Alone, finally, in his room, Max hurriedly scribbled a note to 99. It said: Will meet you at the ballet dancer place.
Then, opening his door, he peeked out and looked up and down the corridor. At the far end he saw a guard.
“Hsssst!” Max hissed.
The guard, an Arab, looked at him speculatively for a second, then, hefting his rifle, approached.
“You speak English, fella?” Max asked.
“Like a native,” the guard smiled. “How about you?”
“Yes, I handle it fairly well,” Max replied. “Although, I have trouble with some of the southern and western dialects. For instance, in southern New York State there is a place the natives refer to as Lawn Guylin. I’ve never been able to find that on a map.”
“That’s Brooklynese for Albany,” the guard explained.
“Oh, is that it? Well, live and learn.”
The guard saluted. “Any time you need any more help,” he said, “I’m just down the hall.”
“Uh… just a second,” Max said, gesturing him back. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I wonder if you would deliver a message for me? Do you know the new dancer in the ballet troupe? She’s quartered in the ballet dancer place. Would you take a message to her?”
“I’m on guard,” the guard replied. “I can’t leave my post.”
“Oh, really? What would happen if you got caught?”
“I’d get a red star,” the guard replied. “Gold stars are for staying at your post, and red stars are for leaving your post.”
“Look, how about this?” Max said. “I’ll relieve you at your post, and that will leave you free to deliver the message. Okay?”
“But I’m supposed to be guarding you,” the guard pointed out.
“Perfect. I can handle that.”
“Well…”
“There’s a buck in it for you,” Max said.
The guard brightened. “I could buy a whole box of gold stars,” he said. “I’ll do it.”
Max gave the guard the message and a dollar, and the guard handed Max his rifle. Then Max assumed the watch over himself, and the guard departed to deliver the message.
As the guard was approaching the ballet dancer place, he met another guard. In fact, they collided at a corner.
“Watch it, you clumsy Arab,” Max’s guard grumbled. “I’m carrying an important message to the new ballet dancer from the American Advisor.”
“Big deal, you camel’s hump,” the other guard replied. “It just so happens that I am carrying a double-important message to the American Advisor from the new ballet dancer.”
“My message is triple-important,” Max’s guard retorted. “I didn’t mention it only because I’m not the type to brag.”
“May the Golden Peacock of Paradise drop bread crumbs in your ear,” the other guard snarled.
“May the Emperor’s horse swish his tail in your face!” Max’s guard responded.
“May the full moon fall from Heaven and land in your soup bowl!” the other guard growled.
“May the seventh son of your seventh son flunk math!” Max’s guard said nastily.
“Hey! That’s an awful thing to say!” the other guard winced.
“Sorry about that,” Max’s guard replied apologetically. “I guess I kind of lost my head. Are we still friends?”
“You know the rule,” the other guard said. “When two good friends insult each other, in order to become good friends again they have to exchange gifts. What do you have to give?”
“What do you have to give?” Max’s guard replied warily.
“I got a buck for delivering this message,” the other guard said.
“Me, too.”
“We could exchange dollars.”
Max’s guard shook his head. “I need this buck. I’m going to buy myself a box of gold stars.”
“Well… let’s see… what else do we have?”
“We have the messages,” Max’s guard pointed out.
“Just the thing!” the other guard beamed.
The two guards exchanged messages, then parted, each guard going his own way, the best of friends once more.
Thus, it was written that Max received the message he had sent to 99, and 99 received the message that she had sent to Max. Max’s message, which he received himself, read: Will meet you at the ballet dancer place. And 99’s message, which she received herself, read: I will meet you at the wall.
Late that evening, Max slipped out of his room, nodded amiably to the guard, then made his way stealthily toward the ballet dancer place.
At the same time, 99 slipped out of the ballet dancer place, nodded amiably to the guard, then made her way stealthily toward the wall.
Reaching the ballet dancer place, Max nodded amiably to the guard, then rapped lightly on the door.
The knock was answered by another of the female ballet dancers.
“I’m looking for 99,” Max whispered.
“You’re in the wrong place,” the girl whispered back. “There are only sixteen of us here.”
“You don’t understand,” Max whispered. “I’m looking for the new flung.”
“Oh. She just stepped out. Would you like to come in and wait?”
Max entered, and the girl closed the door.
“We’re having a practice session,” the girl said. “You can watch if you want to. But you can’t stay very long. Dr. Yeh! is due soon. He stops in every evening to watch us practice. And I don’t think he’d like it if he found a man in the ballet dancer place.”
“Uh, the new flung, did she say when she’d be back?” Max asked.
