thugs, or that the kid I thought was so sweet and caring had actually been pumping me for information and— and —had lifted my number while pretending to give me his.
The big chazer, I thought bitterly.
I guess they hadn’t done that in the car because I was sitting on it. Or maybe they didn’t want to leave fingerprints. I looked at the time on the phone. It was eight-thirty. I had just enough time to get my car and collect Banko Juarez. I wondered if I should bother, seeing as how it seemed that the Asians were my enemies and not the SSS.
When it comes to Jews being hated, one can never have too little paranoia, I decided. I already had a date with Banko, and it was worth checking out. Besides, as I started in the direction of the parking garage—propelled by equal parts of determination and anger—I found myself actually looking forward to the excursion.
Compared to everyone else around me right now, Banko seemed the most reliably grounded soul in my circle.
Chapter 9
I didn’t have the clearest head in the world as I got behind the wheel, though I had stopped at the deli to load up on OJ. I also packed some bananas in case I needed a potassium fix. One of the things that surprised me, when I took over Murray’s, was how many people had bodies that talked to them about very specific food needs. One customer claimed that her bones told her when they required milk. Another said the same thing about protein. Another said her teeth informed her when they needed egg matzo. All but that last one made at least a little sense.
With me it was potassium. Which meant that I ate more bananas than the average chimpanzee. I’ve read it’s important in brain function, and I use mine a lot. That doesn’t explain the chimps, but I’m sure there are environmental reasons. The point being, I always kept bags in the car for banana peels, and the car smelled of banana. I never noticed it unless I was giving someone a ride.
“It smells like a monkey house in here,” Banko said after he’d eased into the front seat, his computer open on his lap. He had brought something folded inside a pillowcase.
“I hope you mean the bananas,” I replied.
“What else?”
“A girl worries about how she smells,” I said.
“God, no. That isn’t what I meant.” But I noticed him sniff again, as though he were making sure. “No, you smell fine. The bananas smell fine too, I just don’t expect them when I get in a car.” He stared for a moment. “What happened to your throat?”
“Souvenir,” I said. “My abduction. I can’t talk about it. I’m fine.” I didn’t want to alarm him. “What’s in the pillowcase?” I asked as I pulled away.
“The shower curtain,” he said. “It felt like rain, so I checked the forecast.”
“Have you always had a strong sense of smell and—what, touch?”
“They’re something I’ve developed, along with my other senses. It helps in my work to be sensitive, obviously.”
“What did you smell in the hotel lobby?” I was curious about what he would say, how honest he would be. Either the guy was a human bloodhound or he was full of it.
“I smelled wine,” he said. “It’s very strong there.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes,” he said. Then he added, “The hallways— they’re different. Especially outside the rooms.”
Point to Banko. I let the subject drop.
“How was your session?” I asked.
“Interesting,” Banko replied. “I can’t tell you about it, of course. My work is confidential. It’s like being a doctor.”
“I understand,” I said.
“I will tell you this, though. It was my first transgender subject, a male-bodied female. It’s going to be interesting analyzing those readings.”
“A male-bodied female being a pre-op transsexual ? Someone who’s going to become a female-bodied former male-bodied female?”
“That’s right.”
Like Lou Costello in “Who’s On First,” I wasn’t even sure what I had just said. This was like the rabbit
The big chazer, I thought bitterly.
I guess they hadn’t done that in the car because I was sitting on it. Or maybe they didn’t want to leave fingerprints. I looked at the time on the phone. It was eight-thirty. I had just enough time to get my car and collect Banko Juarez. I wondered if I should bother, seeing as how it seemed that the Asians were my enemies and not the SSS.
When it comes to Jews being hated, one can never have too little paranoia, I decided. I already had a date with Banko, and it was worth checking out. Besides, as I started in the direction of the parking garage—propelled by equal parts of determination and anger—I found myself actually looking forward to the excursion.
Compared to everyone else around me right now, Banko seemed the most reliably grounded soul in my circle.
Chapter 9
I didn’t have the clearest head in the world as I got behind the wheel, though I had stopped at the deli to load up on OJ. I also packed some bananas in case I needed a potassium fix. One of the things that surprised me, when I took over Murray’s, was how many people had bodies that talked to them about very specific food needs. One customer claimed that her bones told her when they required milk. Another said the same thing about protein. Another said her teeth informed her when they needed egg matzo. All but that last one made at least a little sense.
With me it was potassium. Which meant that I ate more bananas than the average chimpanzee. I’ve read it’s important in brain function, and I use mine a lot. That doesn’t explain the chimps, but I’m sure there are environmental reasons. The point being, I always kept bags in the car for banana peels, and the car smelled of banana. I never noticed it unless I was giving someone a ride.
“It smells like a monkey house in here,” Banko said after he’d eased into the front seat, his computer open on his lap. He had brought something folded inside a pillowcase.
“I hope you mean the bananas,” I replied.
“What else?”
“A girl worries about how she smells,” I said.
“God, no. That isn’t what I meant.” But I noticed him sniff again, as though he were making sure. “No, you smell fine. The bananas smell fine too, I just don’t expect them when I get in a car.” He stared for a moment. “What happened to your throat?”
“Souvenir,” I said. “My abduction. I can’t talk about it. I’m fine.” I didn’t want to alarm him. “What’s in the pillowcase?” I asked as I pulled away.
“The shower curtain,” he said. “It felt like rain, so I checked the forecast.”
“Have you always had a strong sense of smell and—what, touch?”
“They’re something I’ve developed, along with my other senses. It helps in my work to be sensitive, obviously.”
“What did you smell in the hotel lobby?” I was curious about what he would say, how honest he would be. Either the guy was a human bloodhound or he was full of it.
“I smelled wine,” he said. “It’s very strong there.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes,” he said. Then he added, “The hallways— they’re different. Especially outside the rooms.”
Point to Banko. I let the subject drop.
“How was your session?” I asked.
“Interesting,” Banko replied. “I can’t tell you about it, of course. My work is confidential. It’s like being a doctor.”
“I understand,” I said.
“I will tell you this, though. It was my first transgender subject, a male-bodied female. It’s going to be interesting analyzing those readings.”
“A male-bodied female being a pre-op transsexual ? Someone who’s going to become a female-bodied former male-bodied female?”
“That’s right.”
Like Lou Costello in “Who’s On First,” I wasn’t even sure what I had just said. This was like the rabbit
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