A Cure for Cancer

  They laughed together.

  Karen von Krupp sucked at her teeth. There was a tiny spot of blood in the middle of her lower lip. She had tense hands.

  “I don’t know,” said Jerry, “whether to go to Frisco and risk it or try to make for somewhere else, under the circumstances. You’d know best.”

  “True enough. But I don’t want to influence your decision, Mr Cornelius. See how it works out.”

  “Certainly. Now, are we going to make this a spectacular?”

  “Why not?”

  “Okay. Don’t look so defeated, Karen. You can’t win them all. Are you coming with me?”

  “I’m staying here.”

  “Is that a good idea, do you think? Beesley…”

  “Failure is failure. I’m staying.”

  “In what capacity?” Brunner asked politely.

  She shrugged and her looks faded. “I don’t much care. It’s peaceful here.”

  Jerry gave her shoulder a sympathetic pat. “You know, I should really shoot you. It’s the policy.”

  She continued to suck at her teeth.

  “That adds a new wrinkle.” Jerry winked at her.

  A tear fell out of her eye.

  “Let her stay here,” Captain Brunner suggested. “I’m sure she’ll go far, when she gets over it.”

  “But Beesley…”

  “Will it make a lot of difference?”

  “Time’s silting up.”

  “You’re right, I suppose.” Jerry grinned. “Sweet dreams, Karen.”

  “Off we go, then.” Captain Brunner danced for the door.

  “Off we go.”

  Off they went, with Jerry pushing Captain Brunner ahead of him with his vibragun and Captain Brunner calling in a delicious treble, “Do as he orders! Do as he orders!”

  The big Duesenberg—three tons, supercharged, built 1936, with its bulletproof windows and steel shutters—was outside.

  They climbed in.

  Captain Brunner drove and Jerry Cornelius pointed the vibragun at his head.

  Black-uniformed guards milled around in excitement, trying to think of something positive. Then the wind took a turn and thick, yellow smoke from the chimneys got into their eyes and throats and made them cough. As they opened the gates of Camp Resurrection, most of them just looked embarrassed.

  Standing outside the governor’s office, Karen von Krupp waved almost sadly to Jerry.

  “Good old Karen,” said Jerry.

  Captain Brunner settled himself comfortably at the wheel as they drove through the pines that filtered the last of the evening sunshine.

  “I must admit I’d prefer Casablanca,” he said. “But that’s all in the past now, I’m afraid. Or present. It depends which way you look at it.” He took a swig from the bottle of Bell’s cream whisky in the clip by the steering wheel. “The last bottle. It’s just as well, in the circumstances. You don’t mind if I go part of the way with you, do you, my dear boy?”

  “Heaven forbid!” said Jerry. “Of course not.”

  They reached the next fence and the lodge. Someone had phoned the guards, for they had their guns ready but couldn’t think of a use for them.

  “Put the plates up, could you, Captain Brunner?” Jerry smiled at the guards.

  Captain Brunner touched a button. The steel shutters moaned upwards and they were in darkness. Captain Brunner switched on the light.

  “Now,” said Jerry. “If you wouldn’t mind…”

  “Say the word.”

  “Consider it said.”

  “And the word…”

  Jerry smiled. “Captain Brunner—you’re a card, after my own heart.”

  The plate on Jerry’s window opened up until there was a hole five inches in diameter in the very centre. Jerry poked his gun through and took aim. The guards shook to pieces. He turned the gun and the gates quivered and creaked and fell down. They roared through.

  “Hey ho for the open road,” sang Captain Brunner, turning the car in the general direction of Buffalo. “Where were you thinking of for the honeymoon?”

  “Where else?”

  With a spontaneous gesture of affection, Captain Brunner flung his arm around Jerry’s shoulders, hugged him tight, and stepped hard on the accelerator.

  TRANSFUSION

  SAY THE SECRET WORD AND YOU

  RE-HYPNOTIZE INSTANTLY!

  Fascinating Books and Powerful Aids Help

  You Perform Hypnotism

  Here at your fingertips, are the tools you need to learn and do real hypnotic feats. Amaze your friends, astound whole groups of people or use this power to improve your own personality … become more interesting to be with. Guaranteed to please you—guaranteed to give you countless hours of fascinating fun, excitement and benefits.

