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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Perfectionists, by Arnold Castle
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Perfectionists
+
+Author: Arnold Castle
+
+Illustrator: Leo Summers
+
+Release Date: April 2, 2008 [EBook #24977]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PERFECTIONISTS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+THE PERFECTIONISTS
+
+By ARNOLD CASTLE
+
+
+ILLUSTRATED by SUMMERS
+
+
+ _Is there something wrong with you?
+ Do you fail to fit in with your group?
+ Nervous, anxious, ill-at-ease? Happy
+ about it? Lucky you!_
+
+
+Frank Pembroke sat behind the desk of his shabby little office over
+Lemark's Liquors in downtown Los Angeles and waited for his first
+customer. He had been in business for a week and as yet had had no
+callers. Therefore, it was with a mingled sense of excitement and
+satisfaction that he greeted the tall, dark, smooth-faced figure that
+came up the stairs and into the office shortly before noon.
+
+"Good day, sir," said Pembroke with an amiable smile. "I see my
+advertisement has interested you. Please stand in that corner for just a
+moment."
+
+Opening the desk drawer, which was almost empty, Pembroke removed an
+automatic pistol fitted with a silencer. Pointing it at the amazed
+customer, he fired four .22 caliber longs into the narrow chest. Then he
+made a telephone call and sat down to wait. He wondered how long it
+would be before his next client would arrive.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The series of events leading up to Pembroke's present occupation had
+commenced on a dismal, overcast evening in the South Pacific a year
+earlier. Bound for Sydney, two days out of Valparaiso, the Colombian
+tramp steamer _Elena Mia_ had encountered a dense greenish fog which
+seemed vaguely redolent of citrus trees. Standing on the forward deck,
+Pembroke was one of the first to perceive the peculiar odor and to spot
+the immense gray hulk wallowing in the murky distance.
+
+Then the explosion had come, from far below the waterline, and the decks
+were awash with frantic crewmen, officers, and the handful of
+passengers. Only two lifeboats were launched before the _Elena Mia_ went
+down. Pembroke was in the second. The roar of the sinking ship was the
+last thing he heard for some time.
+
+Pembroke came as close to being a professional adventurer as one can in
+these days of regimented travel, organized peril, and political
+restriction. He had made for himself a substantial fortune through
+speculation in a great variety of properties, real and otherwise. Life
+had given him much and demanded little, which was perhaps the reason for
+his restiveness.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Loyalty to person or to people was a trait Pembroke had never recognized
+in himself, nor had it ever been expected of him. And yet he greatly
+envied those staunch patriots and lovers who could find it in themselves
+to elevate the glory and safety of others above that of themselves.
+
+Lacking such loyalties, Pembroke adapted quickly to the situation in
+which he found himself when he regained consciousness. He awoke in a
+small room in what appeared to be a typical modern American hotel. The
+wallet in his pocket contained exactly what it should, approximately
+three hundred dollars. His next thought was of food. He left the room
+and descended via the elevator to the restaurant. Here he observed that
+it was early afternoon. Ordering a full dinner, for he was unusually
+hungry, he began to study the others in the restaurant.
+
+Many of the faces seemed familiar; the crew of the ship, probably. He
+also recognized several of the passengers. However, he made no attempt
+to speak to them. After his meal, he bought a good corona and went for a
+walk. His situation could have been any small western American seacoast
+city. He heard the hiss of the ocean in the direction the afternoon sun
+was taking. In his full-gaited walk, he was soon approaching the beach.
+
+On the sand he saw a number of sun bathers. One in particular, an
+attractive woman of about thirty, tossed back her long, chestnut locks
+and gazed up intently at Pembroke as he passed. Seldom had he enjoyed so
+ingenuous an invitation. He halted and stared down at her for a few
+moments.
+
+"You are looking for someone?" she inquired.
+
+"Much of the time," said the man.
+
+"Could it be me?"
+
+"It could be."
+
+"Yet you seem unsure," she said.
+
+Pembroke smiled, uneasily. There was something not entirely normal about
+her conversation. Though the rest of her compensated for that.
+
+"Tell me what's wrong with me," she went on urgently. "I'm not good
+enough, am I? I mean, there's something wrong with the way I look or
+act. Isn't there? Please help me, please!"
