Get Smart 8 - Max Smart Loses Control Read online

  Hymie: Chief? Why are you calling at two o’clock in the morning?

  Harold: You’ve been swimming with your watch on, too, I’ll bet.

  Hymie: Who’s this?

  Operator: Hymie, that’s Harold. He’s my brother-in-law—although Mother thinks of him as her own son, practically. He’s in the telephone answering service business.

  Chief: Forget all that, Hymie. I’m the one who’s calling you. I couldn’t sleep. I want to know how the case is progressing.

  Operator: Should Harold be listening to this, Chief? You’ve heard about his connection with KAOS, I suppose.

  Chief: Nobody’s supposed to be listening, Operator! I want this line cleared! Understand! Cleared!

  Hymie handed the slipper back to Max. “He didn’t want to talk to me, after all,” he said. “He told me to get off the line.”

  Max shook his head in dismay. “The Chief is getting old in his old age,” he said sorrowfully. “It’s a sure sign when you start calling people up at two o’clock in the morning and you don’t even want to talk to them. I hope he doesn’t make a habit of it.” He looked thoughtful. “Maybe I better get myself an answering service,” he said.

  7.

  MAX WAS awakened roughly the next morning, and when he managed to open his eyes he found Hymie shaking him.

  “We overslept, Max,” Hymie explained.

  Max reached for his watch, which he had placed on the bedside table. “It’s only two o’clock in the morning!” he complained.

  “Your watch stopped, Max—remember?”

  “Oh . . . yes.” Max sat up. “What time is it, actually?” he asked.

  “Nine, Max.”

  “Oh? What are we late for?” Max asked. “If we overslept, we must be late for something. And, if we’re late—why bother? We’ve probably already missed the important part. Let’s go back to sleep and try again tomorrow morning.”

  “There’s no time for sleep, Max,” Hymie said. “I think we’re in danger. Ways and Means are trying to trick us. When I got up a few minutes ago, I switched on my bedside computer, and it told me to go clean-shaven this morning.”

  Max peered at him. “You’re still wearing your handlebar mustache,” he said. “You mean you defied your bedside computer, Hymie? That’s terrible. That could mean seven years bad luck!”

  “That’s a superstition, Max,” Hymie said.

  “Oh, it is, is it? Well, what would you say if I told you that my uncle Harry defied his bedside computer once, and his seven years bad luck started immediately?”

  “What happened, Max?”

  “He broke a mirror.”

  “All right, Max, it’s seven years bad luck. But what bothers me is, I’m afraid it’s a trick. I think Ways and Means want us to discard our mustaches so they can recognize us.”

  Max shook his head. “That’s ridiculous, Hymie. They already recognized us. Remember? When we were face to face with them last night, Means stared at me and said, ‘You!’ And Ways stared at you and said, ‘You!’” He frowned. “Or was it the other way around? Maybe it was Ways who stared at me, and Means who stared at you. I’m a little fuzzy on that.”

  “What difference does it make, Max?”

  Max shrugged. “How should I know? You’re the man-in-charge—you tell me.”

  “Max, I don’t think that saying ‘You!’ means that they recognized us,” Hymie said. “Or, if it does, it doesn’t mean that they recognized us as Max Smart and Hymie. It could mean that they recognized us as the two hired hands they hired.”

  “Hymie, this is getting a little confusing. Could you start at the beginning?”

  “I came over here to find out if your bedside computer will give you the same orders that mine gave me,” Hymie said. “If it does, that will probably indicate that all the computers are giving the same order to everybody.”

  “So?”

  “So, if that’s the way it is, we’ll have to figure out what it means, and act accordingly,” Hymie said.

  Max reached over and punched a button on his bedside computer. There was a clicking sound, then the computer disgorged a tape. Max tore it off and read it.

  The tape said: IT PAYS TO LOOK WELL. GO CLEAN-SHAVEN TODAY.

  “That’s a nice thought,” Max said.

  “It’s a trick,” Hymie said.

  “I don’t know . . . it might just be some institutional advertising for the barbers’ union,” Max said.

