Chapter 85

Phew it's a laugh a minute back in 1935. New York in 40037 is a tamed animal. It is a utopia. Of course only the elite live there, looked after by humanoids and robots. I"ve only been once to play at The Village Vanguard at that time, as a piano player from the 30555 era called Harvey Wallenburge. Not really my bag but it paid the bills. Now I"m on the payroll of a mob boss. It is kinda exciting, especially as I have a get out card, my trusty wrist band. I run a bath and play some arpeggios in my head whist I soak. I fully expect the Madame Victoria to make an appearance but I am left in solitude. I suppose she has to spend some time with her husband. I have two round bruises on my chest where the goon prodded me backwards with my colt. The colt is resting silently on top of my clothes, within reach, on the bathroom stool. I lean over and take it to hand. I read the inscription on the stock. "NYPD issue 0612. Nice. A knock off. I point it down the bath and take a bead on my my big toe, my finger tenses on the trigger. It is tempting.

There is a rustling behind the door, so I swing it to the left and take aim dead centre. Madame Victoria comes in holding clean towels.

"Don"t shoot Monsieur, I will do anysing."

I bet she would too.

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

Whichever way I turn I am involved now. As me Joe Coolz resident of Mars 400037, 1000 Red Sea Boulevard apt 93a now living on Earth in 1935, I am on the books of The Man, detailed to spy on Saul Brown proprietor of the Cat House on 203 E 116^th St. and probably a Harvard graduate in Law working for the Mayors office, but still not proven. Then as me again but prossed up as an ersatz Fats Waller working for the IGBI, I am the saviour of the Universe. And as said Fats Waller as a spy for The Man too, because I play piano as both people in the Cat House, not to mention that I also play the Stork Club. But Saul thinks I am on his side and has given me a gun. The Man wants some or all of the action in Harlem and Saul won"t let go. So is it more fun to be me or Fats? These thoughts are keeping me awake when I should be resting, saving my energy, for whatever the night throws at me. They say that a man thinks of sex every three minutes, well my thoughts are far from it. My thoughts about Veronica don"t involve sex. After our private un-bugged conversation in the carriage they involve what is she cooking up next, and how can she keep her suspicions to just us. Why of all the people she must know in the IGBI she should confide in me Mars knows. Surely not everyone in that organisation can"t be trusted.

Smith and Doil seem to be part of her gang, Doil especially is always on hand to call the paramedics when she is hurt. Getz too. I feel my brain is about to explode, so I pop a zoomer. Yes I know I should have left them on Mars, bringing things in from the future is carefully vetted. The WMD should have spotted them. But when you have a girlfriend who works the thing...nuf said.

It is now mid day and I have slept fitfully for a few hours, I might as well get up as lie here looking at the ceiling. There is not much jump and jiving going on at this time of day so maybe I should take in the sights. Bessie Smith is appearing at the Appollo Theatre, I could head for that. The dilemma for the moment is whether to strap on the colt or go unprotected. In my opinion guns of any description only lead to trouble. I wander over to the Diner and pick up a Tribune on the way. I look in the entertainments column and search out where Fats is playing. He is back at the Reno Club on fifth. I order ham and eggs and hash browns. The Diner is quiet with a couple of street cleaners on the stools. My grease arrives pronto, I stab the eggs and dip in the ham. I am down to the last piece and wiping it around the plate when Doil slips into the seat facing. This is a downer. Doil always spells trouble. He waves over the waitress and orders a coffee and doughnut.

"Mind if I join you?" Rhetorical to say the least.

"As if I had a choice."

"Time is slipping away, the impending demise of the Universe is nigh." He sounds like an Old Testament Prophet.

"Who gives a fuck?" Only the gooks in the IGBI, I am beginning to think it is all a blind, something else is going on."

Doil laughs.

"When the Universe ends all is gone. Past present future, snuffed out. Do you want that? Big Sal, gone. Red Mcgee, gone. Zeno, gone. Veronica, gone. Joe Coolz, gone.

"If I do another Fish Fry, will it be as me or Fats."

"It has to be Fats. Fats is the key."

"Then why not use him, not me prossed up as him?"

"If only it was that simple. We could use him as you say, but if he gets shot and the right combination of notes have not been played, then that is the end. If he is dead then it would mean, the notes could never be played, because..?"

"He is dead." I say

"Right."

'so I have to do it."

"Right again. We have to keep the real Fats alive."

"What if I get shot?"

"Tough."