Pain had moved in and replaced the muscle stiffness. As the injuries revealed themselves to me I had seriously considered vacating the premises for healthier days. The act of touching up my makeup had been a chore, but it focused my mind on things other than bruises and retreat. I had cleaned the gash on my temple and bandaged it. Half an hour had passed since I had taken over. I had twice tried to find Willieboy's number in the phonebook. The operator wasn't any help. Elmo had resumed his seat across from me looking around, relaxed in his own fidgety way. His boss was back to normal; he would get by. The phone rang. I pushed the receiver to my ear and welcomed the familiar cool circle against my skin. I immediately recognized Willieboy's voice.
"What the fuck do you think yer doin', man? Hanging up on me-damn!" His voice had a humorless, tired edge to it.
"Sorry," I drawled to the best of my abilities. "It's this crazy thing I do sometimes-keeps it spontaneous. But I'm glad you called back."
"Oh shit!" he growled. "I should'a turned you into Authority. Fuck, I'm out of a job and jobs ain't easy to find in the Downings. What'd you have to burn down the whole fuckin' hotel for?"
"I didn't." It was my turn to flash ire. "Your goddamned friends nearly killed me!"
"My friends?" His voice registered genuine surprise. He paused, and then continued. "Look, like I said, I got something you might be interested in."
"Something like giving your friends another chance," I snarled.
"What the hell?" Again surprise. "I don't know what's rolling around in that bleached peanut you call a head, but if you're curious come to my place and bring fifty bucks."
"Let's have the address." I wrote it down, hung up the phone and glanced into Elmo's steady gaze. I lit a cigarette and stared blankly out the window. The half-open blinds divided the scene into long thin strips.
The sky was a muddy gray, ghoulishly lit by the city's inconsistent light; but I knew that the sun would soon be coming up, somewhere out there behind the perpetual cloud. Greasetown lumbered away from me like a dying elephant. Buildings long past their prime sagged and yawed in a pathetic ballet of decrepitude. In the distance, I could see the fuzzy glow of fires burning down to coals. The streets were a hazy gray wash of fog. Vaguely, I counted the days and realized that I was looking out at a Sunday morning. I looked at the clock on my desk. Four a.m.
Sunday. Prayer books and hymns, spiritual eunuchs telling people about the way to live life. Hypocrisy out for a walk on a long leash. Endless lazy afternoons. A depression began to descend upon me in a steady drizzle and for a moment I let despair wash over me like a grim, black tide. Sundays were the worst, the end of one dead week and harbinger of the next. But I reveled in it. When the water gets deep-dive. Depression is a virtue. Only the holy find reasons to climb out of it. Looking out the window, I could see no finger of doom, but I had the feeling one was not far off.
I fumbled for, and dragged the phone to my ear.
"Hungry Elmo?" I asked before dialing. "Oh, sorry."
"That's okay, Boss. I f-forget I'm dead myself sometimes." The dead took liquids to keep themselves fresh, but they had no need for food.
I had a brief moment of realization. I was a dead detective possessing a lunatic's body and having an early Sunday conversation with my dead sidekick. I forced the ideas from my mind and concentrated on the hot dogs and coffee I was ordering. It was an expensive way to eat junk food, but an all night diner down the street delivered anytime.
The only way to survive in Greasetown was to take certain things for granted. All my reason told me I was dead and that I possessed another man's body. For some insane reason he dressed like a clown. My companion, Fat Elmo, was dead as well, and a lot less fat. Desiccation had taken the smooth round shape of his belly and limbs. I could see how the stretched skin hung from him like sheets of thin black rubber. He was dead, but he was across from me smoking a cigarette. Something terrible had happened to the world that had driven reality insane. Since I had no way of finding out what had happened, I tried not to dwell on it. That way laid madness. All I needed to know was this: I was a detective, I tried to catch bad guys-I was on a case. Murder is still murder in Greasetown.
"Four hot dogs are on the way, Mr. Wildclown. Hot coffee too, sir! Boy will be right over."
I cleaned and reloaded my gun as I waited.