CHAPTER TWELVE

  I drove, slowly but steadily, for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. Av5iding all of the major highways by staying with the secondary roads. Though my route, by necessity, had to vary in direction, I nevertheless moved steadily south. Doing my best to add real feeling and emotion to Pi-r squared. Sounds familiar? It should be since it is probably the single geometry theorem that anyone ever remembers. The area of a circle is equal to its radius times the value of Pi—squared. So each roll of the wheels of the bread van added an ever-increasing area that must be searched to Bnd the escaping prisoner.
  Four hours of this should put us well ahead of the police. The fact had to be considered as well that The Bishop had been locked in the back of the van for all of this time and knew nothing of my plans for the future. Explanations were in order—as was some food. I was getting hungry and, considering his girth, he would surely be feeling the same. With this in mind I pulled into the next suburban shopping center, checked the quick-food restaurants as I drove by, then parked at the far end of the lot. Backed up close to a blank wall. The Bishop biinked benevolently when I opened the rear door admitting light and fresh air.
"Time for lunch," I said. "Would you like . . ." I lapsed into silence as he raised his hand in a gesture of silence.
 "Permit me, Jim, to say something first. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart I thank you for what you have done. I owe you my life, no less. Thank you."

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  I stood with lowered eyes—1 swear I was blushing like a girl!—and twisting my toe around and around on the ground. Then I coughed and found my voice.
  "I did what had to be done. But—could we talk of this later?" He sensed my embarrassment and nodded, a regal figure despite the absurd garb he was still wearing.  I pointed to the box on which he had been sitting. "There

are clothes in there. While you change I'll get some food. You don't mind junk food from Macswineys?" "Mind? After the loathsome sludge of the prison food,

one of their Barbecued Porcuswineburgers would be unto paradise. With a large portion of sugarfried spamyams, if

you please." "Coming up!"
  I closed the van door with a feeling of relief and trotted off towards the beckoning platinum arches. The Bishop's enthusiasm for fast food was most encouraging in a way that he could not suspect yet.
  Loud munching and rustling sounded from the tables on all sides as I passed and made my way up to the serving counter. I reeled off my order to the plastic-headed robotic attendant, stuffed bills into the hopper—then grabbed the bag of food and drink as it slid out of the gate.
  We sat on the boxes in the back of the van and ate and drank with enthusiasm. I had left the rear door open a crack, which gave us more than enough light. During my absence The Bishop had discarded his dress and was now wearing more masculine garb—the largest size I could find. He wolfed -down half of his sandwich, nibbled a few

spamyams to hold it in place, then smiled over at me.
  "Your plan of escape was pure genius, my boy. I noticed the change in the flooring when I first sat down in the chair in the courtroom and pondered long over its signifi-

cance. I hoped it was what I thought it might be, and can truthftilly say that when the ground opened under my feet, so to speak, I felt a feeling of pleasure such as I had

never experienced before. The sight of that despicable judge's face disappearing from my sight is a memory I shall always treasure."

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  Smiling broadly he finished the rest of the sandwich, then wiped his lips delicately before speaking again.
  "Since I do not wish to cause you greater embarrassment with more fillsome praise, perhaps I should ask you what plans you have made to keep me safe from the hands of the law? Because, knowing you as I do now, I am

secure in the belief that you have planned ahead in precise detail."
  Praise from The Bishop was praise indeed and I basked in the warmth of it for a few moments while I worried out a bit of swinish gristle from between my teeth. "I have done that, thank you. The bread truck is our vehicle of invisibility, for it and its brothers trundle the highways and byways of this country daily." For some reason I found myself sounding more and more like The Bishop when I spoke. "We will stay in it until nightfall, slowly approaching our destination all of the while." "And of course casual police patrols will not bother us, since the identifying numbers on this vehicle are not the ones that were on it before it came into your possession." "Precisely. The theft will have been reported and local police informed. But the search will not widen, for this vehicle will be found not far from its depot in Biliville in the morning. The new numbers, soluable in paint thinner, will have been removed, the odometer turned back to show only a brief joy ride by the thieves. If a van like this were seen and noted in the distant city of Bit 0' Heaven, there will be nothing to connect that bread van with this one. That trail will run cold as will all the others," He digested this bit of information, along with the last of the spamyams, then licked his fingers ruminatingly. "Capital. I could not have done better myself. Since further movement will be dangerous—the police will soon have a net over the entire country—1 presume that Biliville is our destination?"
  "It is. I have my establishment there. Also your place of security. When I asked about your food tastes I had that in mind. You are going to take up residence in an automated Macswineys until the heat of the chase dies down."

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  His eyebrows climbed up to his forehead and I saw him glance with son)e apprehension at the discarded wrappings, but he was land enough not to speak his doubts aloud. I hurried to reassure him.
  "I have done it myself—-so don't worry. There are some slight discomforts...."
  "But none to equal that of Federal prison! I apologize for an unseemly thought. No offense given."
  "Or taken. It all came about by accident one evening when the police were a little close behind me for comfort. I picked the lock on the service entrance of the local Macswineys, the very one That you will be visiting, and my pursuers lost my trail. While I waited for a safe period I examined the premises. Amazing! Operating at high speed all around me was the solution to the single problem that faces all fast-food chains. The cost of keeping

even the highly underpaid and unskilled employees. Human beings are both intelligent and greedy. They tend to become skilled, then want more money for their work. The answer is to do away with human beings completely." "Admirable solution. If you are finished with your crumplumps I just might nibble one or two while I listen to your fascinating documentary, "
  I passed the greasy bag to him and went on. "Everything is mechanized. As the customer speaks his order the required item of food is ejected from the deep-frozen store into a super-voltage radar oven where it is instantly blasted to steamingly edible temperature. These ovens are so powerful that an entire frozen poreuswine can be exploded into steam and greasy particles in twelve microseconds. " "Amazing!"
  "Beverages are dispensed with the same lightning speed. By the time a customer has finished speaking, his entire order is waiting. Behind a steel door, of course, until he has paid. The machinery is fully automatic and reliable and rarely touched by human hands. It is inspected weekly, while the frozen food store is replenished weekly as well. But not on the same day so that the vehicles don't get in each other's way."

