Chapter 54

Doil gave me back my controller and reversed the tag injection. I did not want to hang about, it made a change just to be an observer, to be let go and not end up in the Precinct House. It was becoming my second home. Maybe this time I had hit all the right notes and saved the Universe. As I materialize on the black spot, I am welcomed by the smile of Red behind the control desk, or is it her sister Texas? I can’t tell them apart.

‘Well if it isn’t my Suroundaround partner back from the Big Apple, and I have tickets for tonight’s show, Casablanca.’

‘I’ve had enough of earth in the 20th century, aren’t they playing anything more up to date, like “Gonzo ate my dog Pt III”

‘For a creative man you are a bit of a Philistine. Wouldn’t you prefer to be Humphrey Bogart for a few hours rather than that slime ball from the Swartzenegger dynasty.’

I hold my hands up. ‘Let me finish with prosthetics and throw a few of Brians cocktails down me, then come over.’

‘I’ll be there for the cocktails, he has a talent.’ 

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

Brian has a talent. It’s for winding me up. No sooner had I placed my palm on the recognition plate by the door, than he was at me.

‘Open the fucking door Brian’

‘How do I know it is you, anyone can fake a palm print.’

‘Why don’t you ask me for my mothers maiden name, whilst you are at it. Or my secret word?’

‘Okay, what is your secret word?’

I lose patience and use my key card. The door swings open and the familiar smell of my apartment greets me.

‘Welcome home sir, I had to be sure. You could have been anyone.’

‘Redeem yourself Brian and make a surprise cocktail, whilst I take a shower in  envigogel, I have a date.

Oh goody Miss Lake is on her way.’ I don’t disillusion him, he has the hots for Veronica, and I want to hear the disappointment in his voice when Red McGee turns up.

‘Make another cocktail for my guest, keep it on ice.’ 

Once in the shower with the envigogel doing its thing the 20th century drops off me and I am back in today. It’s a wonder the human race survived, Earth in the 1930’s really is a dump. Like a trip around the Garbage Planet Gii, without the screens. Because I am quite a lot of the time in places without modern luxuries I try to keep up my hygene skills, like shaving and washing my crown jewels, but this shower has all mod cons. Auto shave, foot scrub, genital pampering, back scrub etc. and I turn them all on. After 15 minutes I have a new body. Scraped soaped scrubbed rubbed buffed polished air dried and  perfumed. It seems a shame to cover it up with clothes, so I just put on a silk kimono, a present from the Emperor of Nipon V, and sit at the piano. My cocktail is also at my elbow. Now this is modern living. No more flee pit clip joints, Cats houses with cheap perfume and even cheaper broads. No from now on I am only taking 24 hour gigs with a guaranteed return and no IGBI involvement. And to prove I’m a Martian in 40037 I run  a line of Avir Moondust along the piano top and take a good sniff. Brian coughs.

‘Is that wise sir? Especially when guests are due.’

Avir Moondust was distilled to give to the penal colony on Avir to keep them from going mad from boredom. It’s effect are to enhance mundane tasks into exciting  adventures. Pouring a cup of tea is transformed into the conquest of Everest. That kind of thing. To kill the effect you have to eat Marmite. Not just a spoonful but a 2lb jar. I hate it. This going to spoil my mood. I chase the whole jar down with cocktails. Now I’m not high but drunk. Drunk I can handle. Drunk I like, and I won’t get Berry Berry with the amount of vitamin B inside me. Brian still thinking Veronica is going to appear has placed small beautifully arranged canapés on every available surface. I eat a plateful and compliment him on his good taste.

If computers could smile his would be as wide as the asteroid belt. 

He interrupts his private reverie to answer the holovid.

‘Miss Red Sir, shall I tell her to go away as you are expecting guests.’

‘She is my guest Brian, so be civil and let her through.’

‘But I…’

‘Don’t jump to conclusions Brian it is too human a habit for the likes of you, now let her in there’s a good little computer, anyway you know Veronica doesn’t make arrangements, she just turns up, so be on guard.’

Red materializes in a completely see through trouser suit and that is all. If it had a colour it would be midnight blue. Only someone who is confident in her own ability to fight off randy crew men could wear this ‘Kings Suit’ of clothes.

I concentrate on her smile and offer her a canapé so declines and downs my cocktail instead.

‘Brian you haven’t lost your touch, that was delicious, might I ask what was in it, or is a secret?’ She knows how to boost an ego even if it as a used computer from wireless world.’

Brian’s voice has an air of pride about it.

