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early next
week, but his superior cancelled the appointment and kicked the door open. We
went in.
    The office was
empty. The cops looked around, checking in the closets and under the furniture,
but they couldn’t find anybody.
    “Look in the
light socket, officer,” I suggested helpfully, as they searched. “Or maybe he’s
in that electric pencil sharpener.”
    One of the cops
started looking in the pencil sharpener, then looked at me. “Say, are you
kidding me?”
    I shook my head.
I wasn’t kidding him. I wanted him to look.
    After an hour of
fruitless searching, the cops left, warning me never to call the police again.
I said I sure wouldn’t, not if this was all it was going to get me. After they
had gone, Buzzy began struggling out of an electrical outlet that was near the
floor behind his desk. He didn’t look happy. I hurried out of the office before
he could get all the way out and see me any better than he already had.
    Later that
afternoon, while I was at my locker changing to go home, Shifty came up to me.
He had a gun in his hand. It was pointed at me.
    “Hi, Shifty,” I
said, buttoning up my sports shirt.
    “Hi, Frank,” he
said cheerfully.
    “What’s that
you’ve got in your hand?”
    “It’s a pistol.
I’ve been promoted to assassin. The Big Boss told me to put a bullet in your
brain.”
    I frowned and
stopped buttoning my shirt. “Why did he tell you to do that?”
    He shrugged.
“Didn’t say.” He started pulling the trigger.
    “Hold on, Shifty.
Did he say when to shoot me? I mean exactly when?”
    Shifty thought
about this. “No, he didn’t, now that you mention it. But I got the impression
he wanted it done right away. Then I’ve got to kill…” He took a notebook out of
his pocket and consulted it. “Oh, here it is: ‘Myself’.”
    I shook my head
doubtfully. “I dunno, Shifty. You do what you think is best, of course, but if
it was me, I’d check to make sure about the timing on all this. You know how
important these little details are around here. I’d hate to see you get into
trouble on account of me.”
    His cheerful
smile faded a little. He started to look a little worried. “Hey, that’s right.
Maybe I better check.” He pocketed his gun and walked off. “Catch you later,
Frank.”
    “So long.”
    I had bought
myself some time, but probably not a lot. I didn’t think Shifty’s conversation
with the Big Boss would last very long.
    Figuring it still
might be possible to get Buzzy hauled in on some kind of criminal charges if I
could just find something incriminating enough, I snuck back up to Buzzy’s
office and waited for him to leave. He finally came out, dragging Shifty along
by the scruff of the neck. I started looking for a way into that inner office I
knew he had. I couldn’t find any secret panels or hidden doors, so finally I
just made a door with my shoulder. That’s a handy thing about being big—more
doors.
    To my
disappointment, Buzzy’s inner office didn’t yield anything incriminating. At
least not at first glance. Just more ice cream equipment. Then I looked closer
at the framed poster on the wall I had seen earlier through the window. It was
a wanted poster with Buzzy’s picture on it. It said “Galactic Enemy Number
Six”. The poster had darts in it, and the words “Ha ha” scrawled on it. I took
it down from the wall and saw that “Ha ha” had been written on the back also. I
turned it back over again and saw that there was a phone number to call to
reach the Intergalactic Police in the Pleiades. It had 2000 numbers. And 23
area codes. I picked up the phone on Buzzy’s desk and started dialing.
    When I finally
got through and explained that I had captured Galactic Enemy Number Six,
Bernard Buzzman, aka Buzzy Barrow aka Fussy Fortesque Jr., aka Bernard
Theremin, they told me to hang onto him, they’d be right there. I said great,
and hung up 2000 times.
    I spent the next
several hours waiting impatiently for them to show up,