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  "Crystal clear!" he cried aloud. "One makes one's home,

so to speak, in the machinery chamber. When the frozen store is replenished, access to it will be from outside the building and the living chamber will not be entered. On the day the machinery is inspected the occupant rests comfortably in the freezing room until the technicians leave. I assume there is a connecting door, easily found. Ahh, yes, the freezer—that explains the large and warm garment I found packed in with my clothes. But should there be an equipment failure . . . ?"
  "The alarm sounds in the central repair depot and a mechanic is dispatched. I have also arranged for it to sound in the room as well to allow enough time to slip

away. I have also made provision for unexpected visits by the engineering staff. An alarm sounds if a key is placed in the outer lock, which then jams for precisely sixty seconds. Any questions?"
  He laughed and reached out and patted my shoulder. "How could there be? You have thought of everything. Might I ask about reading matter and, how shall I phrase it delicately, sanitary facilities?"
  "Portable viewscope and library with your bedroll. All needed facilities already plumbed in for visiting technicians." "I could ask for no more."
  "But . . . I could." I lowered my gaze—then raised it and steeled myself to speak. "You once told me that you

were not in the acolyte-seeking business. Dare I ask you if you still feel that way? Or would you consider dallying the hours away with some lessons in criminal lore? Just to pass the time, so to speak."
  Now it was his turn to lower his eyes. He sighed, then. spoke. "I had good reasons to reject your request. Good at the time, or so I believed. I have changed my mind. In gratitude for my rescue I would enroll you in my school of Alternate Life-styles for a decade or more. But I don't believe you would like mere gratitude. That would not

wear well, unless I have misread your character. I don't relieve you rescued me just to gain my gratitude. So I

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therefore tell you, in all truth, that t look forward to passing on the few things I have learned down through the years. I look forward to our continuing friendship as well. " I was overwhelmed. We were on our feet at the same time and shaking hands, laughing. His grip was like steel but I didn't mind at all. It was I who turned away first, then looked at my watch.
 "We have been here too long already and must not draw any attention. I shall drive on now—and the next stop will be the last one, for we will have arrived. Please exit quickly, enter the service door at once, and close it behind you. I'll be back d5 soon as this van has been disposed of, so the next person to open the door will be me." "At your orders, Jim. But speak—and I shall obey." It was a boring drive but a necessary one. But bored I was not, for I was filled with plans and thoughts of the ftiture. I drove through street after street, stopping only

once to charge the batteries at an automated service station. Then onward again, doomed forever to rumble through the back roads of Bit 0' Heaven, watching the sun creep towards the horizon. To at last pull into the service road of the Biliville shopping center, now empty of traffic until morning,
  No one in sight. The Bishop passed me with a swish and the door slammed. The operation wa,s still going well and I

was in a hurry to finish, but knew better than to rush now. No one saw me when I carried the boxes and equipment into the building and dumped them in my office. It was taking a chance, but it had to be done. The chances that the van would be noticed and remembered were slim. Before I drove away I sprayed the interior of the van with print-go, a solvent that destroys fingerprints and should be in common use by all criminals. Even bread-van thieves.
  This was it. I could do no more. I parked the van at the end of a quiet suburban street and walked back into town. It was a warm night and I enjoyed the exercise. When I passed the pond in Biliville Park I heard a water bird calling out sleepily. I sat on the bench and looked out at

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the still surface of the pond. And thought about the ftiture and my destiny.
  Had I really succeeded in breaking free with my old life? Was I to succeed in the life of crime that I so much wanted? The Bishop had promised to help me—and he

was the only person on the planet who could.
  I whistled as I walked towards the shopping center. Looking forward to a brilliant and exciting future. So involved in my thoughts that I ignored the occasional surface car that passed, barely aware of one stopping behind me.
"You there, kid, just a minute."
  Without thinking I turned about, so distracted that I didn't notice until too late that I was standing under the street light. The policeman sat in the car staring at me. I'll never know why he stopped, what he wanted to talk to me about, because that thought fled his mind instantly. I could see recognition there as his eyes widened.
  In my concern over The Bishop I had forgotten completely that I was still a wanted criminal and jail-breaker, that all the police had my photograph and description. And here I was strolling the streets bereft of any disguise

or attempt at security. All these thoughts passed through my head and out my ear in the instant that he recognized me. Nor did I even have time for any mental kicks in the seat of my trousers. . "You're Jimmy diGriz!"
  He seemed as surprised as I was. But not surprised enough to slow down his reflexes. Mine were still getting into gear by the time his were all through operating. He must have practiced that draw in the mirror every day because he was fast. Too fast.
  As I was turning to run, the muzzle of his recoilless .75 appeared in the open window.
  "Gotcha!" he said. With a dirty, wide, evil law-enforcing smile.