"But what about the druggist?" Marc said. "I've got to find out about my eyes." He stopped as he became aware of a nervous tugging at his sleeve.
"Hey, man," a voice said, "I've been lookin' for you everywheres."
Marc hastily lowered his glasses. He glanced down to find a familiar shifty-eyed, weasel-like face peering up at him.
"You!" he said.
"Yeah, man," the diminutive peddler of lewd pictures grinned. "You still got the cool stuff, huh?"
"The cool stuff?" Marc said with sudden stiffness. "If you mean that collection of disgusting pictures, no I haven't got them. At the moment, I believe they're listed as Exhibit A in the case of The People against Marcus G. Pillsworth."
"Man!" the little man wailed. "You mean somebody goofed and the cops got 'em?"
"Precisely," Marc said frigidly.
"Who's this Pillsworth cube?"
Marc drew himself up into a living tower of glowering hauteur. "I am Marcus G. Pillsworth," he said nastily.