Going, Going, Gone Read online

  GOING, GOING, GONE

  JACK WOMACK

  Copyright © 2000 by Jack Womack

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Any members of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or publishers who would like to obtain permission to include the work in an anthology, should send their inquiries to Grove/Atlantic, Inc., 841 Broadway, New York, NY 10003.

  First published in 2000 by Voyager, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers, London, England

  Published simultaneously in Canada

  Printed in the United States of America

  FIRST GROVE PRES PAPERBACK EDITION

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Womack, Jack.

  Going, going, gone / Jack Womack.

  p. cm.

  eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-5558-4758-6

  1. Presidents—United States—Election—Fiction. 2. New York (N.Y.)— Fiction. 3. Time travel—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3573.O575 G65 2001

  813′.54—dc21 00-064368

  Grove Press

  841 Broadway

  New York, NY 10003

  For everyone whose eyes I saw, above the mask

  So where did we go wrong? Well, I figure the wrong-ness was always there … So many terrible scenes with – forget it, deactivate it, let it go, it is only in your memory now, remove it. You have the power to do it.

  —William S. Burroughs

  May 12, 1997

  ONE

  Soon as I spiked I turned my eyes inside. Setting old snakehead on cruise control always pleases, no matter how quick the trip. I looked out the window for a minute or an hour or so, listening to stoplights click off blue, orange, blue. Meteor showers of Maryland-bound cars shot past down there on Connecticut Avenue and I made wishes on their long swirly trails. It pissed me bigtime that my innkeepers liked the guests to suffer silence, and I made a note to bring along a hi-fi next go-round. I thought I felt Metroliner vibes four hundred feet below me, steady as a motel vibrabed, but it was nothing but blood doing a sprint up my legs, trying to get to my heart before it was too late.

  I’d just started examining the pattern of the tooled holes in my wingtips – circles inside of stars, looked downright masonic if you ask me – when I heard those jingle bells ring. In my mildly altered condition it never would have occurred to me that Martin would never blitz his own battleground, so I jumped. Only natural considering my iffy relationship with DC’s boys in blue. Luckily enough, before I could make for the john and drown my bagged cat I realized I was only hearing the phone, and so I restashed my stash. Usually I unplug the ringer at check-in, but this time it had slipped my mind. You always risk clipping a good buzz in mid-hum, when you sign on for a twenty-four-hour shift. Goes with the territory.

  ‘Morning,’ I shouted at the receiver, trying to remember which end was which.

  ‘Evening,’ Bennett said. ‘Can’t you tell the difference?’

  ‘Six of one, half dozen of the other.’

  ‘Are you drunk?’

  ‘Dog’s on the leash,’ I assured him.

  ‘You finish the distribution?’

  ‘Hold on.’ My hand was getting numb. I’d put a tourniquet round my arm with the phone cord somehow and thought I’d better unwrap it before I could spontaneously amputate. ‘You were saying?’

  ‘Was there anything left to distribute?’

  From afar Bennett came on like a Harvard Dillinger, but up close you knew he was just another dental hygienist. On his evolutionary scale I topped out around Fishhead level – try as he might, he never cottoned to watching his boss treat me like Future Man. Too bad for Benny but Martin and I went back many moons, plus we had more in common than old Ivy League ever would with either of us. ‘Cut the j’accuse,’ I said. ‘Produce reached the market.’

  ‘Speak English.’

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘What about it, then?’

  ‘About what, my brother?’

  ‘Don’t brother me.’

  ‘Not to offend. I mean only in the broader sense.’

  ‘When’ll the wolves start howling?’

  ‘English, Bennett. Please.’

  ‘When should the roundup start?’

  I reviewed my own experience. ‘Body phase lasts maybe twenty minutes. Then it calms down a little and you think everything’s square. All of a sudden chemistry takes the wheel and you park yourself in Mars orbit for nine hours or so, depending on whether or not you ate beforehand. DuPont boys be able to handle that?’ ‘They’re capable men.’

  ‘You say so. Motto of a park ranger’s be prepared.’

  ‘Oh, hell –’

  Help.

