Get Smart 1 - Get Smart! (8 page)

She pawed in her purse. “What for?”

“Just watch.”

Max opened the tube of lipstick that Blossom gave him, then wrote

HELP!

on the car window.

Next, he rapped on the window again, trying to get the attention of a passerby.

A beatnik stopped, stared for a second at the writing, then applauded. But after that he simply walked on.

“Didn’t get through to him,” Max said. He knocked with his knuckles on the window again.

A girl beatnik heard and paused. She squinted at the wording, then moved to the car. But she didn’t open the door. She held a small card up to the window.

Max read the words on it. “Life is the ultimate psychodrama.”

Max applauded.

The girl curtsied, then walked on.

“This isn’t helping at all,” Blossom complained.

“Well, we’re meeting some interesting people.”

“We’ll suffocate in here!”

“Look on the bright side,” Max said. “A lot of poor souls suffocate, and
never
meet any interesting people.”

“Can’t they understand what HELP! means?”

“Apparently it isn’t in the beatnik vocabulary,” Max said. “We’ll have to try something else.” He looked around. “I wonder if this car is equipped with a telephone.”

“What good would that do?”

“Well . . . see that telephone booth over there? Right near the coffee house? We could ring that booth, and when somebody answered, we could get him to come over here and let us out.”

Blossom began helping him search for a telephone.

“Rorff!” Fang barked.

“That’s right!” Max said.

“What did he say?”

“He reminded me that I’m standing on a telephone.”

Blossom looked at him warily.

“My shoe,” Max explained. “It’s a telephone.”

Blossom clapped her hands to her cheeks in panic. “You’re going out of your mind!”

“I’m going to get us out of here, that’s where I’m going,” Max said, removing his shoe.

Blossom screamed.

“Quiet! I’m on the phone!”

Max:
Hello . . . Operator? I’d appreciate a little assistance. You see, I’m trapped in a limousine in Greenwich Village, and I’d like you to ring that telephone booth over there. My hope is that someone will answer it and then come and get us out of here.

Operator:
I beg your pardon, sir. We must have a bad connection. I thought you said you were trapped in a limousine in Greenwich Village.

Max:
Operator, the fate of the entire civilized world depends on this, so, if you don’t mind, I’ll just skip the explanation. All I want you to do is ring that phone booth.

Operator:
Is it a bell?

Max:
I don’t think I get that.

Operator:
You asked me to ring it. Is it a bell?

Max:
That’s very funny, Miss. But, if it’s just the same to you, could we dispense with the humor? Would you please just ring that phone booth?

Operator:
The phone booth . . . Which one? We have quite a few, you know. At least
three.

Max:
The one by the coffee shop. (Pointing) Right over there. The one with the man standing, leaning against it. As a matter of fact, he may be able to— Excuse me, Operator. There’s someone knocking at my window. Hold on.

Max lowered his shoe and turned toward the policeman who had rapped on the window of the car. He shouted out to him. “Yes? What is it, officer?”

The policeman answered. But he could not be heard inside the car.

“I think he’s trying to tell us something,” Blossom said.

“Wouldn’t you know it? Here I am, right in the middle of an emergency, trying to get someone to come over here, and that cop has to stand out there asking questions.” Again, he shouted out to the officer.
“I’m sorry . . . I’m on the phone. Come back later!”

But the policeman didn’t go away. Instead, he opened the car door.

“I couldn’t hear a word,” the policeman said.

“I said, I’m on the phone!”
Max yelled.

“You don’t have to shout. I can hear you now.”

“Oh . . . yes.”

“You’re on what phone?” the policeman said.

Max waggled the shoe. “This phone. And if you want to talk to your mother in Brooklyn, I’m sorry, but I’m in the midst of an emergency.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t want to bother you,” the policeman said. “I’ve just got one question. I got a call from headquarters. There’s some nut down here that’s calling the telephone company and saying he’s trapped in a limousine. I just wondered if you’d seen anybody like that. The operator is stalling the fella, and she’s traced the call to this vicinity.”

Max stared blankly at the policeman for a moment. Then he looked at Blossom, then at Fang, then back to the policeman. “I haven’t seen him,” he said.

“All right. Thanks for your cooperation.” He started to close the door.

