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t Jovil might be up to。 Had been up to。 The waitress returned； displaying considerably more cleavage and a good deal of uncovered thigh。 She slid his drink towards him。 Fergus gazed up between her bosoms。 'Do you watch The Earthers？' he asked。
The siren shrugged。 'It's not pulsory； is it？'
'No； I just wondered。'
'I do some times。 But。。。'
'But what？'
The young woman stretched。 As she did so the sheath of moss parted in certain key areas。 It was eroticism unfettered。
'Well？' Fergus asked。
'Well。 It's dead dull； isn't it？ All those scabby people in those ghastly little bunkers。 There's no glamour； no romance。 It just goes on and on and on。。。'
'Hold it right there；' cried Fergus。 'What did you say？'
'I said it just goes on and on and on。'
'Nothing's changed。' Fergus sprang to his feet and did a foolish little dance。 'Nothing's changed。 Did you see it today？'
'Yeah。 I caught the end before I came on shift。 Wanted to watch Nemesis。 The Dalai is the only thing worth watching。'
'Nothing's changed。' Fergus punched at the sky。 'He can't have done anything。 Perhaps he got killed on the way。'
'No； he was on tonight。 There's a new theme song。 It goes： this is the time。。。 this is the place。。。 the time to face。。。'
'You really do have a cracking pair of charlies；' Fergus observed。 'What time do you get off your shift？' 'Ten；' the siren replied。
The car was exactly where Jovil knew it would be。 Opening the boot； or trunk； as it was then known； Jovil deposited his struggling cargo therein。 Slamming down the lid he joined the sprout； who was propped upon the dashboard。
'Where to？'
'Go with the flow； chief。' Jovil did so。 He twisted the key and pressed the car into gear。 'It's a dream；' he said as the 1960…Pontiac Firebird sped along the deserted highway。 'I couldn't know how to drive this car； could I？ It's got to be all a dream。'
'I have been giving the matter some considerable cogitation。 But as yet I'm unable to form any convincing postulations。 There is a turn off to the right along here。 I believe。'
'I think so。' Jovil spun the wheel and the car sped down another deserted road。 Rain began to fall。 In the distance a dark building loomed。 A sign flashed on and off。 It said THE BATES MOTEL。
Rex Mundi steered the in…town runabout towards the flashing sign and entered the car park of the Tomorrow…man Tavern。 He drew to a halt next to a certain Rigel Charger。 The property； he now knew； of a certain Rogan Josh。 Near at hand was also a Buddhavision security craft。 Broad bodied； black and sinister。 Its darkness relieved only by the station logo。 Three red tadpoles chasing each other's tails。 'A…ha；' thought Rex Mundi。 'A free ride home unless I am very much mistaken。' Rex smiled crookedly。 Things were going to work out OK。 As he was a little loath to brave the elements in his present condition he rooted about in the cab's storage partments。 A pristine…looking Barbour and one of Rambo's best caps came to the half light。 Quite the business。 Rex put them on over his radiation suit。 Very dashing。
He was about to scramble down from the cab when he saw them。 Light flared through the open doorway of the tavern。 Figures moved。 Two burly forms dragging a far lesser form between them。 The lesser form was struggling but his cause was a lost one。 A burly form clubbed him from behind and he stumbled forward to splash into the muck。
Rex cranked down the side window to get a better look。 The fallen figure was unmistakably that of Rogan Josh。 The others Buddha security。 One of these stepped forward and performed a quick sadistic act upon the fallen man。 Rex winced。 Then the two thugs dragged Rogan to his feet and as Rex watched； dumb with disbelief； began to rip off his clothing。 Josh pleaded for his life； but his cries were ignored。 The acid rain fell unceasingly。 The now naked man began to scream。 In the lightning flares Rex could see his attackers laughing beneath their weatherdomes。
Rogan stumbled about trying to protect his naked flesh from the scalding rain。 Rex watched in horror。 Blood began to flow。 Rex sank down in his seat and covered his face。 And then there was a crash against the front screen。 Rex looked up fearfully and stared full into the face of Rogan Josh。 Bone showed through the torn skin of his cheeks； one eye appeared melted in its socket。 Rogan's fist drummed against the windscreen。 Then weakened。 The face sank away and was gone。 The rain smashed down。 Rogan Josh was dead。
The side door of the runabout was torn open。 A terrific figure thrust the barrel of an automatic weapon into Rex's face。 A voice spoke on the open channel。 'Rambo Blood…axe；' it said。 'We've been looking for you。'
When you hear music； after it's over； it's gone into the air。 You can never capture it again。
Eric Dolphy
His divine holiness。 The umpteenth reincarnation。 The living God King and golden boy of the moment； Dalai Dan； rolled back his sleeve collar and pressed a silver disc to his left wrist。 The chemical pound penetrated his skin and was absorbed into his bloodstream。 Dan sank back into the settee cushions and took a deep breath。 Coloured balls popped behind his eyes and a landscape of unformed shape rolled out before him into oddball odd。 His right hand sought out the headset and he dragged the slim grey crescent over his head； feeding the dark end…beads into his ears。 The holophonic sound gave him headbutts。 Upon the turntable of the antique holophon a disc of black plastic turned at seventy…eight revolutions a minute。 The system's pick…up arm moved gently up and down and fed its sonic messages into the bank of electronical hocus…pocus。 Enhancing； upmoding； restructuring。 What came out of the dark beads and entered the holyman's head was a whole new world。
'Well since my baby left me； I've found a new place to dwell；' sang a voice which was ribbons of ice； frayed at the ends and breaking into wavering star clusters。 'It's down at the end of lonely street at Heartbreak Hotel。'
'We don't get a lot of visitors now。 What with the new highway and all；' said Norman Bates。 'You can have any room you like。' He turned pensively and selected a key from the board。 'Number three。' There was a stuffed owl on the wall。 Somehow Jovil knew that Norman was an amateur taxidermist。
'All on your own here？' he asked。 But Norman appeared distracted。
'Just get the key；' whispered the sprout。 'And let's get that sucker out of the trunk before he suffocates。'
Norman Bates parted with the key and then parted pany； wandering off towards a large old house which stood halfway up a hill。
Jovil opened the trunk。 Elvis was still there； bound and gagged。 Only now he was dressed in a gold lame suit； the hood was gone and his hair was in perfect shape。
'This is all making me very uneasy。' Jovil hauled the hostage from the car and dragged him into the motel room。 The room was grim enough。 There was a chair； a bedside table with lamp。 A single bed； a worn rug。 All were in shades of black and white。 The ensuite bathroom was spotless； but the shower lacked its curtain。
'I'm going to take off your gag。' Jovil sat Elvis upon the bed。 'If you make a