INSPIRATION!

I knew my way out of this!

I could have her committed to Bellevue.

Any psychiatrist would end her as a threat!

The court could not possibly object!

My Gods, no wonder they had considered me a top student at the Apparatus training school!

I COULD SOLVE TEENIE!

No wonder they continued to practice psychiatry here on Earth and at such vast expense. What a Gods-send! You could get rid of anybody you wanted, get them mangled or murdered at the stroke of a pen.

I could get rid of Heller, Krak and now Teenie. All through the vast humanitarian benefits of psychiatry!

What are the facilities of civilization for, if not for use?

The project to end Teenie without getting hit for her murder was no sooner conceived than begun.

I phoned the stalwart and staunch security chief of the Rockecenter enterprises. I said, "This is Inkswitch. I need a resume of your file on Teenie Whopper, the teenager you threw down the steps the other day. She's a troublemaker."

"That's ancient history, now," he said. "But I can get it on the computer if it's still there. Wait a minute.... Yes, here it is. You mind if I just sketch this to you? It's pretty extensive."

"Go ahead," I said.

"Born Sioux Falls, South Dakota, fifteen years ago. Parents, according to court records summarized here, were two con artists, Hazel and Shaker Whopper. They must have travelled all over the U. S.-numerous arrests, lots of cities. I'll spare you the list."

"They aren't dead?"

"Not according to this. Still operating in Canada. Anyway, you didn't ask for them. They used this Teenie in a badger game from the time she was four and up until she was eleven."

"What's a 'badger game'?" I asked.

"Set somebody up in a sex situation, take photos of him doing it and then blackmail him. This had a difference. They used the kid. They'd put her in a hotel room with some guy. She'd get him to let her go down on him, and right when it came to the juicy part the parents would walk in with flashguns and cameras and blackmail the bird. I'm just scanning this for you. Lots of arrests on suspicion.

"They got to New York about five years ago and were raking in the dough. And then they hit the wrong man-a Superior Court judge, Hammer Twist. He laid a trap for them, they fell for it and when they walked in with the cameras the cops were waiting.

"Says here he had them judged unfit parents and had the kid Teenie made a ward of the court. She hasn't seen her parents since.

"The judge appointed her a guardian: some old guy, I guess, because the report here says he died of alcohol­ism. That was three years ago. Due to usual court delays, no guardian since.

"Note here of a mental problem."

"Aha!" I said. And then eagerly, "Go on!"

"Just that, no more. Says she was expelled from school about six months ago. Personnel officer at Octopus recommended part-time employment as a hardship case.

"Personally fired by the big chief himself during routine personnel inspection of female staff. And that's all we've got on the blotter unless you want a lot of (bleeping) case numbers."

"No, that's plenty!" I quivered. "Just give me the name of that school she was expelled from and any psychiatrist and psychologist mentioned in that mental problem."

He gave them to me and rang off.

Oh, Gods, had I hit the jackpot! A child pawn in a sex blackmail game. And a mental problem! I was IN!

I phoned Judge Hammer Twist, remembering that he did not leave until tomorrow for the Miami golf tour­nament. As I avoided the court system and rang his home directly, I was in luck.

"I'm a Fed," I said, carefully not mentioning my name. "Could you tell me what you know of a Teenie Whopper?"

"Teenie Whopper? Teenie Whopper? Teenie Whop­per. Oh, yes, I recall the name now. She's a ward of this court, I think. Oh, yes. I just signed a court order enjoining some Turkish nut from murdering her. Foreign (bleeps). They're raping the whole country, you know."

"Did this girl ever do anything irregular with you?"

"Oh, you mean sexually? No, of course not. The only irregularity that comes to mind was my chief clerk. Every time she did her monthly report-in to the court, he used to give her a kiss. But I put an end to that. I made it totally unnecessary for her to report in. That fixed him!" He laughed. "Yes, she comes back to me now. But if you don't mind, I have a lot of packing to do. Good day."

He rang off. What a liar that (bleeped) brat was! Saying the judge kept her around to go down on him. A really pathological case! And DANGEROUS!

I called the psychologist. He said, "Teenie?... Teenie?... Oh, you mean the girl that was expelled six months ago."

"Would you mind telling me what she was expelled for?"

"Not a bit," he said. "I hope she's in Federal trouble, (bleep) her. She went in the locker room just before the biggest game of the season and went down on the whole football team. Weakened them. They lost, of course. Christ, were people mad at her. I lost a bundle on it myself."

"You didn't have her as an assistant, did you?"

"Assistant! Christ, no! She was my patient for a while and I just continued the treatment recommended by her psychiatrist. Just routine for school children."

"What was her psychosis?" I said.

"You'll have to talk to her psychiatrist for that. You'll have to excuse me. I'm very backlogged today on child care."

I rang off. My, I certainly was getting there. All those tales about helping him out by going down on him and his patients. Gods, what a liar! And a dangerous one, telling lies like that on honest, hard-working professionals, slaving away to make school children into fit citizens.

My luck was holding. The psychiatrist was not only in his office but he was between appointments.

"Always glad to help the Feds," he said. "Where would psychiatry be without the government to support it? Teenie Whopper? (Bleep), I have so many patients, (bleeped) kids... I'm looking in my files. Hold on... Nurse, where are the files?... Ah, here it is. Teenie Whopper. Serious case."

I grinned eagerly into the phone. "What was the diagnosis?"

"Hyperactivity. I spotted it myself when she was skateboarding. Flagrant case."

"Did you treat her?"

"Certainly I did. You don't think I'd neglect my school children, do you? Have to make a show for Federal assistance appropriations some way."

I knew I had Teenie now. Right in a vice!"What was the treatment?" I said.

"Hyperactive child? Textbook. We only go by the textbook here. I started it and then turned it over to the school psychologist to continue and complete. Yes, here's the discharge notation."

"She didn't ever go down on you, did she?"

"(Bleep) no! The proper treatment for hyperactivity is sexual release, of course. You put the patient on a table, strapped down, and use a hand vibrator. In the case of girls, of course, you might have to give them kisses to provide oral stimulation to get them started. But I assure you, the vibrator produces a perfectly acceptable orgasm or ejaculation in any child. Did she say I had her go down on me?"

"She certainly did."

"That's absurd. Why should I want a little girl to go down on me when I have my hands absolutely full of young boys that have to be converted to homos? Why would you use girls to do that when you've got so many boys to do it? Makes no sense!"

"So she lies," I said.

"Of course," he said.

"Then you wouldn't be adverse to signing an order committing her to Bellevue."

"WHAT? My God, no! I resent that! I'll have you understand that I know my business perfectly. You're not putting any black marks on my record to reduce my appropriation. My diagnosis was 'hyperactive.' That was correct. The treatment was standard and was begun by me and completed by a competent psychologist. A notation right here says 'symptoms permanently submerged, have seldom seen a child so hollow-eyed and (bleeped) up, skin and bone.' Sir, are you inferring that psychiatry is not a successful science?"