E Wagga Wagga West

Wagga Wagga West

It was Thursday. I remembered the sign. 'Closed down Monday. Shop to
LET!' Monday to Thursday that wasn't long. But in this life you never
know. You can catch the wagon Monday to Wednesday, Thursday, the wagon
can hit you. So I wasn't going to waste any time. Now was the time to
make something of myself.

Look.

I wasn't a bum. I wasn't. I had friends. I was going to be big time,
just like Abraham Lincoln. He had started off on the railroads and look
at him now. Major league. So here I was. Like a coiled snake.

"Are you waiting for me?" said a voice.

I spun around. No one there.

"I said, you waiting for me?"

I spun around. No one there either.

"Up here drongo."

I looked up. There was a Chinese face looking out of the window. The
window was above the shop. That's almost where I was, I was outside the
shop.

"I sent a telegram," I said tapping my fingers in the invisible air
like I was an hallucinating stenographer.

"So you waiting?"

"Apparently," I said with just a touch of hauteur.

The face disappeared. Not like the Cheshire cat, it was more of a
withdrawal from view. I folded my arms. I had never had dealings with
Chinese before. I wasn't sure what to expect.

Something landed on the floor beside me.

"Let yourself in." It was that voice again, not louder, not quieter,
just the same.

I looked up. The face was there but this time I had expected it so it
wasn't as much of a shock. "Sorry?"

"I threw down key. Let yourself in and come on up." The next word was
spoken quietly but I heard it anyway. "Drongo."

Drongo, what did he mean?

"Hurry!"

"OK," I said. I bent down and picked up the keys. They were on the
sidewalk next to me. "So this is how they do business in China," I
thought.

****

"I'm on the run," said the Chinaman.

"From whom?" I asked instinctively. It was instinctive because I
didn't really care. I just wanted the lease. After all, that was what I
was here for.

"The Feds, the Triads." The Chinaman threw his arms up in the air and
then let them fall again by his side. "A whole bunch of them."

"Oh," I said.

With quick little steps like chopsticks the Chinaman walked up to me.
He gripped me by each forearm and fired out the words as if he was a
Japanese typist with a deadline. "You're not a Fed, are you?"

"No."

"A Triad?"

"No."

"No, you don't look like a Triad. Their eyes are more slanted, the
skin more yellow. I think I can trust you." The Chinaman released my
arms and walked back over to the window. He seemed to be drawn to it
like a kite to the wind. He shuffled over a box and sat with his bum on
the sill, his feet on the box. "Has anyone ever tried to kill
you?"

"No," I said. Then I added, "Not that I know of. At least, if they
have, they haven't been successful."

"It isn't nice," said the Chinaman. "This here's a rough town. Do you
think you can handle it?"

I shrugged. "I just want to open a shop. The butcher seems to be doing
OK. And the baker."

"Never trust the baker," said the Chinaman. "All that bread's a
front."

"For what?"

"I don't know," said the Chinaman. "But I've seen him late at night
down at the docks loading large sacks into waiting boats."

"Perhaps it's bread," I ventured. "For hungry sailors."

"Have you ever seen a sailor eating bread?"

The question caught me off guard and I had to say that I hadn't. The
Chinaman nodded his head triumphantly and gave a little giggle. "Like I
say, this here's a dangerous town. Full of them damn Puritans."

I paused unsure of what to say next. Then I said it anyway. "My house
was burnt down recently."

The Chinaman clapped his hands. "I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"That look in your eye."

"What?"

"It's fear."

"No," I said. "It isn't. I'm not afraid. I'm not a lot of things.
You'd be surprised. Look, about this lease. I want to lease the
shop."

"And how are you going to pay?"

I felt we had come to the crux of the matter. I walked up to the
window. I was taller than the Chinaman. I used the height to my
advantage. I also used the information I had. I knew the Chinaman was
on the run. I knew he was scared. I bent and whispered in his ear.
"I'll pay in notes. Small ones. I'll leave them in a case at midnight
by the back door."

"You sure you're not a Fed?"

"Sure," I said.

"Then the shop's yours, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"OK," I said. "I won't. We gonna shake on it."

The Chinaman shook his head. "I never shake. Never ask a Chinaman to
shake."

"OK," I said. "Then til midnight."

"Yeah," said the Chinaman. "Til midnight."

And that was it. I never saw him again. When I arrived with the
suitcase at five to midnight the lease was all there signed and ready.
If I'd have been dishonest I could have taken it and called the Feds,
or even the Triads if I'd known their number, but I wasn't that kind of
guy. My name was Jesse James and I had a lot to live up to. A hell of a
lot.

