Chapter 50

The room smells of fish. An elegant blond leans on the back wall smoking a cigarette through a long holder. The blue smoke from it curls upwards making green shadows, thrown by the red from the flashing neon sign of the drug store across the street. The room is hot and humid. Rain lashes down onto the sidewalks. The pavements are fast flowing torrents, carrying all within them. A trash can roles over and over in it, and strikes a fire hydrant with a loud clang. By the window sits a large black man at a piano. He wears a white shirt with a red pinstripe, a red silk waistcoat red bow tie and a brown Derby hat. His fat fingers flow over the keys hardly touching them, but what comes out is loud and exciting. Another blond lays prone on the sofa, her skirt ruffed up showing silk stockings and suspenders. Her moth is open and she is breathing with shallow breaths. Above the elegant blond who has the look of Veronica Lake, hangs a sign that reads

FISH FRY $1

In the kitchen bent over a pan of cat fish stands a black woman wearing a knotted head scarf and a flowered apron. 

In the back room is a group of sailors fresh of the boat playing craps. Their cries rise and fall with the throw of the dice. 

A handsome dude in a zoot suit and large black fedora with a white band around the crown enters and sits himself down on the sofa. He sits with his legs apart, his jacket opens to show a shoulder holster under his left arm. He places his hand on the blonde’s thigh and taps it gently. He is her pimp.

A sailor rolls in from the back room and sways with either too much booze or the memory of the sea. The pimp slaps the blond harder and she sits up. He whispers into her ear and she gets to her feet and goes over to the sailor. She puts her arms around his neck and sways with him. The piano player starts playing a tango rhythm. The couple lean into each other, the sailor puts his arm around her waist and pulls the blonde to him. She hooks her leg around his thighs and he steps back and turns. They are both excellent dancers and the floor is theirs. The sailor’s shipmates leave the craps and come in to the room and form a circle around the dancers. They clap with the rhythm. One by one they cut in and the blonde accepts the change of partner without breaking her step. The sailors  pair up and dance together, the blonde is eventually left without a partner and returns to the sofa. Her pimp slaps her across the face for losing a trick. The blonde with the cigarette holder leans over the pimp and says, that is no way to treat a Lady. He takes the gun from its holster and shoots her twice in the chest. 

She falls to the floor with a red stain on her silk dress. The pimp grabs the hooker and pulls her down the steps and into the rain. The piano player stops playing and cradles the shot blonde’s head on his arm. He kisses her forehead and say’s

‘Stay with us Veronica,’ then adds in exasperation, ‘Where the fuck was Doil?

                                              ******************* 

Chapter 49

Harry’s Bar, a copy of the one in Casablanca or somewhere, maybe it was Venice, is so dimly lit that you need to be a bat to find the rest rooms. I grope my way to the counter and order a staightner. It is really too early to start drinking, I should have popped a zoomer before I left, but I need to kill my headache.

As my eyes become accustomed to the gloom, I look around for a sight of Veronica. I see that I am apparently the only one in the bar.  Even the barkeep has gone. I get a creepy feeling along my spine. I finish my drink and decide to leave. Reflected in the mirrors behind the bar I see light creep across the floor from the street as the door is opened and two long shadows move towards me. I am freaked. What was in that drink? I look around for an exit. The two shadows are now attached to two silhouettes framed by the door. No exit there. A voice calls.

‘Hey Joe still hanging one on?’

It ‘s Doil with that slimeball Smith. I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried. I settle for annoyed. 

‘I might have guessed, it was you who called not Veronica.’

‘She has been held up, you will have to put up with us instead.’

Smith grins his unearthly grin and adds, ‘You should be glad to see us.’

I ignore him, the less I have to do with him the better. The barkeep reappears and sets 3 drinks on the bar. Smith holds up his glass and says’ ‘Salute.’ I turn my back on him, a thing I wouldn’t do if we were alone and confront Doil.

‘Where is Veronica?  I don’t believe she is held up she wouldn’t be a party to this charade.’

‘Veronica works for the IGBI as we all do, we do as they wish.’ Does he give a slight nod in Smith’s direction?

Doil puts his drink on the bar and picks me up by the lapels of my best suit. He pulls my face close to his and I can smell the garlic on his breath.

‘Don’t ever disappear without letting us know where you are headed or we will have to insert a tracker in your arm.’ The whole universe rests on your shoulders.’

‘Just like Atlas?’

The reference is lost on him, I might have well have said it in Greek.

Smith taps me on the shoulder.

‘Don’t get smart or…’ I cut him off. ‘Or what, don’t forget the fate of the Universe rests on my shoulders.’

‘There are other piano players who we can add a chip slot to.’ Says Smith. ‘But as you already have one it saves us the expense.’ 

Fuck him I’ve had enough.

‘Well you will have to put your hand in your pocket, ‘cos I resign.’ I knock back my drink and duck out from beneath his arm. There is a clear route to the door and I make it in two seconds flat. Outside is a black hover car with it’s door open. Sat in the control seat is Veronica. I jump in.

‘Lets get the fuck out of here.’

‘Sorry Joe,’ she says and cuffs me to the door handle.

