curb.

Annoyed, Walt brought the car to a stop. The police car angled in ahead
of him. Walt waited confidently.

"Okay," the policeman said wearily, taking out his book of tickets and
putting one foot on the running board. "Where's the fire?"

Walt said, "Fire?"

"Yeah. The speed limit in this town is thirty miles an hour. Where's the
fire? Let's see your license."

Walt considered this information. He removed the air from this
policeman's lungs; from the lungs of the policeman in the car. When they
were very unconscious, he let them have air again. He experimented with
a few buttons until he found the reverse. He backed up a few yards,
circled out around the police car, and continued. The policemen were
still unconscious.

* * * * *

Mr. Green, the producer, stopped in front of the bank. With hurried
thanks, Julia scrambled out.

Pathetically he called after her: "But we could--"

Inside the revolving doors, she pattered across the inlaid floor to the
teller's cage still open for business. If I can just get out of here
alive! she thought. The high, vaulted ceiling--dim and shadowy above the
cool lights--seemed to echo her thoughts: get out of here alive, get out
alive, alive.

She gave her name crisply and fumbled in her handbag for
identification.

"I want to withdraw my money."

"Yes, Miss. Your account is with this branch?"

"Yes." She handed her identification and her check book to him.

While she twisted nervously, he phoned to verify her account.

She could feel Walt creeping up on her. Her skin crawled. The revolving
door was motionless.

That meant nothing. He could walk _through_ it.

There was no easy way of telling how he would strike until the last
moment. It would be so swift that she would never feel the blow at all.

She stared, fascinated, at the ink well across the room. She imagined it
suddenly ripped out and hurled at her. She shivered. She tried to
teleport it herself.

It did not move.

Cold sweat began to ooze from her pores. Brakes squealed in the street
outside. She ran her hands along the carrying strap of her handbag. Her
mouth was dry.

I'm too scared to spit! she thought. I've heard of that. I didn't
believe it. It's true.

"For God's sake, hurry!"

"Yes, Miss," the teller said. He eyed her suspiciously.

How long can this go on? she thought despairingly. He'll be here in
another minute!

"I have the amount. It's the same as