Further Adventures (28 page)

“I’m the main character aren’t I?” I let them hear a Chorus of “The Star-Spangled Banner” I was going to warble to our dear Sponsor—after I sang it to Lamont Carruthers—which this rehearsal let me loosen up my vocal cords so I hit all the high notes with ease! Oh! Say! Can you see how The Green Ray is above & beyond the call of the Cereal Business—When he is gone who will remain on the Air to give Hope to the Hopeless week after week?—Who will stand up for what is Fair? Who else is the Living Proof of our healthy drives which guaranteed American triumph in the War?—What kind of Ideal does the younger Generation have to guide them now? I will tell you Sir! Boston Blackie. A crummy guide! Lurking around back alleys & locked office buildings with a gun!—This is not Progress! This rash Act of pulling the plug on The Green Ray does not serve any Higher Purpose do not kid yourself Sir! For as sure as water is wet you will Plunge our shining spot on every Radio dial into total Darkness & hereby henceforth your name will be emblazoned in letters of Fire at the bottom of the notorious Roll Call that schoolkids learn by heart in their first History Lesson—those lightning rods of National Shame & Disaster: Step forward BENEDICT ARNOLD…JOHN WILKES BOOTH…TYPHOID MARY…
and now
…P. K. SPILLER—

“Go piss up a rope. You’ll get a bigger feeling of accomplishment.” Mr. Burrows squeezed my shoulder very affectionate & I took a step away from him toward my Mission.

“Lotsa luck,” Leon cheered me on. “I’ll inform your next of kin.”

A man must do etc. except first of all & very fast what I had to do was share my Plan with Lamont Carruthers. One piece of good luck the
elbow that elbowed me out of the way the elbow that had a point on it as sharp as a fence post was connected to Lamont himself. He jabbed me hard to make sure I got the idea that I was the last solid object between his empty glass & the punch bowl.

Likewise here is another thing that hit me—Lamont was not 1-legged at this time. In special circumstances he strapped on his wooden leg so his 3-piece navy pinstripe hung on him very Dapper. He stopped wasting time on polite & dainty dips with the ladle about a dozen glassfuls ago & this was a shock to my System to witness Lamont teeter-totter that way like a old blue jay pecking down into a birdbath.

“How you like the party?” He twitched his moustache (i.e. a tweezered pencil line riding his pale lip) in case I missed the sarcastic drift. “Tasted the punch?” I looked at it & shook my head no. “Then Sonny why the stinking hell are you loitering in front of my punch bowl?”

“Just waiting to get a chance of a word with you Mr. Carruthers.”

“What word in particular?”

“I’d like to say—”

“What
exact
word do you want to have with me? A word of your very own with the Lord High Grand Foobah Woobah. You don’t say!” He swung his glass into the punch bowl & came up with a sludge of orange peels. He splashed them back into the bowl by a nasty flick of his wrist. “Fruit salad!” he cursed it & about as disgusted as he would be if he just scooped up a juicy wad of chewed cigar butts. “Is it about the script?”

“As a matter of—”

“Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“About the end of the show…”

He bit his bottom lip & made a grab for the edge of the table like he was going to faint from this news. “Gosh. Is…is there s-s-something y-you don’t like about the ending I wrote?”

“Well…”

“What’s the matter? Your
lines
no good this week? Something you want me to
change?
”

“The ending. It’s so final.”

“Why yes. I suppose it
is
final.” He blinked & sounded flabbergasted. “Since tonight’s the final episode I naturally figured there was only one way to end it. But golly…”—again with the fluttering eyes—“you’ve shown me how wrong I was. And now…it’s…too…late.”

“You can mock me all you want Mr. Carruthers but I’m real serious about this. We aren’t on the air yet. There’s time for us to do something. Even when we start broadcasting maybe we can
still
throw them a curve ball. You could come up with a better ending.”

“Better?”

“Different. How about it?”

He answered me very sober. “You mean one so you can come back next week.”

“You know it.”

“The Return Of The Green Ray.”

“Along those lines.”

“Son Of The Green Ray.”

“Why not?” I said. “How long do I have to be gone before I have a comeback?”

Lamont swallowed another glass of punch & pulled a dangling orange peel out of his mouth. “Are you insane Green or just feeble-minded?”

“I want to save our show Mr. Carruthers. And by the looks of it I’m the only person willing to do anything about it.”

“Jesus Christ on a bike! It never fails!” he barked at me. “Put a guy in a toga & let him pretend to be Julius Caesar and the next morning he’s giving the waitress Et Tu Brute because she burned his toast.”