The girl giggled.
“Pardon?” Max said.
“What a character-the new flung,” the girl replied. “She told us a wild story about being a secret agent and having a rendezvous with another secret agent. She’s probably meeting a boy friend. Who knows when she’ll be back?”
“Oh. Well, in that case-”
“Hssst!” another ballet dancer interrupted. “Dr. Yeh! is coming!”
The first ballet dancer pushed Max toward the door. “Out! He mustn’t find you here!”
“No! Not that way!” the second ballet dancer cried. “He’ll ran right into Dr. Yeh!”
“He can’t leave!” a third ballet dancer said. “Disguise him!”
“How?” the second dancer asked.
“Give him a mop and let him pretend to be the cleaning woman,” a fourth ballet dancer suggested.
“We don’t have a cleaning woman. You know how atrocious the servant problem is,” the second ballet dancer said.
“I do a pretty good imitation of Jimmy Cagney doing a fair imitation of Edward G. Robinson,” Max said. “Do you think that would fool him?”
“The mop!” a twelfth ballet dancer said.
Max shook his head. “I do a lousy imitation of a mop.”
“Put the mop on his head and dress him in tights and he’ll look like one of us,” the twelfth ballet dancer explained.
At that moment, there was a knock at the door.
“It’s him! It’s Dr. Yeh!” the ballet dancers cried in unison.
The second ballet dancer snatched up a pair of tights and the mop. She shoved them into Max’s hands, then shoved Max into a closet. “Dress!” she hissed. “You’re our new flung!”
“But I-”
The door slammed.
Inside the closet, Max grudgingly changed into the tights and mop. Through the door, he could hear Dr. Yeh! in conversation with the ballet dancers.
“Where is the new flung?” he heard Dr. Yeh! ask.
“She’ll be right out,” a ballet dancer replied.
“This is a great night for me,” Dr. Yeh! said. “How long has it been since my troupe last had a flung to fling? It seems like weeks.”
“It’s been weeks,” a ballet dancer confirmed.
Max opened the closet door and stepped out.
“Ah!” Dr. Yeh! cried happily. “Here is our new-” He stared. “This is our new flung?” he continued. He approached Max. “You look different,” he said. “I don’t recall that you had a handle in your hair.”
“Oh… that,” Max said, glancing back over his shoulder at the mop handle. “Actually, you see, that isn’t a handle. It’s a new technical advance in flung-wear. It’s what you might call a rudder. We flungs were being flung into the air and losing our course. The rudder keeps us on the straight and narrow.”
“Didn’t you have dark hair before?” Dr. Yeh! said, squinting at Max puzzledly.
“It suddenly turned mop water gray,” Max explained. “It happens quite often to us flungs. We’re tossed high in the air, and, unfortunately, sometimes we look down. It’s scarey. Enough to turn anybody’s hair mop water gray.”
Dr. Yeh! shrugged. “On with the ballet!”
The ballet dancers, taking Max with them, moved to the center of the room. Dr. Yeh! seated himself on the collapsible throne he had brought along.
“Just relax,” one of the ballet dancers whispered to Max. “We’ll do all the work. You just fly.”
“Fine,” Max whispered back. “I think I can handle- Fly?”
“There’s nothing to it. Just-”
“On with the ballet!” Dr. Yeh! shouted.
One of the dancers stepped forward, facing Dr. Yeh! “This is a new routine we’ve worked out,” she announced. “It’s titled ‘The Birth, Life and Death of the Count of Monte Cristo as performed by Mr. Feldstein’s Social Studies students at Fairfield Elementary School and directed by Lewis and Clark while Lewis plays “A Hard Day’s Night” on the left-handed piccolo and Clark whistles the Second Movement from Daniel Webster’s fugue for adverbs, verbs, pronouns, adjectives and kettle drums blues.’ ”
Dr. Yeh! applauded. “Snappy title,” he said. “What’s it about?”
“We haven’t worked that out yet,” the dancer replied. “We’re still sort of ad-libbing.”
“Good. I like surprises,” Dr. Yeh! said. “On with the ballet!”
The troupe split into two groups. One group, including Max, remained at the left side of the room. The other group moved to the right side of the room.
“Allez-oop!” cried a dancer on the right side of the room.
At the signal, the dancers on the left side of the room lifted Max from the floor and threw him high into the air.
He landed with a plop in the middle of the room, right between the two groups of dancers.
“It’s good,” Dr. Yeh! said. “But it doesn’t live up to the title yet. Needs work.”
