Pool_2

unconsciously doing strange voices. "Did you, doctor Sumner, carry a television set into Venture Electronics?", he thought. Atropine could defeat a lie detector. The pharmacology and physiology of lying was twisting through his distracted concentration. Dilated eyes. No good. Eye drops. Mask the pupillary response. Diversion. This is just a diversion. Need time. Time. For what? The plan. Plan. What plan? Damn it! Planning deceit did not come easy, so he obsessed on the great killer and life giver - time. Time. Tick tick tick, he hadn't noticed that his own wrist watch ticked, let alone so loudly. Time to think of a plan. A plan that could fail. Think. Can't fail. Think. Can't. It will take a while for them to get back to messing with Macaluso. Hell, they probably won't even make the connection. Would they assume that he could do this? Then again, the three men now landfilling his old well would probably be linked to Macaluso. How big is this organization, anyway? Maybe the papers will reveal that when the basement gas explosion is reported. But would they even know about it? Frank wondered about telling the papers? There's big money being spent here, that 's for sure. What do you say to the papers without getting dragged in? Who could you trust? Not the Bethdale Chronicle ... they could be toadies... probably... well, who knows. Would the County Citizen even care? Hell, nobody cares about Bethdale. Martians could land here and nobody would notice. Redundant and mostly unproductive thoughts just kept churning. Time grinds to a halt waiting on gas. What if they smell it first? What if somebody goes down into the basement and finds the hose? There were better choices than propane. Yes. But this was easy and fast. What if it doesn't blow? He would be easy to identify. No question, they'll find that bug in the TV, sooner or later. No backup plan. There was no time. This is not good surgery. It's not enough to just attack, he thought too late, need