by Brian Crawford

I awoke with a shuddering gasp and lay trembling, my skin clammy with cooling sweat. I knew that I had just had a terrifying nightmare, but I could remember nothing of it. I lay with my eyes closed and tried to piece myself together. I felt terribly strange. It was more than disorientation - I couldn’t imagine where, or even who, I was. I felt a sudden fear that I was disembodied and snapped my eyes open to get my bearings.

It didn’t help. I was looking up at a flat gray ceiling with long smudges and streaks as if many dirty hands had been rubbed over it. My confusion increased. I lay still for a moment and became aware of harsh male voices echoing hollowly and unintelligibly, as if from a great distance. There were frequent heavy rumblings and loud reverberating clangs that I could not identify. More confused than ever, I tried to collect my thoughts.

"Okay, for heaven’s sake, let’s piece it together," I told myself firmly. "Let’s start with the basics. Who am I? Well, that’s easy enough, my name is Par… my God, I really can’t remember. It’s… Pre…Per… damn, what’s happened to me? This is absurd, I can’t even remember my own name." A sound, the echo of a name, kept rolling around in my head, just out of reach. I strained again to force the word out. "Par… Pars… no that’s not right. Well, to hell with my name for right now. I’ll go on. I’m married. I live in a house in… my God, I can’t remember anything at all. Do I have amnesia? Have I been in some kind of an accident?"

I turned over in exasperation and a rough gray blanket slid off me to the floor. I looked down at my body and felt a fist of shock tighten around my heart. My body was long and muscular, dressed in a blue shirt and jeans and stretched out on a worn and patched sheet. I didn’t seem to be injured that I could see - what then had caused that nasty shock? I stared down at myself for a long minute. It wasn’t my body. It didn’t look familiar at all. Now that I tried to remember, I couldn’t recall what my body looked like, but I knew it wasn’t like this. I had expected to be shorter, older, pudgier. But since I couldn’t really remember what my body looked like, how could this one look so wrong? This was becoming far too much. What the hell was going on here?

Angry with myself for not being able to pull myself together, I looked around at my surroundings and realized with a shock that I was unquestionably in some sort of cell. Three of the walls were metal sheets riveted to sturdy angle irons, covered with a thick coat of greasy gray paint. A filthy sink and a stand-up commode were in a corner. The fourth wall was made of bars. A dim bulb glowed through its cobwebbed cage outside the cell. Six feet beyond the bars was a blank cinder block wall. The voices and metallic crashings thundered down the corridor beyond the bars.

My mind groped for a meaning to all this. I finally decided that I must have gotten wretchedly drunk and been locked up. Now I couldn’t remember anything at all - my name, my life, how I had gotten here. Surely I should remember something, anything. But my mind was a blank - nothing seemed even slightly familiar. There must be some explanation, someone who could clear it all up for me.

I tried to swing my feet to the floor and sit up, but I clumsily fell back on my elbows. My body felt numb and strange - it moved awkwardly and I had to concentrate on every motion to make it move as I wished. It was like learning to sit up all over again. I finally succeeded, then lurched to my feet and staggered to the bars. I clutched the cool metal against my cheeks. I wanted to call out, but had a sudden fear that I had lost the power of speech. My tongue felt thick and dry and unfamiliar in my mouth. I struggled to cry out, but at first there was only an inarticulate gurgle. Desperate now, I tried again, and this time succeeded in a hoarse whisper.

"Hey!" I called, then again, louder, "Hey - somebody. Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me? Help me."

A gruff voice sounded from quite close, startling me. "Shaddup, Carson. Don’t start begging now, you scum. It’s too late for that."

The voice was so near and so vitriolic with undisguised hatred that I recoiled back from the bars.

"What? What do you… who are you?"

"I told you to shut up, Carson. I don’t want to hear any more of your crap. I’m sick to death of you, do you understand. If it’s your breakfast you want, don’t worry. They’ll be bringing it soon. They’ll give you time to eat it, if you can," the voice added with an evil chuckle.

I clapped my hands to my head. What the devil was happening? Where was I? I spun away from the bars and nearly fell when I stepped on something small and hard that rolled under my foot. I looked down and found a small piece of concrete chipped from the floor. Then I noticed that the floor was covered with odd markings. The fragment of masonry had apparently been used to scratch a large five-pointed star inside a pentagon, surrounded by many other symbols I did not recognize. I stared in surprise.

