Chapter 9 Chapter VII

It is said that language is formed so that the race that uses it describes its own experience.Experience first—language second.How can I express my feelings? Looking around, I got a curious double vision, like reflections in rippling water—yet I felt neither surprise nor wonder.I was like a sleepwalker who didn't know what I was going to do - but I was wide awake and knew exactly who I was, where I was, and what I was doing in the department.No amnesia; my memory was sound at all times.Even though I don't understand what I'm going to do, I always know what I'm doing and am sure that every action is necessary and purposeful at the time.

They say that after hypnosis has taken effect, the instructions of the hypnotist will have this effect on the hypnotized person.I don't know; I'm a poor hypnotized person. Most of the time, I don't feel anything special, just the slight satisfaction of doing a necessary job.This contentment comes from my waking consciousness - I repeat, I am fully awake.But somewhere, somewhere beneath my waking consciousness, somewhere beyond my comprehension, I felt an excruciating pain, fear, guilt—but deep down, very deep, locked away, completely suppressed.I'm barely aware of it, so it doesn't really affect me.

I know I was seen when I left.That yell "Sam" came for me; only two people knew the name, and the old man would use my real name.So it was Mary who saw me leave.I thought it was a good thing she let me know where her private apartment was.Right now it was necessary to booby trap that apartment, waiting for her to use it next time.Meanwhile, I have to get to work and not get caught. I'm walking cautiously through a warehouse district, taking advantage of all my special agent training to avoid arousing suspicion.Soon, I found a relatively satisfactory low-rise house with a sign on it: Attic for rent-please talk to the rental agent on the first floor.

I searched the building thoroughly, took the address, and ran to the nearest Western Union booth.I sat in front of an empty machine and sent the following message: "Send two boxes of Little Doll Stories for the same discount as sending to Joel Freeman." Add the address of the empty attic.I sent to Roscoe & Dillard's, Jobs & Manufacturer's Agency in Des Moines, Iowa. As I left the phone booth, I saw an all-night fast food chain.I became aware of hunger, but the physical response disappeared immediately, and I stopped thinking about it.I went back to the house in the warehouse district, settled in a dark corner in the back, and waited for dawn and the shops to open.

I must have fallen asleep.I vaguely remember having nightmares, repetitive, claustrophobic nightmares. From dawn until nine o'clock, I wandered the lobby of the employment agency, looking at the different advertisements; it was the only place in the district where an unemployed man could go unnoticed.I met the letting agent when he opened the office door at nine o'clock to rent the attic.In order to get the attic right away, I paid him a handsome commission for the paperwork for the lease.I went upstairs and unlocked the attic and waited. About ten thirty.My box has arrived.I told the truck driver to leave, three was too much for me and I wasn't ready.After they left, I opened a case, took out a container, heated it up, and got it ready.Then I went downstairs to the rental agent and I said, "Mr. Greenberg, can you come up here? I want to change the light up there."

He made a fuss, but agreed anyway.Once we were in the attic, I closed the door and led him to the open box. "Come on," I said, "if you can bend over you'll know what I mean. If I can—" I grabbed his neck all of a sudden, so he couldn't breathe.I lifted his shirt and shirt and planted a host into his bare back with my other hand, and I held him tight, and he struggled for a moment before staying still.I got him up, pulled off his shirt, and dusted him off. When he was breathing better, I said, "Any news from Des Moines?" "What do you want to know?" he asked. "How long have you been out?"

I started to explain, but he cut me off: "Let's talk straight away, don't waste time." I took off my shirt, and he did; we sat on the edge of the unopened box.Back to back so our hosts can touch.My consciousness was pretty much blank, and I don't know how long the session went on.I watched a fly buzzing around a dusty cobweb, seeing it but not thinking about it. The building's janitor is our next recruit.He was a big Swede and it took two of us to hold him down.Afterwards, Mr. Greenberg called the owner of the building over, insisting that he must come and look at some serious structural problem with the building—what, I don't know; I'm busy with the janitor. and open several containers and heat them up.

The owner of the building has become a major victory for us, and we are all very satisfied, including himself of course.He was a member of the Constitution Club, whose membership list reads like an index to Who's Who in Finance, Politics, and Industry.Even better news, the club boasted the most famous cook in town; and any member who was in town could go there for lunch. It's almost noon and we're out of time.The janitor went outside to get me the right clothes and a small backpack and called up the owner's driver, we needed him too. It was twelve-thirty when we left, and the host and I were in his car; there were twelve hosts in the backpack.Still in the box, but ready to go.

The landlord signed: J. Hardwick Porter and guests.A valet offered to take my knapsack, but I insisted that I change into the shirt in it before lunch.We wasted our time in the restroom and in the end it was just us and the waiter - we recruited him here and sent him out to tell the housekeeping manager that a guest fell ill in the restroom. After we cleaned up the manager, he found me a white blouse and I became another waiter in the restroom.I've only got ten owners left, but I know the boxes can be picked up from the storage loft and delivered to the club in no time. Another waiter and I ran out of the hosts I had brought before the noon dining rush was over.While we were at work a visitor surprised us, and as I had no time to spare his life, he was recruited, and I had to kill him.We stuffed him in the mop room.

There was a brief lull after that, as the crates had not yet arrived.The instinctive hunger response was killing me, but it didn't take long for the hunger to fade away, but it was still palpable.I told the manager and he made me have the most delicious lunch in his office.I had just finished eating when the case arrived. By mid-afternoon, every gentlemen's club was lethargic.By this time, we have safely controlled the place.By four o'clock, everyone in the building—members, staff, and guests—became ours; from then on we dealt with them in the lobby whenever the janitor let them in.Later that day, the manager called Des Moines and asked for four more boxes.

That evening, we had our biggest reward—a guest, the Assistant Secretary of the Treasury Department.We see him as a major victory: The Treasury Department is responsible for the security of the president.