"It's a God (bleeped) diamond-plated cannon, that's what."

"Lemme see that, George. Looks like one of them old-time gangster rods!"

"Naw, that ain't no Colt .45 ACP, Ralph."

"Yes, it is! It's just been engraved or something."

"Naw! Look there! This fancy picture on the side says it's a Maysabongo."

George said to Heller, "Hey, nigger. What the hell kind of a handgun is this thing?"

"Me no talk beautiful English," said Heller in a high-pitched voice. "English not native tongue."

Ralph said, "He's some kind of a foreigner."

George said, "Hey, nigger. You got a permit for this thing?"

"Look on seat," said Heller.

George leaned into the cab. He evidently found the folder Heller had dropped there. But he continued to lean in, looking it over. He was muttering.

George backed out. "What the hell, Ralph. I can't make head or tails out of this." He walked over to his partner.

"Mebbe so you better call in on beautiful radio," said Heller. "Checkee license plate."

George said, "Oh, yeah." He went to the back of the cab, made a note and then, carrying the papers, went back to the police car and leaned in. Ralph stayed alert, holding the Llama pistol in one hand and keeping his own Colt .357 Magnum trained on Heller.

I couldn't hear the radio conversation because they'd left their motor running and George was too deep in the police car. Suddenly he backed out, microphone still in hand. "Ralph! Does that car look like a foreign limousine to you?"

Ralph pushed his cowboy hat back with the Llama barrel and then moved to get a better look at the old cab. "Yeah, George. It looks old enough to be un-American."

George ducked back inside the police car. Then suddenly he backed into plain view, pulling the microphone with him. His eyes were popped. He said, "No (bleep)?"

He leaned in and put the microphone on its hook. Holding the papers, he went over to Ralph. "Look, Ralph. These papers say this is Rangtango Blowah, Republic of Maysabongo, Consul for the State of Connecticut. Now, them tags is diplomatic tags. The dispatcher checked with Washington. This nigger has got diplomatic imboomity."

"What the hell is that?" said Ralph.

"The dispatcher says Washington says you can't put a finger on him. He can do anything he pleases. We can't arrest him no matter what he commits."

"Jesus! Diplomatic imboomity? Must mean he could blow the whole place up and we couldn't even touch him."

"I'm afraid so," said George.

"Oh, (bleep)!" said Ralph. "Can't we even impound this handgun?"

"I'm afraid not," said George. "Give it back to him. He could even shoot us and we couldn't say a word!"

Heller took the weapon back from a reluctant Ralph. "This whole place now," he said in a high-pitched voice, "proppity of part of Republic of Maysabongo. You not in States United now. You standing in Maysabongo."

"Jesus," said Ralph. "The God (bleeped) foreigners are buying up the whole (bleeping) country!"

"I'm afraid so," said George.

"Look, nigger," said Ralph. "We saw you drive nice and peaceful by us twice. What the hell was the idea of suddenly speeding?"

"Test," said Heller. "Me see if you good alert top man fine cops. You pass test very good, please."

He reached into his wallet and took out two one-hundred-dollar bills. He gave one to each of them. "Every month, you each get one."

"Did the chief pass the test?" said George, "He's my uncle."

Heller took out two more one-hundred-dollar bills. "He good man. He pass test double. So he get same so each month, too."

They were putting the bills in their wallets. "My God," said Ralph. "We can't even get him for bribing an officer! This imboomity has advantages!"

"Hey," said George, "this is just like the old times my grandpappy used to tell me about. When the bootleggers had this place, they paid off regular and you couldn't touch them, either!"

"No, no, no," said Heller in his high-pitched voice.

"Not bribe. Please raise left hand. Maysabongo do everything left-handed. Now say after me: 'I now part-time honorary...'"

The deputies both did.

"'... deputy sheriff in marines of Maysabongo... and do aforesaid promise... if I see anything strange going on, I look other way ... and if I see stranger trespassing I blow heads off.'"

They repeated it all carefully.

Heller reached into his pocket and brought out three plain, gold stars with nothing on them. He handed one to each of the deputies. Then he gave George the third. "You tell uncle chief he sworn in, too. Here his badge."

"Hey!" said Ralph. "It's legal after all! You could tell he wasn't a hundred percent pure nigger. He's got blue eyes!"

"One more thing," said Heller. "Me hire whitey engineer. He very good man. He gottee pale hair. He got diplomatic imboomity, too, so he okay if you see here." And he handed them a passport picture of himself.

They looked at it gravely. George gave it and the folder back. He raised his hat very politely. "You can count on us to blow heads off anybody you say," he promised.

Ralph raised his hat.

They got into their police car and drove off.

With a horrible shock, it suddenly came to me what that (bleeped) Heller had done! He had enlisted the local constabulary! Nobody else could get near that place now!

At the place he would use for a garage, the old lady would blow people's heads off. At the roadhouse, the deputy sheriffs would blow people's heads off.

How perfectly awful of Heller! We couldn't get our noses into either place to sabotage things!

As soon as we got the platen, the bump-off of Heller would have to be done in New York!

(Bleep) him. I knew we'd be in trouble if he started studying espionage. And here it was!

Fate is seldom kind. And when it starts shovelling out bad news, it seldom knows when to stop.

Heller had worked around the roadhouse for the rest of that day, mainly airing things out and making sure the stove worked—I suppose because winter was on its way. He seemed to enjoy it outside. He admired the maples, the leaves already reddening from a night frost. He trotted up to a hilltop and looked all around. He seemed to be very interested in rocks in the flat field near the road-house, for he took a blasting cord and levelled a couple outcrops—he just loves to explode things!

The last thing he did was post a sign. It said:

Property Trespassers

Will Be Deported to Elsewhere

with Their Heads Blown Off

Not Responsible for Damage Done by Mine Fields

He found a place where he could get the cab across the river and was soon going deeper into the country. Abruptly, the other side of the abandoned gas station came into view. It was on the same forgotten road!

The old lady fumbled around and opened the garage door for him. Heller drove in, played his light over himself and then over the cab and in no time at all had restored everything to its original color.

He went out and fixed a sagging chicken-coop door for the old lady, cut her some firewood by playing a disintegrator gun at sections of logs, had a cup of coffee, listened to what a nice young man he was, and by twilight was rolling along back to New York.

Whatever he was doing, he was making a lot too much progress and a lot too fast!

It was well past midnight where I was. I was just crawling into my otherwise empty bed, pretty exhausted in fact, when there came a knock on the door.

It was Faht Bey. He handed me an envelope and went away.

Groggily, I opened it. I read the first two lines and sat abruptly down. It was the expected report from Raht and Terb:

AGENT UPDATE

We have good news for you.

We are in the hospital.

We did exactly what you said.