                                     ********************

Chapter 48

I’ve been practicing for my Oscar Peterson gig for a few hours but I keep coming back to “Only trust your heart”. I can’t get the tune out of my head. Brian’s cocktails don’t help. I don’t know what he put in them but after three, I am anyones. Brian interrupts me.

‘Zeno on the holovid, Sir, are you in.’

Zeno, I had forgotten about Zeno, what with one thing and another she had dropped out of my life.

 ‘Yes put her through.’ 

Zeno materializes on the sofa. She is wearing an all black skintight leotard with a white stripe running from her crutch to her neck. Her makeup is based on an old world Egyptian wall painting. Black khol eyes and green lip gloss. I can feel the familiar twitch in my nether regions. She is not actually in the room of course this is only a holovid of her, but it reminds me of what I have been missing because of my fixation on Veronica.

‘Want to play ball Joe?’

‘Yeh come on over I’ll polish my bat.’

‘A game of racket ball.’

‘You mean exercise?’

‘You look as if you can use it I can see a second chin arriving. I’ll see you on the sports satellite in a couple of hours, give you time to sober up.’ The hologram goes as quickly as it came.

‘She is right, Sir, I didn’t want to mention it but you are getting a little podgy.’

‘Fuck off Brian.’

                                   ***************

The sports satellite is in orbit around the planet. The ground of the planet is too precious to house anything a frivolous as a sports field. I arrive as requested sober and ready to do battle. However the evening does not go as planned. Zeno is super fit and thrashes me 15 to 2 and 15 to 7. 

Zeno looks like she has been for a gentle stroll in the fresh air. Her cheeks are only slightly flushed and her chest is rising and falling at a normal pace. I feel like I have gone fifteen rounds with Jim, big nose, O’Roak the galactic heavy weight champ.

She is waiting for me as I exit the changing rooms.

‘Looks like I’ll have to buy you a pick me up. You don’t look up to afters.’

‘If you mean sex. I have a drawer full of V’s’. If you mean more exercise like a half marathon or the Tour de France circuit, you are on your own.’

She takes my hand, leads me to the bar, and orders two large slimline cokes. I down mine in one gulp, a habit I have kept from prep school days.  Zeno orders two more with Jamaican rum. I can see where this evening is headed.

‘How far up your list am I now?’

‘Absence is a great aphrodisiac to some’

‘Don’t tell me I’m number one?’

‘Could be, we will see how the night shapes up. So far it is going okay. I like to win.’

I should be apprehensive, but what the hell, I have faced greater perils in the past, than being fucked by the top call girl on the planet. I only hope I can pay the price. Nothing is for free. 

                                    ************************

When I wake up Zeno has gone. By the bed is a note. 

Not quite number one yet. Must try harder. xx

p.s. you owe me 5K.

I, with my new wealth don’t flinch at the price, but my pride is hurt. I expected to climb the list. Brian is too cheerful, his voice has an upbeat ring to it. I shower and shave, then breakfast on scrambled eggs and bacon. Brian is really getting on my nerves, he has no reason to be so cheerful he is a computer.

‘For Mars sake Brian give it a rest, I am not in the mood for happy clappy. Unless you have good news which you are keeping from me. Don’t tell me you have been offered  a job with a body’

Fuck me he’s whistling.

‘While you were servicing Miss Zeno, Sir, you had a vid call. But you were in mid coitus, so I took a message.’

‘Which is?’

‘It was from Miss Lake, Sir. She said it was urgent.’

‘And you let me bang away’

‘As I said, Sir, you were..’

‘Brian I am losing patience, think of the circuits on the Garbage Planet, which will be shuffling over to make room for you.’

‘You are to meet her in Harry’s Bar at noon. I remind you that it is now 11.15.’

‘I swear I’ll scrap him.’

                                            ****************

Capter 47

Once inside my own apartment, back in my own skin New York in 1937 seems just a bad dream. Brian complained that he had been lonely and bored with nothing to do. I didn’t know computers could get bored. I thought they just put themselves to sleep or scoured the universe for comp porn. Savouring the delights of a naked diode in the throws of over heating. I showered and asked the transopser for a lightly cooked planet egg, over easy, and some toast. I also popped a zoomer as straitener.  I am looking forward to my gig on Italia as Oscar Peterson. Italia is settled by people of Neopolitan  lineage. The food is incredible and the morals Neroian. A roman bath house on every corner with a copulatorium in the back. I am playing the Coluseum. Is that enough Latin for you? The lingua Franca of the Universe is based on American English, but some planets just refuse to use it. Italia being one of them. The Italians speak a bastard Latin scattered with a few English words, mostly swear words, as in, “Questa the fucka you wanta?” 

I say this aloud and Brian says, 

‘A body.’

‘No fucking way am I having a walking computer in my pad’.

Brian gives a big sigh. ‘Worth a try Sir’.

Oscar Peterson was one hell of a piano player. I will need all my wits about me to do him justice. I go over to the piano and try out a few runs. As he was greatly influenced by Art Tatum I play Tiger Rag in Tatum’s Style. He could sing too sounding like, Nat King Cole, who also influenced his playing. I may throw in a few vocals at the gig, the Italians like a good sing song.

