Chapter 19 -- On the Coast Road With 235X12

nothing but interior, car window views of ocean, ocean, ocean to the right; hillocks and scrub growth to the left. And too many winding curves along the way to take anything in, for all the
leaning side-to-side to stay upright.

"Slow down", commanded Doctor Y. to his robot driver. But, again, there was no reply.
235X12 was in definite need of an overhaul.


Doctor Y. sat up straighter in the limo's rear passenger seat. There were at least a few yards
of road ahead that did not curve so, and would offer him some few seconds of 'melodramatic
gloating'...

He ruminated briefly about the small, flat box now in the specially lined, lapel pocket of his
grey suit jacket. Its last minute retrieval had been a 'coup', yesss...

But, there was the fact of having forgotten it in the first place.


As his body began to lean again from side-to-side with further abrupt coastal turns, 'Y.'
lost the thread of his 'scheming'. His mind jumped to the yellow paperback he had seen
so briefly. Trying to recall just what he had actually read in the silly book.

No matter. Either malicious or stupid, the local writers. They never get it right.


As if to censure his smugness, the speeding limo suddenly hit a rock, moving on, but causing
him to stamp his grey-polished shoe into the floorboard to avoid sliding off the seat & piling in a heap. Gnashing his teeth and righting himself, he cursed the empty grill head of '235' and the
day he'd ever overseen the takeover of menial tasks by his inventions.


But his own memory was no better. He still wanted to recall the book passage, damn the thing.

And this little road trip never afforded him one chance to analyze his errors. Appalling. To walk out without the box...

For an 'evil genius', he was having quite the memory lapse.


Perhaps, he had on 'the wrong attire'. Didn't the Philosopher(s) say something about selecting
the wrong outfit spoiling the whole of the day's actions?

They were always saying some god damn thing.


Was the robot speeding up?? He hated this road, its ugly views. And unpredictable turns
guaranteed to interrupt all thought and render one an insipid, flaming wreck. Figuratively,
if not literally.

'Doctor Y.' would be glad to get back 'up to something' in his sanctum. Up to speed on his
lab work...THEY WERE DEFINITELY GOING TOO FAST.


Verbal commands were useless. Crampton 'rared back' to use both of his long, grey legs.

To kick the back of the driver's seat with both feet, again & again. And joggle some sense into his
mechanical chauffeur before they went careening off into the sea like some sorry
cinematic cliffhanger...

Chapter 11 -- Preturn of Doctor Y.

As the limousine pulled up beside the curb, its left front tire hit a bump, partially rolling them up onto something.
"Back up a little," commanded the tall man in the back. The mechanical chauffeur did as he was told, without any static. The dapper passenger, already out of the car, gazed in a bit at his driver,
left hand with its long fingernails extended, (absently), like a bird's claw.
"He was supposed to reply", thought Doctor Y. "He must need an adjustment."

As the tall doctor straightened and turned, he looked down at the object, bent and picked it up.
"One of those paperbacks", he muttered.
But as he stood in the street, (there was almost never any traffic), trying to take in the title, the
sunlight was too bright on the book's yellow cover to make it out in the instant he was willing to give to it. What's more, as he squinted, he was also beginning to sweat on his upper lip and simply had to check the spirit gum under his catfish mustache with the nails of his right middle and index fingers.
Satisfied the glue was holding, and now aware the book was interfering with his overall persona,
he tried, (again absently), to set the book down on the limo's fender half-thinking its owner or
some interested passerby might collect it before his quick return.
As he moved away from the car it slid back into the street.

Recovering his real purpose, he strode quickly into the club entrance.


The flattish little box was still right there on the corner of the desk. It even had a thin coating of
dust. How foolish of him to leave it here after all of that precise planning!
Jampers appeared as though he were asleep, his head on the desk.
Doctor Y. lifted the box carefully, using the nails of his hand (like a carnival claw machine),
raised it to his 'gleeful visage' and slid the damnable thing into his jacket pocket.
He hurriedly exited, before anyone else might arrive.


Emerging again, he lightly touches his lapel area to be sure this time of its content, skirts past the black dog nearby, and seats himself in the back of the limousine, immediately calm and collected.
The mechanical chauffeur winds out with the ragged, "a--round--the--block--ik?"
"Rudimentary, my dear 235X12", the living one effuses. As the two pull away and proceed up
the avenue, taking the peeling right turn at the Bridge toward the ocean, just in view, and around the coast road to his personal sanctum.