about the Feds? You don’t control them yet. I bet they’d love to know about spondulix. In fact, I can’t believe they haven’t come down on us by now.”
This possibility appeared to worry Erlkonig. “You wouldn’t really rat on us to the Feds, would you, my moll?”
Honeyman folded his arms across his chest. “I just might.”
Erlkonig switched suddenly to easy affability. “What are we doing, talking like this? Ain’t no one gonna betray nobody. Listen, did you hear about the big party tomorrow night? It’s the official housewarming for the Brewery. Be sure to come, and bring your girl.”
The albino ushered Honeyman to the vat door. “Don’t worry yourself about nothing, my moll. Everything’s under my intense control.” The vat door slammed before Honeyman could explain that that was precisely what was worrying him.
Outside the building a big flatbed truck was unloading under the supervision of Hy Rez and Special Effects. The cargo was a large wooden spool of some strange kind of thick wire.
“What’s that?” asked Honeyman.
The two men appeared surprised that Honeyman didn’t know.
“Special polycarbon fibers twisted into the strongest cable known to man,” replied Hy.
“For the party,” said Special. “You know—the Big Walk.”
“Oh,” said Honeyman, nowise enlightened. Then he set off to see Addie.
She had promised that today she’d have an answer for him.
On the way to her apartment, Honeyman passed a street musician. The man’s open guitar case was filled with loose change, dollar bills and spondulix.
At an open-air automated teller machine set in a bank’s exterior wall, a woman removed spondulix from the cash-disgorging slot.
A little kid on a scooter stopped to stare at Honeyman. He took a spondulix from his pocket, studied it, then said, “Wow.”
Honeyman felt he was going mad. The world seemed topsyturvy, some dreamland where everything was a fractured image of his one obsession, spondulix. He fervently hoped Addie’s answer would be the one he sought, so that they could begin their lives all over again.
He let himself into Addie’s building with his set of keys. (They had exchanged keys in August, after The Night of the Elk.) At Addie’s door, he knocked. No answer. He let himself in there too.
Addie’s quarters had always been sparsely furnished, with a barely lived-in look, so for a second Honeyman didn’t notice that today they were stripped. Empty of personal effects.
There was a sealed envelope on the dresser. In it was a letter:
Dear Rory,
Please forgive me. I’ve been living a lie all these months. I never wanted to hurt you. But marriage is out of the question. Forgive me. Someday soon you’ll understand I still love you. Honest.
Addie
Honeyman sat down on the coverless bed. His beard caught the tears before they could drip off his chin.
He never remembered how he got back to the Brewery, and little more once he was inside. The main image he retained was that of a steady stream of commiserating Beer Nuts, faces looming up out of his personal fog, saying well-meant but totally dumb and irrelevant things which utterly failed to make him feel any better.
Leather, with an arm around Stud’s waist: “She was a bitch, Honeyman.”
Studs chimed in: “Yeah, we knew it from the start. You’re better off without her.”
Hilario Fumento, reading off a library call slip: “Here’s an observation I made recently that might help you put things in perspective, Rory. ‘When we are traveling in another state, the sight of a license plate from home always inspires a sharp but transitory melancholy.’”
Ped Xing, in saffron robe: “Meditate on this koan, Rory. ‘If the universe is constantly expanding, where does it buy its suits?’”
Beatbox, carrying a pot by its handle and stirring some strange mixture in it: “Taste this, man. Chocolate gazpacho, gonna set you straight.”
And finally, Suki Netsuke, who simply stood before
This possibility appeared to worry Erlkonig. “You wouldn’t really rat on us to the Feds, would you, my moll?”
Honeyman folded his arms across his chest. “I just might.”
Erlkonig switched suddenly to easy affability. “What are we doing, talking like this? Ain’t no one gonna betray nobody. Listen, did you hear about the big party tomorrow night? It’s the official housewarming for the Brewery. Be sure to come, and bring your girl.”
The albino ushered Honeyman to the vat door. “Don’t worry yourself about nothing, my moll. Everything’s under my intense control.” The vat door slammed before Honeyman could explain that that was precisely what was worrying him.
Outside the building a big flatbed truck was unloading under the supervision of Hy Rez and Special Effects. The cargo was a large wooden spool of some strange kind of thick wire.
“What’s that?” asked Honeyman.
The two men appeared surprised that Honeyman didn’t know.
“Special polycarbon fibers twisted into the strongest cable known to man,” replied Hy.
“For the party,” said Special. “You know—the Big Walk.”
“Oh,” said Honeyman, nowise enlightened. Then he set off to see Addie.
She had promised that today she’d have an answer for him.
On the way to her apartment, Honeyman passed a street musician. The man’s open guitar case was filled with loose change, dollar bills and spondulix.
At an open-air automated teller machine set in a bank’s exterior wall, a woman removed spondulix from the cash-disgorging slot.
A little kid on a scooter stopped to stare at Honeyman. He took a spondulix from his pocket, studied it, then said, “Wow.”
Honeyman felt he was going mad. The world seemed topsyturvy, some dreamland where everything was a fractured image of his one obsession, spondulix. He fervently hoped Addie’s answer would be the one he sought, so that they could begin their lives all over again.
He let himself into Addie’s building with his set of keys. (They had exchanged keys in August, after The Night of the Elk.) At Addie’s door, he knocked. No answer. He let himself in there too.
Addie’s quarters had always been sparsely furnished, with a barely lived-in look, so for a second Honeyman didn’t notice that today they were stripped. Empty of personal effects.
There was a sealed envelope on the dresser. In it was a letter:
Dear Rory,
Please forgive me. I’ve been living a lie all these months. I never wanted to hurt you. But marriage is out of the question. Forgive me. Someday soon you’ll understand I still love you. Honest.
Addie
Honeyman sat down on the coverless bed. His beard caught the tears before they could drip off his chin.
He never remembered how he got back to the Brewery, and little more once he was inside. The main image he retained was that of a steady stream of commiserating Beer Nuts, faces looming up out of his personal fog, saying well-meant but totally dumb and irrelevant things which utterly failed to make him feel any better.
Leather, with an arm around Stud’s waist: “She was a bitch, Honeyman.”
Studs chimed in: “Yeah, we knew it from the start. You’re better off without her.”
Hilario Fumento, reading off a library call slip: “Here’s an observation I made recently that might help you put things in perspective, Rory. ‘When we are traveling in another state, the sight of a license plate from home always inspires a sharp but transitory melancholy.’”
Ped Xing, in saffron robe: “Meditate on this koan, Rory. ‘If the universe is constantly expanding, where does it buy its suits?’”
Beatbox, carrying a pot by its handle and stirring some strange mixture in it: “Taste this, man. Chocolate gazpacho, gonna set you straight.”
And finally, Suki Netsuke, who simply stood before
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