‘Brian, any call for me whist I was away.’

‘Not of any importance, Sir’

‘Are you vetting my calls too?’

‘It’s part of my duties Sir to shield you from cold callers.’

‘So who called?’

‘One from the Bank asking if you want to invest your money in Urainium mining stocks.

Two from your mother. A Dyson. And one from someone called Babs.’

Babs, that pulls a string.

‘Babs who? Are you sure it was Babs and not Veronica.’

‘I would know Veronica even if she was disguised as Orgon Sloth’

‘Oh I forgot you like her don’t you?’ I can hear him blushing.

‘And the message is?’

‘Watch your back.’

‘That’s it, watch your back?’

‘That’s all Sir, and no contact number, just watch your back’

A blond with a striking resemblance to Veronica told me to watch my back in the Stork club. Only then I was Fats Waller taking a message to the  Black Brothers not Joe Coolz. 

I remember the coded from before of 

c7 f#7  b-7  e-7  a-7  d7  g7  d-7 g7’

I play the chords in all keys, maybe there is another hidden message in there that I missed the first time.  These are the chords but not the tune, so I put the two together. I sing the lyrics in the style of Nat King Cole.

The stars may deceive you

May vanish and leave you

Be smart, only trust your heart

The breeze softly sighing

In truth, may be lying

Be smart, only trust your heart

The warmth of her kisses

May teach you what bliss is

But this is a faithless lover’s heart

Only trust your heart, not the firelight

That comes from the starlight

Be smart, only trust your heart

If the message means anything, it means to only trust who my heart tells me to. Not difficult, that has to be the real Veronica. And in my guise of Fats Waller, Big Sal. Definitely not Smith, nor Doil nor the IGBI.

‘Sir do you wish me to put that on loop as before.’

‘Good thinking Brian, It may conjure up someone. Veronica I hope, and make me a cocktail, surprise me, you know my tastes.’ 

                                            *****************

Chapter 46

Big Sal dresses my wound while I tell her about my day. I have a yearning for my own apartment and Brian, mans best friend. I will have to make a trip down to the 5th precinct and search out Doil. The trousers to my suit are ripped and soaked in blood. I’ll get my tailor to bus over another pair. I use the phone in the Cat House. It is probably bugged but I’m only ordering a new pair of pants. Pinned to the notice board by the phone is an envelope with my name on it in the Madame’s handwriting. Not addressed to Fats but Joe Coolz. I take it down and open it carefully making sure I don’t tear it. Inside is a note reminding me that I have a gig on Italia, as Oscar Peterson, in two days time. This is puzzling, well you can see why. I pin the envelope back up. I will have to quiz the Madame about it, but carefully. I knock on her door and she lets me in.

‘Hi Fats, been away’

‘Took a trip to the Hampton’s, Montauk actually. The Van de Bilts place.

‘Didja bump into Tom Brown, he is a regular here when the Van de Bilts slumming it.’

‘Yeh we played some.’

‘What’s the beef? You limping?’

‘Just a graze.’ She offers me a cigar and lights it with a gold table lighter in the shape of a penis.

‘I just made a call to my tailor for some new pants.’ I paused I think she knew what was coming.

‘There’s an envelope for a Joe Coolz’

‘Must be a John, something he don’t want his wife to know. We act like a second office for some.’

‘Been there long?’

‘Why, …..a friend of yours?’

‘Piano player I know from the West Coast. With a name like Joe Coolz it’s not easy to forget’.

‘A classy blond dropped it over yesterday, maybe she wants him for herself.’

‘None of my business really, I just remember the name.’

‘Listen Fats, so long as the girls are clean and the Johns happy I don’t take much interest. Open the envelope if you want, if he is a friend of yours he won’t mind. Will he?         

                                          ****************

If the IGBI are reminding me of a gig then my wrist controller must be activated. Big Sal is in the ensuite bathing. I put the controller onto my wrist and leave 500c’s on the bed, then press the return.

A nano second of ecstasy and I am back on the black spot. Georgia is behind the desk.

‘I thought we’d lost you, no gig lasts 3 weeks.’

‘Yeh I’ll be glad to get my own body back. How long is your shift, I need some relaxed company?’

‘Just started man, and I have a date later.’

I am not really disappointed as I am banjaxed. I go to prosthetics take off Fats and re-acquaint myself with myself in the present, Mars 40037. 

                

Chapter 45

 I am sitting in the kitchen with Tom eating eggs and Canadian bacon. The cook has a look of the cook at the fish fry. The same round face and knotted head scarf. Just like the woman in the Tom & Gerry cartoons. Although in the cartoons you never see her face just the legs and her broom. But what I imagine her to look like. I ask Tom how long he has been with the Van de Bilt’s.

‘Since I was a boy, my old man worked for them too. It’s a family tradition. My son is a Harvard graduate. He works in their New York office.’

He gets up and hovers over the cook who is making cookies. He sticks a finger in the mixture and tastes it.

The cook digs him in the ribs with her elbow.

Git Tom Brown, you finger aint clean.’

So he is called Brown like the leader of the Brothers.

‘What’s the name of your son?’ I ask innocently.

