I will," he said. "Until they come and put me in
a wet pack."

Burris blinked, but recovered gamely. "You don't have to go swimming,"
he said, "if you don't want to go swimming. Up in the mountains, for
instance--"

"Where there are nice big guards to watch everything," Malone said.
"And nuts."

"Guides," Burris said. "But you could just sit around and take things
easy."

"All locked up," Malone said. "Sure. I'll love it."

"If you want to go out," Burris said, "you can go out. Anywhere. Just
do whatever you feel like doing."

Malone sighed. "O.K.," he said. "When do the men in the white coats
arrive?"

"White coats?" Burris said. There was a short silence. "Kenneth," he
said, "don't suspect me of trying to do anything to you. This is my
way of doing you a favor. It would just be a vacation--going anywhere
you want to go, doing anything you want to do."

"Avacado," Malone muttered at random.

Burris stared. "What?"

"Nothing," Malone said shamefacedly. "An old song. It runs through my
mind. And when you said that about going where I want to go--"

"An old song with avacados in it?" Burris said.

Malone cleared his throat and burst into shy and slightly hoarse song.

"Avacado go where you go," he piped feebly, "do what you do--"

"Oh," Burris said. "Oh, my."

"Sorry," Malone muttered. He took a breath and waited. A second
passed.

"Well, Kenneth," Burris said at last, with an attempt at heartiness,
"you can do anything you like. The mountains. The seashore. Hawaii.
The Riviera. Just go and forget all about gangsters, spies,
counter-espionage, kidnapings, mad telepaths, juvenile teleports and
anything else like that."

"You forgot water coolers," Malone said.

Burris nodded. "And water coolers," he said, "by all means. Forget
about FBI business. Forget about me. Just relax."

It did sound appealing, Malone told himself. But there was a case to
finish, and he was sure Burris was finishing it wrong. He wanted to
argue about it some more, but he was fresh out of arguments.

And besides, the idea of being able to forget all about Andrew J.
Burris for a little while was almost insidious. Malone liked it more
the more he thought about it. Burris went on naming vacation spots and
drawing magnificent travel-agency pictures of how wonderful life could
be, and after a while Malone left. There just wasn't anything else to
say. Burris had given him an order for his vacation pay and another
guaranteeing tra