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hose, a feat of such difficulty that it amounted in Chinese Gordon’s mind to a major taunt.
    There was a loud rap on the sliding door, and Chinese Gordon shouted, “Yeah!” as he went to slide the bolt aside. Immelmann slipped in, already talking, and closed the door behind him.
    “Chinese, I’ve been thinking about this thing a lot lately, and I think we ought to put it off for now.”
    “We can’t. Tonight is perfect. I’ve checked the place out and we can do it. There’s no moon, the night will be cloudy, and everything is set. If we wait too long those professors will have cut all of Grijalvas’s cocaine into lines and pumped them up the noses of five hundred degenerate bums who claim to have migraine headaches.”
    “I’m starting to get a migraine myself,” muttered Immelmann. “Chinese, I just don’t feel lucky.”
    Chinese Gordon started carefully hanging his hand tools on their pegs along the wall. “What happened?”
    “Nothing,” said Immelmann. “I didn’t get much sleep last night and I don’t feel sharp. You shouldn’t do something big if you don’t feel sharp.”
    “Why didn’t you sleep?”
    “There was a party in the apartment across the court. It was unbelievably noisy. The music was so loud I could feel it, and people kept going outside and then when they came back they’d have to shout louder than the music to get somebody to open the door. Then I called the police.”
    “So?”
    “So I dialed the number and a very strange voice came on. It was slow and deep and kind of gravelly, like this: ‘Who…is…this?’ I said, ‘I’d like to make a complaint.’ The voice, honest to God, Chinese, it sounded weird, like a big fat ghost. ‘Who…is…this?’ again. Three times. I said, ‘I’d like to file a complaint.’ Then the voice said in that same way, ‘Go…fuck…yourself.’ Then he hung up.
    “Then I called the phone company and they said they’d connect me. As soon as I heard it ringing I knew it was the same voice: ‘Go…fuck…yourself,’ before I could say anything. I didn’t sleep at all.”
    Chinese Gordon suddenly realized he’d lost sight of Doctor Henry Metzger, who had gone out through his secret exit again. “Don’t be a fool,” Chinese Gordon said. “It’s just nerves. This thing will only take an hour or so, and then you can sleep tonight and the next few days after that. You could even spend the night calling the same number and giving him a hard time.”
    Immelmann pondered the idea. Then he shrugged and said, “I’m going to go try him right now,” and stomped up the stairs to Chinese Gordon’s living quarters.
    Kepler didn’t knock, just kicked the door and yelled “Yo!” When Chinese Gordon let him in, Doctor Henry Metzger scampered in among the feet, and Chinese Gordon glared at him in anger.
    Kepler said, “Hello, Doctor Henry,” and the cat rubbed its body against him and leaped up on the workbench. Chinese Gordon clenched his jaw and turned away so Kepler wouldn’t sense his annoyance. Kepler said, “You know, Chinese, I wouldn’t have put all those steel shutters and bolts and things on if I were you. It makes burglars think you’ve got something in here they’d want. What did it cost you, anyway?”
    “Not much,” Chinese Gordon lied. “I did it myself, of course.”
    “Well, if you need any more of the quarter-inch steel, let me know. I can get it cheap. Free, practically.”
    “Thanks,” said Chinese Gordon, “but—”
    Immelmann was coming down the stairs.
    “Well?” said Chinese Gordon.
    Immelmann said, “This time it was a different voice. The voice said, ‘Los Angeles Police Department.’ I have it figured out, though. There must be something wrong with my phone. When I dial the police number it registers wrong and gets The Voice.”
    “Sounds possible,” said Chinese Gordon. “They can send a guy to fix it tomorrow.”
    “Fix it?” said Immelmann. “Hell, no. I’m going to leave it that way.