Ambient 06 - Going, Going, Gone

– and already knew he didn’t come close to the mark. A Bennett without portfolio, somewhat more chiselled, with that lean Aryan look. Had that Art Moderne bone structure that makes the owners imagine the God of this world always has them in mind for bigger, better things. Didn’t mean I owed them my lunch money, though that always seemed to be what these pussywillows assumed.
    I offered my paw and he gripped it as if trying to break it off. I wondered what was giving him such a near-fatal case of the smirks. »Walter. One of the Smith boys.«
    »Burt,« he said. »You’re Trish’s ex, aren’t you?« Wasting no time in laying on the mustard plasters.
    »That’s neither here nor there,« Irish said. »Burt was starting to tell me –«
    »Best not to poke boils,« I said as the orchestra started in on a Beatles medley. »Never know what’ll pop out.«
    »Quit it,« Trish said, laughing but failing to lull my suspicions. Luckily, she interposed herself in time. »All right, Walter, so who were they? What’s the story?«
    »I was saying –« Boob started to say.
    »Jersey girls,« I informed my henchwoman. »Looking for a hot time in the big city. Did you have to call when you did?«
    »Excusez moi. I hate to admit I was a nervous nellie,« she said, »but you know what happened last night? At Max’s?«
    »Something happened?« I asked, hefting the glass the barman put before me and inoculating the mad dog.
    »Somebody stabbed a guy in Max’s after you left last night,« she said, stirring her green delight. »Put icepicks through both hands. No suspects. Naturally I went off on a tangent and my stomach started doing backflips. Worried you’d wind up being done in by those Jill the Rippers.«
    Figured it best not to mention Chlojo’s tiny titty bumbershoots. »I was safe as milk,« I said. »It was copacetic. Don’t let your hair turn white.«
    »I don’t understand,« Booboo interrupted, speaking twice as loud as either of us and not because he needed to shout over the theremin. His wardrobe was of the irksome prepster sort. He wore khakis and penny loafters and a cashmere sweater that would have paid my rent for three months. Orange, but that was probably what Perry Como was wearing and therefore acceptable. »Anyway, before you got here I was telling Trish about something important, a great experience –«
    »Muchas regretas,« I said.
    Trish bounded into the conversation, filling up silence as quickly as she could. »Last night Walter tried on his Casanova suit with these two sweet potatoes down at Max’s,« she said. »Muffies, I figured but figured wrong. When I called over there last night he was busy playing host with the most –«
    »Fine, fine,« he said. »But I was telling you about the experience. There’s something this group can offer anyone –«
    »Burt, I told you I’ll check it out, but right now I just want to enjoy a cheerful beverage. Put a sock on the Dynamos and swill away.«
    Something in Bub’s eyes made me think his story had a few more twists and turns than I’d thought at first. I wouldn’t say they were as empty as my ghost’s, but there was a quality to them reminiscent of aggies and shooters that made me suspect he wasn’t sticking as close to the high road to glory as he tried to make it seem. »My apologies,« he said, giving me a highly suspicious onceover but baring his teeth nonetheless, as if thinking it a smile. »My inner got the better of my outer.«
    »Happens to me all the time,« I said. »What group are you talking about?«
    »The Personality Dynamos. My company sent several of us on their weekend programme. Fascinating. Confidence building. You learn yourself inside and out. I was telling Trish about it.«
    Trish smiled, and put away the rest of her green goodness. »Sounds too booga-booga to me.«
    »What’s your company?«
    »Goldman Sachs. I’m a junior manager. Only a matter of time, though.«
    »Till what?«
    »Senior,« he said. »Think, and it happens. What do you do?«
    »I’m in government work.« Trish shot the daggers at me like we were the main attraction under the big top but I managed to dodge the sharpest ones. The thereminists moved on to the Rodgers and Hart songbook. Bobo looked absolutely dumbfounded.
    »Seriously?« he asked. I nodded. »Doing what?«
    »Odd jobs,« I said. »In the national interest.«
     
    Had Booby said anything else of interest, I would pass it along, but he didn’t. All he did was take up valuable space