+
+"You're not casual enough, for one thing," said Pembroke, deciding to
+play along with her for the moment. "You're too tense. Also you're a bit
+knock-kneed, not that it matters. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
+
+"Yes, yes--I mean, I suppose so. I can try to be more casual. But I
+don't know what to do about my knees," she said wistfully, staring
+across at the smooth, tan limbs. "Do you think I'm okay otherwise? I
+mean, as a whole I'm not so bad, am I? Oh, please tell me."
+
+"How about talking it over at supper tonight?" Pembroke proposed. "Maybe
+with less distraction I'll have a better picture of you--as a whole."
+
+"Oh, that's very generous of you," the woman told him. She scribbled a
+name and an address on a small piece of paper and handed it to him. "Any
+time after six," she said.
+
+Pembroke left the beach and walked through several small specialty
+shops. He tried to get the woman off his mind, but the oddness of her
+conversation continued to bother him. She was right about being
+different, but it was her concern about being different that made her
+so. How to explain _that_ to her?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Then he saw the weird little glass statuette among the usual
+bric-a-brac. It rather resembled a ground hog, had seven fingers on each
+of its six limbs, and smiled up at him as he stared.
+
+"Can I help you, sir?" a middle-aged saleswoman inquired. "Oh, good
+heavens, whatever is that thing doing here?"
+
+Pembroke watched with lifted eyebrows as the clerk whisked the bizarre
+statuette underneath the counter.
+
+"What the hell was that?" Pembroke demanded.
+
+"Oh, you know--or don't you? Oh, my," she concluded, "are you one of
+the--strangers?"
+
+"And if I were?"
+
+"Well, I'd certainly appreciate it if you'd tell me how I walk."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+She came around in front of the counter and strutted back and forth a
+few times.
+
+"They tell me I lean too far forward," she confided. "But I should think
+you'd fall down if you didn't."
+
+"Don't try to go so fast and you won't fall down," suggested Pembroke.
+"You're in too much of a hurry. Also those fake flowers on your blouse
+make you look frumpy."
+
+"Well, I'm supposed to look frumpy," the woman retorted. "That's the
+type of person I am. But you can look frumpy and still walk natural,
+can't you? Everyone says you can."
+
+"Well, they've got a point," said Pembroke. "Incidentally, just where
+are we, anyway? What city is this?"
+
+"Puerto Pacifico," she told him. "Isn't that a lovely name? It means
+peaceful port. In Spanish."
+
+That was fine. At least he now knew where he was. But as he left the
+shop he began checking off every west coast state, city, town, and
+inlet. None, to the best of his knowledge, was called Puerto Pacifico.
+
+He headed for the nearest service station and asked for a map. The
+attendant gave him one which showed the city, but nothing beyond.
+
+"Which way is it to San Francisco?" asked Pembroke.
+
+"That all depends on where you are," the boy returned.
+
+"Okay, then where am I?"
+
+"Pardon me, there's a customer," the boy said. "This is Puerto
+Pacifico."
+
+Pembroke watched him hurry off to service a car with a sense of having
+been given the runaround. To his surprise, the boy came back a few
+minutes later after servicing the automobile.
+
+"Say, I've just figured out who you are," the youngster told him. "I'd
+sure appreciate it if you'd give me a little help on my lingo. Also, you
+gas up the car first, then try to sell 'em the oil--right?"
+
+"Right," said Pembroke wearily. "What's wrong with your lingo? Other
+than the fact that it's not colloquial enough."
+
+"Not enough slang, huh? Well, I guess I'll have to concentrate on that.
+How about the smile?"
+
+"Perfect," Pembroke told him.
+
+"Yeah?" said the boy delightedly. "Say, come back again, huh? I sure
+appreciate the help. Keep the map."
+
+"Thanks. One more thing," Pembroke said. "What's over that way--outside
+the city?"
+
+"Sand."
+
+"How about that way?" he asked, pointing north. "And that way?" pointing
+south.
+
+"More of the same."
+
+"Any railroads?"
+
+"That we ain't got."
+
+"Buses? Airlines?"
+
+The kid shook his head.
+
+"Some city."
+
+"Yeah, it's kinda isolated. A lot of ships dock here, though."
+
+"All cargo ships, I'll bet. No passengers," said Pembroke.
+
+"Right," said the attendant, giving with his perfect smile.
+
+"No getting out of here, is there?"
