Chapter VI

34

STRANGE FISH

Doc asked, “You lived around here all your life, Toms?”

“Sure,” the man said.

That was it. Not an Oklahoma accent. There wasn't really such a thing as an Oklahoma accent. Still, there were regional speech characteristics. Maybe everyone didn't know it, but there were. For instance, there had been the Dr. Henry Lee Smith radio program, quite popular before the war, with its specialty of telling people what state of the Union they were from, and frequently what part of the state. Smith missed sometimes. But he didn't miss as often as one would expect. He did it by having the people he was testing speak sentences made up of key words, which were pronounced differently in different states.

Doc dug into his mind frantically for some key words. He had studied regional American speech. But he had forgotten what he'd learned, he realized. Like so many things he had put into his mind, it hadn't stuck. He was supposed to have a remarkably developed mind. He grimaced. Remarkable, nothing! He couldn't think of a single key word to test the man's speech for Oklahoma regionalisms.

FINALLY Doc did what everyone has to do sometimes. Played his hunch.

He stopped.

He said, “You're not Johnny Toms.”

The man looked surprised. Which proved nothing. If he was genuine Johnny Toms, he would have been surprised.

Doc said, “You don't have an Oklahoma accent.”

“What the hell do you know about an Oklahoma accent? There's no such thing, anyway.” The man sneered at him. “Listen partner, I've got troubles. I'm in no mood for kid stuff.”

Doc frowned at him. Doc frowned impressively. “Another thing, in the second telephone call to me, you said that you had found out what it was all about.”

This was a lie. There had been no second telephone call. The lie, Doc felt, was justified. It was a trap. The other fell into it.

“I was wrong,” he said. “I wasn't as smart as I thought I was.”

There had been no second call, and he had said there was because Doc had said so, so that was that. An impostor.

“All right,” Doc said casually. “Let's go.” He said this so that the man would turn and start on over the hill.

The man turned. Doc reached for the fellow.

The man must have been expecting. Something—it was Doc's shadow on the ground, Doc realized later—warned the man. The fellow ducked wildly. He fell to the ground. He tumbled on to his back, like a puppy, hands and feet up. But now he had guns in both hands. He could shoot all directions without bothering to whirl.