  Hymie shook his head. “Think, Max! All of the hired hands at this ranch wear handlebar mustaches. That’s why we’re wearing them—so we’ll look like all the others. But, if we all go clean-shaven today, Ways and Means will be able to recognize us.”

  “So that’s why we’ll continue to wear the mustaches—right?”

  “I don’t know, Max. It’s a difficult problem. It doesn’t compute.”

  “Then we’ll have to rely on my experience, Hymie. And I say we should continue to wear the mustaches. Here’s what I think Means and Ways have done. They recognized us last night as the two new hired hands. So, while we were sleeping, they gimmicked our computers. We’ll be the only hired hands on the whole ranch who’ll be without mustaches. And, without mustaches, they’ll recognize us as Max Smart and Hymie. There . . . clear?”

  “Max, there are a few details you’re leaving out.”

  “Maybe so, Hymie. But it’s better than your way. Your way, we’re in doubt about what to do. But, my way, our course is clear. Isn’t that better?”

  “But, Max, in the end—”

  “Let’s not argue about it, Hymie. There’s an old saying that fits this situation. It goes: When in doubt about what to do, do something anyway. Anything is better than nothing, isn’t it, Hymie? We live in a fast, action-packed time. Do you know what happens to people who do nothing because they’re afraid of doing the wrong thing, Hymie? They get left behind. The people who are advancing are the people who are doing something, whether it’s the right thing or not. That’s always been my motto: do something. That explains why I’m where I am today. And it explains, also, I imagine, why you’re where you are today. There’s a lesson in that, Hymie.”

  “You mean that’s why I’m in charge and you’re taking orders?”

  “That has nothing to do with it,” Max said sourly. “That happens to be a sad result of politics. Go comb your mustache,” he said, “while I get dressed.”

  A few minutes later, Max and Hymie met in the corridor, both wearing mustaches. The instant they stepped out the door they were jumped on and taken prisoner by a half-dozen hired hands, none of whom were wearing mustaches.

  “See? Isn’t this better than doing nothing?” Max said to Hymie. “Now, at least, we know where we stand. If we were still in the bunkhouse, fretting about what to do, we’d be nervous wrecks by now.”

  The hired hands took them to the pool, then pushed them in. The guests around the pool applauded. The hired hands then dove into the pool, opened the door to the secret installation, hustled Max and Hymie inside, then closed the door behind them.

  As they reached the mind-destroying laser beam, they all ducked under. But when they got to the napalm sprayer, Max started to walk right into it’s path. Hymie grabbed him and pulled him down.

  “Max! You were almost burned to a crisp!”

  “Don’t be silly,” Max said. “Don’t you see that notice chalked on the wall? It says: Out of Order.”

  “Max, you chalked that there last night.”

  “Oh . . . yes. I’m surprised I didn’t recognize the printing.”

  They proceeded, ducking down when they reached the apparatus that operated the trapdoor, then entered the laboratory. Ways and Means were there, feeding information to Number One.

  “Those are the culprits, all right,” Ways said. He turned to Means. “Our trick worked perfectly,” he said.

  “What trick is that?” Max asked.

  “You two are the only ones wearing mustaches,” Ways explained. “So you must be the infiltrators. A
s soon as we shave you, we’ll know for sure.” He reached out and ripped off Max’s mustache and then Hymie’s. “Now, how about a little trim around the ears?” he asked.

  “Wayne—it’s them!” Means said.

  “You’re right, Melvin—the dumb one and the other one.” He addressed Max. “How did you get out of that vat?”

  “Nevermind that,” Max said sharply. “You’re the ones who have explaining to do. Maybe you don’t know it, but that computer behind you happens to be government property. Now, we all make mistakes. Maybe you didn’t know it was government property when you broke into that government installation and computer-napped it and tried to drown us in chocolate when we attempted to retrieve it. Normally, ignorance is no excuse. But, in this case, I think the government might be willing to make an exception. Here’s my suggestion. You turn the computer over to us, and we’ll ask the government to go easy on you. With our help, you could be out of prison and leading useful lives again within seventy or eighty years.”