Painfully, Max got to his feet. As he did, he was swooped up by one of the groups of dancers. Again, they lifted him into the air. Holding him aloft, they bounded about the room.
“I see it! I see it!” Dr. Yeh! cried excitedly. “That’s Lewis playing the piccolo!”
The dancers put Max on his feet and twirled him around. His mop handle swung wide and dropped three of the dancers, leaving them prostrate.
“Ho! The Count of Monte Cristo!” Dr. Yeh! exulted. “I’d recognize him anywhere!”
Once more the dancers scooped Max up and raised him high. Then, swinging him low, two grabbed his arms, two grabbed his legs, and one grabbed his mop handle, and, again, they flung him toward the opposite side of the room.
Max landed in the middle-minus the mop.
“Impostor!” Dr. Yeh! cried, leaping to his feet.
“Just in time,” Max groaned, rising. “One more fling and I’d’ve been an ex-flung.”
“What are you doing in my ballet dancer place!” Dr. Yeh! raged, confronting Max.
Max faced him squarely. “Would you believe that I was waiting for the 7:07 to Hackensack?”
“Absolutely not! There is no 7:07 to Hackensack. The 7:07 goes to Darien.”
“Then would you believe that I was looking for the airport and took a wrong turn at the oasis?”
“It wouldn’t make any difference whether I believed you or not,” Dr. Yeh! replied. “The penalty for getting caught in the ballet dancer place is death. That’s the rule, whether you’ve got a good reason or not. To the wall!” he shouted.
“Just a minute,” Max said. “You mean you’re going to take me out to the wall, stand me up in front of a firing squad and execute me?”
“Is that what that means?” Dr. Yeh! replied.
“As I understand it, yes,” Max nodded.
“Then that’s what I’m going to do,” Dr. Yeh! said. He went to the door, opened it, and called out. “Guards! To the wall!”
There was a clatter of bootsteps outside. But no guards appeared.
“No! No! No! Not you!” Dr. Yeh! screamed down the corridor. “Him! He goes to the wall, not you! Come back here!”
Again there was the clatter of bootsteps. Then a half-dozen guards burst into the room and seized Max.
“Just one second!” Max said crisply. “As I recall, according to the rules of execution, the doomed man is entitled to a last request.”
“Later,” Dr. Yeh! said. “After the execution.”
“Later will be too late,” Max objected. “I demand that I be allowed to change back into my other clothes.” He popped the elastic of his tights. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in an outfit like this,” he said.
“Request granted,” Dr. Yeh! said grudgingly. “But hurry it up.”
Max stepped into the closet. Inside, with the door closed, he opened the satchel and looked for a gadget that might help him escape. Soon he found a gadget that was labeled “For Use When Trapped in a Closet.” It looked like a skeleton key.
“Obviously, it’s not really a skeleton key,” Max said softly to himself. “When inserted in the keyhole it probably expels a smoke screen that confuses the adversary and allows the user to escape under the cover of fog.”
Max inserted the key into the lock, then turned it.
The door creaked slowly open. That was all.
“Well, are you coming?” Dr. Yeh! demanded.
“Don’t nag!” Max snapped.
He closed the door, dropped the skeleton key back into the bag, changed clothes, then stepped out.
Once more the guards seized him. They dragged him toward the doorway. Dr. Yeh! tagged along.
“I have one other last request,” Max said, as the guards hustled him along the corridor. “There’s a little chili joint called ‘Mexican Fred’s’ in lower Manhattan. I’d like to have one more bowl of Mexican Fred’s chili before I die.”
Dr. Yeh! shuddered. “I know the place,” he said. “By refusing your request, I’m doing you a favor. That stuff could kill you.”
They reached the courtyard, and the guards dragged Max to the wall.
99 was there, still waiting. “Max! Where have you been?” she demanded irritably.
“Where I’ve been isn’t terribly important to me right now,” Max replied. “The important question is: Where am I going? At a time like this, a fellow begins to wonder.”
“Max-are you in some sort of trouble?” 99 asked worriedly.
He pointed to the guards, who, a short distance away, were trying to form a straight line. “You are about to witness an execution, 99,” he replied. “Mine.” He handed her the satchel. “You better hold this. I might drop it when I fall.”
“Oh, Max, no!” 99 cried. “Isn’t there something I can do?”
“Well… there’s a little joint in lower Manhattan called ‘Mexican Fred’s.’ What you could do, 99, is-”
“Ready!” Dr. Yeh! commanded the guards.
They raised their rifles.
“It’s probably too late,” Max said to 99. “Besides, the chili would undoubtedly be cold by the time you got it back here.”
