Get Smart 1 - Get Smart! (10 page)

Max:
Yes, I know. That’s why I asked for 94. Where is he, by the way?

73:
He’s on detached duty, Max. Let’s see . . . right now, at this minute, if my calculations are correct, he ought to be standing outside a phone booth on Macdougal Street in the Village.

Max:
All right, 73, then do this for me, will you? Will you put in a call to that phone booth? And when 94 answers, will you please ask him to walk over here to this limousine and let us out?

73
: I guess I could do that.

Max:
Thank you. I’ll do the same for you some day.

73:
So long, Max.

Max:
So long, 73.

Max hung up. “You just saw history being made,” he said. “In a sense, I have just contacted a telephone booth ten feet away by orbiting satellite. Something that we were completely unable to accomplish by simply knocking on the window. It revives one’s faith, doesn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Blossom said weakly.

A moment later they saw the man enter the telephone booth. He picked up the receiver, listened, then looked toward the limousine. After another moment, he hung up, left the booth, and walked to the car.

“86?” he said, opening the door.

“94—glad to know you,” Max said. “This is Miss Blossom Rose, and this is the celebrated canine secret agent, K-13—also known as Fang.”

94 smiled. “Hi.”

“How do you do,” Blossom said. “Are you by any chance single?”

94 shook his head. “There’s a Mrs. 94,” he said. “Or, as I like to call her, 36-22-36.”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Max said to 94. “We’re on a mission in which the fate of the entire civilized world is involved.”

“Sure, no apology necessary,” 94 said. “I’m on my way to another assignment, anyway. See you around.”

As 94 departed, Max said to Blossom. “Now, back to duty.”

But Blossom was peering wistfully after 94. “Such a nice-looking fellow,” she said. “It’s a shame he’s so married—three women yet!”

“Yes, and all of them with low numbers,” Max said. “Without seniority, you can’t get anywhere in this business.”

Max, Blossom and Fang headed for the spot where Max had parked his car. On the way, Max said, “Fortunately, I got the license number of that cab in which Fred was abducted. Now, it’s merely a matter of finding the cab and the driver and determining where he took the occupants. I think from here on out it’s going to be clear sailing.”

“I hope we’re not too late,” Blossom said fretfully. “By the time we find that cab driver, that FLAG agent may have secreted Fred out of the country.”

“Hmmmm . . . you’re right,” Max said. “I better contact the Chief and have him post agents at all the docks and airports and bus stations.” He halted and removed his shoe, then spoke into it:

Max:
Chief . . . this is 86.

Chief:
Good work, Max. Now, bring him in, and we’ll turn him over to the Defense Department boys. They’re right here, waiting.

Max:
That wasn’t exactly what I called to tell you, Chief. There’s going to be a slight delay. As of the moment, Fred is in the hands of a FLAG agent. It’s only a temporary condition, you understand. But, just to be on the safe side, I think you’d better post guards at all the airports, steamship lines and bus terminals.

Chief:
Max . . . be honest with me, now . . . is there any possibility of a hitch in this case?

Max:
I can’t see any, Chief. I have the license number of the cab in which Fred was robotnapped. It looks like clear sailing to me. The only— Excuse me, Chief. I have to hang up now. From where I’m standing, I can see my car. And a police truck is about to tow it away. I’ll check back later.

Max hung up, and he and Blossom and Fang hurried on to where his car was parked. The driver of the police tow truck was attaching a chain to the front bumper.

“Just a minute there,” Max said. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“You’re parked in a tow-away zone, Mac.”

“I see. Would it make any difference if I told you that my parking here was done in the interests of the entire civilized world?”

“Yeah. Not only would I tow away your car, I’d call a squad car and have ’em pick you up. Anybody with a story like that would have to have a screw loose.”

“In that case, I won’t mention it,” Max said. “Do you mind if we ride to the station with you in the car?”

“Be my guest.”

Max, Blossom and Fang got into Max’s car.

The tow truck driver got into the cab of his truck and started up, pulling Max’s car along the street.

“Now, we’ll never find Fred!” Blossom moaned.

“Patience,” Max said. “Open the glove compartment and hand me one of those 20 mm. shells.”

“No! You can’t shoot that truck!”

“You didn’t let me finish. What I was going to say was, hand me one of those 20 mm. shells marked ‘B.’ ”

“What does that mean?”