"Hey, Carson, here’s your special breakfast."

I wheeled around to the door. A thin sallow-faced man in some kind of uniform stood there. He looked at me and the corner of his mouth curled as if he had tasted something loathsome. As if in confirmation, he turned and spat before speaking.

"I swear, Carson, only a weirdo like you would order sauerkraut when you could have had anything you wanted for breakfast. Sauerkraut - Christ!"

He slid the tray onto a small shelf beneath an opening in the bars. Recovering from my shock, I rushed to the bars. He stepped back quickly, eyeing me warily.

"You’ve got to help me!" I begged. "I don’t know who you are or who I am. I can’t remember anything. I must have amnesia or something. Please, you’ve got to get me out of here!"

He looked at me startled for an instant, then one corner of his mouth tensed back in a cynical half-smile.

"It won’t work, Carson. It’s been tried before. They’ve all been tried before, and none of ‘em work. You wouldn’t believe some of the goofy things some of ‘em try to pull at the end when it finally sinks in that it’s really going to happen. Why, I remember old Jack Fl…."

"What are you talking about, man? Didn’t you hear me? I tell you I can’t remember anything. I don’t know why I’m here - for goodness’ sake, I don’t even know where this place is!"

"Save your breath, Carson. Governor Madison refused your lawyer’s application for pardon yesterday. Nobody can help you now. Even if I wanted to I couldn’t get you out of here and, God help me, I wouldn’t lift a finger for you even if I could. They’re going to pull the switch on you today, boy, and there won’t be a wet eye in the state. Like most people, I figure you’re still getting off easy."

My head swam as I tried to piece together what I was hearing.

"Switch? What do you mean? What switch?" A horrifying realization came over me. "You don’t… you can’t mean…." But I saw the hard glint in his eye that confirmed my guess. "But it’s not possible. I never did anything, I couldn’t - I’m not like that, I’m sure of it. Oh, Lord, if I could only remember anything at all."

"I’ll say this for you, Carson. You do put on an act. If I didn’t know what you are I’d almost believe you. You’ve got quite a talent for acting, did you know that? But I guess you do - you used it to trap all those poor gullible kids. Jesus, when I think of them, I wonder why we even feed an animal like you. I’ll be glad when you’re gone, Carson. This world will be a cleaner place this afternoon when they take you out of that chair."

"Stop it, for God’s sake, stop. Leave me alone. I didn’t do anything, I’m sure I didn’t. There’s been some terrible mistake. If I could only remember, I’m sure I could explain everything. If I could just remember my name…."

The guard walked away shaking his head. I pressed my forehead against the bars so hard that lights flashed in my eyes. It was no use - I could remember nothing at all. How strange not to know my own name. I must have heard it a million times in my life. How could I have forgotten it? I was sure I would know my name if I heard it. That guard called me Carson, but that didn’t seem right - it wasn’t familiar at all. Carson… Carson… Carsing… Carpenter… Carsington. No use. It just didn’t sound right. It needed more syllables, and it shouldn’t start with a C - shouldn’t it be a P? Damn, I was getting nowhere. Wouldn’t this nightmare ever end?

Could I really be in a prison? And was that guard saying I might be executed? That couldn’t be right, I must have something muddled up. It was all just insane, too confusing. I just wanted to go back to sleep, relax, and wake up in my own bed in my own little white house in… white house! That’s right, it was white - white frame, I was sure of it. I couldn’t actually see it, but with my eyes closed I could run my hand along the edge of one of the shiplap planks. Yes, shiplap, that’s right! But as to what the house looked like or where it was, nothing. I was exhausted from straining to remember. I pressed my hands to my face and moaned.

"Knock off the act, Carson, Smiley’s gone."

It was the first voice again. The man was apparently in a cell next to mine. I rushed back to the bars.

"Who are you?" I called. "Where are we?"

"Come off it, Carson, you’re not foolin’ anybody. You know, I expected better of you. I wondered what you were going to try at the end. Right up to last night, you were pretty cocky, but I guess it’s finally hit home, eh? All your singing and chanting last night didn’t help you, did it? Did you think your black magic was going to open these doors? Hah! Now you’re finally getting it through that oh-so-smart skull of yours that your stupid magic ain’t gonna get you off the hook. You ain’t talking to a bunch of mixed-up kids this time. Nobody here listens to your mumbo-jumbo.