****

I had the builders in. They came as a job-lot. They were buddies, a
bunch of cowboys. They had fought together during the war in '64 and
they had plenty of stories about Sitting Bull. They weren't afraid to
tell them.

I spent days making cups of full bean coffee and generally
supervising. It wasn't something I had done before but I was taking to
it natural. If my parents could have seen me they would have been
proud. They had been sceptical when I'd headed west to the town of
Alphaville. I remember as a child my father had dandled me on his knee
and said that I would never amount to much. For a time he had been
right but now he was wrong.

The shop was nearly finished.

"Scuse me bud, where'd you want this?"

I looked up. Bill was there. Bill was one of the cowboys. His thighs
were like the boles of redwoods, his chest delineated with suntan
stripes. In his hands he was holding a pair of fibreglass legs. They
had hair where hair should be.

I looked at the legs and then I looked at Bill. "You can put them
round your neck Bill, if you'd like," I said.

Bill went as red as a sun-dance and kicked a tack across the floor.
"Shucks bud," he said. "Come off it."

Then Earl appeared. Earl was self-appointed leader of the band. He was
the oldest and perhaps the wisest of the cowboys.

"You teasing the boy again, Jesse?"

"Not really," I said. I wasn't. I was only trying to appear
butch.

"That Bill don't need no encouragement," said Earl. "At night we have
to lasso him into his underpants as it is. Don't give him any more
ideas above his station. We're cowboys, not Mexicans."

"Sorry Earl," I said and I nodded to a shelf in the far corner, a
place where a rotisserie had once stood. "Put the legs over there,
Bill. Then take a break if you like."

Bill strode off, toes pointing out, heels pointing in, and I looked
back to Earl. He had taken off his Stetson and was scratching his white
hair.

"Everything OK, Earl?" I asked.

"Yep," said Earl.

"Good," I said.

Earl transferred his Stetson from his left to his right hand and then
scratched his head again. I knew something was up. I had learnt a lot
about cowboys in the previous week. Perhaps more than I had ever
thought there was to know.

"You got an itchy head Earl?" I said.
Earl smiled. His face was weathered and lined from his years on the
plain. One day he had told me he had seen the buffalo come and he had
seen them go. He said he could see the migration patterns in the lines
of his face. Then he had laughed and said in fact he didn't see his
face much at all, being a cowboy and not having much call for
mirrors.

"We'll be finishing today," said Earl. "Just a few bits and bobs to
go. Cosmetic really."

Deliberately I looked around the shop. It was transformed. There were
shelves on the walls, a long pine counter, four individual cubicles at
the back, big neon tube lights outside. It was ready for the
stock.

"Yep," I said. "Finishing today. You've done a good job."

"Thanks," said Earl. He was now holding the Stetson in both hands like
he was holding onto the steering-wheel of a car. But he made no sign of
going anywhere.

"You're cowboys," I said. "But you're not cowboys. If you know what I
mean?"

"Thanks," said Earl a third time. He laughed. "Cowboys but not
cowboys. I get it."

"Yeah," I said. I slapped my thigh. "Cowboys but not cowboys."

Then we both stood laughing. There had been a lot of laughing over the
previous couple of weeks. A lot had changed since that day I had
borrowed four pairs of underpants from Terry. Then I had been a bum.
But not now. No siree.

"It's been a pleasure working with you," said Earl finally, "and me
and the boys was wondering if you'd like to come out to the camp
tonight. Join us for a bit of chow. We've had a good time. You
remember?"

I remembered.

I remembered the first day. The cowboys walking in. Spurs making
tracks on the lino floor. Cowboys stood with arms folded only reaching
down to scratch their balls. I remembered the sweat pouring off my
forehead, thinking I couldn't do this. I remembered the book I had
read. "100 ways to break in a cowboy". I remembered barking out the
orders and Bill and Earl, Clevie and Bud squatting low to lift out the
fryers. I remembered the cracks of their asses peeking out the back of
their jeans.

"Hey boy, you looking?" said Bud noticing me looking and I had feared
the worst. I had feared ten paces at High Noon or being mounted on a
horse and being taken out to the desert. Instead Earl had told me the
true story of Billy the Kid and Butch Cassidy. It was a torrid love
affair. It was the reason they were killed. It was the kind of bandits
they were.

"So yous is OK," said Earl. "So long as you don't get the wrong
impression of us guys."

