“Look,Mister, no O’Brien no Hauser in this bureau. Now what do you want?”
“Look, this is important. . . I’ve got info on a big shipment of H coming in. . . I want to talk to Hauser or O’Brien . . . I don’t do business with anybody else. . .”
“Hold on. . . I’ll connect you with Alcibiades.”
I began to wonder if there was an Anglo-Saxon name left in the Department. . .
“I want to speakk to Hauser or O’Brien.”
“How many times I have to tell you no Hauser no O’Brien in this department. . . Now who is this calling?”
I hung up and took a taxi out of the areas. . . In the cab I realized what had happened. . .I had been occluded from space-time like an eel’s ass occludes when he stops eating on the way to Sargasso. . . Locked out. . . Never again would I have a Key, a Point of Intersectiom. . . The heat was off me from here on out. . .relegated with Hauser and O’Brien to a landlocked junk past where heroin is always twentyeight dollars an ounce and you can score for yen pox in the Chink Laundry of Sioux Falls. . . Far side of the world’s mirror, moving into the past with Hauser and O’Brien. . . clawing at a not yet of Telephatic Bureaucracies, Time Monopolies, Control Drugs, Heavy Fluid Addicts:
“I thought of that three hundred years ago.”
“Your plan was unworkable then and useless now. . . Like Da Vinci’s flying machine plans. . .”