  Transfix Your Subjects with Electric Machine

  You’ve seen it used in the movies and on TV. Now you can own and use this improved machine—WITH 2 DIFFERENT CHANGEABLE DISCS. Plug in, flick the switch and the disc begins its transfixing spin. Use it for professional prestige, for self-hypnosis and on others—individually and groups. Has sturdy metal housing, 7 ft. cord, on-off switch, 2 discs and instructions.

  No. SST-2D Hypno-Whirlascope ………….. $19.95

  Allied Aids ad, New Man

  1. HOW THE ISRAELI WAR SOLVED A RAPE MURDER!

  The house was a splendid example of Carpenters Gothic, covered in turrets and eccentric dormer windows, with pointed towers and jigsaw scrollwork and shadowed verandahs made to resemble a monks’ walk. A somewhat tasteless note was the more recent cobblestone chimney.

  Inside, the hall was dark and filled with a huge umbrella stand, a hat rack and a mirror that seemed to reflect the darkness. From the parlour came the damp, musty smell of horsehair and mahogany, of marble, artificial flowers and antimacassars. On the other side of the hall the living room was full of mission furniture in oak and leatherette. Leading off the living room was the dining room with its table and chairs of golden oak and its view from the window over the Falls.

  The house was still occupied.

  Outside the empty streets echoed the whimpering roar of the water. The hotels and motel cabins, the souvenir shops, the restaurants and movie houses blended with the trees, the shrubs and the weeds. Sometimes the wind would move a yellow newspaper or a rusty can.

  * * *

  On their way to the border Captain Brunner had steered nostalgically through streets blocked with twisted automobiles. “Ah, fickle fashion.” Most of the buildings had been looted, stripped and burned.

  At the dining table they ate the individual TV Steak Chateaubriand Dinners Captain Brunner had brought up from the cold room in the basement.

  “And how did you leave Europe?” Captain Brunner unbuttoned his uniform jacket to show a yellow shirt of Sea Island Cotton.

  “Much as I hope to find it.” Jerry pushed his dinner away and took another sip of his Californian Riesling. “It’s an uphill struggle.”

  “Perhaps it always will be, Jerry.”

  “One door opens. Another closes.”

  “Isn’t that for the best?”

  Jerry raised a jet-black hand to a jet-black face and rubbed his right eye. Captain Brunner smiled.

  “The illusion of power,” said Jerry. “It sometimes seems too sweet for words.”

  “Or actions, for that matter.”

  “Sure.”

  “You’ve got rid of the déjà vu now, have you?”

  “Not altogether.”

  “Well…” Captain Brunner stacked the half-eaten trays. “I’ll put these in the kitchen. Do you want to take a walk this afternoon?”

  “A last walk…”

  “If you wish.”

  “It’s really up to you, you know.” Jerry turned to look at the Falls.

  “I’m getting a bit reluctant to go. That’s the trouble.”

  “I know what you mean. Do you want to do it yourself?”

  Captain Brunner picked up the empty bottle. “That wouldn’t
be according to the rules.”

  “The rules are very strict.”

  “Stricter than you could believe.”

  “All right. Mind you, I could do with some bloody music.” Jerry stood up.

  “The victrola’s over there.”

  Jerry went into the living room to look at the big phonograph with its oak-veneered cabinet. He opened the cupboard at the bottom and pulled out the cumbersome 78s. They rattled in his hands. He opened the lid, wound the handle and put a record on the turntable.

  When Captain Brunner came back into the room George M. Cohan was singing ‘Yankee Doodle’ and Jerry lay on the mission couch staring up at the beams in the ceiling.

  “I believe there’s some good Al Jolsons and the whole of ‘Green Pastures’ in there.” Captain Brunner hesitated on the threshold. “That’s going back a bit.”

  “Before my time,” said Jerry.

  “And mine.”

  They listened to George M. Cohan with intense, clinical concentration.

  “What does it tell us?” Captain Brunner stroked Jerry’s hair.