  Without warning I found myself listening in counterpoint. Side effect? Could be, but Bennett was a prankster. ‘You going stereo on me?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Help.

  Whoever was shouting help was broadcasting through a separate channel. He wasn’t in the phone but didn’t seem to be in my head either. I gave the room the onceover but I was the only one on duty. Whoever he was he sounded like he’d been sealed up in an oil drum. Possibly an unfortunate who’d run afoul of one of Bennett’s less restrained subcontractors.

  Help.

  ‘That’s not you, is it?’

  ‘What are you on now?’ Bennett’s words popped out of the receiver; they were purple, and diamond-shape. Amazing how long the effects last sometime.

  Help.

  ‘Help you what?’ I asked. ‘Who’s out there?’

  ‘Walter!!’

  ‘What?’ I thought it best not to go into a lot more detail; things like this kind of disturbed Bennett’s peace of mind. ‘Must be hearing things, compadre. Nothing to write home about.’

  He hissed like a stabbed tire. ‘I’ve got a message. Think you’ll remember?’ ‘Try me.’

  ‘Mister Rollins says they want to meet you again tomorrow morning for breakfast. It’s essential that you reconsider the offer.’

  ‘Can’t oblige,’ I said.

  ‘Essential, I said.’

  ‘I heard you the first time.’

  ‘Essential.’

  I knew my limits. He’d be putting the needle down again and again till I finally got up and changed the record. ‘All right, but tell ’em I got to charge a full day rate.’

  ‘Understood,’ he said. ‘Meet them in the Willard coffee shop, nine sharp. The Willard Hotel. It’s a hotel. Know the place?’

  ‘Warren G. Harding shot his niece there, didn’t he?’

  ‘Nine sharp. Willard Hotel. We’ll be waiting. Think you’ll need any help waking up?’

  ‘Not yours.’

  Bennett skipped the gracious goodbye pages when he took his Emily Post lessons. Once he hung up I savoured the sound of blood rushing past my ears. The seller goes where the market calls but these assignments in DC were always a trial. Nothing like a trip to the land of the two-headed men to remind you why they dumped all that marble in a swamp. Nowhere else will you get the lingering miasma and rotting vegetables that sustain sound government. On a regular schedule the fen’s trolls burn off excess gas. The glow attracts fools and children. The stench overcomes them, the gas hits the blood like carbon monoxide, the bog sucks them under. They’re done for. Stay out of politics, my brothers, there’s no keeping clean.

  Bennett’s call had rung down the curtain on my mind’s nightly adventure. Even though I considered taking it from the top I noticed it was midnight, and since I’d been hit wi
th this unforeseen breakfast subpoena I decided I’d better take the sensible road and toddle off to snoozeville. While shedding my outerwear I let myself go blank. Listened to walls creak as they eased their weary stones, heard the wind tickle the ivy’s dry threads. I was stashed in the usual drawer, an N Street townhouse with 1850 skin and 1965 guts. Claims adjusters infested the ground floor offices but the apartments were available for government transients. I don’t know who crashed in my suite when I wasn’t in town. Martin didn’t say, I didn’t ask. The joint must have been classville in buggywhip days but the trolls had been hard at work since. On a five-star scale I’d give the leftovers a negative four. A junkman wouldn’t take the furniture if you paid him. Turn on the faucets and take bets on what colour the water’d be. Cockroaches big as chihuahuas and just as quiet. Every morning rats raced through the groundcover out front to the point where even a dead sober man would think the yard was trying to sneak away from the house. Well, it was never more than a couple nights’ flop to me and after all, I’ve done time in places that made this look like the Savoy-Plaza. I’d just started kissing the sheets when my unseen friend returned.

  Help.

  Definitely not Bennett this time. I tried hauling myself up but it wasn’t easy.

  Help.

  Where was that boy? Somewhere on my left, maybe? Don’t believe the yarns, there’s not much to be gained when you start hearing people who aren’t there. ‘Yo boyo, your signal’s coming in clear. Show yourself.’

  Help me.

