The
room smells of fish. It is raining. The window is closed but the room
is hot and airless. Water runs down the panes inside and out. A large
black man sits at an upright piano. He is wearing a brown derby hat
and a silk striped waistcoat. He drinks from a large jug of rye then
places it carefully back onto the piano top. A very fat woman in a
flowered pinafore enters the room from the kitchen carrying a platter
of fried catfish. She places it onto a table by the wall above which
hangs a sign which says
FISH FRY
FISH $1
WHISKEY 50c
By the door stands a heavy set white guy in a trench coat and trilby hat. He takes out a zippo and lights up a Marlborough. The flame illuminates his face showing a scar from mouth to ear. On the sofa sits a blonde with tight bangs and red lipstick. Her skirt has slipped up to her thighs showing a garter belt. One shoe is on the other off. Maybe she is drunk or high. Next to her stands an elegant Dude in tailored three piece and highly polished black shoes. There is a bulge under his left arm. He is a high yellow with a thin Errol Flynn moustache and gold ring on his third finger. His film star looks are lit by the single bulb hanging from a centre rose and the flashing neon from the drug store opposite. The piano player is just doodling not playing any particular tune. The street is awash with water the rain is incessant. A black and white pulls up to the pavement and two bulls and a woman dodge the rain to get into the building. The first bull is large and red haired, the second is large and wearing a pork pie hat. They drip water up the stairs. The woman, the dead spit of Veronica Lake, removes her oilskins, hangs them over the banister then follows them in to the room.The guy by the door pushes his hat back and greets the bulls.
“Hey Doil thought you were on the dog shift.”
“Miss Lake here wanted to see some action so I've been seconded.”
“Gee are you THE Miss Lake?”
“Sure am buster.”
“What kinda action you looking for?”
“A little excitement it gets kinda dull making movies.”
The elegant Dude in the suit grabs Veronica by the arm.
“Care to dance. Hey Fats up the tempo, Tango per favore.”
Fats obliges and they dance close and passionate. Doil watches and takes a piece of fish.
“That'll be $1 mister, no exceptions”, says the cook. Doil takes out his shield.
“I said no exceptions, if you were the President hisself, I'd say the same.” Doil replaces his shield with a dime note. The cook takes it and put it down her dress.
“You can have five pieces.”
Doil laughs and asks for three shots of rye. She hands him a half full bottle.
“That should cover it.”
Doil hands the bottle to Getz, then takes a pull himself.
“Man this weather will be the death.” He walks over to the window and draws a gun in the mist. Fats comes to a crescendo. The Dude bends forward and drapes Veronica over his knee, then pulls her up close eyeball to eyeball. She pushes him away and goes into the back room where a no holds barred game of five stud is in progress. She pulls back an empty chair and sits in. The radio in this room blares out solid dance band music heedless of Fats's playing.The doll on the sofa gets agitated and mouths off at the Dude, he smacks her across the kisser with the back of his hand. Blood spurts from her nose and splash's his shoes. Now he is really mad and takes out a flick knife and swipes in the air close to her cheek. Doil pulls out his piece and pistol whips him. He drops to the floor and stays still. The doll bends over the Dude bloodying his suit. Doil kicks him in the crutch. The doll goes for Doil screaming in his face.
“Sonofabitch”
Doil holds her arms aloft as she tries to kick him. Getz and scarface grab her around the waist and lift her off her feet, then throw her down the stairs. It's not her day. Veronica walks back into the room followed by a news flash on the radio, she is counting a wad of C notes.
“Not bad for the first hand. Give me a drink. Got any gin.” The cook hands her a tumbler of clear liquid. She downs it in one.
“Best bath tub.” says the cook and cackles back to the kitchen. Veronica choke's on the stuff and wipes her tears with a silk scarf. Fats plays Gin House Blues, and rolls his eyes. There is a sudden commotion from the back room. A sailor in full kit shouts out.
“The fucking Japs have bombed Pearl Harbour.”
The Dude stir's takes out his saturday night special and aims unsteadily at Doil. He fires twice. Veronica drops to the floor with two neat red holes in her back.
“Keep playing Fats”, says Doil. “You know the drill.”
