Shoot the Moon

Chapter Eighteen - Transfiguration

"...lie comfortably on your back. Inhale deeply. Surrender to the experience of having a New Body. Exhale slowly, allowing your attention to focus on the sensation of breathing. As you relax, feel your breasts beginning to swell, growing larger with each inhalation until they settle warmly and gently into your armpits. Now experience your testicles beginning to withdraw into your body, gently retreating into the warm dark cavity of your lower abdomen. You now feel your penis beginning to shrink..."

I slowly lowered The Woman Inside You until it covered my shrinking penis.

I picked up the phone and punched Echo's cell number.

She sounded irritated. "What!"

"Echo. It's me."

"What is it, Jack? I can't get the stagelighting I want with these people."

"Where are you?"

"In the theater in Utica. I'm having a problem with union stage hands at the moment. What do you want?"

"Echo, about chapter six..."

She was quiet for a bit. "Which one is that?"

"Chapter six," I said, "A New Point of View."

"Yes?"

"I don't think I'm comfortable with this part." I read the disturbing paragraph to her.

"Jack, relax. It's just an exercise. Experience the sensations, that's all. It can't hurt you."

"I know that. However, she says that '...continued practice will reprogram your psychic energies and promote a new and more feminine aura.' "

"She does?"

"Yeah."

"Well, maybe that's more like a warning. Just do it once to see what it's like. I have to go. Are you still coming to Toronto?"

"Yes," I muttered and she hung up. I got up from the sofa and walked over to the tall bookshelf by the French doors to the terrace. I knew I wasn't getting everything out of The Woman Inside You that I could but Sareena Daveeta Chakra was starting to get me down. I was afraid that a feminine aura wouldn't be an asset when dealing with Teddy Dexter and the Colombians. I wanted something else. Something I had read before so there would be no surprises. I picked out The Sun Also Rises. Macho impotence. That's the ticket.

I walked out onto the terrace for a moment and looked down into Central Park West. The sidewalk along the Park was empty except for a homeless man loitering on a bench. Walking back inside, I looked into the kitchen. The pit bull had stirred and was walking slowly in a ragged circle moving the heavy refectory table an inch every time he reached the end of his rope. Soon he would want another dose of chocolates. I was running out. What do you do with a junkie dog anyway? The City Pound would destroy him, I guessed. Right now he was my only link to Mickey Dolan.

I sat down and opened The Sun Also Rises to the good part, the part about Paris. I flipped to the pages in which Bill and Jake walk around Paris discussing stuffed dogs and the gentlemen who invented pharmacy. I glanced at the pit bull. He had stuck his head through the doorway and was breathing in short gasps.

In Paris, Jake and Mike had a lot of drinks. Drinking always sounds like fun when you read about it in Hemingway. I threw on my P-coat, put the pistol in my belt at the small of my back, and went out for a quick one before bed. I went to O'Neal's. They had the fireplace going and I had a quick one twice. I took the long walk home.

I turned the corner onto CPW in front of my building and caught the blur of a figure coming up the side street after me. He was about twenty paces away but moving fast. I quickly stepped into the shrubs that line the front of 77 CPW and stood next to a conveniently placed evergreen. I pulled the .38 and held it at the seam of my trousers.

The figure rounded the corner and stopped, looking up the street for me. It was the bum I had seen harassing Veeva Stackpoole in the park near the County Courthouse. I recognized him from the bulky drape of his rags, the size of the guy, and the odd baglike hat perched on his long greasy hair. I divided the hair with the muzzle of the gun, pressed it into his ear hole and said, "May I help you?"

He slowly turned his head and looked cross-eyed down the barrel of the .38. I sighed and lowered the gun.

He had put on even more fat since I'd seen him last.

Mickey Dolan ran fingers caked with black grime over his mouth and his face cracked open in a lunatic grin that showed me his dentures as he said, "Doctor, how about getting us a couple of brews. This running for your life is thirsty work."

It may take awhile but my quarry will always track me down.