“Aim!” Dr. Yeh! commanded.
Max addressed one of the guards. “A little bit to the left,” he said, gesturing. “As it is, you’re going to miss me by a mile.”
The guard adjusted his aim.
“No… too far,” Max said. “Just a squinch back to the right.”
Again the guard adjusted his aim.
“Right on target!” Max said approvingly.
Dr. Yeh! stormed up to Max. “Who’s directing this execution?” he demanded. “You or me?”
“Sorry about that,” Max replied.
“You think you’re so hot!” Dr. Yeh! barked. “You want me to come over here and stand by the wall and you go over there and give the orders? Is that what you want?”
“No, no, I apologize,” Max said. “You’re doing fine, fine. I’m sorry I interrupted.”
“Just butt out, that’s all!”
“I told you-I’m sorry.”
Dr. Yeh! stomped back to his place at the end of the line of guards.
“Sorehead,” Max muttered.
“Aim!” Dr. Yeh! bellowed.
“You said that,” Max pointed out.
Dr. Yeh! shook an outraged finger at him. “I’m warning you! One more word, and you’re gonna get it!”
Max turned to 99. “He’s right, you know. The word is ‘fire.’ ”
“Max! What can I do!”
“Try the black bag,” Max suggested. “Look for something labeled ‘For Use at Executions.’ ”
Hurriedly, 99 rummaged through the bag. “Here!” she cried excitedly, extracting a gadget.
“99, that’s a cigarette lighter.”
“I know. But it says, ‘For Use at Executions.’ Just a second, I’ll read the instructions. It says, ‘When you are standing at the wall and you are offered a last cigarette, use this gadget to light it.’ ”
“Somehow, I expected a little more from R amp; D,” Max said disappointedly.
“Max, maybe the instructions are a ruse. Maybe the cigarette lighter is something more than a cigarette lighter.”
“Yes, it might expel a smoke screen,” Max replied. “I don’t suppose, at this point, it will do any harm to try it.”
Quickly, 99 aimed the cigarette lighter at the guards and pressed the button.
“Fire!” Dr. Yeh! shouted.
The guards instantly dropped their rifles, wailed, “Magic! Magic!” and fell to their knees.
Baffled, Max stared at the prostrate guards.
99 stared at the flame that the lighter had produced.
Dr. Yeh! rushed up to Max. “Magic!” he gushed happily.
Max felt his body. “Did they all miss?” he asked.
“They didn’t shoot,” Dr. Yeh! replied. “They were too astounded. It’s Magic!”
“But I heard you yell ‘fire!’ ” Max said.
“I didn’t yell ‘fire!’ ” Dr. Yeh! replied. “I yelled ‘fire!’ ”
“Oh… is there a difference?”
“When I yelled ‘fire!’ I wasn’t ordering them to fire, I was exclaiming over the fire,” Dr. Yeh! said, indicating the lighter flame.
Max smiled. “Oh, yes, now I understand. I forgot there for a second that I’m among ignorant savages. When you saw the flame appear, you thought it was magic. The fact is, however, that that gadget is a quite common ordinary little gadget in civilized societies. There’s no magic to it.”
“Look who’s calling who an ignorant savage,” Dr. Yeh! replied. “What you don’t know about cigarette lighters! This one works the first time the button is pushed. That’s Magic!”
“Unusual, yes,” Max agreed. “But magic? I frankly-”
“Who’s the sheik around here!” Dr. Yeh! snarled. “I say it’s Magic!”
“All right. We won’t debate the matter,” Max said. “I think we’ve held up the execution long enough. Now, if you’ll just get those guards to their feet, and if you’ll just return to your own-”
“You’re trying to run the show again!” Dr. Yeh! said warningly.
Max raised his hands in a gesture of apology.
“The execution is off!” Dr. Yeh! beamed. “Instead, we’ll have a big party!”
“What’s the occasion?” Max asked.
“Who needs an excuse for a party?” Dr. Yeh! replied. He turned to 99. “Flung,” he ordered, “return to the ballet dancer place. Get the flingers together and report to my throne room. Tell them it’s Party Time. My American Advisor and I wish to be entertained. We will feast and we will tell tall stories and we will watch the ballet. And then-” He winked at Max. “-we will open the black bag and play marbles with the money!”
“Max…?” 99 said.
“Do what you’re told, flung,” Max replied.
99 scurried off. She was still carrying the black bag.
“Shall we adjourn to the throne room, American Advisor?” Dr. Yeh! smiled, putting an arm around Max’s shoulder.
“Why not?” Max replied. “It beats the firing squad.”