me, Joe
Prantera began to sense an alienness--a something that was awfully
wrong.

The other spoke precisely and slowly, the way a highly educated man
speaks a language which he reads and writes fluently but has little
occasion to practice vocally. "You have recovered?"

Joe Prantera looked at the other expressionlessly. Maybe the old duck
was one of these foreign doctors, like.

The newcomer said, "You have undoubtedly been through a most harrowing
experience. If you have any untoward symptoms, possibly I could be of
assistance."

Joe couldn't figure out how he stood. For one thing, there should have
been some kind of police guard.

The other said, "Perhaps a bit of stimulant?"

Joe said flatly, "I wanta lawyer."

The newcomer frowned at him. "A lawyer?"

"I'm not sayin' nothin'. Not until I get a mouthpiece."

The newcomer started off on another tack. "My name is Lawrence
Reston-Farrell. If I am not mistaken, you are Joseph Salviati-Prantera."

Salviati happened to be Joe's mother's maiden name. But it was unlikely
this character could have known that. Joe had been born in Naples and
his mother had died in childbirth. His father hadn't brought him to the
States until the age of five and by that time he had a stepmother.

"I wanta mouthpiece," Joe said flatly, "or let me outta here."

Lawrence Reston-Farrell said, "You are not being constrained. There are
clothes for you in the closet there."

Joe gingerly tried swinging his feet to the floor and sitting up, while
the other stood watching him, strangely. He came to his feet. With the
exception of a faint nausea, which brought back memories of that extreme
condition he'd suffered during ... during what? He hadn't the vaguest
idea of what had happened.

He was dressed in a hospital-type nightgown. He looked down at it and
snorted and made his way over to the closet. It opened on his approach,
the door sliding back into the wall in much the same manner as the
room's door had opened for Reston-Farrell.

Joe Prantera scowled and said, "These ain't my clothes."

"No, I am afraid not."

"You think I'd be seen dead wearing this stuff? What is this, some
religious crackpot hospital?"

Reston-Farrell said, "I am afraid, Mr. Salviati-Prantera, that these are
the only garments available. I suggest you look out the window there."

Joe gave him a long, chill look and then stepped to the window. He
couldn't figure the other. Unless he was a fruitcake. Maybe he