circumstances again solvent, he was headedfor Los Angeles to begin his save-Earth campaign.
* * * * *
Now, seated at his battered desk in the shabby rented office overLemark's Liquors, Pembroke gazed without emotion at the two demolishedPacificos that lay sprawled one atop the other in the corner. His watchsaid one-fifteen. The man from the FBI should arrive soon.
There were footsteps on the stairs for the third time that day. Not thebrisk, efficient steps of a federal official, but the hesitant,self-conscious steps of a junior clerk type.
Pembroke rose as the young man appeared at the door. His face wassmooth, unpimpled, clean-shaven, without sweat on a warm summerafternoon.
"Are you Dr. Von Schubert?" the newcomer asked, peering into the room."You see, I've got a problem--"
The four shots from Pembroke's pistol solved his problem effectively.Pembroke tossed his third victim onto the pile, then opened a can oflager, quaffing it appreciatively. Seating himself once more, he leanedback in the chair, both feet upon the desk.
He would be out of business soon, once the FBI agent had got there.Pembroke was only in it to get the proof he would need to convincepeople of the truth of his tale. But in the meantime he allowed himselfto admire the clipping of the newspaper ad he had run in all the LosAngeles papers for the past week. The little ad that had saved mankindfrom God-knew-what insidious menace. It read:
ARE YOU IMPERFECT?
LET DR. VON SCHUBERT POINT OUT YOUR FLAWS
IT IS HIS GOAL TO MAKE YOU THE AVERAGE FOR YOUR TYPE
FEE--$3.75
MONEY BACK IF NOT SATISFIED!
THE END
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Amazing Science Fiction Stories_ January 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
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