The creature known as Alice spoke up. “Could he not have the Taj Mahal next sequence? For some reason he values it.”
“You are becoming assimilated!”
“Perhaps. I am not in fear. Will he receive it?”
“It will be considered.”
The Glaroon continued with orders: “Leave structures standing until adjournment. New York City and Harvard University are now dismantled. Divert him from those sectors.
“Move!”
OUR FAIR CITY
Pete Perkins turned into the all-nite parking lot and called out, “Hi, Pappy!”
The old parking lot attendant looked up and answered, “Be with you in a moment, Pete.” He was tearing a Sunday comic sheet in narrow strips. A little whirlwind waltzed near him, picking up pieces of old newspaper and bits of dirt and flinging them in the faces of passing pedestrians. The old man held out to it a long streamer of the brightly colored funny-paper. “Here, Kitten,” he coaxed. “Come, Kitten-”
The whirlwind hesitated, then drew itself up until it was quite tall, jumped two parked cars, and landed sur le point near him.
It seemed to sniff at the offering.
“Take it, Kitten,” the old man called softly and let the gay streamer slip from his fingers. The whirlwind whipped it up and wound it around its middle. He tore off another and yet another; the whirlwind wound them in corkscrew through the loose mass of dirty paper and trash that constituted its visible body. Renewed by cold gusts that poured down the canyon of tall buildings, it swirled faster and even taller, while it lifted the colored paper ribbons in a fantastic upswept hair-do. The old man turned, smiling. “Kitten does like new clothes.”
“Take it easy, Pappy, or you’ll have me believing in it.”
“Eh? You don’t have to believe in Kitten-you can see her.”
“Yeah, sure-but you act as if she-I mean ‘it’-could understand what you say.”
“You still don’t think so?” His voice was gently tolerant.
“Now, Pappy!”
“Hmm . . . lend me your hat.” Pappy reached up and took it. “Here, Kitten,” he called. “Come back, Kitten!” The whirlwind was playing around over their heads, several stories high. It dipped down.
“Hey! Where you going with that chapeau?” demanded Perkins.
“Just a moment- Here, Kitten!” The whirlwind sat down suddenly, spilling its load. The old man handed it the hat. The whirlwind snatched it and started it up a fast, long spiral.
“Hey!” yelped Perkins. “What do you think you’re doing? That’s not funny-that hat cost me six bucks only three years ago.”
“Don’t worry,” the old man soothed. “Kitten will bring it back.”
“She will, huh? More likely she’ll dump it in the river.”
“Oh, no! Kitten never drops anything she doesn’t want to drop. Watch.” The old man looked up to where the hat was dancing near the penthouse of the hotel across the street. “Kitten! Oh, Kitten! Bring it back.”
The whirlwind hesitated, the hat fell a couple of stories. It swooped, caught it, and juggled it reluctantly. “Bring it here, Kitten.”
The hat commenced a downward spiral, finishing in a long curving swoop. It hit Perkins full in the face. “She was trying to put it on your head,” the attendant explained. “Usually she’s more accurate.”
“She is, eh?” Perkins picked up his hat and stood looking at the whirlwind, mouth open.
“Convinced?” asked the old man.
” ‘Convinced?’ Oh, sho’ sho’.” He looked back at his hat, then again at the whirlwind. “Pappy, this calls for a drink.”
They went inside the lot’s little shelter shack; Pappy found glasses; Perkins produced a pint, nearly full, and poured two generous slugs. He tossed his down, poured another, and sat down. “The first was in honor of Kitten,” he announced. “This one is to fortify me for the Mayor’s banquet.”
Pappy cluck-clucked sympathetically. “You have to cover that?”
“Have to write a column about something, Pappy. ‘Last night Hizzoner the Mayor, surrounded by a glittering galaxy of highbinders, grifters, sycophants, and ballot thieves, was the recipient of a testimonial dinner celebrating-‘ Got to write something, Pappy, the cash customers expect it. Why don’t I brace up like a man and go on relief?”
“Today’s column was good, Pete,” the old man comforted him. He picked up a copy of the Daily Forum; Perkins took it from him and ran his eye down his own column.