"Oh, no, Carson - you’re gonna get zapped at noon today, and there ain’t nothing you can do to stop it. So you might as well save your breath and eat your breakfast. I swear, only a kook like you would order something like sauerkraut for your last breakfast. You really are a nut, do you know that, Carson?"

"Stop it, please stop. Listen, whoever you are, you’ve got to help me. I swear I can’t remember anything before the minute I woke up just now. I don’t know who I am, or what I’m supposed to have done, or why I’m here. None of this makes any sense. This whole place is insane. There’s been a mistake, I tell you. I know I didn’t hurt anybody. My name’s not even Carson. I’ve got to get out of here."

"Oh, you’re gettin’ out all right. At twelve o’clock today they’re letting you out. Me, I gotta stay here the rest of my miserable life and listen to goofballs like you tryin’ to save their scrawny necks. You make me sick, Carson, you know that? You had plenty of money, you went to college, you were smart - you could’ve made it big on either side of the law. But no, you gotta start playin’ around with old books and magic stuff and praying to the devil and all. Then you get a bunch of dumb kids into it and look what happens - seven of ‘em dead and you’ll be dead yourself in a few hours. What a stupid waste. You’re a real bastard, y’know, Carson. If I could get through this wall, I swear I’d save the state a whopping power bill."

I couldn’t believe it. All this venomous hatred from the only two people I’d met. I started to doubt myself. What kind of man was I? Could I possibly be as evil as they said? But no, I couldn’t believe it. There must be a mistake - or they were both mad.

"No, wait, wait a minute," I stammered. "You’re wrong, I tell you. I never did any of that. You’re talking about someone else. I couldn’t have…."

"Well the people in your jury were pretty damn sure you did do it, Carson. All those character witnesses, and the stuff they found in your house, well, that about sealed it up. They got you cold, and you know it. There’s not one guy in the whole country who read about you who doubts for a minute that you killed those kids. No, you’ve had it, freak, and let me tell you, I’m glad to see it happen.

"You know, it’s funny about that. Most Joes that end up on the Row, the guys feel sorry for ‘em - us lifers, I mean. Everybody tries to make it as easy on ‘em as we can. We know it’s no joke waitin’ to take your ride in the chair. We usually figure the guy had his reasons, or he got drunk or mad or somethin’ and made a bad mistake. Maybe just hotheaded, y’know - not much a guy can do about that.

"Well the guys try to be friendly, do ‘em favors and such. It’s little enough, of course, but we just want to let the poor son of a bitch know that we understand, let him feel like he’s got some friends at the end at least. But Carson, honest to God, I never saw a man make himself so hated so fast. You been an uppity bastard since you got here, treating us like scum, and putting on airs like you was some priest or something. Hell, I got mad at my old lady and brained her with a chair one night when I was drunk, but you - you acted like you really enjoyed doin’ what you did to those poor dumb kids. Maybe we’re just dumb cons in here, but what you did makes us sick. Some of us are fathers, you know, and we saw those pictures in the papers. In a way, you’re lucky you’re going to the chair. If you were in the blocks, you wouldn’t have lasted long, and it wouldn’t have been as quick as the chair.

"So I got some last words for you, Carson, from all of us. You’re really a shit, Carson, and we wanted to make sure you know when you sit down in that chair that there ain’t a con on the Row who ain’t gonna smile when they pull that switch."

"No!" I screamed. "No, it’s not true, leave me alone. I can’t remember, I tell you. They can’t kill me for something I can’t even remember doing, can they? I know I didn’t do what you say I did - I’m a father too… I think. Oh God, won’t this nightmare ever end? There must be some way out of here."

I slumped to the floor and sat there moaning and rocking, trying to squeeze something from my memory. If I could only remember my name, surely everything else would come back; I could explain everything. I couldn’t be this Carson they hated so much. That wasn’t my name, I was sure of it. My name was longer, like… Parrington? Parri… Penni… damn! I just couldn’t grasp it. My mind raced and wrestled desperately for one word.

With a start I became aware of my position. I was sitting cross-legged, my feet turned up on my thighs, in the center of the strange symbol on the floor. For an instant I was surprised that I could get into such an awkward position so easily, but then it seemed somehow familiar to my body, as if I had sat like that countless times in the past. A fleeting scene of candles, glistening naked bodies, strange dark instruments, flashed behind my eyes. I felt a rush of vertigo. The glimpse had come from far below my mind, as if my very nerves and muscles remembered things my mind refused to recall. What was my mind hiding from me? Could I really have done the things they said I had? But no, it wasn’t possible.

