Chapter 209: The Walk

Chapter 209

The Walk

Tom Atari, stepping down the sidewalk, as Sweet Tina the prostitute spots him and approaches- purple- puts her lips on his cheek to press, soft, and Tom say, “Sorry, doll. I don’t have time for that today.”

Tina take the sting like a lady.

Tom, against the wind, taking the walk, downtown, cruel shoes on the pavement making echo, wrapped package in hand, across the boulevard, past the church and the newspaper, past city hall, past the movie theater. He walked past the library, past the Army recruitment center, he walked past the record store. He walked past the schools, past the pet stores, past the crumbling factories, he walked from the past and into the future: construction sites, boys on the corner singing that crazy doo-wop, and he walked across town: building & block, his spine aligned, ready to fight fire with the heaviest of metal, to do whatever it takes to get the job done. Star Oil was a great place to start.

This day, this day didn’t count, was a gap in the work week, the skip on a record album, an extra hour of daylight to play with and shape his own way. Tom Atari was taking full advantage, was gonna do his best to level the playing field while he was still bright with the white light. The faces of the departed, the abused, on the headlines in his mind: Anna Magenta, Paula Trimmer, Heather Jasmine, Sandy Cole...

Building with the five points, and into the lobby, where extraneous secretaries made buzz for junior execs, angling for pole position, papers out of alignment, tight nylons and broken promises, telephones ringing: the urgency of the machine. Tom was not impressed. Some girl looks up from her desk, intaking Atari, and then looked away, over, at the Queen Bee, the head of the secretarial pool: Meredith Daily, her hair in a Biblical hive.

Meredith, whose vagina had lost its voice, redhead and cunning, the door to the Men’s Room. She flew from her chair like an umbrella on payday, polite smile and the understanding that Tom came armed with a little more than most. Her black business dress could have stood up without her, and she took two wet steps toward him that would have the janitor buying a new sponge. Her hair tower, combed in symmetrical strands, “And who might you be?’

“Honey, I’m Tom Atari and I don’t have an appointment.”

This Meredith Daily, somehow prepared for this, the woman ever-ready for every possible reality: a golden gatekeeper. She pulled on her ear to pull the focus from her breasts so she could blink her eyes twice to dazzle Tom blind. It’s an old magician's trick, it's called misdirection, and it's used all the time.

Meredith was good.

Tom was gooder.

“Mr. Tom Atari...” she sang it like she wanted him back, like he was a lover from last week.

He nodded.

“Who is it that you wish to see?”

Tom took a deep breath, took her hand in his, snapped her wrist and broke it, bending it the wrong way, before bringing his face in close, “I wanna see God.”