The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher

Forty-one Sounds Tam O' Shanter

It was a weird feeling at first. Like mistakenly stumbling into the next door neighbor's house. I half expected the gypsy to yell something from the room down the hall. When I got there the light was on and there was still a hint of smoke but no fire. It was empty. Except for the spartan furnishings and the business license hanging on the far wall. With my name still on it. John Elliot Harvard. Reluctant Fortuneteller. Well, what the hell, come this far, might as well try to take full possession of my new kingdom. I walked over to the card table and around to where she'd sat before. I felt trepidation. Even if it was precisely the same kind of folding chair that I'd occupied before myself. Stood for a bit rubbing my fingertips back and forth uncertainly over the top of the black metal frame. Finally summoned enough resolve and sat down. As soon as ass met vinyl - BAM! - the most incredible sensation. It was overwhelming. Not quite like being on drugs though it did verge on the psychotropic. No, it was as if I'd just found myself in the cockpit of a powerful jet in flight. You couldn't hear engines but you could feel them. You could feel the imminence of their power all around you. Filled you with a sense of confidence, of control. And of detachment. Profound detachment. It was exhilarating. Mightn't have been quite so reluctant about the whole business if the gypsy'd just spat this bit out with the rest of the cabbage. No, now I could see how you might want to hang around between calls. Just wished I'd had this thing with me in high school. So, o.k., if it's going to 'come to me', bring it on.

Well, ask and ye shall receive. My revery was interrupted by loud banging out front. Then muffled shouting. Distant sirens wailing. Reluctantly I got up and left my wings behind. As soon as I hit the hall I could see a young man standing inside at the far end, leaning with his back against the door. He was breathing heavily. Obviously scared. He didn't notice me at first but when he did he startled and turned abruptly to face me. He was almost gasping now. Clenching and unclenching his fists. Eyes darting between me and the door. An expression of fear battling menace for supremacy. A trapped animal. Didn't look like he'd ever catch his breath. It was so rapid, so exaggerated that you could see the distinct design over the pocket of his brown shirt rising and falling, rising and falling. Gave a hint of animation to the bowling pins being smashed by a ball with sharp spikes shooting out all round. Well, well, my first customer. How appropriate.

I felt surprisingly calm in the face of his desperation. Partly a residue of my recent seating arrangements. That control and clinical detachment still clung like smoke from one of the gypsy's Gitanes. But also I knew now that it wasn't just 'coming to me' anymore. It was here. I was beginning to grasp what to do. And how. And that I could do it. So I stood my ground, staring back at him.

Bit of a stalemate for a bit. Then over his shoulder and out the dark plate glass window facing the street a police car whizzed by flashing and howling. A cop on foot followed in the same direction. He was amazingly fleet for a plod.

"There's kind of a knob there under the handle." I said pointing to the door. "It's the inside lock. Turn it clockwise and follow me."

Didn't wait for my instructions to sink in. I turned and headed back to the room.