There was a click and a rumbling sound and I looked up to see the door rolling back. A priest stood outside, glaring silently down at me. He stepped cautiously into the cell and the door rattled back and clanged shut behind him. A wave of relief rolled over me. I leaped up.

"Am I glad to see you, Father! You’ve got to help me!"

His eyebrows went up in surprise, but he continued to stare at me with an odd tightness to his lips as if he were trying to control his expression.

"I’m surprised you’re glad to see me, Carson. Last time you abused me and my good office and fairly drove me from your cell. This time I am determined to keep my dignity and my temper and to do my duty for you, in spite of any feelings I may have about you." But then his eyes went to the floor and an angry tone came into his voice. "But not until I have completely erased these unholy characters. I will not perform the Lord’s rites within Satan’s pentagram." He vigorously scuffed at the scratches until they were completely eradicated. I stared at him dumbfounded.

"Are you mad?" I shouted. "I beg you for help and you concern yourself with meaningless scratches on the floor? What kind of…."

He turned angrily to me. "Do you seriously think I would discuss the future of your immortal soul with these diabolical symbols under my very feet? These things are an affront to decency and an insult to God himself."

"But… but I didn’t know what they were. What have they to do with me… do you think I made them? I’ve never seen…" A blackness passed through my mind and I saw the same pentagram marked out with tall candles. In their flickering light a jeweled knife flashed in a long arc. "Oh, God, I don’t know what’s real any more. I don’t think I made those marks."

"Please, Carson, don’t trifle with me. We both know only you could have, or would have, made those marks. The same symbols were found on the floor of your house."

"No, no, you don’t understand. None of you understand. Listen to me, Father. I’ve forgotten everything that ever happened to me. I can’t remember anything that happened before I woke up this morning. Nothing at all."

His look was skeptical, wary. "What’s your game now, Carson?"

"I swear to God, I can’t remember anything. Please, someone has to believe me. My mind’s a total blank."

His eyebrows lifted again. "You must be desperate, to swear in God’s name instead of that which you worship."

"I tell you, I can’t remember. I can’t remember my name, my home, my family, anything. I certainly don’t know anything about these terrible things everyone is accusing me of. There must be something you can do, someone who can help me."

He peered intently into my eyes. After a while he raised his crucifix from his chest and leaned close, holding it out to me.

"Do you swear on this cross and on the God who created us all that what you have just said is true? Beware, Carson, your immortal soul is in dire peril. I know you believe in the reality of such things. Touch the crucifix and swear in God’s name."

I laid my hand on the little silver cross. "Yes, yes, I swear to God that I remember nothing before this morning."

He sat back and stared thoughtfully at me for a long minute, his eyes searching my face as he rubbed the crucifix. Finally he laid the cross back in its place. "I don’t know why I should, but somehow I believe you. It seems that God in his infinite mercy has given you a few hours of relief from your terrible memories."

"You’ve got to help me, Father. What can I do? You have to save me."

"My son, there is nothing anyone can do to save your body. It is doomed to pay the price for the crimes you have committed. But there is still time to save your soul. You must honestly repent those sins."

"But I don’t even know what it is you all think I’ve done. I can’t believe it’s true. I can’t repent what I haven’t done. I have to know what I’m accused of."

"All right. I’ll assume for the moment that you’re telling the truth and have somehow totally blocked out your past. So here’s the ugly story. Your name is Jacob Carson. You’re twenty-nine and your family is quite wealthy. While in college - quite a good one, incidentally - you became interested in satanic worship, black magic. You abandoned college, home, and family to pursue your unholy studies.

"Then last year you somehow lured several young people in their early teens into your foul practice and made yourself a cult leader. You dominated them and perverted their less experienced minds. They were helpless before you, and became little more than your playthings.

"It all ended four months ago when you performed an obscene rite kept hidden for centuries. After a series of other filthy and unholy ceremonies, you cruelly butchered your seven converts, just children really, and horribly mutilated their bodies. Of that which followed I will not speak, save to say that several parts of each body were never found, and I daresay never will be. As you should have foreseen, the families of some of your poor victims exerted every effort to locate their children and one was finally traced to you. Your house was searched, and more than enough evidence was found to convict you on seven counts of first degree murder.

