 
THE ADVENTURES OF NICK MANE

PRIVATE DETECTIVE

'MIND'S EYE'

by

N. A. Dalbec

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced

in any form or by any means, or stored in a database

or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the

author.

Making copies of any part of this book for any purpose is not

permitted.

For information, contact N. A. Dalbec, Author, Suite 707,

555 Jervis Street., Vancouver, BC, Canada, V6E 4N1

ISBN: 978-0-9730714-3-6, issued by Library and Archives Canada

All characters and situations in this book are fictitious.

Please Note:

Some readers may find instances of language to be coarse.

CHAPTER ONE

Should I pick up the receiver, or let someone have a lonely conversation with the answering machine? The telephone continued its interrupted yet monotone drone. Should I disengage the answering machine, and see how obstinate the mystery caller is? The electronic bleating continued. I was beginning to feel guilty. How important could the call be? Who was in such a damn rush to get in touch with me on this day, at this time. Was it that pain-in-the-ass Natasha from Scrubb-Eeze Carpet Cleaning? Or was it some local radio station wanting to wish me a pleasant day? I decided to give in.

"Nick Mane here."

"Ah, Mr. Mane. I'm glad I caught you at home. I was afraid I was going to get your answering machine."

"You almost did."

"Pardon me?"

"If you need a pardon, see a priest or a parole board. Who is this, and why are you calling at this unearthly hour?"

"I'm truly sorry if I woke you up, Mr. Mane. It's just that the doctor starts his day off very early, and as a result, so do I. I didn't realize that it was so early."

"Give me your address; I'll send you a watch."

"Now, now Mr. Mane, there's no need to get nasty. I have some good news for you. The doctor can schedule you for the operation this week."

I paused for a moment. An operation...an...operation. What damned operation? What damned doctor? I returned to the conversation at hand.

"Oh yes, you must be scheduling me for the combination vasectomy-lobotomy special that I saw advertised on TV."

"Oh Mr. Mane, you're such a kidder."

The caller snorted a few times.

"No, no. I was duly impressed, especially when the announcer said that you could get a vasectomy, and then forget about the operation, thanks to the lobotomy. I thought it was brilliant."

The snorting continued. I knew I had a real winner on the line.

"Mr. Mane, be serious for a moment, will you?"

"Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

"It's Melanie Nomah calling from Doctor Aitken Payne's office, Mr. Mane."

"Ah yes, Melanie, how are you? Pardon me for being so rude. I thought it was some kind of crank call."

"That's quite all right, Mr. Mane. I'm fine, and I do apologize for calling you at such an early hour. Doctor Payne is a very busy person, and he starts his day very early indeed. It's eight-thirty, and I already feel like I should be getting ready for lunch."

"You say you're out to lunch, Melanie?"

"Oh Mr. Mane, you're such a kidder."

The snorting resumed.

"So what can I do for you Melanie?"

"Well, Mr. Mane, it's about that plate in your head. Doctor Payne is feeling somewhat concerned, and after consulting some of his colleagues, feels that this might be a good time to have the plate removed."

"I don't understand Melanie. The last time I saw Aitken, he said that the plate posed no danger, and that I was probably better off leaving it right where it was. Besides, I've sort of grown fond of it."

"That may be so, Mr. Mane, but look at the bright side. If you get the piece removed, you'll be able to put that expensive porcelain plate back together. You did keep the other pieces of the plate, didn't you?"

"Yes, yes I did Melanie. My gosh, you have quite the memory. You actually remembered about the plate."

"Well, Mr. Mane, it's not every day that one of Doctor Payne's patients imbeds a large piece of porcelain plate into his head."

"It was all quite sanitary, I assure you Melanie. The plate hadn't yet been used for dinner on that infamous night."

"Have you discontinued juggling plates at dinner parties, Mr. Mane?"

"No, no I haven't Melanie. I just can't keep myself from doing it. It must be the showman in me. I have switched to Melmac plates though. They're lighter, and virtually unbreakable."

"I see."

"So when was Aitken thinking of scheduling me for this operation?"

"Sometime this week, if that's all right with you. I don't have an exact date for you at this point. Doctor Payne wanted me to see if you were available, and willing, of course."

"Would we be doing this at his office?"

"No, the procedure does require you to be anaesthetized, and the doctor will require the facilities available only in a hospital."

"I see. And how long would I be out of action?"

"I'm not quite sure, Mr. Mane. You'd have to discuss that with Doctor Payne. I do know that it's a fairly simple procedure, but I would think it safe to assume that you'd be in the hospital for at least five or seven days."

"What hospital would I have to go to?"

"The doctor is working out of the Mordin-Hugh Bargendfore Medical Center. Are you familiar with it?"

"Yes, I'm familiar with it, I've sent a few people there myself."

"So would you like me to schedule you, Mr. Mane?"

"Why not. No time like the present, as they say."

"Good then, I'll check with Doctor Payne, and call you back to firm up the exact date. How does that sound?"

"That sounds fine to me Melanie."

"Have a nice day, Mr. Mane."

I placed the receiver back in its cradle, and hoped that, like a docile child, the telephone would remain unobtrusive, and contentedly silent. Unfortunately, this was not to be. As I turned away, it began to ring once again, more like a spoiled child, eager for attention.

"Nick Mane here."

"Ah Mr. Nick mun. I'm so glad to be reachin' you!"

The voice and the accent were familiar, but I couldn't place them.

"Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to at this early hour?"

"Oh how soon we forget. I be givin' you tree guesses, mun, an' dee first two don' count."

"So that's how it's going to be then. All right, it's a...it's a...the President of the United States."

"Oh mun, you be some lousy guesser. Is dis be soundin' like an American accent?"

"Well, I can't be sure. You might be drunk, or on drugs maybe."

"No, no. I'm as straight as Robin Hood's arrow, mun."

"Okay, then, you must be John Lennon, using a masterfully disguised voice, and calling from Elvis Presley's house in Memphis."

"Oh mun! You be a pathetic guesser. Besides, dere be no telephones where John Lennon is stayin', mun. Are you sure you are a detective? If so, are you makin' any money?"

"You must be catching me on an off-day."

"It's Godfrey Tikkets, mun. I'm callin' you from sunny Nassau. I hope you remember where dat is."

"Nassau, Na...ssau. Yes, of course! That's the quaint little speck of a place that they want to build a tunnel to from Miami. The cruise ship industry is going to be awfully annoyed when that project gets under way. What did you say your name was?"

"For Crissake mun, did you take some 'stupidity' pills dis mornin', or what, mun? It's Godfrey T-i-k-k-e-t-s. Godfr..."

"Oh yes, Godfrey Tikkets. You're with National Geographic. What can I do for you Godfrey?"

"Oh mun. Maybe you should'a skipped dee sixties altogether. Dat is one decade dat didn't do you any good, I'm sure of dat now. Maybe I can be joggin' your memory some other way. Would tree hundred dollars owin' to yours truly happen to mean anyting to you? Or maybe dee black Cadillac limousine dat I drive people aroun' in, an' not for charity, I might like to remind you."

"Godfrey Tikkets. Of course! How are you Godfrey?"

"Well fan me wit a brick. Dee light went on, although I be tinkin' you been burning dem low-watt bulbs lately, Mr. Nick mun. I'm doin' okay, but I would surely be doin' better if you sent me dee tree hundred dollars dat we negotiated upon while you were visitin' our lovely island in dee sun. To be more specific, dee balance of dee finder's fee dat we had talked about. You did catch up wit dat fox, Miss Stoggs, didn't you?"

"Oh damn, yes, the Stoggs thing. I'd almost forgotten."

"No Mr. Nick mun. You didn' almost forget. You completely almost forgot."

"You'll have to forgive me, Godfrey. I wasn't in the best of shape on the day we negotiated that deal. Miss Stoggs' friend, what's her name, Miss Du Racelle had slipped me a mickey the night before, and I was somewhat out of sorts. I'm sure you understand."

"Ah, dee lovely Miss Du Racelle."

"Lovely, and dangerous, Godfrey."

"I tink she's got a ting for you, Mr. Nick mun. She talks about you with great fondness."

"I think a more accurate term would be great 'fondleness', if you ask me. So you still see her, do you?"

"Oh yea, mun. You gotta remember, dis is a small island, and I'm one of dee main sources of transportation."

"Godfrey, you're the main source of just about everything illegal in Nassau."

"Don' be preachin' me now, Mr. Nick, mun. A man's got to make a livin'."

"I suppose. So I guess you'd like me to send you a check for the three hundred that I owe you?"

"Don' be guessin' mun. Be sure."

"Better yet, give me your account number, and the name of your bank. I'll have my assistant deposit the amount directly, including an extra hundred to make up for the delay. How does that sound?"

"You're a good mun, Mr. Nick mun. Tank you so much. By dee way, are you gonna cover dis call?"

"I'll do better than that, I'll give you all my cash and assets, and you can arrange some kind of allowance for me. That way, it might cost me less in the long run."

"Oh, dat's up to you Mr. Nick mun. Whatever your pleasure."

"Now let me guess, your account number wouldn't be 666, would it?"

Godfrey Tikkets gave me the necessary details. I thanked him for his services, and hung up. I decided to take care of this minor matter immediately in the hopes of then being able to get some well deserved and much needed rest. I once again picked up the receiver, and proceeded to call my assistant, Rhonda Myle.

"Good morning. Nick Mane and Associates, how can I help you?"

"Rhonda, it's Nick calling."

"What? No 'hello gorgeous, how are you', today. Are we feeling somewhat piqued? Did my baby not get enough sleep?"

"Jeezus Rhonda, are you trying to make me puke or something."

"Oh, we are cranky this morning."

"No, I forgot to take my 'cranky' pills this morning, but I evidently didn't forget to take my 'stupidity' pills. I should have known better than to expect a normal conversation from anybody this morning. Listen, I got a call from Godfrey Tikkets in Nassau. He's the fellow who helped me track down Avery Witchwey Stoggs. It seems that I had promised him three hundred bucks for his efforts. Would you be good enough to deposit that amount, and an extra hundred, just for good measure. Who knows, I might need his help again one of these days. He's a pretty resourceful fellow."

"An extra hundred hunh. I don't see you giving me extra hundreds for being resourceful, or useful."

"Hell Rhonda, you've already got my heart. What more could a girl ask for?"

"A cold heart of stone is what you've got."

"That way it won't melt, and it won't break. You should be happy. Besides, if you need an extra hundred, you can always book some overtime."

"What I need is some quality time."

"I'll send you a Rolex."

I gave Rhonda the necessary details. In her usual efficient manner, she promised to take care of the matter right away.

"Is there anything else that I can do for you this morning?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"I thought it might be fun to go over there and fuck your brains out, even though you don't deserve it."

"Sex, sex, sex. That's all you ever think about. What about my mind? Don't you want that too?"

"Well, I can always fuck your mind, but I don't think you'd like that as much."

"You're probably right. And as you know, my mind is already fucked anyway."

"You said it; I didn't."

"Hmmm...decisions, decisions."

"You're not trying to play hard to get now, are you?"

"No, actually, I'm trying to play down how hard I'm getting."

"I can be there in about an hour. I'll take care of that deposit for Godfrey, what's his name, and make my way over there."

"Don't delay, gorgeous, it might be the last time we get a chance to make each other sweat."

"Why is that? Are you planning on having it cut off and bronzed?"

"Would you like that?"

"As long as they leave room for batteries."

"What an idea. A bronze muff-minder. Strong, reliable, and it won't talk back."

"Be serious Nick. What exactly are you saying?"

"I got a call from Doctor Payne's office this morning. He wants to schedule me for an operation to remove that piece of plate from my head."

"I thought he'd said that it wasn't a matter of concern. Is he hard-up for money, or what?"

"I don't think he'd stoop that low. It seems that the plate might pose a threat."

"Well, I'd better get over there and get what I can, while I can. Who knows, you might become a vegetable, and I, well, I might be the rich beneficiary of your massive disability claim."

"What disability claim?"

"The one that I'll be able to make just as soon as I get in touch with your insurance broker, and increase your policy."

"That's what I like about you, Rhonda. Your undying love and devotion are beyond words. Tell me something. Are you going to leave me if I become a vegetable?"

"Of course. But if you're nice to me between now and that time, I'll make sure to hire someone to come and water you twice a week."

"Phew! You had me worried for a minute. I thought you were becoming some kind of heartless bitch."

"I'll be over in about an hour and fifteen minutes to tuck you in."

"I thought you said you'd be here in less than an hour."

"That was before I found out that I'd have to call your insurance broker. Be patient, handsome. I'll make it worth your while. By the way, when is Payne supposed to cut you?"

"Sometime this week. His secretary is supposed to call me to confirm."

"Well don't you worry. I'm going to blow you so hard that that nasty plate will get sucked right out of your head."

"I certainly hope that my head doesn't cave in during the process. You don't mind that I taped this conversation, do you? I want to send a copy to Geraldo in the event that they do a piece on true love in the nineties."

"I don't know if it'll sell, Nick. There doesn't seem to be enough of a neurotic tone to the conversation."

"You're probably right. Ciao gorgeous. I'll be waiting for you."

I placed the receiver in its cradle, gazed out onto the terrace overlooking the beach. The sun and salt air were invading the house, their emissaries begging me to come out to see and share the beauty of the day. I couldn't resist the temptation. I wandered to the bedroom, pulled a pair of swimming trunks out of a dresser drawer, put them on, grabbed a beach towel, and made my way back to the open doors that gave way to the terrace. As I walked out past the shimmering waters of the pool, I immediately felt the sun's warm rays shower my skin. The sea air wrapped itself around my body, and filled my lungs with familiar and intoxicating fragrances that sent my mind to endless times and exotic places. I willingly allowed the elements to clear my mind only to fill it with complacent emptiness. Pedestrian traffic on the beach was still light, yet there were still enough diversionary visions to entertain my insatiable basal thirst for nearly naked well tanned silhouettes. I paid a price though. Rather than paying attention to where I was walking, I gave my right foot free license to mash its toes head-on into a rather dense, petrified piece of driftwood that instantly supplied grave messages of excruciating pain to my brain. My intellect reacted by creating words such as 'Ow, ow, ow, damn that hurts'. My body then went into an improvised Celtic dance that flung me around spasmodically in the pearl white sifted sands of the beach.

"That's a very creative jig," a voice called out. "What do you call it?"

My patience was somewhat shortened by the dull, relentless pain that had so rudely removed the idyllic thoughts that had been there just moments earlier.

"Oh, it's a little something that I do just before cutting up annoying people into little pieces with a machete."

"Oh my, we are in a nasty mood, aren't we?"

I located the source of annoyance. It was in the form of a brightly colored Hawaiian smock filled by a roundish figure topped with a straw hat. The roundish figure was accompanied by a younger more delightful figure that carried a glowing flower child's smile.

"I hope you don't mind the intrusion," the roundish brightly colored figure blurted. "My name is Penny Audcent, and this is my niece Rosie. We're in the business of helping people."

"I see, and what may I ask do you help people with?"

"We help people who are in need, Mr.ah, Mr...ah...?"

"Mane, Nick Mane."

"So nice to meet you Mr. Mane."

"Mmm."

"As I was saying, we're in the business of helping people who need our help. And as it usually turns out, most people need our help."

"Could you be a little more specific. I'd like to get a swim in before the day is out."

"I knew it when I saw the pain and impatience in your face, Mr. Mane. I feel for you, and with so many others in our troubled world. We have found the way to help people become one with others and themselves, Mr. Mane, and we've helped many people lead happier, more complete lives. We are part of a worldwide organization called Aural Sects..."

"That's nice, Penny, very nice. From our short, albeit enlightening conversation I now realize that there are a lot of people out there who need Aural Sects. I understand how Aural Sects can be good for you, and people like you. It may not look like it but I'm actually quite happy, and have found the light that I so desperately needed by joining the Annals of Retentivity. Have you ever heard of us? We're all over the world. We help people too. Well, good luck. I must get my swim in. I'm off to one of the Annals' meetings right after this. Bye now."

I didn't wait for a response. I walked away rolling my eyes, wondering what was worse: the pain in my foot, or meeting a pain in the ass like Penny Audcent. I walked into the ocean's waters and swam out as far as I could, hoping that the exercise would transform my crumpled appendages from pretzels back into toes.

CHAPTER TWO

"I'll take care of the little head; we'll let Doctor Payne take care of the big head."

The little head obsequiously complied with Rhonda's every command, as if subserviently mesmerized by her feminine charms.

"I know what you need, Mr. Nick, and I'm going to give it to you. What do you think of that, hmm?"

"Ohwa damn it Rhonda! You're not thinking of seducing me, are you?"

"Of course not. I'm contemplating seducing your penis. It's up to you if you want to come along for the ride."

"Well, I'd be pretty stupid not to."

"You're not a stupid man, Mr. Nick. I knew you'd figure it out soon enough."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

The little head began to flush red with embarrassment, but could not help stretch its neck as if peering out to see who was at the door. The eyes in my big head rolled back as if looking for a thought that could convey what I was feeling. My mind began to spill wordless thoughts like 'ooh, aah, mmm'. Rhonda paused for a moment, and knowingly began to undress.

"Do you mind if I watch?"

"I'd be insulted if you didn't."

