by Barbara Paul
“That seems pretty definite,” Megan said.
“Not really. It’s all very tidy as far as the legal profession is concerned—but there are other experimental studies that tend to demonstrate just the opposite. The results are just too inconsistent to provide an absolute answer one way or the other. Personally, I’m inclined to agree hypnosis can’t force you to do something against your will—but that phrase ‘against one’s will’ is so vague and nondefinitive. A modest woman can be made to disrobe in public—if she thinks she’s in the privacy of her own home. Technically she’s not doing anything against her will—she’s just getting ready for bed. But she’s been deceived. Something like that could have happened to Megan.”
Gus had been thinking. “If he used a drug on her …”
Snooks shook her head. “The drug would increase her suggestibility but it wouldn’t alter her personality. That can be done—‘brainwashing.’ But brainwashing depends on physical abuse to wear the subject down, and Megan wasn’t hurt physically. Also, brainwashing involves the incessant repetition of the same suggestion over a long period of time—months of it. Thirty-eight hours just isn’t long enough to brainwash someone.”
Megan had been listening carefully. “So what does it come down to, Snooks? If I’ve been programmed to, to assassinate the President of the United States—will I go through with it?”
“I don’t know,” Snooks said regretfully. “I’d like to give you an answer, Megan. But I simply don’t know. The thing that puzzles me is the amount of time that has elapsed. Do you realize it’s been well over a month since that missing weekend? That’s an awfully long time to let pass between the planting of the suggestion and triggering its recall.”
“Maybe he wanted to allow time to repeat the hypnosis if it didn’t take the first time,” Gus suggested. “He’d have no way of knowing Megan would turn out to be as receptive as she is.”
“Possibly,” Snooks mused. “Yes, that might be it. But that implies a target date of some kind, doesn’t it? Getting her ready to do something by the time a specific day arrives. Any big days looming in your immediate future, Megan?”
Megan lifted her hands, palms up.
“I think we ought to concentrate on the question of why,” Snooks said. “Anybody in your personal life out to get you, Megan? What about Rich?”
Megan dismissed Rich with a wave of her hand. “Rich doesn’t have the energy for an elaborate venture like this one. He prefers simple, dramatic showdown scenes, with lots of accusations and poignant suffering. Besides, we just don’t hate each other enough to bother. Rich isn’t behind it.”
“Anybody else who might have done it?”
“Can’t think of anyone.”
“Then it must be your work. Megan, what is it specifically that you do at Glickman?”
“Mostly I direct product distribution on the national level. I decide how much each branch gets, based on past sales records and certain special considerations.”
“What kind of considerations?”
“Oh, recession, for one. Say a couple of mills or factories shut down somewhere. The branch in that area won’t be selling as much. Or say one branch shows a marked rise in its number of reorders—I simply increase its initial quarterly allotment. Economic conditions are always changing.”
“What else?”
“What else do I do? Well, whenever there’s a new product, like Lipan, I arrange direct shipments to the distributors. Normally the branches make all their own shipping arrangements, but new products are the exception. I also take care of the nuts-and-bolts details of local deliveries from the Bethel Park lab.”
“These shipments—do they include hard drugs?”
“Of course.”
“Nationally or Bethel Park?”
“Both.”
“So you control the movement of drugs,” Snooks said thoughtfully.
“That’s got to be it,” Gus said with excitement. “Do you know what the street price is now for heroin in capsule form? Forty-five dollars for one capsule.”
Snooks stared at him. “How do you know that?”
Gus shrugged. “It was in the morning paper.”
“You think that’s what it is then?” Megan asked. “A plain old drug heist? Then why all the hoodoo, why not an honest, straightforward hijacking?”
“Is your delivery schedule available to anyone who asks for it?” Snooks said.
“No, of course not! Most of the time even the drivers don’t know what they’re hauling until right before they leave.”
“Well, then? As a continuing source of information, Megan, there’s nobody in that corporation better situated to help hijackers than you are.”
“As a continuing source of information?”
“Megan, I don’t like saying this—but if it works once, isn’t it reasonable to assume they’ll try it again?”
An uncomfortable silence developed. Neither Snooks nor Gus wanted to mention what they were all thinking.
Finally it was Megan herself who mentioned it. Negatively. “I am not going to resign,” she said heatedly. “Why should I have to? I didn’t do anything!”
Snooks shook her head unhappily. “All those drugs on the street—”
“We don’t know it’s drugs! You’re just assuming that’s what it is.”
“Pretty damned reasonable assumption,” Gus muttered.
“Oh, Gus, it’s easy enough for you,” Megan said with distress. “You’re not working at a job you’re committed to the way I am. I could go to another company and start over, but—well, I wasn’t going to tell you this until I knew where I stood a little better, but I guess I’d better now. I’m in line for a vice-presidency at Glickman.”
“Hey, Megan!” Gus, clearly delighted for her. “Hey, that’s great!”
“The chairman of the board interviewed me a few days ago—and I think it went all right. He’s a cagey old fox, I couldn’t be sure what he was thinking. But these things are never decided in a hurry. I just have to wait. Then this, this hypnotist comes along and—oh, it couldn’t have happened at a worse time!”
