Chapter 86

The room smells of fish. Fried fish, sweat, cigar smoke and cheap perfume. It is also humid. 95% per. The window is open and the rain falls in curtains of water lit by the flash of lightening and the neon sign across the street. The sign flashes red, green, white SODA - ICE CREAM – COLAS. A large negro wearing a brown derby hat and a red and white striped silk waistcoat sits at an upright piano. In his mouth is stogie. By the door stands a heavy set white man in a trench coat and trilby. He is smoking a Camel cigaret. On the other side of the door stands an equally large negro in a French style rain coat, long to his mid calves all buttons open. His hands are in his trouser pockets, a gun is tucked into his waistband, handle facing to his left. One is a cop. On the sofa sits a blonde roots showing mouse, white skirt rugged up to her waist, showing black panty hose. Her red blouse is open and knotted at the waist. By her side is the makings of her latest hit. Her manager, just of the boat from Cuba, sits by her side in an inch striped suit, grey on black, two tone shoes and a fedora. He is cleaning his nails with a flick knife. Down the hall are two more of his stable. From an adjacent room a hight roller game of craps is in progress. The piano player is the dead spit of Fats Waller, except for a small blemish just above his collar. Only his mother would know. On his wrist is a watch, that isn"t a watch. From his vantage point he can see all who arrive and leave the fish fry. Two yellows pull up and a body of tars from the sixth fleet get out and rush through the rain to the stoop. They bang up the stairs and fill the room. They hold bottles of gin and rum. Not rolling drunk yet but give them time.

"Hey look fellas Fats Waller. Play Honey Suckle Rose." Fats obliges and goes into his Uncle Sam routine, rolling his eyes and wiggling his eyebrows. The sailors love it and fill his glass with gin. The pimp leaves and comes back with his other two hookers, one black in thigh highs and a basque the other a red head in short beaded skirt and spangled top. Fats plays a horn pipe which quickly transforms in to a tango. The sailors dance with each other ignoring the hookers. The blond on the couch gets up and adjusts her clothing, she has the look of Veronica Lake about her. She breaks up one of the couples and dances close. The abandoned sailor steps in and pushes the other aside. Veronica's choice takes a swing at the incomer, misses and hits Veronica in the mouth. She spits blood over his tropicals, the pimp steps in and sticks the sailor in the cheek. It's his turn to spit blood. Bad move. The other sailors jump on the pimp with fists and boots. The man with the gun by the door, fires into the air, two bullets stick into the ceiling one bounces of the light fitting and lodges in Veronica's neck.

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The hospital room is the same, from the balcony Naples at night. The sky is black, lit by streaks of lightning. Veronica lies still as death with a dressing on her neck and more tubes than Mars Metro keeping her stable. The heart monitor blips a steady rhythm at 72 per. I watch her intently for signs of life. I still grip the roses I bought, real ones grown in soil. I am a regular now, the stiff backed nurse on reception waved me through and went back to her screen.

When Veronica went down, Fats hit the street, passing the paramedics on the stairs, then pressed the return button on his wristband. By the time I stood on the black spot and de-prossed from Fats to Joe, Veronica was in her private room, drips attached and mending. Medics can do anything now, but it still takes time for a body to heal. A bullet in the throat is the most serious injury Veronica has sustained in the pursuit of saving the Universe, in my opinion, but what do I know? I have on my Apple surroundsound headset and playing some cat from 20136 called Jamie Cullam IV good but not great. More easy listening for the elevator than ground breaking. But it suits my mood. The roses need water. I present myself at the doorway to the adjoining bathroom and the door obligingly slides open. I find a vase in the linen cupboard and arrange the flowers into a circle the stalks crossed under the water. That could win prizes. The walls are all mirrored so it is impossible the avoid my reflection. I look frazzled. I take the vase and place it on the table by the window.

"Roses, how lovely"

Her voice is low and croaky. But the sound of it is better music than all my tracks on itunes. Veronica puts out her hand and I hold it. It feels cold. She catches my mood.

"Don"t worry Joe I wont peg out on you, we have unfinished business."