all the fuel. Now, if I were to simply phone up Delbert John Rockecenter and tell him he had a son, he'd be so grateful that he'd rush around and help Jettero and we'd be all finished here and could go home."
Bang-Bang's black Italian eyes were nearly popping out of his thin face.
The Countess Krak continued. "And if he doubts it, why, I'll just go out and find the son and turn him over to his father. Oh, Bang-Bang, Rockecenter would be so grateful he'd put Jettero on center stage with all the spotlights blazing and tell him 'Jettero, you write the show and we'll put on any act you want!' It can't fail, Bang-Bang. That's why I stayed behind."
Bang-Bang had found his voice. "Miss Joy! You can't go phoning Rockecenter! You can't go looking for some dumb kid! That mob is a gang of wolves! They'd eat the Virgin Mary, toenails and all, and never even
bother to spit out one Ave Maria! In short-beggin' your pardon, ma'am-they're (bleeps), Bury and that Rockecenter crew! Wolves, Miss Joy, WEREWOLVES!"
"Oh, nonsense, Bang-Bang. I've read a lot of guidebooks and things on New York, and Rockecenter has been giving away things to the people right and left: fountains, museums. The place is loaded with them."
"That was just the Rockecenter way of turning off the heat!" said Bang-Bang. "Just a way of buying advertising space when nobody would waste spit on the name!"
"Be that as it may," said the Countess Krak, "a father's heart could not help but open up if he knew he had a son. And that's why I am going to tell him or find the son and tell him, and out of gratitude he'll help and we can go home."
"IZZY!" screamed Bang-Bang. Then he seemed to realize he couldn't be heard through a door and down hundreds of feet of halls. He raced out and came back with an alarmed and wild-eyed Izzy. Bang-Bang marched him to the secretary desk. "Izzy, please explain to Miss Joy what (bleeps) Rockecenter and Bury really are."
Izzy swallowed several times and wiped his glasses on his tie and tried to put his tie on his nose. "Miss Joy, please don't do anything rash." Bang-Bang punched him in the side and he continued. "If the corpses made by the Rockecenter mob in starting wars and ending competition were laid end to end, they'd walk on them forever. The family was founded on selling crude oil for a cancer cure and they've been a cancer ever since. The family policies make a Mafia vengeance curse sound like a Sunday school prayer. Those horrors are not fit company for a delicate and beautiful lady. Anything we can do to help you while away the time? Theater tickets? Flowers? Diamond rings? A new collar for the cat? Until Mr. Jet
comes back and gets you under control, please tell me. What can we do to make you forget about this?"
"You can tell me how to find a telephone number," said the Countess Krak.
"Don't tell her," said Bang-Bang.
"I won't," said Izzy. He wandered in a small helpless circle, wrung his hands and went away.
Bang-Bang crept over to the bar and got behind it like he was in an observation post. Now, from afar, he was staring at the Countess Krak in worried bafflement.
She pulled over a phone. She looked at it studiously. A button said Operator. She pushed it. She got the operator. "How do you find a telephone number that is not in the phone book?" said the Countess Krak.
"Long distance or local, please," said the operator.
"That's the trouble," said the Countess Krak. "I don't know where he is."
"Where who is, ma'am?"
"Delbert John Rockecenter."
"Delbert John Rockecenter?"
"Delbert John Rockecenter."
"You mean the Delbert John Rockecenter that owns the phone company?"
"And the planet," said the Countess Krak.
"Jesus Christ," said the operator. "Ma'am, I think I better put you through to the Chief Information Operator. Hold on, please."
The Countess Krak had begun the trek across the telephone information lines of the planet that I had followed months before. She soon had London, Johannesburg, Moscow and Paris into the
Bang-Bang's black Italian eyes were nearly popping out of his thin face.
The Countess Krak continued. "And if he doubts it, why, I'll just go out and find the son and turn him over to his father. Oh, Bang-Bang, Rockecenter would be so grateful he'd put Jettero on center stage with all the spotlights blazing and tell him 'Jettero, you write the show and we'll put on any act you want!' It can't fail, Bang-Bang. That's why I stayed behind."
Bang-Bang had found his voice. "Miss Joy! You can't go phoning Rockecenter! You can't go looking for some dumb kid! That mob is a gang of wolves! They'd eat the Virgin Mary, toenails and all, and never even
bother to spit out one Ave Maria! In short-beggin' your pardon, ma'am-they're (bleeps), Bury and that Rockecenter crew! Wolves, Miss Joy, WEREWOLVES!"
"Oh, nonsense, Bang-Bang. I've read a lot of guidebooks and things on New York, and Rockecenter has been giving away things to the people right and left: fountains, museums. The place is loaded with them."
"That was just the Rockecenter way of turning off the heat!" said Bang-Bang. "Just a way of buying advertising space when nobody would waste spit on the name!"
"Be that as it may," said the Countess Krak, "a father's heart could not help but open up if he knew he had a son. And that's why I am going to tell him or find the son and tell him, and out of gratitude he'll help and we can go home."
"IZZY!" screamed Bang-Bang. Then he seemed to realize he couldn't be heard through a door and down hundreds of feet of halls. He raced out and came back with an alarmed and wild-eyed Izzy. Bang-Bang marched him to the secretary desk. "Izzy, please explain to Miss Joy what (bleeps) Rockecenter and Bury really are."
Izzy swallowed several times and wiped his glasses on his tie and tried to put his tie on his nose. "Miss Joy, please don't do anything rash." Bang-Bang punched him in the side and he continued. "If the corpses made by the Rockecenter mob in starting wars and ending competition were laid end to end, they'd walk on them forever. The family was founded on selling crude oil for a cancer cure and they've been a cancer ever since. The family policies make a Mafia vengeance curse sound like a Sunday school prayer. Those horrors are not fit company for a delicate and beautiful lady. Anything we can do to help you while away the time? Theater tickets? Flowers? Diamond rings? A new collar for the cat? Until Mr. Jet
comes back and gets you under control, please tell me. What can we do to make you forget about this?"
"You can tell me how to find a telephone number," said the Countess Krak.
"Don't tell her," said Bang-Bang.
"I won't," said Izzy. He wandered in a small helpless circle, wrung his hands and went away.
Bang-Bang crept over to the bar and got behind it like he was in an observation post. Now, from afar, he was staring at the Countess Krak in worried bafflement.
She pulled over a phone. She looked at it studiously. A button said Operator. She pushed it. She got the operator. "How do you find a telephone number that is not in the phone book?" said the Countess Krak.
"Long distance or local, please," said the operator.
"That's the trouble," said the Countess Krak. "I don't know where he is."
"Where who is, ma'am?"
"Delbert John Rockecenter."
"Delbert John Rockecenter?"
"Delbert John Rockecenter."
"You mean the Delbert John Rockecenter that owns the phone company?"
"And the planet," said the Countess Krak.
"Jesus Christ," said the operator. "Ma'am, I think I better put you through to the Chief Information Operator. Hold on, please."
The Countess Krak had begun the trek across the telephone information lines of the planet that I had followed months before. She soon had London, Johannesburg, Moscow and Paris into the
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