"You refused to enter a plea, wouldn’t cooperate with your court-appointed attorney, and attempted no defense. You were arrogant and condescending in court and insisted you were sane. A board of psychiatrists examined you and agreed, though they added that you were dangerously antisocial. You were quickly convicted and sentenced to death by electrocution. You showed no emotion at the verdict or sentencing, stating only that your "Master" would not allow you to be killed.

"You were transferred here to the penitentiary, and since then you have been aloof and supercilious. I have tried to talk with you several times, but you ridiculed me and God as well. You continued to insist that you would never be executed, even after your attorney’s last minute appeal to the governor was denied yesterday. You are scheduled to die at noon today - in less than half an hour. Last night you drew those symbols on the floor of your cell and, according to reports, you chanted incantations long into the night. If you were asking your "Master" to save you, Carson, he has betrayed you, as he does all those who worship him."

I sat stunned on the bed, holding myself tight with both arms, and rocking back and forth. Could all this be true? Could I be the man he said I was? Somewhere deep within me I was sure I was not. Some horrible mistake had been made, but how to convince this priest of that? If I could only remember my right name! As I strained to recall some image of my past, the knife flashed again in a vicious downward arc. I gasped, pushing the image away.

"No!" I screamed, startling both of us. "None of that makes sense. It just couldn’t be true. Can it be possible that I could have done all those horrible things and not remember any of it? These are terrible, terrible things you accuse me of, I can’t believe I would ever do such things. I’m a father myself, I have a daughter…" I stopped suddenly. I had no idea where that had come from, but I was sure it was true.

"Come off it, Carson. You never had children. You never married."

"No, that’s not true. I am married, and I have a daughter. I know it. I’m not this Carson, I tell you."

He shook his head sadly. "I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Carson. Maybe you’re playing a final game with me, one last cruel prank before you die."

"No, I tell you I remember nothing of what you have told me."

"Perhaps the beings you worshipped in this cell last night did come to your aid. They are real, I know that. Most people think you’re merely deranged, but I know better. The powers you court are real and more ancient then man himself. Perhaps more than one being can answer a prayer. Maybe they have granted you forgetfulness to ease your final pain."

"Ease my pain," I fairly cried. "Can’t you see? Can you imagine how I feel? I’m about to die for a crime I can’t even remember. Can I be such a monster as you describe and now feel nothing but sick abhorrence at the very thought of the crime? It can’t be true. I know I’m innocent, but no one will listen to me. Ease my pain? This is the worst hell I can imagine."

"God moves in mysterious ways. He has made us with a mind that can only take so much horror and guilt before it balks and refuses to remember any more. Many people with terrible experiences or black deeds on their soul are spared the agony of remembering through God’s mercy. Be thankful that He is helping you in your hour of need, in spite of the evil you have done. Truly he is a merciful and forgiving God."

I broke into tears, sobs tearing through my chest. "Help me, Father. Please help me. I don’t want to die. What can I do?"

"Accept the Lord as your savior and repent of your sins and you can even now be saved."

I snapped my head up to meet his eyes. "Sins? But I’ve done nothing, I tell you - how can I repent of something I haven’t done? They’re about to kill me and you spout your platitudes at me. You don’t believe me, I know, but I swear it’s the truth. I’m not Jacob Carson. I never did those awful things."

Suddenly he held out his crucifix to me again. "Would you swear again, Carson? Swear by all that you hold holy that you did not do the things you’re accused of? Look deep into your soul, Jacob Carson, for truly it balances on the edge of eternity."

I seized the crucifix eagerly and pressed it against my closed eyes. "I swear to God on my eternal soul that I did not…."

From somewhere deep beneath my mind a face floated up from the darkness - a young girl’s face. A strange symbol was scribed in red on her forehead. Her eyes opened wide in fear as a glowing hot instrument was brought close to her, revealing her gleaming nude body. My hand suddenly twitched as it remembered the worn wooden handle of that horrible tool. I screamed and the crucifix flew from my shaking hand.

"Oh, God," I moaned. "I don’t know what’s true any more. I can’t remember anything at all, and yet sometimes it seems that my body remembers something that my mind cannot. Sometimes I seem to see… no, no, it can’t be. I can’t have done those things!"

"My son, the time is here. Will you not repent your sins?"