  ‘No need to be shy,’ I called out, thinking I’d pinned him down on radar. I tiptoed to the bathroom and pushed at the door. ‘Hey Livingstone. Stanley here.’ No answer, so I flipped on the brights and peeked in. ‘Anybody?’ Nobody. Now if I’d stayed horizontal I could have probably convinced myself that the evening’s entertainment simply intensified those bad DC vibes, but once up my reptile brain couldn’t be rubed. Maybe I landed in the middle of one of those CIA campfire tales you always hear. Those necrophiliacs had no need to unscrew my bulbs, but they wouldn’t have cared. This was probably the kind of fun they had when they weren’t out shooting Nixon. Help.

  I did a Norman’s mother. Nobody in the shower so I checked under the sink. Bug city; ten thousand long-term leasees but none of them were talking. Men of science test all theories, so I stared down into the toilet bowl. In heightened states the sight of running water calms me down, and the longer I looked in the better I felt. Nothing but an unexpected side effect, I told myself. No telling what’ll bob up when the mind starts simmering. In my more adventurous days I once dropped a little blue tab, supposedly some derivative extracted from San Pedro cactus buds. Maybe so, but all it did was make me sneeze uncontrollably for fourteen hours.

  Please help.

  I looked up and I saw them standing there. Almost there, I’d better say. This was the first time I could eyeball somebody’s front and glim their back simultaneously, but that wasn’t the real mindbender. It was hard getting a fix on them because half the time they were turning colours and half the time, shifting into black and white. Made me want to shout focus at the projection booth. He wore what looked like a Bellevue suit, except the arms didn’t have those fashionable belts and buckles. Just as well because if they had he couldn’t’ve lugged the doll. His honey lay in his arms like a swoonstruck bobbysoxer. She gave every indication of being out on a heavy nod. Under the circumstances, mind you, I’d hesitate to say either one would have bled if you cut them. From what I could tell he’d had it hard wherever he’d had it, and she looked like she’d been dragged by a truck from Cleveland way past Detroit.

  Please help us.

  Neither of them were flapping gums when the words came through, but I heard him stone clear. The shakes hit me where I stood and that’s a side effect I never get from that evening’s particular family of chemicals. Closing my eyes, I tried to think of something to say. When I raised my shades once more my new pals were starting to fade. They didn’t seem to notice, but I didn’t think they were too conscious of anything, to tell the truth. Going, going, gone – and that was that for them.

  Somehow it was worse having them gone. I rolled back into bed and listened hard. Even though I didn’t hear him anymore it still took time before I could start copping Zs. What with all the excitement I’d worked myself into a tizzy. I couldn’t shake the notion somebody was hotfooting over my grave. Seeing ghosts will do that, I suppose, and that’s the way I finally chalked it up. Axe-murdered in this room years ago, probably, and the walls couldn’t hold back on what they’d seen any longer. Fortean phenomena, the logical explanation. Nothing weird about it until it happens to you. Just one of those strange things happening every day, like green snow or a frogstorm, or buses showing up in threes.

  I couldn’t wait to get back to New York. Of course I didn’t foresee I’d have guests along for the ride.

  I cooled on my slab till roostertime, then rose and soaked my head in sunshine. No distressing afterburn, I was pleased to note – no neckache, no blurry vision, no need to brush one-handed while propping myself up with the unused paw. While scrubbing I decided to show up extra sharp for these boys. I shaved close, played coathanger for my priciest suit. Sparkled like a diamond in the rhinestone counter when I got there. The Williard Hotel’s slavemasters weren’t big on face control, and the coffee shop was almost one hundred percent DC riffraff. Most looked nitrogen-poisoned, stumbling around blind with walking bends, good for nothing but taking fingerprints or filing them. I breezed through their midst and ignored the looks the secretaries shot me. Martin and Bennett held court at a booth in the rear. Most of the dregs on hand favoured official federal government style. But my boys were men of taste, and put on a Washington style show. Seven-layer silk ties, trifold linen squares, cuffs overloaded with silver and gold; suits thick as overcoats and shoes shiny enough to scare away the schoolgirls.