‘Saul.’

This is too much of a coincidence.

‘I think I met him in a cat house on 116th.’

Tom is horrified. ‘Can’t be my boy he won’t be seen in no cat house.’

‘Head of the Black Brothers, name of Saul Brown.’

‘Brown’s a common name amongst us Blacks. Them Black Brothers is no good too. He may be President one day, he won’t have nuttin to do wid dem trouble makers’

I let it drop, but I am not convinced. I’ll ask Saul himself when I get back. Which I hope is soon, I’ve had enough of the country air. There is no sign of Mrs Van de Bilt nor her daughter, she disappeared soon after her song.

I would have liked to have had a conversation with either of them. I am a jobbing piano player not a detective, but I smell a conspiracy. And it is definitely the IGBI who is ringmaster. I test my wrist controller just for the hell of it. Zilch.       

                                       *****************

As I step off the train I am grabbed by two heavies in trilby’s and overcoats. They bundle me into a black limo and stuff a gag in my mouth. I can feel the business end of a gun in my side. When we reach the Stork Club I am pushed down into a chair at The Man’s table. He is immaculate in an English worsted suit, pink cotton shirt and paisley cravat. His right ear is bandaged. To his left sits a lieutenant and on his other side, the nearly Veronica, who is called Babs. 

‘Where’s your minder?’  He is obviously referring to Big Sal.

He waves over to the barman and tells him to pour a large Bourbon. 

The barman places it front of me on a fancy coaster.

‘Drink up Fats it may be your last. Any last requests?’ He laughs showing large teeth and his lieutenant loyally laughs with him. Babs keeps a straight face. She looks more like the real Veronica today. It may be the lack of light, but her nose has lost the bend and her eyes are green.

‘She nearly took my fucking ear off. I believe in an eye for an eye, an ear for an ear. You get my drift?’

I down the whiskey. The question was rhetorical, so I keep stum.

‘Not only am I going to have your ear Fatso, but every fucking whores ear in the fucking joint. The Johns will have an extra couple of holes to use.’

The man is a maniac, if you are Veronica get me out of this. As if on cue she places a hand on The Mans arm and says.

‘If we are to take over, it would be better that the girls were in one piece, and Fats here is only the messenger. Let him go and tell them that we mean business. It would be better if you broke his fingers seeing as he is a piano player.’

What the fuck! Veronica it’s me Joe Coolz you can’t break my fingers.

‘And I will be pleased to do it.’

This is getting out of hand. I need my fingers. They are my living. Think of something quick. I give Babs a look and she eyeballs me back. Does she have a plan?

‘Fats, you look faint’, she says and kicks me on the shin. It does fucking hurt but I take the hint and fall to the floor.

‘You can’t break his fingers when he is unconscious where is the fun in that.’ She turns to the lieutenant. ‘Help me drag him to the rest room’.

‘Nah I’ve a better idea.’ 

He picks up a pitcher of water and makes to throw it over me. Babs stays his arm and the water goes over The Man. Over his English worsted suit, over his pink shirt. I am forgotten for a moment as Babs and the lieutenant dry him off with napkins. I use the exit I used last time with Big Sal closely followed by gun shots. One bullet grazes my thigh, but I still make the 11 uptown bus.

                                              *****************

                           *****************

Chapter 43

You may wonder how the prosthetics work. After all I have been in the guise of Fats Waller for over a week now. Well I don’t know I just pay my fee and I’m Fats Waller or anyone else on The Agency’s books. The way it works as a practicality is simple. The prosthetic company dials in the DNA and transfers it to my body. I become Fats. Just the body part though, I have to go to the wardrobe department to get the duds. Hence me going off to Fats’s tailor in Brooklyn to buy more suits. I arrived in 1935 with one set of clothes enough for a nights gig, then I get stuck on the orders of the IGBI with no change of underwear. The chip in my neck tells me subconsciously that he has a tailor in Brooklyn. It tells me he likes steak and fries, cheap cigars, whiskey and big women. So I am happy, the chop house on the next block serves the best steak in Harlem, the cigars are free, whiskey is on the house, and I have big Sal in my bed. Or Big Sal lets me into her bed. Who’s counting? I play for my bed and board. No actual money changes hands but the IGBI are building up my balance in the Bank of Uranus, and I get paying gigs on the side. Like the proverbial porcine in the merde. Except I miss my own crib, and Brian’s tantrums and the comforts of my own century.

In my pocket I find the card given to me by Mrs  Elsa Van der Bilt, and it reminds me of her invite to her pad on Long Island and her parting words of ‘Don’t be a stranger.’

I fancy a bit of sea air.

I make a visit to the pawn shop under the Cat House and buy a nearly new leather valise and camel hair overcoat. I say my goodbyes to Big Sal and head for Penn Station.  The train to Montauk is the Cannon Ball special I have to change at Jamaica to get onto the Montauk branch the train splits in two at Manorville one branch to Greenport and one to Montauk. I am beginning to think this trip might be a mistake. As  myself, Joe Coolz, I would have gone to a telebooth asked for Montauk put in my ID card and instantly I would be there, no hassle.