“ ‘B’ is for ‘Blank.’ ”

“Oh.” She opened the glove compartment. “All of these seems to be marked ‘Z.’ What does that mean?”

“ ‘Z’ stands for ‘Zoweee!’ Those are the live ones.”

“Oh . . . here’s a ‘B.’ ” She handed the shell to Max,

He slipped it into the chamber. “Fasten all seat belts,” he said.

“Rorff!”

“Then lie down on the floor,” Max said.

Max fired the cannon. There was a tremendous explosion. The car hurtled backwards, ripping free of the tow truck. As it zoomed, like a shot, to the rear, Max steered, looking out the back window. The car finally came to a halt six blocks from where the cannon had been fired.

“Simple as pie,” Max smiled. “From here on out it ought to be clear—”

Blossom had stuffed her fingers in her ears.

A
FEW
minutes later they reached the cab company’s main garage. The superintendent there confirmed that the license number belonged to one of the company’s cabs.

“And where would we find the driver?” Max asked.

The superintendent pulled at his chin. “Ya want me to pinpoint it?”

“As closely as you can.”

“Well, the best I could say is, he’s somewheres between the Hudson River and the East River, and between the Battery and Yonkers.”

“In other words, somewhere on Manhattan Island.”

“Yeah. Unless, of course, he got a fare for, say, Queens or Brooklyn or Staten Island or maybe over in Jersey. If you’re gonna pin me down, I’ll say definitely he’s probably somewheres east of the Rocky Mountains.”

“That may make it a little difficult,” Max said tautly. “Let me ask you this: Will he be reporting in soon?”

“Oh, yeah, he calls in.”

“Then perhaps the dispatcher has heard from him?”

“Yeah, you can talk to him.”

They went to the dispatcher’s office.

“Yeah, I talked to him just a couple seconds ago,” he said.

“Could you tell me exactly where he was at the last report?” Max said.

“Sure. He was standin’ right where you’re standin’ now.”

Max turned to Blossom. “We’re narrowing it down,” he said. Then, to the dispatcher, he said, “Would you have any idea where he is at this exact moment?”

“Try the lunch counter down the block,” the dispatcher said. “His name is Harry.”

They found Harry where the dispatcher suggested that he might be. He was a large, smiling man. “Whatcha want?” he said.

“Harry,” Max said, “I want you to think about this and answer it carefully. The fate of the entire civilized world may depend on your reply.”

“Yeah, ya know, the same thing happened to me last week,” Harry said. “I was cruisin’ Park Avenue, see, and this guy hails me. He’s got this overnight bag. And when he gets in, I hear this overnight bag goin’ tick-tick-tick. Well, to me, it sounds like—”

“Harry,” Max broke in, “time is of the essence.”

“Same with this guy last week,” Harry said. “He’s in a big hurry. Like if he don’t get where he’s goin’ somethin’ horrible’s gonna happen. So I said to him, I said, ‘Look,’ I said—”

“Harry, excuse me, but a computer’s life is at stake. Now, earlier today, in the Village, you picked up a gorgeous brunette and a metallic-looking fellow whose eyes revolved and—”

“Ya know, funny you should mention that. About, say, two weeks ago, I’m cruisin’ along Fifth Avenue, and I get hailed by this gorgeous brunette. I say to myself, ‘Now there’s a dame that looks familiar.’ So she gets in the cab, and I start thinkin’. Who’s she? From somewhere, I know her. But who’s she? I start goin’ over names in my mind. Elizabeth Taylor, I think. No. Sophia—”

“Harry,” Max interrupted, “it’s a fascinating story, but unless we find this gorgeous brunette and her captive very soon, it may be too late to save the Western World from complete domination by the Bad Guys. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for that, would you?”

“Well, live and let live,” Harry replied. “The trouble is, today, who’s the Bad Guys? I remember about twenty years ago, the guys that was the Bad Guys then is the Good Guys today. And the guys that was the Good Guys then is the Bad Guys today. So, the way I look at it, you got to take the long view. How do I know that the Bad Guys today ain’t gonna be the Good Guys tomorrow? And, ya know, I intend to be in business for a while. How do I know that the Bad Guys of today, when they’re the Good Guys of tomorrow, how do I know but what maybe they’ll want to hail a cab? So I don’t take no sides. Business as Usual, that’s my motto.”

“All right, forget about that,” Max said. “Let’s get back to that gorgeous brunette. The guy that was with her, this Fred—”

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t finish my story, did I? So, anyway, I said to myself, ‘Sophia Loren? No. Jean Harlow—’ ”

“Harlow was a blond.”