***************
FISH FRY
FISH $1
WHISKEY 50c
By the door stands a heavy set white guy in a trench coat and trilby hat. He takes out a zippo and lights up a Marlborough. The flame illuminates his face showing a scar from mouth to ear. On the sofa sits a blonde with tight bangs and red lipstick. Her skirt has slipped up to her thighs showing a garter belt. One shoe is on the other off. Maybe she is drunk or high. Next to her stands an elegant Dude in tailored three piece and highly polished black shoes. There is a bulge under his left arm. He is a high yellow with a thin Errol Flynn moustache and gold ring on his third finger. His film star looks are lit by the single bulb hanging from a centre rose and the flashing neon from the drug store opposite. The piano player is just doodling not playing any particular tune. The street is awash with water the rain is incessant. A black and white pulls up to the pavement and two bulls and a woman dodge the rain to get into the building. The first bull is large and red haired, the second is large and wearing a pork pie hat. They drip water up the stairs. The woman, the dead spit of Veronica Lake, removes her oilskins, hangs them over the banister then follows them in to the room.The guy by the door pushes his hat back and greets the bulls.
“Hey Doil thought you were on the dog shift.”
“Miss Lake here wanted to see some action so I've been seconded.”
“Gee are you THE Miss Lake?”
“Sure am buster.”
“What kinda action you looking for?”
“A little excitement it gets kinda dull making movies.”
The elegant Dude in the suit grabs Veronica by the arm.
“Care to dance. Hey Fats up the tempo, Tango per favore.”
Fats obliges and they dance close and passionate. Doil watches and takes a piece of fish.
“That'll be $1 mister, no exceptions”, says the cook. Doil takes out his shield.
“I said no exceptions, if you were the President hisself, I'd say the same.” Doil replaces his shield with a dime note. The cook takes it and put it down her dress.
“You can have five pieces.”
Doil laughs and asks for three shots of rye. She hands him a half full bottle.
“That should cover it.”
Doil hands the bottle to Getz, then takes a pull himself.
“Man this weather will be the death.” He walks over to the window and draws a gun in the mist. Fats comes to a crescendo. The Dude bends forward and drapes Veronica over his knee, then pulls her up close eyeball to eyeball. She pushes him away and goes into the back room where a no holds barred game of five stud is in progress. She pulls back an empty chair and sits in. The radio in this room blares out solid dance band music heedless of Fats's playing.The doll on the sofa gets agitated and mouths off at the Dude, he smacks her across the kisser with the back of his hand. Blood spurts from her nose and splash's his shoes. Now he is really mad and takes out a flick knife and swipes in the air close to her cheek. Doil pulls out his piece and pistol whips him. He drops to the floor and stays still. The doll bends over the Dude bloodying his suit. Doil kicks him in the crutch. The doll goes for Doil screaming in his face.
“Sonofabitch”
Doil holds her arms aloft as she tries to kick him. Getz and scarface grab her around the waist and lift her off her feet, then throw her down the stairs. It's not her day. Veronica walks back into the room followed by a news flash on the radio, she is counting a wad of C notes.
“Not bad for the first hand. Give me a drink. Got any gin.” The cook hands her a tumbler of clear liquid. She downs it in one.
“Best bath tub.” says the cook and cackles back to the kitchen. Veronica choke's on the stuff and wipes her tears with a silk scarf. Fats plays Gin House Blues, and rolls his eyes. There is a sudden commotion from the back room. A sailor in full kit shouts out.
“The fucking Japs have bombed Pearl Harbour.”
The Dude stir's takes out his saturday night special and aims unsteadily at Doil. He fires twice. Veronica drops to the floor with two neat red holes in her back.
“Keep playing Fats”, says Doil. “You know the drill.”
***************
Boy
do I know the drill how many times has V been shot knifed or glassed.
I've lost count. As usual the para's were on the scene before V hit
the deck. New York is in chaos, the pride of the navy is lying sunk
in Hawaii. Anyone slightly yellow or slanty eyed is being cursed or
worse. I head up town to the cat house on 116th. My home
from home when prossed as Fats. I stink of fish, but as Fats I am
recognised, and hugged and kissed by any passing cat in a zoot suit.
I finally reach the corner of 116th and Third, within
reach of my destination when I am grabbed and pushed in to the back
of a black and white. Doil is in the back and Getz upfront riding
shot, scarface at the wheel. We all stink of fish it's like Fulton
fish market in here.
“What now Doil I've done my bit.”
“Button it Fats we've had a message from the IGBI that we were as close as we ever were to the butterfly moment today. They want us to repeat the performance.”
“What about Veronica?”
“We are time travellers she will be patched up in the future and sent back.”
“ Some fucking life. Can we repeat it some other time I'm fair tuckered out, or better still get the real Fats to do it. Maybe that is why it is going wrong. Ersatz Fats ergo no butterfly.”
“Let me slug him.” says Getz. “ Fucking mouthy prick.”
“ Arn't you supposed to be dead, the first time you were shot and dumped in the river.” Scarface turns to me.