“I’m saying I’d appreciate your help.”

Lamont whipped out his fountain pen & brandished it toward P. K. Spiller. “I’ll just wave my magic wand don’tcha know and make
it all come out different. There. I’m helping.” Then he got tired of this gag & moved in on me to deliver his Message direct in my ear. “YOU IMBECILE THIS IS REAL LIFE!”

“Never took you for a Defeatist.” I jerked away from him. “But if you ask me—”

“I’m not. Don’t worry I won’t.”

“—anything can happen before they broadcast that last scene.”

“Nobody
else
is asking you either.” Lamont broke this news very gentle. He laid his hand on my shoulder & leaned most of his weight on it. “Let’s all just stick to the script.”

“But why?”

“You’re a professional actor. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Which is another good reason I should stand up & fight for our show.”

“No son. You ought to know when to bow out.”

I stiffened up & said, “That’s the last thing I’m going to do.”

Which unbowed stance irked Lamont so terrible he pinned me against the side of the buffet table & clamped me there nose to nose with sour rum fumes blowing hot off his tongue he tried to put me straight about the ways of the World. “Listen to me Horatio Hornblower! You do not make things happen here. Liberty Broadcasting and P. K. Spiller and Howard Silverstein
and me
—we’re something that happened
to you
. Let me describe the situation in another way. By means of a parable. I ran into Rudolph Valentino one time. In a fancy Italian restaurant don’t you know. Saw him standing a couple of feet away from my table with his slicked-back hair & his ruby red lips. His patent leather dancing shoes. Thought he was the head waiter. I tugged his sleeve and told him to bring me a plate of linguini alle vongole.
And this was Rudolph Valentino, don’tcha know!
WHO THE DAMNED HELL DO YOU THINK
YOU
ARE?”

Howard Silverstein had to wade over & pry him off my windpipe. “Corrupting the youth of America as usual Lamont?”

“As usual!” he hooted back happy to agree.

“Let’s get ready to go down to the studio. All right gents?” Howard slid his wristwatch out of his sleeve & tapped it with his fingernail.

“I’m having too much fun at our pa-aa-rty Howard,” Lamont bleated under his bloodshot eyes. “Do I
have
to go down to the Studio?”

He watched Lamont reach for a refill of punch. “If you’re having too much fun maybe it’s time to call it quits.”

“Absolutely,” Lamont said & slugged down his drink.

“We’ll just have to get along without you then.”

Lamont stopped him with a hard grin & a hand on his shoulder. “Watch out for this one here.” His other hand he laid on my shoulder. “He’s a gen-u-ine character.”

DA DO DA DA DUM! DA DOO DA DA DOO! DOOM DOOM DUT DUT DUT DOOM! WHEN THE HOUR OF DARKNESS IS UPON US—WHEN ALL HOPE IS GONE—HE BLAZES FROM THE SHADOWS TO DEFEND THE DEFENSELESS! TO PUNISH THE CRIMINAL! HE SEEKS TO PURGE WRONG TO KEEP AMERICA STRONG! SPILLER’S FINE FOODS—THE MAKERS OF SPILLER’S HIGH ENERGY BUCKWHEAT BREAKFAST FLAKES—PROUDLY PRESENTS—THE ADVENTURES OF THE GREEN RAY! TONIGHT—OUR FINAL EPISODE…
OBLIVION BOUND!

The Nation heard the click of the switch on the Radio in Peter Tremayne’s library. As my butler Partridge hummed along to the melody he tuned it from the lighthearted dance music to the somber tones of the nightly news.

TREMAYNE: Leave it there Partridge. I want to catch up on the events of the day.

PARTRIDGE: As you wish Sir. Would you like your cocoa in the library or—

TREMAYNE: Wait a second. Make it louder will you?

As usual Peter Tremayne’s vigilant ears sift the current Events for the story behind the story. He listens for the hidden clues that tell him what’s really going on—and what’s going to happen next…

NEWSMAN: …eminent gathering in the elegant ballroom of the Sherryland Hotel. The organization goes by the name of GLOBOS—initials which according to founder Dr. Septimus Ogilvy stand for Global Law & Order through the Brotherhood Of Science. Dr. Ogilvy—the world-renowned Atom Expert—is mounting the platform now to address members of the Press and the Scientific community. The next voice you hear will be that of Dr. Ogilvy. Now handing over.

