All Tomorrow's Parties

50. 'MORE TROUBLE'

RYDELL'S father, dying of cancer, had told Rydell a story. He claimed to have gotten it from a book of famous last words, or if not famous then at least memorable.

This man was being executed in England, back in the old days, when execution was made as deliberately hard a thing as possible, and after being burned with hot irons, broken on the wheel, and various other horrific punishments, the man was shown the block, the heads-man's ax. And having been closed-mouthed and stolid throughout his various tortures, he had looked at the ax and the block and the burly headsman and made no reply at all.

But then another torturer arrived, carrying an assortment of terrible-looking tools, and the man was informed that he was to be disemboweled prior to his beheading.

The man sighed. 'More trouble, he said.

If they want me, Rydell said, wincing along beside the man with the tanto in his coat, 'why don't they just grab me?

'Because you are with me.

'Why don't they just shoot you?

'Because we have, these men and I, the same employer. In a sense.

'He wouldn't let them shoot you?

'That would depend, the man said.

Rydell could see that they were coming up on the nameless bar where he'd heard Buell Creedmore sing that old song. There was noise there: loud music, laughter, a crowd around the door, drinking beer and openly smoking cigarettes.

His side hurt with each step he took, and he thought of Rei Toei perched on his pillow, glowing. What, he wondered, did the projector slung over his shoulder mean to her? Was it her only means of manifesting here, of interacting with people? Did being a hologram feel like anything? (He doubted it.) Or did the programs that generated her somehow provide some greater illusion of being there? But if you weren't real in the first place, what did you have to compare not being there to?

But what really bothered him, now, was that Laney, and Klaus and the Rooster too, had thought that the projector was important, really important, and now here he went, Rydell, limping willingly along beside this killer, this man who evidently worked for whoever it was was after Rydell's ass, and probably after the projector as well, and he was just going along with it. Sheep to the slaughter.

'I want to go in here a minute, Rydell said.

'Why?

'See a friend, Rydell said.

'Is this a bid for escape?

'I don't want to go with you.

The man regarded him from behind the thin crystal rounds of his glasses. 'You are complicating things, he said.

'So kill me, Rydell said, gritting his teeth as he slung his weight around and staggered past the smokers by the door, into the warm loud beer smell and crowd energy

Creedmore was onstage with Randy Shoats and a bass player with sideburns, and whatever they were playing reached its natural conclusion at just that point, Creedmore jumping into the air as he let out a final whoop and the music crashed down around him, the crowd roaring and stomping and clapping. Rydell had seen Creedmore's eyes flash flat and bright as a doll's in the stage light. 'Hey, Buell! Rydell shouted. 'Creedmore! He shouldered someone out of his way and kept going. He was a few feet from the stage now. 'Buell! It was just a little thing, the stage, maybe a foot high, and the crowd wasn't that thick.

Creedmore saw him. He stepped down from the stage. The singer's pearl-button cowboy shirt was open to the waist, his hollow white chest gleaming with sweat. Someone handed him a towel and he wiped his face with it, grinning, showing long yellow teeth and no gum. 'Rydell, he said. 'Son of a bitch. Where you been?

'Looking for you, Buell.

The man with the knife put his hand on Rydell's shoulder. 'This is unwise, he said.

'Hey, Buell, Rydell said, 'get me a beer, okay?

'You see me, Rydell? I was fuckin' Jesus' son, man. Fuckin' Hank Williams, motherfucker. Creedmore beamed, yet Rydell saw the thing that was waiting there to toggle into rage. Someone handed Creedmore two tall cans, already opened. He passed one to Rydell. Creedmore splashed cold malt liquor down his chest, rubbed himself with it. 'Damn, I'm good.

'We can be too easily contained here, the man said.

'Leggo my buddy there, said Creedmore, noticing the man for the first time. 'Faggot, he added, as if further taking in the man's appearance and seeming to have difficulty placing it in any more convenient category of abuse.

'Buell, Rydell said, reaching up and grabbing the man's wrist, 'want you to meet a friend of mine.

'Looks like some faggot oughta be kilt with a shovel, Creedmore observed, slit-eyed and furious now, the toggle having been thrown.

'Let go of my shoulder, Rydell said to the man, quietly. 'It doesn't look good.

The man let go of Rydell's shoulder.

'Sorry, Rydell said, 'but I'm staying here with Buell and a hundred or so of his close personal friends. He looked at the can in his hand. Something called King Cobra. He took a sip. 'You want to go, go. Otherwise, just kill me.