"I won't," I promised.

And then the good times had rolled. One after another the same way the
loggers shipped the logs down river and into the town.

"So you'll join us for some chow?" said Earl.

"Sure will partner," I said.

And the deal was done. Simple as that.

****

The moon was out. The horses were around us champing and wheezing. We
were sitting cross-legged around a camp fire drinking whiskey out of
tin cups. I was sitting between Bill and Earl. Clevie and Bud were
opposite, obscured by the smoke.

"Job done," said Earl loudly and sighed.

I didn't know if he was referring to my shop or the pork chops Clevie
had frazzled so I held up my tin cup and said, "Job done" loudly. It
was a fitting tribute to both.

"Job done," said the others and held up their cups too. We drank. Then
we hit our chests and coughed. Then we looked at each other and
laughed. It was that kind of whiskey.

"Now I'm just going to use the facilities," said Earl.

He put a palm flat on the stubbly ground and pushed himself up. He
walked ten paces and pissed on the ground. He came back.

"I'm after using those facilities too," said Bill.

He put his palm flat on the ground too. Walked over to the same spot,
pissed too, and came back.

Then it was Clevie. Finally Bud. All in the same spot. It was the
designated area, so to speak.

The fire was burning. The moon was out. It was dark except for the
firelight, the moonlight. I felt something was expected of me.

"Those facilities sound mighty fine," I said.

I put my palm flat on the floor and pushed myself up. I walked ten
paces and unbuttoned my flies.

"No no," said Bill. "Wait."

I stopped.

"Not there," said Bill.

"No way," shouted Clevie from the other side of the fire.

"Impossible," shouted Bud.

"What?" I said. Our voices were the only sounds in the night. Except
for the horses and the sound of the fire crackling.

And then Bill was next to me. "For you the guest facilities," he said
loudly.

He put one of his massive hands on my elbow and led me over to a large
cactus that had been looming over us all night. He bent slightly and
removed a section and I could see even in the dimness that part of the
cactus had been hollowed out.

"The guest facilities," said Bill. "Watch out for needles though. They
can hurt down there."

"I will," I said. And I was, I was very careful. However, I felt
honoured. I was being treated as a real guest. That meant a lot. After
I had finished Bill put his hand on my elbow and led me back to the
campfire. It was unnecessary because I could see quite clearly where it
was.

"When one cactus is full," said Bill, "we hollow out another
one."

"It's cowboy tradition," said Clevie.

"Not that we hollow out many cactuses these days," said Bud.

"No," said Earl. "Not many at all. Can't remember the last one we
did."

When I sat down I noticed my cup had been filled again. I lifted it up
and proposed a toast. "To cowboys in general" Everyone seconded that,
all four of them.

"You know," said Earl, "we're sorry this job is finished."

"Because of me?" I said.

"Partly," said Bill. "We liked you."

"But mostly," said Clevie, "because there's no more work."

"There'll be other jobs," I said.

All four cowboys sighed.

"What?"

"Don't you see," said Earl. "The way of the cowboy is finished. The
buffalo is gone. Alphaville is changing. It's becoming all
civilised."

"Cowboys is alright out on the plains," said Bill. "Lawlessness is
accepted there. But in towns, once they is established they don't want
us."

"Not at all," said Bud. "You should see the way they look at
us."

"We should kill a few," said Bill. "That's what we used to do. But
times is changing. Now they've got these laws."

"Yous is opening a sex shop, isn't you?" said Earl.

I nodded my head, wondering at this change of tack.

"The Puritans won't be happy. Alphaville is full of those church going
folk."

"Pray to God on Sunday," said Bud.

"Burn your house down on Monday," said Clevie.

"My house was burnt down," I said with a shock of recognition.

"We heard," said Earl. "And now you are opening a sex shop. You like
running into the wind, don't you?"

"No," I said.

"That's what it looks like," said Earl. "At least that's what people
will say. It's like the witch hunts back east. They drown to prove
you're a witch. You can't win."

"I just want to make something of myself," I said. "When I arrived in
Alphaville I had nothing. People said that I was a bum. I want to prove
them wrong."

"We's just warning you, that's all," said Earl.

"Thanks," I said. "But these Puritans, they have sex, don't
they?"

"Not so's you'd know it," said Earl. "Now who's for a game of spin the
bottle?"

I laughed. "Is that another cowboy tradition?"

"There ain't much to do out here of an evening," said Bill.

