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The cloth could have been a turban, because the last time Childehad seen Jeremiah he was sporting a turban with a spangled hexagram. But thecloth was a bandage with a three-pointed scarlet badge, almost a triskelion. TheMephistophelean moustaches and beard were gone, and he was wearing agrease-smeared T-shirt with the motto: NOLI ME TANGERE SIN AMOR. Hispants werewhite duck, and brown sandals were on his feet.
"Herald Childe!" he called, smiling, and then his face twistedmomentarilyas if the smile had hurt.
Childe held out his hand. Jeremiah said, "You touch me with love?" "I'm very fond of you, Ham," Childe said, "although I can't
really say why.
Do we have to go through that at this time?" "Any time and all time," Jeremiah said. "Especially this time." "OK. It's love then," and Childe shook his hand. "What in hell
happened? What're you doing down here? Listen, did you know I tried to phone you a little while ago and I was thinking about driving up to see you. Then..."
Jeremiah held up his hand and laughed and said, "One thing at atime! I'm out of my Sunset pad because my wives insisted we get out of town. Itold them we ought to wait a day or so until the roads were cleared. By then, the smog'dbe gone, anyway, or on its way out. But they wouldn't listen. They cried and carried on something awful, unreeled my entrails and tromped on them. One goodthing about tears; they wash out the smog, keep the acids from eatingup yourcorneas. But they're also acid on the nerves, so I said, finally, OK, I love youboth, so we'll take off. But if we get screwed up or anything badhappens, don'tblame me. Stick it up your own lovely asses. So they smiled and wipedaway thetears and packed up and we took off down Doheny. Sheila had a littlehand-operated prayer wheel spi
"I was half in the next lane, and the other cars weren't going tostop, soSheila jumped out and shoved the man in the path of one and pulled meinto the car. That Sheila has a temper, you got to forgive her. The man washit; hebounced off one car and into ours. So Sheila drove the car then while Lupe wastrying to heave the man out. He was lying on the back seat with hislegsdragging on the street. I stopped her and told Sheila to take us tothe hospital.
"So she did, though reluctantly, I mean reluctant to take theman, too, andwe got here, and my head finally got bandaged, and Sheila and Lupeare helpingthe nurses up on the second floor. I'll help as soon as I get tofeelingbetter."
"What happened to the man?" Childe said.
"He's on a mattress on the floor of the second level. He's unconscious, breathing a few bubbles of blood, poor unhappy soul, but Sheila'staking care ofhim, too. She feels bad about shoving him; she's got a hasty temperbut underneath it all she truly loves."
"I was going to offer to help," Childe said, "but I can't see standing around for hours. Besides..."
Jeremiah asked him what the besides meant. Childe told him about Colben and the film. Jeremiah was shocked. He said that he had heard a little about it over the radio. He had not received a paper for two days, so he had nochance to read anything about it. So Childe wanted somebody with, a big library onvampires andon other things that bump in the unlit halls of the mind?
Well, he knew just the man. And he lived not more than six blocksaway, justsouth of Wilshire. If anybody would have the research material, itwould be Woolston Heepish.
"Isn't he likely to be trying to get out of town?"
"Woolie? By Dracula's moustache, no! Nothing, except maybe anatomic attack threat, would get him to desert his collection. Don't worry; he'll behome. There is one problem. He doesn't like unexpected visitors, you got tophone himahead of time and ask if you can come, even his best friends--exceptmaybe for
D. Nimming Rodder--are no exceptions. Everybody phones and askspermission, andif he isn't expecting you, he usually won't answer the doorbell. Buthe knows myvoice; I'll holler through the door at him." "Rodder? Where have...? Oh, yes! The book and TV writer! Vampires, werewolves, a lovely young girl trapped in a hideous old mansion highon a hill, that sort of thing. He produced and wrote the Shadow Land series, right?"
"Please, Herald, don't say anything at all about him if you can'tsaysomething good. Woolie worships D. Nimming Rodder. He won't hit youif you sayanything disparaging about him, but you sure as Shiva won't get anycooperationand you'll find yourself frozen out."
Childe shifted from one foot to another and coughed.
The cough was only partly from the burning air. It indicated thathe was having a struggle with his conscience. He wanted to stay here andhelp--part ofhim did--but the other part, the more powerful, wanted to get out andaway andon the trail. Actually, he couldn't be much use here, not for sometime, anyway. And he had a feeling, only a feeling but one which had ended insomethingobjectively profitable in the past, that something down there in thedark deepswas nibbling at his hook.
He put his hand on Jeremiah's bony shoulder and said, "I'll tryto phonehim, but if..."
"No use, Herald. He has an answering service, and it's not likelythat'll be working now."
"Give me a note of introduction, so I can get my foot in the door."
Jeremiah smiled and said, "I'll do better than that. I'll walkwith you toWoolie's. I'm just in the way here, and I'd like to get away from thesight ofso much suffering."
"I don't know," Childe said. "You could have a concussion. Maybeyou..."
Jeremiah shrugged and said, "I'm going with you. Just a minutewhile I find the women and tell them where I'm going."
Childe, waiting for him, and having nothing to do but watch andlisten, understood why Jeremiah wanted to get away. The blood and the groansand weepingwere bad enough, but the many chopping coughs and loud, longpumping-up-snot-or-blood coughs irritated, perhaps even angered him, althoughthe anger was rammed far down. He did not know why coughs set him onedge somuch, but he knew that Sybil's nicotine cough and burbling lungs, occurring atany time of day or night and especially distressing when he waseating or makinglove, had caused their split as much as anything. Or had made himbelieve so.
Jeremiah seemed to skate through the crowd. He took Childe's handand led him out the front door. It was three minutes after 12:00. The sun was a distorted yellow-greenish lobe. A man about a hundred feet east ofthem was a wavering shadowy figure. There seemed to be thick and thin bands ofsmog slidingpast each other and thus darkening and lightening, squeezing andelongatingobjects and people. This must have been an illusion or some otherphenomenon, because the smog was not moving. There was not a rumor of a breeze. The heat seemed to filter down through the green-grayishness, to slide downthe filaments of smog like acrobats with fevers and sprawl outwards and wrapthemselves around people.