The
IGBI have a sonic bomb which they throw into somewhere and it
destroys all electronic devices including bugs. So my apartment is
now free of these listening devices. Brian was given a sonic shield
to protect him from the effects, more is the pity, and is functioning
as normal. Veronica is lying next to me on my lava bed, not to every
ones taste as it can provoke nausea, and she has a plan for me. The
cloned Fats that I sent in my place took his job too seriously and
raised hell in a few gin joints, and had to be decommissioned. The
cops have the bemused real Fats in the Pokey, and all is not well
with the IGBI world. They are going to spring him and put him into
suspended animation as I take his place.
**************
The room smells of fish. Fried fish, cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. A ginger haired bull with a lived in face stands by the door, hands in his trouser pockets with his trench coat pushed back behind his arms. His tie is pulled down with his top shirt button open. It is hot in the room, ninety percent humidity. On the couch sits a woman with dirty blonde hair and red nails. One arm dangles down over the arm rest, her legs are open, one shoe on one shoe off, her skirt is ruffed up showing french nickers, her legs are bare, her best feature. By her side stands a large black man in a tailored three piece, black highly polished shoes and a trilby hat. He is smoking a cheroot. By the open window is a piano at which sits Fats wearing his public uniform of shirt, wide tie, waistcoat and Derby hat. In the back of his neck, quite close to his third vertebra, is a small scalpel scar which is the slot for his Waller chip. The rain falls in waves , turning the pavement to deep rivers of water and trash. He is lit by the flashing neon sign above the drug store across the street, red green white, red green white. The fish is dispensed from a trestle table by the kitchen door, by a fat woman in a tied head scarf and flowered apron , who may or may not be a spy for the IGIA. In fact all the people in the room may be spies for one agency or another. The IGIA, IGBI, IGRS, IGTA, IGDIA. Along the hall is a room full of hookers catering for all tastes. The fleet is in and it's time to turn a trick. Some sailors are already here playing craps in the back room, they are in high spirits, pushing and nudging their opo. The black guy pulls the blond upright and tells her it is time to go to work. She rises straightens her skirt, puts on some lipstick and heads for the back room. The sailors ignore her, just shooting craps. She crouches astride over the dice palms them and throws a seven. The sailors look at each other not sure if she used her hand or something else. 'Did you see that?' She smiles serenely and goes back to the couch. What they didn't know is that this was a switch. The dice are now loaded. A bold sailor comes over and asks her to roll some more. She refuses and her pimp says if he wants more he must pay, and says, if she can do that with the dice think what she can do with his schlong. He needs no more encouragement and she leads him to the room down the hall. She is replaced by a high yellow. The night is warming up. Detective first class Doil arrives with a Veronica Lake look-a-like. He is dripping wet from the storm, but she has just a few spots of water on her shoes. He takes off his storm coat and his hat and hangs them over the banister. His police special is revealed as he does so, in a well worn shoulder holster. The noise is rising from the back room with shouts that the dice must be loaded. A fight breaks out which Doil and the Ginger cop break up. Doil asks for the dice and a skinny sailor with his hat pushed back hands them to him. Doil rolls them a few times, one always comes up seven.
'These yours?'
'Nope.'
