Ambient 06 - Going, Going, Gone

I being handcuffed?« I asked, starting to feel unnerved. »I’m a witness, aren’t I?«
    »Tell us what you really saw, what you really know, you’re a witness,« Arnold said.
    »I’m telling you what I saw. What I know.«
    »Let’s take a look at what we got so far.« Benz extracting a small black notebook from a side pocket and flipping it open. »Resisting arrest,« he said. »Still resisting arrest. Two charges.«
    »Possession of marijuana,« said Arnold, pulling on rubber gloves. I gave silent thanks to Sophia on high that I’d only been carrying brand X, and left my P-bomb muggles safe and sound back at the old homestead. »Three.«
    »Loitering with intent. Vagrancy. Four, five.«
    »Accessory after the fact.«
    »Add everything up,« said Benz, »seventy years.«
    »For what?« I asked.
    Arnold looked over his collection before finally settling on the hose. As he picked it up he was careful not to let any of the sand slip out. Whipping it over his head, he brought it down on my legs just above the knees. Felt like a piano fell into my lap. »That’s for the boy.«
    »What else you remember about those women?«
    »Call Captain Thomason,« I said, not as loudly as I might have. »He’s night shift. He’ll tell you.« Benz shrugged. Arnold tapped the non-pointy part of the spiked bat against the sole of his shoe.
    »Tell you what?« Benz said. »We haven’t even charged you yet.«
    »We’d like to avoid doing that,« Arnold said, winding up as if ready to send me out high over left field. »If possible.« Before he could play the Babe, thankfully, the room’s door opened. The desk jockey stuck in his head and gave us all the evil eye. »Dammit, Dennis, put that goddamn thing down,« he shouted. »Let him go. He’s connected.«
    »How?« Arnold whined, not letting go of the bat. »Tammany?«
    »Department of the Interior. Better luck next time, boys.«
    The way Arnold slunk back to the locker made it clear his whole day was ruined. »Thanks for coming in,« Benz said, unclasping my bracelet. »You gonna be able to walk?«
    »No thanks to you,« I said, making it to my feet. Glad they hadn’t broken anything but it wasn’t for lack of trying. Arnold glared at me as I walked out, but I was having none of it. When I reached the reception room I saw Martin sitting on one of the benches, looking more than a little peeved.
    »Didn’t need bail at least,« I offered, but he kept mum. »Muchas thankas.«
    »How long have you worked for me? How long? Shouldn’t you know how to avoid these kind of situations?«
    Martin was still Agency when he visited the University of Washington campus the one year I was there, looking for likely recruits. Soon as I looked him over I was able to peg his grandparents’ line; his eye was just as trained and he did the same for me. In our unavoidable circumstances you always do what you can to help out your fellow passers, and he made me an offer. I hadn’t found higher levels of academia any improvement over the lower, but I wasn’t willing to commit, not yet. Called him not long after hitting New York, some time after I’d discovered my true metier. He was working the Department of Interior, which had its own operations going. Next thing I knew I was on the Sea Beach Express, barrelling toward Luna Park and Dreamland, casually spritzing testers to gauge how effectively an aerosol mood-alterant diffused within a closed subway environment.
    »Martin, look,« I said as we reached Second Avenue. »Wrong place, wrong time. Nothing to add.«
    »Shouldn’t I know who these women are? They were the same ones you were with last month, weren’t they?«
    »Did you see us?«
    »I was on my way out. Think I wanted to hang around with that crowd any longer than I had to?« He sneered; I could only imagine the kind of small talk Hammy and his little Germ made when I wasn’t around. »They cut off a construction worker’s hand?« I nodded. »Walter, who are they working for?«
    »They fed me some line about the Society for Psychical Research.«
    »Don’t feed me shit and say it’s candy.«
    »I’m not,« I said, but he clammed. We kept walking west; it was hard to say who followed and who led. When we reached Fifth Avenue we turned south. Shackmans toy store was at the corner of 16th; it was older than Hamilton, it had been there since Hector was a pup. Glancing behind us first, Martin peeled off to the left and went inside. I trailed, shoving through the revolving door and