Snooks added her congratulations to Gus’s and then asked, “How do you reconcile your personal antipathy to drugs with your rise through the corporate structure of a drug manufacturer?”
“There’s nothing to reconcile.” Megan smiled, the first time since the phone call. “I don’t have anything against the proper use of drugs—they’re medicine, after all. What I’m opposed to is the way so many people reach for a pill every time some little thing goes wrong. I don’t take drugs because I don’t need any right now. But if I get sick, I’m going to want ’em by the bucketful.”
Snooks nodded, satisfied. After all, Megan had agreed to the use of sodium amytal during one of their sessions; she’d decided the need was legitimate. It was consistent.
Gus stood up and stretched his legs. “You know, Snooks, she’s right—we are just guessing about that posthypnotic command. Megan shouldn’t resign or do anything until we find out what the command is.”
“Oh my,” said Snooks. “Just how do you propose we do that?”
Gus took a big breath. “Ask the man who knows. Find the hypnotist.”
“Uh-huh. You know how to go about doing that, do you?”
Gus waved his hands in the air. “Phone book?”
“There are more hypnotists in the area than the ones listed in the yellow pages.” Snooks thought a moment. “There is a hypnotists’ union—I suppose they could give us a list. All right, say we are able to work a miracle and somehow single out the hypnotist who did a job on Megan—then what? He’ll tell us what we want to know if we just ask him politely enough?”
Gus shifted his weight back and forth, obviously not having an answer. “Maybe we could beat it out of him?” Snooks snorted. “Or turn him over to the police?”
“On what charge? We have no external evidence.”
“Well … what about kidnapping? He did kidnap Megan.”
&
nbsp; “Got a witness? Gus, even Megan isn’t a witness, and she was there.” Gus glowered at her. “Look,” Snooks said, “if we take a story as cockeyed as this one to the police, they’ll laugh us out of the station house.”
Gus disagreed. “No, they won’t. They’ll have to investigate.”
“Investigate what, Gus? Our suspicion that such-and-such a hypnotist did something nasty to our friend Megan’s mind? Whoever he is, you can be sure he’s covered his trail. Just think a minute. That Sunday Megan woke up in Schenley Park. Why there? If her car could be brought back to Shadyside, then so could she. There’s an element of contempt in the way she was just dumped on the golf course—as if this man were daring Megan to make of it what she could. Whoever he is, he’s pretty damned sure of himself.”
Snooks paused. “I know I sound negative, but I’m just trying to find a practical solution. Megan is in danger of being forced to do something that is undoubtedly criminal. That’s what we should be thinking about. The danger to Megan.”
Gus resumed his perch on the sofa edge. “I still say we ought to find the hypnotist.”
“Then what do we do when we find him?”
“Then we kill him,” Megan said in a dead voice.
Snooks and Gus stared at her, not quite believing what they’d heard.
Megan’s eyes were unfocused. “The only sure way to eliminate the danger is to eliminate the hypnotist.”
“Megan?” Snooks said querulously.
Megan came back from wherever she’d been and shook her head in dismay. “Will you listen to me? Talking about killing. My god.”
Snooks nodded. “If that’s what you thought of, then that’s what you should talk about. I can see how you’d feel that way.”
“Can you?” Megan asked dryly.
“Well,” said Gus, feebly trying for a light touch, “it certainly would prevent any more missing weekends, wouldn’t it?”
“Bad joke, Gus,” Snooks said shortly. “Feeling so threatened that you think about murder—that’s no laughing matter.”
Megan was irritated. “For heaven’s sake, Snooks—I was just talking. Do you really think I’m capable of murder?”
“Of course you are,” the older woman snapped tiredly. “So am I. We all are.”
Even me? Gus wondered.
“Speak for yourself,” Megan said tightly. “I’m no killer.”
Snooks flapped a hand at her. “Anybody can kill if he’s threatened seriously enough. A manic-depressive in the down half of his cycle might just stand there and let himself be harmed—but an integrated personality will defend itself. You’re no exception.”
“So you’re calling me a potential killer?”
Now Snooks looked annoyed. “Only in the sense that we’re all potential killers.”
“Oh, well, that makes it all right, then. We’re all killers. That makes me feel a lot better.”
“Why so much resentment, Megan? This can’t be a new idea to you.”
“I don’t think you’re being very understanding. I said something in a moment of stress and now you’re using it against me.”
“I’m not using anything against you. You’re overreacting.”
What are they arguing about? Gus thought uncomfortably.
“I’m overreacting?” Megan laughed unpleasantly.
“That’s what I said.” Snooks was making a visible effort to stay calm.
“But you’re the one who took a careless remark and blew it up out of all proportion.”
“Out of proportion to what?” Snooks said pettishly. “Careless remarks often tell us more than carefully thought-out statements.”
“Oh, listen to that institutional ‘us’!” Megan sneered openly. “‘We’ know things that ignorant laymen can’t possibly understand?”
Stop it, stop it! Gus was miserable; they were taking their tensions out on each other instead of … instead of … he couldn’t think what instead of.