I get some looks as there is an unofficial segregation happening on the trains, especially in the first class compartments. Fortunately there is a piano in the dining section, so I play for my supper.

When we arrive at Manorville I step onto the platform to find a phone booth. There is one in the Soda Bar in the back. I call the number on the calling card. A deep baritone voice with a Virginia accent answers. I ask for Mrs Van der Bilt.

‘Who shall I say is calling, Sir’

‘Say a friend from the Reno club, she asked me over.’

‘I am afraid, Sir, she cannot be disturbed for just anyone’

‘Okay, tell her it’s Fats, Fats Waller’

‘If you cannot be serious Sir I will have to hang up.’

There is a click in my ear and he’s gone. Fucking Uncle toms they are worse than the red necks. I redial.

‘I really am Fats Waller, listen.’ I give him a chorus of Honey Suckle Rose.

‘That’s alright Sir, I mentioned your first call and she says to put you through.’

The porter is shouting all aboard. I am torn between announcing myself to Mrs van de Bilt and catching the train. She comes to my rescue on hearing the whistle.

‘Catch the train I’ll have Tom pick you up in the Duesenberg.’

I rush for the train but find it gathering speed and my bag and coat standing on the platform.

O well it looks like Tom has a longer drive than he thought.

Chapter 42

Saul receives the news with nonchalance. He is after all Saul Brown, head of the brothers and the coolest dude in town.

‘The Man is all bullshit, he hasn’t got the balls to take on The Brothers on our own turf. Relax Fats and give us a tune. You did good.’

It is a relief to sit at the piano, it is what I do best. I am not cut out to be a wise guy. I play some rags and Saul smiles contentedly sipping his mint tea. Big Sal has gone to her room, as I have paid for her for the day, she can relax without having to go to work. I may join her later when I feel the need to rest my head on something soft. It is early evening and the place is filling up. The piano is in the lounge area where the Johns peruse the girls before getting their rocks off. I am privy to all this from my vantage point under the stairs. The house caters for all tastes. The clientele is mostly black with a few Hispanics and the odd white guy with a taste for the exotic. Saul or one of his crew keep a watch over all to see it that it runs smoothly. No aggression towards the girls is tolerated. There is an atmosphere of calm in the house. A haven from the realities of life                                   

                                                                        ****************

Chapter 41

I speak to the Madame and book Big Sal for the day. No rolling in the hay but as a companion for my visit to The Man. I figure that if I have a broad in tow he will go easy on me when I tell him “No Dice”.

We take a cab down to Chelsea, the driver is a West Indian and has Calypso on at full volume broadcast direct from George Town by the sound of it. I am glad to pay him off. The façade of the Stork Club is not improved by daylight. The Neon Sign glows faintly in the sunshine, failing to hide the shabbiness of the paintwork. A large goon in a three piece is on the door and frisks us both before we are let in. Big Sal gives him the evil eye when his hand gets too intimate. Inside by contrast the place is plush. No expense has been spared on the décor. Gold leaf on the capitals and cherubs.

The Man is seated at the same table he had dinner at when I was given my assignment. No sign of Babs. Instead he is surrounded by lieutenants, and a few soldiers hang around by the bar. He spots me and waves me over with a manicured hand.

‘Hey Fats you bring good news I hope. And you brought your lady friend, or is she your bodyguard?’ His lieutenants laugh. Babs ignores them, she has made an effort on her outfit and looks a bit of class.

‘Just joking Honey no offence,’ says The Man.

He turns to the bar and shouts.

‘Hey Rizo get the lady a drink and make her comfortable while me and Fats here talk turkey.’ Then he adds. ‘Bring Fats here a Bourbon, that’s if we have any left after he run up the biggest bar tab. Jeeze I nearly had heart attack.’

He motions me to sit down. The lieutenants leave and go out back.

I drink my bourbon and try to relax. I give him my butter wouldn’t melt look and prefix my bad news with. ‘Just try to remember that I am only the messenger.’

His mood changes. ‘Messenger smessenger, all I want is a little joint action. Is that too much to ask?’ He knocks the glass out of my hand.

‘Go tell them coons that I always get what I want. With or without any bloodshed.

On seeing this Sal rushes over and takes a swipe at him with her handbag. I have never seen her move so fast. The bag catches him on the ear and nearly severs it from his head. The goons are too slow for her, she grabs my hand and  pulls me to my feet.

‘Come on Fats time to leave.’ We head out over the stage and into the alley at the back, and into 10^th Avenue. A number 11 bus is just about to close its doors and we jump on. To tell the truth I am struggling for breath but Big Sal is flushed with excitement and laughing fit to bust. When my heart stops pounding I think over what we have just done. Rile The Man. The Bothers had better be ready.

Chapter 40

Saul Brown, Black Brother in chief  looks at me like I’m crazy. I am sitting with him in the cat house reception, come lounge, come piano bar.  I have just laid out the relevant details of the message from The Man.

‘The Man has his turf and The Black Brothers have ours. That is the arrangement, no line crossing no fights no deaths. We have Harlem he has the rest. Shit man is not the rest big enough for him? This is the short end of the straw. First it’s a portion of the meat industry then the whole fucking grocery store. Tell him no way’

No way am I telling him no way. I have to get out of this transaction.

