"Thank you for your consideration, sir. And good night."
Rath shrugged and walked to the door.
"Wait!" Caswell called.
Rath turned. Caswell had taken his hand out of his pocket. In it was a revolver. Rath felt sweat trickle down his arms. He calculated the distance between himself and Caswell. Too far.
"Here," Caswell said, extending the revolver butt-first. "I won't need this any longer."
Rath managed to keep his face expressionless as he accepted the revolver and stuck it into a shapeless pocket.
"Good night," Caswell said. He closed the door behind Rath and bolted it.
At last he was alone.
Caswell walked into the kitchen. He opened a bottle of beer, took a deep swallow and sat down at the kitchen table. He stared fixedly at a point just above and to the left of the clock.
He had to form his plans now. There was no time to lose.
Magnessen! That inhuman monster who cut down the Caswell goricae! Magnessen! The man who, even now, was secretly planning to infect New York with the abhorrent feem desire! Oh, Magnessen, I wish you a long, long life, filled with the torture I can inflict on you. And to start with….
Caswell smiled to himself as he planned exactly how he would dwark Magnessen in a vlendish manner.
The End
FB2 document info
Document ID: c6ff6cd2-0ef9-4ef8-bb6d-eac6f4ad4c43
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 31.3.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.45, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
Robert Sheckley
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Bad Medicine pte-9 Page 3