"All those books," said Bud. "Just fantasy. Most of the time we're
sitting on our asses looking for things to do."

"You'd be surprised what we do," said Clevie.

"We playing or not," said Earl. "No offence meant but all this poncey
talk is beginning to grate."

So spin the bottle it was.

I have to say I rather enjoyed it. I got to kiss Clevie, then Bud,
then Earl, then Bill. Bill was the best. He was cute and had the body
of a god. I said it was a shame he wasn't gay and he agreed. He said
that perhaps we could have had quite a life together if things had been
different. I agreed to that because despite what Terry had said I
hadn't had sex for a long time.

"Anyway," I said, "you can always come back and see the fibreglass
legs."

He said that perhaps he would, perhaps he would.

Everyone laughed and then Earl said it was time for bed.

****

The banana factory had been opened in 69. It was seen as quite a catch
for Alphaville. "A positive investment for a new age," the mayor had
said on his podium and all the town had cheered. Even the whores. They
didn't care particularly about bananas. But they did care about people.
And where there were large numbers of bananas, there were people. That
stood to reason.

It went like this. The bananas were brought on the boats from Africa.
The bananas were taken to the factory. Each bunch was individually
washed and on each banana a sticker was placed. "Produce of America,"
it said.

After all that was how the President had got in. "America is America
is America," he had said and the words had stuck. No man was an island,
but America was or wanted to be. We didn't need nobody else. No
sir.

Oh.

Except the slaves.

After all, to make America great needed a lot of hands. And that was
where Houdini came in. Houdini was a slave. That wasn't his official
title. He was referred to as a employment agency employee. That was the
parlance of the day. But he was a slave. That was a fact.

He wanted more and I wanted to give it to him. But first I had to get
him out of the banana factory. I had a plan.

It was a Wednesday. The shop was finished and I was ready.

****

"I have an appointment with Mr Sham," I said. "Mr Irwin Sham."

The guard at the gate narrowed his eyes and spat on the floor. He
looked like he didn't give a damn.

"Mr Sham is expecting me," I said.

"We gotta lot a guys working here," said the guard. "Which
department?"

"Shipping," I said.

The guard's hand hovered suddenly above his belt. In the belt was
slung a large revolver. A revolving cylinder and a metal tube. "We
ain't got no shipping department," he said.

It was midday. The sun was above us. I could feel it's rays on the
back of my neck, the seat of my pants.

"All the bananas then," I said, "where do they go?"

The guard didn't even pause. "They're loaded onto wagons," he said. He
spoke as if this was obvious to all. To him it must have been old news.
"They're loaded onto wagons and then they go. But no ships."

"That's what I meant," I said. "That's what Mr Sham does. Shipping was
just a figure of speech."

The guard took a match and lit it on the side of his boot. The head
ignited in a tiny explosion. I knew what the guard wanted to say. That
was a figure of speech too.

"Mr Sham is a man of some influence," I said. "When he hears that I
have been delayed there will be trouble." I stopped and paused
significantly. "And the trouble won't be mine."

"This Sham," said the guard, "never heard of him."

"He's a big cheese from the Big Apple. Recently arrived."

"Like you," said the guard.

"Quite," I said. "You got it. Now if you please, I want to see Sham. I
believe he's waiting for me. By the wagons."

The guard spat on the floor again and tightened his belt. "OK
pardner," he said. "Wait here. I'll go see."

With his two footed gait he sauntered off towards the reception
block.

And that was our chance. With the guard gone Houdini slipped right out
of the door.

****

"We did it man," said Houdini.

"It was quite an escape," I said. I thought back over the details. The
guard going off, Houdini coming out. It all seemed simple now.

"You think I could make a career out of it?" said Houdini. He skipped
to the left and hid behind a tree. Then he skipped from the other side
of the tree. "Now you see me, now you don't." He was being quite
giddy.

"Well I don't know about that," I said. "I think people would pay to
see a black man disappear. But the reappearance would probably make
them ask for a refund. You would frighten the Southern Belles. They
would imagine all sorts of atrocities. Black men appearing in their
closets, out of the butter dish and so on."

"You got a point," said Houdini. "Anyways, now I'm not sticking labels
on bananas what am I gonna do?"

"You're working for me."

"In this here town?" said Houdini. "I don't know. They'll be looking
for me. Shouldn't I try and get away? Build a raft or something."

"I've thought about that," I said, "but I don't think running away is
the answer. We have to face up to our demons or things will never
change."

"OK," said Houdini. "But will there be fooking?"

