Chapter 76

There are many ways of disposing of a body. Most of them illegal. My first idea is to buy a wheelchair, wheel the body to the nearest MVD and accompany it to the Ice Planet. Once there put it outside in the -250 deg.C. frost, and shatter it with a hammer. However Brian has used his brain for once and called the undertaker. Poor uncle Sid has just dropped dead on leave from the Navy, and needed a decent send off. We had a great wake with all my music buddies present and a few girls from Zeno’s stable. Brian was in his element dispensing his lethal cocktails until all present were comatose. I awake ten hours later needing the 3 S’s. Brian is whistling. The apartment is cleaned to within an inch of it’s life and the smell of newly percolated coffee has replaced the smell of death. Brian has been busy with his little army of cleaners whilst I slept.

It’s unusual for me, but I have nothing on the agenda. No gigs in the diary, so what to do?

I could vid. around but I’m not desperate. A leisurely soak at the Russian baths followed by a stroll around Hyde Park, an exact copy of the one bombed to oblivion, in the UK war of succession, will take the cobwebs away. 
The Russian baths are like the Turkish baths only the massage staff are ex female tank commanders, with forearms like Popeye’s and fingers of steel. Not a pummeling for the faint hearted. There is one in particular with a face of an angel and a body of a Valkyrie, she is always fully booked up, usually by the Judiciary. I pay the Babuska on the door and pick locker number 13. I am not superstitious but I always pick number 13. Why? Because I like the 13^th scale. Play a number say and it’s just the same old, same old, then drop in a 13^th and everyone’s ears prick up.

The building has high walls without windows. They are covered to the ceiling with white brick sized ceramic tiles. Light comes from the ceiling through a skylight spanning the whole area. With my towel firmly tied over my crown jewels I step into the hot room. The heat hits me like a physical barrier. It is dry and intense. I sit down on a raised tiered platform that runs around the room. I am the only one in here so I don’t have to pick my spot. The tiles are too hot to touch, so I spread my towel over the surface to protect me from 3^rd degree burns and lie down. I have only been there for a few minuets when my name is called.

‘Will Mr Joe Coolz go to reception.’

Now what? I wrap myself up again and go the reception which by contrast is freezing.

The Babuska on the desk asks me if I’m Joe Coolz. I nod between chattering teeth.

‘We have just had a message that your apartment is on fire.’

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Not only is it on fire but blown apart. Not a thing left. Piano, crib, duds, gone. Oh except for one thing, by some miracle the blast has left Brian intact. When I bought him they said he was bomb proof. I thought they meant he wouldn’t break down, but now I know he is literally bomb proof.

The fire chief is standing in the blackened room quizzing Brian. I catch his eye and tell him that I am the owner and he should be asking me any questions.

‘With all due respect, Sir, you were out, and as the computer is pre owned with his memory banks wiped the bomb thrower could have been after him, just incase a few memories remain. It has happened before to apartments with used computers, there may be a pattern.

‘I tell you what, I’ll go back to the bath house, call me when you’re through. And Brian get this mess cleared up.’