doctor, But on the other hand he heard Dr. Litchfield, heard him so clearly it was as if a tape recorder had turned on in the middle of his head: Your wife is suffering from tension headaches, Ralph-unpleasant and painful, but not life-threatening. I think we can take care of the problem, Unpleasant and painful, but not life-threatening-yes, right, that was what the man had said. And then he had reached for his prescription pad and written out the order for the first bunch of useless pills while the tiny clump of alien cells in Carolyn's head continued to send out its microbursts of destruction, and maybe Dr. Jamal had been right, maybe it was too late even then, but maybe jamal was full of shit, maybe jamal was just a stranger in a strange land, trying to get along, trying not to make waves. Maybe this and maybe that; Ralph didn't know for sure and never would. All he really knew was that Litchfield hadn't been around when the final two tasks of their marriage had been set before them: her job to die, his job to watch her do it.
Is that what I want to do? Go to Litchfield and watch him reach for his prescription pad again?
Maybe this time it would work, he argued to-with-himself. At 'me his hand stole out, seemingly Of its own volition, and the same time took a box of Sleepinex from the shelf. He turned it over, held it the slightly away from his eyes so he could read the small print on its side panel, and ran his eye slowly down the list of active ingredients.
He had no idea of how to pronounce most of the jawbreaking words, and even less of what they were or how they were supposed to help you sleep.
Yes, he answered the voice. Maybe this time it would work. But maybe the real answer would be just to find another doc "Help you?" a voice asked from directly behind Ralph's shoulder.
He was in the act of returning the box of Sleepinex to its place, meaning to take something that sounded a little less like a sinister drug in a Robin Cook novel, when the voice spoke. Ralph jumped and knocked a dozen assorted boxes of synthetic sleep onto the floor.
"oh, sorry-clumsy!" Ralph said, and looked over his shoulder.
"Not at all. My fault entirely." And before Ralph could do more than pick up two boxes of Sleepinex and one box of Drow-Zee gel capsules, the man in the white smock who had spoken to him had swept up the rest and was redistributing them with the speed of a riverboat gambler dealing a hand of poker. According to the gold ID bar pinned to his breast, this was JOE WYZER, RITE AID PHARMACIST. with a friendly grin, "let's start over. Can I help you? You look a "Now," Wyzer said, dusting off his hands and turning to Ralph little lost."
Ralph's initial response-annoyance at being disturbed while having a deep and meaningful conversation with himself-was being replaced with guarded interest. "Well, I don't know," he said, and gestured to the array of sleeping potions. "Do any of these actually work?"
Wyzer's grin widened. He was a tall, middle-aged man with fair skin and thinning brown hair which he parted in the middle. He stuck out his hand, and Ralph had barely begun the polite reciprocatory gesture when his own hand was swallowed. "I'm Joe," the pharmacist said, and tapped the gold tunic-pin with his free hand.
"I used to be Joe Wyze, but now I'm older and Wyzer."
This was almost certainly an ancient joke, but it had lost none of its savor for Joe Wyzer, who laughed uproariously. Ralph smiled a polite little smile with just the smallest touch of anxiety around its edges. The hand which had enfolded his was clearly a strong one, and he was afraid if the pharmacist squeezed hard, his hand might finish the day in a cast. He found himself wishing, at least momentarily, that he'd taken his problem to Paul Durgin downtown after all. Then Wyzer gave his hand two energetic pumps and let go.
"I'm Ralph Roberts. Nice to meet you, Mr. Wyzer."
"Mutual. Now, concerning the efficacy of these fine products.
Let me answer your question with one of my own, to wit, does a bear shit in a telephone booth?"
Ralph burst out laughing. "Rarely, I'd think," he said when he could Say anything again.
"Correct. And I rest my case." Wyzer glanced at the