"Oh yes," I said. "Plenty of fooking."

"Cool," said Houdini. "Because I do like the fooking. Where there's
fooking involved I make no discrimination."

"What did I say about positive discrimination?" I said.

"You said you liked all kinds of discrimination."

"That's right," I said. "And I'm a man of my word."

"Cool," said Houdini. He stopped and plucked up a blade of grass. He
put it between his lips and smiled. "So where's we going now,
Jesse?"

"Back to the shop."

"Shop?" said Houdini.

And as we walked I told Houdini all about the shop. For the first time
it seemed real. Nothing, I realised, is real until you verbalise it.
Things trapped inside just might as well not be.

Freedom.

****

"Wake up Houdini."

Houdini half opened his eyes and held on with both hands to the top of
his bedspread. He looked like a man attempting to climb over a wall.
Lying down.

"Christ man," he said. "It's the crack of dawn."

"No," I said. "That's the crack of my ass."

"What?" said Houdini. "What?" Then he got it. "Damn it Jesse," he
shouted. "You're butt naked."

"It's my house," I said. "And I'm going to use it."

"But naked," said Houdini. "What time is it?"

"It's the crack of dawn," I said.

"You speaking out your ass now Jesse? Is it dawn or not?"

"Yes," I said.

"So what'm I doing up? You gonna send me back to those bananas?"

"Get up Houdini," I said. "Your banana days are behind you."

"But not my getting up at the crack of dawn days."

"I told you," I said. "It's my crack, not Dawn's."

"You got a woman here," said Houdini. "That's outrageous."

"There's no woman here. Can't stand their jugs."

"Me neither," said Houdini. "Hehehe. Me neither."

"GET UP!" I said. I was wondering how long this conversation would go
on. "GET UP!"

I was loud.

Then.

Houdini got up. So we was both up and both naked. Houdini took a walk
across the floor and opened up the curtains. Outside it was still dark.
"You's lying to me man," he said. "It's not even dawn. It's earlier. I
didn't know there was an earlier than dawn."

"We got work to do Houdini. Now put some clothes on."

"You know Jesse," said Houdini, taking a peek at me with those eyes of
his, "you're pretty big down there for a white man."

"Don't start with all that black white nonsense," I said. "It's too
early in the day."

"It ain't nonsense," said Houdini. "We got bigger cocks than you and
leaner bodies. Cept you. You ain't so bad. I bet you've even got
natural rhythm."

"You wanna do some fooking?" I said, swaying my hips.

"LOL at Jesse," said Houdini. "LOL."

"What?" I said. "What?"

"I love you too much to fook with you," said Houdini and he grabbed my
head in a neck lock and spun me around the room.

****

"So you's gonna tell me what we's adoing out here in the middle of the
cotton picking desert," said Houdini.

"I told you," I said. "We're waiting."

"I could have done some waiting in my own bed," said Houdini. "That's
the kind of waiting I like. Sound asleep waiting. I sure am good at
waiting with my eyes closed. I'm even better at that than I am at wagga
wagga wagga."

"Shut up," I said. "I hear something."

"I don't hear nothing," said Houdini.

"Put your ear to the ground."

"Hey," said Houdini, "I ain't no injun. I ain't putting no ear to no
ground."

"Injun," I said. "What you got against injuns?"

"Don't know," said Houdini. "Just don't like them. Anyways, you heard
the stories. They scalp you. They take you to their camps and put you
in big pots and put logs under you and set fire to the logs and then
they eat you. I read King Solomon's Mines."

"I don't think that was injuns," I said. "You're thinking
Pocohontus."

"I'll give you Pocohontus," said Houdini. "She was just a whore.
Deserved all she got. That and more. All her kind. Their yellow
skin."

"So you don't like yellow skin?"

Houdini laughed. "Yellow skin. Ain't nobody likes yellow skin."

"I think it's nice," I said. "It has a nice tone. Especially against
fresh buckskin."

"Yuck," said Houdini. "Now you're making me retch."

"EXCUSE ME BOYS!"

We both stopped talking and we both turned around. Behind us was a fat
man on a stage coach. The stagecoach had wheels, wooden windows, the
lot. The man had a huge belly and a sweaty lip. The horse was breathing
hard. I knew how he felt. I'd pulled a few fat men in my time. But that
was the past. Things were different now.

"You from ACME deliveries?" I asked.

The man sucked in some of the morning air and the world tightened its
belt. "Maybe I am and maybe I ain't," he said. "Depends on who wants to
know."

