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Show Acting Alone pa g e 436 body you had to share with him - any one of these would provide a competent prosecuting attorney with a splendid motivation for a pure, simple jealousy-revenge murder in the first degree, my friend." The old son-of-a-bitch had recently had a stroke - part of the reason he was so easily reachable over there in his bed in the posh fascist Broadmoor Hotel these days. His stroke had caused him to become progressively more senile and monomaniacally psychotic and gore-hungry over the course of their professional relationship - just like Al Haig's stroke had done to him, come to think of it (good reason to keep yourself cardiovascularly fit, the fat bohemian supposed). Sometimes, when Sam did manage to slip' himself underneath a rush of professionally mainlined speed and pass out on the floor under a bookcase somewhere, he'd have wild dreams in which it was revealed to him in technicolor that his "agent" was no agent at all, but some hideous octopuslike personification of a huge LDS/Mob coalition, with a little CIA and KBI thrown in on the side for good measure. Sam would behold in Ezekiel's own visions eight mighty silver tentacles reaching out from the white slime of the Great Salt Lake, slithering across the Rocky Mountains, sliding a pre-lubricated electronic bug up the butt of every citizen except inviolable Sister Polycarpana. "And just in case, son," the old man was saying in his beautiful radio-broadcster's voice, "the ACLU or some other such seditious group takes up your case and provides you with the sharpest, most beautifully-bearded young New York Hebrew that the cynical American Bar Association has to offer, and by some travesty of justice they get you off easy or even scott-free, why then, the Lord has many different ways to ensure that His mighty injunction |
