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the bushes.
    The fact that I had continued my
investigations despite their friendly warnings, delivered by them in what they
felt was a friendly way, amazed the crooks and, yes, it kind of hurt their
feelings too. This was not the way friends acted, they felt. It prompted a
late-night visit to my home of four thugs, who invited me to come along with
them for a little ride.
    While this invitation was being
delivered, the leader of the group absently picked lint off my shoulder and
eyelashes off my eyelids. This helped me come to my decision. I would go along
with them. I said a well lighted area might be a fun place to go, maybe
someplace with a lot of witnesses, but they said they would choose the
destination.
    They took me to a drive in movie.
About half way in to the second feature, they told me what was on their minds.
They didn’t want me nosing around asking about TIME MACHINES ever again. They
felt they had made themselves clear on this before, but obviously some facets
of the matter had remained vague. They wanted to take this opportunity to make
their request louder and clearer. They attached a drive-in speaker to each of
my ears, then, tying into the theater’s sound system, repeated their warning at
such a volume that, as I write this, my head is still vibrating enough to seem
to be playing a little song. Then they asked politely if I had heard them this
time. I said I sure did, boy. Heard it that time. Loud and clear. They said
good.
    As they drove me home, they told
me a story about another man who hadn’t paid attention to their warnings. What
was left of him was found by some Russians who were walking in space. If this
story was true, it was alarming. I asked if it was true. They said it was. This
was alarming.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    I continued my
investigations the next day, but more warily now, disguising myself by starting
to grow a mustache. Surprisingly, this didn’t help. It’s like they didn’t look
at my upper lip at all.
    I was outside a movie theater
studying the marquee which said “The Time Machine” and wondering if this was a
clue, when some tough boys came around the corner and started heading my way,
fitting brass knuckledusters onto their hands. This didn’t look like just a
warning. This looked like something more painful than that. Maybe we were past
the warning stage. I tried to lose them by taking off at full speed down the
street, suddenly spinning around and then racing past them the other way. I
found out that doesn’t work when you’re on foot. You need a car for that. They
just grabbed me by the neck as I went by.
    I said: “Look, if you’re going to
hit me try to hit me in the middle part of my head. The front and back already
hurt like hell. And try to leave a mark. My insurance company doesn’t believe
me half the time.”
    I’m not sure they were even
listening to my instructions. They rebuked me for continuing on the case when I
had been asked so nicely not to, and expressed scorn for the flimsy disguise I
was attempting to grow. Then they pounded me to a pulp and dumped me in the
middle of a roller rink, with my butt sticking way up in the air. So there’s
the embarrassment factor too.
    Recovering from the beating at
home, I looked at myself in the mirror. It was me all right. Still me. Good old
me. My clothes were pretty torn up though. People don’t realize that when a
detective gets beaten up his shirt and pants take a licking too, and clothing
isn’t cheap these days. Ask anybody. And clothing stores don’t take trade-ins,
so it can run into some money. Ask those same guys from before.
    The next morning a knocking woke
me up. It was somebody knocking my head against a pipe. It was those same tough
boys from the day before. They said they were on their way back from killing a
milkman and had decided to stop by to see if I remembered what we had all
discussed yesterday. I said sure. Was I going to be looking for any time
machines today? I said sure. I tend to not