_"Just winged him." Mario growled. "He'll bleed a hell of a lot more than that before the night's out."_ _There was a clattering at Fleetwood's feet and he realized that he had let go of the gun without knowing it. He looked down at it. The blood dripping from the tips of his fingers was splashing against the barrel. That's what he got for letting a dame take his attention when he was on the spot. Business before pleasure, they always said. He'd have to remember that from now on--if he lived to remember anything._ "Fleetwood!" * * * * * The scream jarred Fleetwood out of the stream of events which included Mario and Evelyn. He looked around and almost shouted for joy. Sitting on the floor, Kitty was staring up at him, her eyes wide with wonder. "Where are we?" she asked frightenedly. "What's going on?" It was miraculous! Apparently the recent violence had snapped her back into the realm of reality; after all she was not originally a fictional creation like the others. Smiling down at her, Fleetwood realized that the pain had gone from his hand, the wound had vanished; he too had escaped Dermitt's world of fiction through Kitty's awareness. The action had been broken just enough. He looked about. The room had begun to fade, Mario and Evelyn were slipping out of dimension. Together, they could make it; two wills were stronger than one. "Hurry!" Fleetwood said, helping her up. "We've got to get out of here while we've got the chance." "But, what?..." Kitty murmured dazedly. "Who are those strange looking people?" "Never mind them," Fleetwood said. "Just hurry." He bustled her along toward the doorway, around the frozen figure of Mario and out into the entry. "I don't understand ..." Kitty said. Reaching the outer door Fleetwood grasped the knob and threw it open. Then he stopped, so abruptly that Kitty collided against him. Before them, blocking the way, stood a small, hammered-down looking man in enormous black-rimmed glasses. He was holding a gun in his hand which he advanced to Fleetwood's chest. "Dermitt!" Fleetwood gasped. "What are you doing here?" "Get back in there," Dermitt said grimly, wagging the gun. "You can't do this, you two-bit hack," Fleetwood said. "You can't be in this story too." "It's my story, isn't it?" Dermitt said nastily. "I can be in it if I want to. I wrote myself in just to be on hand to keep an eye on you." "It's anybody's story by the looks of it," Fleetwood said. "And you're just another inconsistent character. Of course you've already made such a hash of the thing I don't suppose it really matters." "I'm Mario's henchman," Dermitt said firmly. "My name is Lester, and I'm here to help him handle you. And believe me, Cassidy, I'm already so sick of your interference I don't care much what happens to you. Now get back in there and do what I tell you." * * * * *