And from the Remote Microphone all the way downtown Dr. Ogilvy’s crisp Voice crackles through—

DR. OGILVY: Ladies and Gentlemen of the press. My fellow scientists. And all those listening at home via the miracle of Radio. Our organization is neither Republican nor Democrat. We belong to no single political persuasion. We have but a single purpose and that is to ensure that the late peace most painfully won will endure. Our aims are no more & no less than to redeem the hopes & justify the faith placed in scientists the world over to work for all Humanity and bring about a prosperous day and a tranquil night. To give these precious gifts to all survivors of the past tragic conflict as well as for the generations yet unborn.
I ask for your support—howsoever you may give it—on behalf of the children of the Atomic Age. For in truth dear friends we are
all
these children. I thank you.

PARTRIDGE: My. What fine ideals if I may remark Sir. Do you think they can ever succeed?

TREMAYNE: Well they cured Yellow Fever. Discovered penicillin. Who can say?

PARTRIDGE: Who indeed Sir.

Tremayne rustled the pages of his
Wall St. Journal
(I rustled the loose pages of my Script).

TREMAYNE: You can turn it off. I want to read the Wall St. news. No cocoa tonight thanks.

PARTRIDGE: Very good Sir.

TREMAYNE: Hmm. Very intriguing.

PARTRIDGE: May I ask—?

TREMAYNE: A surge in Brazilian Kikapoo nuts.

PARTRIDGE: In Brazil nuts Mister Peter?

TREMAYNE: No. Kikapoo nuts. Grown in Brazil. By the looks of it a certain company in Baltimore is buying up a controlling interest in the only other refinery in the world that produces this particular type of nut oil.

PARTRIDGE: Your nose for finance is as sharp as ever.

TREMAYNE: Yes. It could be worth paying attention to developments. Partridge—get Benjamin Armistead on the telephone.

PARTRIDGE: Your stockbroker Sir?

TREMAYNE: He’ll be at home. Here’s his private number.

PARTRIDGE: Excuse me Mister Peter—but what exactly are Kikapoo nuts?

TREMAYNE: For a start Partridge they aren’t nuts at all. Actually they’re a tuber of a genus of spitweed—
Saramaxis raewallii
—which happens to be the sole source of a kind of super-refined oil used in every form of modern-day manufacturing. From auto parts & nylon stockings to jars of mass-produced mayonnaise. And so far no method exists to synthesize a cheaper substitute for it.

PARTRIDGE: They sound a valuable commodity those Kikapoo nuts. And a sound investment if I may say so Sir.

TREMAYNE: Blue chip all right. They’re known to thrive in only 2 areas—the Amazon region of Brazil and here in the United States on 100 acres of marsh just outside of Baltimore. Quite frankly Partridge without Kikapoo nut oil life as we live it would be impossible. If the world supply was threatened or cut off or fell under the control of a global monopoly all industry could be paralyzed in a matter of weeks…or even days.

Right away the Suspicion hit me I had to hurry up & figure out what to do & when to do it. Time was marching on so if I sat on my behind & pondered for too long certain tragic Events could overwhelm us. Because meanwhile everything was going according to Plan at the headquarters of GLOBOS where the telephone is ringing off the hook—

LOUISE: GLOBOS may I help you? Why of course we’re grateful for any contribution you can make…50 Cents is very generous Madam. As a matter
of fact we haven’t had anything over a dollar yet! Yes you’re right—it does all add up.

The office door opens & slow heavy footsteps announce a Mysterious Arrival.

LOUISE: Ooh! I’m sorry—you…you startled me.

VENNEMA: I wish to speak with Dr. Septimus Ogilvy.

The thick European accent oozes from his mouth.

LOUISE: Is he expecting you?

VENNEMA: That depends. What is today’s date please?

LOUISE: It…it’s the 14th.

VENNEMA: No—then Dr. Ogilvy is not expecting me. Santa Claus does not arrive until December 25th! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

Louise is upset when she knocks on Dr. Ogilvy’s office door & walks inside. Her Voice quivers.

LOUISE: Dr. Ogilvy? There’s a gentleman waiting to see you.

DR. OGILVY: Who is he Louise? Did he give his name?

LOUISE: Not really.

VENNEMA: Vennema.

LOUISE: Say mister! You can’t—

DR. OGILVY: It’s all right Louise. You better go mind the telephone.

LOUISE: Yes Dr. Ogilvy.

VENNEMA: It’s very warm in here.

DR. OGILVY: What do you want to see me about Mr. Vennema?

VENNEMA: You Americans like to—how do you say it?—get down to business. The business of America is business isn’t that what they say?