  ‘Everything went exactly as you predicted, Walter,’ Martin told me. ‘Congratulations are in order.’ My boss came on like he always did, the head man in Statuary Hall. Bennett looked like he’d sat on a pickle and couldn’t get it out. He eyed me as if I were some evil bird swooping down to bag his waffles.

  ‘Muchas thankas.’ Taking a load off, I signalled the waiter.

  ‘Sleep well?’ Bennett asked.

  ‘Slept better.’

  ‘Too much on your mind, perhaps –’

  I lit into the mocha java the second Pierre set it down in front of me, but that was a serious mistake. Gave my tongue third degree burns and for a second I thought my throat was going to seal up

  ‘Hot?’ Bennett asked.

  ‘Beelzebub,’ I said. ‘Like drinking the sun.’

  ‘You remember our associates,’ said Martin, stretching out his hand like he was introducing the dog act. ‘Mister Hamilton. Mister Frye.’

  ‘Morning, my brothers.’

  The co-conspirators nodded and winked and I returned the favour. Hamilton was silver-haired, silver-tongued and slippery as wet glass. I don’t think he was a mammal. Old mellifluous knew anything he served up had to drip with syrup, otherwise it’d never slide down. His sidekick Frye seemed content with the job of vestigial twin. If you taught a ferret how to walk on its back feet and put it in a three-hundred-dollar suit, you’d have Frye. He sat there emitting a series of sinister chuckles. Those two were kingsize trolls but it was never clear to me what precise realm of the swamp they oversaw, and they seemed the sort who’d like to keep it that way. Martin screwed a Lucky into his holder. Bennett almost fell out of his chair, offering his lighter.

  ‘You get it?’ he asked. Martin fired up and shot one smoke ring through another.

  ‘The Willard used to be such a magnificent hotel,’ Hamilton proclaimed, oozing the grease of sociability. He knew if he came on like Uncle Bob he’d get an invite to any Friday dinner. ‘Sad, how much it’s changed over the years. You’re not old enough to remember what this was, before it was a coffee shop.’ I’d have guessed nobody was.
‘It was a corner of the grand ballroom. The ceiling and those walls are false, you see. My friend Donald Cook’s graduation party was given here in 1926. Donald was the son of Senator Cook, he died on the Brittannica.’ I was starting to wish I had. ‘An unforgettable evening. We kept our flasks at the ready, filled with hooch. Whenever the chaperones turned their heads we’d have a snort. I danced with Sally Patterson half the night.’ He went all cow-eyed, recalling the scent of long-lost fur. ‘Fifty beautiful young men and women, learning the ways of the world.’ I suspected he placed himself pretty high on the beauty scale. ‘The stage was there.’ He pointed at the steam table, where two Japs stood slinging hash. ‘Seven smoke musicians. Real hot poppas from New Orleans, as we used to say.’ He burst out in soft song. ‘If the man in the moon was a coon, coon, coon –’

  Hambone pursed his lips like he was spitting out watermelon seeds. Frye made with the chucks: hmnf hmnf hmnf. Bennett sighed; he probably spent half his life hearing about parties he wasn’t invited to. Martin, like me, played icecube.

  ‘I did some stepping out back in Cambridge myself,’ Bennett said, at the same time eyeballing me. ‘Not very good at it, though. Two left feet.’

  ‘I suspect you underestimate yourself,’ Hamilton said.

  ‘Surely I wouldn’t have held a candle to you, sir.’ Bennett kissed most people’s feet because he was too short to reach their ass.

  ‘Sweet memory is all that lingers once the ball is over, gentlemen,’ said the old codger. ‘So soon we forget.’

  If this went on much longer he was going to drag out the uke and start yodelling. After he tossed off that little lyric from the hit parade I was in no mood to foxtrot. ‘I’ve forgotten why you asked me here, actually,’ I said. ‘Not to cut you short, my brothers, but I’ve got a train to catch.’

  ‘Mister Smith,’ Hamilton said, speaking in my direction, as if he’d been struck blind but suspected I had a quarter. (My legal given is Bullitt, by the by, but I use a more forgettable monicker for piece work.) ‘I want to offer you the opportunity to reconsider our proposal. We think you’re our man for the job.’