Cat's In The Cradle

That damned Cat, it gets everywhere... Or nowhere

Every Hellavator Station is inconvenient. The one on South Revelation Row in 3rd Heaven is just insane. I saw a painting in Rotterdam once that pretty much showed what it's like. Except the station is inverted and on top of a long cylindrical shaft. Apart from that, some guy called Breughel pretty much had it nailed. It's a marvellous system, the Hellavator: this newish version works because someone has worked out how to predict which box the cat will be in. We lost track of a few angels for a while during testing and some people said we should have stuck to the old phone boxes. It works well now. Mostly.

So on South Rev, you have to go up in the cylindrical shaft, a real elevator, to reach the concourse where you can get your ticket. Depending on where you want to go, your ticket desk might be on another floor. Some places on Earth are more accessible than others, how much effort it takes to get a ticket often reflects this.

Nelson and I were standing in front of a caged teller at the only position open on a counter that demonstrated vanishing points and perspective extremely well. The man looked like the bank clerk who gets shot by Ward Bond or MacDonald Carey long before John Wayne shows up. His winged collar offered a nice echo of his organs of flight right down to the grubby grey colour.

'Ah, we need to get to Franceville.'

'France? You need the first floor. We don't go to France here.'

The clerk put a finger inside his collar. It might have come out dirtier than it went in.

'Franceville, Gabon.'

I swear the clerk's eyebrows, Caesar tufts and wings all rose to the same degree,

'Gabon? Why nobody's been there since...'

'Since when?' I said, and I got a hard look from Nelson.

'Since never you mind. Okay do you have your travel document?'

Mine was still valid, but Nelson pulled out a gold shield, I couldn't see what design was on it, but it wasn't CBI.

The clerk pursed his lips like a bantam's a*****e, 'Well, yes, okay then. Where d'you say? Libreville?

'Franceville, you a*****e.'

'I could call security, Mister.'

'But you won't', I said.

The clerk passed the papers through and Nelson handed over a Paradise Express black card. I wondered how much he was gouging his deluded client for.

We had to walk the length of the counter and by the time we had reached the vanishing point a Hellavator portal appeared.

'Gabon, hey? Where exactly is that?'

'Africa. West Africa.'

'What the hell would the boy wonder be doing there?'

'Guess he's keeping a low profile.'

'Two thousand years worth of low profile? In Gabon? He must be still as crazy as they said he was.'

We stepped into the Hellavator. Nelson took two white handkerchiefs out of a pocket and handed one to me.

'You might need that when we step off.'

I did.

The Hotel Bapouru's rest-rooms weren't the problem. It was the lobby. The décor was seedy French Colonial, which might have been expected, as were the larger than life-size portraits of the country's last -and only- three presidents. The plaques at the bottom of each frame were very helpful. A little more surprising was the machete fight just finishing in front of the front desk. The blood, sweat and fear had created a smell that I needed more than a piece of white silk to mitigate. All three Gabonese expired right under our handkerchief-shielded noses. A white guy with European teeth keeled over shortly afterwards. The hotel receptionist peeped over the desk, his eyes in line with a large brass bell. Behind his head was a large sign, 'Franceville, twinned with Vire, Department de Calvados, France.' I wondered if a cultural exchange hadn't gone as well as planned.

Nelson battered the bell until the clerk stood upright.

'We're here to see the guy in room 101.'

'I'm sorry, he's not in.'

'We'll wait.'

'He's never in.'

'Listen, Mister, I know for a fact he is staying at this hotel...' Nelson broke off. I asked myself what he had been about to say " and whether he hadn't wanted to say it in front of me or the clerk.

'Yes, Sir. He is staying at the hotel, but he sleeps in the underground parking lot.'

I couldn't help myself, being wing-furled always makes me antsy, 'The hell for?'

'We haven't got a stable, sir.'

Nelson asked if the lift went down to the basement. The guy behind the desk gave him a card key and said,

'You'll find him in bay 101.'