I got there at 7:45. I sat near the counter to be visible. This
was one time I wanted to be seen. A youngish woman
came in about 8:05…she was wearing Banana Republic@
and her hair was a wig of feathers. She walked by me
stopped, looked at me, smiled, said: “Follow me please.”
We left the station. I followed her to an elevator. We
went up two levels and got out. She walked to a nearby
service door and went through…walked along a service
corridor above the station, it seemed, and eventually to
another door. We went inside. There was a table and
two chairs….bare light bulb hanging from a wire from
the ceiling.
“Please sit.” It was not unfriendly. She sat across from
me. She took off her hair piece and she truly was bald.
She placed the wig to the right of her on the table.
She spoke: “I am just an agent. I want to understand
your experiences as you describe them, because, I assure
you, it will be in the best interests of all parties involved.”
“What should I call you?”
“What would you like to?”
“How’s about Shela?”
“How’s about Shela?”
“That would be fine.”
“Great, well, Shela, do you mind telling me what the
fuck this is all about?”
“Mmmm…well, when talking with dangerous men,
it’s better if they speak first…so….please….”
“OK…” I told her about the leather bag, the parallel
universe thing where I got shot but I was still here, and
that I watched myself having a conversation with a woman.
Shela listened professionally. When I spoke the name
“Thornvold Arnquist” she gave away that professional
tell of forced seeming indifference.
“OK..” I took a big breath and exhaled. “Your turn.”
“You might want to take another breath…just to be sure”
I did. We just sat there for a moment. I had a flash of
something….like a faded photograph...a whiff of perfume…
a blues line long forgotten.
“Before I tell you what I’m going to tell you, I have be
sure I can get the leather bag. You understand that?”
“Sure…” I took out the key for the safety deposit box
and slid it across to her at the table. She looked at it…
recognized the number…put it into a pocket.
****
“So, what’s in the bag?” I felt pretty good at that point
that she had bitten for the bag in the safety deposit box.
I was about to get some free information.
She pulled out a pack of Delecado Dorados from
somewhere and calmly lit a cigarette.
“One thing you should understand is that if you try
to hide things from us, it’s not helpful to you, because
none of us truly knows what’s going on.”
“What’s in the bag?” His hand felt slightly the contour
of the Mac10 under his coat.
She had recognized his body language and spoke back to
him by leaning back in her chair and relaxing.
“Alright…I see you want to know. And I am obliged to
tell you because you are involved in this now and there
is no way out. So, you see, we are all ants on a piece of
wood, going over the edge of a waterfall together…so
how should we be enemies? “