“Say . . . this is interesting,” Max said. “I’ll bet you make a nice little profit on a secret installation like this.”
“Profits were up seventeen per cent last year,” the blonde replied. “We had a hot item—the Fudgy-Nut Bar.”
“I saw your television commercials,” Max said. “Very good. My favorite was where the little kid got his Fudgy-Nut Bar stuck in his father’s hairpiece. I like the humorous approach.”
“That was a tragedy,” the blonde said.
“Well . . . for the father, I suppose. But—”
“No, no, I think you missed the nuances,” the blonde said. “You see, several years earlier, the boy’s mother was kidnaped by a protoplasm from outer space. As the commercial opened, the father was dandying himself up to visit a go-go dancer he’d been courting. Now, the boy did not want a go-go dancer for a stepmother. So, flashing code signals with a laser beam, he’d contacted the protoplasm and asked for his mother back. The protoplasm was completely willing to return her—in the first place, it’d thought it was getting a sample of hybrid seed corn, and, in the second place, the mother had turned out to be a regular shrew. The only problem was, the protoplasm could return to earth only at a certain time. And by then, the father would be gone, calling on the go-go dancer to ask her to become his second wife. So, somehow, the boy had to keep his father at home until the protoplasm appeared, returning the mother. Consequently—”
“I understand,” Max said. “He stuck his Fudgy-Nut Bar in his father’s hairpiece. What I don’t understand is why the kid didn’t just tell his father that the protoplasm was bringing back the mother?”
“That way, what reasonable reason would we have had to work the product into the story line?”
Max nodded. “That explains a lot,” he said. “You’re right—it was a tragedy. I’m sorry I laughed.”
A few yards on, they were met by two short chubby, well-dressed men, who were wearing derbies, chewing short, stubby cigars, and standing near a number of in-ground vats. Max looked into the nearest vat and discovered that it was bubbling with dark chocolate syrup.
“They finally got here,” the blonde said to the men.
“What kept you?” one of the men asked Max. “We left a trail that anybody with any brains could have followed with his eyes closed.”
“He’s dumb,” the blonde explained.
“Now, let me get this straight,” Max said to the man. “You wanted us to follow your trail?”
“I thought of it,” the other man said.
“Maybe we better introduce ourselves,” the first man said. “I’m Melvin Means, and this—” He indicated the second man. “—is Wayne Ways.”
“Got it,” Max nodded. “Means and Ways. But that doesn’t explain why you wanted us to follow your trail.”
“We knew a team of Control agents would be sent to follow us,” Ways explained. “And, things being what they are—with all this slanting, so that the Good Guys always catch up to the Bad Guys—we knew that, in time, you’d find us. Then, we’d eliminate you. So, knowing how it was going to turn out—why wait? We let you find us, now we’ll eliminate you, then we won’t be bothered with you anymore. Efficiency!”
“A very good plan,” Max said. “I like it. Except, of course, for the part about eliminating us.”
“That’s my department,” Means said. “And we have the means right here at hand.”
“Efficiency,” Ways repeated.
“I can see only one hitch,” Max said. “What you probably didn’t realize is that no Control team ever leaves on an assignment like this without a second team to back it up. At this very minute, this factory is probably surrounded by from fifty-to-one-hundred Control agents, all armed to the teeth with machine guns, shivs, grenades, and land-to-air communications systems.”
“Land to air . . .”
“For calling in an air strike,” Max explained.
Ways frowned. “You said ‘probably’ surrounded. Aren’t you sure?”
“Little mix-ups do happen,” Max replied. “They may have been delayed. You know how traffic is at this time of day.”
“Fifty-to-one-hundred agents?” Means shot back. “Aren’t you sure about the number?”
“Well . . . it depends a lot on how many men were hanging around the ready room with nothing else in particular to do.”
“With machine guns, shivs and grenades?” Ways asked.
“Listen,” Max said irritably, “did I question it when you came up with that wildy about a protoplasm kidnaping some kid’s mother!”
The blonde rolled her eye ceilingward. “Dumb!”