'Goddamn you, Creedmore, Randy Shoats said, stepping heavily down from the stage, 'you fucking drug addict. You're drunk. Drunk and ripped to the tits on dancer.

Creedmore goggled up at the big guitar player, his eyes all pupil. 'Jesus, Randy, he began, 'you know I just needed to get a little loose-

'Loose? Loose? Jesus. You forgot the words to 'Drop That Jerk and Come with Me'! How fucked do you have to be to do that? Fuckin' audience knew the words, man; they were singing along with you. Trying to, anyway. Shoats rammed his callused thumb into Creedmore's chest for emphasis. 'I told you I don't work with diz-monkeys. You're toast, understand? Outta here. History.

Creedmore seemed to reach far down into the depths of his being, as if to summon some new degree of honesty, in order to face this moment of crisis. He seemed to find it. Drew himself more upright. 'Fuck you, he said. 'Motherfucker, he added, as Shoats, disgusted, turned and walked away.

'Buell, Rydell said, 'they got a table or something reserved for you here? Someplace I could sit down?

'Maryalice, Creedmore said, thoughts elsewhere, waving in the general direction of the back of the bar. He set off, apparently after Shoats.

Rydell ignored the man with the tanto and headed for the back of the bar, where he found Maryalice seated alone at a table. There was a hand-lettered sign, on brown corrugated cardboard, done in different colored felt pens, that said 'BUELL CREEDMORE & HIS LOWER COMPANIONS, each of the Os done in red as a little happy face. The table was solid, side to side, with empties, and Maryalice looked like somebody had just whacked her in the head with something that it didn't leave a mark. 'You A&R? she asked Rydell, as if startled from a dream.

'I'm Berry Rydell, he said, pulling out a chair and unslinging the bag with the projector. 'Met earlier. You're Maryalice.

'Yes, she smiled, as if pleased with the convenience of being so reminded, 'I am. Wasn't Buell wonderful?

Rydell sat, trying to find a way to manage it that kept the rib from killing him. 'They got an outlet around here, Maryalice? He was opening the duffel, pushing it down around the sides of the projector, pulling out the power cable.

'You're A&R, Maryalice said, delighted, seeing the projector, 'I knew you were. Which label?

'Plug this in there, please? Rydell pointed to an outlet just beside her, on the scabrous wall, and passed her the plug end of the cable. She held it close to her face, blinked at it, looked around, saw the socket. Plugged it in. Turned back to Rydell, as if puzzled by what she'd just done.

The man with the tanto brought over a chair, placed it at the table, and took a seat opposite Maryalice. He did it, somehow, in a way that occupied as little of anyone else's consciousness as possible. 'Now you, Maryalice said to him, with a quick glance down to check the state of her bodice, 'you are pretty clearly a label head, am I correct?

'Label?

'I knew you were, Maryalice said.

Rydell heard the projector humming.

And then Rei Toei was there, standing beside their table, and Rydell knew that once again he'd seen her naked for a second, glowing, white, but now she wore an outfit identical, it seemed, to Maryalice's. 'Hello, Berry Rydell, she said, then looked down and tightened the strings at the top of the black thing she wore.

'Hey, Rydell said.

'Well, suck me raw with a breast pump, Maryalice said, voice soft with amazement, as she stared at Rei Toei. 'I swear to God I didn't see you standing there.

The man with the tanto was looking at Rei Toei too, the light of her projection reflected in the round lenses.

'We are in a nightclub, Berry Rydell?

'A bar, Rydell said.

'Rez liked bars, she said, looking around at the crowd. 'I have the impression that people in bars, though they seem to be talking to one another, are actually talking to themselves. Is this because higher brain function has been suppressed for recreational purposes?

'I just love your top, Maryalice said.

'I am Rei Toei.

'Maryalice, Maryalice said, extending her hand. The idoru did likewise, her hand passing through Maryalice's.

Maryalice shivered. 'Had about enough, this evening, she said, as if to herself.

'I am Rei Toei. To the man with the tanto.

'Good evening.

'I know your name, she gently said to the man. 'I know a great deal about you. You are a fascinating person.

He looked at her, expression unchanged. 'Thank you, he said. 'Mr. Rydell, is it your intention to remain here, with your friends?

'Time being, Rydell said. 'I have to phone somebody.

'As you will, the man said. He turned to survey the entrance, and just then the scarf came strolling in and saw them all, immediately.

More trouble, thought Rydell.