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He shrugged and drove on. He had had too much of this and wantedonly to getaway. He was begi
The gate of the i
He found the key he had hidden--how long ago? it seemed days--anddrove away. He was naked, bloody, bruised, and hurting, and he still had anerection that was automatically working up to yet another--oh, God!--orgasm, but he did not care. He would get into his apartment and the rest of the world, smog, monsters, and all, could go to hell, which they were doing, anyway.
A half-mile down the road, a big black Lincoln shot by him towardthe Igescuestate. It held three men and three women, all of whom were handsome or beautiful and well dressed. Their faces were, however, grim, and heknew that their destination was Igescu's and that they were speeding becausethey werelate for whatever sinister conference they had been scheduled toattend. Or because someone in the house had called them for help. The car hadCalifornia license plates. Perhaps they were from San Francisco.
He smiled feebly. They would be unpleasantly surprised. Meanwhilehe had better get out of here, because he did not know whether or not theyhad noted his license plate.
Before he had gone a mile, the sky had become even darker, growled, thundered, lightninged. A strong wind tore the smog apart, and thenthe rains washed the air and the earth without letup for an hour and a half.
He parked the car in the underground garage and took the elevatorup to hisfloor. No one saw him, although he expected to be observed. He had no excuse for being naked with a hard-on, and it would be just like life, the greatironist, to have him arrested for in decent exposure and God knows what elseafter all he had been through he, the abused i
Just before he fell asleep, a few seconds later, he put out hishand to feel for something. What did be want? Then he realized that it was Mrs. Grasatchow's purse, which contained the skins. Somewhere between the Baron'sbedroom and this bedroom, he had lost the purse.
CHAPTER 20
Childe slept, though often restlessly, for a day, a night, andmost of the next day. He got up to empty bladder and bowels, to eat cereal or asandwich and sometimes wake up at the end of a wet dream.
His dreams were often terrors, but were sometimes quite pleasantcopulations. Sometimes Mrs. Grasatchow or Vivie
When he was awake, he wondered about the dreams, because he knewthat the Freudians insisted that all dreams, no matter how terrifying orhorrible, werewishes.
By the time he was slept out, his pajamas and sheets were a mess, but the effects of the cone were gone. He was very happy to have a flaccidpenis: Heshowered and breakfasted, and then read the latest Los Angeles Times. Life was almost normal now; the papers were being delivered on schedule. Industries were ru
Childe read the front page and some articles. Then he used thephone tocheck on Sybil. She had not come home. A call to San Francisco was answered bySybil's sister, Cherril. She said that their mother had died, andSybil wassupposed to have come for the funeral. She presumably left as soon asshe had packed. She had been unable to get a plane out, and her car wouldn'tstart, soshe had phoned back that she was coming up with a friend who alsowanted to getout of town.
Who was the friend? Cherril did not know. But she was frantic, and she had tried to get hold of Childe. When he had not answered after fivetries, she hadgiven up on him. The state police had reported that Sybil was notinvolved in any of the many accidents between Los Angeles and San Franciscoduring thattime.
Childe told Cherril not to worry, that many people were stillmissing. Sybilwould show up safe and sound. He would not rest until he found her. And so on.
When he hung up the phone, he felt empty. The next day, he was ashollow, and he had to admit that he knew no more than what Cherril had told him. The "friend" he suspected Sybil to have driven off with, Al Porthouse, denied havingseen her for two weeks.
Childe gave up, temporarily, and turned his attention elsewhere. The baron's house had been burned out, although the rains had kept it from beingcompletelydestroyed. There were no bodies in the ruins, in the yard, or in thewoods. Mrs. Grasatchow's purse was not found.
Childe remembered the automobile that had raced by him after hehad driven away from the baron's. Whoever the six had been, they had cleaned upthoroughly.
But what had happened to Dolores?
He drove out to the estate and went over the wall again, thepolice havinglocked the main gate. His poking around uncovered nothing. The policedid not know his story, of course. He knew better than to tell them anythingexcept thathe had visited the baron just once and that briefly. They hadquestioned him andthen had said that they were puzzled by the disappearance of thebaron, secretary, servants, and chauffeur, but so far no information hadcome in. For all they knew, the household had left for parts unknown, the househad burned byaccident, and any day now they might hear from the baron.
Late that afternoon, he returned to his apartment. He wasshrouded in his thoughts, which were concerned with moving to some place where smogwould not be a problem for years to come. It was some time before he realized thatthe phonemust have rung at least a dozen, times. It had started while he was unlocking
the door. The voice was a pleasant baritone. "Mr. Childe? You don't know me. We haven't met, fortunately for
you, although I think we passed each other on the road outside the Baron Igescu's estate several days ago."
Childe did not reply for a moment, then he said, "What do youwant?"
His voice was steady. He had thought it would crack, as if itwere crystallized with the ice encasing him.
"You have been very discreet, Mr. Childe, in not telling thepolice. Or, asfar as we know, anybody. But we want to ensure your silence, Mr. Childe. We could easily do that by methods you well know by now. But it pleasesus to have you know about us and yet be able to do nothing."
Childe shouted, "What did you do with Sybil?" There was a silence. And then the voice, "Sybil? Who's she?" "My wife! My ex-wife, I mean! You know, damn you! What have you