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And the Beat Goes On in Crossed Wires
Here's some more, folks. Enjoy.
My Best,
Mark
Joe Decides to Go Pro, Just before Calling Carl and Sandy
When Dave left Joe at the Motel Six in Strasburg, Joe started feeling sad. He had all of his gear, most of his money and his booze and wasn’t feeling all that tweaked. But with Dave driving off in his big space-ship rig, headed east to find Joe’s hurt brother, Joe found himself alone again. When he walked into the little, generic hotel room that smelled of many smoked cigarettes and spilled beer, he immediately went about polishing a quarter bottle of tequila in three or four swift gulps. His road show had apparently packed up and was nowhere to be heard. The sound of Dave’s truck was long gone.
He plopped onto the way too firm bed, put one of the rock- hard pillows under his head and closed his eyes. He thought about maybe turning the T.V. on, but then thought better of it. He saw the telephone and wondered if it worked. If it did, who would he call?
Room-service? Nine One One? No. Those made no sense at all.
I need to stop this f*****, he kept thinking. I need help.
He closed his eyes tight then, and spread out into the thought stream. Somewhere, somebody had to hear is his plea.
When he got in touch with the big black FBI agent, he nearly snapped over. Go figure, he said to himself.
Quit talking out loud, Joe screamed at him. This guy was losing his nuts in a heartbeat and Joe had never had such a clear connection since the girl, Jenna. He had to help the guy maintain. He wished then that he hadn’t had that extra swill from the tequila bottle. Liquor always deadened the communication level. That’s why he drank so f****** much, for Christ’s sake. The extraneous b******* noise just sucked hard air.
No, you are not going crazy! Carl? So that’s your name!
Joe was frantic and impatient then. Impatience was one of his many very bad habits.
He risked the mind f***. That’s what he called it, anyway. Those he had done it to before had simply passed out and forgot about it ever happening.
Carl didn’t pass out, at least as far as Joe could tell. He relayed back a strong thought:
What do I do now?
You thought about your partner. Ask her to hold your hand. I think I can bring her on board, too.
And so it went. A team was forming and Joe wasn’t sure he could control any of it. After all, he was just a wealthy drunk with a bizarre ability to hear hurt people and mind f*** people at will.
When he left the images in Carl’s mind, where he was and what he had seen, he knew that Carl and Sandy would be in his room within six or less hours.
More like four, if I’ve got Carl right.
He decided to shower and shave and have his clothes washed. It seemed like the right way to go about things now. Professional. Yeah. He was beginning to remember.
He picked up the telephone and dialed the desk.
“Yes, Mr. Allen.”
It was the cute little brunette with the wild blue eyes he remembered was at the desk when he stumbled in. He remembered her picking at her nails.
“Can you do laundry?”
“Pardon me, sir?” she said, a little hesitant.
“I’d like to have my clothes cleaned,” Joe said, not unkindly.
“Well. . . we can have a service do that for you, I think. It might take a couple of hours.”
“Would you, please?”
“Of course, Mr. Allen. Let me make a phone call and I will make sure that your needs are taken care of. Will this be cash or credit?”
Joe wanted to laugh, but didn’t. “Cash, please,” he said. “The sooner the better. Okay?”
Joe added, “I have a hundred dollar bill with your name on it if you can find me a new suit in the next three hours.”
He heard her mind go into race mode.
“You mean, like, you want me to go out and buy you a new suit, Mr. Allen?”
“I’ll be down with the money in five minutes. Can you do this?”
“Well, I suppose customer service is my middle name, Mr. Allen, but I’m not sure what you need. Please come down,” she said, “and we can talk it over.”
And so Joe did, as best he could.
He staggered to the elevators, managed to punch the correct button and went down to the lobby floor. He tried very hard to walk normally, went to the front desk and handed the girl, Francis was her name, four crumpled one hundred dollar bills.
He heard that she called herself Sissy.
“Do you have any complimentary razors? Swag, you know?” he asked. He gave her a winning smile.
She looked at his grizzly, almost fully bearded face and thought you don’t need a razor, honey, you need a chain saw.
