Ambient 06 - Going, Going, Gone

to drag their child to sunlight, what do you do?«
    Again, silence. »Five. Four. Three –«
    »Hit them?« one of the older men asked; a fellow in his early fifties or so.
    » Zingo!!«
    The ringleader wasn’t that big but he had a punch like a welterweight. The good student almost fell over in his chair after he was hit, blood gushing from his nose. He’d never get the stains out of his suit. I’d have thought at that point there’d have been a mass sick-out, but no. Everyone looked terrified, except for the ringleader.
    »Assistance forbidden!« the ringleader said. »Assistance forbidden!« He walked up to the victim and pressed his hand down on the man’s bleeding nose. Considering that it looked like he’d broken it I couldn’t imagine it felt especially good. »Response?« The man started to rain and his face swelled up like it was going to pop but he still didn’t do what he was supposed to have done, clearly. »Response?«
    Again, nothing. »Example!« The ringleader turned to his left and slapped a younger guy, sending his glasses flying across the room. »Response?«
    »Thank you,« said the younger man, getting out of his chair and kneeling in front of the ringleader. The older one didn’t look like he could do much more than bleed. That was enough for me, and I started to make for the door.
    »As an outgrouper and not an ingrouper, you may not view the programme in the right context,« Skinny said, emerging from the shadows under the stairs, grabbing my arm, hanging onto me like a leech.
    »Maybe not,« I said, backing up, keeping my eye on him. I almost fell down the stoop on the way out, but didn’t; got halfway to Broadway before I felt safe enough to catch my breath. Considering how they acted, straight, I shuddered to think what this bunch was like once they started flying.
     
    My brief taste of potentially steady employment convinced me of the error of my ways. Next day, Martin called. He asked me to reconsider. I did.
     

FOUR
    Next day at lunchtime I skidded over to the Old Town bar on 18th Street, two blocks from my crib; Martin said he was coming to town and that put me in the catbird seat when it came time to mark the turf. I put a reverse banana on my leather jacket, trying to keep those March winds from whistling inside. The Old Town’s a 19th-century joint – ceiling so high and dark bats ought to be hanging from it, feeding pews too small for 20th-century keisters, a scarred mahogany bar with a dented brass rail, a mirror that makes you look drunk even if you’ve taken the Keeley. No one went inside in daylight but white-haired liver-wranglers, you see ’em lining up every morning before the doors open like they were waiting for Series tickets. Martin and his gang had expropriated a square table in the back. Hamilton and Frye were with him, and I’d expected they would be. The fourth member of the team wasn’t Bennett.
    »Walter, this is Hermann Sartorius,« Martin said. »He’s with the Justice Department. One of Hamilton’s associates.«
    »Welcome to New York,« I said. When I offered my mitt he gave me an icy road.
    »I been before,« he said. Glass eyes, spun gold on the summit and accent thick enough to cut with a Luftwaffe dagger. Even if Commies hadn’t been unwise enough to present themselves as Commies, the boys in the marble halls would have still given the edge to Nazis; krauts were so talented, and so adaptable. But Justice Department! No question Martin felt the same way I did, sharing good air with one of these trolls, but if it gave him the queasies he managed not to need a flight bag.
    »Good to see you, Walter,« Hamilton said. »We’re glad you’ve reconsidered. We gather things might have gotten a little dicey for you since we last met.«
    »A little.« I signalled the waiter to haul over a beaker.
    »Idle hands, the devil’s workshop,« he said. »Did you see today’s papers, by chance? You do read the papers, don’t you?«
    I shook my head. »No cats, no parakeets.«
    Hambone puckered up like he’d been sucking lemons. »Your hyperbole refreshes, Walter. In any event, you remember our previous meeting, I’d imagine. Do you remember my speaking of upcoming situations?«
    »They came up?«
    »When the moment came to raise or fold, all it took our leader was one word to decide,« he said, unfolding a copy of the Trib. Martin gave a wistful glance at the bar and I know he wished he still drank. Frye had a certain damp limpness to him, as if he