“Megan.” Snooks spoke in a voice that should have been soothing but somehow wasn’t. “Being the target of a patient’s hostilities is an occupational hazard every psychiatrist in the world is acquainted with. You see what you’re doing, don’t you? You’re focusing your anger on me.”
“So now I’m back to being a patient, am I? Somebody who’s sick?”
“Goddam it, Megan, enough is enough!” Snooks exploded. “You take exception to everything I say!”
Gus shrank back into the corner of the sofa, making himself small. He felt utterly intimidated by the sight and sound of these two formidable women going at each other. He hated it.
Their words got angrier and angrier, until Megan flounced into the bedroom and slammed the door. Snooks stood fuming for a minute—then stalked into the kitchen and finished off the pizza. Gus huddled in his corner, wishing he were just about anywhere but there.
After a short while Megan came back out of the bedroom—calm, poised, in control. She apologized stiffly to Snooks, her anger still audible just beneath her formal tone. Snooks apologized back, just as stiffly and formally. Then—horrors!—both women turned toward Gus. He jumped to his feet. Almost as if they’d rehearsed it, they told him they were sorry he’d had to witness that petty little scene. Gus mumbled something and fought the temptation to dig one toe into the floor.
There was an awkward movement toward the door. Once again Snooks and Megan expressed polite diplomatic regrets, and Gus and the psychiatrist left.
Megan closed the door behind them and leaned her head against the panel. She was not proud of her behavior. She didn’t like losing control.
A knock on the door made her jump. Damn that woman! Didn’t she ever give up?
Megan jerked the door open. “Now look here, Snooks—oh, Gus. Did you forget something?”
He looked uncomfortable. “No, I didn’t forget something. I came back to tell you something.”
“Tell me what?”
“I’ll help.”
“What?”
“I’ll help you kill him.”
CHAPTER 8
“I was just talking, Gus. I didn’t mean it.” She glanced in his direction. “Did I?”
The street light didn’t reach Megan’s minibalcony where they were sitting. “I don’t know,” Gus’s voice said in the darkness. “Did you?”
“Of course I didn’t.” She looked down on Howe Street; it was quiet, nothing moving. “It was just one of those things you blurt out. I couldn’t kill anybody.”
Neither one of them said anything for a moment; they were both thinking of what Snooks had said. Finally Gus asked, “Do you think she’s right?”
Megan sighed. “Well, she’s the one who’s supposed to know about things like that. If she says we’re all capable of killing if the threat is serious enough—I felt like killing, when I said it. But the moment passed. It didn’t mean anything. Everybody says things in anger they don’t mean.”
“You weren’t angry when you said it.”
The silence was jarringly broken by a motorcycle that coughed and farted its way down the street. “Damned noise polluter,” Megan muttered.
Noise isn’t being polluted, quiet is, Gus thought idly. “Well, at least now we know why all that Lipan went to California by mistake.”
A short silence. “We do?”
“Sure, don’t you see? It was a dry run. You sent it yourself—Bogert didn’t have anything to do with it. They were just testing you, to see if you followed posthypnotic commands.”
“They, they, they. Who the hell are these ‘they’?” she muttered. “So I’m the one who sent the Lipan to the wrong place. Not Bogert. You’re sure of that, are you?”
“It had to be you. Don’t you see, they were testing to make sure you’d retained the posthypnotic command—or more than one command, seems likely. They wouldn’t bother doing that unless they were worried the suggestion would fade over a period of time. You’re being set up for something yet to come, no question of that.”
“And the call ton
ight—”
“Was just to keep you juiced up. Now that they know the hypnosis works, they’re not going to take the chance of letting the, uh, primary command lose its authority through lack of reinforcement. Megan, that guy could be calling you every day and you wouldn’t know it.”
They were both silent a long time. Then Megan said, so softly that Gus could barely hear her, “How dare he? What makes him think he can walk into my head and take over my life—and get away with it?”
“Well, he seems to be getting away with it pretty well so far. We haven’t a clue as to who he is. How could we? No wonder he feels safe. And even if we did find out his identity, then what? I keep suggesting the police, but you and Snooks both say no.”
“Gus, you know why.”
“Yeah, I know—it’ll queer your chances at the vice-presidency. And Snooks says they couldn’t do anything anyway.”
“It sounds reasonable, much as I hate to admit it. They can’t rush out and arrest somebody on our say-so.”
“They can investigate. Those two cops I talked to, the ones who told me about the slashed tires—they were cooperative. The police are here to help, Megan.”
“I know that,” she said testily. “But all that will come out of it is the investigation itself—which won’t do me any good at Glickman. They can’t do anything without evidence that’ll stand up in court.”
Gus made a sound of reluctant assent. “And unfortunately there really isn’t any way they can get the evidence. Unless the hypnotist has an attack of conscience and confesses.”
“Fat chance of that.” She mused a moment. “We don’t need evidence.”
“You’re thinking it again, aren’t you?” Gus said. “You were right about one thing, Megan. The only sure way to eliminate the danger is to eliminate the hypnotist. But actually doing it—well, that’s something else.”
