Get Smart 8 - Max Smart Loses Control by William Johnston Page A

telephone answering service business.
    Chief: Forget all that, Hymie. I’m the one who’s calling you. I couldn’t sleep. I want to know how the case is progressing.
    Operator: Should Harold be listening to this, Chief? You’ve heard about his connection with KAOS, I suppose.
    Chief: Nobody’s supposed to be listening, Operator! I want this line cleared! Understand! Cleared!

    Hymie handed the slipper back to Max. “He didn’t want to talk to me, after all,” he said. “He told me to get off the line.”
    Max shook his head in dismay. “The Chief is getting old in his old age,” he said sorrowfully. “It’s a sure sign when you start calling people up at two o’clock in the morning and you don’t even want to talk to them. I hope he doesn’t make a habit of it.” He looked thoughtful. “Maybe I better get myself an answering service,” he said.

7.
    M AX WAS awakened roughly the next morning, and when he managed to open his eyes he found Hymie shaking him.
    “We overslept, Max,” Hymie explained.
    Max reached for his watch, which he had placed on the bedside table. “It’s only two o’clock in the morning!” he complained.
    “Your watch stopped, Max—remember?”
    “Oh . . . yes.” Max sat up. “What time is it, actually?” he asked.
    “Nine, Max.”
    “Oh? What are we late for?” Max asked. “If we overslept, we must be late for something. And, if we’re late—why bother? We’ve probably already missed the important part. Let’s go back to sleep and try again tomorrow morning.”
    “There’s no time for sleep, Max,” Hymie said. “I think we’re in danger. Ways and Means are trying to trick us. When I got up a few minutes ago, I switched on my bedside computer, and it told me to go clean-shaven this morning.”
    Max peered at him. “You’re still wearing your handlebar mustache,” he said. “You mean you defied your bedside computer, Hymie? That’s terrible. That could mean seven years bad luck!”
    “That’s a superstition, Max,” Hymie said.
    “Oh, it is, is it? Well, what would you say if I told you that my uncle Harry defied his bedside computer once, and his seven years bad luck started immediately?”
    “What happened, Max?”
    “He broke a mirror.”
    “All right, Max, it’s seven years bad luck. But what bothers me is, I’m afraid it’s a trick. I think Ways and Means want us to discard our mustaches so they can recognize us.”
    Max shook his head. “That’s ridiculous, Hymie. They already recognized us. Remember? When we were face to face with them last night, Means stared at me and said, ‘You!’ And Ways stared at you and said, ‘You!’” He frowned. “Or was it the other way around? Maybe it was Ways who stared at me, and Means who stared at you. I’m a little fuzzy on that.”
    “What difference does it make, Max?”
    Max shrugged. “How should I know? You’re the man-in-charge—you tell me.”
    “Max, I don’t think that saying ‘You!’ means that they recognized us,” Hymie said. “Or, if it does, it doesn’t mean that they recognized us as Max Smart and Hymie. It could mean that they recognized us as the two hired hands they hired.”
    “Hymie, this is getting a little confusing. Could you start at the beginning?”
    “I came over here to find out if your bedside computer will give you the same orders that mine gave me,” Hymie said. “If it does, that will probably indicate that all the computers are giving the same order to everybody.”
    “So?”
    “So, if that’s the way it is, we’ll have to figure out what it means, and act accordingly,” Hymie said.
    Max reached over and punched a button on his bedside computer. There was a clicking sound, then the computer disgorged a tape. Max tore it off and read it.
    The tape said: IT PAYS TO LOOK WELL. GO CLEAN-SHAVEN TODAY.
    “That’s a nice thought,” Max said.
    “It’s a trick,” Hymie said.
    “I don’t know . . . it might just be some institutional advertising for