With the muffled musical crash of the waves wending its way into the room, accompanied by wisps of sweet sea breeze wafting lazily about, Rhonda slowly pulled the straps from her silky sleeveless top away from her shoulders, and onto her arms. As if in a deliberate afterthought, she grinned and turned away, exposing her beautifully smooth back that tapered down into the shape of a thin waist. Rhonda then slowly turned her head, pulling flows of dark, rich thick, wavy hair across her back and shoulders. Her ice blue irises surrounded black onyx pupils that dilated with sensual desire. She then reached back with her slender arms and began to slowly pull the zipper on her equally silky summer skirt, exposing more of her lower back. Still turned away, as if in mock modesty, she placed her thumbs inside the skirt, and pulled the cloth down and away from her pert buttocks. The skirt tumbled silently along the sculpted thighs and calves of her slender legs. Rhonda then turned towards the bed, and, with her arms reaching across her chest pulled the silky top up over her head, exposing her oh so femininely slender neck as her locks disorientedly followed the tug of her top. Her breasts were full, fresh, and firm, innocently inviting, and begging to be fondled. With graceful, confident moves, Rhonda made her way towards the bed, and climbed on, like a lioness in heat.

"Now let me help you forget everything that you want to forget, and make you dream beautiful erotic dreams before you sleep."

And sleep I would, but not before having Rhonda have her way with me. Rhonda had gifts that made you forget about all other women, yet at the same time, made you wish all other women had the same gifts. Her beauty was unmatched, her lustful gaze enveloped you in comfort and sensual serenity. The world as we know it would disappear, and become a very intimate place for two where no other was allowed, or able to enter. Her fragrance, though subtle, invaded my nostrils, transforming my brain into a drowning victim who's only wish was to continue drowning. In more pedestrian terms, Rhonda was one, terrific, lay!

As she had promised, I dreamed erotic dreams, and soon after, lulled into a very, very deep, long, peaceful sleep. The silence was wonderful, and the feeling of contentment was everywhere in my mind and my body. I slept for many hours, no doubt exhausted by lack of sleep in the days that had preceded. It was late afternoon when I woke up. Rhonda lay silently beside me. As soon as I budged, soft words came into my ears.

"Are you awake, Nick?"

"No, and my name's not Nick. Why do you insist on calling me Nick? Is Nick some guy you picked up in a bar, or in that hot little car of yours while you were boulevarding?"

"Well, if your name's not Nick, then my name's not Rhonda, and I better never, ever sleep with you again."

"Am I lousy in bed, or something? Should I take this personally?"

"You're okay, I suppose, for a guy your age."

"You're lucky I'm not any younger. When I was a teenager, a girl I had slept with had to have her lower back stitched up after I shot through her."

"You wish."

"Seriously. That was after having chipped a tooth while blowing me."

"I don't think so."

"Well, hey, no need to be so modest. I heard from a reliable source that you once sent a guy into the hospital after having sent his balls up to his throat with those thighs of steel."

"Well, that story is true, but I don't like to talk about it. Poor guy looked like he had three Adam's apples, and too much space in his pockets."

The bantering continued.

"So what's your real name, if it isn't Nick?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Well, a girl likes to know these things."

"I see."

"In case of a paternity suit."

"Makes sense, I suppose. You can't expect a judge to issue a subpoena to a guy with no name, or worse, to 'That bastard that knocked me up'. It just wouldn't look good for the judge to do that. Can you imagine if we didn't have orgasms?"

Rhonda looked at me with that 'maybe you should go back to sleep for a while' look.

"We wouldn't know when to stop!"

"Oh, there are other ways of knowing when to stop."

"For instance."

"When my man's bleeding and begging for mercy."

"That would be a fairly good sign. Just one more good reason for people to have orgasms, don't you think?"

"One of many.."

A faint knock fell upon the door, then a moment of silence. A second knock fell upon the door, then some muffled words.

"Meestair Neeck. Oh Meestair Neeck!"

The accent was unmistakable.

"Yes Yvette, what is it?"

More muffled sounds continued to pry their way around the door. I looked at Rhonda.

"Can you make out what she's saying?"

"No, no I can't Nick. Can you?"

"Can't make out a damn word."

The muffled litany continued.

"Open the door, Yvette. I can't hear a thing you're saying."

There was a moment of silence, then a knock.

"Meestair Neeck, are you there?"

With a look of feigned exasperation on her face, Rhonda made her way to the door and opened it.

"Ah Mees Rhonda, how are you? I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have a message from Doctor Payne's office. He would like Monsieur Nick to call him as soon as possible."

"Thank you Yvette."

"You are welcome Monsieur. Would you like me to prepare some cocktails?"

"Terrific idea. I'll have a Caesar. How about you Rhonda?"

"Yes, I'll have a Scotch on the rocks. Thank you Yvette."

"Shall I serve those on the terrace, Monsieur?"

"Yes, give us fifteen minutes to get ready, Yvette. And get Juanita to put together some smoked salmon and other bits. I need something to get me through to dinner."

"Very well, Monsieur."

Yvette disappeared from the doorway, and scurried down the hall.

"Now what do you think Payne wants at this time of day? His receptionist said she'd have a date set up for me, but I understood I'd be going in sometime next week. Hmm."

"Look at it this way Nick. The sooner you go in, the faster I get to collect the insurance money."

The late afternoon warmth was still in the air. I decided to slip a bathing suit on with the intention of taking a quick dip in the pool before having a drink.

"Go on ahead Nick. I'm just going to freshen up a little."

"Are you going to join me for a swim?"

"Of course."

"Are you going to put on that sexy black bathing suit?"

"Have you got some kind of obsession about women in black bathing suits?"

"Black is a very stable color."

"So am I to conclude that you associate black with sex and stability?"

"Let me qualify that. Black is a constant color."

"And that's good for you psychologically?"

"Let me put it to you this way. Looking at you in a black bathing suit constantly reminds me how lucky I am to be with you."

Rhonda looked at me like someone who was about to put their finger down their throat. Then she shooed me away. I snapped up a towel and walked down the hall through to the study and out onto the terrace. I pulled a chair away from the table that stood near the pool, took a deep breath of sea air, grinned contentedly, and sat down. I gazed out onto the ocean for a moment, and thought: 'Life just doesn't get any better than this'. I picked up the telephone, and keyed the number that Yvette had conveniently left on a pad beside the telephone. An interruption in the ringing indicated a rechanneling of calls. I was greeted by a taped message.

"Hello, you've reached Doctor Aitken Payne. If you wish service in English, press 'one' now; if you wish service in Spanish, press 'two' now; if you wish to reach my office, press 'three' now; if you wish to reach the Mordin-Hugh Bargundfore Medical Center, press 'four' now; if you wish to reach one of my associates, press 'five' now; if this is an emergency, press '911' now; if this is a personal call, hold the line and you will be patched through automatically. Have a nice day."

As I fumed and waited for the call to be patched through, I reflected on technological advancement, and how it had taken the fast lane on the highway to hell. I thought about how all this shit was supposed to make life simpler, easier, more convenient. I started to think about those programs I had watched and admired as a kid, those programs that showed how people at the dawn of the twenty-first century would go around with beautiful cavity-free smiles, carrying in their worry-free minds faint memories of stories told by their grandparents of busy signals on telephones, rotary dials on black telephones that broke fingernails and doubled as doorstops, or as useful weapons against intruders.

"Aitken Payne here."

"Nick fucking Mane here."

"Nick, Nick, Nick. You haven't lost your sense of humor."

"No, I haven't lost my sense of humor. Just my patience and my mind. Tell me something, Have you got someone holding the receiver for you, or are they holding your dick while you're having a leak?"

"I'm actually wrapping up a game of golf. I'm glad you called, Nick. I wanted to schedule your surgery for next week, but a colleague of mine just flew in from Europe. His name is Laktik, Brophy Laktik. Brilliant guy. He's only in for a couple of days, and I was telling him about your case. He said he'd love to be there when we do you. Think you can swing it?"

"Are you telling me you want to cut me tomorrow?"

"Why not? No time like the present. Plus, you'll have two great surgeons to look after you."

"Aitken, you sound more and more like a car dealer. I don't have a problem with doing this tomorrow. I'm just wondering. Are you two going out drinking tonight, or are you going to prescribe each other some drugs?"

"Nick, Nick, Nick. You kill me. No, we won't be drinking tonight. I can assure you of that. I have to go over some notes with Brophy, and we'll be ready to go tomorrow morning. Why don't you make your way over to the medical center around ten in the morning."

"You didn't answer the second part of my question."

"Nick, Nick, Nick. You kill me. So we'll see you tomorrow morning?"

"Tomorrow morning it is."

As I hung up the receiver, I caught Rhonda's silhouette from the corner of my eye. I craned my neck to catch a better glimpse of her. She silently stepped towards me, smiled, and leaned towards me. She took my head in her warm soft hands, and gave me a soft kiss.

"Who was that on the phone?"

"It was one of your lovers. I told him you were busy tonight, but that you might be free tomorrow night."

Rhonda quickly retorted.

"So I guess you're going in for surgery tomorrow?"

"Mmm, yes. Payne's got a colleague visiting with him for a couple of days. Seems that he's interested in sitting in on the sculpting session."

"What time do you have to go in?"

"I have to be there for ten."

"I'll drive you in. And don't worry, everything will be fine."

Rhonda took me by the hand and dragged me to the pool.

"Come on handsome. Let's get wet."

"How can I refuse an offer like that."

We dove into the limpid aquamarine waters of the pool. The wind played with the overhanging palms that in turn cast dancing shadows on the surface of the water. Rhonda looked like a siren, swimming effortlessly and gracefully through the water. Her hair flowed along her naked back like schools of fish placidly following the wavy currents. We swam, and waded, and talked about everything, and nothing. A while later, we got out of the pool, and made our way back to the table where Yvette had set our drinks and a platter of wonderful hors-d'oeuvres meticulously prepared by Juanita.

"What time will you be having dinner, Monsieur?"

I looked at Rhonda inquisitively.

"How does dinner at nine sound to you?"

"Dinner at nine sounds fine."

"Very well, Monsieur. I will inform Juanita."

"Thank you Yvette."

"Will there be anything else, Monsieur?"

"I think that's all for now. Thank you."

"By the way, Monsieur, is it true that they are going to put a hole in your head?"

"Put a what?"

"A hole, Monsieur."

"Well, not exactly. They're going to attempt to remove the plate that is embedded in my head. I certainly hope they're not going to leave a hole in its place."

"I see. Shall I take out the remaining pieces of the plate, Monsieur?"

"Splendid idea. Rhonda and I can spend the evening putting the remaining pieces back together, and hopefully, complete the restoration of the plate when Doctor Payne makes it available to me after the surgery tomorrow. The plate will become a conversation piece, no doubt."

Yvette quietly disappeared into the house. Rhonda took a sip of her drink, and looked at me.

"Nick, you must promise me to never, ever juggle dinner plates at parties again. You realize that you could have done serious damage to yourself on that infamous night. Doctor Payne said that had that piece of porcelain come a few millimeters closer, you could have become a vegetable."

"Yes, but I would have become a fresh vegetable."

"Stop kidding around Nick. I'm being serious. Now promise me you'll never do that sort of thing again."

"All right. I promise. Happy now?"

We continued to sip on our drinks on the terrace while watching the day's light come to an end. The clouds drifted away, the sky darkened and gave way to a myriad of stars. The air remained warm, and we decided to dine on the terrace. Juanita had created something delicious, and we ate under the stars, listening to the waves lazily crash onto the shore. After dinner, Yvette brought out the broken pieces of the plate that had caused so much concern for so long. Rhonda began putting the pieces together to reconstruct the plate. We felt like archeologists reconstructing an artifact that had long been lost. It was tremendously entertaining.

"Pass me the Stikky Wikket glue, will you Rhonda?"

"Be careful Nick. This stuff bonds instantly according to the instructions."

"Hmm, they all claim that." I retorted. "Now, let's start with these two large pieces, shall we?"

I struggled with the cap on the tube of Stikky Wikket glue. It stubbornly resisted any attempt to loosen it. I clucked my tongue in frustration.

"Damn thing won't let go!"

All of a sudden, the cap relinquished its hold. A gob of gaseous clear semi-liquid potion oozed out of the tube like toothpaste being run over by a truck.. My nostrils began to twitch from the noxious vapors. I casually and instinctively reached with my finger to rub my nose. Before the thought process could reach my brain, the damage had already been done.

"Aw phuck! Phuck, phuck, phuck...Now I've done it! Stupid phucking Stikky Wikket piece of shit useless phucking glue!"

Rhonda could not help but fold in two and laugh hysterically. She wailed away, slapping her knees like a barroom balladeer. Then there would be a brief moment of feigned seriousness, followed by 'Omygosh Nick' followed by another hysterical outpouring of laughter. The cacophony alerted the household, and soon, Yvette and Juanita were out to watch the show.

"Aye Caramba, Mr. Nick! What have you done?" exploded Juanita.

Yvette stood at attention, and cupped her hand over her mouth.

I had really done it this time. S-t-o-o-p-i-d kept flashing in bright neon lights inside my forehead. I could not help but continue to chastise myself for having committed the ultimate act of self-deprecation. I could only surmise that, deep down, I really hated myself. I had undignifiably stuck my index finger to one of my nostrils. And would the damn Stikky Wikket glue even give hint of letting me out of its grasp? Not a damn chance in hell. In a nasal tone I resigned myself to wax philosophical.

"The timing couldn't be better. After all, I am seeing the doctor tomorrow."

As it turned out the proboscis con index dilemma was becoming minor compared to the effects of the noxious fumes. I began to get a major case of the whirly-twirlies that I could liken only to being an addiction-prone twelve-year-old in a model airplane glue factory. I stood up, gasping for air, but to no avail. The landscape began to shift awkwardly from side to side. I began to dance around the terrace, my feet slipping, sliding, and stumbling over each other like those of a punch-drunk boxer who just won't quit. Unaware of my present location, I made a vain effort to make my way indoors to a more convenient resting place, only to walk headlong into the pool, finger still stubbornly affixed to my nostril. Oddly enough, from what I can remember of the incident, the water felt good.

CHAPTER THREE

"Get in the car right now, mister!"

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

"For the last time, get in the damn car, and shut the door!"

"Are you going to drive carefully?"

Rhonda turned her head away, and rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"If you don't get in the car right now, I'm going to leave you rot here with your finger up your nose, and while you're at it you can stick your other finger up your ass."

"Who's side of the family did you pick up that nasty temperament of yours from? I would just be appreciative if you drove slowly. I don't want to find myself inadvertently conducting orthoscopic surgery on the inside of my head as you dodge some poor crow trying to have lunch on the highway as you scream along at ninety miles per hour."

I stepped into the '63 split-window Corvette in a slow deliberate manner. It was rather awkward to get in, having temporarily lost use of one of my arms. My right nostril and right index finger had become intimate friends overnight, and I was on the one hand looking forward to the divorce, but on the other hand, somewhat embarrassed about the entire situation.

"You must remind me to write a note to the makers of Stikky Wikket glue. I dare say, there are very few things in this world that actually do what they are claimed to do. Hell, maybe the medical profession should be informed of this product's capabilities. Who knows, they might be able to use this stuff instead of sutures after major surgical interventions like open heart surgery, or even liver transplants."

Rhonda fired up the fuel-injected 327. Its ominous burble eagerly awaited her, ahmm, heavy foot. Rhonda blipped the throttle, slipped the lever into first gear, and released the clutch. We were off. Under any other circumstances, my faith would be put willingly into Rhonda's hands. Her driving skills were second to none. She did however have great disdain for speed limits, and quite frankly, my precarious situation, what with finger firmly embedded in nose, made me feel somewhat vulnerable. I shouldn't have felt nervous. After all, Rhonda, with the help of Yvette and Juanita had fished me out of the pool just the night before, and had managed to get me into bed, safe and sound. Now it was time to get me to the Mordin-Hugh Bargundfore Medical Center to have this damned plate taken out, and yes, to have my index extricated from my nose.

"I'll take it easy."

Famous last words, I thought. The car's meaty rear tires chirped like robins in the early morning dew as the car leapt from first to second gear, and again, from second to third gear. There was no audible chirp going into fourth gear. Why? Because Rhonda was taking it easy. I glanced at the speedometer. We were ambling at ninety miles an hour. A leisurely pace, wouldn't you say? A thought came to mind. A question of relativity. If this was 'taking it easy', what the hell was 'taking it hard'? The acute angle that my arm had been forced to remain in had caused it to go to sleep. I felt nothing from my arm, but my nose felt like it was being stretched by a dangling dead weight. I likened the sensation to one that an elephant would feel after having tripped over its own trunk. Babar takes a ride in a Sting Ray. We wended our way through the dunes. The traffic was light. I wanted to look around, enjoy the view, but I noticed that even this simple pleasure had become more of a chore than anything else. Turning my head now involved turning the entire upper part of my body. I resigned myself to keeping my body in a static position, and letting my eyes do the wandering.

"Will you still love me if we find out that they can't remove my finger from my nose?"

"What makes you think I love you now?"

"All right, let me rephrase the question. Will you still want my body if we find out that they can't remove my finger from my nose?"

"Have you been watching the soaps on TV? You're being awfully melodramatic. Worst case scenario is that they'll have to cut off the end of your index to release your arm, or cut off your arm at the shoulder, and let it dangle from your nose. They'll probably give you the choice."

"I'll remember that the next time you get a cold, or the flu, or something. I'll shower you with the same kind of sympathy."

"Men. They're all the same. A tiny ailment, and they fall apart. Aren't you the guy who gets shot at and punched in the face, the guy who occasionally gets a mickey slipped to him by gorgeous, yet cunning and deceitful women?"

"It's not the same. Some of those things help me get a good night's sleep."

"Hmmm."

We continued to drive along the coast at a frenetic pace, roller-coasting over the dunes. A service station appeared on the horizon. Rhonda glanced at the instrument cluster.

"We should stop for gas. We're running low."

"I was afraid of that. Have we got enough to get into town?"

"I don't think so. Not unless you want to walk the last few miles to the medical center."