“Go out and look around,” Ways said to the young lady. “If you see any Control agents—give us a whistle. They’ll be easy to spot. They’ll be the ones listening to the bricks.”
The blonde hurried off.
“Since we have a few minutes to kill,” Max said to Wayne Ways, “would you answer a question for me? Is Number One really here?”
“Didn’t you hear her?” Ways replied. “We turned her up to ‘High’ so you’d hear the ticking.”
“You know, you’ll never get away with this,” Max said. “Number One is very loyal. She’ll never allow you to brainwash her.”
“You’re wrong,” Wayne replied. “We told her what we plan to do, and the only thing she said was: how much oil is in it for me?”
The blonde returned. “All clear,” she reported.
“Then we’ll just have to wait,” Max said. “I told you they probably got caught in traffic.”
“Tell him how we’re going to eliminate them,” Ways said to Means. “That’ll pique his interest.”
“It is kind of cute—even if I did think it up,” Means said, blushing slightly. “The thing is, it’s got kind of a new angle. There’s plain ol’ ordinary drowning, you know. And there’s common ol’ everyday headchopping. And there’s— But this has got a certain . . . well, a certain ‘something’ . . . the touch of the artist, or something like that.”
“It’s got a theme,” Ways said.
“Right—a theme,” Means agreed. “The theme is: a man—and that includes the ladies, too—a man should die the way he’s lived. Get it?”
“Is ‘get it?’ a part of the theme, or was that a question?” Max asked.
“A question.”
Max shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
“I think I do, Max,” 99 said. “The point is, some men—including the ladies—live bravely, and some live cowardly, and some live inspiringly, and so forth and so on. And Mr. Means believes that a man—including the ladies—should die in the same manner. I think it’s sort of sweet.”
“Wonderful!” Means beamed. “Because that, dear lady, is how you are going to die. In a ‘sweet’ way. We’re going to drown you in this vat of sweet chocolate.”
“Oh, sure—I get it!” Max said brightening. “Sweets for the sweet! That’s very appropriate. Let’s see now,” he mused, “what could you have picked out for me? Something appropriate . . .”
“We’ll feed you to the nut chopper,” Means said.
“I get it—in recognition of my sharp mind,” Max nodded. He indicated Hymie. “What about him?”
“Since he’s a machine—” Means began.
But he was interrupted. Max had been edging closer and closer to the blonde. All of a sudden, he reached out and snatched the pistol from her hand. But he did not get a good grip on it and it slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. Everybody—Max, the blonde, Hymie, 99, and Means and Ways—leaped for it. The toe of Max’s shoe reached it first, kicking it into the vat of chocolate.
“Boy, some kid is going to get a surprise when he bites into his Fudgy-Nut bar,” Max said, drawing his own pistol.
“We’ve just changed the name of the bar to the Fudgy-Nut Surprise,” Ways replied, drawing his pistol, too.
Max fired at Ways. The bullet struck Ways’ gun, knocking it from his hand, then ricocheted, hit a boiler, ricochet
ed again, and struck Max’s gun, knocking it from his hand. Everybody leaped for the two pistols. In the scramble, both guns were knocked into the vat of chocolate.
Melvin Means was the first to get free. He drew his gun.
“Everybody up!” Means commanded. “Them that’s with me, over here! Them that’s with him, over there!”
But at that moment, Max charged out of the pile-up and hit Means with a powerful block. Means went sprawling backwards—and the pistol went flying. Max jumped up and made a one-hand catch, just before the gun could fall into the vat of chocolate.
He leveled the gun at Means, Ways and the blonde. “All of you, over there!” he ordered. Then he addressed 99 and Hymie. “And all of you, over here—behind me,” he commanded.
Max heard two plops. He looked around. Behind him was the vat of chocolate. 99’s and Hymie’s heads were just bobbing back to the surface. They were chocolate-coated.
Appalled, Max bent down to reach a hand to them. He heard running behind him, and the next moment he went diving into the vat of chocolate. When he pushed himself to the surface, he was between 99 and Hymie—chocolate-coated—and Means and Ways and the blonde were standing at the edge of the vat looking pleased.
