Chapter 14

“The one thing we had to worry about,” Malone said, pouring some more champagne into the two hollow-stemmed glasses, “was whether it was possible to give them just enough synthecaine. Too little, and they’d still be able to teleport. Too much, and they’d be too groggy.”

Dorothea relaxed in her chair and looked around at the hotel room walls with contentment. She looked like the proverbial cat who has swallowed the cream. “It looked to me as if it worked,” she said. “Mike seemed pretty normal--except that he had that awful trapped feeling.”

Malone handed her one of the filled glasses with an air. He was beginning slowly to feel less like the nervous, uncertain Kenneth J. Malone, and more and more like Sir Kenneth Malone. “I can see why he felt trapped,” he said. “If a guy’s been unhampered by four walls all the time, even only for a year or so, he’s certainly going to feel penned in when he loses the ability to get through them. It might be just a little claustrophobic.” He grinned, proud of himself. “Claustrophobic,” he said again. “My tongue and palate are in excellent condition.”

“The main thing is,” Dorothea said, “that everybody’s so happy. Commissioner Fernack, even--with Mr. Burris promising to give him a medal.”

“And Lynch,” Malone said reflectively. “He’ll get a promotion out of this for sure. And good old Kettleman.”

“Kettleman?” Dorothea said. “Oh, the funny fat man. He’s some kind of social worker or something.”

“And now he’s getting a scroll from the FBI,” Malone said. “A citation for coming up with the essential clue in this case. Even though he didn’t know it was the essential clue. You know,” he added reflectively, “one thing puzzles me about that man.”

“Yes?”

“Well,” Malone said, “he worked in your neighborhood. You knew him.”

“Of course I did,” Dorothea said. “We all knew Kettleman.”

“He said he had a lot of success as a social worker,” Malone said. “Now, I’ve met him. And talked with him. And I just can’t picture--”

“Oh,” Dorothea said. “We keep him around--kept him around, I mean--as a sort of joke. A pet, or a mascot. Of course, he never did catch on. I don’t suppose he has yet.”

Malone laughed. “Nope,” he said. “He hasn’t.”

“And even your friend is happy,” Dorothea said.

“Boyd?” Malone said. “Sure. He called his blonde and she was just thrilled at the adventures of an FBI agent, and he’s with her now.”

“You sound jealous,” Dorothea said.

“The hell I am,” Malone said, and proceeded to prove his point. Some minutes later they relaxed.

“Mike,” Dorothea said. “What?”

“Mike,” she said. “He’s probably the happiest of all. After Mom and I talked to him for a while, anyhow, and he began to lose that--that trapped feeling. Now he’s all excited about being an FBI man.” She looked worriedly at Malone for a second. “You weren’t kidding about that, were you?” she said.

She looked very pretty when she was worried. Malone leaned over and kissed her with great care. After a second, the kiss seemed to gain momentum on its own, and all restraint went by the wayside. A long time passed.