The mystery guest had been back in the motel room long enough to think about talk shows when suddenly the phone rang. Who had his number? "You must want the front desk," he said. ". . . Oh, tickets to the firemen's ball? Sure, where can I pick them up?"

A couple of sex changes were discussing clitorectomy on one of the public access channels when there was a knock at the door. Plankton stood outside. "Afternoon lieutenant," he said with a gleeful whine.

Plankton had found something between his teeth. "Lissen, I checked downstairs about yer room - keeping an eye on expenses an' all - an' they's sayin' you bin registered here for the past couple weeks. Guy next door dies yesterday mornin'. You tryin' to tell me you clairvoyant or somethin'?"

It was a leading question and the mystery guest wasn't about to answer it. "Well, yes I am," he said in spite of himself. "But no, seriously. . . " He cleared his throat. "The whole thing's a coincidence. They're doing some seismic retrofitting at the condo and I . . ."