‘I’m just passing the message on. It was just a chance meet at a gig at The Stork.’ I don’t want to get involved, this is way out of my league.’

He points a long black finger at me and makes like a gun. Squints down it and bends his thumb with a clicking noise. I take it he means do it or I’m dead meat. Where is fucking Doil when you want him                                       

Chapter 39

The taxi back from Brooklyn is a bit of a squeeze. Big Sal and three of the girls are crammed into it with all my new suits, a charcoal stripe, a brown check searsucker, and a white tux. A dozen shirts, 3 pairs of shoes, cotton underwear and a new Derby hat. I still smell of fried fish, but we are all used to now. Once back in Sal’s room I open a bottle of bourbon and we all take a pull on it. Sal shoos the others away and runs me a bath. My fishy clothes she throws out of the window. Someone will be thankful for them. Once I am clean of fish, Sal washes herself, and then joins me on the bed. I have on my clean undergarments, socks and my new hat. Sal is naked. Without clothes the full voluptuousness of her is very evident. She is not really fat just bigger all around than the average flapper.  In my guise as Fats I am big too. We fill the bed with nothing to spare, and in my guise as Fats I like what I see. Through the open window the sound of the city in full throttle is as good as a lullaby and we are both asleep before any intercourse can take place.

I wake late, Sal has gone downstairs to work her shift, but has left me a note. It reads.

Call  CH 4001. CH stands for Chelsea, that’s a Manhattan number.

I put on my new charcoal brownstripe, a pink shirt and black brogues.  I look cool I must admit. I go out to the diner and dial the number from the pay booth.

‘Stork Club’

‘I got a message to call you’

‘You Fats?’

‘Yeah’

‘You free tonight’

‘For a fee’

‘Hows 5c’s grab you’

Sounds fine, where you at?’

‘Corner w22nd and 10^th be here at 10.30’

I check the clock on the wall. 9.10 time for a snack. I order steak and eggs. The waitress is the same one as this morning.

Maybe she does a split shift. I eat my steak and order apple pie and ice cream. I leave her a good tip and head off to w22nd St. Chelsea is a bit off the normal music beat, or maybe I’ve been away too long. The place is a one story dive at the end of a row of four story brownstones. The words Empire Diner have been badly painted over and a pink neon sign hangs over the doorway saying Stork Club. I should have a bad feeling about it but my instinct for trouble has deserted me. The fact that I am prossed up as Fats doesn’t mean that I can’t be hurt. Anyway a gig’s a gig. I push through the swing doors.

The interior is plush. Someone has gone to a lot of expense to make this joint look like the Ritz. The hat check girl asks for my Derby but I keep it on. It is a sort of trademark. A few punters are at the bar, but the tables by the dance floor are empty. Set for dinner with flutes and silverware, fancy folded napkins, but empty. The stage is small taken up with a drum kit a bass and a baby grand. I try out the top keys. Perfectly tuned. I run my right hand down the length of the key board. Not a bum note among them. This bodes well. May as well get a drink. I go over to the bar and order a bourbon on the rocks and reach for my wallet.

‘You have a tab Mr Waller, all on the house’

Well this makes a change an establishment that treats musicians like human beings. I down the contents in one and my glass is immediately filled. I like this joint.

Zutty Singleton  walks in. he must be booked to play drums.

‘Hi Zut, who’s on bass?’

‘I think it’s Slam’

‘Slam Stewart, wow that’s great man, I haven’t seen him for a while.’

‘He’s been playing with Slim Gaillard. As Slim and Slam.’

Now there is a big man, he holds the bass like it’s a guitar, and he don’t need no amplification neither. When he plucks them strings, they can be heard in Yonkers.

‘Have a drink man, I got me a tab.’

Zutty has a bourbon like me and I take another  hit.

The barman keeps em coming and me and Zutty keep downing em. I have a large capacity I can drink all night and just keep a gentle buzz. I hope this joint know that I can wrack up a bar tab faster than Jessie Owens can do the 100 dash.

Just as I’m getting into my stride. A big Smuck in a tux says I should start my act. There is still no one at the tables, but I’m paid to play so I seat myself at the piano. Zut tunes up the drums and in walks Slam. He picks up the bass as if it is a toy banjo and hits a walking intro. Zutty takes up the tempo and I hit the keys. We are in business. After a few numbers there is a lot of activity by the hat check. A group of wise guys with long legged blondes fill the tables. So that is the scene. The mob owns the joint. Out front, at the first table sits The Man. He has a 1000 dollar suit on and a tie pin with a diamond the size of an egg. His broad is the spit of Veronica. I do a double take and eyeball her. If she is Veronica she shows no sign of recognition. I do my best Uncle Joe impression and ham it up to great effect. My fingers are on automatic and Slam and Zutty are with me. All the tables are filled now with bosses at the front, lieutenants in the second row, and soldiers at the back. No one has taken to the dance floor, so I up the tempo and hope for a couple to start the ball rolling. From the wings come the floor show. This is great surprise to me.  But being a true pro I take it in my stride.