“It’s not perfect, but it’ll get the job done,” Means said. “They can’t climb out. And how long can you swim in a vat of chocolate?”
“You may think this is working out for you right now,” Max warned, “but just wait’ll you start getting complaints from people who find bones in their Fudgy-Nut Bars. You’re going to have a lot of explaining to do!”
“Dumb!” the blonde groaned.
Assuming that Max, 99 and Hymie would soon drown, Means and Ways and the blonde departed.
“Max, this is terrible!” 99 said.
“Oh . . . I don’t know, 99,” Max replied. “Look on the bright side. Before long, we—or, parts of us, anyway—may be appearing in a Fudgy-Nut television commercial. That’s something.”
“Max, that isn’t what I want out of life,” 99 fretted. “What are we going to do?”
“How should I know?” Max asked. “Ask Hymie. He’s the agent-in-charge. He got us into this, let him get us out.”
“Max, it wasn’t Hymie’s—”
“99,” Max interrupted, “the agent-in-charge must assume full responsibility. If I were in charge, I’d be glad to take the blame for this. And I expect Hymie to do the same.”
“If it’s my responsibility to get us out,” Hymie said, “will you do what I tell you?”
“And wind up in the vat of butterscotch?” Max replied, sarcastically. “Considering, Hymie, I don’t know how you have the gall to ask us to trust you again. But—” He shrugged. “—how could you do any worse than this? All right—what do you want us to do?”
“I’m going down to the bottom of the vat,” Hymie replied. “When you see bubbles appear, that’s the signal. Max, you stand on my shoulders.”
“I appreciate the gesture, Hymie,” Max said. “But forget it. It’s too late . . . I no longer have the desire to appear taller.”
“No, Max—”
“You go ahead, Hymie,” 99 said. “I’ll explain it to him.”
Hymie dived toward the bottom of the vat. A few moments later, bubbles appeared on the surface of the chocolate.
“Now, Max, you stand on Hymie’s shoulders,” 99 said.
“All right . . . but I’m going to feel silly. When you’re drowning in chocolate, it’s a little late to start working up an act for the Ed Sullivan Show.”
“Are you on his shoulders, Max?”
“Yes, 99, but— 99! What are you doing?”
“I’m climbing up on your shoulders, Max.”
“Hey . . . you know! Ed Sullivan might be interested in this at that—if we kept the vat of chocolate in the act, that is.”
From Max’s shoulders, 99 could reach the rim of the vat. She got hold of it, then, dripping chocolate, climbed out. Next, she reached a hand to Max and pulled him out. Then 99 and Max helped Hymie out of the vat.
“You’re very fortunate, Hymie,” Max said. “If you’d told me your plan before you tried it, I think I could have proved to you that it couldn’t work. Let that be a lesson to you.”
“Max, are you going to let Hymie be in charge now?” 99 asked.
“I have nothing to do with it, 99. The Chief put him in charge, so that’s it—he’s in charge. However, I would like to point out once more that if I had been in charge we would never have fallen into that vat in the first place. Let me tell you how I’d have handled the situation. Now, you see . . . Means and Ways and that blonde were over there . . . and you and Hymie were over here. In other words, you were partly in my line of fire. So, I had to get you behind—99 . . . Hymie . . . behind me, please. I can’t show you how I would have handled the situation if you won’t cooperate. That’s right . . . behind me. Now . . . the minute I had you out of the—”
Max had the feeling that he was talking to himself. He turned and found that 99 and Hymie were no longer behind him.
“Where the—”
“Max! Help!”
Max looked up. He saw 99 and Hymie riding a conveyor belt that was taking them toward the ceiling of the factory, where the belt then dumped its contents into a funnel-like container.
“I’m coming!” Max cried, scrambling up the conveyor belt.
“Max!” 99 wailed when he reached them. “You should have stopped the machine!”
“Why didn’t you say so?” Max grumbled. “You called for help. And that’s what I’m doing. I’m here to help. Anyway,” he said crossly, “how did you get into a predicament like this?”