“You can leave it open, officer,” Max said.

“Whatever you say.”

The policeman strolled on, looking this way and that for a lunatic trapped in a limousine.

Max spoke into his shoe again.

Max:
Operator, I don’t think that was very nice of you.

Operator:
I’m sorry. I heard what you said to the policeman, and I apologize. But it did sound a little crazy. Do you still want me to ring that telephone booth?

Max
(smirking): Ring the telephone booth?

Operator:
Yes.

Max:
What do you think it is—a bell?

Operator:
Yes, sir. All our telephones are Bell’s.

Max hung up his shoe.

“If there’s anything I can’t stand,” he muttered, “it’s a smart telephone operator.”

Max, Blossom and Fang climbed out of the car. Max slammed the door.

Glancing back, Blossom said, “So that’s why!”

“Why what?”

“Why nobody paid any attention to that message for help you wrote on the glass.”

Max looked. In lipstick on the car window he saw written:

!PLEH

“Still . . . you’d think one of those beatniks would have understood it,” he mused. “Oh, well . . . another lesson learned. In every manner and every way, we grow smarter and smarter, day by day.”

A few seconds later, the trio entered the coffee house, the Idyll Hour.

“Before we continue the search for Fred,” Max explained, “I want to find Boris. There are a lot of sharpies down here in the Village, and an innocent tourist like Boris could be fleeced out of his eye teeth and never even know it. It’s my duty, as a typical New Yorker, to protect him. After all he’s done for us, it’s the least I can do.”

The interior of the Idyll Hour was dimly lit. Heavy drapery kept the sunlight out. Max squinted into the dimness and saw a long counter that held a number of espresso machines and a clutter of tables and chairs, all of which seemed to be occupied by young men and women in various modes of eccentric dress.

“I don’t see Boris,” he said.

The hostess approached them. She was a gorgeous brunette, dressed in tight-fitting pants and a heavy-knit sweater. She looked remarkably like Noel, the girl guide and secretary to the ambassador from Fredonia.

“Don’t tell me,” Max said. “Paree, Illinois, right?”

“
Oui!
Summer of ’61?”

“Could be,” Max replied. “Frankly, the summer of ’61 is not very clear in my mind. So much was happening. But, enough of this chit-chat. I’m here, first, on a mission of mercy, and, second, on a mission of grave importance to the entire civilized world. So . . . number one . . . have you by any chance seen a little fat tourist from Zinzinotti, Alleybama?”

Noel shook her head.
“Non.”

“Then try this one. How about a tall, skinny computer with revolving eyeballs?”

Noel brightened.
“Oui, oui!”

Max turned to Blossom. “The translation of that is ‘yes and no.’ No, she hasn’t seen Boris, but, yes, she
has
seen Fred.” Then, facing Noel again, he said, “There’s more to this than meets the eyeballs, but, for the sake of expediency, let’s just say that this computer with the revolving orbs—who shall remain nameless—is a cousin of mine whom I’m trying to track down to deliver a message from his draft board.” He winked. “Get it?”

“Oh,
oui!
We are speaking, of course, of your Cousin Fred.”

“Exactly. Now, since you say you’ve seen him, could you tell us which way he went?”

“He went ‘Peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta, dippa-dotta-boop!’ ”

“I’m referring to direction.”

Noel pointed toward a door at the rear of the Idyll Hour. “He go thataway,” she said.

“Through that door, eh? I wonder if that could be a trap?”

“Oh, no.”

“Just to be on the safe side,” Max said, “you go first, and we’ll follow.”

“Oui.”

Noel threaded her way between the tables. Max, Blossom and Fang trailed after her.

When they reached the door, Noel glanced back over her shoulder cautiously, then pushed it open.

Beyond her, Max saw a row of slot machines. Facing them, playing them, were men and women of varying ages and shapes. They all had a dazed, distant look in their eyes. Here and there were persons whose eyes were revolving.

Max stepped inside, past Noel. “I don’t see Fred.”

“Not the people,” Noel said. “The machines. I’m certain that one of them is your cousin.”

“Possible.” He signalled to Blossom and Fang. “Let’s check it out.”

Blossom and Fang followed him into the room. The door closed. They waited as Max went from machine to machine, staring each one straight in the eye. After a few minutes, he returned.