Joe really heard her then, but decided not to freak her out any more than she probably was.
“How about two?” he asked, acting unsure.
“Got ya covered, Mr. Allen.” She reached behind her desk and produced two disposable razors, sealed in their little plastic wraps.
“What color of suit do you need?” she asked, completely taking him aback by her apparent compliance. She seemed amused by him, yet at the same time maybe a little frightened.
That was weird, Joe thought. He kind of heard her inside, but he couldn’t really get her. He needed to sober up.
“You choose. Professional. Business like. Power tie.”
He did all of sudden catch her a little better then.
Power tie? Is this guy dusted? He’s cute, yeah, but way whacked. But power tie?
“Whatever you decide. I have some important folks from the FBI coming in here in about four hours or so. Hook me up and another hundred is yours. Can do?”
He heard her again: FBI? This guy is a spook! Holy s***! I’ve seen this kinda stuff on T.V. and I could be in some kind of spy plot or trouble or something!
Joe decided to force her then. It wasn’t his way, but sometimes it worked out.
“No spy plot, girl. I’m here to help save some fricking lives. When can I expect my new clothes?”
Her very pretty face went slack and she just stared at him for a second or two, blinking, as if he had unplugged her. She became a complete mental test pattern again to him.
She mechanically picked up the phone and dialed the laundry service that they normally used, told them to hasten the arrangements.
She is an innate, he thought.
“I...I’m... I am being relieved in twenty minutes,” she stammered. “I’ll be back. What size do you wear?”
“Forty two long suit, fifteen and a half neck. My shoe size, last I checked, was eleven widest. When are the cleaners coming for my clothes?”
Joe was forcing hard. It felt imperative to do so. Something was making him move faster than usual. Something was wrong, somewhere.
“About ten minutes,” she said, starting to sweat in places she normally didn’t.
“They promised to have them fixed up in two hours, tops.”
“Good,” Joe said. “That’s very good. And don’t you worry, Sissy; I’m definitely not the one who is dangerous in this pond.”
She nearly freaked completely out when he said her pet name out loud.
Joe turned around then and headed back toward the elevator, staggering a little, leaving Francis “Sissy” Vanderwold in a completely confused state of mind. She felt like she had been invaded somehow, but would never be able to explain it.
All about the now she couldn’t wait for Kristy Campbell, her relief, to get there and let her fulfill her mission for this strange man that had given her big bucks and apparently had mind-banged her in some kind of way. She was absolutely compelled to fulfill her part of the deal now, though. She had no idea why, but she was. Really, all she wanted to do at the moment was to change her one-eyed-smiley-face panties and take a long and very hot shower. Something very far in the back of her mind, something that this Joe guy had leaked, made her feel very soiled and scared. It wasn’t Joe, she knew; it was something else that he had somehow shared accidentally. Saving lives, he said. It made sense, though she didn’t know why.
She went back from her counter in all sorts of a hurry and started to more than anxiously look for anyone vaguely capable of taking over for her.
Luckily, it didn’t take long. Her relief was early for a freaking change!
She headed out onto the busy street, determined. Unfortunately, the rest of her day would not go quite so easy or by any stretch of the imagination anywhere near as lucky.
For sure, she was starting to know that there was a very bad man on some kind of psychotic hunt and that he had a taste for her kind.
Joe’s “leak” was seeping in. She didn’t know why she knew that, but she did. She was starting to be nearly in tune with this weird guy that she was helping and was getting to notice the need for speed. The word “urgency” kept repeating itself somewhere in her head.
She hadn’t even used that word since school. Urgency: a great word. Okay. But how and why I am I supposed to act on it and what the hell?
When her mysterious other piped in, she thought she might just pull her hair out right there and check herself into the nearest mental hospital.
Calm down, Sissy, the voice said. You’ve obviously got the gift. Help is on the way. Just get me some clothes, okay? And get back here safe.
She shouted out loud to the wandering masses, “Okay!” and then went, head down, quickly toward the nearest men’s-wear shop she could find.
She hadn’t shopped for a man in at least a couple of years and this was not right. And f***-all if it didn’t start to rain!