+
+"That's for sure," the boy said, walking away to wait on another
+customer. "If you don't like the place, you've had it."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Pembroke returned to the hotel. Going to the bar, he recognized one of
+the _Elena Mia's_ paying passengers. He was a short, rectangular little
+man in his fifties named Spencer. He sat in a booth with three young
+women, all lovely, all effusive. The topic of the conversation turned
+out to be precisely what Pembroke had predicted.
+
+"Well, Louisa, I'd say your only fault is the way you keep wigglin' your
+shoulders up 'n' down. Why'n'sha try holdin' 'em straight?"
+
+"I thought it made me look sexy," the redhead said petulantly.
+
+"Just be yourself, gal," Spencer drawled, jabbing her intimately with a
+fat elbow, "and you'll qualify."
+
+"Me, me," the blonde with a feather cut was insisting. "What is wrong
+with me?"
+
+"You're perfect, sweetheart," he told her, taking her hand.
+
+"Ah, come on," she pleaded. "Everyone tells me I chew gum with my mouth
+open. Don't you hate that?"
+
+"Naw, that's part of your charm," Spencer assured her.
+
+"How 'bout me, sugar," asked the girl with the coal black hair.
+
+"Ah, you're perfect, too. You are all perfect. I've never seen such a
+collection of dolls as parade around this here city. C'mon, kids--how
+'bout another round?"
+
+But the dolls had apparently lost interest in him. They got up one by
+one and walked out of the bar. Pembroke took his rum and tonic and moved
+over to Spencer's booth.
+
+"Okay if I join you?"
+
+"Sure," said the fat man. "Wonder what the hell got into those babes?"
+
+"You said they were perfect. They know they're not. You've got to be
+rough with them in this town," said Pembroke. "That's all they want from
+us."
+
+"Mister, you've been doing some thinkin', I can see," said Spencer,
+peering at him suspiciously. "Maybe you've figured out where we are."
+
+"Your bet's as good as mine," said Pembroke. "It's not Wellington, and
+it's not Brisbane, and it's not Long Beach, and it's not Tahiti. There
+are a lot of places it's not. But where the hell it is, you tell me.
+
+"And, by the way," he added, "I hope you like it in Puerto Pacifico.
+Because there isn't any place to go from here and there isn't any way to
+get there if there were."
+
+"Pardon me, gentlemen, but I'm Joe Valencia, manager of the hotel. I
+would be very grateful if you would give me a few minutes of honest
+criticism."
+
+"Ah, no, not you, too," groaned Spencer. "Look, Joe, what's the gag?"
+
+"You are newcomers, Mr. Spencer," Valencia explained. "You are therefore
+in an excellent position to point out our faults as you see them."
+
+"Well, so what?" demanded Spencer. "I've got more important things to do
+than to worry about your troubles. You look okay to me."
+
+"Mr. Valencia," said Pembroke. "I've noticed that you walk with a very
+slight limp. If you have a bad leg, I should think you would do better
+to develop a more pronounced limp. Otherwise, you may appear to be
+self-conscious about it."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but saw with amazement that it was
+exactly this that Valencia was seeking. Pembroke was amused at his
+companion's reaction but observed that Spencer still failed to see the
+point.
+
+"Also, there is a certain effeminateness in the way in which you speak,"
+said Pembroke. "Try to be a little more direct, a little more brusque.
+Speak in a monotone. It will make you more acceptable."
+
+"Thank you so much," said the manager. "There is much food for thought
+in what you have said, Mr. Pembroke. However, Mr. Spencer, your value
+has failed to prove itself. You have only yourself to blame. Cooperation
+is all we require of you."
+
+Valencia left. Spencer ordered another martini. Neither he nor Pembroke
+spoke for several minutes.
+
+"Somebody's crazy around here," the fat man muttered after a few
+moments. "Is it me, Frank?"
+
+"No. You just don't belong here, in this particular place," said
+Pembroke thoughtfully. "You're the wrong type. But they couldn't know
+that ahead of time. The way they operate it's a pretty hit-or-miss
+operation. But they don't care one bit about us, Spencer. Consider the
+men who went down with the ship. That was just part of the game."
+
+"What the hell are you sayin'?" asked Spencer in disbelief. "You figure
+_they_ sunk the ship? Valencia and the waitress and the three babes? Ah,
+come on."
+
+"It's what you think that will determine what you do, Spencer. I suggest
+you change your attitude; play along with them for a few days till the
+picture becomes a little clearer to you. We'll talk about it again
+then."
+
+Pembroke rose and started out of the bar. A policeman entered and walked
+directly to Spencer's table. Loitering at the juke box, Pembroke
+overheard the conversation.