“No Fred,” he said. “These machines are all too short.”

“I don’t know,” Blossom said. “That one over there . . . the one that no one’s playing. It looks a little familiar.”

“Let’s give it a double-check,” Max said.

They went to the machine.

Max peered at it closely. “Fred?”

No answer.

“No, on second thought,” Blossom said, “that isn’t Fred. As you say, Fred is taller. He’s also thinner.”

Max glanced around. “I wonder why no one’s playing this machine?”

“I’m sure there’s a reason,” Blossom said.

“It looks ripe for a jackpot to me,” Max said.

“Max, you can’t
win
on those things.”

“Normally, no,” Max said. “I happen to have a system, however.”

“That’s silly. You’ll just lose your money.”

“A
foolproof
system.”

“Rorff!”

“Stick to your liverwurst!” Max snapped.

“Come on, let’s go,” Blossom urged.

“I’ll just try
one
quarter,” Max said. “You see, my system is this: I figure that the people who play these machines, as a group, have the worst luck that it’s possible to have. So, naturally, they play the wrong machines. Consequently, the machine they’re not playing is the one that’s due to pay off.”

“That’s silly. I’m sure there’s some other reason why this machine isn’t being played.”

“All right . . . we’ll put it to the test,” Max said, taking a quarter from his pocket. He dropped the coin into the slot. “It’s my guess that somebody is going to be
very
surprised.” He pulled the lever.

The floor gave way, and Max, Blossom and Fang went hurtling downward into space.

“Surprised, aren’t you?” Max said smugly.

“HELP!”

“Well, now, at least, we know why that machine wasn’t being played,” Max said. “It was installed over a trap door.”

They landed abruptly, becoming a spaghetti of arms and legs—more legs than arms, since Fang was with them. They found themselves in total darkness.

“HELP!” Blossom screamed again.

Above them, the trap door banged shut.

“I don’t think they can hear you,” Max said.

“HELP!”

“Quiet!” Max snapped. “I’m looking for my fountain pen.”

“If they can’t even hear me, what good will writing do?”

“My fountain pen happens to be a flashlight at one end,” Max explained. “Ah . . . here it is. Now, I just press this . . . oops!”

“What happened?” Blossom asked.

“Wrong end. I just shot myself in the face with a squirt of ink!”

“Turn it around, you fool!” said a voice.

In the darkness, Max said, “Blossom? Was that you?”

“Noooo,” she answered, her voice trembling.

“Is me!” said the voice—male.

A beam of light suddenly cut into the darkness. Illuminated in the beam was Boris!

“Don’t tell me!” Max said. “Zinzinotti, Alleybama!”

“So we meet again,” Boris smiled.

“Boy, are we glad to see you,” Max said. “We were worried. We saw you sitting in that limousine that was shooting at us earlier, and we thought you were in danger. We tried to talk to you, but we missed you. Incidentally, how did you get into that limousine?”

“Nyet!”

“No what?”

“Is not limousine,” Boris said. “Is sight-seeing bus. I was on sight-seeing tour, and I got separated from the group.”

“I see,” Max said. “That explains why you’re down here in this hole.” He turned to Blossom. “That explains everything. Know what we’ve blundered into? A tourist trap!”

“What I’d like to have explained is how we’re going to get out of here,” she said.

“Don’t panic,” Max said. “If there’s a way in, there’s a way out. That’s elementary logic.”

“Don’t tell me about logic, tell me how!” Blossom said testily.

Max turned the beam of the flashlight upward toward the trap door. “Simple,” he said. “We stand on each other’s shoulders.”

“Rorff!”

“Or, yes, I suppose we could try that,” Max said.

“What did he say?”

“He suggested that I use my shoe to call outside for help.”

“Of course!” Blossom enthused. “Call the Chief!”

“Frankly, I’d rather rely on my individual initiative,” Max said. “I’m going to feel like a silly fool telling the Chief I’ve fallen into a tourist trap. It isn’t the kind of thing a native New Yorker likes to admit.”

“Then just tell him it’s a hole,” Blossom said. “You don’t have to be any more specific than that.”

“I don’t think it will be necessary to tell him anything,” Boris said. “We will all be dead by then.”