“Let's all slug him.”
I am just about to prove a truism, that all fat people are light on their feet. I open the door and head for the cat house. It has taken them all by surprise and I make it pretty dam quick. I rush up the stairs and lock myself in Big Sal's room.
I hear raised voices as my three pursuers follow me in.
“He went out the back says the Madame into the alley.”
I sit on the bed with it's familiar smell, of perfume and bodies, and me smelling of fried fish, the room is not for the faint hearted. There is a light knocking on the door. “Fats it's me Sal, the cops have gone let me in.” I get off the bed and open the door. Sal is pushed aside and Doil grabs me by the wrists and cuffs me. Sal gives me a what could I do look.
“OK wise guy, get moving and no funny business or I'll take away your watch.” He means my bracelet, my ticket back to my own time. I give Sal a Fats eye roll and eyebrow wriggle to show there is no hard feelings and get pushed back down the stairs.
*****************
The detectives room of the 5th precinct with it's familiar smell of tobacco smoke sweat and cheap aftershave gives me the willies. Nothing good has ever come from a visit here. In the twentieth century smells evoke the place. In my time, all smells are eliminated at source and substituted by personal preference in apartments and general inoffensive odours in public places. I am still cuffed as Doil has better things to do than watch me 24/7. I still have the key I used last time, but decide against a Houdini act until I have a better exit. I can still reach the return button on my wrist band, but it is turned off. So I'm stuck. Doil comes back from whatever was so important and puts his foot up on the desk next to me. His size 13s catching the light from the desk lamp as does the butt of the derringer strapped to his ankle. The other bulls in the room are all either typing up reports or chewing the fat. Doil hauls me up out of the chair and takes me to interview room 1.
“This won't take long.” he pauses to adjust his shoulder holster. Getz is guarding the door, scareface behind me. I have a strange feeling of calm. I expect a beating, but Doil just hands me a piece of paper on which is an address in the Bowry.
“The next venue, date to be advised, so git.”
“What now Doil I've done my bit.”
“Button it Fats we've had a message from the IGBI that we were as close as we ever were to the butterfly moment today. They want us to repeat the performance.”
“What about Veronica?”
“We are time travellers she will be patched up in the future and sent back.”
“ Some fucking life. Can we repeat it some other time I'm fair tuckered out, or better still get the real Fats to do it. Maybe that is why it is going wrong. Ersatz Fats ergo no butterfly.”
“Let me slug him.” says Getz. “ Fucking mouthy prick.”
“ Arn't you supposed to be dead, the first time you were shot and dumped in the river.” Scarface turns to me.
“Let's all slug him.”
I am just about to prove a truism, that all fat people are light on their feet. I open the door and head for the cat house. It has taken them all by surprise and I make it pretty dam quick. I rush up the stairs and lock myself in Big Sal's room.
I hear raised voices as my three pursuers follow me in.
“He went out the back says the Madame into the alley.”
I sit on the bed with it's familiar smell, of perfume and bodies, and me smelling of fried fish, the room is not for the faint hearted. There is a light knocking on the door. “Fats it's me Sal, the cops have gone let me in.” I get off the bed and open the door. Sal is pushed aside and Doil grabs me by the wrists and cuffs me. Sal gives me a what could I do look.
“OK wise guy, get moving and no funny business or I'll take away your watch.” He means my bracelet, my ticket back to my own time. I give Sal a Fats eye roll and eyebrow wriggle to show there is no hard feelings and get pushed back down the stairs.
*****************
The detectives room of the 5th precinct with it's familiar smell of tobacco smoke sweat and cheap aftershave gives me the willies. Nothing good has ever come from a visit here. In the twentieth century smells evoke the place. In my time, all smells are eliminated at source and substituted by personal preference in apartments and general inoffensive odours in public places. I am still cuffed as Doil has better things to do than watch me 24/7. I still have the key I used last time, but decide against a Houdini act until I have a better exit. I can still reach the return button on my wrist band, but it is turned off. So I'm stuck. Doil comes back from whatever was so important and puts his foot up on the desk next to me. His size 13s catching the light from the desk lamp as does the butt of the derringer strapped to his ankle. The other bulls in the room are all either typing up reports or chewing the fat. Doil hauls me up out of the chair and takes me to interview room 1.
“This won't take long.” he pauses to adjust his shoulder holster. Getz is guarding the door, scareface behind me. I have a strange feeling of calm. I expect a beating, but Doil just hands me a piece of paper on which is an address in the Bowry.
“The next venue, date to be advised, so git.”
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