130

When I play these gigs, I forget who I am. Joe Coollz from Mars 40037 or is it 40038 by now. But occasionally my memory of Brian is awakened by a small incident, or even a sound. This time it is the smell of fresh doughnuts just like the smell in my kitchen when Brian knocks them up. A flunky in a DJ sets a plateful down on the piano. They are still hot and the jammy sweetness of them gets up my nostrils and takes me back to Mars. I don't like them, they are for too sugary for my palate, but Brian thinks I should try them as he has made the effort. The same here, but the boys don't seem much bothered by my refusal, and soon clear the plate. It is, however, time for a break, and I head for the bar. Being white I have the run of the place, the rest of the boys in their tux's are fed up of being mistaken for staff, stay behind in the band room. Mo joins me, she is such a looker that every male's eyeball, and some envious female's follow her, mentally stroking her tush. She gives me a peck on the cheak, and I smell her perfume and gin on her breath.

'She's a broth of a girl, is Bab's,' says Mo. 'Say's she gives the best blow job in the East, which is why she still has all her teeth.' Mo looks around her. 'She reminds me of someone.'

'Veronica Lake.' I say.

'Jaysus you're right on the nail. She could pass for her in the street.'

Not when you've met the real thing, I think.

'Let's go and play the tables,' she says. 'I have the luck of the Irish, we could win enough to open our own hotel.'

'We don't have time, it's band call in thirty minutes.'

'More than enough time.' she says. 'Got any dollars?'

The room with the tables is a vast hight roofed copy of a Chateau's ballroom. Slim pillars topped with capitals made from gilded cherubs hold up a domed painted ceiling. The mural is of a turkish bath house with towelled men, waited on by semi naked handmaidens handing out plates of $100 chips. Mo stops at the only table with a male dealer, and puts down my hundred dollars on the beize. The dealer, dark skined with delicate hands swaps the notes for ten dollar chips. Within twenty minutes Mo has turned the hundred dollars into five thousand, and turns to me and says with a smile. 'Didn't I tell you, so.' I pull her away.

'Time to go and sing for your supper, before you lose it all.' She scrapes the chips into her small purse as the dealer signals to the floor manager. He comes over and guides Mo into a back office, I follow. Sitting behind the the desk is Joe Masseria's killer, Lucky Luciano. His stare is hostile and aimed at Mo then me.

'You the pianoman?' I nod.

'You the Canary?' Mo gives him her best smile.

He stays stony faced. 'I don't like being taken for a smuck. You two are on some kind of scam, so give.' One of his goons snatches Mo's bag and empties it onto the desk. The contents skid around on the polished top. A lipstick, a powder compact, a pack of cigarets and 3 dollars in notes tumble out, but no chips.

'They must be on her person, boss.' say the heavy. 'Let me frisk her'. I feel into my pockets, and there they are, the chips, five one G chips. But I keep stum.

Lucky cracks a smile. 'I'll give you a choice'. He say's. 'You keep the doh and I keep the chick, or.' He pauses for effect. 'Or, I keep the chick and the doh, and I don't shoot you.'

He raises a quizzical eye brow. His goons roar with laughter.

I go cold. I take the chips from my pocket and put them on to the desk.

'No reason to shoot anyone,' I say. No one shafted the tables, she's just lucky.'

'You as Lucky as your name?' asks Mo. 'My luck against yours.'

Only a dumb broad would push it this far, I try and think of something but for once my survival instinct lets me down.

'What do you have in mind?' asks Lucky.

'One throw of the dice, highest wins. If you win you have me and the money, if I win I get to keep the money and a get out of Jail free card for me and Joe, here.'

Lucky thinks this over, his face is like Mount Rushmore, then a slow smile appears showing gold teeth.

'I like you, you've got spunk. You throw against Louis here, I never gamble, unless I am guaranteed a win, and I want to keep this legit.' He opens a drawer takes out a new pair of dice and places them on to the desk. You throw first.' Mo takes the dice blows into her fist and throws a pair of deuces.

'My balls are tingling already,' he says. The phone on his desk rings and he picks up. He waves to Louis to carry on and growls into the mouthpiece. Louis takes a pair of dice from his pocket and rattles them for a good ten seconds, crouches down and throws against the wall. The heavies crowd forward to get the first look.

'Snake eyes.'

Lucky covers the mouthpiece' You dum fuck, you were supposed to use these.' He scoops up the dice on his desk and throws them at Louis. They land ones up. Snake eyes again. What are the odds on that?

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

The Blenhiem Hotel is one plush joint. Outfits by Elsa Schiapaelli and Lucien Lelong wrap the squeezes of the sharp suited Hoods. I don't know if the Hoods would approve of Dali, but the dresses incorporate many of his ideas. The hotel itself is a mish mash of ancient and modern. Doric columns and oak paneling, proliferate in the public rooms, with the restaurant capped with a domed glass and ironwork roof. Mo and me are seated to one side watching the players put on sophistication, acting like snakes about to shed their skin. I am into my second highball, when I spot Babs weaving her way towards us. As she gets nearer she morphs into the real thing.