"I was afraid of that."

I didn't really want to be seen in this state, but it looked as if it was going to be unavoidable. Rhonda slowed the car to mach one as we drifted sideways into the service station runway of Phil's Phillup Center. Rhonda eased the car up to the pumps. A belt buckle appeared at Rhonda's window. A young man's voice resonated from high above the belt buckle.

"Fill-er-up?" the voice called out. Rhonda replied.

"Yes please."

"Regular, mid-grade, hi-test, fossil, vegetable, or hybrid?" queried the voice from atop the belt buckle.

"Hi-test, fossil please."

"You bet."

The belt buckle turned, grabbed a nozzle, and worked its way to the back of the car. The sound of flowing gasoline began to resonate through the back of the car, and fumes wafted past the open windows. The belt buckle returned to the car widow, disappeared below the sash only to be replaced by a decaled short sleeve shirt with a name tag on it. 'Pete' was the name on the tag. The shirt gave way to a neck, and then to a face, a young man's face.

"Welcome to Phil's Phillup. Can I check your oil today?"

"No, that's okay," replied Rhonda.

"Clean your windshield mam?"

"No, that's okay, just some gas for today."

"Nice car mam. '63 Stingray? They don't make 'em like this any more. Hell, I wasn't even born when these came out. Good on gas? Probably not, but who cares, right? The thrill is in the drive. Had it long? Bet you it goes like hell...pardon the expression mam. Thinkin' of sellin' it? If ever you do, give me a call. I'll go out and rob a bank if I have to."

As it turned out, Pete was an easy person to have a conversation with. He just kept on answering his own questions. Rhonda decided to go inside to get herself something to drink, leaving me alone with Pete.

"Jeez mister, you're a lucky guy. She sure is pretty. She your wife? Must be, I guess. She sure as heck isn't your daughter. Say, you got somethin' wrong with your arm mister?"

"No, actually, I had a cellular phone installed in my right nostril, and I'm attempting to dial out."

"Oh yea, well technology is a great thing, an' if you don't have any luck with your phone, we've got a pay phone in the restaurant."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

Pete disappeared to the back of the car, removed the nozzle from its resting place and returned it to the pump.

"Boy, she was awful thirsty. That comes up to thirty dollars even. 'Course you get a free coffee with that, an' a newspaper. Would you like regular, decaffeinated, cream, sugar? Would you like a Times, a Chronicle, a Sun, a Mirror, you name it, we got it here at Phil's Phillup."

"I'll pass on the coffee and the newspaper, thanks."

"Okay, that'll be thirty dollars. Is that gonna be cash, American Express, Visa, or Mastercard, unless of course you have a Phil's Phillup special discount gas card?"

"That'll be cash."

"Say, are you havin' any luck with that phone call?"

"Yea, yea, I'm on hold right at the moment."

"Ain't technology great. Cash huh? Well, this is your lucky day. We give discounts for cash You get five percent off, on account of we don't get stuck with a whole lot of extra paperwork "

"I can see how that would be rather trying."

"Plus, I tell you what, because you're not havin' a coffee, or a newspaper, I'll knock those off the price of the gas, so that'll come out to, let's see now, twenty-seven fifty."

"You're too kind."

"Not at all, at Phil's Phillup, we aim to please. I'll be right back with your change."

That was it. I knew it now. Rhonda had driven me to the gas station from hell. She had disappeared inside, and would never return, and I would be stuck here, forever, with Pete, unable to get away, finger in nose, unable to even attempt to drive off. I was doomed. After what seemed an eternity, she finally reappeared. I sighed with relief. She got back into the car. Moments later, Pete came running to the car.

"Here's your change. Who's the banker? Doesn't matter, right? Oh, and by the way, do either of you golf? Doesn't matter. You can always give this coupon to someone you know. It's good for ten percent off any day of the week, except Sundays, before ten a.m. at the Kuph Links Golf and Country Club. You two have a nice day now."

"Get me the hell out of here before I lose my damned mind," I muttered.

"He's such a pleasant young man," replied Rhonda.

"So is sex, until you find out you've picked up a dose of gonorrhea."

Rhonda started up the car, and we drove off. It wasn't too long before we reached the outer limits of the city. Nothing takes too long when Rhonda's at the wheel. The skyline seemed to mushroom out of the horizon like a nuclear blast in slow motion. A layer of storm clouds began to work its way over the cityscape. The polarizing effect of the nebula strata brought out the true color of things without the glare that usually accompanies a sunny day. It was comforting to see the vaporous blanket arrive. It fit the mood of the day, I thought.

"I know it's rather selfish of me, but I'm glad the day is clouding over. I'd hate to miss out on a sunny day because of this plate, finger and nose thing."

"How long are you supposed to stay at the medical center anyway?"

"You know something, I haven't the foggiest idea. Payne never really mentioned anything, and I never really asked. Which reminds me. I haven't even brought a change of clothes. Not even a toothbrush."

"Everything is in the bag."

"What bag?"

"The bag Yvette prepared for you last night. It's in behind my seat."

"What would I do without you?"

"Probably play with yourself a lot."

"So how much insurance did you get on me, in case something goes wrong?"

"Enough to bury you if I have to, and then enough to forget about you if I want to."

"Would you really forget about me Rhonda?"

No answer came from Rhonda's lips. Just a grin. After getting the finger from a few neighboring cars at stop lights, we finally made it to the Mordin-Hugh Bargundfore Medical Canter. Did I say, Canter? Yes I did. Some impish 'anonyms' had transformed the 'e' into an 'a'. Or had this become an equine treatment center? Rhonda eased the car up to the reception area.

"Why don't you hop out here. I'll park the car and meet you inside. Okay handsome?"

"Okay gorgeous."

I got out of the car in as dignified a manner as I could, turned, and walked along the well-manicured palm lined entranceway to the front door of the medical center. I ignored the glaring glances and smirking faces that I encountered on the way in. I pretended that everything was normal, and tried to imagine that I was being followed by someone even more bizarre looking than me. That was highly unlikely, but it made me feel better nonetheless. Once in the door, I walked directly to the reception desk, and made my presence known, not that I had to try very hard. A white uniformed thing of beauty greeted me. She was too perfect. She must have dated every plastic artist in the place to look so good.

"Need a Kleenex?"

"No. Why?"

I have a knack for making people comfortable when I want to. The white uniformed plastic sculpture blushed.

"I'm sorry. I just thought..."

"I know, I know. The outfit is somewhat garish. You see, my girlfriend insists on dressing me. I think it's her way of keeping me from straying."

The white uniformed creature did not know what to make of me.

"Can I have your name please?"

"Yes, of course. It's Mane, Nick Mane. M-a-n-e. I'm here to see Doctor Aitken Payne. P-a-y-n-e. I'm scheduled for surgery sometime this morning. M-o-r-n-i-n-g."

I instinctively knew that if I sounded strange enough, I would get processed quickly and efficiently.

"Mane, Mane, Mane. Ah yes. Mr. Mane. Doctor Payne's patient. You're scheduled for surgery at...ten-thirty this morning. Do you have your insurance card with you?"

"Car insurance?"

"No Mr. Mane, your health insurance card. C-a-r-d."

"Ah yes. It's in my pocket. You'll have to help me out though. It's in the pocket that I can't reach."

"Let me guess. Your pant pocket?"

"No, no, no. My breast pocket. The right breast pocket of my jacket. I would never think of asking you to reach into my pant pocket. Not for an insurance card anyway."

"That's very decent of you."

The white uniformed creature got up from her chair, walked around the reception counter, came up to me and reached into my pocket, the...pant pocket.

"I can't seem to find those papers, Mr. Mane, but ah, there is something in here that seems quite interesting. I tell you what, I'll just keep on looking here for a while. I'm sure I'll find something."

Now I was the one who was blushing. Thank goodness the lobby area was devoid of people, or so I thought.

"Are you two having a good time," asked Rhonda casually.

The white uniformed creature pulled her hand out of my pocket.

"It's not there Mr. Mane. Perhaps in your jacket pocket?"

"That would be the next logical place, I would think."

"You're not looking for his brains, are you Miss?" asked Rhonda. "He doesn't have any."

I felt like an embarrassed child. Thrilled, but embarrassed. I did however get processed rather quickly after that, In the usual clinical manner, I was whisked away in a rolling sofa, and taken to a room, where I was undressed, bathed and draped in one of those flimsy cotton gowns. I waited patiently in the room. A quiet tap sounded at the door.

"Nick, Nick, Nick. How the hell are you. Jeezus, what the hell happened there? That's not where your finger's supposed to go. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to do that? Hmmm...maybe that plate did affect your brain Nick."

I explained what had happened. Payne had a good laugh, then explained how much more it was going to cost, then had another good laugh. Then he explained that I'd have to go under, and might never come out of it, then he had a good laugh. But then he went on to explain that Brophy Laktik was one of the best cutters and plastic men in the business, and that together, they would do a bang-up job on me. When asked how long I would be staying at the medical center, he explained that Rhonda, after witnessing the episode in the lobby, had instructed him to keep me at the clinic forever, inducing a debilitating condition, and that she would split the insurance money with him, and give him my Mercedes as a bonus. Then he had a good laugh.

"Let me be serious for one minute here, Nick. None of this is mind-boggling medicine, and you should be out of here in a couple of days. That should give Rhonda a chance to pick up a few guys, and make up for this morning. So, we'll see you in the kitchen in about fifteen minutes."

That's as serious as Aitken Payne could get. Rhonda came into the room, gave me the kiss I didn't deserve, and asked me for the keys to the Mercedes. I could tell that I would have some difficulty living this one down.

What seemed like moments later, an orderly came into the room steering a stretcher on wheels. He helped me get on, and whisked me down the hall to the kitchen where the comedy team of Payne and Laktik awaited, accompanied by a chorus of nurses and a rather anemic looking anesthetist who looked like he shot himself up regularly. I was transferred onto the cutting board. As I lay motionless on the slab, looking at the masked mob, the anesthetist came up to me, touched me on the shoulder, and began to speak.

"How are you today, Mr. Mane? I'm Doctor Zhivago, no relation to the other Doctor Zhivago. I'm your anesthetist, and I want you to relax now, just relax. I'm going to give you an injection. Now this won't hurt a bit, I've done this a thousand times. When I tell you, start counting backwards from ninety-nine, okay? And in no time at all, you'll be sleeping like a baby, and you won't feel a thing. You're in the competent hands of some of the finest surgeons anywhere. The procedure should take about an hour or so, and then you'll be right as rain."

I was feeling okay, pretty relaxed. They were pumping music in, I suppose, to keep everybody relaxed. Frank Sinatra was just wrapping up 'New York, New York', and that was okay, but then I had to question the DJ's choice. They started playing 'It's Over' by Roy Orbison. Now I don't have a problem with Roy, but this is one tune they shouldn't play when airplanes are taking off, and when people are going under the knife.

"All right Mr. Mane, you can start counting now."

"Don't throw away that piece of plate."

"We won't Mr. Mane. Now start counting back. Ninety-nine, ninety-eight..."

"Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven, ninety-two, eighty-four, sevety...sevety... seve..."

CHAPTER FOUR

"We're losing him! We're losing him!"

"Blood pressure is way down!"

"He's going into a comma!"

I found myself drifting away towards what seemed to be a very bright, unquestionably attractive light. It yearned and pulled unrelentingly. I felt like moving closer and closer to it. Then I paused. I'd read about this kind of light. Yes, but where, and what exactly had I read? I knew one thing for sure. It wasn't the light you see when you drive up to a burger joint on a cool foggy, rain-filled night. No, it wasn't that kind of light at all. It was intense, yet you could look straight into it without blinking. It wasn't at all like the light that you'd find in a dentist's office, and it wasn't like a spotlight that you'd find in a nightclub.

"Come into the light won't you?"

"Any particular reason why I should?"

"Well...it's just that, well...you see, I'm trying to put this delicately. Most people who come to the light have, for want of a better word, wrapped things up, so to speak."

"I see."

"Won't you have a seat?"

"I could have sworn there wasn't a chair sitting there a moment ago."

"You're absolutely correct. There was no chair there a moment ago. Try it out."

"It's not connected to anything electrical, I hope."

"No, it isn't. I assure you, it's quite safe."

I sat in the chair.

"Comfortable?"

"Heavenly. Now would you be so kind as to tell me where I am? I seem to recall having been lying on an operating room table just a short while ago, then everything went dark. This isn't post-operative therapy, is it?"

"Not exactly, no. Would you like me to pull the chair a little closer to the light?"

:"Not for the moment, thanks. I'm quite comfortable here."

"Well Mr. Mane, or should I call you Nick? Which do you prefer?"

"I'd prefer if you'd show yourself, then introduce yourself."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, not just yet anyway. I do hope you will indulge me, at least until we get a few things straightened away."

"Let me guess. I forgot to pay my American Express last month. I can't be delinquent on my child support payments. I don't have any kids. And I can't be delinquent on my alimony payments. I'm not divorced."

"But you do have a very, very lovely girlfriend. Oh, what is her name again? Rhonda Myle, of course. Such a lovely young lady. You've been a very lucky man, Mr. Mane."

"Call me Nick. You seem to know a lot about me, mister ah, mister?"

"Winthrop. You can call me Winthrop if you like."

"Is that Mr. Winthrop?"

"Just Winthrop."

"So Winthrop, where the hell am I, and what the hell am I doing here?"

: You might want to rephrase that question."

"How so?"

"It might sound better if you asked: 'Where in Heaven's name am I, and what in Heaven's name am I doing here?'."

"I gather that's supposed to be a hint."

"You're the detective. I'll leave it to you to figure it out."

"Oh damn, you can't be serious?"

"Dead serious, and I do wish you would try to contain your language."

"Are you trying to tell me that I didn't make it through that silly operation?"

"Let's just say that you're not fairing very well at the moment."

"So I'm not dead yet?"

"Not quite yet."

"Winthrop, bear with me for a moment. That would be like saying that, if you'll indulge me in my use of analogies, that I'm not quite pregnant."

"You do have a way with words, Nick."

"So what am I doing here?"

"You're having a chat with me, of course."

"And to what end?"

"To find out if you're ready."

"Ready for what?"

"To go into the light."

"Bud Light, Miller Light? What, you want to have a beer with me, and...and some conversation? Do you have an aversion to full strength beer?"

"Not that kind of light, Nick."

"Well, how long do I have to make up my mind?"

"You have all the time in the world, Nick. All the time in the world. As a matter of fact, time, for all intents and purposes, time, as you know it, does not exist here."

"So you're telling me my Rolex was a bad investment."

"That will depend on what you ultimately decide."

"You mean to tell me I have a choice?"

"Oh yes, yes, you do have a choice."

"You've piqued my curiosity, Winthrop. If I understand correctly, I'm not quite dead, not quite alive, and we have all the time in the world to discuss any number of topics, including whether or not I want to go into the light."

"You're absolutely correct on every point. I should add one point though. Everything you and I discuss will be of no relevant consequence to you if you decide to go back. You will have no recollection whatsoever of our meting, or of our conversation."

"So what's the point of having this conversation?"

"Firstly, it should help you to make up your mind whether you want to stay, or go back. Secondly, I don't mind a little bit of conversation with someone like you once in a while."

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

"Take it any way you like, Nick."

"Well, Winthrop, I do have a few questions that I'd like to ask, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all, Nick. You can ask me anything you like."

"The universe, Winthrop, how big is it?"

"Heady stuff Nick. Not the usual kind of question that I get. Any particular reason why you want to know?"

"It's been on my mind."

"Let me put it to you this way Nick. It's not that the universe is so large, it's that the Earth is so small. It's simply a question of relativity."

"Are there other planets with living beings?"

"Well, that's an easy one to answer, without giving you the answer. Look at it this way Nick, there are, in the universe, clusters of billions of stars. I'll repeat that. In the universe, there are clusters of billions, of stars. There are more stars in the universe than there are water molecules in the Earth's oceans. Statistically Nick, what do you think the chances are?"

"I would think they're pretty good."

"I rest my case."

"So how do you end up where you end up?"

"You mean, how did you end up on Earth?"

"More or less, yes."

"Let me put it to you this way, Nick. It's a little bit like walking into a travel agency while you're waiting for your girlfriend to get her hair done. You don't have any particular reason for going in except for the fact that the agency is there, and you are there. Follow me so far?"

"Mmm."

"The travel agent asks you if you're looking for anything in particular, and you say 'no, you're just browsing'. The agent has an interesting array of destinations, some familiar, and some exotic. The unusual thing is that the agent only sells 'one-way' tickets. The trip's length can vary, and there are no guarantees of satisfaction. There is a promise, however, that the trip will be like no other that you have ever embarked upon, and therein probably lies the greatest attraction."

"So you could end up anywhere."

"That's right. Pretty exciting when you think about it, isn't it?"

"So what's the purpose of it all?"

"The purpose, the purpose you ask. The purpose of it all, as you so quaintly put it, is to learn, to learn and to grow from what you have learned."

"How can you learn anything on the planet I've been 'visiting'. Most people can't even remember what they had for breakfast."

"Do you remember what you had for breakfast?"

"Sometimes. The heartburn usually reminds me."

"Well Nick, I hate to disappoint you, but there's an assumption maintained by many people that the universe is perfect in every way, and that humans are imperfect."

"I've heard it said."

"Would I be disappointing you if I told you that the universe is an imperfect place, and that humans, with all of their imperfections, fit perfectly into the universe."

"Can I quote you on that?"

"You can, if you wish, but you'll have to do it sometime before you go into the light, or return to where you came from before you got here."

"The damn light thing again. Do you get a commission for every being you send into the light? You don't sell insurance on the side, do you? What is so great about going into the light?"

