Ambient 06 - Going, Going, Gone

would-be charmer deflated, somewhat, but he puffed back up in no time at all. That was his mistake. He put his paws on Big Girl’s knobs as if wanting to tune in the ballgame. »Look, honey,« he said, pinching them, »you come prancing around like this and you might as well put a sign on your ass saying, for sale –«
    Big Girl clicked her elbows against her sides as if getting ready to have her posture checked. Two small metal umbrellas suddenly appeared on the backs of the wiseguy’s hands and snapped open. Looked like it was a carnival trick until I saw the blood start to run down onto his cuffs. Big Girl licked her lips. His knees buckled, but he was held in place. Maybe he wanted to scream; maybe he couldn’t feel it, yet. My own interest in the ladies was fading fast, and I thought I’d better get out while the getting was good. I nearly had but as her would-be inamorata’s knees started buckling, my personal interest faded like ink in the sun. I’d nearly sneaked by them when Little Mod spotted fresh prey. Looking in my direction, she tapped her moll’s arm.
    »Him,« I heard her say, staring directly at me. Big Girl made with the elbows again; Casanova came loose and hit the floor. Only then did he let out with a wail that would have deafened a banshee. Onlookers gave him the Kitty Genovese treatment, and pretended to sleep standing up. Before I could get any closer to the door Big Girl had put me in her vice, and no matter how hard you run, you can’t get traction on air.
    »Pacify,« she said, hauling me up like a side of beef. »Presence essentialled, comprendo?«
    »Klaatu barada nikto,« I stuttered, unable to elaborate. »Your place,« said Little Mod, leading the way. »Let’s go.«
     

TWO
    Time was if the census man came rapping on my door to do the rundown and happened to ask how I preferred to spend nighttime in my blue heaven, I’d have said working the dusk-to-dawn shift, being held in a lovelock by a brace of pussycats. Nothing like experience to set you straight. Let me be truthful, my brothers, and pass along some useful advice: theory beats practice when it comes to tag-team action, take my word for it.
    Nobody tried to stop us when we busted out of Max’s. Didn’t know how Casanova was dealing with his new stigmata but figured somebody was giving him aid and comfort. »Ease up, sugarplum,« I pleaded. »Pretty please?«
    Big Girl showed me no mercy; just snarled like a werewolf and kept me snared in a full nelson till we’d passed under the Third Avenue El. Not fifteen minutes earlier I’d fancied going to the mat with her two falls out of three but that was before I knew I’d be wriggling with Gorgeous George. She gripped me like an industrial press.
    »Shorty, please, let me out on parole,« I bleated to Little Mod, but she pulled a Helen Keller on me and didn’t stop the parade, rolling those hips like she was a state champ baton twirler. »Uncle,« I cried. »Aunt. Cousin. Hey –«
    Eyeing our retinue a rheumy-eyed coot out for an evening stroll gave us a headshake. » Kids,« he muttered. »Wait till you’re drafted.«
    »Mute yourself,« Big Girl growled. Even under these outré circumstances I wasn’t going to say her high-pitched howl didn’t possess a certain unique appeal. »Submit identifiers.«
    »Smith’s the name,« I swore. »One of the Smith boys. You picked the wrong man out of the lineup, girls.«
    »Truth us!« she roared. Sounded like Shirley Temple with rabies.
    »I’m truthin’!« But she wasn’t buying it, and tied that anaconda tight. Big Girl could have strangled a dray horse one-handed. Unpleasant feeling to know the street was somewhere underfoot, but try as you might you couldn’t reach it. » Ixnay. Lungs. Need ’em.«
    »Where’s your padding?« Little Mod asked me, still eyes front. »Pad, meant. Where do you pad?«
    I gurgled and burbled like it was titty time for mother’s angel and that finally caught her ear. Way her eyes bugged when she turned and saw me made me guess my face was blue as new dungarees. »Chlojo!! Nya!!« she shouted. Soon as Little Mod made with the kibosh, Big Girl let the choke out. She shouldered me hard with those concrete blocks she swung and kept me in the express lane as we hit Second Avenue.
    » Qua?« said Big Girl.
    »Don’t rip him,« said Little Mod, circling round as she stepped, shooting daggers at her pal. »Keep viable. Briskfoot yourself.« I’d always considered myself a lingo major but I