'Hi honey', says Veronica. 'Small world.'

She hold's out her hand to Mo. Mo shakes it with a sideways glance at me. The sudden appearance of Veronica never bodes well, and she needs no introduction, but rather an explanation.

'Jo and I are old friends,' says Veronica to Mo, 'And you will go far, I caught your act last night. A little rough around the edges, but nothing that can't be cleaned up. And now if you will excuse us, Jo and I have some business to discuss.'

Mo gets up and heads for the powder room.

'Nice Ass.' says Veronica as Mo's tight slacks move along with her.

'I will dispense with the pleasantries, you have to go back to Mars, and to your own time. You may be messing up the time continuum.'

'And you are not?'

'Well okay, the higher command have got the needle that you are having such a good time, and want you to feel more responsive to the fate of the Universe.'

'You wouldn't be a little jealous would you?

'What of that Biddy from the Bogs? Take the her back to NY and then disappear. Tell her you have to visit your sick Uncle or something.' Veronica stands up and waves goodbye. Talk about a wet sponge.

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

The WMD room is just the same. Same white walls, same white floor, same white desk, same black spot, on which I am standing. Both the McGee twins are behind the desk. Their flame red hair the only colour in the room. I can't tell them apart, maybe one of them is a robo copy? I have to stand here until they are satisfied that I won't become part of a black hole before they give me the hurry up. As I am me and not poossed up as Fat's once I get the signal I can go home. Red, it says RED on her lab coat, so I presume it is her, waves me of the black spot.

'Welcome home Joe, we've missed you.'

'Your cock too.' adds Texas.

'What is the word for male sexual harassment?'

'Misandry' says Red

'No misandry is the hatred of men, not sexual harassment of them.' says Texas

'It's probably, “tusher” then.'

'I wish I'd never asked.'

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

I head immediately for IGBA headquarters. Stencilled on the wall in black ink are acronyms of the various agencies that are housed here.

IGBI, IGIA, IGMIA, IGRA.

They all want me. The Inter Galactic Bureau of Investigation, for my piano playing.

The Inter Galactic Intelligence Agency, for my information gathering about what the IGBI is up to. The Inter Galactic Misinformation Agency for exactly what it does. The Inter Galactic Revenue Agency for my cash. I tell the black skinned blonde on the desk who I am. He tells me to wait and someone will be down shortly. That someone is Veronica. She takes me to the open elevator and keys in the code for our destination. In a moment we step out into a vast room with a table that must be a kilometre long. At the far end are four hover chairs. Two occupied. The empty chairs float down to us and we hop on for a ride to join Doil and Smith. Then the Finks join us and pull out a couple of chairs from under the table, then Jenny Wizz, then the ten star General, General B. All, and before you can say, 'Whatsup', the table is full of important people who wish to save the Universe. Rachel Fink stands up and the room hushes. She takes out an Apple ilightpen and shines it on to the wall. A 4D image opens up.

'This is the state of the Universe at present'. The image gives me a strange apprehensive giddy feeling as I am shot through the Galaxies to end of the Universe. Then it goes black. A weird empty black that is neither there nor not there.

'And this is the Universe in a Mars week's time. Not long for Joe here,' she aims her ample breasts at me, 'to play the lost sequence.' She sticks the pen down her cleavage and sits down. Issy Fink stands up.

'Thanks, Rachel, very enlightening.' He laughs at his little joke. We don't get it. He continues.

'It would be impossible for our prossed Fats and the real Fats to play at the same piano at the same time. But that is what we have narrowed it down to. Two Fats Wallers playing the same note at the same time on the same piano.'

I put my hand up. Issy Fink tries not to notice, so I bang on the table. He looks at me as if I am a bit of slime. But I am made of sterner stuff.

'If it were possible for two Fats's to be at the same piano at the same time, it would be impossible for them to play the same note at the same time, unless it was an octave higher or lower. But the same note would mean a finger from each of them to be hitting the key simultaneously on a piano, possible with a double keyboard with each key set out exactly the same, and tuned to the same pitch. As to my knowledge no such piano exists. It couldn't happen, ever, never mind in a Mars week.' I look at Issy and ask him a question.

'Do you play the piano...?

' I play keyboards.'

'….An old world 20^th century upright?'

'No, but the principle must be the same.'

How can a man, supposed to be super inteligent be so so dumb about the advances in keyboard tecnics? I enlighten him.

'Unfortunately the future's strive for perfection in everything does not serve you well to achieve your aims, Issy. Keyboards have been improved until all the quirks and individuallity have been designed out. A 20^th century upright has it's own personality and idiosyncrasies. No two pianos are the same, especially the wrecks used in Fish Fry's. It is either the end of the Universe, or you have to come up with another plan. Two Fats Wallers at the same piano is a ridiculous idea anyway. What about Fats Waller and Fats Domino?'