"The light, Nick, is a shortcut, if you will. It's an option. It's an opportunity. And no, I don't get a commission if you go into the light. I'm on salary, with bonus, and a yearly residuals. So what is it going to be?"

"Well Winthrop, I don't really see the point of going into the light at this very moment. For one thing, I don't have my Ray-Bans with me, and for another, I couldn't stand the thought of having Aitken Payne try to pick up Rhonda at my funeral."

"So be it, Nick. It was a pleasure meeting with you. I admire your courage. Many people would opt for the light, you know."

"From what I gather, I'll have that option again, won't I?"

"Now I know why you're a detective, Nick.. Good luck."

"I gather I'll also be seeing you again, Winthrop, so this is au revoir, and not good-bye."

My guts came up through me as if I were diving down a roller-coaster track. The bright light faded off into the distance like a sunset without a cowboy, and even though I tried very, very hard to keep Winthrop, and our conversation in mind, the whole episode fell apart and became a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces of which fragmented into nothing more than disjointed memories.

"Jeezus, that was close!"

"What the hell happened there?"

"I don't know, but his vital signs are returning."

"All right. Let's get that damn piece of Limoges porcelain out of his head, and wrap this up before something else happens."

"That was too close for comfort. I'll never be able to concentrate on my golf game this afternoon."

"Careful now, this is it. Pull gently, gently. Don't go off on an angle. Looks like it's just the one piece."

"Oowah, that's quality porcelain, isn't it?"

"Whatever you do, don't throw it away. He wants to put the plate back together. Something about a memento."

"That's it, tape him up, get him off this slab, and into the recovery room."

"Good work ladies and gentlemen. Thank your lucky stars we didn't lose him."

It was great being under, but it never lasts long enough. Seems like your entire body takes a vacation. No aches, no pains, no stiff muscles, no cricks, no cramps, no spasms. Nothing. They should sell this as a holiday, for those who don't have time to get away. It was terrible waking up though. My mouth felt like someone had shoveled the Great Salt Flats into it, and then had added a bag of Portland cement for good measure. My eyes felt like they had been some sadistic nine-year-old's playthings, and my head, the inside of my poor head, felt like my brain had decided to grow while I wasn't watching, just to see what other parts of my body it could get into. It was the hangover from hell. I pressed the little buzzer, you know the one, the one that's not connected to anything, the pacifier that enrages. Nothing happened. I pressed the buzzer again, and waited. Nothing happened. I yanked the cord that was attached to the buzzer out of the wall. An alarm went off. I felt good. A few moments later, a rather severe looking face attached to a white uniform barged into the room. The fleshy arms that protruded from the top part of the uniform pulled together forming an x across the uniform.

"Mister Mane, need I remind you that you're not the only patient in this ward."

"I need a thdink aw wather."

"You need a what?"

"I thaid, I need a thdink aw wather!"

"There's no need to shout, Mr. Mane, and there's no need to make rude gestures. That will get you nowhere with me, do you understand, Mr. Mane?"

"Ssutt da hell up, an get me a thdink aw wather, will ya!"

"Oh now Mr. Mane, I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, and assume that it's the medication talking. I can't believe that you're the kind of person who would use that kind of language. Now say please."

"Pleathe get me a thdink aw wather, you bith."

"You say you'd like a bit of water. Would you rather have some apple juice?"

"Any finn, for Crithake!"

"My, my, you are a testy fellow, aren't you? I hope you're not like that with your wife in the morning."

"I'm not futhing mahweed!"

"I can see why."

I eventually got something to drink. I managed to pour most of it on myself. My lips were so dry that they had lost their feeling. The rather severe face attached to the white uniform plugged the buzzer back into its socket.

"Now remember, Mr. Mane, if you need anything, just buzz."

A short while later, another face appeared at the door. It was Aitken Payne.

"Nick, Nick, Nick, how the hell are you? You look pretty good for somebody who almost died with his finger up his nose. I've got to tell you that was a close one, but we managed to separate your index from that fine looking proboscis of yours, and we got that sliver out of your cranium. Here it is."

Aitken Payne handed me the porcelain sliver.

"Now listen Nick, there'll be no more fooling around with these plates, do you understand? We nearly lost you in the operating room. Can't figure out what happened but for a very short while there, you were good as dead. Shouldn't have happened Nick. Routine operation, except for what we were taking out, of course, and wham, the big light went out."

"No, the big light went on."

"What's that? Anyway, you had us worried. Some of the fellows thought they were going to miss out on their golf game. You would have ruined their day, Nick. So what I'm telling you, and I'm your doctor, so you should listen to me, is, don't be juggling those damn Limoges plates at dinner parties, okay amigo. Hell, swallowing knives is probably safer for you. At least your brain is nowhere near where a knife would go. Hell, have you ever tried just having dinner at a dinner party? A lot of people do just that, you know."

"When can I get out of here?"

"Nick, Nick, Nick, you kill me. You just got here. What's the matter, didn't pay your health insurance this month? Listen amigo, if it weren't for the fact that we nearly lost you, I'd say go home tomorrow, but I'll tell you what, we'll run a few tests, and if everything is all right, you might get out tomorrow, but no guarantees, so I'd say probably the day after tomorrow. How does that sound? Good? Okay amigo, ciao for now. I've got a few more people to cut."

As Aitken Payne made his way towards the door, he was met by none other than Rhonda.

"Your man's going to be fine, Rhonda. He just needs a little bit of rest, and you'll be able to take him home and abuse him at will."

"Was the lobotomy a success? Will I be able to have him certified as incompetent, and have power of attorney over his estate and financial affairs?"

"Shush Rhonda, he might hear you."

"It won't matter, once I'm done with him."

"I'll leave you two to fight it out."

Aitken turned and smiled at me as he left the room. Rhonda winked and teasingly made her way to the bed.

"Well big boy, are you ready for some savage sex, right here, right now?"

"You're not going to make me do it with that cow of a nurse, are you?"

"The one who was picking your pocket at the reception desk?"

"No, the one who was going to watch as I turned into a salt pile before her very eyes."

"Oh her. I saw her in the hallway. She gave me the funniest look. What did you do to her Nick?"

"It's more a matter of what I'd like to do to her."

"Has she been mistreating you?"

"No more than you would, given the chance."

"So why don't you give me the chance?"

"Are you disappointed that I got through the operation successfully?"

"Yes, I was looking forward to spending all your money on foolish expensive trinkets, and cheap young men."

"It'll have to wait. As you can see, I'm not dead yet."

"By the way, did you tell anyone that you were coming in to the hospital?"

"I really didn't have a chance. Besides, it's not something I'd be broadcasting. Why?"

"There was this card for you at the nurses' station."

"Are you sure it's for me?"

"It's got your name on the envelope. Your name is Nick Mane, isn't it?"

"As far as I know, yes."

"Shall I open it?"

"Why not. It might be a check."

"Or a letter-bomb."

Rhonda carefully opened the envelope, and pulled out the card that lay inside.

"What does it say?"

"Dear Nick, it was a pleasure meeting with you. Hope you get well soon."

"Who's it from?"

"It's signed: Winthrop."

"Winthrop who?"

"Just Winthrop. Plain old Winthrop. Who the hell is Winthrop?"

"Winthrop, Win...throp. Haven't got a damn clue. Have you checked with the desk to see if someone else by the name of Nick Mane is also registered?"

"No, it never crossed my mind. Why don't we buzz the desk, and ask?"

As she uttered the words Rhonda reached for the telephone. I took advantage of the moment to drift off. Winthrop, Win...throp. Hmmm. The name didn't ring a bell. I couldn't remember anyone by that name. Acquaintances, old school chums? No, the name just didn't conjure up a face.

"Well Nick, you're the only Mane registered, and you're the only Nick registered. You'll have to conclude, at one point or another, that this card was meant for you. Be thankful. Whoever it is wishes you well."

"Did you ask if anyone had seen whoever had dropped off the envelope?"

"Where were you while I was on the phone?"

"Ohwah, sorry, I was trying to figure out where I may have met this Winthrop fellow."

"Nobody saw anything. The envelope was on the desk, and that's all anybody knows."

"Isn't that the strangest thing. What's worse, is that I feel I should know that name."

"Well that will keep your mind busy while you're here recuperating."

"What about that savage sex you promised me?"

"That's something you'll have to look forward to when you get out of here. By the way, here's a tube of glue, and the rest of the plate. That should keep you busy till you get out of here. And Nick, for heaven's sake, keep your fingers out of your nose, won't you?"

"Just call me Nostril Damus, the hunchback of notorious fame."

CHAPTER FIVE

A work of art, and nothing less. The infamous Limoges dinner plate was once again whole, and the sum of its parts, was indeed something to behold. My head also looked a lot better, and felt lighter. I was glad to be getting out of the Mordin-Hugh Bargundfore Medical Center. Aitken Payne had given me a clean bill of health but could not explain what had happened in the operating room. My guess was that the doctors had administered some of the drugs to themselves instead of to their patients.

The mid-morning air was full and fragrant. The tropical flowers, basking in the sun willingly gave what they best knew what to give to a world that often so desperately needs their help. With thoughts like that running through my head, I began to wonder if the post-operative medication had indeed worn off. Nevertheless, the day was shaping up beautifully, and I began to look forward to that savage sex that Rhonda had promised me. As I gazed off into the distance, to look at nothing in particular, I noticed a familiar looking car coming towards the medical center's grounds at a frenetic pace. Rhonda, of course. Who else would drive like that, on public roads? I could hear the throttle crack and blip as Rhonda worked the gears on that '63 Stingray. She worked a car like Grappelli plays the violin. Every movement was deliberate, but the result was music that danced and flowed. It was a moment to enjoy, and nothing more than a moment. Before I could blink, the car growled to a stop, inches from my feet.

"Shine your shoes, mister?"

I felt like a million dollars. What a sight. Pretty car, gorgeous girl. What more could a fellow ask for? The heat from the finely tuned engine wafted up to my nostrils, bringing with it all of the mechanical odors that make cars special.

"Well, are you going to get in, or should I try to pick up one of the orderlies while I'm here?"

I reached for the handle, opened the car door, and proceeded to get in when my movements were interrupted by what I spotted on the seat.

"What's with the airline ticket, and the envelope? Are we going somewhere?"

"I don't know if we're going somewhere, but you certainly are."

"I can't believe it. I just got out of the hospital and you're trying to get rid of me."

"It's just that I found out what a great time I can have when you're not around. Get in the car silly."

Rhonda cleared the seat, and I stepped in. No sooner had I done so that the car lunged forward in a sideways fashion, with the tires screaming for mercy, unable to hold enough of the earth beneath them. The scuffing ceased just long enough for the engine to set the tires ablaze once again as we wound through second gear.

"Not even time for a damned kiss!"

Rhonda grabbed my thigh momentarily, and smiled.

"Can't you see I'm driving. I swear, Nick Mane, you're getting as soft as a woman. What the hell did they do to you in there?"

"Are you referring to my thigh, or to my heart?"

I didn't wait for an answer. I fondled the airline ticket for a while, then I looked inquisitively at the envelope.

"So where did this stuff come from?"

"I don't know. The airline ticket, and the envelope addressed to you were on the seat when I got into the car. Why don't you open the envelope and see what's inside?"

`"You should have been a detective, Rhonda."

"Mmm, then I might be able to figure out what I'm doing with you."

"What if it's a letter-bomb?"

"Stick your hands out the window. That way, you won't get any blood on the seats. Open the damn envelope, will you."

"If you insist."

I methodically pulled the loosely pasted envelope in order to reveal its contents. I sent two volunteer fingers inside to probe, and to retrieve what was inside. The envelope contained a note. The volunteer fingers pulled the note from its hovel. I carefully began to read the note as the pages flapped in the warm wind.

"So what does it say?"

"It says: Rhonda, please slow down so I can fucking read this note."

Rhonda complied, and slowed the car down just enough to let the outer skin of the car cool to a normal temperature.

"It says: Dear Mr. Mane, you will notice that I have supplied you with an airline ticket. Your flight will be departing today, so I would encourage you to make whatever arrangements you need to make as quickly as possible. This is a matter of great urgency. I need your help. P.S. In addition to the airline ticket, you will find a booklet of travelers' checks made out in your name. Consider this as a retainer."

"Who is it from?"

"There's no signature."

"How much are the traveler's checks for?"

"Fifteen thousand."

"Fifteen thousand. That's a pretty serious amount of change."

"And a first-class ticket. Nice touch."

"So what are you going to do? Are you going to go?"

"Why not. Especially seeing I didn't get a kiss from you."

"Get the barf bag out. I'm going to be sick."

"Besides, I haven't been to New York in ages."

"You're getting pretty old. Do you remember where it is?"

"Why yes, as a matter of fact I do. It's at the end of the runway that the plane I'm going to take is going to land on. Now what about that savage sex you promised me?"

"One-track mind."

We didn't have much time. Rhonda had to take me to the beach house so that I could get a bag ready, maybe jump into the ocean for a refreshing swim, throw down some of Juanita's famous cooking, and then get out to the airport. No savage sex. The drive along Beach Road was a pleasant one, albeit much too short. The Stingray slooped over the asphalt adeptly, and swiftly. My mind began to wander as I gazed at the grassy dunes. Who in hell's name in New York needed my services so desperately? Why didn't they identify themselves? How did they know where to find me? How much more money were they ready to spend? What do you wear in New York at this time of year? New York. It's such a damn big place! You have to wonder what makes those millions of people want to live together? They're always talking about trying to get away from each other. They do a terrific job of trying to keep the population down, however unorthodox the methods may be. The Big Apple. Who coined that phrase, I wonder? Can an apple grow in New York air? Do they still remember what an apple looks like? Is that woman Apple Annie still around? And that miracle on 43rd Street...I know what the miracle is...nobody has figured out how to steal the sidewalks yet. Where does all the stolen merchandise go? Does it stay in New York, or does it end up in New Jersey? You'd think after three or four decades, you'd run out of buyers of stolen merchandise. Do the stripped-down cars get mailed back to Detroit? You hear people saying: "Ah, but New York has so much to offer. Museums, famous restaurants and nightclubs, Broadway, concerts in Central Park, the World Trade Center, the U.N., the Empire State Building." Wonderful things indeed. Then you hear people saying: "But don't go out at night, not alone, anyway, and I wouldn't go to that part of town, if I were you, and bring lots of money, everything is very expensive. Apartments are quite affordable though, if you can get one from someone you know who's lived at the same place for forty years." Seems that the capital of capitalism gave people a break on the rent by instituting a law that puts a ceiling on increases if the name on the lease doesn't change. I wonder how many dead people still rent apartments in New York? Where is Old York? My mind was suddenly jolted back from the daydream world.

"Nick, we're home. Are you going to get out of the car, or shall I have Yvette bring you a take-out tray for the car door?"

"Owah, sorry...I must have drifted off. Are we home already?"

"No, actually, we're in Caracas. I felt like taking a drive on the Pan American highway."

The front door of the house swung open.

"Meestair Neeck, Meestair Nick, how are you? It's so nice to see you. Was the operation a success?"

I pulled the Limoges plate from between my feet and waved it at Yvette.

"Oh, Monsieur, the plate looks wonderful, and so does your head. Does it hurt?"

"No Yvette, plates can't feel anything."

"Oh, Monsieur, you are being silly."

Yvette took the plate from me as she opened the car door.

"Welcome home Monsieur. It's so nice to have you back."

"It's awfully nice to be back, Yvette, thank you. Unfortunately, it's not for long. I have to fly out to New York."

"Shall I prepare the one-day bag, the three-day bag, or the one-week bag, Monsieur?"

"Better make it the one-week bag. Just in case I get tied up."

"Very well, Monsieur. I will do that right away. By the way, Monsieur, what do they wear in New York at this time of year?"

"Armor plating, I think."

"In which drawer will I find that, Monsieur?"

I turned towards Rhonda, rolled my eyes, shook my head, and feigned a look of desperation.

"Book some more English lessons for Yvette, will you Rhonda?"

We made our way into the house. As we entered the doorway, a feeling of having been gone longer than I had actually been came over me. I gladly let the familiar subtle odors that pervade a household take over and replace the memories of clinical odors that had left me cold and empty. All of a sudden, the warm breeze that flowed through the house brought with it comforting fragrances, so transparent, yet so powerful, like the intoxicating fragrance that surrounds a woman's neck and shoulders as your face hovers close by before a kiss and a caress. I turned to Rhonda.

"So am I going to get my damned kiss now?"

"No Mr. Mane, you're going to get your savage sex."

Rhonda took me by the hand, and flirtatiously dragged me to the bedroom. My mouth dried in anticipation, and swallowing became difficult. I felt like a teenager about to be seduced by the older woman. Once in the room, Rhonda turned and softly kicked the door shut, put one hand in my pant pocket, and wrapped her arm around my neck. Her look was so intense that I felt my space in the world shrink. It was not an unpleasant feeling. I felt like I was being invaded by a friendly alien.

"Now what was it that the nurse at the clinic was looking for in your pocket the other day?"

"My wallet?"

"I don't think so."

"My keys?"

"I think she was looking for this. She shouldn't have had too much trouble finding it. It certainly seems to be big enough."

"I think it might have been a little smaller when she was looking for it."

"Is that so? Well, I guess it's my lucky day, 'cause I seem to have found what she was looking for. Now, Mr. Mane, Mr. 'fly to New York, in a big hurry, make lots of money detective', how savage did you want that sex to be?"

"Am I going to get that kiss too?"

"Maybe, if you shut up."

