Why Do Birds

CHAPTER 4

One leather suitcase, with contents." The sergeant put it on the counter. "One wallet and contents, fifty-three dollars. One key ring. One pocketknife, legal blade. One handkerchief. One packet of cundrums. Twenty-seven cents in metal change. One magazine. Sign here."

The detainee picked up the magazine and looked at it. "Sure glad to see this again." It looked like nothing much: a lurid thing with some kind of monster on the cover. The detainee signed. "Thanks a lot, Sergeant."

"Go on, get out of here."

It was a slow afternoon in the KoffiShop. The halo in the corner was displaying scenes from the destruction of Accra, but no one was watching. Two lawyers sitting at a window table got up and left, and a man in a funny hat came in.

"Yes, sir?" the counterperson said. It was a halo in a glass case, a digitized healthy young man with a boyish hairdo and perfect teeth.

The customer was staring at the menu. "Are you kidding with these prices?"

"What's wrong with the prices, sir?"

"Ham sandwich, fifty bucks?"

Alerted by the tone of the customer's voice, the counter flickered and went into alarm mode. It said, " Don't make any trouble, sir."

"No, I won't make any trouble. Judas Priest. I'll take the ham on white, french fries on the side, and a cup of java."

"A cup of what, sir?"

"Coffee, for Cripe's sake."

"Sixty-two fifty, please," the counter said.

"Right now?"

The counter flickered again. "Yes, sir. Don't make any trouble, or I'll have to call for assistance."

The man looked for a way through, or around, the glass case that contained the holo. "Where do I put the money?"

"Put it in the slot, sir."

The man put a hundred into the machine; it revolved, and plastic coins tinkled back. A minute later, when the packages thumped down the chute, the customer was watching the holo and muttering.

"They bombed Ghana," he said. "Where the hell is Ghana?" He looked at the packages suspiciously, unwrapped one, took a bite of the sandwich and looked up with his mouth open. "Hey," he said, half strangled.

The counter looked at him and said nothing.

"What's in this sandwich?"

"It contains soya ham, sir."

"What's soya ham?"

"Soybeans, with enhanced ham flavoring."

The customer spat a mouthful on the floor. The counter flickered again. "I am calling for assistance," it said.

"Never mind, I'm leaving. Judas Priest." The customer stood up, took a sip of his coffee, and spat that out too.

"Sixty bucks," he said, with coffee dribbling down his chin. "You guys ought to be ashamed."

In the gray afternoon, a Rollaway bus drifted up the Interstate through the industrial area of east New jersey: mile after mile of tall concrete towers, about half of them belching gray, brown and yellow smoke. The young man, who had got on at Trenton, was coughing and holding a handkerchief to his face.

''Jesus, it never used to be like this," he said to the fat man beside him.

"Yeah? How long since you been through here?"

"Seventy years."

The fat man, who thought he must have misheard, said, "Wait till we get in the Lincoln Tunnel, you think this is bad."

"What's that?"

"You never heard of the Lincoln Tunnel?"

"No, it must of been after my time. What's so bad about it?"

"It can't handle the pollution. You bring a mask?"

"No."

"Well, here, I got a spare." He rummaged in his briefcase and brought out a white rectangle of padded gauze. " Better put it on now, if it's bothering you already."

The young man looked at the mask as if he had never seen one before. "Is it like this in New York, too?"

"Depends on where. It was bad in the financial district until they roofed it last year. Downtown is bad. The East Side is okay, but watch out for guys in running shoes."

"Their shoes smell bad?"

The fat man laughed. "That's right, their shoes smell bad. That's a good one. Where you from, son?"

"Harrisburg."

"I guess you don't get to town much, huh?"

"Not lately. Is there anything else I should know?"

"Well, always carry at least five hundred bucks in cash. If those muggers grab you and you haven't got any money, it makes them mad and they cut you up."

"They do?"

"Oh, yeah. Read about it all the time."

"The cops don't do anything?"

"Listen, the cops travel in armored cars."