Whooping Water looked dreamily at the ceiling. “You know,” he said at last, “Mike Hammer’s glands let loose too, but he knows how to use them. And against a couple of amateurs…”
Albert let out a sudden squawk of protest but he was too late. Two fat green sparks came arcing across and caught him square in the middle of the forehead…
For some strange reason Priscilla wasn’t so thrilled at being rescued as might have been expected. The look of eager anticipation that was on her face as the door opened was replaced by one of annoyance when she saw who had opened it.
“It took you long enough,” she snapped pettishly as Albert undid the ropes that bound her to the chair. The old Albert would have quailed and began to stutter apologies, but this wasn’t the old Albert.
When he dropped her off at her home she was breathing hard and there was a strange new look in her eyes.
“Won’t you come up?” she whispered. “There’s nobody home.”
Albert wanted to but Hammer wouldn’t let him.
“Got a couple of rats to take care of first,” he growled. “After that…” He ran his hand up and down her back and she melted against him. He gave her a sudden shove.
“Beat it, kid. I got work to do…
When Albert swaggered into his office, Lippencott was in the middle of the fifteenth reading of his latest essay in TENSION, A Quarterly Journal of New Criticism.
“Easy does it, old man,” he said lazily as the door crashed shut. “I take it that Dr. Quimbat finally broke the news to you about the switch in courses.”
“What switch?” growled Albert.
“Next fall I’ll be giving a seminar in the New Criticism and a graduate course in James. I’m afraid that means that you are going to have to take over my two sections of Freshman English. Tough luck, old man, but I know that when you think it over you’ll realize that it’s for the good of the department. And now if you’ll excuse me. I’d better be taking off. Priscilla and I are going out tonight and I have a bit of work at home I want to get out of the way first.”
“Not just yet, junior.” Albert turned and clicked the lock on the door behind him. “You and I got a little talking to do first. For one thing, I ain’t giving up my seminar or my Chaucer course for you or nobody else. And for another, you go woofing around the department head any more, sticking knives in my back, and you’re going to find out all of a sudden your ears ain’t mates!”
Lippencott grinned and blew a puff of tobacco smoke in Albert’s face.
“Anything more, little man?”
“Yeah,” said Albert in a soft voice. “I got Priscilla staked out. You come poaching and you’re going to end up minus a head, not that you’d miss it none.”
Lippencott stood up and flexed his muscles. “Albert,” he said, “I’ve been wanting to paste you for a long time. But my conscience wouldn’t let me because you were too little and too weak. But now I can do it with no regrets.”
Proudly conscious of his beautifully muscled body, he stalked toward Albert.
“Put ’em up,” he said, assuming the stance that had made him runner-up for the base middleweight championship during his wartime tour of duty as P.T. officer at Smutney Field.
Albert didn’t cooperate. Instead one hand suddenly snaked out and grabbed an empty coke bottle that was sitting on the window sill. With a practiced twist of the wrist he smashed it against the floor.
“Pretty boy,” he hissed as he advanced slowly forward, the jagged edges held at ready, “you ain’t going to be any longer.”
Lippencott stood his ground, but not very long. “Listen, Albert,” he said nervously as he recoiled a step. “You’re not acting like a gentleman.”
“There’s a good reason for that,” said Albert, sliding closer with a horrible grin on his face. “I ain’t no gentleman.”
Without warning, his arm flashed out. It was only by grace of excellent reflexes and a great deal of luck that Lippencott was able to preserve his nose. It was too much. He let out a frightened howl and turned to run, but there wasn’t any place to run to. The door was locked and Albert had him backed into a corner.
“You touch me and I’ll report you to the administration,” he whimpered as the jagged edges of the broken bottle came closer and closer to his face.
Albert chuckled. “Who’d believe you? Everybody knows what a mouse of a guy I am.”
That did it. Lippencott cracked completely and sobbed promise after promise. Albert waited until he’d heard the words he wanted and then tossed the bottle end crashing against the wall.
“Just don’t forget.” He said as he swaggered out. “There’s a coke machine in every building on the campus.”
6
When Albert came into the English office, the gongs were still beating inside his head. He was informed by the secretary that the chairman was in conference—which meant that he was taking his daily two-hour nap on the rather bumpy divan he had brought back from his student quarters at Oxford. Albert didn’t say anything, he just slapped her attractive posterior in a flattering way and, as she stood gasping, barreled into the inner sanctum and slammed the door behind him.
Ten minutes passed before he emerged. When he did the secretary was waiting for him with a melting smile. He gave her another spank and gestured toward the inner office.
“Boss man wants to see you, kiddo. He’s got a few memos to dictate. He’s changed his mind about dropping my Middle English courses. The one I want you to get right out, though, is the recommendation for promotion.” He flicked again and she ran squealing into Dr. Quimbat’s office.
Dr. Quimbat was somewhat the worse for wear. He started to babble something about a coke bottle but then regained enough of his senses to think better of it and dictate what had to be dictated.
There was company waiting for him in Albert’s own office. As soon as the door was shut, Whooping Water gave the little finger wiggle that was necessary to banish Mike Hammer.
“Want another shot before your date tonight? Mike’s been doing all right by you so far.”
Albert shuddered and shook his head. “No thanks! Every time she cuddles up to me I start getting ideas.”
“What’s wrong with that? You’re a big boy now, and she isn’t exactly a spring chicken.”
“It’s not that I’m objecting to. These ideas involve an erotic transference from the usual areas to her stomach. And that isn’t all. I keep wanting to go out and buy a big .45.”
“I see what you mean,” said Whooping Water.
“So, thanks for everything. I’m going to be needing your help later today but there’s no use your hanging around here until then.”
“I’m dismissed?”
“You’re dismissed.”
When Whooping Water disappeared this time, he did it by slow stages. First his epidermis became transparent, and then bit by bit the rest of him faded out until there was nothing left but a stomach, a pair of lungs, and an intricately coiled large intestine, all hanging motionless in mid-air.
Without Hammer to back him up, Albert found himself growing nauseated. “Please,” he gulped. “I’ve had about all I can take for one day.”
The lungs contracted and a little snicker came from the air above them. Then slowly, much too slowly, the viscera faded from sight.
Albert