“You see, then, with what interest I would read the report of your concert in Seattle.”
“And you think Willie exercises some kind of mind control on his audience when he’s performing?” Parker shook his head. “At least you’re not a boring nut, Collins.”
The psychologist looked grim. “Insults and skepticism do not bother me, Mr. Parker. My statistics prove my contentions. Your Mr. Whitehorse will strengthen that proof. I have seen too many blank, empty, mindless faces swaying to the rhythm of today’s bands for me to believe otherwise.”
196
Wolfstroker
“Why’d you come to see me?” Sam asked abruptly “What do you want?”
The scientist looked sheepish. “I must go to this concert,” he explained desperately, “and I … I couldn’t get a ticket. They were all sold.”
Sam hesitated. What he ought to do was throw this idiot out on his ear. This learned idiot. On the other hand, he reflected, there might be some terrific pr copy in this, yes.
“Tell you what, Collins. I’ll get you in. But if Willie starts singing about how all nasty mad scientists ought to be strung up, don’t blame me for supplying the rope.”
It was intended as a joke. Collins did not smile.
vn.
Sam had munched his way through two cigars and was hi the process of mutilating a third. Outside, beyond the curtain, was a stamping, screeching mob of what the press euphemistically classified as “young adults.” Sometimes their chanting grew typically obscene, sometimes merely impatient. Most often it thundered “WE WANT WILLIE! WE WANT WILLIE, WE WANT WILLIE!”