"Just think where it is!"
"I won't—"
Heck smiled suddenly in the darkness. "Try not to think about it," he said. "I've put the thought in your mind. You have to think about it now, don't you? You couldn't stop thinking about it if you wanted to. Where is Scarface Willy? You know, don't you, Johnny The Cat? Don't try and tell me you don't know. Where is he? Think about it! Where is Scarface Willy?"
After the long silence, Heck's sudden deluge of words brought a groan from the frightened Johnny The Cat. But abruptly the groan became a shout of anger. "I don't have to listen to you," Johnny said. "All right. I'm blind. All right. But I still got you. I can still give you that schlammin, Little Hymie."
Heck felt his hand forced up cruelly between his shoulder blades. He was spun around. Something cracked. He wondered if his hand were broken. He had only seconds now, he knew. Seconds before Johnny The Cat Simese began to administer the schlammin, gangdomese for a beating he'd bear the traces of for the rest of his life. He had tried to find Patty—and he'd lost. Patty was still in Scarface Willy's hands. And he, Heck, was all washed up. A little guy, he thought in a flood of self-pity, who was one of the best goldarn salesmen and perfectly happy being a salesman, but who was in way over his depth now.
He heard Johnny The Cat's harsh anticipatory breathing.
He knew Johnny The Cat was about to strike him with those huge, powerful hands.
He knew that in a matter of minutes he would be a beaten pulp....
"Try not to think of where Willy is!" he cried—and clutched Johnny The Cat Simese—and hoped—and teleported!
It was a large, comfortable looking room. It was not empty. It was far from empty.