Part 13 (1/2)
”Of course I do. You're the man Joe Schilling sent to me; I saw you for an hour earlier tonight.”
Joe Schilling, Pete said to himself. I didn't know that. ”You're not a vug, are you?” Pete said to Doctor Philipson.
”Is that what you called me up to ask?”
”Yes,” Pete said. ”It's very important.”
”I am not a vug,” Doctor Philipson said, and hung up.
Pete shut off the vidphone. ”I think I'll go to bed,” he said to Carol. ”I'm worn out. Are you okay?”
”Yes,” she said. ”A little tired.”
”Let's go to bed together,” he said to her.
Carol smiled. ”All right. I'm certainly glad to have you back; do you always do things like this, go out on binges until five-thirty A.M.?” A.M.?”
”No,” he said. And I'll never do it again, he thought.
As he sat on the edge of the bed removing his clothes he found something, a match folder stuffed into his left shoe, beneath his instep. He set the shoe down, held the match folder under the lamp by the bed and examined it. Carol, beside him, had already gotten into bed and apparently had gone directly to sleep.
On the match folder, in his own hand, penciled words: WE ARE ENTIRELY SURROUNDED.
BY BUGS RUGS VUGS.
That was my discovery tonight, he remembered. My bright, crowning achievement, and I was afraid I'd somehow forget it. I wonder when I wrote that? In the bar? On the way home? Probably when I first figured it out, when I was talking to Doctor Philipson.
”Carol,” he said, ”I know who killed Luckman.”
”Who?” she said, still awake.
”We all did,” Pete said. ”All six of us who've lost our memories. Janice Remington, Silva.n.u.s Angst and his wife, Clem Gaines, Bill Calumine's wife and myself; we did it acting under the influence of the vugs.” He held out the match folder to her. ”Read what I wrote, here. In case I didn't remember; in case they tampered with my mind again.”
Sitting up, she took the match folder and studied it. ”'We are entirely surrounded by vugs.' Excuse me-but I have to laugh.”
He glared at her grimly.
”That's why you placed that call to the doctor in Idaho and asked him what you did; now I understand. But he isn't a vug; you saw him yourself on the screen and heard him.”
”Yeah, that's so,” he admitted.
”Who else is a vug? Or, as you started to write it-”
”Mary Anne McClain. She's the worst of them all.
”Oh,” Carol said, nodding. ”I see, Pete. That's who you were with, tonight. I wondered. I knew it was someone. Some woman.”
Pete clicked on the vidphone by the bed. ”I'm going to call Hawthorne and Black, those two cops. They're not in on it.” As he dialed he said to Carol, ”No wonder Pat McClain didn't want to be scanned by the police.”
”Pete, don't do it tonight.” She reached out and cut the circuit off.
”But they may get me tonight. Any time.””
Tomorrow.” Carol smiled at him coaxingly. ”Please.”
”Can I call Joe Schilling, then?”
”If you want. I just don't think you should talk to the police right now, the way you're feeling. You're in so much trouble with them already.”
He dialed information, got Joe Schilling's new number in Marin County.
Presently Schilling's hairy, ruddy face formed on the screen, fully alert. ”Yes? What is it? Pete-listen, Carol called and told me the good news, about your luck. luck. My G.o.d, that's terrific!” My G.o.d, that's terrific!”
Pete said, ”Did you send me to a Doctor Philipson in Pocatello?”
”Who?”
Pete repeated the name. Joe Schilling's face screwed up in bafflement. ”Okay,” Pete said. ”Sorry I woke you. I didn't think you did.”
”Wait a minute,” Schilling said. ”Listen, about two years ago when you were at my shop in New Mexico we had a conversation-what was it about? It was something about the side effects of a methamphetamine hydrochloride. You were taking them then, and I warned you against them; there was an article in Scientific American Scientific American by a psychiatrist in Idaho; I think it was this Philipson you mentioned, and he said that the methamphetamines can precipitate a psychotic episode.” by a psychiatrist in Idaho; I think it was this Philipson you mentioned, and he said that the methamphetamines can precipitate a psychotic episode.”
”I have a dim memory,” Pete said.
”Your theory, your answer to the article, was that you were also also taking a trifluoperazine, a dihydrochloride of some sort which you swore compensated for the side effects of the methamphetamines.” taking a trifluoperazine, a dihydrochloride of some sort which you swore compensated for the side effects of the methamphetamines.”
Pete said, ”I took a whole bunch of methamphetamine tablets, tonight. 7.5-milligram ones, too.”
”And you also drank?”
”Yes.”
”Oy gewalt. gewalt. You remember what Philipson said in his article about a mixture of the methamphetamines and alcohol.” You remember what Philipson said in his article about a mixture of the methamphetamines and alcohol.”
”Vaguely.”
”They potentiate each other. Did you have a psychotic episode, tonight?”
”Not by a long shot. I had a moment of absolute truth. Here, I'll read it to you.” To Carol, Pete said, ”Hand me back that match folder.” She pa.s.sed it to him and he read from it. ”That was my revelation, Joe. My experience. There are vugs all around us.'”
Schilling was silent a moment and then he said, ”About this Doctor Philipson in Idaho. Did you go to him? Is that why you ask?”
”I paid one hundred and fifty dollars to him tonight,” Pete said. ”And in my opinion I got my money's worth.”
After a pause, Schilling said, ”I'm going to suggest something to you that'll surprise you. Call that detective, Hawthorne.”
”That's what I wanted to do,” Pete said. ”But Carol won't let me.”