‘I am honour bound not to tell, by the code of compu cock, but I will make you my No.1 taster, I have a new combination I wish to try on a connoisseur.’ 

It’s all a load of crap of course but the sound of ice hitting the bottom of the shaker and various liquids being poured, followed by the shaking itself come from the kitchen. Then a highball glass hovers in front of Red. She takes it and sips then glugs.

‘Woowee that is something else.’ Is it really or is she pandering to his ego?

‘Try me with another.’

The evening goes on like this for a few hours, even I get into the swing of it and down a few more. I play old English pub songs from WW2 and Red joins in with a surprisingly mellow voice. Eventually we crash out on the sofa. Brian has had his revenge creating a “No Sex Please We Are British” atmosphere. I dream of  rain.

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

Chapter 53

The room smells of fried fish. An elegant black man in a charcoal and white stripped three piece leans languidly against the wall. The room is lit by the neon sign flashing over the drug store across the street.

Red, white, green, on off, on off. The window is open and the torrents of rain hitting the asphalt drum with a regular finger beat. Occasionally the figures in the room are lit starkly white with deep black shadows as the lightning pre-cedes the thunder. A comatose blond in a black evening dress and black elbow length gloves is sprawled on the couch a needle hanging loose from her fingers. One high heeled pump is on the floor the other precariously clinging to her foot. Her scarlet lipstick is smeared across her lips and a little dribble of saliva glistens on her chin. In the doorway stands a big Bull, his jacket pulled back to reveal a polished shoulder holster with a colt’s business end poking through the bottom. On his head is a wide brimmed hat that drips water  onto the shoulders of his calf length trench coat. By the window is a piano at which sits a large black man in a silk striped waistcoat. On his head is a brown Derby hat. His eyes are a deep black that smile as he sings. On a table by the kitchen door is a platter of fried catfish. Above it is a hand written sign that reads,

FRIDAY NIGHT FISH FRY $1

BRING YOUR OWN BOOZE

Across the hallway is a factory where faces are cutting cadillacs of coke. The Bull in the doorway may or may not be aware of this industry but he has bigger fish to fry tonight. A group of sailors on a 24 hour pass fall up the stairs and head for the factory. They have only 5 hours left to get high get laid and get back. Time ticks on.

The floor is taken by 3 couples dancing the Lindy Hop One couple is white the other two black. One of  the girl dancers is a honey coloured beauty with almond eyes aquiline nose and broad smile. Her partner is also light skinned and could be taken for a southern Italian, but he is from Plantation stock whoes maternal grand parent was raped by renegade red legs. He is also a cop. He throws his partner over his shoulder her long legs in bobby socks and white pumps describing a perfect arc in the air, lit by the flashing neon, is a stroboscopic illusion. Beads of sweat flick of them into the humid atmosphere.

The white couple are less athletic and jitter bug in circles with the occasional hip throw. The mans white shirt has dark circles under the armpits and black suspenders hold up his trousers. The suspenders are obviously a fashion item as his fawn trousers are tight fitting and show off his muscular ass and thighs. He is also a cop and the precinct boxing champion. His partner’s baggy white slacks cling to her legs as she shimmies and her white silk blouse moulds her breasts in unfettered perfection. She is the dead spit of Veronica Lake. Down to the lopsided hairdo and the sexy aura. The piano player changes the tempo and they fall into each other with grateful relief. The Veronica look-a-like goes over to the window and fans herself with her hand. The rain is Noah like in its intensity. A black Cadillac pulls up and two men dash for cover into the drug store. The Cadillac keeps it’s motor running and it’s wipers wave inadequately at the rain. The Veronica look-a-like takes a cigarette from a gold cigarette case on the piano lid. She carefully places it into a gold holder and puts the holder to her lips.

‘Got a light Fats’, 

Fats obliges with the end of his cigar. From outside through the roar of the rain is the sound of gunfire.  The Veronica look-a-like turns to see what’s what. The two men come running out of the store and jump onto the running boards of the Cadillac, as the car picks up speed a hand comes out of the back window and throws an object at the store. As the car turns the corner the drug store erupts in a ball of flame. The glass front explodes and the Veronica look-a-like drops to the floor with a shard stuck in her chest. She gives a low moan and sinks down in a pool of blood.

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

Chapter 52

The buildings on West 28th Street between Sixth Avenue and Broadway, house the sheet-music publishers. I have a mind to pop down there and look up some old buddies. If you want to find a muso that is where he can be tracked down. If he is not there then some cat will know where he can be found. This little area is known as “Tin Pan Alley”, you may have heard of it.

