Chapter 115

Headquarters turn out to be a satellite orbiting Jupiter. I am still prossed up as Fats, but he is turned down to an aura, to let myself shine through. Seated around the table is Doil, Smith, Veronica and Jenny Wizz. Next to her is a very tall very thin man with a beard down to his waist and his hair in a pony tail, and next to him a rotund woman with masses of jet black curly hair. They have label badges which read respectively Issy Fink and Rachel Fink. I've heard of the Finks, they are the Galaxy 4 dimensional chess doubles champions.
The room is dark as we have just watched all my Fish Fry gigs in miniature holographics.
When the lights go up we are joined by a ten star general in full dress uniform. He is introduced as General B. All, joint commander of the home fleet and head of the Galactic Council. He speaks first.
'The Finks are here because of their spatial awareness, we want them to assess all the Fish Frys and see where we can improve our chances of playing the right notes. The back room boys have hit a blank. The only thing they are certain off is that only Fats Waller can do the sequence. Mr Coolz prossed as Fats may already have hit the sequence but not at the exact time nor the exact co-ordinates. It is time to stop the wounding of agent Lake, and it is time that the IGBI and the IGIA stopped spying on each other and started to save the Universe.' He sits down and hands the speaking baton to Issy Fink who proceeds to tell us how he will tackle the problem.
'My sister and I will have to view the Fish Frys many times to set the sequence of events and the variants in our minds. Then we will shuffle the pieces around like a game of 4 D chess. Each participant in the settings will have an infinite variation of positions and moves. We will discard anything superfluous and arrive at a simplified scene, with each participant as a chess piece, then we shall play a game, using them and end up with a time place and a course of action. Simple.'
'How long will this take?' asks Doil.
Fink shrugs. 'I don't know.'
Let's hope it's a few weeks. I could do with some time as myself.
************
I'm on the black spot in the WMD and one of the McGee twins is at the console, don't move she says, something doesn't add up. I look down at myself and feel for all the vital parts. Everything seems OK to me. Everything in it's place. But Red is shaking her head.
'Are you Georgia or Texas, I can't tell you apart?'
'Georgia, and be quiet this is serious.'
I have a feel around again. Nope can't see anything wrong.
'The dials say you have just materialised from somewhere in the outer solar system, but you were on Earth, right?'
'Yup good old Earth circa 1935.'
'These dials don't lie you were not on Earth.'
'But you sent me there.'
'I know that is what is so odd. Somewhere down the line you have been diverted to somewhere that is an Earth clone.'
'This is wind up isn't it?'
'Would you mind indulging me, you won't feel a thing. I am going to send you back to these co -ordinates, then bring you back after, what to you will seem to be an hour or so but in reality will be just a second. Have a look around and take note of anything that looks odd or out of place for Earth 1935.'
I am about to protest but I am suddenly on 116^th St outside the pawn shop. In the window behind the steel mesh is a Conn underslung alto sax marked down at $10. A bargain. I am still prossed up as Fats, with the takings from the Stork Club. $10 won't make a dent in it. I push the door open and the smell of dirty clothes and stale cigar smoke hit the back of my throat. The narrow channel to the desk is lined with steel mesh, and what little light gets through the windows is dancing with dust.
'Wadda you want.'
The voice comes from somewhere at the back.
'The horn in the window.'
'It's yours for a dime note.'
'Any discount for a member of the musicians union.'
'If you were in the mothers union, in the buff with tits like melons, and offering me a piece, it would still be ten dollars.'
I put ten ones through the slot in the cage and after a few clangs and the rattling of keys the Conn is taken from the window.
'Come down the side and the horn will be handed to you by my assistant. I don't trust no one not even Fats waller. And don't slam the door.'
I do as he says and the horn is handed to me through a side door by a hand that quickly slams the door shut as I take it. I know, I know Fats Waller doesn't play sax, but Joe Coolz does, and finding a Conn underslung in good condition is like turning lead into gold. Mind you, we can do that now, on Mars. So far all as it should be. A pawn shop with a proprietor who acts like Rod Steiger. Buicks on the street and the Hotel Victoria open for business. I need to grease my corpse, as my ggrease box sounds like a Chevy with a crash gearbox. The waitress takes my order of double ham and eggs with fries. On the table is this morning's copy of The New York Times.
“Ruth recipient of lifetime pass, expresses his appreciation to National League for gift”
Well that sounds authentic enough. The customers look like customers. The waitress has the same sassy ass as she always had and I feel at home. This is Earth. The Worm Hole must have got it wrong. I hope I can get back. If the Worm Hole goes wrong and I end up in a Black Hole, I'll never see hear Brian again, every cloud. The grease arrives and I am just about to put a large piece of ham in my mouth, when I am back in the MWD control room. My hunger is real and I am miffed. Georgia lets me off the black spot and gives me an explanation.
'My mistake, I sent you to New York World. The coordinates only differ by one digit from the real thing.'
'You mean I have been playing Fish Fries in a game.'
'Yes sorry.'
'And all the shootings an' all have been make believe.'
'Fraid so.'
'Does the IGBI know this.'
'The coordinates are theirs.'
'Let me get this down. You sent me to a game world, on the IGBI's instructions.'
'Looks like it.'
'I've got to go home and have a lie down.'
*************
Brian, 'Had a good day at the office, Sir'
Me, 'Shut it Brian and fix me some ham and eggs.'
I go down to the pool and the Dolphins are having sex. Another Dolphin in a hover bubble is making a porn holo for distribution. Sex between Dolphins making a porno is not illegal, sex with Dolphins is, so I take my leave before they ask me to make it a threesome.
My ham and eggs are ready and waiting on the counter. I demolish them as if I hadn't eaten since Christmas.
'Feeling in a better temper now Sir,' says Brian. And you know what I am. My mood has lightened, I take the Conn out from it's case and fit a Meyer 5 mouthpiece with a 3 reed onto the crook. If all the pads are in good order it should play like a dream. I try a two octave run in C. Well it plays but more than one pad has dried out and leaking air. An old pro's remedy for this is to hold it under a faucet and let the water run through it and give it a good soaking, but if it has been in the pawn shop as a prop for a few years it will need more than that.
'Brian get this sax to the repairers and have it re-padded, back tonight.'
'Yes Sir. Manny's or Lewington's.'
'Manny's' I have an account with them. Well in 1935 I did.