  “It’s not a code we could ever hope to understand.” Jerry shrugged sadly.

  “No.”

  Systematically they broke the records and stacked the pieces inside the cabinet.

  2. WHY ARTISTS ARE GOING BACK TO REALISM

  “What must be must be,” said Captain Brunner.

  It was dawn and the sun shone through the lace curtains of the bedroom.

  He turned his head on the pillow and looked tenderly at Jerry who had just opened his eyes.

  “This morning,” said Jerry.

  “It’s overdue.”

  “Okay.”

  Captain Brunner rose and stretched his beautiful body then, kneeling on the mattress, reached up and straightened the GOD BLESS OUR HOME pokerwork on the wall.

  “You’re looking old,” said Jerry. “Used up.”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “I guess my time will come.”

  “We all get redundant. It’s the one snag, really. Still, I’m glad I served a purpose.”

  “An important one. Only you…” Jerry swung out of bed. Purposefully he began to dress. “I’ve got work to do.”

  “I don’t think I’ll wear anything today.” Captain Brunner opened the door. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

  Jerry strapped on his shoulder holster and checked his gun. He went along the landing to the bathroom and splashed cold water over his face. He dried himself and descended to the kitchen where Captain Brunner had already prepared coffee.

  “I’ll feel much happier in myself,” said Jerry.

  “And so will I. It’s kind of you to have borne with me.”

  “I can guess what it’s like.”

  “Of course.”

  They finished their coffee and left the house, walking slowly through the deserted streets towards the Falls.

  At last they stood on a promontory overlooking the huge mass of descending water. Spray splashed them. Drops of water brightened Captain Brunner’s body. He took a deep breath.

  Jerry’s eyes filled with tears. “Relationships are awkward.”

  His voice was drowned, but Captain Brunner nodded.

  Jerry slipped the gun from under his coat. The water crashed down. It foamed and was blue-green, shining in the sun.

  Suddenly Captain Brunner turned, shouted, pointed, and leapt off the ground in a perfect dive. Jerry watched him fall. Then he looked back.

  * * *

  Bishop Beesley, dressed in the full robes of his calling, held to his shoulder a Remington 1100 with a shell-flame maple stock. The rifle was pointed at Jerry. “I’ll have your gun, Mr Cornelius.”

  “This is an inconvenient moment, bishop.”

  “I apologise.”

  From the cream-and-yellow Lincoln convertible behind him emerged the blonde girl Jerry had first met in Nibelburg. She held an identical Remington 1100 on her thigh and wore a mustard Feraud gym-slip dress of Terylene/wool worsted crêpe, a matching hat with a chocolate band and a wide, floppy brim, narrow net Lurex stockings, chocolate-brown Marano boots buttoned to the knee with pearls and a small bag of brushed calf hanging by a gold chain over one crooked elbow. Her white kid gloves were by Pittards.

  “I wonder where you’ve been,” said Jerry.

  “Bond Street,” she said. “I’ll kill you if you don’t hand him the gun now.”

  Jerry offered the vibragun by its barrel. Bishop Beesley lowered his own rifle, pushed back his mitre, wiped his brow with his free hand and then came forward to take the gun. “I’m obliged.”

  Jerry glanced back at the leaping foam. The noise from the Falls now seemed barely audible. He frowned.

  “You’ve certainly given us a chase, Mr Cornelius,” Bishop Beesley said. “We’ve come a long way to find you, you know. We thought at first you must have changed your identity. Would my good lady be with you?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “I’m sorry your friend rushed off…”

  “It’s all one, really.”

  “Was it a close friend?”

  “He’s been a father and mother to me in his time.”

  “I admire your philosophy. Well, come along. We’ve a fair journey ahead of us. Mitzi, if you’ll drive I’ll keep an eye on Mr Cornelius.”

  Mitzi looked moodily at Jerry. Bishop Beesley handed her the vibragun and curled his fat finger around the trigger of his Remington. He poked at Jerry with it. “The car, Mr Cornelius. You can sit next to the driver.”

