Strange Highways

properly. He refrained from doing so only because he was afraid of missing the call while downstairs.
     At six-fifteen he washed his hands.
     At six-thirty he went to the cupboard, took down his whiskey bottle of the day - which he'd barely touched - and poured a glassful. He did not put it away again. He read the label, which he had studied a hundred times before, then carried his drink back to the bed.
     By seven o'clock he was feeling the liquor. He settled back against the headboard and finally considered what Fauvel had said: that there was no Judge, that he had been illusory, a psychological mechanism for rationalizing the gradual diminishment of Chase's guilt complex. He tried to think about that, to study the meaning of it, but he could not be sure if this was a good or a bad development.
     In the bathroom, he drew a tub of warm water and tested it until it was just right. He folded a damp washcloth on the wide porcelain rim of the tub and placed his drink on that. The whiskey, the water, and the rising steam conspired to make him feel as though he were floating up into soft clouds. He leaned back until his head touched the wall, closed his eyes, and tried not to think about anything - especially blocking all thoughts of Judge and the Medal of Honor and the nine months that he had spent on active duty in Nam.
     Unfortunately, he began to think of Louise Allenby, the girl whose life he had saved, and in his mind's eye he saw her small, trembling, bare breasts, which had looked so inviting in the weak light of the car in lovers' lane. The thought, though pleasant enough, was unfortunate because it contributed to his first erection in nearly a year. That development was perhaps desirable; he wasn't sure. But it seemed inappropriate, given the hideous circumstances in which he'd seen the girl half undressed. He was reminded of the blood in the car - and the blood reminded him of the reasons for his recent inability to function as a man. Those reasons were still so formidable that he couldn't face them alone. The erection was short-lived, and when it was gone, he wasn't certain if it indicated an eventual end to his psychological impotency or whether it had resulted only from the warm water.
     He got out of the water when his whiskey glass was empty. He was toweling himself when the telephone rang.
     The electric clock showed two minutes past eight.
     Naked, he sat on the bed and answered the phone.
     "Sorry I'm late," Judge said.
     Dr. Fauvel had been wrong.
     "I thought you weren't going to call," Chase said.
     "I required a little more time than I'd expected to locate some information on you."
     "What information?"
     Judge ignored the question, intent on proceeding in his own fashion. "So you see a psychiatrist once a week, do you?"
     Chase did not reply.
     "That alone is fairly good proof that the accusation I made yesterday is true - that your disability pension is for mental, not physical, injuries."
     Chase wished that he had a drink with him, but he could not ask Judge to hold on while he poured one. For reasons that he could not explain, he didn't want Judge to know that he drank heavily.
     Chase said, "How did you find out?"
     "Followed you this afternoon," Judge said.
     "Bold."
     "The righteous can afford to be bold."
     "Of course."
     Judge laughed as if delighted with himself. "I saw you going into the Kaine Building, and I got into the lobby fast enough to see which elevator you took and which floor you got off at. On the eighth floor, besides Dr. Fauvel's offices, there are two dentists and three insurance companies. It was simple enough to look in the waiting rooms of those other places and inquire after you, like a friend, with the secretaries and receptionists. I left the shrink's place for last, because I just knew that's where you were. When no one knew you in the other offices, I didn't have to risk glancing in Fauvel's waiting room. I knew."
     Chase said, "So what?"
     He hoped that he sounded more nonchalant than he felt, for it was somehow important to make the right impression on Judge. He was sweating again. He would need to take another bath by the time this conversation was concluded. And he would need a drink, a cold drink.
     "As soon as I knew you were in the psychiatrist's office,"