No f****** umbrella! God’s throwing rocks, and I got no umbrella! Go figure.
My Best,
Mark
Joe Decides to Go Pro, Just before Calling Carl and Sandy
When Dave left Joe at the Motel Six in Strasburg, Joe started feeling sad. He had all of his gear, most of his money and his booze and wasn’t feeling all that tweaked. But with Dave driving off in his big space-ship rig, headed east to find Joe’s hurt brother, Joe found himself alone again. When he walked into the little, generic hotel room that smelled of many smoked cigarettes and spilled beer, he immediately went about polishing a quarter bottle of tequila in three or four swift gulps. His road show had apparently packed up and was nowhere to be heard. The sound of Dave’s truck was long gone.
He plopped onto the way too firm bed, put one of the rock- hard pillows under his head and closed his eyes. He thought about maybe turning the T.V. on, but then thought better of it. He saw the telephone and wondered if it worked. If it did, who would he call?
Room-service? Nine One One? No. Those made no sense at all.
I need to stop this f*****, he kept thinking. I need help.
He closed his eyes tight then, and spread out into the thought stream. Somewhere, somebody had to hear is his plea.
When he got in touch with the big black FBI agent, he nearly snapped over. Go figure, he said to himself.
Quit talking out loud, Joe screamed at him. This guy was losing his nuts in a heartbeat and Joe had never had such a clear connection since the girl, Jenna. He had to help the guy maintain. He wished then that he hadn’t had that extra swill from the tequila bottle. Liquor always deadened the communication level. That’s why he drank so f****** much, for Christ’s sake. The extraneous b******* noise just sucked hard air.
No, you are not going crazy! Carl? So that’s your name!
Joe was frantic and impatient then. Impatience was one of his many very bad habits.
He risked the mind f***. That’s what he called it, anyway. Those he had done it to before had simply passed out and forgot about it ever happening.
Carl didn’t pass out, at least as far as Joe could tell. He relayed back a strong thought:
What do I do now?
You thought about your partner. Ask her to hold your hand. I think I can bring her on board, too.
And so it went. A team was forming and Joe wasn’t sure he could control any of it. After all, he was just a wealthy drunk with a bizarre ability to hear hurt people and mind f*** people at will.
When he left the images in Carl’s mind, where he was and what he had seen, he knew that Carl and Sandy would be in his room within six or less hours.
More like four, if I’ve got Carl right.
He decided to shower and shave and have his clothes washed. It seemed like the right way to go about things now. Professional. Yeah. He was beginning to remember.
He picked up the telephone and dialed the desk.
“Yes, Mr. Allen.”
It was the cute little brunette with the wild blue eyes he remembered was at the desk when he stumbled in. He remembered her picking at her nails.
“Can you do laundry?”
“Pardon me, sir?” she said, a little hesitant.
“I’d like to have my clothes cleaned,” Joe said, not unkindly.
“Well. . . we can have a service do that for you, I think. It might take a couple of hours.”
“Would you, please?”
“Of course, Mr. Allen. Let me make a phone call and I will make sure that your needs are taken care of. Will this be cash or credit?”
Joe wanted to laugh, but didn’t. “Cash, please,” he said. “The sooner the better. Okay?”
Joe added, “I have a hundred dollar bill with your name on it if you can find me a new suit in the next three hours.”
He heard her mind go into race mode.
“You mean, like, you want me to go out and buy you a new suit, Mr. Allen?”
“I’ll be down with the money in five minutes. Can you do this?”
“Well, I suppose customer service is my middle name, Mr. Allen, but I’m not sure what you need. Please come down,” she said, “and we can talk it over.”
And so Joe did, as best he could.
He staggered to the elevators, managed to punch the correct button and went down to the lobby floor. He tried very hard to walk normally, went to the front desk and handed the girl, Francis was her name, four crumpled one hundred dollar bills.
He heard that she called herself Sissy.
“Do you have any complimentary razors? Swag, you know?” he asked. He gave her a winning smile.
She looked at his grizzly, almost fully bearded face and thought you don’t need a razor, honey, you need a chain saw.
Joe really heard her then, but decided not to freak her out any more than she probably was.
