If you subtract her I Q_ from her bra size, you get a factor of eleven. Because Alison has the figure without the brains. 'You made a good choice this time, then?' 'Well, sure. Jugs.' Martin shielded his eyes with his hand and peered out at the woman in the pool. I was like the guy who buys Playboy and tells himself he's buying it for the articles.' He wiped his mouth with his open hand. And I was being a fool to myself for not admitting it. 'Jugs,' he said, 'that's what I married them for. Well, you remember Sherri, don't you - my third? Who could forget her, I ask? But then one day just after^ Sherri and I were divorced, I was looking through my photo albums, and I realized that each of my wives had one thing in common that wasn't anything to do with intellect.' He turned and looked fondly out at the twenty-nine-year-old titian-haired woman in the tiny crochet bikini circling around and around on the breeze-ruffled surface of the pool. My first three wives were all college graduates. Or at least, that's what I kidded myself I wanted in a woman. 'You know something, Martin? I used to deceive myself that I married for intellect, can you believe that? Conversation, wit, perception - that's what I wanted in a woman. You remember the way that ended.' Morris lowered his sunglasses and squinted at Martin thoughtfully. It's a bit like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. You just see him being driven out of the studio that last evening, then fade-out. But everybody knows that, I mean that's part of the basic legend, so I haven't actually shown his death in any kind of graphic detail. 'And then got himself chopped up into more pieces than a Colonel Sanders Party Bucket.' Martin put down his drink. The small golden-haired boy from Idaho state orphanage who became a worldwide star in less than three years.' 'Oh, sure,' Morris agreed. 'Maybe somebody thought of it, but felt that it was too obvious. Why do you think that nobody's done it already?' 'Maybe nobody thought of it,' Martin suggested. Nobody, but nobody, is going to want to make a picture about Boofuls. 'Martin,' he replied, 'you should save your energy.

'Oh God, oh God, please make it die.' MIRROR Graham Masterton CHAPTER ONE Morris Nathan lifted his folded sunglasses up in front of his eyes like a lorgnette and watched in satisfaction as his fourth wife circled idly around the pool on her inflatable sunbed. 'Oh God, please make it die,' he gibbered.

As quickly as he could, he bundled the green plastic around the writhing animal and twisted the top of the bag tight. Martin fell backward, jarring his back against the handle of his bedroom door. The cat's eyes flared open, and it screamed at him.

He placed the flat of his left hand firmly against the plaster, readjusted his grip, and tugged again.

He grasped the screwdriver handle tightly and tugged. Get rid of it, before something comes shimmering out of it that gets rid of you.

Mirror by Graham Masterton