I WILL FEAR NO EVIL by Robert A. Heinlein

“Yes?”

“Silver fizz, Miss, using vodka rather than gin.”

“Cunningham, you’re a genius. One each, plus largish dividends, in thermos glasses. How soon will breakfast be ready?”

“Can’t be sooner than twenty minutes, Miss, even though Della has started the sausages. But I could still fetch up coffee and juice.”

“One trip only. Then steal quietly away on stocking feet. This is a hospital zone, Cunningham. Winnie and I need at least twenty minutes to put our eyeballs back in, they’re bleeding. I’ll expect you not sooner than twenty minutes, not later than twenty-five. Off.”

She put down the bedside intercom, said, “Doctor, did I handle that?”

“Eunice, sometimes I think you’re not truthful.”

“And sometime I’m going to be a hermit and not have to dodge servants. Where are your clothes, Roberto? In the lounge?”

“Yes. I had better get into them.”

“Better think again. We’ve got twenty minutes of privacy, we’ll use it.”

“Oh, Eunice!”

“Courage, comrade; I’m not a black widow spider. We’ll use it to gather up all clothes in the lounge, toss feminine items in here, fast—then take your clothes and Jake’s down to his suite—where I’ll grab a robe and pajamas and slippers for Jake, and a second set of his for you. If you’re a sissy, you’ll stay there and put them on. If you’re not, you’ll stay in skin and come back here with me, and dress when you feel like it. Then I’ll switch on a light that tells Winnie I’m awake-better than phoning the love bugs, they might be love-bugging, and even a bug hates to be disturbed at such times. Come on, you bony, hairy, wonderful man. Sixteen minutes—we can do it in twelve, I’ll bet.”

“Pussy Cat, sometimes you make me nervous.”

“Oh, piffle, I own this house. Although I may sell it and buy a nudist resort in California—then run it just for me and my friends. Roberto, I like skin—when it’s the wonderful skin I have now. It’s meant to be seen and touched—not hidden away in clothes. Did you like our waitress last night?”

“A healthy young woman, apparently.”

“Oh, piffle twice. I’ll bet you were thinking about her when you took me to bed last night. I know men, darling—I was one, much longer than you’ve been alive.

Fifteen minutes. Let’s move.”

23

Dabrowski handed her out and Fred locked the car. They escorted her to and into the lift. Joan Eunice looked around. “This must be where it happened.”

Her driver said, “Eunice, I wish you would change your mind.”

“Anton, Tom and Hugo should have driven me today, but I was afraid the poor dears would get upset when they saw the inside of this lift. I thought you and Fred could stand it. Fred, are you nervous?”

“You know damn well I am, Eunice.”

“Over what? She entered this lift alone. I’ve got the two with me.”

“Well. . . you’re a stubborn one. I don’t know what Ski is going to do but I am going to wait outside the door until you come out.” (Eunice, what do you do with stubborn men?) (It’s hard, twin, especially when they love you. You had best use female jujitsu—let them have their own way until it turns out it’s your way.) (I’ll try.)

“Fred, Eunice lived here for years. Utterly safe, except for one mistake. I have the radio link and I promise you both, solemnly, that I won’t stir outside Joe’s door until I know you’re waiting for me.”

“We’ll be waiting, all right—all the time. Right, Ski?”

“Right! Eunice, you don’t even know Joe Branca still lives here.”

“But I do. It’s just that he didn’t pay his phone bill, so they cut him off. Joe’s still there, or was at sixteen o’clock yesterday. Look, how does this sound? First, you know that Joe wouldn’t hurt me, don’t you? Anton?”

“Oh, sure. Joe might not want to see you—but Joe Branca would put a fly outdoors before he would swat it.”

“Then I’m safe as long as I’m inside with Joe. But you’re right, he may not want to see me. He may not let me in. Or I may be inside only minutes. So wait an hour, then go home. I’ll call you when I want you to take me home.”

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