William Johnston - Max Smart and the Perilous Pellets

“Allez-oop!” cried a dancer on the right side of the room.

At the signal, the dancers on the left side of the room lifted Max from the floor and threw him high into the air.

He landed with a plop in the middle of the room, right between the two groups of dancers.

“It’s good,” Dr. Yeh! said. “But it doesn’t live up to the title yet. Needs work.”

Painfully, Max got to his feet. As he did, he was swooped up by one of the groups of dancers. Again, they lifted him into the air. Holding him aloft, they bounded about the room.

“I see it! I see it!” Dr. Yeh! cried excitedly. “That’s Lewis playing the piccolo!”

The dancers put Max on his feet and twirled him around. His mop handle swung wide and dropped three of the dancers, leaving them prostrate.

“Ho! The Count of Monte Cristo!” Dr. Yeh! exulted. “I’d recognize him anywhere!”

Once more the dancers scooped Max up and raised him high. Then, swinging him low, two grabbed his arms, two grabbed his legs, and one grabbed his mop handle, and, again, they flung him toward the opposite side of the room.

Max landed in the middle-minus the mop.

“Impostor!” Dr. Yeh! cried, leaping to his feet.

“Just in time,” Max groaned, rising. “One more fling and I’d’ve been an ex-flung.”

“What are you doing in my ballet dancer place!” Dr. Yeh! raged, confronting Max.

Max faced him squarely. “Would you believe that I was waiting for the 7:07 to Hackensack?”

“Absolutely not! There is no 7:07 to Hackensack. The 7:07 goes to Darien.”

“Then would you believe that I was looking for the airport and took a wrong turn at the oasis?”

“It wouldn’t make any difference whether I believed you or not,” Dr. Yeh! replied. “The penalty for getting caught in the ballet dancer place is death. That’s the rule, whether you’ve got a good reason or not. To the wall!” he shouted.

“Just a minute,” Max said. “You mean you’re going to take me out to the wall, stand me up in front of a firing squad and execute me?”

“Is that what that means?” Dr. Yeh! replied.

“As I understand it, yes,” Max nodded.

“Then that’s what I’m going to do,” Dr. Yeh! said. He went to the door, opened it, and called out. “Guards! To the wall!”

There was a clatter of bootsteps outside. But no guards appeared.

“No! No! No! Not you!” Dr. Yeh! screamed down the corridor. “Him! He goes to the wall, not you! Come back here!”

Again there was the clatter of bootsteps. Then a half-dozen guards burst into the room and seized Max.

“Just one second!” Max said crisply. “As I recall, according to the rules of execution, the doomed man is entitled to a last request.”

“Later,” Dr. Yeh! said. “After the execution.”

“Later will be too late,” Max objected. “I demand that I be allowed to change back into my other clothes.” He popped the elastic of his tights. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in an outfit like this,” he said.

“Request granted,” Dr. Yeh! said grudgingly. “But hurry it up.”

Max stepped into the closet. Inside, with the door closed, he opened the satchel and looked for a gadget that might help him escape. Soon he found a gadget that was labeled “For Use When Trapped in a Closet.” It looked like a skeleton key.

“Obviously, it’s not really a skeleton key,” Max said softly to himself. “When inserted in the keyhole it probably expels a smoke screen that confuses the adversary and allows the user to escape under the cover of fog.”

Max inserted the key into the lock, then turned it.

The door creaked slowly open. That was all.

“Well, are you coming?” Dr. Yeh! demanded.

“Don’t nag!” Max snapped.

He closed the door, dropped the skeleton key back into the bag, changed clothes, then stepped out.

Once more the guards seized him. They dragged him toward the doorway. Dr. Yeh! tagged along.

“I have one other last request,” Max said, as the guards hustled him along the corridor. “There’s a little chili joint called ‘Mexican Fred’s’ in lower Manhattan. I’d like to have one more bowl of Mexican Fred’s chili before I die.”

Dr. Yeh! shuddered. “I know the place,” he said. “By refusing your request, I’m doing you a favor. That stuff could kill you.”

They reached the courtyard, and the guards dragged Max to the wall.

99 was there, still waiting. “Max! Where have you been?” she demanded irritably.

“Where I’ve been isn’t terribly important to me right now,” Max replied. “The important question is: Where am I going? At a time like this, a fellow begins to wonder.”

“Max-are you in some sort of trouble?” 99 asked worriedly.

He pointed to the guards, who, a short distance away, were trying to form a straight line. “You are about to witness an execution, 99,” he replied. “Mine.” He handed her the satchel. “You better hold this. I might drop it when I fall.”

“Oh, Max, no!” 99 cried. “Isn’t there something I can do?”

“Well… there’s a little joint in lower Manhattan called ‘Mexican Fred’s.’ What you could do, 99, is-”

“Ready!” Dr. Yeh! commanded the guards.

They raised their rifles.

“It’s probably too late,” Max said to 99. “Besides, the chili would undoubtedly be cold by the time you got it back here.”

“Aim!” Dr. Yeh! commanded.

Max addressed one of the guards. “A little bit to the left,” he said, gesturing. “As it is, you’re going to miss me by a mile.”

The guard adjusted his aim.

“No… too far,” Max said. “Just a squinch back to the right.”

Again the guard adjusted his aim.

“Right on target!” Max said approvingly.

Dr. Yeh! stormed up to Max. “Who’s directing this execution?” he demanded. “You or me?”

“Sorry about that,” Max replied.

“You think you’re so hot!” Dr. Yeh! barked. “You want me to come over here and stand by the wall and you go over there and give the orders? Is that what you want?”

“No, no, I apologize,” Max said. “You’re doing fine, fine. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“Just butt out, that’s all!”

“I told you-I’m sorry.”

Dr. Yeh! stomped back to his place at the end of the line of guards.

“Sorehead,” Max muttered.

“Aim!” Dr. Yeh! bellowed.

“You said that,” Max pointed out.

Dr. Yeh! shook an outraged finger at him. “I’m warning you! One more word, and you’re gonna get it!”

Max turned to 99. “He’s right, you know. The word is ‘fire.’ ”

“Max! What can I do!”

“Try the black bag,” Max suggested. “Look for something labeled ‘For Use at Executions.’ ”

Hurriedly, 99 rummaged through the bag. “Here!” she cried excitedly, extracting a gadget.

“99, that’s a cigarette lighter.”

“I know. But it says, ‘For Use at Executions.’ Just a second, I’ll read the instructions. It says, ‘When you are standing at the wall and you are offered a last cigarette, use this gadget to light it.’ ”

“Somehow, I expected a little more from R amp; D,” Max said disappointedly.

“Max, maybe the instructions are a ruse. Maybe the cigarette lighter is something more than a cigarette lighter.”

“Yes, it might expel a smoke screen,” Max replied. “I don’t suppose, at this point, it will do any harm to try it.”

Quickly, 99 aimed the cigarette lighter at the guards and pressed the button.

“Fire!” Dr. Yeh! shouted.

The guards instantly dropped their rifles, wailed, “Magic! Magic!” and fell to their knees.

Baffled, Max stared at the prostrate guards.

99 stared at the flame that the lighter had produced.