  “I’d be one-hundred-and-twenty,” Ways said.

  “And—at that age—a celebrity,” Max said. “See what can happen when you cooperate with the government?”

  “We’ve got a better plan,” Means said. “The way we’re working it, within a few years, we’ll be the government.”

  Max frowned. “How, exactly, do you figure to manage that?” he asked.

  “We’ll have control of every bedside computer in the nation,” Ways replied. “Number One will design them for us. And she’ll tell them exactly what we want her to tell them, and then they’ll pass on the information to their owners.”

  “We’re brainwashing Number One right now,” Means said. “Here’s what we’re feeding her,” he added, handing Max a tape that he had been about to put into the computer.

  Max read:

  THE GUYS IN THE BLACK HATS ARE THE GOOD GUYS

  SPINACH IS TASTY

  ONE PART GIN, FOUR PARTS VERMOUTH

  THE WORLD IS FLAT

  LOVE CAUSES ULCERS

  SMOKING CLEARS THE SINUSES

  THE GOVERNMENT IS ALWAYS RIGHT

  EDUCATION CAUSES INGROWN TOENAILS

  “That’s terrible!” Max said. “You’ll set civilization back a thousand years!”

  “I don’t think there’s any danger, Max,” Hymie said. “Who would believe that stuff?”

  “You’re right,” Max said. “Nobody is that much of a slave to his computer.”

  “How were you dressed when you went to work the day you showed up at the candy factory?” Ways asked Max.

  “Well, I was wearing my golf knickers and my . . .” He turned to Hymie. “I think you’ve grossly underestimated the danger,” he said. “Nobody in his right mind would disregard orders from his bedside computer. We’re not used to thinking for ourselves early in the morning.” He faced Ways and Means again. “But, in order to carry out your plan,” he said, “you’ll have to place a brainwashed computer in every home. That’s impossible.”

  “Easiest thing in the world,” Ways said. “They’ll be snapped up the minute we put them on the market. Our computers will cost twice as much as the computers that are now available.”

  “Very clever,” Max nodded. “Everybody knows that anything that costs twice as much has to be twice as good.”

  “Our computers will become a status symbol,” Means said.

  “People will mortgage their homes to get our computers,” Means said.

  “They’ll go into debt to get them,” Means said. “They’ll sell their boats, their second cars, their summer homes—all to get our computers.”

  “I’ll have to admit it—it’s a clever plan,” Max said. “Double the price, and you won’t be able to manufacture these things fast enough to keep up with the demand. But—what then? Convincing everybody that the guys in the black hats are the good guys is interesting—but it won’t get you control of the government.”

  “That’s only the beginning,” Ways said. “As soon as we have a computer in every home, we’ll tell the people how to vote. Our candidate will win by a landslide.”

  “Your candidate?”

  Ways pointed over his shoulder. “Number One.”

  “Aha! A brainwashed computer will become President—and you’ll have control of the computer. That’s very clever. It might even work.”

  “How can it fail?” Means asked.

  “Well, she’s a computer, yes. But she’s also a woman, you know. It’s one thing to put a woman in the White House, but it’s another to get her to do what you want after you get her there. As a very wise man once said: you’d be a fool to depend on it.”

  “She’s a machine,” Ways scoffed. “A machine will—”

  Number One, who had been clicking contentedly, suddenly began clattering.

  “I think you hurt her feelings,” Max said to Wayne Ways.

  “That’s—”

  Number One unreeled a tape.

  Means tore it off, then read:

  What havoc here is being wreaked?

  A gear of mine is being squeaked.

  What language here is being spoken?

  Was that a circuit I heard broken?

  What explanation will explain

  This feeling I feel that feels like pain?

  Do I need a change of erl?

  Or am I being a silly girl?

  Put it on if fits the glove!

  Whee! Hurrah! I am in love!

  “I hope you got that, Hymie,” Max said. “It’s probably something in code.”

  Hymie shook his head. “It’s poetry,” he said. “She always gets that way when she’s in love.”