I put on my best duds and stop at the shoe shine on the corner. The shine boy is  just buffing up the two tones of  a big man who smells of pomade. I take up the seat next to him and await my turn. This man I know, but before he can recognize me I have to speak as he is blind. I wish him the time of day and he says.

‘Hey Fat’s how’s it going?’

The great, the one and only genius that is Art Tatum, is at my side and he has recognized me. I am flattered. He has the best ear in the piano playing world, so recognizing my voice is no great feat. But recognizing me is a buzz.

‘Where you headed?’

‘Downtown to 28th, see what the scene is.’

‘I’m heading that way myself , we could grab some grease, beat up the gums, and check out any new canaries.’

Now I’m hip with the jive talk, but you squares may be under the knowledge pole, so what he said was lets eat, be loquacious, and look for some girl singers. See it all makes sense if you think it out. A bit like a cryptic crossword. 

The shine boy finishes Art’s two tone’s  and starts on mine. He has a wide grin and is sharply dressed. Brown shirt with black and white horizontally stripped bow tie, a jazzy waistkit in green and white vertical stripes, dazzlingly white zoot trousers and correspondence shoes. When not shining shoes he has a dance act with his brother. When he has finished I give him a 5 note. A bit generous for a shoe shine but I like to spread it around. It’s easy come easy go. 

Art takes my arm and we stand on the sidewalk and wait for a cab. Eventually one stops for us, an old Oldmobile in yellow paintwork. It’s an ersatz taxi driven by a dodgy looking cat in a Fez. But it’s a ride. As we climb in the shoeshine joins us.

‘I heard  you are headed for The Alley and I need some intro’s’ . He’s a hoofer in a piano sandwich, not sure he can breathe as both me and Art are big men. Anyhow he must be managing as his feet begin to tap out a rhythm on the cab floor. Then he joins in his hands on his knees in a counter rhythm. Art begins to whistle. (A tune which will eventually become Big Noise from Winnetka. I know this because as Joe Coolz I have the drop on these guys as a being from the future.) However, now I am in a cab heading for 28th St.; cloned as Fats Waller on behalf of “The Agency”; 28th St. being the heart of the music publishing business and a hang out for all muso’s looking for work. Maybe the real Fats will be there? Now that would be a gas but I suspect that the IGBI will have him safely locked away, won’t they?

The cab stops on the corner of 28 and Broadway. The driver takes off his Fez and holds it out to receive the fare. Inside the Fez is a small monkey also with its hand out. I give the monkey a five spot and expect change, but the monkey expertly rolls it up into a thin cylinder and pushes it up his tuckas. The driver shrugs and boots the gas. Now I have seen everything. I tell Art what has passed and he shrugs too.

‘That’s New York for ya!’

Tin pan alley consists of blocks of small rooms that may or may not contain a piano, but will contain some budding genius knocking out the hits of tomorrow. It was given it’s name by The New York Herald who likened the  sound of  dozens of pianos all playing a different tune to the sound of  many tin cans being played in an alleyway. This is how it goes. The song team think up a tune with words. This they take to the music publishers, who if they think the song is worth the effort, buy it “for a song” and then print up the tune for the pluggers to play in the music shops to generate sheet music sales.

The proximity of all this creativity attracted all in the music business. So it became a natural place for muso’s to hang.

The buzz goes around pretty quickly that Tatum is in the street. Everyone wants a piece of him. Being a genius has it’s drawbacks. If Tatum takes a tune and applies his particular genius to it, it’s a hit. He is dragged off to the rooms of Jerome H. Remick & Co. and I am left on the stoop. Then by the magic of the IBGI who is standing next to me but Detective First Class Doil.

‘I told you not to wander Fats.’

‘You knew exactly where I was so what’s the beef. Or is your tracker a Friday afternoon job?  28th Street is not exactly Florida?

‘We have the power to keep you here for the rest of your natural. No more  Brian…’

‘Won’t be missed’

‘…to take care of your wildest whim. You will be stuck here with the eventual fate of the real Fats.’

A black and white pulls up alongside and I am pushed into the back.

Chapter 51

I am back in the Fifth Precinct house. The paramedics arrived to cart Veronica off closely followed in by Doil. He is very agitated. Pacing the small room with the cage in the corner, banging his right fist into the palm of his left.

‘It was not supposed to happen that quickly. We knew Veronica might get hurt, it seems to be in the script, but it all took off too soon.’