+
+"You Spencer?"
+
+"That's right," said the fat man sullenly.
+
+"What don't you like about me? The _truth_, buddy."
+
+"Ah, hell! Nothin' wrong with you at all, and nothin'll make me say
+there is," said Spencer.
+
+"You're the guy, all right. Too bad, Mac," said the cop.
+
+Pembroke heard the shots as he strolled casually out into the brightness
+of the hotel lobby. While he waited for the elevator, he saw them
+carrying the body into the street. How many others, he wondered, had
+gone out on their backs during their first day in Puerto Pacifico?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Pembroke shaved, showered, and put on the new suit and shirt he had
+bought. Then he took Mary Ann, the woman he had met on the beach, out to
+dinner. She would look magnificent even when fully clothed, he decided,
+and the pale chartreuse gown she wore hardly placed her in that
+category. Her conversation seemed considerably more normal after the
+other denizens of Puerto Pacifico Pembroke had listened to that
+afternoon.
+
+After eating they danced for an hour, had a few more drinks, then went
+to Pembroke's room. He still knew nothing about her and had almost
+exhausted his critical capabilities, but not once had she become annoyed
+with him. She seemed to devour every factual point of imperfection about
+herself that Pembroke brought to her attention. And, fantastically
+enough, she actually appeared to have overcome every little imperfection
+he had been able to communicate to her.
+
+It was in the privacy of his room that Pembroke became aware of just how
+perfect, physically, Mary Ann was. Too perfect. No freckles or moles
+anywhere on the visible surface of her brown skin, which was more than a
+mere sampling. Furthermore, her face and body were meticulously
+symmetrical. And she seemed to be wholly ambidextrous.
+
+"With so many beautiful women in Puerto Pacifico," said Pembroke
+probingly, "I find it hard to understand why there are so few children."
+
+"Yes, children are decorative, aren't they," said Mary Ann. "I do wish
+there were more of them."
+
+"Why not have a couple of your own?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, they're only given to maternal types. I'd never get one. Anyway, I
+won't ever marry," she said. "I'm the paramour type."
+
+It was obvious that the liquor had been having some effect. Either that,
+or she had a basic flaw of loquacity that no one else had discovered.
+Pembroke decided he would have to cover his tracks carefully.
+
+"What type am I?" he asked.
+
+"Silly, you're real. You're not a type at all."
+
+"Mary Ann, I love you very much," Pembroke murmured, gambling
+everything on this one throw. "When you go to Earth I'll miss you
+terribly."
+
+"Oh, but you'll be dead by then," she pouted. "So I mustn't fall in love
+with you. I don't want to be miserable."
+
+"If I pretended I was one of you, if I left on the boat with you, they'd
+let me go to Earth with you. Wouldn't they?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I'm sure they would."
+
+"Mary Ann, you have two other flaws I feel I should mention."
+
+"Yes? Please tell me."
+
+"In the first place," said Pembroke, "you should be willing to fall in
+love with me even if it will eventually make you unhappy. How can you be
+the paramour type if you refuse to fall in love foolishly? And when you
+have fallen in love, you should be very loyal."
+
+"I'll try," she said unsurely. "What else?"
+
+"The other thing is that, as my mistress, you must never mention me to
+anyone. It would place me in great danger."
+
+"I'll never tell anyone anything about you," she promised.
+
+"Now try to love me," Pembroke said, drawing her into his arms and
+kissing with little pleasure the smooth, warm perfection of her tanned
+cheeks. "Love me my sweet, beautiful, affectionate Mary Ann. My
+paramour."
+
+Making love to Mary Ann was something short of ecstasy. Not for any
+obvious reason, but because of subtle little factors that make a woman a
+woman. Mary Ann had no pulse. Mary Ann did not perspire. Mary Ann did
+not fatigue gradually but all at once. Mary Ann breathed regularly under
+all circumstances. Mary Ann talked and talked and talked. But then, Mary
+Ann was not a human being.
+
+When she left the hotel at midnight, Pembroke was quite sure that she
+understood his plan and that she was irrevocably in love with him.
+Tomorrow might bring his death, but it might also ensure his escape.
+After forty-two years of searching for a passion, for a cause, for a
+loyalty, Frank Pembroke had at last found his. Earth and the human race
+that peopled it. And Mary Ann would help him to save it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next morning Pembroke talked to Valencia about hunting. He said that
+he planned to go shooting out on the desert which surrounded the city.
