“Jam session thing we’ve been trying for a group that’s had trouble with schedule adjustment,” Phil explained, marveling at the inventive capacity of the knight-errant. “Idea is to create a regular emotional rhythm each day. Seems to be working out pretty well.... Oh, look, Lee, if you want to cut out this once, I don’t suppose it would--” “Don’t be silly,” she said firmly. Her smile was snakey-demure. “We wouldn’t want the Investigating Committee to think I don’t earn my pay, would we?” “She thinks of everything, don’t she?” McLafferty said, smooth as ever. “Tell you what, Chris--why don’t we have a look at your farm while they get organized, and maybe stop in at this session afterwards--If you don’t mind, Doc?” Phil thought it over. “Don’t see why not. Sure. There’s no actual therapy at this. I don’t think the group would mind. Come on, gal. We’ve got about two minutes now. See you folks later--” The two of them hurried off, not-hearing Chris calling after them: “Hey, where _is_ this thing?” “Let you know soon as we do,” Phil muttered. It was really no problem. They rounded up ten eager listeners in the dining room, and got set up in Lee’s practice room a good ten minutes before the touring party found them. And Lisa had no trouble getting two theoretical dormitory-mates to go off with her afterwards. “You know,” she said sleepily, “I think this works more for me than for you folks.” “Night, kids,” Phil said. “Well, Mr. Mc....” “Call me Mac,” he said grudgingly. It sounded just like, _Your round, man! But don’t walk down any dark alleys_.... PART NINE _September 25--October 3, 1977_ Acapulco, Sunday, Sep. 25 Dear Lee: The General says he can get this to you with comparative privacy, which seems like a good idea. Apparently I don’t mind broadcasting my nastier moods; it’s just if an unaccustomed brief spell of humility comes over me, I can’t stand to have anyone know I occasionally behave like a civilized human. _If_ I do, or am, which is probably open to doubt. Particularly after my last radiowire to you. Your reply caught up with me the first time the facs company had an address for me, which was during a couple of refreshingly sober days in the Rio jail--great place, by the way, clean, spartan, healthy as all hell. Might have done better to have done worse (I took a poke at a foul-mouthed ass in a night club) and been kept longer.