The Nicholas Brothers Fayard Antonio Nicholas  & Harold Lloyd Nicholas are a tap dancing legend.

They grew up in Philadelphia, the sons of musicians who played in their own band at the old Standard Theater, their mother at the piano and father on drums. At the age of three, Fayard was always seated in the front row while his parents worked, and by the time he was ten, he had seen most of the great African American Vaudeville acts, particularly the dancers, including such notables of the time as Alice Whitman, Willie Bryant and Bill Robinson. Neither Fayard nor Harold had any formal dance training.They became the featured act at Harlem's Cotton Club in 1932, when Harold was 11 and Fayard was 18. They were the only entertainers in the African American cast allowed to mingle with white patrons.

In that exhilarating hybrid of tap dance, ballet and acrobatics, sometimes called acrobatic dancing or "flash dancing," no individual or group surpassed the effect that the Nicholas Brothers had on audiences and on other dancers.

Yeh that is who just blew in. They weren’t the tallest people you ever met, but what they lacked in stature they made up for in talent and shear energy.

The curtains at the back of the stage opened to reveal a broad flight of stairs. The brothers danced up these and descended doing leapfrogs over one another landing in the splits on every step. Zutty giving a clash on the cymbal  on each landing. Then they jumped up on my piano and leaped from it also ending in the splits and rising from the floor by closing their legs, not using the hands. Incredible.

This got the crowd excited they were on their feet clapping and stamping, calling for more. The brothers asked me to play “Stormy Weather”  and they obliged with a tap routine that would have had Fred Astaire green with envy.

Follow that. We couldn’t and announced a break.

The big cheese asked me over and told me to sit down.

‘Fats, you know that cat house up on east 116 ?’

 He don’t give me time to answer. ‘Well I want a piece of it. Hear you’re friendly with the natives. So you can do me a big favour and tell ‘em I need to do business and set up a meet.’ He pokes me in the chest. ‘You can do that for me?’

This does not sound like a request. It’s a do it or else type of request. What can I do?

So I say yes.

He turns to Veronica who is not Veronica.

‘Tell Fats where and when, I’ve got some other business in the back.’

Veronica who is not Veronica who I shall call V2, until I find out her name, takes out a silver pencil and writes on a napkin and hands it to me. No smile no recognition, and I notice that her eyes are brown with no hint of pink. Her nose is a little longer and she is slightly plumper. Bigger breasts and a rounder ass.

‘Thanks’, I say. Then I add.

‘You have a look of Veronica lake about you, what do I call you?’

‘All out of a bottle honey, and a bit of the knife.’ She says this in a broad Bronx accent. ‘He’, she nods towards The John. ‘Likes Veronica Lake, goes to all her movies, tried to bribe her once into sleeping with him, but she is top drawer, gave him the big heave ho. So he had me remodeled.’

‘Looks good, you had me fooled.’

She smiles and then holds my arm. ‘Be careful he can be quite a prick. Oh and you can call me Babs’

About 3 am  I notice the  tall figure of Slim Gaillard  at the bar, he is a very handsome black guy with a pencil moustache, his hair is slicked back and he has a grin as wide as the Brooklyn bridge. He comes over and gives me a high five and greets Slam with a Vooty o Rooty.

He sits next to me on the stool and plays the into’ to “Dunkin’ Bagels.” Slam takes it up by bowing his bass, then me and Slim vocalize the lyrics, which are very simple.

Dunkin Bagels

Dunkin Bagels

Plop in the coffee.

It all goes down well with the late hangers on, so we play 

“Cement Mixer” (putty putty).

Eventually when the last drunk leaves we call it a night. Slim asks if I want to go onto a secret bar he knows up in the 90’s but I’m whacked and give him a rain check.

Slim leaves with Slam and Zut.  Babs  gives me my 5c fee and says to remember he can be a Prick.

                                                                        ****************

In some stories a chapter will tell what the other side is doing. Give you an angle from their point of view. The problem is this is real life man, I don’t know what Doil thinks nor do I have a channel into the thinking of the IGBI. They are a fucking mystery and no mistake. So you will have to wait it out with me, when I know it, you will know it. You might decide it’s not worth hanging around for. Don’t let me stop you. But if you want to know if the galaxy is saved from a super nova then keep reading.

Chapter 38

Big Sal has a room in the Cat House on 203 East 116^th street just off 3^rd Avenue. I hitch a ride with Doil and he drops me off at the drug store on the corner. Big Sal is sitting with a couple of the girls enjoying a well earned breakfast of eggs and muffins. They greet me like a long lost brother. The waitress brings me coffee and I order two hamburgers and a portion of fries. Then I add a couple of eggs. The smell of fish still clings to me and the girls wrinkle up their noses. I don’t have a change of clothes but I do have a pocket full of notes. A trip to my tailor is called for. My tailor is a small joint run by a Jew from Brooklyn in The Heights. A scruffy little shop stuffed with the larger size of outfits. But first I must feed the inner man.  The girls chatter like sparrows in a Hickory bush. I eat my breakfast whilst they talk about the Johns. I am content here. I feel safe. They are just working girls but I am at home with them. There are no edges on them. What you see is what you get. I ask Big Sal if she minds me sharing her crib for a few days. I take out a wad of C notes and peel off a couple. She is offended that I should think she would want money from me.