Needless to say, Rhonda was making it very difficult for me to be mercenary. Was she trying to tell me she didn't want me to go to New York? I wasn't going to spend too much time thinking about it, what with all the savage sex going on. I did know that in a short while I was going to be a very tired, thirsty puppy. The mid-afternoon nap did a world of good, not to mention what preceded the nap. I felt normal again, somehow physically debriefed. I looked forward to a swim in the ocean, a tall Caesar or two, and something to eat. I donned my bathing suit, and slowly drifted out to the beach. The sand was hot under my feet, and steam rose from the moist, hard-packed strip where the waves subsided. I paused for a moment, placed one hand at the base of my forehead to shade my eyes, and gazed up and down the beach. I heard the sea breeze carry the muted, fluctuating sounds of a voice that came from behind.

"Hey, hey, wait for me!"

It was Rhonda's voice. I turned my head, and watched her scantily clad figure dance towards me, as her feet kicked up wisps of white sand.

"Last one in za rotten egg."

We raced into the crashing aquamarine surf, and swam till we were dizzy. The time was slipping by at what seemed to be an alarming pace. A swim, a snack, and it was time for me to leave for the airport.

Yvette had packed my bag and put it in the Mercedes. Rhonda and I made our way to the car. As we neared the car Juanita came up to say good-bye. In her heavy Portuguese accent she uttered her motherly warnings.

"Now Mr. Nick, I don't whoant to see you eating any of dat airline food. I made you a snack an' put it in the car. Dat damn airline food is full of M.S.G. an' gobbledygook, an' latex paint to make it look good. It might look good, but it will kill you if you eat enough of it. Justa look at the airline pilots. Dey eat dat stuff all the time and dey get gray hair before dey are forty. That food will screw up your hormones, and your teeth will fall out. I made you something good, an' I want you to eat it all, do you understand me Mr. Nick? Are you listening to me? An' watch out for dose people in New York. Dey are all crazy in dat town. It's the pollution. It has fried deir brain cells. Bad food, an pollution. And don't drink the water from the taps. You don' know where dat water has been. Do you understand me Mr. Nick? Are you listening to me? An' remember, if you run into any gangsters, you give me a call, an' I'll fly over dere and show dem what I do to people who try to harm you. Are you listening to me?"

"I'm listening, Juanita. Thanks for the snack. Take care of Yvette and Rhonda for me while I'm away."

"All right, Mr. Nick. You have a nice trip now, an' don' eat any of dat airline..."

We drove off to the dimming sounds of Juanita's voice, out the half-moon driveway, through the gates and onto Beach Road. The early evening air was pleasantly warm making the drive to the airport very enjoyable. Both Rhonda and I were rather quiet during the drive, probably due to the fact that we were spent from the day's frolics. When we arrived at the airport, I pulled the car into the passenger drop-off area, pulled the hand brake lever, leaving the engine running, and got out of the car.

"Don't forget to see if you can put a name to the purchaser of those travelers' checks. I'll try to get in touch with you tomorrow, all things being well."

"Where will you be staying?"

"I don't know. There's no point in booking anything till I get there."

"What if the mystery person turns out to be some gorgeous woman who just wants your body?"

"I guess she'll just have to pay dearly. Besides, that only happens in the movies. Got to run gorgeous. I'll be in touch."

"Take care of yourself handsome. Don't take any wooden nickels."

"I won't."

"Hey, don't forget your snack!"

Now what was I going to do with this snack? I felt like a kid going to school. I grabbed the package, turned, and made my way into the airport terminal. The place was buzzing with activity. There were people coming, people going, and some people just standing there. I began to make my way towards the ticket counter when all of a sudden my path was crossed by a rather unconventionally dressed individual carrying a different kind of baggage.

"Have you been enlightened, friend?"

"Pardon me?"

"I say, have you been shown the right path to happiness and inner peace?"

"What makes you think I'm unhappy or troubled?"

"It is the plight of humankind. We can show you the light."

"You know, It's funny you should mention that, because I saw the light just the other day. As a matter of fact, I can show you the light if you give me half a chance."

"Well, friend, if you've seen the light, perhaps you'd like to make a donation to our cause, so that we can show those who have not seen the light the way to it."

This was my chance.

"I'd be more than happy to make a donation."

I handed the puzzled individual the snack that Juanita had so carefully and lovingly prepared.

"Here you are friend. Something for you. You have given me food for thought, and in return, I am giving you...food. You'll love it, I'm sure. It is all-natural, high in fiber, low in sodium, contains no preservatives, is fat-free and contains no animal flesh. Enjoy it. It'll put some hair on your head. You're evidently suffering from some kind of vitamin deficiency."

I gave the unconventionally dressed individual the package, and continued on my way to the ticket counter. The first class wicket was devoid of line-ups. I parked my travel bag on the weigh scale and handed the rather lovely looking attendand with the million dollar smile my ticket. She glanced at the ticket, then looked up at me.

"Good evening Mr. Mane. How are you this evening?"

"I'm fine thanks. And you?"

"Very well, and you?"

"Just dandy."

"Just the one bag, sir?"

"Yes, just the one bag."

"Would you like an aisle seat, or a window seat?"

"Give me a window seat, will you."

The lovely attendant clackety clacked at her keyboard for a few moments, paused and looked up.

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Mane. All we seem to have is an aisle seat left."

"On second thought, I think I'll take an aisle seat, if that's all right."

The attendant clackety clacked on her keyboard. There was a pause, and then the familiar soft grinding noises began, indicating the imminent emission of paper from the terminal's printer. The attendant reached under the counter exposing a lovely half-section of breast. 'Pig', I thought to myself. Then I quickly dispelled the thought and replaced it with 'Lucky pig'. The attendant handed me a boarding pass, with the remaining portion of my ticket inside.

"You'll be boarding flight 715 in about fifteen minutes, Mr. Mane. Make your way to gate 17 on platform B in the south section of the terminal. You'll be in seat B, row 5. Have a pleasant flight, Mr. Mane, ant thank you for choosing to fly with Stael Air."

"So that was gate 5, on platform A, in the south section of the terminal?"

"Hmm, let me see now. No, that was platform B."

"Platform B, gate 5?"

"Platform B, gate 17."

"North section."

"South section, platform B, gate, gate, let me see here, gate 17.

"Flight 517, leaving in fifty minutes."

"No, that's flight 715, leaving in f-i-f-t-e-e-n minutes."

"Oh, oh, f-i-f-t-e-e-n minutes, not f-i-f-t-y minutes. I'm sorry, I heard f-i-f-t-y minutes, not f-i-f-t-e-e-n minutes. I think I've got it now, let me see, flight 750, gate 70..."

"Flight seven f-i-f-t-e-e-n, gate s-e-v-e-n-t-e-e-n."

"Oh, and I thought they had problems at the United Nations."

"I'll tell you what I'll do Mr. Mane. I'll have someone escort you to your departure lounge. Would that be better?"

"Why yes, yes, I think that's a marvelous idea. I've just got to get this dyslexia under control."

As I was escorted away I turned to see how my oh so patient attendant was doing. I noticed her coifing down what seemed to be an inordinate amount of little pills from a bottle, then placing a 'CLOSED, NEXT WICKET PLEASE' sign on the counter. It took no time at all for my escort to figure out where I was going. Before I knew it I was comfortably seated in the airplane.

" Welcome to Stael Air's first class service sir. Would you like a magazine or newspaper while we're waiting for take-off?"

"Yes, why not. Anything really. Something with lots of pictures."

"How about the Sports Illustrated special swimsuit edition?"

"Owah, that sounds fine thanks."

"We'll be taxiing to the runway shortly, sir. As soon as we get into the air, I'll come by to see if you'd like something to drink. How does that sound?"

"That sounds fine thanks."

I took a moment to glance at the seat beside mine. It was still empty. I knew they were going to shut the door in preparation for take-off, and I began to wonder who would be sitting beside me. I didn't have to wonder too long.

"Excuse me dahling, I haf to get to my seat."

Where had she come from, I wondered.

"I jawst had to powder my nose. Are we leaving yet?"

"Soon, from what I understand. Very soon."

"Don't you find this so uncivilized? You can't even get a drink before ze flight takes off. What zoo they expect uzz to do while we wait here. My name is Sonja dahling, Sonja Vabich. Who are you, you handzome man you? You can't be married? It vould be such a shame, such a waste of good...oh excuse me, I'm being too forward again. My analyst says I should try to restrain myself, I have a tendency of intimidating some people. You're not intimidated, are you? I didn't think so. By the vay, vawt's your name dahling?

"It's Mane, Nick Mane."

"Nick, zat's a nice name. One of my husbands was called Nick. It's very manly. I like zat. Vawt are you going to New York for, Nick, you don't mind if I call you Nick do you?"

"No, that after all is my name."

"So?"

"So?"

"So what is a beautiful man like you going to New York for, business, pleasure, oh pleasure I hope."

"Business."

"Vawt kind of business are you in, Nick?"

"I'm a private detective."

"Oh my, how exotic. You haven't been hired by one of my ex-husbands to spy on me, have you? No, none of my ex-husbands would have the good taste to hire someone like you. Am I being too forward. My analyst tells me I should speak less and listen more. Vawt do they know."

Was I being punished for being so mean to the ticket counter attendant? Had she found a way to get back at me. Or was I just a victim of cosmic circumstance? In any case, Sonja was giving me more and more reason to nod off during the flight. I needed the rest anyway.

The plane lurched from its loading platform, and made its way to the designated runway. After a short wait we were in the air, and on our way to New York. I listened to Sonja babble incessantly for a while, then politely excused myself, explaining that I had taken some powerful tranquilizers before the flight, and promptly feigned sleep. That took care of Sonja Vabich.

CHAPTER SIX

"Vake up dahling, ve're coming in to New York."

"Unh..wha..oh, New York?"

"Yes dahling, New York. Isn't it exciting?"

The inside of my mouth quickly reminded me that I had been asleep for an extended period of time. A paste-like substance had grown like some rampant bacterial culture, coating every square inch of my mouth. My tongue felt as if it had grown to twice its size, and had I not known better, I could have sworn that some impish passenger had stuffed an old leather shoe sole into my mouth while I had been sleeping. Fortunately, I spotted one of the attendants walking down the aisle carrying a tray of mints. I signaled the young lady who promptly understood from my facial expressions that I dearly wished for some mints, or was it just the permeation of my breath that alerted her? I grabbed a handful of the moth-ball-like orbs, unwrapped a few, and flung them into my mouth. The battle raged from within, and the minty fumes wafted past my sinuses as though to let me know that the candy soldiers were hard at work. The paste-like substance became a fur-like substance that smelled good. I became obsessed with the thought of brushing my teeth just to re-establish some kind of order in the dark and dank world of my oral cavity.

"So dahling, are you going to join me for a night on ze town when we get on the ground? Vit all dat zleep you got, I'm sure I can keep you up all night. After all, New York is ze city dat never zleeps."

"You're so kind to invite me Sonja, but I have a pressing engagement. As a matter of fact, I may have to fly right back out of New York tonight."

"Vell, if I didn't know any better, I vould think dat you are trying to get away from me."

"What on earth would ever give you that idea?"

At that moment the seat belt sign went on as the plane prepared to take us in to New York. My ears went through 'EVS', also known as erratic volume syndrome. For a few moments everything would sound distant, almost numb, then, at the next swallow, everything would sound as if I had just walked into a dance bar. The roulette game began. Would I end up on the ground with normal hearing, partially impaired hearing, or critically impaired hearing? I wondered why the Beltone people hadn't put up concessions at airports where one could rent a hearing aid upon landing, and simply return the appliance by mail once one's hearing would return to normal. With a shuddering thud the plane gave notice that we had touched down for the first time. I wondered if the plane could survive a second touchdown after having its landing gear come up through the tops of the wings. Had some distorted air travel survey results indicated that most passengers felt cheated if they didn't get a good scare some time during a flight? The plane eventually stayed on the ground and taxied to one of the loading ramps. I had to plan my escape from Sonja Vabich. There wasn't much time. The seat belt sign went off, the hatch opened, and people began to pop up from their seats like corks from champagne bottles at a millionaire's daughter's wedding. I followed suit, and promptly slammed my head into an open baggage rack door. The dense plastic of the door vibrated momentarily like a badly mangled tuning fork. I muttered a few socially unacceptable words, and continued about my business.

"Oh dahling, zat must have hurt!"

I contained myself.

"Oh, not really. It felt rather good, somewhat refreshing, a little bit like jabbing your elbow into a sharp-edged object. Gives you that uplifting, electrifying feeling. Makes you feel alive."

"Dahling, you're such a...such a man."

I didn't quite know what to make of that comment, so I smiled stupidly, grabbed my things, and bade Sonja good-bye. As I turned to join the procession that had gathered in the aisle, Sonja tugged on my sleeve and slipped a card in my pocket.

"Remember dahling, if you find yourself vit nothing to do in ze big city, give me a call, vy don't you."

"I'll keep that in mind."

A moment later my body was ushered off by the procession. I was happy to be getting off the plane. I instinctively swallowed, only to discover that my hearing had vanished. I watched the attendant at the hatchway smile. Her lips moved, and I knew she was saying something, but what she was saying, I could only guess.

"Hav a pheasant tay in Ooh Ork. Ho you lie widd us again."

I was deaf. My ears had decided to return to an altitude of thirty-five thousand feet. Normal sounds danced at a distance, and a high-pitched ringing permeated my inner being. However, I could hear things that are usually heard through a stethoscope, things like the sound of the air traveling in and out of my lungs, and the beating of my own heart. 'Damn', I thought. 'Hope this doesn't last too long'. As I wandered in bovine fashion through the terminal, I could feel the sounds more than I could hear them. I was in my own private vertigo infested world. I continued on towards the arrivals lounge, gauging my path by keeping a diligent eye on passengers that I had noticed on the plane, and sheepishly assuming that they knew where they were going. The saliva was slowly building up in my mouth. I knew that the next opportunity to swallow could be critical. Would this be the next step to salvation? Would I regain auditory contact with the world? Should I hold off, or try now? Before I could answer my own questions, it happened. The glottis gave way and...S...N...A...A...A...P! The sounds of the terminal thundered through my head like a herd of crazed buffalo being chased by pelt-starved pioneers. The decibels of doom were upon me with a vengeance. I cried out. "YEEOW!" I pirouetted once then twice, head in hands, eyes vainly searching upward into my forehead, as if to ask the other vital organs what in hell's name was going on, and who indeed was responsible for all of this tumult? I watched the baggage carrousel snake endlessly from one opening in a distant wall, only to return to another opening in the same distant wall. Orphaned bags popped from one opening, slid lazily along the carrousel, and eventually disappeared back through the other opening. What had happened to their owners? Were they decoys placed there by airport personnel to catch would-be baggage thieves? Had their contents become useless to their respective owners? Had the Samsonite people donated these bags to conduct endurance tests? Would the bags eventually get whittled down to extinction?

An announcement echoed through the public address system.

"Mr. Mane, Mr. Nick Mane, please report to a client services desk at once."

I looked around, up and down, in search of a sign indicating the whereabouts of a client services desk. My eyes fell upon a nearby airport security officer. I walked towards the officer bearing a look of inquisitiveness in my eyes.

"Could you tell me where the closest client services desk is located?"

"Yessir, just walk past de caw rental concessions, an' you'll find what youaw lookin' foah on youaw right."

"Thanks."

"Uhawh."

I made my way towards the client services counter. As I proceeded, I couldn't help but feel that I was being watched. I discreetly gazed towards a magazine stand where a suited man was leafing through a newspaper. I noticed him nodding and followed the direction of his gesturing head. It led to yet another man getting his shoes shined across the lounge. The man getting his shoes shined acknowledged the suited gentleman. Who were these men, and what did they want with me? When I arrived at the counter, a smiling young woman greeted me.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yes, I think so. My name is Mane, Nick Mane. I heard my name being called out over the public address system just a few moments ago."

"One moment please, Mr. Mane. I'll check to see if there's anything for you."

The young woman turned away, reached for an envelope that lay in a cubby, and turned back towards me. I noticed my name written on the face of the otherwise plain envelope.

"Would you have two pieces of identification, Mr. Mane?"

I pulled the necessary documentation from my wallet and presented it to the young lady. After verifying the papers, the young lady handed me the envelope and my papers. I thanked the young lady for her help, turned away and walked a few steps to a less congested area of the terminal's arrivals lounge. The envelope was bulky. I opened it and began to read.

'Good evening Mr. Mane. I trust you had a pleasant journey. Please forgive these cloak and dagger tactics, but it is imperative that I remain anonymous for the moment. This will hopefully guarantee my safety as well as yours. Be aware Mr. Mane that someone may be watching your every step, and that if at all possible, you should make every effort to elude anyone whom you suspect might be following you. On the same carrousel that is carrying your bag you will find a small, black attaché case. You also have in hand a small electronic device. Simply switch the device on as you stand near the carrousel, and place it in your pant pocket. A device in the attaché case will trigger the vibrating device in your pant pocket allowing you to identify and retrieve the attaché case. Once you will have retrieved your luggage and the attaché case, make your way to the heliport and take the helicopter to the Pan Am building. A ticket is waiting for you at the helipad. Make sure no one is following you. Upon arrival at the Pan Am building take the elevator to the thirty-ninth floor and proceed to the nearest men's washroom. In the last stall on the left, you will find a piece of graffiti on the tile next to the dispenser. The name of the hotel that will be your next destination can be deciphered by taking the first letter of each word in the graffiti's text. Be sure to destroy this note. Good luck, Mr. Mane'.

I returned to the service counter, waited for the young woman who had given me the envelope to finish serving someone else and proceeded to inquire about the envelope.

"Excuse me Miss, could you tell me who dropped this off?"

