A half hour later, he entered his house. He stopped and gasped. The Stoker painting was missing again!
Renzo Dummock came down the steps then, scratching his hairy chest and swollen paunch. He said, "Hi, Forry. Say, could you loan me a coupla bucks for ciggies and a beer? I'm really down in the dumps, I..."
"That painting!" Forry said, pointing his finger at the blank space on the wall.
Renzo stopped and gaped. Then he said, "Oh, yeah, I was going to tell you. That guy, what's his name, Woolston Heepish? He showed up about an hour ago and said you had told him he could have the Stoker. So I let him. Wasn't it all right?"
Forry charged into his office and dialed Heepish's number. His heart chunked when he heard the smooth soft voice again.
"Why didn't you go with the others?" Forry said.
"Why, Forry! You're back! I thought sure you'd be gone forever! That's why I stayed behind. I like this life, and I couldn't pass up the chance to add your collection to mine!"
Forry was silent for a moment and then he said, "Hold on! I thought you were buried in that landslide?"
Heepish chuckled. "Not me! I slid out as nice as pie and took off. I had enough of Childe and the Tocs and the Ogs, even if the Ogs are my people."
"I want my painting back!"
"Would you consider trading it for a rare Bok?"
Forry wondered if the fellow had slipped some LSD into his coffee. Perhaps everything that had happened was only a lysergic acid fantasy?
Heepish's voice, fluttering like the wings of a bat in the night, said, "Maybe we could get together soon? Have a nice talk?"
"You can keep the painting if you'll promise never to cross my path again!" Forry said.
Heepish chuckled. "Could Dr. Jekyl get rid of Mr. Hyde?"
Philip José Farmer, Image of the Beast
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