Albert didn’t. He was busy trying to think of a protest that wouldn’t give too much offense.
“Listen, knucklehead,” said Cosmo angrily. “There’s people in this town with a lot of money down on State at eight to five. They can’t sit back and take a loss. So they asked me to talk to you about changing Martinelli’s grade so he’ll be able to play.” His jaw went out “So you’re going to pass this cookie—or else!”
“Are you suggesting that I falsify a grade report?” asked Albert in a horrified voice.
“Or else,” continued the big man as if he hadn’t heard Albert’s protest. “I personally am going to bust you in the snoot so hard you’ll be breathing through a hole the shape of my fist the rest of your life!”
He paused and then said softly.
“My friends wouldn’t like it if I had to tell them you refused to cooperate. So… I’m not going to.” He reached down suddenly, grabbed Albert by his lapels, and jerked him roughly into the air, chair and all. “Am I?”
“I’d be sorry to cause any discord between you and your friends.” said Albert bravely, “but—”
He never finished the sentence. Something hit him. Hard. His head snapped back, his chair hit the floor with a thump and a small trickle of blood started at one corner of his mouth. He recoiled as he saw Cosmo pull back his fist again. He was frightened, frightened sick, but from somewhere within himself he dredged up enough strength to shake his head. Cosmo shrugged and went to work.
“You try for a while,” he panted to the gentleman known as Gutsy. “I’m plumb fagged out.”
“Me, too,” said Gutsy a half hour later. “For a scrawny little son-of-a-gun like that he sure can take it.”
It was an overstatement. For twenty-five of the thirty minutes the pounding hadn’t been bothering Albert. He had been out cold.
A hurried council of war was held that didn’t get anywhere until Gutsy had a sudden flash of inspiration.
“Look,” he exclaimed, “in the third grade the teacher is telling us about a character named Achilles.”
“So?”
“He was top man with the Greeks because he was bulletproof. They’d open up on him, and the slugs would just bounce off. That was because when he was just a kid his old lady went and dunked him in something that made him like he was covered with armor-plate.”
“You find what it was, I’ll buy it,” said Cosmo, who was a practical man with an eye to the future.
“There was a catch to it. When his old lady dunked him in that stuff, the part of his foot where she was hanging on to him didn’t get covered. So some character finds out about it and let’s him have it where it hurts—in the heel.”
“So how’s shooting a guy in the heel going to pull down the curtains for him?”
Gutsy shrugged. “Maybe they put something on the slug that gave him blood poisoning. Anyway, they got him.”
“So they got him, so they got him,” said Cosmo in exasperation. “What’s that got to do with cracking the Prof?”
“So maybe he’s got a soft spot, too. You put pressure on there and he gives. All we got to do is find out where it is and then we got him.”
“You find out, it’s your idea.”
Gutsy went over and shook Albert until he had partially regained consciousness, pulled back one ham-like fist, and aimed it at his midriff. Albert fainted.
“We got to think of something different,” he muttered.
“Yeah,” said Cosmo sarcastically, “we sure got to.”
He looked at Gutsy and Gutsy looked at him and then they both got the same idea at the same time.
“MacGruder!” they breathed in unison.
Cosmo was the first to snap back to reality. “If we can get him sobered up in time, that is.”
“You get him and I’ll go hit the old doc up for some bennies,” said Gutsy. “Seventh sons of seventh sons what was born with cauls just don’t grow on trees.”
2
There was nothing about Rick MacGruder that would suggest he had any special psychic powers. He was a small weedy man with a large thirst, and a perpetually wistful expression that was due in part to the fact that at stated intervals he wasn’t able to do anything about it. MacGruder was a periodic drinker.
Every six months or so he would be seized by a sudden compulsion that would paralyze his will and find himself on the wagon in spite of himself. For two or three weeks he would wander around white-faced and shaking, unable to touch a drop, a pariah in the warm convivial world in which he ordinarily lived. In spite of all this, however, he was the seventh son of a seventh son and he had been born with a caul.
“Maybe I’d better have just another one to lubricate my powers,” he said hopefully, gazing greedily at the bottle that stood upon the rickety kitchen table.
“Afterward,” said Cosmo “We got a job to do and we don’t want you popping out in the middle of it. Let’s go, we ain’t got all day.”
“O.K.,” said MacGruder unhappily, “but first you got to get the shades down and douse that glim. The chief don’t like a lot of light.”
The unshaded fly-specked bulb that hung from the ceiling was turned out and the dark window blinds pulled down. Except for a faint trickle of light from around their edges that made MacGruder’s face dimly visible, the room was in darkness. Albert was given a few slaps for the purpose of clearing his head and plunked down on a chair.
“Now everybody grab hold of the other guy’s hand and we’ll get this show on the road.”
Albert’s right hand was taken by Gutsy and his left by the gang chief. They in turn each took one of MacGruder’s.
“Here goes,” said the little man and started to croon.
“Oh spirits! Oh dwellers in that great beyond whence all dwellers on this mortal coil must someday wend, listen to my call.”
“Pretty classy patter, ain’t it?” whispered Gutsy. “Just to look at him you’d never know that a bum like that could talk so good.”
“You want conversation?” said MacGruder. “All right, go ahead make conversation. When you’ve said all you got to say, let me know so I can go ahead with this here séance.”
Cosmo said a few choice words that had the effect of reducing Gutsy to speechlessness and then the little man continued.
“Oh, spirits, bear from us a plea to Chief Whooping Water that he come from his happy hunting ground to give us light and guidance.” There was a long silence and then MacGruder jerked convulsively. His head came stiffly forward and his eyes opened and stared blindly around the table. As the others watched in the dim light, his features seemed to change as if an inward force were molding them. His nose assumed a hawk-like shape and his cheekbones seemed to become more prominent. Albert began to be impressed in spite of himself.
MacGruder’s mouth opened and a strange guttural voice came forth.
From the land of sky blue waters
Comes the chieftain Whooping Water
Comes across the vasty darkness
Comes to speak through Rick MacGruder
Left his tepee and papooses
Left his squaw and council fires
Came to answer to the calling
Left the braves and mighty warriors
Left the council of