+Valencia told him that there were no living creatures anywhere but in
+the city. Pembroke said he was going out anyway.
+
+He picked up Mary Ann at her apartment and together they went to a
+sporting goods store. As he guessed there was a goodly selection of
+firearms, despite the fact that there was nothing to hunt and only a
+single target range within the city. Everything, of course, had to be
+just like Earth. That, after all, was the purpose of Puerto Pacifico.
+
+By noon they had rented a jeep and were well away from the city.
+Pembroke and Mary Ann took turns firing at the paper targets they had
+purchased. At twilight they headed back to the city. On the outskirts,
+where the sand and soil were mixed and no footprints would be left,
+Pembroke hopped off. Mary Ann would go straight to the police and report
+that Pembroke had attacked her and that she had shot him. If necessary,
+she would conduct the authorities to the place where they had been
+target shooting, but would be unable to locate the spot where she had
+buried the body. Why had she buried it? Because at first she was not
+going to report the incident. She was frightened. It was not airtight,
+but there would probably be no further investigation. And they certainly
+would not prosecute Mary Ann for killing an Earthman.
+
+Now Pembroke had himself to worry about. The first step was to enter
+smoothly into the new life he had planned. It wouldn't be so comfortable
+as the previous one, but should be considerably safer. He headed slowly
+for the "old" part of town, aging his clothes against buildings and
+fences as he walked. He had already torn the collar of the shirt and
+discarded his belt. By morning his beard would grow to blacken his face.
+And he would look weary and hungry and aimless. Only the last would be a
+deception.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Two weeks later Pembroke phoned Mary Ann. The police had accepted her
+story without even checking. And when, when would she be seeing him
+again? He had aroused her passion and no amount of long-distance love
+could requite it. Soon, he assured her, soon.
+
+"Because, after all, you do owe me something," she added.
+
+And that was bad because it sounded as if she had been giving some
+womanly thought to the situation. A little more of that and she might go
+to the police again, this time for vengeance.
+
+Twice during his wanderings Pembroke had seen the corpses of Earthmen
+being carted out of buildings. They had to be Earthmen because they
+bled. Mary Ann had admitted that she did not. There would be very few
+Earthmen left in Puerto Pacifico, and it would be simple enough to
+locate him if he were reported as being on the loose. There was no out
+but to do away with Mary Ann.
+
+Pembroke headed for the beach. He knew she invariably went there in the
+afternoon. He loitered around the stalls where hot dogs and soft drinks
+were sold, leaning against a post in the hot sun, hat pulled down over
+his forehead. Then he noticed that people all about him were talking
+excitedly. They were discussing a ship. It was leaving that afternoon.
+Anyone who could pass the interview would be sent to Earth.
+
+Pembroke had visited the docks every day, without being able to learn
+when the great exodus would take place. Yet he was certain the first
+lap would be by water rather than by spaceship, since no one he had
+talked to in the city had ever heard of spaceships. In fact, they knew
+very little about their masters.
+
+Now the ship had arrived and was to leave shortly. If there was any but
+the most superficial examination, Pembroke would no doubt be discovered
+and exterminated. But since no one seemed concerned about anything but
+his own speech and behavior, he assumed that they had all qualified in
+every other respect. The reason for transporting Earth People to this
+planet was, of course, to apply a corrective to any of the Pacificos'
+aberrant mannerisms or articulation. This was the polishing up phase.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Pembroke began hobbling toward the docks. Almost at once he found
+himself face to face with Mary Ann. She smiled happily when she
+recognized him. _That_ was a good thing.
+
+"It is a sign of poor breeding to smile at tramps," Pembroke admonished
+her in a whisper. "Walk on ahead."
+
+She obeyed. He followed. The crowd grew thicker. They neared the docks
+and Pembroke saw that there were now set up on the roped-off wharves
+small interviewing booths. When it was their turn, he and Mary Ann each
+went into separate ones. Pembroke found himself alone in the little
+room.
+
+Then he saw that there was another entity in his presence confined
+beneath a glass dome. It looked rather like a groundhog and had seven
+fingers on each of its six limbs. But it was larger and hairier than the
+glass one he had seen at the gift store. With four of its limbs it
+tapped on an intricate keyboard in front of it.
+
+"What is your name?" queried a metallic voice from a speaker on the
+wall.