I can’t help. I have done my bit. I Cloned up as Fats and played his numbers and a few improves, in Waller’s style. How many times have I done this gig? Three maybe four. Every time the scene changes but with the same result someone getting shot. At least this time I am not involved, no rolling a body up in the rug, nor a trip to the river.

‘Fats you will have to hang around for a few days we may have to replay it. Look up your squeeze in the cat house, so we know where you are. No running off to the Hamptons.’

There goes my gig on Italia, my turn as Oscar Peterson will have to put on hold. I rise to go but Doil puts a restraining hand on my arm.

‘Not so fast, I have to tag you.’

‘No fucking way I am not a criminal.’

‘IGBI orders. You won’t feel a thing.’

He sticks the business end of an inserter into my wrist, and he is right I don’t feel a thing.

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

I buy Variety at the news stand and go to the diner on the corner of 116th and 3rd opposite the cat house. I order eggs and bacon with maple syrup and English muffins. Already seated are some cats from the Calloway  Band. Jerry Blake  the alto lead, Chu Berry and Ike Quebeck the tenor men. I sit down at the table next to them. Chu takes my copy of Variety and opens it at the listings page. 

‘Hey Fats I see you are at the Stork Club tonight.’

‘It’s news to me .’ It certainly is news to me. I did not have a good reception at the Stork Club the last time I was in Town. And if it is the real Fats who is booked there, then God help him. Doil must have this sorted out. The real fats must be out of action somewhere, he can’t have two of us running around.

‘I hear it’s run by the mob. The Man must be a fan of yours.’

‘We have to take what we can, not everyone has the security of a regular band.’

‘Yeh Cab takes care of us, stay sober and hit the cues and the chair is yours.’

Ike never one to stay quiet for long says.

‘Cab is Mr. Nice and Mr. Notsonice, in one package so we have to be at our Sunday choir best. And no kicking the gong around.’

‘That man is a hummer.’ Says Jerry.

The waitress arrives with my grease. I let them kick the fat around while I do justice to the fine dining this joint does. On my second coffee they get up to leave.

‘Hey Fats, we would like to pass the time of day with you but we have a broadcast on NBC.’ Chu rolls his eyes. ‘It’s a twenty four hour gig in the Land of Darkness.’

I wave my napkin and tell them to knock ‘em dead. I take back my copy of Variety and look for the listing page. No need to look far, in a 3 column spread in large caps is my name under the logo of the Stork Club. The photo is of me at the piano with a list of my hits along side. I should be pleased if I was Fats, and I was not terrified.

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

Saul Brown, Brother in chief is seated by the window, as I enter the cat house. He is also reading  Variety.

‘I wondered where you were. I thought you had gone over to the enemy.’

Should I ask him if he is The Saul Brown son of  Tom, retainer to the Van de Bilt’s? Don’t be so nosey, what you don’t know can’t hurt.

I sit at the piano and play a few chords.

‘I’ve missed that Fats, give me some boogy.’

I oblige with a Joplin rag. I’ve missed it too. I only feel at home in front of the keys. Being a secret agent gives me the shakes. The sooner I save the Universe the better. I wonder how Veronica is? The last I saw of her she had two pieces of lead in her chest.

‘You know something Fats, maybe The Man has an idea. What is the point of getting salty. If he wants The House I am willing to sell it to him. Then I can get on with defending the poor. When you are at that doss he calls a club, you can tell him 50 G’s a year is all the gravy I need.’

He gets up and calls up the stairs. ‘Sal the man in the sky piece is back.

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

I have no intention of appearing at The Stork Club ever again. But to appease all parties I call the Club and ask for The Man. He answers. I tell him what Saul Brown said. He gives me a message for Saul and hangs up.

I am in the middle again. I should have stayed shtum. Saul has left the premises and the message is for his ears only, and as my gig at the Stork Club is not happening, I decide to give my time to the Cat House. The Madame is pleased as the Johns hang around for longer soaking up the music, and spending their hard earned Dime notes. Big Sal has a voice on her and helps with the chorus between tricks. If I am not going home then this joint is as good as any to lay my head. At about 4, the last John is kicked out just as the sun rises. I am pooped. The empty glasses on the piano top are testament to my blood alcohol level. My waistcoat pockets are stuffed with notes, half of which I shall give to the house as good will gesture. The Madame dressed in all her finery with every spare inch of bare flesh covered in jewelry, has a big beam on her face and slaps me on the back. I give her half my takings. She takes them and stuffs them down Big Sal’s cleavage.

‘You’ve earned it Honey. Now take him upstairs and put him to bed.’

If this is euphemism for sex, I am happy, if it isn’t then I am too tired to care.