"I must have more time, I tell you! I don’t know what I’ve done, I don’t know who I am. I’ve got to think, to try to remember. They’ll give me more time, won’t they? They must - I have to know. Oh, if I only had time to think."

Four guards appeared in the corridor. They stopped at my door and looked at me without speaking. I shrank back against the wall. "No! Wait! Give me time to think. Give me just a few minutes to think. This is all wrong, I tell you."

There was a click and the door rumbled open. The guards came over to where I cowered on the bed, their faces carefully expressionless. I clutched at the priest’s arm. "Please, tell them. Tell them I’m not Carson. You have to help me!" He pulled away from me and stood aside for the guards.

"Please, not yet," I cried. "Let me think, let me think!"

They pulled me away from the wall and shouldered me into the corridor. I had a quick glimpse of my food tray on the shelf. A big pile of sauerkraut steamed on the tin plate. No one spoke. The guards formed a square around me and simply began walking. I had to walk in their midst to keep from falling. The man in the next cell called out as we passed.

"Hey, Carson, shut up and act like a man for once. All your damn sniveling - huh, ain’t so proud and sure of yourself now, are you, magic man. Well, bon voyagy, Carson."

I looked wildly in all directions. The walls seemed to flow swiftly past as we walked. Everything was odd, disjointed, as in a dream. The guards paced stolidly along, the priest mumbling behind us. As I stumbled along, I felt lost and insubstantial. This couldn’t be happening to me. Any minute now I’m going to wake up and turn to Sarah and tell her about my absurd nightmare. Sarah! That’s right, my wife’s name is Sarah. It’s coming back; my memory is coming back! And the priest said Carson’s not married - that proves I’m not him. But I have to remember more - my own name, my address - if only I had a few minutes to think!"

A chorus of jeers came from the cells we passed.

"Hey, magician, now’s the time for a good trick."

"Yeah, better pull a rabbit out of your hat."

"Or better yet, a pardon. You could conjure up Governor Madison to sign it for you."

"Hey Carson, you didn’t eat your sauerkr…."

A door slammed shut behind us, shutting out all sound. We walked down a long echoing hallway, turned a corner, stopped. The guards in front stood aside, and there was the chair before me. I tried to turn away but my knees buckled. The guards behind caught me under the arms and shoved me into the seat. All four of them were busy then, tightening the straps and a metal band around my head. The priest droned on at the doorway.

"Please, no, please, I didn’t do anything. You’ve got to give me more time. I’ve got to think. Just give me a few minutes, I’m sure I could remember who I really am. It’s just starting to come back. Listen to me, damn it, you’ve got to listen. I didn’t do it… I’m not even Carson. Do you understand, I’m not Carson. Don’t you see? You’re not killing Carson at all, you’re letting him get away!"

The door closed and I was alone. I stared at the knob of the door before my face. A trick, one of the cons had said. That’s what it was. Carson had pulled a trick on them, on me, on all of us. That’s why the sauerkraut for breakfast. He never intended to eat it - it was a last little joke on me. But then this was no dream. My mind raced for a word, one word that might save my life - my own name. Then, like a rising sun, it floated up into sight.

"Parkington!" I cried, tears of relief running down my face. "That’s it! Not Carson, Parkin…."

The doorknob exploded and became Sarah’s dear face, our white frame house, my daughter’s face, an orange flash a darkening glow a spark a….

The chubby little man with the old-fashioned bowler hat strolled briskly past a row of shops, humming quietly to himself. He paused at a German restaurant and glanced thoughtfully at the menu taped in the window.

"Sauerkraut for breakfast. Hah! Smiley couldn’t believe it when I ordered it last night. What a perfect touch. I wonder if the poor sod ate it? The papers didn’t say." Chuckling, he studied his reflection in the window, turning sideways to see his profile.

"Not too bad, I suppose. It’s not that old. With a little exercise I can work off that paunch. Yes, sir, it’ll do for a while. I’ll have to dump the wife, but the daughter is positively delicious. I can definitely use her."

He smiled contentedly to himself and walked on, then turned in at a curio shop displaying an array of ornamental weapons in the window. The clerk looked up and smiled.

"Well, this is a surprise, Mr. Parkington. We don’t see you in here often. Didn’t know you went in for our sort of thing."

"Oh, yes, I’ve recently developed quite a new hobby. You may be seeing more of me in the future, my friend. Now, I’d like to look at that very nice Mayan sacrificial knife in your window, please."