Ambient 06 - Going, Going, Gone

Central Park,« she said. »But our departure site was fixed. It could have been rougher.« I gave her a kleenex I found in my jacket pocket; she dabbed her eyes dry. »Are you all right?«
    »Dizzy. Feel like I’ve broken half my bones. Worn out. Otherwise, perfect.« I stood, and offered my arm. »I’ve got to lie down somewhere. Both of us do. I think we’ll be safe, heading down to my place.«
    »You’re sure?«
    »I think the only person anybody’d remember from the Astor would be Chlo,« I said, »and I guess they won’t be taking her in.«
    »What about your superior?«
    »Inferior, more like it,« I said, thinking of how Bennett had managed to land feet first; wondering what kind of tricks he’d managed to play in my absence – it came to me that I didn’t even know how long I’d actually been gone; it seemed no more than a day and a half, but the weather in the Bronx, at least, seemed a vast improvement over what it’d been when we fled the coop. »Maybe I’d better check in with Martin. Get a line on what’s what.«
    There was a newstand next to the subway entrance, and I sidled over to see if I could read the date below the mastheads. Must have been nothing but a warm spell; the date was as I figured it to be. But what I hadn’t expected to see were the particular headlines plastered across the front of the News, the Trib, the Mirror, the Times.
     
    BLAME BOOZE,
    CLAIMS BOBBY
     
    »Walter,« Eulie asked as I laid down fifty cents and gathered up a copy of each. »What troubles?«
     
    KENNEDY VICTIM STILL IN COMA
    Recovery Uncertain
    Insanity Plea Believed Likely
     
    Robert Kennedy Rules Out Run This Year
    »FAMILY FIRST « EX-CANDIDATE STATES
     
    JIM SLEEPS
    Mirror Foto Exclusive
    REAGAN: LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON
     
    » Kennedys,« I shouted, pounding my fists against the nearest streetlamp post. People slowed down to see if I was going to completely wig out, but when I didn’t, they continued on their way. »Damned Kennedys. Every last damned one of them –«
    »Walter –«
    »I hear you, brother,« some cheerful Republican shouted over to me, not breaking stride. »This fixes Bobby’s wagon but good.«
     
    Before heading into the subway I made two calls – there was no need to call Jim; he wouldn’t be at home. Biting the bullet, I dropped my dime and told the operator to place a collect call, person to person, to Martin. After a moment or so a voice I didn’t recognize came on the line.
    »Walter Smith?«
    »Speaking,« I said. »Is Martin there –?«
    »We’ve been waiting to hear from you,« the stranger said.
    »Is he there?«
    A pause; for some reason, I thought that he was trying to stifle a laugh. »He’s in the field. He expected your call, though, and left word to notify –«
    »I need to talk to him, sooner the better.«
    »Yes, certainly. Your directions are to go to your usual contact point, and wait there.«
    Go home, in other words. That was fine with me. I made one last call, to Trish. As I feared, she wasn’t around either. When I hung up I looked around, quickly, to be sure no one was paying too close attention to me. No; everyone in sight looked as innocent, or as guilty, as anyone in New York ever does.
    »Let’s go,« I told Eulie, and we headed downstairs to catch the train to Manhattan.
     
    When we got off the train and came up the stairs I couldn’t help but check the sky again; not a thing. We walked over from Sixth Avenue, making for my crib. As it had been my turn to clam, I hadn’t said a word to Eulie the whole trip down. The events of the past two – three? – days burned in my mind. There was really only one thing I wanted to do, after talking to Martin and trying to find out what hospital Trish was in, and that was dig out that perma-bud Chlo had left me – willed me, as it turned out – and send myself (and Eulie, if she wanted to join in) into a four-day spin. I’d had enough of both worlds; had enough of people. My ire thickened in my throat; I might have finally let go all the way, had Eulie and I not seen what we saw, moments after walking underneath the El and stepping onto my block.
    There was an old sportster wearing a seersucker suit walking toward us, leading his wirehaired terrier on a long black leash. I’d seen him around before – thought he lived on 19 th , in one of the old townhouses – and would have at least nodded, out of habit, but he was gone before we reached him. One second he was there, and then in the next