Ambient 06 - Going, Going, Gone

ONE
    Soon as I spiked I turned my eyes inside. Setting old snakehead on cruise control always pleases, no matter how quick the trip. I looked out the window for a minute or an hour or so, listening to stoplights click off blue, orange, blue. Meteor showers of Maryland-bound cars shot past down there on Connecticut Avenue and I made wishes on their long swirly trails. It pissed me bigtime that my innkeepers liked the guests to suffer silence, and I made a note to bring along a hi-fi next go-round. I thought I felt Metroliner vibes four hundred feet below me, steady as a motel vibrabed, but it was nothing but blood doing a sprint up my legs, trying to get to my heart before it was too late.
    I’d just started examining the pattern of the tooled holes in my wingtips – circles inside of stars, looked downright masonic if you ask me – when I heard those jingle bells ring. In my mildly altered condition it never would have occurred to me that Martin would never blitz his own battleground, so I jumped. Only natural considering my iffy relationship with DCs boys in blue. Luckily enough, before I could make for the John and drown my bagged cat I realized I was only hearing the phone, and so I restashed my stash. Usually I unplug the ringer at check-in, but this time it had slipped my mind. You always risk clipping a good buzz in mid-hum, when you sign on for a twenty-four-hour shift. Goes with the territory.
    »Morning,« I shouted at the receiver, trying to remember which end was which.
    »Evening,« Bennett said. »Can’t you tell the difference?«
    »Six of one, half dozen of the other.«
    »Are you drunk?«
    »Dog’s on the leash,« I assured him.
    »You finish the distribution?«
    »Hold on.« My hand was getting numb. I’d put a tourniquet round my arm with the phone cord somehow and thought I’d better unwrap it before I could spontaneously amputate. »You were saying?«
    »Was there anything left to distribute?«
    From afar Bennett came on like a Harvard Dillinger, but up close you knew he was just another dental hygienist. On his evolutionary scale I topped out around Fishhead level – try as he might, he never cottoned to watching his boss treat me like Future Man. Too bad for Benny but Martin and I went back many moons, plus we had more in common than old Ivy League ever would with either of us. »Cut the j’accuse,« I said. »Produce reached the market.«
    »Speak English.«
    »Speaking.«
    »What about it, then?«
    »About what, my brother?«
    »Don’t brother me.«
    »Not to offend. I mean only in the broader sense.«
    »When’ll the wolves start howling?«
    »English, Bennett. Please.«
    »When should the roundup start?«
    I reviewed my own experience. »Body phase lasts maybe twenty minutes. Then it calms down a little and you think everything’s square. All of a sudden chemistry takes the wheel and you park yourself in Mars orbit for nine hours or so, depending on whether or not you ate beforehand. DuPont boys be able to handle that?«
    »They’re capable men.«
    »You say so. Motto of a park ranger’s be prepared.«
    »Oh, hell –«
    Help .
    Without warning I found myself listening in counterpoint. Side effect? Could be, but Bennett was a prankster. »You going stereo on me?«
    »What are you talking about?«
    Help.
    Whoever was shouting help was broadcasting through a separate channel. He wasn’t in the phone but didn’t seem to be in my head either. I gave the room the onceover but I was the only one on duty. Whoever he was he sounded like he’d been sealed up in an oil drum. Possibly an unfortunate who’d run afoul of one of Bennett’s less restrained subcontractors.
    Help.
    »That’s not you, is it?«
    »What are you on now?« Bennett’s words popped out of the receiver; they were purple, and diamond-shape. Amazing how long the effects last sometime.
    Help.
    »Help you what?« I asked. »Who’s out there?«
    »Walter!!«
    »What?« I thought it best not to go into a lot more detail; things like this kind of disturbed Bennett’s peace of mind. »Must be hearing things, compadre. Nothing to write home about.«
    He hissed like a stabbed tire. »I’ve got a message. Think you’ll remember?«
    »Try me.«
    »Mister Rollins says they want to meet you again tomorrow morning for breakfast. It’s essential that you reconsider the offer.«
    »Can’t oblige,« I said.
    »Essential, I said.«
    »I heard you the first time.«
    »Essential.«
    I knew my limits. He’d be putting the