“You made us get behind you, Max. And behind you was the conveyor belt.”
Max nodded gloomily. “Put a robot in charge and you can expect anything. When the Chief—”
At that moment, they were dumped into the funnel. The funnel was filled with a sticky liquid that was slowly being fed into another vat. As Hymie, who was first in line, was squeezed through the narrow end of the funnel, he got a hold on the rim of the second vat, pulled himself up to a walkway, then caught and rescued 99 and Max as they were extruded.
“That was close,” Max said. “Look, my arms are stuck to my side.”
His arms suddenly came unstuck and flew out. The left arm hit 99 and the right arm hit Hymie. They tumbled backwards off the walkway and landed on another conveyor belt.
“I’m coming—don’t yell!” Max called, leaping onto the belt.
“Up ahead!” 99 cried, as Max landed. “We’re being fed into the nut chopper!”
“Too bad old Means isn’t here to see this,” Max commented.
Hymie, still first in line, was drawn into the chopper. Fortunately, Hymie was made of the finest steel. The blades of the chopper hit him—and shattered. Max and 99 then passed through the chopper mechanism without a scratch.
“Well, that certainly made up for all those other bloopers you’ve made, Hymie,” Max said. “I think we’ve discovered where your true talent lies. You aren’t cut out to be a leader, you were born to be fed into nut choppers. I just hope you’ll remember your place from now—”
“Max! What’s that!” 99 cried.
Max peered carefully at the machine into which the conveyor belt was carrying them. “I’m not an expert on candy-making machinery, 99,” he said. “But, offhand, I’d say that’s a—”
One after the other, Hymie, 99 and Max disappeared into the machine. A moment later they emerged, dumped one on top of the other into a large basket. They were neatly sealed in Fudgy-Nut wrappers.
“—packaging machine,” Max said, completing his statement.
“Max! Where are you? It’s dark in here! I can’t see a thing!”
“Unfold yourself at the end!” Max called back.
There was a jangling sound.
“Your shoe is ringing!” 99 said.
“I’ll bet that’s the first time anybody ever said that to a Fudgy-Nut Bar,” Max
commented, breaking out of his wrapper.
99 and Hymie had also freed themselves.
“Max . . . your phone,” 99 said.
Max removed his shoe and spoke into the sole.
Max: I’m chewy and I’m crunchy and if you buy me and take me home I’ll please your sweet tooth—who am I?
Operator: You’re Max Smart and you’re loaded.
Chief: Max? For heaven’s sake, is that you? What’s all that prattle about a sweet tooth?
Operator: He’s been hitting the dandelion wine again, Chief.
Max: That’s not so, Chief. The fact is, if you could see me now, you’d swear I was a dead ringer for a Fudgy-Nut Bar. See what happens when you put Hymie in charge? Not only did he let Means and Ways get away with Number One, but he very nearly got himself and 99 and me displayed on candy counters all over America.
Chief: Max, what are you talking about? What Ways and Means?
Max: Means and Ways, Chief. They’re two little dumpy KAOS agents who wear derby hats and operate a candy factory at a very nice profit—up seventeen per cent last year.
Chief: I see. And this Ways and Means, as I understand it, they got away from you?
Max: Means and Ways, Chief. The way you say it—Ways and Means—it sounds funny. Yes, thanks to our fearless but stupid leader, they got away. And it’s my guess that they took Number One with them. We’ll probably never find her now. You might mention that to HIM the next time you’re talking to him.
Chief: Max, let me talk to Hymie.
Max: Hymie who, Chief?
Chief: You know who I mean, Max. Put him on!
Max: Chief, I have a suggestion. Wouldn’t it be better to put me in charge of the case? I could send Hymie back to headquarters and you could talk to him personally. A lot of misunderstandings result from poor communications, Chief. There might be static on the line, and Hymie might not understand what you were telling him.
Chief: Max!
Max handed his shoe to Hymie. “This may be a party line,” he said. “Don’t say anything you wouldn’t want your nearest and dearest friend to overhear.”
Get Smart 8 - Max Smart Loses Control Page 4