  Mitzi put her rifle under the seat and started the car. Jerry went round to the other side and got in. Mitzi was wearing Miss Cardin cologne and he breathed it in with some pleasure. After Beesley had heaved himself into the back of the car, she put it into reverse, then swung it round and headed west away from the house.

  “You’re going to take my word about Karen, then?” Jerry said.

  “Why not?” Bishop Beesley unpeeled a Tootsie Roll. “Besides, we checked the house.”

  Mitzi drove with a sureness Jerry found relaxing. He leaned back and watched the buildings disappear.

  “You’re not going over the border, then?”

  “Not by the bridge, Mr Cornelius. Not under the circumstances.”

  “What are the circumstances?”

  “Why—you’re being sought by government officials. There is even a reward for your arrest as an escaped prisoner. You are in hot water!”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” said Jerry reminiscently.

  Bishop Beesley’s mouth was full, so he shrugged.

  Soon Jerry noticed the Welland Canal. It was choked with small private craft, most of which had apparently been scuttled. Others bore shell-holes. There were still people aboard some of the houseboats. He scratched his head as they drove along beside the canal.

  The bishop chewed noisily. “They had nothing to fear but fear itself,” he said between mouthfuls. “Poor things.”

  “That’s something to be afraid of.” Jerry saw black smoke in the distance. He wound down his window to smell it, but it was too far away.

  “Would you mind shutting the window?” Bishop Beesley rustled a paper bag. “I’m subject to chills.”

  Jerry wound the window back up.

  “We could have the air-conditioning, if you like.” Beesley tapped Mitzi on the shoulder. “Put it on, would you, dear.”

  She reached out with her gloved hand, exposing several inches of pink flesh, and depressed a button. There came a whispering sound from below the dashboard.

  “That’s better, isn’t it?” Bishop Beesley adjusted his hold on the rifle. “Much better.”

  “Every time.” Jerry settled back and closed his eyes. It had been a tiring week.

  STITCHING

  LISTEN TO THE SOUNDS OF CRISIS!

  Tune in to today’s news as it actually happens!

  Hear what goes on during an emergency. Monitor communications channels of police and fire departments. Stat
e Highway Patrols, Civil Defense Agencies, Coast Guard, and emergency services.

  “ACTION!!” NEW PORTABLE POLICE RECEIVER $129.95

  Riot, armed robbery, homicide, major fire, high speed chase … the sounds of action and crisis are going on all around you every minute of the day. Now you can tune in on the police and fire radio frequencies in your area and actually hear the same communications as the police dispatcher and the men in the patrol cars and fire trucks. You’ll hear the news as it’s being made.

  Nova-Tech ad, True Police Case

  1. ASHAMED—WHEN HE SAW THE MARKS ON MY BODY

  When Jerry woke up it was late afternoon and the car was still moving down the wide, deserted highway. He saw a sign. They were heading for London.

  “Is that where we’re going?” Jerry asked Mitzi. She didn’t reply.

  “Don’t disturb the driver, Mr Cornelius. You should know better than that.” Bishop Beesley tapped Jerry on the shoulder with a Mars bar. “No. We shan’t be stopping at London. We’ve got a long way to go yet.”

  Jerry looked at Mitzi’s perfect features. “She’s got a lot of stamina,” he said admiringly.

  “Mr Cornelius…”

  Jerry noticed that they were almost out of fuel.

  * * *

  London came in sight. Part of the city was burning and a strange wailing noise filled the air. The car began to slow.

  “Pogrom,” said Bishop Beesley. “It’s so close to the border, you see. We’d better transfer. Over there, Mitzi.” He pointed to the roadside which was now lined with low buildings. Most of them were stores. The neon signs were dead.

  A Plymouth Barracuda, two of its wheels on the sidewalk, its doors open, was what the bishop had his eye on. Mitzi stopped the Lincoln. “Have a look at the fuel gauge,” Bishop Beesley said.

  Mitzi got out, turned the key and peered in at the Plymouth’s dashboard. She nodded; then she glanced at her dress. It clashed with the bright red Plymouth. She shook her head.

  “Try the next one, then.”

  Mitzi opened the door of a white Dodge Polara. “Full,” she said.

  “Out you get, Mr Cornelius.”