"Unfortunately not. It's quite a mystery actually, because we usually ask the person leaving something to identify themselves, and to leave a telephone number where they can be reached in the event that the item being left can be reclaimed or returned. But in this case, the envelope was found on the desk this morning by another clerk. No one seems to know where it comes from, when exactly it was dropped off, and by whom. Do you have any idea who it's from?"

"Haven't a clue. Thanks once again for your help."

I began to make my way back to the carrousel. As I walked, I looked around discreetly. Sure enough, the man in the suit was still keeping an eye on me, and so was the fellow with the shiny brogues. There was no time to lose. I activated the electronic vibrator, and slipped it in my pant pocket. I eased up to the carrousel and waited. There was a large crowd waiting, probably passengers from more than on flight. It was good to have a lot of people around, for once. My travel bag appeared, but I decided to let it pass by until the attaché case would be in my hands. I didn't realize how many damned attaché cases were floating around on airport carrousels. I waited patiently, keeping an eye out for my suited friend and my other friend with the shiny brogues. The suit stood behind me, and to my right. The brogues stood behind me, and to my left. Both were some ten or fifteen feet away. All of a sudden, my pant pocket started to vibrate. I looked down onto the carrousel. There it was, or should I say, there they were. Two virtually identical cases. I had to think quickly. What to do? What to do? I grabbed both. There, that solve the problem. Then I waited for my travel bag.

"Hey man, that's my fuckin' attaché case! Whataya tryin' to do man, fuckin' steal my fuckin' attaché case, or what? Hey man, whataya got a fetish for black attaché cases, man, or what? Maybe I should call security..."

I quickly jabbed my open hand into the loud mouth's crotch and squeezed very, very hard. There was a desperate, windless, choking sound emanating from the formerly vociferous fellow. His eyes filled with moisture, and his mouth, though wide open could not utter loud sounds. I perched my head close to his and whispered.

"Just an honest mistake friend. As you can see, we have similar looking attaché cases. You have good taste, and I trust you won't be making a to-do about this, now will you?"

The formerly vociferous man looked at me with a strange mixture of pleading and understanding. I released my grip. The formerly vociferous man sheepishly took hold of his attaché case, and began to walk away.

"Wait a minute. How do you know this is your attaché case?"

"It's a...it's a...gotta...my...a...in...in...initials right here, see. I know they're small, but those are my...my...initials."

I said nothing, and waited for my travel bag. While I waited, I dreamt about brushing my teeth at the first opportunity. Finally, the travel bag appeared. I plucked it from the carrousel, and glanced to see if my friends were still around. There they stood, poised to see what my next move was going to be. I pretended not to see them, and made my way to the men's washroom. I figured they wouldn't try any moves at the air terminal. I pulled out my toothbrush, dabbed on a generous amount of toothpaste and joyously removed the layers of sediment that had accumulated over the course of the day. I began to feel human again. Shortly after, I made my way to the taxi stand. My friends were on my heels. The walk to the taxi stand was a diversion of course. I had to lose these jokers, and get back to the helipad. I wasted no time. I jumped into the first cab that I could find.

"Vell hello again, dahling. Vawt a pleasant surprise!"

"This cab is taken Mack."

"That's quite all right, were friends."

"Vell, I'm so happy to hear you say dat, dahling. Vere to, your place or mine?"

"I'm afraid that will have to wait for some time Sonja. I'm being followed, and I'm going to need your help. Driver, take the first ramp that will take us back to the departures level will you? You don't mind a quick detour do you Sonja?"

I slipped the driver a large note. He slipped it in his pocket, and said nothing.

"By the way, you do know how to drive fast, don't you?"

"Listen Mack, I taught Fangio everything he knew. Is dat good enough for ya?"

"I suppose. Now step on it, we're being followed. Sonja, bend over, and take that hat off."

"Vawtever for?"

"Don't ask silly questions."

I grabbed Sonja's hat and placed it on the rear dash of the car. I then hid behind the hat, all the while keeping an eye out for my friends. The rain and darkness would do the rest.

"Now when I tell you, I want you to slow the car down, but make sure you don't stop, and don't press on the brake pedal. Use your foot brake to slow us down. I'm going to jump out. Sonja, make sure your hat stays on the rear dash, right where it is. I'll drop you a line."

Traffic was heavy. I kept an eye on the car that was following us, waiting for the right opportunity to get out. It came, and I slipped out the cab as best I could, attaché case and travel bag in hand. I cut across the lanes of slow moving cars, jumped the Armco barrier and rushed back towards the heliport. In no time at all, I was in the helicopter, and on my way to the Pan Am Center. The short flight gave me some time to breathe, and to wonder. Who was the owner of the attaché case? What was in the attaché case? Where was the attaché case going? Why was I hired to do this job, and by whom? Who was the fellow in the suit, and who was his friend with the shiny brogues? I had a strange premonition that my dealings with these two men were not over yet. As for the other questions, I could only assume that time would tell. Just before landing on the helipad, I thought I'd try to open the attaché case, but to no avail. I had never seen such sturdy, yet elegant looking latches. Each latch had an electronic display instead of the ubiquitous numbered roulettes that would allow you to change the release code at will. The case was not particularly heavy for its size, and nothing inside rattled as the case was shaken. I glanced outside the chopper's window. The city's millions of lights shimmered in the rain swept night. They stretched to the horizon. It was quite a sight. We landed on the big H with a circle around it, and only once. Helicopter pilots seem to make it a point to land only once. I guess they haven't been talking to the airline pilots. I thanked everyone that I could for a very pleasant ride, stepped out into the wind and rain that pelted the big H with a circle around it, and walked to the passenger lounge. Once inside, I found the elevators that could take me to the thirty-ninth floor of this tall, very tall, slender structure. The building reminded me of a tall, slender female basketball player wearing high heels, and lots of jewelry. My main concern was whether or not I would be able to get off on the thirty-ninth floor. I began by doing the obvious thing. I pressed the button. The doors closed and I found myself looking for the barf bag dispenser as the flying closet plummeted earthward. I was convinced, at one point, that no cables were attached to this thing, and that if you were any kind of sinner, it could drive you straight to hell, elevator music, and all. Floor thirty-nine arrived quite suddenly. I stepped off the elevator onto a floor full of locked offices. I began to search for the men's washroom. Then I realized that a building this size probably had a number of men's washrooms. I eventually came across a little international sign with the effigy of a man on it. As I made my way into the room, I couldn't help but wonder if the little man on the washroom signs in Scotland is wearing a kilt, or pants. I went to the assigned cubicle, and began to search for the guiding scripture that had been so conveniently left on the wall for me.

' , , And Zen Again...'. Words of wisdom. Not as inspiring as 'Dora Plotkey gives good head'. I took a moment to smudge the tell-all graffiti, and to jot down Dora's phone number. At least it was complete. Now I had to figure out the name of this bloody hotel with two letters missing. The letters started going through my mind. '__aza','__ aza', the '__aza Hotel'. Welcome to the '__aza Hotel'. Good evening, room service, '__aza Hotel'. Damn, it was going to drive me crazy. It then came to me that I might be in the wrong washroom, or even on the wrong floor. First, I made sure that I was on the right floor. Then I checked the other facilities on that floor. As it turned out, the cryptic message that I had found in the first place was for all intents and purposes, the message that had been intended for me. I left the sumptuous men's facilities of the thirty-ninth floor of the Pan Am building, and made my way down to the main floor. I continued to spin the word puzzle in my mind. Good evening sir, and welcome to the '__aza Hotel'. May I take your bag.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I decided to walk along the street for a little while, just to get some air and to think about those damn missing letters. As I ambled through the giant city's concrete canyons, I noticed a small computer store nestled inconspicuously at the base of two tall glass towers. It was still open, even though it was getting late. I remembered; this is New York. The sign on the store read: 'Hackers Heaven'. That bode well for me, because my brain was tired and needed some help. I decided to go into Hackers' Heaven.

"Good evening sir, can I help you with anything?"

"Why yes you can. As a matter of fact, I'm sure you can. You see, I'm looking for the name of a hotel here in New York..."

"That shouldn't be too difficult. There can't be more than a few thousand hotels here in the city."

"I have the last three letters of the hotel's name, and I'm pretty sure the full name only contains five letters. Can we do a search on the electronic Yellow Pages, using wildcards to replace the missing letters?"

"Why yes, as a matter of fact, that's an easy thing to do."

The teenaged kid with microprocessors in his eyes sat down at a computer terminal, and punched in the information.

"What were those three letters?"

"A, Z. A."

"And you say that we need two wildcards before the three letters, right?"

"You bet."

A few moments later I had my answer.

"Sir, you are looking for the Ghaza Hotel, the Piaza Hotel, the Plaza Hotel, or... the Shaza Hotel."

"Which one is the closest to the Pan Am Center?"

"The Plaza, of course."

"I thought so. Listen kid, I want to thank you for your help. I don't really need anything in the way of computers, or software at the moment. How can I..."

"Well, sir, we're not adverse to cash around here."

I slipped the kid a bill. He slipped it in his pocket. I was on my way to the Plaza Hotel.

It was a short cab ride to the hotel. The cab driver had looked at me in a funny sort of way when I had asked him to take me to the Plaza. He had given me that 'You must be the laziest bastard on the planet, or the stupidest' look.

"Dat'll be a dallah an nineny five cens."

"You weren't kidding when you said it was just around the block. I'll tell you what. Here's a ten; keep the change."

"Dat's very generus of you. A few more o'deeze, an' my kids'll get to eat tonite."

"I'm curious, how many kids do you have?"

"I got six kids, do you believe it? Six fuckin' kids. I juss' look at my wife a little funny, an' she gets pregnan'. I gotta wonadah doe, some o'the kids don' look like me, an' somma da kids don' look like her. Maybe she's gettin' it on the side. I don' know. Maybe I gotta high sperm count, or sometin', I don' know. All I know is, I juss' gotta look at her a little funny, an' she gets pregnan'."

"That is a problem, isn't it? Did you ever think about getting a vasectomy?"

"Listen, dere ain't no sense in gettin' my liver chopped. Whadaya tink would happen if she got pregnan' again. Den I'd know she's been gettin it on the side, an' if I ever found dat out, I'd be pissed at her, an' I couldn't get no work done, you know? At leass' dis way, I got sometin' to work for, an everybody's happy, you know?"

"You're quite the philosopher."

"Hey, in my business, you gotta be. You want some help wit' dat bag?"

"No that's okay. Thanks again."

"No problem. An' watch out for dem high-priced hookers in da hotel. Dey'll melt the helmet offa dat little man on your credit cawd, you know what I mean?"

I stepped out of the bright yellow Checker when all of a sudden, a man in a Beefeater suit grabbed my travel bag and greeted me with a smile.

"Good evening sir, and welcome to the Plaza Hotel. Do you have a reservation?"

"I'm not quite sure of that, you see, I'm supposed to meet someone here, or at least I think I'm supposed to meet someone here."

"Can I get your name, sir?"

"Why yes, it's Mane, Nick Mane."

"Come right this way Mr. Mane. I'll check with the reception desk to see if we have anything for you."

The accommodating doorman rushed to the front desk, spoke very briefly with the clerk, and returned to see me.

"Everything is in order Mr. Mane. Your room is waiting for you. A bellhop will be with you shortly. Have a pleasant stay. If you need anything at all while you're our guest, don't hesitate to ask. My name is Derek."

"Derek, are you always this efficient?"

"Yes sir, that's my job."

"You don't happen to have six kids, or anything like that, do you?"

"Pardon me, sir?"

Before I knew it, I was short another five, and the bellhop whisked me away to a very luxurious suite with all the trimmings. I tipped the bellhop, not knowing if he had six kids or not. I had to surmise that the cryptic message had been interpreted correctly, or that someone with a big budget had booked me at every five letter hotel in New York. It was getting late. The large, very comfortable looking bed with its turned down covers seemed to beckon. I was looking forward to laying my head down in one of those cushy pillows, but all of that would have to wait until I had satisfied my curiosity. I picked up the telephone receiver.

"Good evening, front desk."

"Yes, hello, Mr. Mane here. I'm wondering if you'd be so good as to check to see who confirmed my reservation?"

"Is there a problem with the room, Mr. Mane?"

"No, everything is fine. Could you just tell me who confirmed my reservation."

"Certainly sir, one moment please."

The voice disappeared, only to be replaced by elevator music and an ad promoting brunch in the hotel dining room. Sacrilege of sacrileges. They were playing New York, New York without the familiar croonings of Frank Sinatra. It was like having a Coney Island hot dog without the bun.

"Sorry to keep you waiting Mr. Mane. Mr. Mane? Are you there?"

"Yes, yes I'm here."

"Well, Mr. Mane, this is rather unusual, but...ah...we don't have a name attached to this confirmation. Someone paid cash, in advance, for your room, and...ah...as far as we can tell, left an inordinate sum to cover incidentals."

"How much is inordinate?"

"Two thousand dollars."

"How long am I booked for?"

"One night sir."

"I see, very well, thank you."

"Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Mane?"

"Not for the moment, thanks."

I put down the receiver, rubbed my chin, and began to wonder. Who would go to so much trouble to remain anonymous, and why? Why indeed? I was too tired to give it any more thought. I tore off my travel weary clothing and plopped my body into the en suite sauna. After cooking off the day's stress, I stepped onto the heated marble shower stall, turned on a gush of warm water, and just stood there for a while. I stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and made my way towards the bed that now looked even more inviting. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an envelope at the base of the hotel room door. I went to the door, opened it, and peered to the left and right to see if anyone was standing in the hall. There was no one. I heard the elevator doors pulling shut, but saw no one. I pulled back into the room, and shut the door. I fondled the envelope for a few moments. walked towards the bed and plopped down. I opened the envelope and began to read.

'Good evening Mr. Mane. I trust your accommodations are satisfactory. In the event that you should need anything, do not hesitate to contact the hotel's management. You no doubt have the attaché case in hand, and are probably wondering what it contains. Unfortunately, I cannot divulge its contents at this time. Suffice it to say that the case is of great importance, and its safekeeping is paramount. In the morning, leave the hotel. Do not check out. Simply leave, and make your way to Grand Central Station. Once there, purchase a one-way first class ticket to Los Angeles. The train is scheduled to depart at 9:05 a.m. Board the train but do not remain on it. Make the compartment appear as if you have settled in; leave some articles behind. If anyone is following you, they will hopefully believe that you are on the train, and will be remaining there for some time. Make sure no one sees you leave the station. Take a cab to the waterfront. There is a ship in port. It is called the Queen of Denn Isle. Purchase a ticket for passage on this ship, first class, of course. I will be in contact with you in the very near future'.

In addition to the note, the envelope also contained one hundred slightly used hundred dollar bills. Ten thousand dollars. That should take care of a few expenses, I thought. It was time to get some rest. The next day's agenda was already filling up quickly, not factoring the possibility of having to elude the man in the suit, and his friend with the shiny brogues. I lay down on the bed, let the pillow wrap itself around my head, and drifted off to sleep. Then it began. The insidious, bizarre and unforgiving world of dreams and nightmares crept into my unconscious being and began its diabolical work. The attaché case, the suit, the shiny brogues, the mysterious and elusive client all woven together into a string of improbable, impossible scenarios that only Fellini could understand and appreciate. I tossed and turned, tossed and turned, perspired profusely as my body reacted to the horrors being played out by my mind. Exploding attaché cases, giant rubber brogues stomping about gaily as a silk suit shaped like a gun shot out breath mints at me, filling my body full of peppermint holes.

"Room service."

The knock on the door grew louder.

"Room service! Your breakfast sir."

"Breakfast, what damn breakfast? I didn't order any bloody breakfast."

I looked at the clock on the night table. It was quarter past six. I got up, and stumbled to the door, hoping that I would not be engulfed and turned inside out by my own yawn. I took a moment to peer through the peep hole in the door. Sure enough, I thought, this has to be the genuine article. Nobody but someone who's been working all night could look so alert. It had to be room service.

"Good morning Mr. Peligo. I have your breakfast for you."

"Peligo?"

"Yes...ah, Mr. Archie Peligo? Room 1711?"

The young man bit his lip as the cogs of his mind meshed and the realization that he had knocked on the wrong door suddenly came to him.

"I am soah, soah sorry Mr. ah...Mr..."

"Mane, Nick Mane."

"Wellah, Mr. Mane, I just don't know what to say."

"Well, for beginners, you can tell me what Mr. Peligo ordered."

"He ordered...ah...the full breakfast sir. It's our Lumberjack Len Special with four farm fresh eggs, four strips of Lean and Mean bacon, four Mad Dog English bangers, four Leadbelly buttermilk pancakes, covered in Tall Tree Canadian maple syrup."

"Any juice and coffee with that?"

"Yessir."

"I'll take it."

"But sir, this is Mr. Peligo's breakfast, and..."

"This was Mr. Peligo's breakfast. Charge this to my room and give yourself a decent tip."

I grabbed the cart, pulled it into the room, and shut the door behind me. I was as hungry as a horse. I dug into Mr. Peligo's breakfast with the enthusiasm of a sex-starved long-distance trucker on amphetamines. After breakfasting, I showered and put on some fresh clothes. As instructed, I simply left the room without checking out. I walked down the stairwell to the parking garage of the Plaza Hotel, and from there to the street. The early morning New York air, though crisp, was already full with the sounds of a waking metropolis. Rushing cars, rushing pedestrians, merchants preparing their stores for another day's business. It was all there and served as a sharp contrast to the mornings I would share with the beaches, the sun and the ocean.

I hailed a cab, and got in.

"Where to Mister?"

"Grand Central please."

"What a ya crippled or something?"

"Let me guess, it's just around the corner."

"Put it this way. If I cut one now, the smell will get to the front doors before we do."