+
+"I'm Jerry Newton. Got no middle initial," Pembroke said in a surly
+voice.
+
+"Occupation?"
+
+"I work a lot o' trades. Fisherman, fruit picker, fightin' range fires,
+vineyards, car washer. Anything. You name it. Been out of work for a
+long time now, though. Goin' on five months. These here are hard times,
+no matter what they say."
+
+"What do you think of the Chinese situation?" the voice inquired.
+
+"Which situation's 'at?"
+
+"Where's Seattle?"
+
+"Seattle? State o' Washington."
+
+And so it went for about five minutes. Then he was told he had qualified
+as a satisfactory surrogate for a mid-twentieth century American male,
+itinerant type.
+
+"You understand your mission, Newton?" the voice asked. "You are to
+establish yourself on Earth. In time you will receive instructions. Then
+you will attack. You will not see us, your masters, again until the
+atmosphere has been sufficiently chlorinated. In the meantime, serve us
+well."
+
+He stumbled out toward the docks, then looked about for Mary Ann. He saw
+her at last behind the ropes, her lovely face in tears.
+
+Then she saw him. Waving frantically, she called his name several times.
+Pembroke mingled with the crowd moving toward the ship, ignoring her.
+But still the woman persisted in her shouting.
+
+Sidling up to a well-dressed man-about-town type, Pembroke winked at him
+and snickered.
+
+"You Frank?" he asked.
+
+"Hell, no. But some poor punk's sure red in the face, I'll bet," the
+man-about-town said with a chuckle. "Those high-strung paramour types
+always raising a ruckus. They never do pass the interview. Don't know
+why they even make 'em."
+
+Suddenly Mary Ann was quiet.
+
+"Ambulance squad," Pembroke's companion explained. "They'll take her off
+to the buggy house for a few days and bring her out fresh and ignorant
+as the day she was assembled. Don't know why they keep making 'em, as I
+say. But I guess there's a call for that type up there on Earth."
+
+"Yeah, I reckon there is at that," said Pembroke, snickering again as he
+moved away from the other. "And why not? Hey? Why not?"
+
+Pembroke went right on hating himself, however, till the night he was
+deposited in a field outside of Ensenada, broke but happy, with two
+other itinerant types. They separated in San Diego, and it was not long
+before Pembroke was explaining to the police how he had drifted far from
+the scene of the sinking of the _Elena Mia_ on a piece of wreckage, and
+had been picked up by a Chilean trawler. How he had then made his way,
+with much suffering, up the coast to California. Two days later, his
+identity established and his circumstances again solvent, he was headed
+for Los Angeles to begin his save-Earth campaign.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Now, seated at his battered desk in the shabby rented office over
+Lemark's Liquors, Pembroke gazed without emotion at the two demolished
+Pacificos that lay sprawled one atop the other in the corner. His watch
+said one-fifteen. The man from the FBI should arrive soon.
+
+There were footsteps on the stairs for the third time that day. Not the
+brisk, efficient steps of a federal official, but the hesitant,
+self-conscious steps of a junior clerk type.
+
+Pembroke rose as the young man appeared at the door. His face was
+smooth, unpimpled, clean-shaven, without sweat on a warm summer
+afternoon.
+
+"Are you Dr. Von Schubert?" the newcomer asked, peering into the room.
+"You see, I've got a problem--"
+
+The four shots from Pembroke's pistol solved his problem effectively.
+Pembroke tossed his third victim onto the pile, then opened a can of
+lager, quaffing it appreciatively. Seating himself once more, he leaned
+back in the chair, both feet upon the desk.
+
+He would be out of business soon, once the FBI agent had got there.
+Pembroke was only in it to get the proof he would need to convince
+people of the truth of his tale. But in the meantime he allowed himself
+to admire the clipping of the newspaper ad he had run in all the Los
+Angeles papers for the past week. The little ad that had saved mankind
+from God-knew-what insidious menace. It read:
+
+          ARE YOU IMPERFECT?
+
+    LET DR. VON SCHUBERT POINT OUT
+              YOUR FLAWS
+
+    IT IS HIS GOAL TO MAKE YOU THE
+        AVERAGE FOR YOUR TYPE
+
+              FEE--$3.75
+
+     MONEY BACK IF NOT SATISFIED!
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+    This etext was produced from _Amazing Science Fiction Stories_
+    January 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
+    the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling
+    and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Perfectionists, by Arnold Castle
+
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