  “Oh, poetry, eh? And very nice, too,” Max said. He spoke to Ways. “See what I mean,” he said. “You’re liable to have yourself a President who delivers the State of the Union message in verse. And who knows what else she might do?”

  “Get them out of here!” Ways said to the guards. “Something’s gone wrong. We must work on the machine.”

  The guards hustled Max and Hymie out of the laboratory through one of the side doors, then locked them in a cell. One of the guards remained, and the others departed.

  “We won’t need you—if you have something important you’d like to attend to,” Max said to the guard.

  “I’m your guard—I have to stay here and guard,” the guard replied.

  Max motioned to Hymie and they withdrew to a corner of the cell. “Did you hear that?” he said, lowering his voice. “That guard is guarding us.”

  “I heard,” Hymie replied.

  “I just don’t want you to say, later, that I’m keeping things from you,” Max said. “I always tell my leader everything. A leader without all the facts is like a fisherman without a worm.”

  “I understand, Max. Thanks.”

  “Unless, of course, the fisherman happened to bring along some bread crusts,” Max said. “If fish are very hungry, they’ll sometimes bite on bread crusts.”

  “I know, Max.”

  “Bread crusts aren’t much help to a leader without the facts, though,” Max said. “Try figuring out what step to take next when all you’ve got is a handful of dry bread.”

  “Max . . . I understand.”

  “Unless it’s the leader’s day off and he’s gone fishing,” Max said. “In that case, the fact he needs is whether or not the fish are hungry enough to bite on bread crusts. But if he had the bread crusts, he wouldn’t need the facts. All he’d have to do—”

  “Max! I know! I know!”

  “Hymie,” Max scolded, “if you’re going to be a leader, you’ll have to learn to control your temper. Your followers won’t respect you if you blow up like that over nothing. A leader is always cool, calm and collected. Remember that.”

  “I will, Max.”

  “All right, now—where was I? Oh, yes—I’d just congratulated you.”

  “Max . . . somehow, I think I must have missed that part,” Hymie said.

  “You’re not paying attentio
n, Hymie. I congratulated you for saving the day—temporarily, at least.”

  “I did?” Hymie said, puzzled. “What did I do, Max?”

  “Do? You didn’t do anything. But, fortunately, that was enough. Just being there was all that was required. You threw a monkey wrench into Means’ and Ways’ plan. They’ve lost control over Number One. And it’s all because you were there.”

  “Max, I didn’t do a thing,” Hymie said.

  “You didn’t have to. All you had to do was walk into that laboratory. The instant Number One saw you, the flame was rekindled, Hymie. You heard that poetry, didn’t you? Number One is in love!”

  “Not with me, Max,” Hymie said. “The last time I saw Number One, she told me to take a walk.”

  “She meant she wanted you to take her for a walk, Hymie. A lovers stroll—haven’t you ever heard of that?”

  “That’s not what she meant, Max. She told me where to go.”

  “Oh? Where did she tell you to walk to, Hymie?”

  “Off the end of a pier.”

  “Well, in the meantime, she’s thought it over, and she’s sorry. She realizes now what a catch you are, Hymie. You’re dependable. And, besides, you’ve gone up in the world. You’re in charge of a case. That makes you an executive. Face it, Hymie—she loves you.”

  “Max, it’s very hard to believe. She said some pretty nasty things to me.”

  “But, you told me yourself that she’s fickle. Now, she’s just fickling the other way.”

  “I know it sounds—”

  Wayne Ways and Melvin Means had suddenly appeared at the cell door.

  “What’d you do to that computer!” Ways said angrily, shaking a fist at Max.

  “Still acting up, is she?” Max smiled.

  “Poetry! That’s all we can get out of her!” Means said. “Want to hear the latest? It goes:

  How do I love thee?

  Let me count the ways:

  One, Two, Three, Four,

  Five, Six, Seven—

  “Sounds like a computer, all right,” Max nodded. “But if you think you’re going to get me to do anything about it, you’re like a fisherman without a worm.”