"What time is it?"

"Time I find a new career. It is exactly seven ohh one."

"I tell you what. I'm not in a terrible rush. Why don't you drive me around for a while and get me back at the station at, say, eight or so. How does that sound?"

"Where do you want a go?"

"Hey, you're driving. It's your city."

"Do I have to talk to you too."

"I'd rather you just shut up and drive."

"You're the boss."

We drove through the city's streets for the better part of an hour. I swear we could have walked around faster, but it was interesting to take in the early morning action, and of course, some of the sights. I had seen an old photo of the Rockefeller Center during its construction, and was interested in seeing the view as it now was from the same vantage point. It was amazing to see how metamorphic the growth of the city had been when comparing it to the vintage photograph. The time seemingly flew by, and before I knew it, I was on the sidewalk in front of Grand Central Station.

"Keep the change."

"Thanks Mister. Have a good trip."

I couldn't believe that a taxi driver in New York had wished me well.

I looked around to see if my friends were waiting for me. The coast looked clear. I paused for a moment to admire the grand old structure that stood before me. It was impressive, to say the least. How many dreams had been born, nurtured, or shattered within these walls? How many tales could these walls tell? How many would they keep secret? There is something special about places like this. They are the veritable crossroads in and of people's lives. They are the departure point of some people's hopes, the culminating point in others' dreams. Such fateful places are these. How many have fallen in love as a haphazard consequence of walking through these endlessly revolving doors? How many have used this gateway to terminate long-lasting relationships? How many sighs of relief have been breathed upon entering and leaving these portals? The revolving doors awaited. I walked towards them placidly, not really paying attention to anything. I was happy to soak in the atmosphere that so readily gave of itself. The sights, the sounds, the smells conspired to send the would-be traveler on a trip through time. The idyllic yet fragile moment was abruptly transformed. As I was about to enter the cavernous sun-filled structure through the revolving door, I noticed those familiar shiny brogues from the corner of my eye. They're here, I thought. How in hell's name did they manage to track me down. I was furious. The brogues stepped into the restrictive opening supplied by the revolving door. I decided to make things somewhat uncomfortable for my anonymous follower. In one surprising movement, I jumped in behind the brogues into the same small compartment created by the revolving door, dropped the attaché case and my travel bag, grabbed one of his hands, placed it next to the rubber flange that lined the door panel, shoved my body against his all the while holding on to his hand. A scream of pain came from the man with the shiny brogues. His hand had become a temporary, but nonetheless effective doorstop.

"Who the hell are you, and what the hell do you want?"

There were grunts, moans, but nothing intelligible coming from the man with the brogues' mouth. He reminded me a little bit of the fellow whom I had encountered at the carrousel in the airport. I shoved my body against his one more time. The pressure on his hand must have been unbearable.

"Talk you bastard or I'll make sure your damned hand becomes a museum piece."

Lots of body language, lots of perspiration, but still no words.

"Who the hell sent you, and what do you want?"

In a moment of adrenaline-filled energy, the man with the shiny brogues jabbed his elbow into my solar plexus. I dropped like a rock, unable to breathe at all. Like a soft water pike on a line, the brogues began to kick in every direction. I could see the shoe size on the bottom of the soles. This was not a good vantage point. I was getting it back, in aces. Oddly enough, the man with the brogues did not spend too much time shining his shoes on me. He did seem to have a keen desire to take possession of my attaché case. He grabbed the case all the while squirming and shoving to get the revolving door opened just enough to get out. I wasn't helping matters as I lay like an anchor on the stone-cold floor. He eventually succeeded, but by that time, I had managed to suck a few wisps of air and was after him like a Doberman looking for lunch. I tackled the brogues. His body fell onto the polished granite. It was not a pretty sound. I scrambled to my feet, stepped on his injured hand, and proudly retrieved the attaché case. By that time, two of New York's finest were upon the scene. In the melee and confusion of the moment, the man with the brogues managed to squirm his way into the gathering crowd, and disappear.

"What seems to be the problem."

"No problem officer. Just seeing off an old friend."

"You have a strange way of saying good-bye."

"Ohaw, that little scuffle? That was nothing officer. You should see us when we're mad at each other."

"I expect you to behave in a civil manner while you're on these premises Mr...?"

"Ohaw, Mane, Nick Mane."

"I hope I've made myself clear, Mr. Mane."

"You certainly have sir, and thank you."

The officers left me to lick my wounds. I had little time for that. I collected myself and made my way to one of the ticket booths. The smell of diesel and all things mechanical permeated the air. It took my mind off the pain in my chest. I felt disappointed in a sense. I could have used a long train ride to nowhere, but that was not part of this strange and so far, baffling assignment.

"One ticket, first class, to L.A. please."

"Taking a vacation?"

"Something like that."

"You look like you could use one. In any case, you'll have plenty of time to rest. Any baggage to check?"

"No, just a carry-on."

"Traveling light. That'll be twelve hundred and ninety-seven dollars, and ninety five cents."

"About thirty-five cents a mile."

"Give or take a few pennies. Andah here's your ticket, and your change. You can board any time now, track forty-nine. This portion is your receipt. Give this portion to the conductor. Have a nice trip."

"Track forty-nine. Is that the Chattanooga?"

"Brother, you do need a holiday. Next please."

CHAPTER EIGHT

With a wary eye, I slowly walked toward the loading platform. The general murmur of the crowd produced a comforting din, contributing generously to the retrospective atmosphere of the station. The morning sun's rays shone brilliantly through one side of the building's tall arched iron-wrapped glass windows. The light indiscriminately caught every floating particle of dust and smoke. It looked as though immense yellow laser beams had been shot from the heavens. and for no other reason than to charm and peacefully amuse the itinerant occupants of the station. I wended my way to platform forty-nine. Once there, I began to walk along the shiny stainless steel train cars. Steam belched from below where the wheels hid. A brake man and his assistant adjusted this, and turned that. The Red Caps were busy loading luggage onto the train. I paused for a moment, looked at my ticket, and then at the conductor who stood waiting on the steps of the train car.

"Good morning sir, may I see your ticket?"

"Certainly."

"Heading to Los Angeles, are you?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Been on the Trans-continental before?"

"Not since I was a kid."

"You'll have to make your way down to the third car. You'll find someone there to help you. Have a pleasant trip."

"Thanks."

I walked to the car that the gentleman had pointed out to me, and got on. An attendant took the ticket from my hand, and asked me to follow him. We waddled down through the narrow passage of the train car. Then the attendant turned and smiled.

"This is your roomette sir. Breakfast is available in the dining car, or, if you prefer, you can have something brought here. Would you care for anything at this time?"

"I had breakfast earlier thanks. I'm all right for now."

"Well, if you need anything, anything at all, you just holler. My name is Seltzer. and if you don't see me around, you can use the buzzer in your room."

"That's terrific, Seltzer, thank you."

I squeezed through the narrow opening that led into a surprisingly large and accommodating roomette. I dropped the attaché case and travel bag onto the floor, took a quick look in the mirror, and brushed myself off. It was early morning and I felt as though I had played football with the guys, and had then gone to a bar for one too many. I sat down and drew the blinds shut. I would have preferred not to, because I found the activity on the platform entertaining. But in the event that the suit or the brogues might be out there, I thought it wiser to remain inconspicuous. I sat down and stretched out my legs, placed my hands behind my head, and began to think about the morning's events. How in hell's name did the brogues figure out where I'd be? Coincidence? Stranger things have happened. And where was the suit? There had been no sign of him anywhere. Where did the brogues disappear to? Probably to get his hand X-rayed. It was probably as big as a baseball mitt by now. And my client, my very mysterious, anonymous client. Who in hell's name was my client? What was in the damn attaché case? What time was the damn ship leaving?

I buzzed Seltzer. A few moments later he appeared.

"You rang sir?"

"Yes, yes I did. Tell me Seltzer, is there a phone that I can use?"

"Yes sir, I'll bring you one right away."

Seltzer disappeared, only to return moments later with a telephone in hand.

"Local or long distance, sir?"

"Local."

Seltzer left the telephone with me. I proceeded to call Information.

"Good morning. Information. For what city please?"

"New York. Could you give me the number for the Port Authority."

"One moment please."

The human voice disappeared and left me with the computerized voice. I jotted down the number that the computerized voice gave me twice, and hung up to re-dial.

"Good morning, you've reached the offices of the Port Authority. For service in English, press 'one'."

I pressed the number.

"For information on tours of the harbor and times press 'one'. For information on permits and tariffs, press 'two'. To reach our Administrative Offices, press 'three'. For ferry departures and arrivals, press 'four'. For domestic freighter arrivals and departures, press 'five'. For international freighter arrivals and departures, press 'six'. For international passenger ship arrivals and departures, press 'seven'. To repeat this message, press 'eight'. To speak with an operator, press 'nine'. Thank you for calling the Port Authority."

I pressed 'nine'.

"Thank you for calling the Port Authority. All our operators are busy at the moment. Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line to maintain your call priority."

I began to fume. If my damned call was so damned important to you, you'd have more damned humans handling the damned calls. I could only hope that some day, the person or persons that contributed to the development of such a diabolical, dehumanizing device would burn in telephone hell. I listened to the piped music for a while, then came a moment of pregnant silence.

"Thank you for your patience. Someone will take your call shortly. Please remain on the line."

More piped music, another pause, and...

"Good morning, Port Authority. Can I help you?"

"You certainly can. Before I die of old age, can you tell me when the Queen of Denn Isle is due to depart?"

"One moment please."

There was a pause.

"The Queen of Denn Isle is scheduled to depart at eleven thirty this morning, sir. You are aware that you can access the departure and arrival times by pressing 'seven'."

"I realize that, but I only need to know the departure time of one ship, not an entire fleet, and I also realize that I could spend the rest of my life buying Twinkies from a vending machines with money that I got from a banking machine, but I like talking to real people once in a while."

"I know how you feel sir. Is there anything else that I can help you with today?"

"Yes, actually, is it possible to connect me with the ship?"

"Yes it is. Hold while I connect you with the ship's Purser."

"Thanks."

"Queen of Denn Isle, ship's Purser here."

"Good morning, my name is Mane, Nick Mane. I'd like to book passage on the Queen of Denn Isle."

"For today's departure sir?"

"Yes, for today's departure."

"What sort of accommodations were you looking for, Mr. Mane?"

"A suite on one of the upper decks, if that's possible."

"For two people, Mr. Mane?"

"No, just one."

The ship's Purser took down the necessary information.

"We'll be looking forward to seeing you later this morning Mr. Mane. That will be on pier 54, any time before eleven thirty."

"That's fine, thanks."

I switched off the telephone, and placed it on a shelf near the roomette door. I looked at my watch. It was eight forty. It was time to give the room that lived-in look. I pulled out some of the clothes that I'd been wearing the day before, and strew them around the room. I took a magazine, folded it open, and dog-eared a few pages containing articles. From my shaving kit, I pulled out a toothbrush, some toothpaste, deodorant and a few other personal care items. I removed my watch and placed it near the sink. That should do it, I thought. If anyone were to enter the room during my absence, there would be plenty there to suggest that I was still on the train. All of a sudden the door opened.

"Excuse me, but what are you doing in here?"

"No, no, no. Excuse me! What are you doing in here?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing in here. This is my roomette."

"Pardon me, but this is my roomette. I'll ask you to take a moment to double check your ticket."

"I would ask you to do the same."

By that time, this joker was already in the roomette with me, and the door was now closed.

"There, you see. Car 1111, room 7."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you Mr....ah, Mr...."

"di Naranga, Hugo di Naranga. And who might you be?"

"Mane, Nick Mane. As I was saying, I'm sorry to disappoint you Mr. di Naranga, but if you look at my ticket, you will undoubtedly see that I too am booked in room 7, car 1111."

"Well, this is preposterous. How could something like this happen?"

"It is still an imperfect world."

"Well, I'm sorry Mr. Mane, but I must have this room. I booked this room over two months ago..."

I let Hugo di Naranga ramble on while I thought of a plan that would probably suit both of us.

"Hugo, may I call you Hugo? I think we might be able to work something out. Have a seat won't you?"

Mr. di Naranga sat down.

"And what exactly is your plan, Mr. Mane?"

"Call me Nick, I insist."

"You're not going to suggest that we share the room, are you? Because that would be totally out of the question."

"I wasn't going to suggest anything of the sort. You see Hugo, as strange as it may sound, I don't plan on taking this trip to Los Angeles. As a matter of fact, I'm going to be getting off shortly before the train sets to leave. You see, you've stumbled into what is an elaborate plan for me to get away from my wife. We're going through some pretty messy times. You see, she caught me with my secretary not long ago, and she plans on serving me divorce papers imminently.".

Mr. di Naranga sat there attentively listening.

"As a matter of fact, she has hired a couple of detectives to watch my every move. I saw one of them just this morning here at the station. I have to sell off some assets as quickly as possible, before she takes me to the cleaners. To do that, I need some time. I can't afford to be served with those papers. Surely you can understand."

"So what is your plan Nick."

"It's very simple really. The train is scheduled to leave in about fifteen minutes. I'm going to gather up my things, leave this ticket with you, and discreetly slip off the train. What I need you to do Hugo, is stay in the roomette for a couple of hours at the most. We'll just place this 'Do not disturb' sign on the door, and that will be that. Before we get any of this underway, I'll ask you to stand in behind this closet door while I return the telephone. What do you say old sport, are you going to help out one of your own, mano a mano?"

"Yes, Nick, glad to help out. I know how rough these divorce things can be. I've been married four times."

"You can't be serious. Four times? Why, I'm talking to a veteran, battle scars and all. How did you manage to remain solvent?"

"Two of my former wives died untimely deaths, bless their souls, and left me with a few dollars. It was by no means compensation for the loss, but, the money was there."

"I understand fully. So, you'll do it?"

"Yes, my friend, I will do this for you."

"I don't know how to thank you."

"Just make sure you don't get fleeced."

I buzzed Seltzer. Within moments he was at the door. I gave him the telephone.

"Thank you Seltzer. I'm going to put up the 'Do not disturb' sign, Seltzer. I don't know what's come over me. I feel rather ill. I'm sure it's nothing serious, but I'd appreciate it if you made sure I wasn't disturbed for the next couple of hours. Can you do that for me?"

"No problem Mr. Mane."

I gathered up my things, slipped the attaché case into my travel bag, and prepared to leave.

"Thanks once again Hugo. It was a pleasure meeting you. Have a good trip."

I pulled the door open slightly, and checked to make sure no one was in the passage way. The coast was clear. I turned to Hugo di Naranga and nodded.

"I'm on my way."

"Good luck."

There was no time to waste. I worked my way towards one end of the car until I heard the faint sound of a familiar voice. It was Seltzer escorting someone to their room. I quickly about-faced and scurried towards the other end of the car. I noticed an open door. I darted in. Seltzer and a passenger chit-chatted as they made their way through the car. Yakety-yak, yakety-yak, it was worse than listening to some old bags at a tea party. The train shuddered. Damn, I thought. They're getting ready to leave. The summation finally came.

"...and if you need anything, just holler, or ring the buzzer, my name is Seltzer."

I lip-synched Seltzer's last words and wished him an embolism, cardiac arrest, or stroke. He wandered past me. The train shuddered once again as if the engineer were adding cars, or checking the linkage before departure. I couldn't wait for Seltzer to disappear from view. I stepped into the passage way and quickly, quietly sneaked to the exit door at the opposite end of the car. Thankfully, Seltzer began to whistle something or other, helping to dissimulate the sound of my actions. An announcement came over the train's intercom.

"Your attention please. The Trans-continental is now departing. All passengers bound for Los Angeles, and all points in between should now be on boar..."

I breathed a sigh of relief. I stood on the platform as the stainless steel cars snaked their way out of the station. I wended my way through the crowds, eventually reaching a cluster of boutiques. I popped into one to purchase a hat. I put the hat on and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. As I was bidding the grandest of stations good-bye, something strange appeared in the lenses of my glasses. It was the suit. Now why was the suit not on the train? Where were the brogues? Did that mean the brogues were on the train? I knew one thing for sure. The suit did not know I was there. The suit was on his way somewhere, and the game of cat and mouse was about to take a turn. While keeping an eye on the suit, I stopped at a magazine stand, and picked up a newspaper. The suit began to walk away from the station. I had to be ready for anything. Was he going to take a cab? Was he waiting for someone? What was he going to do? I watched and waited. Time stopped, and all of my concentration became focused on the suit. The suit finally made a move. He hailed a cab. I quickly walked to the street and hopped into the first cab I could find.

"Sorry bud, I'm waiting for someone."

"I begyurpardon?"

"I'm sorry, but this cab is already taken."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Now why would I kid you about a thing like that?"

"I don't know, this is New York, right?"

The cab with the suit in it started on its way.

"I tell you what, I'll pay you whatever is owed up to now, I'll pay you for where we're going, and I'll throw in a hundred bucks on top of that."

"What do you take me for, some kind of mindless mercenary?"

"Here's the hundred if you put this sucker in gear and follow that cab that just pulled away."

"You didn't tell me it was to follow another car. Why didn't you say so? That's every cabby's dream."

"Well, I'm glad I could help you out with your fantasies. Make sure you don't lose him."

"How can I lose him? Did you see the traffic today? I'll probably have time to go over and ask him for a match."

"Is it always like this?"

"Naw, sometimes it's worse. Sit back, relax, we're not going anywhere fast."

"Tell me, are we very far from where the passenger liners are docked?"

"Not really. As a matter of fact, we're heading in that direction at the moment. What ship are you thinking of?"

"The Queen of Denn Isle."

"Oh, it's a beautiful ship. Just been refitted with all the best. Rivals any of the luxury liners that you'll find anywhere."

