Ambient 06 - Going, Going, Gone

real mindbender. It was hard getting a fix on them because half the time they were turning colours and half the time, shifting into black and white. Made me want to shout focus at the projection booth. He wore what looked like a Bellevue suit, except the arms didn’t have those fashionable belts and buckles. Just as well because if they had he couldn’t’ve lugged the doll. His honey lay in his arms like a swoonstruck bobbysoxer. She gave every indication of being out on a heavy nod. Under the circumstances, mind you, I’d hesitate to say either one would have bled if you cut them. From what I could tell he’d had it hard wherever he’d had it, and she looked like she’d been dragged by a truck from Cleveland way past Detroit.
    Please help us.
    Neither of them were flapping gums when the words came through, but I heard him stone clear. The shakes hit me where I stood and that’s a side effect I never get from that evening’s particular family of chemicals. Closing my eyes, I tried to think of something to say. When I raised my shades once more my new pals were starting to fade. They didn’t seem to notice, but I didn’t think they were too conscious of anything, to tell the truth. Going, going, gone – and that was that for them.
    Somehow it was worse having them gone. I rolled back into bed and listened hard. Even though I didn’t hear him anymore it still took time before I could start copping Zs. What with all the excitement I’d worked myself into a tizzy. I couldn’t shake the notion somebody was hotfooting over my grave. Seeing ghosts will do that, I suppose, and that’s the way I finally chalked it up. Axe-murdered in this room years ago, probably, and the walls couldn’t hold back on what they’d seen any longer. Fortean phenomena, the logical explanation. Nothing weird about it until it happens to you. Just one of those strange things happening every day, like green snow or a frogstorm, or buses showing up in threes.
    I couldn’t wait to get back to New York. Of course I didn’t foresee I’d have guests along for the ride.
     
    I cooled on my slab till roostertime, then rose and soaked my head in sunshine. No distressing afterburn, I was pleased to note – no neckache, no blurry vision, no need to brush one-handed while propping myself up with the unused paw. While scrubbing I decided to show up extra sharp for these boys. I shaved close, played coathanger for my priciest suit. Sparkled like a diamond in the rhinestone counter when I got there. The Williard Hotel’s slavemasters weren’t big on face control, and the coffee shop was almost one hundred percent DC riffraff. Most looked nitrogen-poisoned, stumbling around blind with walking bends, good for nothing but taking fingerprints or filing them. I breezed through their midst and ignored the looks the secretaries shot me. Martin and Bennett held court at a booth in the rear. Most of the dregs on hand favoured official federal government style. But my boys were men of taste, and put on a Washington style show. Seven-layer silk ties, trifold linen squares, cuffs overloaded with silver and gold; suits thick as overcoats and shoes shiny enough to scare away the schoolgirls.
    »Everything went exactly as you predicted, Walter,« Martin told me. »Congratulations are in order.« My boss came on like he always did, the head man in Statuary Hall. Bennett looked like he’d sat on a pickle and couldn’t get it out. He eyed me as if I were some evil bird swooping down to bag his waffles.
    »Muchas thankas.« Taking a load off, I signalled the waiter.
    »Sleep well?« Bennett asked.
    »Slept better.«
    »Too much on your mind, perhaps –«
    I lit into the mocha java the second Pierre set it down in front of me, but that was a serious mistake. Gave my tongue third degree burns and for a second I thought my throat was going to seal up
    »Hot?« Bennett asked.
    » Beelzebub,« I said. »Like drinking the sun.«
    »You remember our associates,« said Martin, stretching out his hand like he was introducing the dog act. »Mister Hamilton. Mister Frye.«
    »Morning, my brothers.«
    The co-conspirators nodded and winked and I returned the favour. Hamilton was silver-haired, silver-tongued and slippery as wet glass. I don’t think he was a mammal. Old mellifluous knew anything he served up had to drip with syrup, otherwise it’d never slide down. His sidekick Frye seemed content with the job of vestigial twin. If you taught a ferret how to walk on