Paul tingled all over, thoroughly enjoying the new thrill, the new sense of power. It was far more intoxicating than the martinis themselves. With a marked sense of superiority he again looked up and down the bar. The first flash of fear gone, he now regarded the other drinkers with patronizing contempt. That fat fellow there at the end for instance. Drinking a manhattan. Trying to look like a banker. Trying to impress the people. Pompous ass! _Maybe I can fix his wagon_, Paul thought. The man raised his glass with an exaggerating sweep of his hand. Paul concentrated and the poor unfortunate poured its entire contents over his immaculate shirt front. The barflies snickered as the man fumbled a bill onto the bar and fled. * * * * * _It worked_, Paul gloated. A waiter passed carrying a tray of appetizers. Paul closed his eyes, "thought" one into his mouth and tasted the sharp salty flavor of anchovy. This was fun! Next he noticed a glossy dame sitting near the center of the bar pushing out her front until it reminded him of twin cannons. So she thought she could scrounge another drink from the guy next to her, huh? Why didn't she just pick his pocket and be done with it? Why not indeed? Effortlessly the man's wallet flew out of his hip pocket and arced down into her low-cut bodice. The girl angled her popping eyes downward. Paul chuckled to himself as she slipped off the stool and headed for the ladies' room. It was all so easy. If he could manipulate his new-found power so cleverly, why not do something truly epic? Like dropping a brick on his boss's head. Or--come to think of it--how about putting some money into his own pocket? The cashier at the end of the bar rang up a sale. Then with the cash drawer still open his attention was attracted by a waiter. Opportunity! With hardly any effort at all Paul transferred a ten-dollar bill from the drawer into his shirt pocket. It crackled excitingly as he pressed it flat with a casual hand. Pure excitement swept him. He could do anything! Move into the really spectacular. He could--could even rob a bank! Thus when the armored truck pulled up across the street his mind was conditioned for its arrival. Through the window he saw the rear door open. Then two armed guards emerged. Bored by the routine, one of them actually yawned as a third guard appeared from the theatre entrance in front of which they were parked. He was carrying a satchel. As he handed it into the truck Paul's mind worked automatically. Then he watched as the guards vanished inside the truck and closed the door. The truck spouted a white exhaust and pulled away. * * * * * Paul was trembling now, suddenly aghast at what he had done. This wasn't a parlor game anymore, and he told himself it hadn't happened; told himself this in quick desperation; that this whole thing had been nothing more than an idle daydream, a moment's relaxation along with a few drinks.