Gyl flowed around another drop of gin. "Oh, well," he said dismissing the ambition, "guess he doesn't have much to say about things, anyway." Then he brightened. "But there are some mighty fine bureaus and departments there. We could wiggle our way into one of those. A few million dollars here and there wouldn't be missed."
"Atta boy! I'll take you and Gyf over to Washington in the morning, then I'll come back here and dispose of the business while the two of you are getting established." It sounded like a good idea. Within a few years we'd be rolling in the filthy stuff.
I poured a few more drops of gin on the glass top, then raised the bottle. "Here's to happy days in the Pentagon!" I toasted.
Our spirits were soon soaring to great heights, and, as usual under such circumstances, Gyl began talking about the "good old days" when you could pick up a likely corpse almost anywhere, anytime.
"Used to be so much simpler then," he commented, flowing around one of the fresh drops. "Now you have to beat the embalmer!" He chuckled. "Fairly close race at times, too! But it keeps one on one's pseudotoes, so to speak!" A combined burp and hiccough nearly flopped him off the desk.
After he had regained his equilibrium we spent an enjoyable half-hour talking of cadavers, funeral homes, the comparative merits of inhabiting youthful or wealthy bodies, and other delightfully stimulating subjects. Then we began to sing songs, old and new.
We had finished the chorus of "We Have All the Dough of Remey" for the third time and were just getting warmed up on an extemporization of "We'll Carry On in the Pentagon" when the office door flew suddenly open and two Federal boys stepped in, followed by my stupid-looking secretary.
They came quickly to the desk. One of them grabbed a handful of Gyl with one hand and pointed a gun at me with the other. "Just stay as you are," the officer cautioned.
My dumb secretary stared at me with round, innocent eyes. "I couldn't help hearing everything you said, Mr. Nelson," she chirped, half apologetically. "Your intercom box was open. Must be a short in it somewhere. Or a loose connection...."
The other officer picked up the little box and shook it. A surprised Gyf felt out from between the slats....