice? Or was it both of you?"

Finchley answered. "Shorty got him, Mrs.—Miss Smith. Bare hands, one chop. Broke his neck."

She turned to Shorty—six feet six of smooth-black soul, two hundred ninety pounds of sudden death—and a preacher in his time off. She looked up at him and said gently, "Shorty, from the bottom of my heart—for Eunice Branca—I thank you." (I do thank him, Boss! This is news to me. I was dead before that lift opened.) "If she were here, she would thank you—not just for herself but for other girls that killer will never kill. I'm glad you killed him in the act. If he had gone to trial, he might be out by now. Doing it again."

Shorty had said nothing up to then. "Miss—Finch got ‘im, too. Zapped him. Couldn't rightly say which one got him first."

"Nor does it matter. Any of you four would have protected Mrs. Branca with your life. She knew it—and knows it, wherever she is. I know it, and Chief O'Neil knows it." Joan felt tears start, let them flow. "I—all of us!—just wish to Heaven she had waited indoors until you two arrived. I know that each of you would rather see me dead than her. I ask you to do me the honor of believing that I feel the same way. Shorty, will you say a prayer for her tonight? For me? I don't know much about praying.". (Damn it, Boss, you've got me crying.) (Then say a Money Hum. For Shorty. He's still blaming himself for the unavoidable.)

"I will, Miss. I have every night. Although—Mrs. Branca—doesn't need it. She went straight to Heaven." (So I did, Boss. Though not the way Shorty thinks.) (And we shan't tell him. Have I said enough?) (I think so.)

Joan said, "Thank you, Shorty. For me, not for Eunice. As you say, Eunice doesn't really need prayers." She turned to O'Neil. "Chief, I want to go to Gimbel's Compound."

"Certainly, Miss. Uh, Finchley, man the car. Both Shotguns." O'Neil helped her in, locked her in; she locked herself in. The armor door lifted and the big car rolled out into the street. (Joan, what in the world are you going to buy at Gimbel's?) (A gag. For you. I'll change that order in a moment. Eunice, where did you buy clothes? You were the most smartly dressed gal in town—even when you were the nakedest.)

(Pooh, I was never naked; Joe's designs made all the difference. Joan, where I shopped you should never shop.)

(Can't see why not.) (Joha

(Wups! Fred can read.) (So? Oh! Well, Fred can guard me later.) She thumbed the order switch.

"Finchley."

"Yes, Miss?"

"I got so preoccupied that I forgot one other stop. Please drop Shorty and me at the unloading zone where State passes over Main."

"State and Main, Miss."

"Please have Shorty hang the radio link on his belt; there's no parking around there. Or was not the last time I was downtown. How long has that been? Over two years."

"Two years and seven months, Miss. Sure you don't want both Shotguns with you?"

"No, they can take turns staying with the car. If you have to get out, I want you covered."

"Oh, I'll be all right, Miss."

"Don't argue with me. You wouldn't have argued when I was old Joha

"Oh, sure, Miss—I read numbers real good. Letters, too—just words bother me."

"Let's go then. Shorty, how do you manage in your real profession? Not being able to read the Bible, I mean."

"No trouble, I use talking books and as for the Book, I got every precious word memorized."

"A remarkable memory. I wish I could say the same."

"Just takes patience. I had the Book down pat while I was still in prison." He added thoughtfully, "Sometimes I think I ought to learn to read...but I can't seem to find time." (The poor dear probably never had a teacher who could teach, Boss.) (Never tamper with a successful organization, Eunice; he's found his niche.)

"This must be it, Miss. ‘One, three, oh, seven.'"

"Thank you, Shorty." She was not asked for her I.D. at the building entrance, nor did she offer it, for she had none, either as Joha

(Boss, he can't handle so many people that way; he has to use his judgment.) (Look who's talking! If that apartment house you used to live in had had fight security, you would never have been mugged. If we can't stop violence outdoors, we must try to keep it from coming indoors.) (I won't argue, Boss darling—I'm excited!) (Me too; this veil is a help.)

On the twelfth floor they went to the suite occupied by the Joha

"Wait here, Shorty; there's video over there."

She went to the barrier desk separating the waiting room from the outer clerical office, avoided the sign "Applications" and got the reluctant attention of the only male back of the barrier, motioned him to her. "What is it, Ma'am? If it's an application, go to the far end, present your I.D. and fill out the questio

"I want to see the Director. Dr. Olsen."

"Dr. Olsen never sees anyone without an appointment. Give me your name and state your business and possibly his secretary will see you."

She leaned closer, spoke softly. "I must see him. Tell him that my husband has found out."

The office manager looked startled. "Your name?"