 Why do the cops shoot Spencer?
THE PERFECTIONISTS By ARNOLD CASTLE ILLUSTRATED by SUMMERS Is there something wrong with you? 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. 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. Loyalty to person or to people was a trait Pembroke had never recognized in himself, nor had it ever been expected of him. The wallet in his pocket contained exactly what it should, approximately three hundred dollars. One in particular, an attractive woman of about thirty, tossed back her long, chestnut locks and gazed up intently at Pembroke as he passed. "You're not casual enough, for one thing," said Pembroke, deciding to play along with her for the moment. "Incidentally, just where are we, anyway? 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. "Which way is it to San Francisco?" asked Pembroke. "Yeah, it's kinda isolated. "All cargo ships, I'll bet. No passengers," said Pembroke. "Just be yourself, gal," Spencer drawled, jabbing her intimately with a fat elbow, "and you'll qualify." "Naw, that's part of your charm," Spencer assured her. Pembroke took his rum and tonic and moved over to Spencer's booth. "Mister, you've been doing some thinkin', I can see," said Spencer, peering at him suspiciously. "Ah, no, not you, too," groaned Spencer. "You are newcomers, Mr. Spencer," Valencia explained. "Well, so what?" demanded Spencer. Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but saw with amazement that it was exactly this that Valencia was seeking.
 Spencer is not cooperating.
 Spencer is not cooperating.  Spencer was on to them. He was about to expose their whole operation.  They thought Spencer was an android.  Spencer was speaking too brusquely to the three women in the bar.