"I want to know," I said.

"And who are you?" said the fat man.

He looked like he was going to breath again and I didn't think the
world could stand it so I got in fast. "I'm Jesse James," I said.

"Well then," said the fat man and he scratched his head, "maybe I am.
But they never told me about no mans."

"What?" I said.

"Excuse me?" said Houdini.

"Niggers," said the fat man from the ACME deliveries. "You heard. You
must have seen the TV spots." The fat man fixed a smile on his face and
rotated his hands. He started to sing. "ACME. ACME. We deliver all over
the West. ACME ACME we deliver the best. Our workers are fastest. Our
deliveries are bestest. In the Westest. (Niggers need not apply.)" He
stopped singing. "You haven't seen them?"

"No," I said.

"No," said Houdini.

"Houdini," I said. "I got a plan."

"Me too," said Houdini.

We spoke quietly for a few moments and found we had the same plan. We
put it into action. We jumped up on the wagon. The fat man never knew
what hit him. I punched him in the gut then Houdini sliced him across
the jaw. I gave him a kick to the head and he went down off the
wagon.

After that it was easy. I pulled off his jeans and Houdini painted a
very pretty horse on the fat man's behind. Then we secured him to a
cactus. We released the horse from the wagon. And we let nature take
his course. We let the horse take his man.

"Anyways," said Houdini shouting loudly above the man's laments, "just
what are we doing here in the desert."

"We was waiting for the delivery," I said.

"Oh," said Houdini. "What delivery?"

"God," I said. "You're a dumb donkey." And I pointed to all the boxes
on the wagon. "That delivery. It's the stock for the shop. We're
opening tomorrow."

"Cool," said Houdini. "But one thing."

"Yes?" I said.

"When am I gunna get my fooking?"

"Soon," I said. "Patience. It's a virtue."

"Thought it was a card game," said Houdini.

"No," I said, "that's poker."

"So it is," said Houdini. "Fancy a game?"

"Sure," I said.

So we did. We played poker while the horse fucked the delivery man. It
wasn't a typical morning because I was happy. I was with Houdini and I
wasn't a bum.

Not this time. Not me.

****

I watched Houdini at work. He had taken his shirt off and he was
bending and stretching, putting things on shelves. He looked back over
his shoulder every now and then and smiled at me. He had told me to sit
down. He had said he had an eye for display and he was right. The
display looked good.

I was thinking it was better than my last job. For two years I had
worked the whorehouse. I'd done everything. Swept the floors. Made the
beds. Sewed the whore's knickers when they got ripped. If it needed
doing, I did it. I even made condoms out of pigs' bladders. But now I
was out of that. I was my own boss.

"What you thinking boss?" said Houdini.

"Don't be calling me boss," I said. "I ain't no boss."

"OK boss," said Houdini.

"No," I said. "I mean honestly. We're equals. A collective. All for
one and one for all."

"Sounds like liberal humanist horseshit to me," said Houdini. "In my
experience it's the liberals who live in the biggest houses."

"I don't live in a big house," I said.

"Now that a fact," said Houdini. "Just how big is your house?"

"No idea," I said.

"I got a tape measure," said Houdini.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Last one up's a big fat spider," said Houdini.

And together we raced up the stairs to the flat above the shop. I
measured my room and Houdini measured his and then we measured the
kitchen and dining-room together. It came out to 70 square feet.

"So how liberal does that make me?" I said.

"Not sure," said Houdini. "What's your stance on votes for
women?"

"One woman one vote."

"Abortion?"

"Personal choice."

"Gays in the military?"

"The more the merrier."

"President of the United States?"

"Shoot him dead. He's a bastard. Anyone who sits in a big house and
orders wars needs to be killed."

"That's not very liberal," said Houdini.

"Phew," I said. "I was worried for a minute there."

"Let's drink to that," said Houdini.

So we did. I went to the fridge and opened it up and took us out a
beer. We drank it. Then we had another. And another. And another.

"Jesse?" burped Houdini.

"Yes?" I burped.

"I want to thank you rescuing me," burped Houdini.

"That's OK," I burped.

"No," burped Houdini. "Honestly."

"OK," I burped. "Honestly. It's OK. I like you."

"Thank you," burped Houdini. "I like you too."

Then we had another beer.

"You think the shop'll be OK?" I said.

"Not sure," said Houdini. "I like the idea, but a sex shop in
Alphaville." Houdini shook his head. "I don't know."

I wasn't sure either.

But even Puritans have sex, don't they?