some of the key issues of our time. The sponsor would be pleased.

Such were not my thoughts as I choked and gasped and staggered out the door opposite the control room, through

which I'd seen Eric pull the body of Arturo. In the hallway I tried breathing again for the first time in fifteen minutes,

but my eyes, nose and throat still felt as if they were supporting carefully tended bonfires. Eric was crouched over

Arturo, but when I knelt beside him to examine the wound, I saw that Arturo was dead.

'To the roof,' Eric said quietly, standing. His dark eyes were streaming tears and seemed not to see me. I hesitated,

glanced at a die and saw I couldn't follow him but was to seek my own way. We could hear sirens wailing outside in the street.

`I'm going down,' I said.

He was trembling and seemed to be trying to focus his eyes on me `Well, go ahead and play your games,' he said. 'Too

bad you don't care about winning.'

He shivered again. 'If you want to find me, call Peter Thomas, Brooklyn Heights.'

`All right,' I said.

`No good-bye kiss?' he asked, and turned away to trot down the hall toward a fire exit.

As he began opening the window at the end of the hall, I knelt beside Arturo to check a last time for a pulse. The door

opened beside me and a policeman with twisted face hopped grotesquely into the hallway and fired three shots down

the hall; Eric disappeared out the window and up the fire escape.

'Thou shalt not kill!' I shouted, rising stiffly. Another policeman came through the door, the two of them stared at me

and the first one edged cautiously down the hall after Eric.

`Who are you?' the man beside me asked.

'I am Father Forms of the Holy Roaming Catholic Church.'

I pulled out my canceled AAPP card and flashed it briefly at him.

`Where's your collar?' he asked.

'In my pocket,' I answered, and with dignity removed the white clerical collar I'd brought with me to-wear on the inter view show but which the Die had vetoed at the last moment to attach it around my black turtleneck sweater.

`Well, get outa here, Father,' he said.

'Bless You, I suppose.' I moved nervously past him back into the smoke-filled studio and with a lumbering gallop made it without breathing to the main exit in back. I stumbled to a stairwell and began staggering downward. At the foot of the first flight two other policemen were squatting oil either side with guns drawn; another was holding three giant police dogs who barked viciously as I neared. I made the sign of the cross and passed them to the next flight downward.

And downwards I went, blessing the sweating policemen who surged past me after the villains, blessing the sweating reporters who surged past me after the heroes, blessing the freezing crowds which surged around outside the building, and generally blessing everyone within finger-shot or blessing, especially, myself, who I felt needed it most.

It was snowing outside: the sun shining brightly out of the west and snow swirling down at blizzard pace out of the southeast, stinging the forehead and cheeks to give my head a uniform system of bonfires. The sidewalks were clogged with immobile people staring dumbly up at the smoke billowing out of the ninth-floor windows, blinking into the snow, using their sunglasses against the glare of the sun, turning off their ears to the din of horns coming from the immobile cars clogging the streets, and finally pointing and ahh-ing as a helicopter swept away from the roof far above accompanied by a fusillade of gunshots. Just another typical mid-April day in Manhattan.

Chapter Ninety-six

Lil held herself against me for about fifteen seconds, snow falling from my head and getting tangled in her blonde hair. I was exhausted. Arms about each other, we turned and staggered down the hall toward the living room.

`Are you all right?' she asked.

`Probably,' I answered. `But I sometimes get the impression the world is disintegrating even faster than I am.'

As we entered, H.J. arose from a chair and came over to pump my hand.

`Incredible show, Luke,' he said, blowing cigar smoke against my chest and placing a chubby hand reassuringly on my shoulder. `Don't see how you do it sometimes.'

`I didn't plan any of it,' I said. `Didn't know it was going to happen When Eric asked me for tickets to the program, I thought he and his friends had become my fans. Hypocrites!'

'Not too good for our image, though. Did you consider that?'

`Was anyone killed?' Lil asked from beside me.

I moved over to the couch and with a groan collapsed beside Jake, who, dressed in white T-shirt and black Bermuda shorts, smiled warmly at me. His feet were bare and his' hair looked as if it had last been cut two months ago, by Edgarina.

'Yes,' I answered. `Can I have something to drink?'

`Sure,' Lil said. `What would you like?'

`Hot chocolate.'

`You're beautiful, Luke baby,' Jake said, smiling benevolently. Lil headed for the kitchen.

`Thanks.'

`It's the white collar. You on a religious kick again?'

`It's a disguise. People trust priests.'

`I'm a little high,' Jake said, still smiling blissfully.

`Or at least they trust priests a little more than they do dicepeople.'

'But not so high that it interferes with my brilliance,' Jake added.

`You're melting on my couch,' H.J. said, staring down at me.

`Oh, I'm sorry,' I said.

As I stood up, a buzzer sounded off from somewhere and H.J. hustled off to answer it while I brushed off some snow.

`Are the police after you for the TV show?' Jake asked.

`I would guess so.'

`You ought to consider changing your personality,' he said.

I looked back at him and he burst into a grin.

`You're melting on his rug,' he added.

`Oh, sorry,' I said and moved toward the hallway, where I met H. J. returning.

`The police are on their way up,' he said neutrally.

I drew out a die.

`I'd like to try to get out of here and think things over,' I said. `Is there a way?'

`What's happening?' asked Lil, coming from the kitchen.

`You can go down the service stairs to the basement garage,' H. J.- said.

`What's happening?' Lil asked again.

`Is there a car I can use?'

`My Lincoln Continental is-there. I'll phone down and tell the man to have it ready for a friend.'

A loud knocking came from the end of the hallway.

`Be sure to make a note of the mileage,' H.J. said. `For income-tax purposes. I consider this a foundation business

expense.'

'I've got to run, Lil,' I said. `I'll phone when I get wherever I go.'

I hurried off to where H. J. had pointed to the service doorway, exchanging a last wink with Jake. Outside the apartment I began creeping with all deliberate stealth down the service stairwell to the cellar, and from there I moved like a cat - a large cat admittedly - to the door leading to the underground garage. Slowly, so slowly that I felt a thrill at the James Bond cunning of it all, I opened the door and looked into the brightly lighted garage. Except for a sloppily dressed, but cleancut-looking garage attendant leaning in a chair back against the wall near the entrance, the garage seemed empty.

It took me only five minutes to pick out H. J.'s big Lincoln Continental from the eleven other Lincoln Continentals: I finally figured out it must be the one standing ready to go near the entrance. I checked the license plate again and, with cool nonchalance, slipped open the front door and slid smoothly into the driver's seat.

A young man in his thirties, handsome and earnest, was sitting in front also.

`I'm sorry to disturb you,' he said.

`That's all right,' I said. `I just came down to the basement for a breath of fresh air.'