"You seem to know a lot about this ship?"

"I brought the wife and kids to see it a couple of months ago. They had an open house, a kind of promotion to get people interested in booking a trip. Un-be-lie-va-ble! Marble this, marble that, crystal this, crystal that, five swimming pools, two of them indoors, tennis courts, squash, shuffleboard, even a driving range. That's not all. Casino, dining room that'll seat five hundred people at a time, grand ballroom, satellite link TV, hookers that you'd take home to your mother, every conceivable form of live entertainment. I could go on."

"I don't doubt it."

"I promised the wife I'd take her on a cruise to celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary."

"You must love her very much."

"What's love got to do with it? If I don't she'll torment me to my grave, and beyond."

"And you say you've been married for nearly thirty years?"

"Thirty years a year from next month."

"That's a long time to be with the same person."

"She's a known quantity, if you know what I mean."

"Are we still headed that way?"

"As a matter of fact, we are."

Now why was the suit going to the port? What kind of bizarre coincidence was this? Had he somehow found out about my booking on the Queen of Denn Isle?

We continued to follow.

"Do you remember what pier the Queen is moored at?"

"I think it's pier fifty-four."

"Brosnan Pier. Looks like your friend is headed that way."

Sure enough, the cab carrying the suit drove up to where the Queen of Denn Isle was docked. I asked the driver to keep a safe distance. I watched the suit walk towards the ship. He made his way to the gang plank and proceeded to board the ship. I noticed him talking to a crew member, then he disappeared inside. The cab he had taken did not move away. I could only assume that the driver had been instructed to wait.

"Are you getting off here?"

"No, we're going to wait. I have a feeling he's not going to be too long. I want to see where he's going to, next."

"You can tell me to mind my own business, but what's this all about anyway?"

"If I knew, I would tell you."

CHAPTER NINE

Time stood still. Every moment felt like an eternity. What was the man in the suit doing on the ship? Who was he talking to? How long was he going to be? The questions danced in my head like little smiling demons. My adrenaline was flowing. I was tempted to get on that ship, find the man in the suit, and shake him till his teeth fell out. I knew I had to control myself. I knew it was wiser to wait. I knew I'd get my answers. Finally, the man in the suit reappeared on the deck of the ship. He shook hands with the same crew member, smiled, and made his way down the gang plank to the waiting taxi cab.

"Turn this thing around. I want to be ready to go."

"You bet."

The suit got into the car, talked and gestured for a few minutes, and then instructed the driver to move on. Why would he spend so much time talking to the driver? What was he telling him?

The car drove off. I ducked as it passed by us. We waited a few moments, then continued our pursuit.

"Make sure you don't lose him."

"Don't worry, I won't."

I looked at my watch. It was nine forty-five. The pressure for time was mounting. I needed to know where the suit was going. I needed to know what he was up to. I had one consolation. In the event that I lost the suit, I could always go back to the Queen of Denn Isle to ask the crew member about our mystery man.

"So where do you think he's headed?"

"I haven't got a clue."

"Who is this guy anyway?"

"I don't know."

"Do you mind if I ask you what line of work you're in?"

"I'm a private detective."

"Let me see if I've got this straight. You're following a guy you don't know, to a place you don't know."

"That's right."

"And you're a private detective?"

"That's right. Anything else you want to know?"

"Yeah, who do you think that is that's following us?"

"Somebody's following us?"

"Yeah, that cab's been on our tail for the last fifteen minutes."

"You're guess is as good as mine."

To my utter surprise and bewilderment, the cab we were following pulled into the Plaza Hotel lobby area. The suit got out of the car, signaled the cabby, and walked into the hotel. I was dumbfounded. I heard a knock on the car window. A very large fellow with a rather grim look on his face dearly wanted my attention. I rolled down the car window.

"Morning. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"You can stawt by gettin' outta da cab."

"Any particular reason why I should?"

"Yeah, becawse I want you to, dat's why."

As the large, burly gentleman was speaking to me, I noticed the driver trying to tell me something but I couldn't make out exactly what he was trying to tell me. Seeing I didn't have much choice in the matter, I decided to step out of the car.

The large gentleman with the grim look on his face began to speak.

"You took my cab at da train station."

"Yes I did..."

"Oh, so you admit it?"

"Yes I do, and I would like to..."

The large gentleman with the grim look on his face extended a very large, thick, spatula-like hand, and grabbed my collar. He then picked me up from the ground I had been standing on just moments before, bringing my face close to his.

"You took my fuckin' cab asshole, an' pissed me off big time in doin' so."

"I can understand your being annoyed by my actions Mr...ah...Mr..."

"Why do you wanta know my name?"

"Well, if I'm going to be so intimate with someone, I want to know their name."

"It's Rishaus, Knute Rishaus."

"My name's Nick. Nick Mane."

"Did you wanna tell me anyting else before I punch you out?"

"I was hoping you'd put me down so that I could explain what happened."

"Any particular reason why I should?"

"Well, I think once you hear my story, you'll understand that I had to do what I did."

Knute Rishaus put me down. That was a good first step. Had I not been stuck between a rock and a hard place I would have been tempted to shorten our conversation by sending Knute's nose into his cranium with a little help from my elbow. However, the situation called for diplomacy. I had to stick around to see what the suit was going to do, and would probably have had to leave rather quickly had I opted for plan 'A', which involved sending Knute's nose on a trip to inner space. Besides, he looked like a reasonable guy.

"Knute, can I call you Knute? It's like this. You see that cab over there? I'm following the guy who hired that cab. The guy who hired that cab is my wife's...I'm trying to be delicate here...my wife's boyfriend. I caught the bastard kissing my wife good-bye at the train station not an hour ago. Well, you can imagine how I felt. Anyway, I decided to save myself the trouble of hiring a detective to tell me what I already know, and that's when I took your cab. Now I know you're pissed at me, and you have a right to be. I'm willing to cover your cost of getting another cab and any other inconvenience that all of this may have caused you."

"Dat prick! He's fuckin' wit your wife. Dat prick!"

"Yes, well, now you know how I feel."

"Well I'm sorry for ya buddy. I unnerstand how ya feel."

"I'll get over it. Now let me do something for you, seeing you did something for me. Here's a C-note. I was going to buy my wife something special with it up until about an hour ago. It was going to be a surprise. I'm not going to do that now, but I'd like you to have it, for the inconvenience I caused you, and, well, for being such a good sport about it all."

"I couldn't take it."

"Yes, of course you can. I wouldn't feel right if you didn't."

I slipped the bill in Knute's hand as I shook it. It felt strange to have the full span of my hand wrapped around someone's index finger.

"I'm glad I met you Knute, you're all right."

"You're all right too, Nick. You want any help wit dat sonovabitch?"

"No, thanks, I'm sure I can handle this. Take care Knute."

"You take care Nick."

Knute sort of tried to tidy up my shirt collar as best he could, then he walked back to his cab and left. I got back into the car.

"All right, where were we? Has the man in the suit come back out yet?"

"Not yet. So what did you say to the big guy?"

"I told him that I had just been to the doctor's office, and that I had tested positive for a highly communicable disease, and that if he beat me up, I would make sure to bleed all over him, and possibly bite him."

"And that did it?"

"That did it."

I grew impatient waiting for the suit to come back out of the hotel. I decided to go in to see if I could find him.

"I'll be back. Don't budge unless the suit comes back. If he does, follow him. If it looks like you won't be able to make it back to the Queen of Denn Isle by eleven thirty, call the ship and leave me a message. Give me a card with your home phone number. Here's two hundred bucks. Do what I tell you and there'll be another five hundred bucks in it for you. Got that?"

"Yeah, I got it."

I took my travel bag out the car and walked to the hotel entrance.

"Mr. Mane, how are you today?"

"Derek, don't you ever sleep?"

"I usually do get my eight hours, but one of the fellows took ill and couldn't make his shift, so here I am."

"Derek, a man in a dark blue suit, a very distinguished looking man just walked in a few minutes ago. You wouldn't happen to know if he's a guest, would you?"

"Ohwah, Mr...Mr...Pelican, no, ah, Mr...Peligo, Peligo, that's it. Yes, he's a guest at the hotel. Caused quite a ruckus here this morning. Room service was late with his breakfast. Guy nearly got fired over it."

"Mr. Peligo huh. Thanks Derek, you've been a great help. Here's something for you. If you see Mr. Peligo, don't mention that I was inquiring about him. I want to make it a surprise. By the way, would you be good enough to hold this bag for me. I shouldn't be too long."

"No problem Mr. Mane."

As I walked through the lobby I tried to remember the episode with the kid from room service. He had mentioned Peligo's room number. Now what was that room number? Let me see now, I was in seventeen twelve, Peligo was in seventeen thirteen, no, there wouldn't be a seventeen thirteen, he must have been in seventeen eleven. That's it! Seventeen eleven.

I pressed the elevator button and waited. As I waited I could make out the sounds of people chatting and laughing. The sounds were emanating from inside the elevator shaft. The sounds grew louder and louder. The elevator doors opened, revealing a crowd of people, evidently from a convention. Like a Pez candy dispenser, the elevator popped out what seemed to be an endless line of people. I looked at my watch. Time was at a premium. I stepped into the elevator, and pressed eighteen. As the doors were about to shut tight, a hand appeared in the fissure that remained. The doors began to seemingly chew on the hand. The talking and laughing voices that had earlier emanated from the elevator shaft now emanated from the lobby area. The doors continued to chew on the hand that obstinately remained in place. I felt compelled to do something. I reached over to the panel, and pressed the 'Open Door' button.

"Thanks a million buddy."

In a moment the elevator was invaded by a crowd of boisterous delegates, undoubtedly associated to the crowd of boisterous delegates that had just gotten off the same elevator. The space inside the elevator grew smaller and smaller. Odors carrying tell-tale messages of what food and drink had been consumed in the last hour fought for supremacy with a myriad of industrial fragrances intrinsically linked with everything from deodorant, to shaving cream, to after-shave, to cologne, hair spray and perfume. The elevator doors pulled together slowly.

"Room for one more?"

The doors opened once again. Out of concern, I looked up at the elevating device permit which was posted on the elevator wall. Capacity: Sixteen people, or three thousand pounds. Did that take into account the fact that there are some overweight people in the world? Does the physical space in an elevator automatically limit the number of overweight people that can be carried? What if people have dense bone structure, but don't take up much space? The elevator began its upward, albeit short journey. The doors opened once again.

"Hi gang, room for one more?"

"Come on in George. It's all in the family."

The doors slowly, ominously came together. The elevating device resumed its upward journey. Then it happened. The buzzer went off. The elevating device expired in between floors. There was an interruption in the repartee. Then, those famous words of wisdom.

"I think we've stopped."

"Omigosh, we're stuck."

"I'm having difficulty breathing!"

"Well, I guess they'll have to start without us."

The platitudes continued. I would have no part in it. I needed to get out of there. I looked up at the ceiling. There was a panel. Having been relegated to the back of the elevator, I was in an ideal position to climb up onto the handrail and pull myself out of the compartment.

"Excuse me, excuse me. I'm just going to use your shoulders to prop myself up on this railing. I'll be out of your way in just a moment."

It worked. In no time at all my feet were firmly planted on the railing, and I had managed to pop the panel in the ceiling. I heaved myself up through the opening and onto the roof panel of the crippled elevator. I pulled on the outer doors of the next level, and climbed onto the third floor of the hotel. I decided to take the stairs up to the seventeenth floor. The climb nearly killed me. My original plan was to go to the eighteenth floor and to walk down one flight. I nixed that plan. Had I had to climb one more flight I think I would have died on the spot. My breathing had become uncontrolled, my heart and head pounded and the perspiration gushed like Old Faithful off my brow. I finally made it to the seventeenth floor. I knew I hadn't much time, unless Peligo was in the habit of hiring taxi cabs by the day. I took a moment to regain my composure, then walked towards room seventeen eleven. I stuck my ear against the door. I could hear a voice, just one voice. It must have been Peligo's. He must have been talking to someone on the telephone. Hard as I tried, I couldn't hear anything clearly. The best I could do for the moment was to try the door, quietly, very quietly while Peligo's mind was elsewhere. I ever so slowly turned the handle. Unfortunately, it stopped dead in my hand. I released the handle. I would have to try another strategy. Trying my best not to look too conspicuous, I stayed close to the door and waited for the conversation to end. While I waited, I took a piece of chewing gum and stuffed it in the peep hole of the door. After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, silence finally came. There was no time to hesitate. I rapped on the door. pulled away to the side closest to the handle. and waited.

"Who is it?"

I said nothing. There was a pause. I rapped on the door once again.

"Who is it?"

Once again, I remained silent, and waited. My adrenaline was rushing through my veins, my heart beat like a jungle drum. The handle turned, the door opened. I leapt as quickly as I could, smashing the door into the human door stop on the other side. I heard the suit's head collide with the raised panel surface. That must have hurt, I thought, maybe enough to keep him down for a moment or two. By that time, I was in the room. I slammed the door shut. The suit lay on the floor in the middle of the room, moaning like a skid row drunk.

"Sorry to mess your suit. It's a nice suit. You seem to know who I am, so I'll dispense with the introductions. I want to know who the hell you are. I want to know the name of your friend with the brogues. I want to know who you're working for, I want to know why you're following me, and I want to know where you get your suits made."

"You have a sense of humor, Mr. Mane."

"Yes I do, and it makes up for my lack of patience. You see, I have no patience, especially with people who follow me around."

"Do you mind if I get up off the floor?"

"Go ahead, but don't try anything funny or you'll end up right back where you are hoping you'd never asked to get up off the floor."

The suit got up, brushed himself off and made his way to one of the armchairs in the room.

"My name is Peligo. Archie Peligo."

"I had your breakfast this morning. It was pretty good, but I have to wonder how you manage to remain so slim."

"Trying to keep track of you helps."

"What's your friend's name, the fellow with the stylish brogues?"

"Ron Engshew is his name. Tell me something, did you have to be so rough on him? His hand looks like it's been run over by a steam roller."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it's not his check-writing hand."

"Who's paying you to follow me, Archie?"

"You can't believe how happy it would make me to tell you the name of our employer, Mr. Mane, but it's something I just can't do, at least not for the moment."

"I don't like the sound of that Archie, don't like the sound of that at all. Let's come back to that question in a moment, shall we? What's so important abut the attaché case?"

"The attaché case? What attaché case?"

I grabbed Peligo's tie, slipping one hand beneath to hold the tail, and jerking as hard as I could on the knot. The minor adjustment did not suit Peligo well. His eyes began to fill with crimson red veins, then they began to bulge as if they were ready to pop out like toast.

"I don't like it when people jerk me around Peligo..."

I thought for a moment that he was going to pass out, so I slackened by grip somewhat. At that very moment I felt a numbing blow which knocked me to the floor, and allowed me to see a few constellations in broad daylight.

"It's about fucking time you got here. I thought the crazy bastard was going to kill me."

By the time I came around the room was empty. I looked at my watch. Only a few minutes had gone by. I pulled myself to my feet, zigzagged to the door, peered out into the hallway, but saw no one. I continued my awkward ballet to the elevator, pressed the button and waited. I dearly hoped that I would not encounter any delegates on the way down to the lobby. Fortunately, an elevator came quickly. I stepped inside, leaned against one of the walls and pressed the button to go down to the lobby. In no time at all I found myself negotiating the lobby floor, hoping desperately that my head would not explode and make a mess. I kept my fingers crossed. I wanted to see that cab at the lobby entrance, and I did. I staggered to the car, opened the door, and fell inside.

"Are you all right mister?"

"I'll be all right. Follow that cab. No wait! My travel bag, Get my travel bag from the doorman."

The cabby ran to the door and collected the travel bag from the doorman.

"That was fast."

"Well, it wasn't very far."

"Follow that damn taxi."

We sped off into the traffic and in no time at all were on the other car's tail. I could only surmise that my friend Ron Engshew had been tending to his hand in the washroom while Peligo and I were having a little conversation. His rude intervention had the flavor of revenge. My head was in desperate need of medication.

"You got anything for a brain tumor up there?"

"You've got a choice. I've got Doctor In A Bottle, and I've also got Florence Nightingale Buffered Tabs."

"Gimme both."

I took the bottles from the driver's hand and poured out six or eight little curative pellets from each of them.

"These don't give you an upset stomach, do they?"

"With what you've just taken, you won't be feeling anything, let alone your stomach."

"Just make sure you don't lose those bastards."

CHAPTER TEN

"We lost them!"

"We what?"

I propped myself back up onto the seat. Seems that I had slid down to the floor well and had found it quite comfortable down there.

"I m sorry, we lost them. Somebody cut me off, and by the time I could get around the car, the one we were following got away."

"Don't worry about it. Fangio never batted a thousand either."

Dear reader:

Hope you enjoyed reading to this point. There is indeed a conclusion to Nick Mane's adventure. To get the full last chapter sent to you, simply send an email to maneman@telus.net

There is no cost to get the last chapter. You will not be solicited.

The Adventures of Nick Mane, Private Detective - Mind's Eye is the second in a series of Nick Mane adventure novels.

Best wishes,

N. A. D.

THE ADVENTURES OF NICK MANE

PRIVATE DETECTIVE

'MIND'S EYE'

by

N. A. Dalbec

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced

in any form or by any means, or stored in a database

or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the

author.

Making copies of any part of this book for any purpose is not

permitted.

For information, contact N. A. Dalbec, Author, Suite 707,

555 Jervis Street., Vancouver, BC, Canada, V6E 4N1

ISBN: 978-0-9730714-3-6, issued by Library and Archives Canada

All characters and situations in this book are fictitious.
