The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

“You are a very beautiful woman — that is, to any man. To me, now — if your limbs were twisted things; your face a hideous death mask, you would still be a very beautiful woman — if those eyes remained untouched. The eyes, my dear, are the peepholes to the inner beauty of the mind. I wonder if you understand me. Understand why I verbally maim your beautiful body.”

“I think I do,” said The Flame. “I think — I do.”

“And you do not mind?”

“No—” she said. “I do not mind.”

“I am not playing at the magician, then. The mystery of whose tricks are known only to himself.”

“No—” she said. “I understand you fully.”

I had stood enough of being made monkeys out of, and I let them know it.

“Well — I don’t understand,” I said. “And now, Doctor, you and I are on our way. If you don’t believe in the physical, here’s your chance.”

He turned, thrust the envelope toward me and said:

“I wonder if you would care to return this envelope to its rightful owner.”

“No—” said The Flame. “He’d... he’d kill him, or be killed.”

“I think not,” said Michelle Gorgon. “But even so,” he shrugged his shoulders, “the one is a cross which I am beginning unwillingly to bear — and the other—” he looked at me hard now — and I glared back at him, “a threatening menace on the horizon. Maybe an imaginary menace,” and turning from me to The Flame — and back to me again, “perhaps a real one whom—” A pause, and suddenly, before I could get a word in, “Will you, or will you not return these — this envelope to its sender.”

I took the envelope and shoved it carelessly into my pocket.

“Yes—” I said, “I will. Who is the man?”

“Eddie Gorgon.” There was a slight chuckle. The arm that I had half raised, to bring down on his shoulder was caught, and I was walking from the room with Doctor Michelle Gorgon.

I didn’t break away. I didn’t twist my arm free and hurl him across the room. Somehow I felt silly enough. Somehow, kid like and foolish like, I wanted to carry the thing off as well as he did. Here was a lad who talked and talked, and said nothing. Or did he say a lot, and I didn’t have the wits to get it? But he never threatened — never raised his voice in anger. Treated me in rather good natured contempt — and, to myself, I wondered if we’d been alone would it have been the same. Wouldn’t I have just hauled off and cracked him one, or—? But there’s not much pride in that thought.

And The Flame. Damn The Flame. I wondered if she knew how I felt. That was what hurt the most — that was what cut. Yep, The Flame was laughing at me. Not out loud. Not in a way you could notice even. Maybe she wasn’t even laughing at me. But that will give you an idea of the way I felt. These two seemed to have reached an understanding which I did not get, though I heard every word.

This Third Gorgon — this wop with the white skin and the steady, unblinking eyes, the soft voice and—. Damn it, he didn’t seem like a wop — didn’t seem like anything but what he represented himself to be... a—. But that’s what I was representing him to be. Certainly he had done something to The Flame — reached some understanding with her.

Mind you, a guy can feel stupid, silly, and what have you, and still not walk up in front of a machine gun and wait for the gunman to turn the crank.

I let Doctor Gorgon hold his elbow crooked beneath my arm. One reason was because of The Flame. The other because he had taken my left elbow and my right hand still held the gun. Why hadn’t he grabbed at that right arm? Then I’d have some excuse to hit him one.