‘Fats you are a brother, I work for a living, no charity.’

‘It’s not charity, I am loaded, put it in the bank, give it to a cousin who needs it, or just buy yourself something.’

She takes the money and puts it down her cleavage.

‘Fancy a ride over to Brooklyn I need some new duds.’

She leans over and kisses me on the forehead. I take that as a yes.

Chapter 37

The room smells of fish. Frying fish. There is no air conditioning in the whole tenement, and the room is hot with the humidity close to 100%. The window is open to let in any small movement of air. Outside the rain falls in vertical rods hitting the sidewalk like machine gun rounds on a ponds surface. Opposite the window is a neon sign that flashes alternate red and green, throwing it’s eerie light into the room. Leaning on the wall by the door is a tall elegant black man wearing a fedora. Under the left arm of his suit can be seen the bulge of a gun in a shoulder holster. Sitting on the couch is a blond hooker shooting up. Her arm has track marks like Pen Station. Sitting at the piano by the window is a large black man wearing a brown derby and striped waistcoat. He has a wide grin under a pencil moustache. His left eyebrow is arched, giving him a devilish look. He is playing “Honeysuckle Rose” A big red haired man enters the room, he is officer Getz of the NYPD off duty but ready for trouble. Behind him tumble in a fleet of sailors most of them drunk but good natured. Getz eyes them all with suspicion and offers a bit of advice to stay this side of the law. They have been caught in the storm and drip water all over the floor. The flashing neon sign is reflected in this water giving floor a carnival feel. A fat black woman comes into the room from the kitchen carrying a large platter full of fried catfish.

‘All you can eat for a dollar’

One of the sailors gives her a 10 spot.

‘That’s for me and my ship mates.’ He produces a bottle of rum and hands it to her.

‘Here take a swig’

She takes a long pull on the bottle then hands it him back. He waves his hand.

‘Plenty more where that came from.’ He says and sways over to the hooker.

‘Hey darlin, how about a kiss?’

She pushes him off and looks over to the black man leaning by the door. He nods his head and she lets the sailor kiss her awkwardly missing her lips. He walks over to the sailor and says she is his for a consideration. The transaction complete the sailor sits down on the couch beside her and grabs her breast. She gives him a right to the jaw and he slugs her on the nose. The black man in the fedora grabs the sailor by his shirt and hauls him upright. He tells him to behave when in the company of a lady and to apologise.  The sailor’s mates gather round and threaten the black man. He draws

his gun from under his arm and the sailors back off. Getz watches this from his vantage by the piano, but does nothing he is after all off duty. The sailors, none of them more than eighteen years old, start pushing and punching each other playfully. The hooker staggers to her feet and grabs her molester by his lanyard.

‘Come with me buster, lets see what you’re made of?’ She drags him down the corridor and into a room 3 doors down. The time is getting on and more stragglers from the clubs and speakeasies are arriving. The joint is really jumpin’.

The hooker is doing big business, I count a dozen Johns knocking on her door. Her pimp keeps an eye out for trouble, but she must be good as no one complains or wants their money back.  About 3 am Doil walks up the stairs accompanied by Veronica. My heart does a little flip at the sight of her. As usual she looks the business dressed in a clinging silk evening gown and a fur stole. Both as white as her hair. Doil stops by the door and has a word with Getz. Veronica walks over to me all eyes turning to watch her as she moves. The neon sign is lighting her up, alternate red, green, red, green. The green turning her lipstick black, as it is in the movies.

‘Hi Fats, play me a waltz, I feel like a dance.’

I play Blue Moon in three four time. Veronica grabs the nearest sailor. His cap is pushed back showing blond curls, and he shows his delight by throwing his cap across the room. Veronica is a head taller than him and his nose tucks nicely into her cleavage. They waltz around the room clearing others to the periphery. Doil and Getz stand like sentries either side of the door. I quicken the tempo and break into a foxtrot. Veronica doesn’t break stride and the sailor follows her lead. He has the look of  Gene Kelly about him. He may be Gene Kelly for all I know or a prossed up ringer from The Agency. I have learnt that you can’t take anyone at face value . An older sailor, a boson or a petty officer, fresh from a session with the hooker, tries to cut in on Veronica. He pushes Gene Kelly aside and grabs Veronica by the wrist and pulls her into him. She hits him with a left hook to the face, and he pulls a blade. Doil leaps forward to separate them, but before he can reach them the sailor sticks her in the stomach, then, turns on Doil. Doil pistol whips him, as Getz shoots him in the leg.  The sailor goes down, but his shipmates pile into the two detectives. Doil and Getz are no amateurs and the young sailors back off. Veronica staggers over to me blood seeping through her gown, and grabs my hand.

‘If I survive this Joe, come up and see me.’

Paramedics arrive and place her on a stretcher and attach lines into her.

The sailors retreat dragging the boson with them. Doil comes over and asks what Veronica said. I say I couldn’t hear her. He gives me a look.

‘No return for you tonight Fats, you may be needed.’

It looks like I’ll have to look up Big Sal for a crib.