“How about two?” he asked, acting unsure.
“Got ya covered, Mr. Allen.” She reached behind her desk and produced two disposable razors, sealed in their little plastic wraps.
“What color of suit do you need?” she asked, completely taking him aback by her apparent compliance. She seemed amused by him, yet at the same time maybe a little frightened.
That was weird, Joe thought. He kind of heard her inside, but he couldn’t really get her. He needed to sober up.
“You choose. Professional. Business like. Power tie.”
He did all of sudden catch her a little better then.
Power tie? Is this guy dusted? He’s cute, yeah, but way whacked. But power tie?
“Whatever you decide. I have some important folks from the FBI coming in here in about four hours or so. Hook me up and another hundred is yours. Can do?”
He heard her again: FBI? This guy is a spook! Holy s***! I’ve seen this kinda stuff on T.V. and I could be in some kind of spy plot or trouble or something!
Joe decided to force her then. It wasn’t his way, but sometimes it worked out.
“No spy plot, girl. I’m here to help save some fricking lives. When can I expect my new clothes?”
Her very pretty face went slack and she just stared at him for a second or two, blinking, as if he had unplugged her. She became a complete mental test pattern again to him.
She mechanically picked up the phone and dialed the laundry service that they normally used, told them to hasten the arrangements.
She is an innate, he thought.
“I...I’m... I am being relieved in twenty minutes,” she stammered. “I’ll be back. What size do you wear?”
“Forty two long suit, fifteen and a half neck. My shoe size, last I checked, was eleven widest. When are the cleaners coming for my clothes?”
Joe was forcing hard. It felt imperative to do so. Something was making him move faster than usual. Something was wrong, somewhere.
“About ten minutes,” she said, starting to sweat in places she normally didn’t.
“They promised to have them fixed up in two hours, tops.”
“Good,” Joe said. “That’s very good. And don’t you worry, Sissy; I’m definitely not the one who is dangerous in this pond.”
She nearly freaked completely out when he said her pet name out loud.
Joe turned around then and headed back toward the elevator, staggering a little, leaving Francis “Sissy” Vanderwold in a completely confused state of mind. She felt like she had been invaded somehow, but would never be able to explain it.
All about the now she couldn’t wait for Kristy Campbell, her relief, to get there and let her fulfill her mission for this strange man that had given her big bucks and apparently had mind-banged her in some kind of way. She was absolutely compelled to fulfill her part of the deal now, though. She had no idea why, but she was. Really, all she wanted to do at the moment was to change her one-eyed-smiley-face panties and take a long and very hot shower. Something very far in the back of her mind, something that this Joe guy had leaked, made her feel very soiled and scared. It wasn’t Joe, she knew; it was something else that he had somehow shared accidentally. Saving lives, he said. It made sense, though she didn’t know why.
She went back from her counter in all sorts of a hurry and started to more than anxiously look for anyone vaguely capable of taking over for her.
Luckily, it didn’t take long. Her relief was early for a freaking change!
She headed out onto the busy street, determined. Unfortunately, the rest of her day would not go quite so easy or by any stretch of the imagination anywhere near as lucky.
For sure, she was starting to know that there was a very bad man on some kind of psychotic hunt and that he had a taste for her kind.
Joe’s “leak” was seeping in. She didn’t know why she knew that, but she did. She was starting to be nearly in tune with this weird guy that she was helping and was getting to notice the need for speed. The word “urgency” kept repeating itself somewhere in her head.
She hadn’t even used that word since school. Urgency: a great word. Okay. But how and why I am I supposed to act on it and what the hell?
When her mysterious other piped in, she thought she might just pull her hair out right there and check herself into the nearest mental hospital.
Calm down, Sissy, the voice said. You’ve obviously got the gift. Help is on the way. Just get me some clothes, okay? And get back here safe.
She shouted out loud to the wandering masses, “Okay!” and then went, head down, quickly toward the nearest men’s-wear shop she could find.
She hadn’t shopped for a man in at least a couple of years and this was not right. And f***-all if it didn’t start to rain!
No f****** umbrella! God’s throwing rocks, and I got no umbrella! Go figure.
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