**************
The room smells of fish. Fried fish, cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. A ginger haired bull with a lived in face stands by the door, hands in his trouser pockets with his trench coat pushed back behind his arms. His tie is pulled down with his top shirt button open. It is hot in the room, ninety percent humidity. On the couch sits a woman with dirty blonde hair and red nails. One arm dangles down over the arm rest, her legs are open, one shoe on one shoe off, her skirt is ruffed up showing french nickers, her legs are bare, her best feature. By her side stands a large black man in a tailored three piece, black highly polished shoes and a trilby hat. He is smoking a cheroot. By the open window is a piano at which sits Fats wearing his public uniform of shirt, wide tie, waistcoat and Derby hat. In the back of his neck, quite close to his third vertebra, is a small scalpel scar which is the slot for his Waller chip. The rain falls in waves , turning the pavement to deep rivers of water and trash. He is lit by the flashing neon sign above the drug store across the street, red green white, red green white. The fish is dispensed from a trestle table by the kitchen door, by a fat woman in a tied head scarf and flowered apron , who may or may not be a spy for the IGIA. In fact all the people in the room may be spies for one agency or another. The IGIA, IGBI, IGRS, IGTA, IGDIA. Along the hall is a room full of hookers catering for all tastes. The fleet is in and it's time to turn a trick. Some sailors are already here playing craps in the back room, they are in high spirits, pushing and nudging their opo. The black guy pulls the blond upright and tells her it is time to go to work. She rises straightens her skirt, puts on some lipstick and heads for the back room. The sailors ignore her, just shooting craps. She crouches astride over the dice palms them and throws a seven. The sailors look at each other not sure if she used her hand or something else. 'Did you see that?' She smiles serenely and goes back to the couch. What they didn't know is that this was a switch. The dice are now loaded. A bold sailor comes over and asks her to roll some more. She refuses and her pimp says if he wants more he must pay, and says, if she can do that with the dice think what she can do with his schlong. He needs no more encouragement and she leads him to the room down the hall. She is replaced by a high yellow. The night is warming up. Detective first class Doil arrives with a Veronica Lake look-a-like. He is dripping wet from the storm, but she has just a few spots of water on her shoes. He takes off his storm coat and his hat and hangs them over the banister. His police special is revealed as he does so, in a well worn shoulder holster. The noise is rising from the back room with shouts that the dice must be loaded. A fight breaks out which Doil and the Ginger cop break up. Doil asks for the dice and a skinny sailor with his hat pushed back hands them to him. Doil rolls them a few times, one always comes up seven.
'These yours?'
'Nope.'
'They
smell fishy. I'll keep them', He reaches into his pocket and hands
them two new dice.
'5th precinct vetted, play nicely.' This has spoiled the pimps plans for a high roller game with him at the advantage. He sends the high yellow to do some business, if the sailors don't come across he will be out of pocket. Veronica lights up a cigarette and walks over to Fats, she takes the jug from the piano top.
'May I?' Fats gives her the OK and she tips the jug up and takes a long pull.
'I like a man who know his whiskey, no burn just warmth.'
'Best Speyside,' Fats starts playing the Blue Bells of Scotland to a stride beat. Veronica takes another pull.
'I owe yah.' Fats roles his eyes and wiggles his eyebrows, still playing the clown to hide his talent. The cook comes out with more fried catfish. Veronica eyeballs her, trying to fathom out if she is the real thing or an IGIA agent. There's a flash of lightning turning everything to black and white and as colour returns a pool of blood is forming under Veronica's foot. She slumps to the ground, a red stain growing on her belly. Doil slams the door shut and takes out his gun.
'Nobody move.'
The paramedics,on the scene immediately, put Veronica on a gurney , the blue flash of lights from service vehicles fill the room. Uniforms arrive in rain capes and round everybody up. Pimp, hookers, fish fryer sailors, Fats, are all herded into meat wagons.
Doil, says 'fuck', to the empty room.
'5th precinct vetted, play nicely.' This has spoiled the pimps plans for a high roller game with him at the advantage. He sends the high yellow to do some business, if the sailors don't come across he will be out of pocket. Veronica lights up a cigarette and walks over to Fats, she takes the jug from the piano top.
'May I?' Fats gives her the OK and she tips the jug up and takes a long pull.
'I like a man who know his whiskey, no burn just warmth.'
'Best Speyside,' Fats starts playing the Blue Bells of Scotland to a stride beat. Veronica takes another pull.
'I owe yah.' Fats roles his eyes and wiggles his eyebrows, still playing the clown to hide his talent. The cook comes out with more fried catfish. Veronica eyeballs her, trying to fathom out if she is the real thing or an IGIA agent. There's a flash of lightning turning everything to black and white and as colour returns a pool of blood is forming under Veronica's foot. She slumps to the ground, a red stain growing on her belly. Doil slams the door shut and takes out his gun.
'Nobody move.'
The paramedics,on the scene immediately, put Veronica on a gurney , the blue flash of lights from service vehicles fill the room. Uniforms arrive in rain capes and round everybody up. Pimp, hookers, fish fryer sailors, Fats, are all herded into meat wagons.
Doil, says 'fuck', to the empty room.
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