“How did I know, maybe she dyed her hair. Maybe she’s wearin’ a wig. Right? Anyway, it wasn’t none of them. You know who it was?”

“Who?”

“Agnes Cornfelder.”

Max nodded dimly. “Agnes Cornfelder.”

“Yeah. She lived down the block from me when I was a kid. Well, was I surprised! ‘Listen, Agnes,’ I says, ‘I remember you. How come when you was a kid you was a red-head and skinny and had buck teeth? How come now you’re such a gorgeous brunette?’ Ya know what she says? She says her name ain’t Agnes, and if she’d’ve ever knew me when she was a kid she’d’ve shot herself. That’s what ya get for tryin’ to be complimentary to a person. Ya know?”

“It don’t . . . it doesn’t pay,” Max said. “Now, getting back to the problem. Earlier today, you picked up a gorgeous brunette and a robot. What I want to know is—”

“A robot?”

“A computer, actually, but built in the form of a robot.”

“You’d think I’d remember a thing like that,” Harry said. “I don’t remember no robot.”

“Revolving eyes. Lever at his side.”

“Oh. Was that guy a robot? How about that! Boy, the mistakes in recognition a guy can make. I been tellin’ the guys I had Rock Hudson in the cab with me today. How about that!”

“Where?” Max said. “Where did you take them?”

“East Side. Posh apartment house. You want the number?”

“I want the number,” Max said.

Harry gave him the number, then added, “But if you’re one of them autogram hunters, you’re wastin’ your time. I just found out that guy ain’t Rock Hudson. Some kook tells me he’s some kind of a robot made up like Rock Hudson.”

“I’ll check it out,” Max said briskly, backing away.

The four blocks to the East Side address was only an hour drive through crosstown traffic. Reaching there, Max, Blossom and Fang jumped out of the car and approached the doorman at the entrance to the building.

“If it weren’t for the uniform, I’d say that guy looks familiar,” Max said.

“He certainly is nice-looking,” Blossom said. “I wonder if he’s married.”

“I’m
still
married,” the doorman said, having overheard the conversation.

Max and Blossom stared at him.

“94!” Max said finally.

“Right,” 94 replied. “This is the assignment I was in a hurry to get to.”

Max asked 94 if he had seen Noel and Fred enter the building.

“Yes—not long ago,” 94 replied. “They went to apartment four-oh-one. I know because, not long after they had gone up, the girl called down on the phone and asked to have a wrench and a pair of pliers sent up!”

“Fred! Poor Fred!” Blossom cried.

“I think this calls for haste,” Max said. “Come on!”

Hurrying after Max, Blossom called back to 94. “My regards to your three wives—and let me know if it doesn’t work out!”

Max and Blossom boarded the elevator, then, moments later, got out at the fourth floor. They raced down the corridor to four-oh-one. Without halting, Max threw himself against the door. It splintered, and fell in, and Max went tumbling after.

Blossom regarded him as he lay face down inside the apartment. “Don’t you
ever
knock?”

“This is how it’s done,” Max said, getting up. “Rule number seventeen.”

They looked around. The apartment was of a fairly good size, but completely vacant.

“A front, obviously,” Max said. “I wouldn’t be surprised at anything we might find here.”

“I’d be surprised if we found Fred,” Blossom said. “This place is completely deserted.”

“To the untutored eye, yes,” Max said. “But to a crack investigator this place fairly reeks of occupancy.”

“Oh? Like how?”

Max sniffed. “Get that? The scent of Mulligan stew! There’s something cooking!” He spoke to Fang. “After it, boy!”

Fang went galloping out the door and down the corridor.

“Coward!” Max yelled after him.

“No . . . look, he’s stopping at that door,” Blossom said.

Max followed after Fang. As he reached him, the door of the apartment that he had stopped in front of opened. A middle-aged woman put her head out.

“No dogs allowed,” she said.

“No dogs aloud? He hasn’t said a thing.”

“Well, he looked like he was going to bark.”

“Rorff!”

“He said he had no intention of barking,” Max told the woman. “And, speaking of barking, do you happen to be cooking a Mulligan stew?”

“The saints presarve us, yes!” the woman answered.

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you’d put a lid on it,” Max said. “The scent is pervading the apartment down the hall and interfering with an official investigation, the result of which the fate of the Free World hangs in the balance on—or something.”