head tilted towards a tiny luminosity decorating the night. A personal little star. Siren sounding in the distance. Tiny puffs of steam from a sewer cover in the middle of the road.
Barges and tugs melting green and red colors in the darkness. A doorman along the curb with two doggies. One maneuvering on hind legs to disgrace the gutter. Avocado green letter box lonely stuck on a pole. Where Hugo strolls from Merry Mansion to pop in the mail. Tonight he stood in the lobby fingering his nose in front of the long glass doors. Rumours rampant that Mr. and Mrs. Goldminer had turned to religion. Filling their flat for days with hammering under the supervision of Mr. Stone to erect an altar in their drawing room. Where they knelt naked, holding hands and praying. Matilda said she could smell insense in the delivery shoot.
Up the avenue. Bathed suddenly in the flood light of an apartment entrance. She comes right on the dot of eight o'clock with a smile on her face in the crisp of evening. Raising her eye brows amused. In seal skin. Alligator shoes. Where have all the animals gone.
"Hello, Miss Tomson."
"When are you going to call me Sally."
"Or Dizzy."
"That's a crazy story I'll tell you about when you're older."
"How are you Sally."
"That's better. I'm fine, Smithy. And you. You look like the international gentleman. That collar's the best sable, Smithy."
"That's the best seal."
'What's the matter, we're meeting on this corner like two clothes racks."
"You look so splendid."
"Just my image. The inner Tomson is in a sand storm, the outer one is skiing down the sunny mountain, smiling."
"Shall we bring the inner Tomson somewhere for a cocktail."
"Let's."
"What would you like, a place, dark or dazzling."
"Tell you the honest truth Smithy, for the inner Tomson I'd just like a glass of beer in some cozy joint with a booth. What have you got in that paper bag."
"Difficult to explain, Miss Tomson. I'm trying an experiment. That the human organism won't do the same daft thing twice."
"Looks like you've been mushroom picking."
Smith raising his arm. A long dark squat gleaming vehicle pulling out from the curb and coming down towards them on the avenue. With a whirring groan on its fat tires. Chauffeur stepping round, a white gloved hand opening the door. A salute for Smith.
"Wow, what's this, Smithy."
"Miss Tomson, have you met Herbert."
"Don't think so, hi."
"Please to meet you, Miss Tomson. I see your picture a lot."
"No kidding."
"I'd know you anywhere."
"I can't recognise myself. But thanks."
Dark deep capeskin interior. Smith stepping past Miss Tomson. Leaning back in the softness, hunching shoulders up in the sable collar, a left black gloved hand wrapped rightly round an apple walking stick. Tie with the three legged golden stars. Black shoes, black silk socks. Black briefcase of unfathomable facts, twice as foolish as fiction. And the onion paper copies of correspondence under the file heading, Discourteous.
"Smithy, I don't get it. Real lighthearted socks you're wearing."
"Get what Miss Tomson."
"This car. The richness is crippling. You rob a bank. These blue tinted windows."
"Can see out but can't see in."
Miss Tomson rapping a knuckle. Turning to Smith, bun of blond hair softly folded at her neck. Eyeballs still so white and laughing.
"Are you a perve, Smithy."
"I beg your pardon Miss Tomson."
"The windows are solid. This car's bullet proof."
"Absolutely ordinary vehicle. Little extra thickness here and there. The bumpers are perhaps of the heavy duty quality."
"Someone's trying to rub you out, Smithy. You need a friend. It's sad. Even a microphone."
"Must tell Herbert where to go. Hello. Herbert."
"Yes, Mr. Smith."
"Go crosstown two blocks. Then left down the avenue. I'll tell you when to stop."
"Smithy, come on, why would they want to air condition a sweet guy like you."
"Bullets are the least of it, Miss Tomson. One can always deal with those. It's the insinuation and discourtesy I find weighs heavy on my spirit. I've missed you."
Miss Tomson looks out at a lighted marquee, a lobby filling with people before a performance begins. The car turns left downtown on the wide avenue. And her lips purse and open slowly.
"Surprise you I was only living a block away from Merry Mansions. Under the name of Tomson too."
"You never tried to get in touch."
"Smithy, you know, things happen. It was one thing after another."
Smith slowly pulling off gloves looking at them in his hand.
"You don't believe that. All right I'll tell you. You got a wife and four kids. A certain log cabin, in a certain woods, and a