Chapter 64

Yes you are right I don’t have anyone else but myself to blame. How I thought I could time travel to New York in the 1930’s without any repercussions, especially as I have been here before prossed up as Fats Waller, with IGBI on my tail and a Bull who knows how I really look throws my mind into a red funk. The cuffs anchoring me to the banister are a reminder of how things can go very wrong. Any minute now Doil will come down the stairs and recognize me as Joe Coolz interloper and man out of time. I tug on the cuffs hoping for a quick release only to nearly pull my hand off. And me a piano player. But there is movement in the spindle. I place my free hand around the turnings and push upwards. It pops out of its bottom hole. Without stopping to say goodbye I run down the stairs into the pouring rain, the spindle in one hand and the cuffs in the other. The uniforms in the squad car eyeball me but I fool them with my “Singing in the rain” impression as I splash down the gutter twirling the spindle. At the corner I turn and salute them, and drop into the subway.