'Well
what do you expect?' I say to Doil. We are in his squad car. I am in
the back with Getz, Doil sits next to the driver, a uniform, with a
thick neck and acne scars. Another IGBI agent. The windows are
steamed up and the car smells of stale cigarettes, whiskey breath and
manliness. Doil ignores my question, and winds down the window to
toss a butt into the gutter. The rain has eased to a steady downpour
and hits the roof of the Buick with fingered prods. I sigh. Doils
turns around and gives me a don't sigh at me look and tells the
uniform to drive on. It's about four a.m. And incongruously a water
cart passes us on the other side spraying the side walk. 'I could eat
a fucking horse' says Doil. He tells the uniform to swing a U-turn
and head for Haarlem. 'There's a good one on 3rd and 116.' Wait a mo,
that's my Diner.
'I hope you've got the true Fats under lock and key,' I say, 'As he will get a big surprise when I walk in.' Doil instructs Getz to contact IGBI, and find out where the true Fats is at. 'Not a problem.' says Getz. 'Put him on ice myself. Sleeping like a baby.'
'And another thing,' I say. 'What about Fats's reputation, he can't be seen with the Bulls from the 5th. Not unless he is cuffed.'
'If you insist.' says Getz and cuffs me up. Me and my big mouth.
****************
The streets of Haarlem smell fresh and clean after the downpour. I have walked the block or two to the East river and looked back. A full half circle rainbow hugs the City and as the storm drifts west it slowly fades. I am still prossed up as Fats and the Cat House awaits, but I feel fresh and breakfasted well, so a little past prandial promenarding is very welcome. The warehouses along the waterfront are opening their doors for business, people forget that New York is a major port, not just Music and booze. It has a bustle and energy and the opportunities from rags to riches are numerous. Some do it by hard work and long days, some do it the other way. I've walked for some time and come to Max's bar on Fulton Street. It is open for business so I pop in for a beer. Sitting at the bar is Jenny. Not in her airboard outfit but dressed as a flapper out for a pick me up.
I pretend I don't recognise her. After all why would I? I take my beer to a booth by the window and watch the stevadors. Finally she comes over.
'So ignore me why don't you?
'Have we met?'
'In the future.'
'What do you want?'
'I want information.'
She looks good in her bead dress and silk stockings, her long toned airboard legs have a sheen to them that attracts the eye. She stretches one out and rests it on my thigh.
'I hope you've got the true Fats under lock and key,' I say, 'As he will get a big surprise when I walk in.' Doil instructs Getz to contact IGBI, and find out where the true Fats is at. 'Not a problem.' says Getz. 'Put him on ice myself. Sleeping like a baby.'
'And another thing,' I say. 'What about Fats's reputation, he can't be seen with the Bulls from the 5th. Not unless he is cuffed.'
'If you insist.' says Getz and cuffs me up. Me and my big mouth.
****************
The streets of Haarlem smell fresh and clean after the downpour. I have walked the block or two to the East river and looked back. A full half circle rainbow hugs the City and as the storm drifts west it slowly fades. I am still prossed up as Fats and the Cat House awaits, but I feel fresh and breakfasted well, so a little past prandial promenarding is very welcome. The warehouses along the waterfront are opening their doors for business, people forget that New York is a major port, not just Music and booze. It has a bustle and energy and the opportunities from rags to riches are numerous. Some do it by hard work and long days, some do it the other way. I've walked for some time and come to Max's bar on Fulton Street. It is open for business so I pop in for a beer. Sitting at the bar is Jenny. Not in her airboard outfit but dressed as a flapper out for a pick me up.
I pretend I don't recognise her. After all why would I? I take my beer to a booth by the window and watch the stevadors. Finally she comes over.
'So ignore me why don't you?
'Have we met?'
'In the future.'
'What do you want?'
'I want information.'
She looks good in her bead dress and silk stockings, her long toned airboard legs have a sheen to them that attracts the eye. She stretches one out and rests it on my thigh.
I
ask a question that has been bugging me. 'The IGBI and the IGIA are
both agencies of the Inter Galactic Coalition, so why don't they talk
to each other?'
She shrugs. ' They do at government level, but both of us have a brief to not trust anyone, not even each other. The idea that the end of the Universe can be averted by Fats Waller playing a certain sequence of notes at a certain time in the 20th century, is if you think about it, pretty far fetched. It's been worked out by the techies at IGBI central, but one of them might have an ulterior motive to take over a few planets in the panic, when the end is nigh. Then hey presto the crisis is averted and he's in the money.'
'Now that is pretty far fetched. I thought the IGIA had eyes and ears everywhere.'
'If people paid their taxes we would have all the funds we needed to bug the Universe. But they don't and it is cheaper to recruit informers.'
'I don't know any techies and I'm no nark.'
'We all have our price and your price is me. Or should I say me and your life.'
'Let me get this straight. If I don't become your informant, you will kill me.'
'And you get to a good lay out of it if you do.'
'I do all right in the sac as it is.'
She suddenly looks dangerous, beautiful but dangerous.
'I'm not into necrophilia but then if you're dead you wouldn't know who was sucking your dick.'
This is getting weird. I could do as she asks and report to Doil and Doil can tell me what to say. Or I can accept her offer and just report to her. Or I can do neither and die. As beautiful as she is I think she is mad. She needs wiping clean and re-educating. I decide to call her bluff.
'So kill me.'
She shrugs. ' They do at government level, but both of us have a brief to not trust anyone, not even each other. The idea that the end of the Universe can be averted by Fats Waller playing a certain sequence of notes at a certain time in the 20th century, is if you think about it, pretty far fetched. It's been worked out by the techies at IGBI central, but one of them might have an ulterior motive to take over a few planets in the panic, when the end is nigh. Then hey presto the crisis is averted and he's in the money.'
'Now that is pretty far fetched. I thought the IGIA had eyes and ears everywhere.'
'If people paid their taxes we would have all the funds we needed to bug the Universe. But they don't and it is cheaper to recruit informers.'
'I don't know any techies and I'm no nark.'
'We all have our price and your price is me. Or should I say me and your life.'
'Let me get this straight. If I don't become your informant, you will kill me.'
'And you get to a good lay out of it if you do.'
'I do all right in the sac as it is.'
She suddenly looks dangerous, beautiful but dangerous.
'I'm not into necrophilia but then if you're dead you wouldn't know who was sucking your dick.'
This is getting weird. I could do as she asks and report to Doil and Doil can tell me what to say. Or I can accept her offer and just report to her. Or I can do neither and die. As beautiful as she is I think she is mad. She needs wiping clean and re-educating. I decide to call her bluff.
'So kill me.'
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