Henry Slesar

“ They need us, don't they? I mean, nothing else will give 'em the kind of ratings they get from the Thrill Show—"
"Their hands will be tied," T.D. said. "One slip is all the Federal boys have been waiting for. And with all that foreign criticism our State Department's been getting—"
"They still buy our films abroad," another Staff man said glumly.
"That won't matter." The Producer sat down heavily, and put the cold end of his hookahmatic in his mouth. "The Thrill Show is doomed. Let's face it." ”

“ That's what loused up the whole show!"
Manford groaned. "What does that matter now? Forty-four cc's of hypnomecholyl! What kind of a doctor are you, Grayson? Don't you know you could kill a man that way?" ”

“ Frick stepped into range. He cleared his throat and looked at the floor. "There'll be a meeting after the show," he mumbled.
"Meeting?" Manford said. "What for?" He blinked, and looked at Frick's bowed head. Then he looked dazed. "You don't mean a—a live meeting?"
Frick nodded. The Producer puffed contentedly on his hookahmatic. He blew a smoke ring, and it puffed itself to pieces against the phonescreen.
The man raised himself from the ground. His limbs felt weak, and he had to force the breaths through his lungs. ”

“ Frick gasped.
"A live one," the Producer said. "Everybody here—right here—in person! This is an emergency!"
"Gosh, T.D.—" Frick frowned disapprovingly. "That's kind of rough, isn't it? I mean, a phonescreen session would be a lot simpler. It'll take hours for Manford and the rest of 'em to get through the Jam."
"I don't care," the Producer said petulantly. "This kind of bumbling inefficiency has gone far enough. It'll do 'em good to get crushed in the Traffic for a change—"
Frick paled, obviously disturbed by the severity of the punishment the Producer was meting out. ”

“ Why should I hurt you?"
She looked at him narrowly. Her hand tightened around the handle of the sword. "You know why," she accused.
"You must trust me," he said. He put his hand out gently to her. She backed away from his touch, and leaped off the log. She moved away cautiously, gripping the weapon with both hands.
"Use the sword," said the voice. "Strike, and go free."
She trembled, and lifted the sword from the ground. The man whirled, eyes penetrating the forest for an escape route. He backed up, and fell over a trailing root.
"Now," said the voice. "Strike!" ”

“ They had gathered around the table in the conference room, the Staff members still hollow-cheeked and shaken by their experience in the Jam.
"This fellow came into the office last week and signed up for a spot in the Thrill Show. We needed somebody for the 'Battle of the Sexes' show, and he was a pretty nice-looking guy. A little seedy, maybe. But all right. He gave his right name—here's his record—but nobody on the interviewing staff recognized him. Guess they're all a little too young to remember Jerry Spizer very well—"
"All right," the Producer prodded. ”

“ The Producer came around the side of the desk. He took the ashtray from his hand, and helped him into the interview chair. The man collapsed limply at his touch.
"How'd you get here?" the Producer said.
"I don't know," the man mumbled. "I found a door ... back there...." He buried his chin on his chest. His clothes were shredded, and his hands were trembling.
"Just take it easy," the Producer told him. He stabbed his finger on a desk button. The signal brought Frick into the office.
"What's up, T.D.?" Then the assistant saw the man in the chair. "My God," he whispered, swallowing hard. ”

“ With a spurt of strength, with a flash of sudden intelligence, he raised his left arm, and the fingers caught the collar surrounding the fat man's neck in loose folds. He held on grimly, until the fat man screamed with satisfying terror. ”

“ 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.
"Yes," said the Producer. "She certainly was fine." Frick stirred uncomfortably behind him.
"Anyway," the Director continued, "we're dropping in the dinosaur film—that's always good for a few shivers—and we've sent a crew into the Studio to get that man out of there—"
The Producer nodded his head toward his assistant. "Frick," he said, eyes on Manford. "You tell him." ”

“ This fellow Spizer, for the 'Battle of the Sexes' Show?"
The doctor nodded. "Of course."
"Was there anything unusual about the dosage?"
Grayson looked puzzled. "Naturally not. I gave him the prescribed dosage, just like Dr. Stark told me. Ten cc's of nor-adrenalin, forty-four cc's of that—what d'you call it—hypnomecholyl. Why?"
Dr. Stark paled. "I told you that?" he said. The color rushed back into his cheeks a bright crimson. "I told you adrenalin, you fool. Not nor-adrenalin! And four cc's of hypnomecholyl." He looked wildly at the men around the table. "I swear I told him!" he said. ”

“ Stark said warningly. "If the anti-dope doesn't work, it could mean a lot of trouble for the Thrill Show, Mr. Donnelly—"
The Producer looked frightened. "That's ridiculous. It's got to work. It's always worked—"
"You better call your Staff," the doctor said. "Find out what dosage they gave this man. Check his FCC medical authorization. And do it fast, Mr. Donnelly. This is just the kind of thing the FCC can hang you on."
"Thank God I called that meeting!" the Producer said.
"Here's the straight poop."
Manford, the Thrill Show director, looked briskly around the room. ”

“ If 'Kiss of Death' was your idea of entertainment, you ought to retire ... sort of sex shmaltz went out with television ... give us real gutsy stuff and never mind the mush.... I'm only eleven years old, but I'll bet I could write a better scenario than that.... ”