The office door opened. A pretty redhead with vacant eyes and a frozen smile poked her head inside.
"What is it, Miss Stitch?"
"Will you take a call from Mr. Manford? Phonescreen Seven."
"You bet I will," the Producer said menacingly.
Frick lowered the fidelivision sound and flicked on P.S. 7 with a few efficient motions. The face of Joe Manford, the Director of the night's Thrill Show, was haggard, despite the jovial smile.
"Hi, T.D.," he said. "Been watching the show?"
"Yes, Joseph," the Producer said gravely.
"Oh." The smile faded, but only for a moment. "Well, nothing to worry about. Our boys will have that fellow rounded up in a few minutes. Can't imagine how that got fouled up. But that's the Thrill Show for you. Full of surprises."
"Is that a fact?" said the Producer. He picked up the butt of his hookahmatic and sipped smoke calmly. "I presume this fellow was fully authorized before you put him on?"
"Oh, yes," Manford said hastily. "He passed the routine FCC physical, and had the usual adrenalin and hypnomecholyl dose. I mean, you saw the girl didn't you? She was fine, wasn't she?" He beamed.