I don't know if I hate this job of mine, love it, loathe it, or can even endure it much longer, but one thing I can't say about it is that it's never boring. About as close to 'boring' as it gets is dealing with the outrage of the cop screaming in my face, trying to think of a way to threaten me into doing something about the scene across the street.

No way buddy; I've had bigger fish in the pond screaming at me in that same outraged way before. The assistant director of the FBI had been doing just that very thing to me when he stroked out six weeks ago, the Secretary General had had a heart attack doing that same thing to me two months ago, and the former President of the United States had what you might call a major break with reality not that long after the Sec General dropped over and yeah, not what most people think of when they hear the word 'boring' but this spit spraying screaming seemed like it was getting to be my daily lot in life and I was damn tired of it. I dug a cigarette out of my shirt pocket and put it in my mouth. The whatever the hell rank super cop seemed to be one of those anti smoking nuts and his spitting spraying cranked up a notch. I put my thumb under my forefinger and flipped it up. Nothing happened so I did it again. It irked me a bit and one more try and third time lucky and my thumb caught fire as I held it up in a 'thumbs up' gesture and fired up my filtered Camel. Hard to believe that I had quit smoking for twenty odd years, and fifty seven days on this job and I was sucking up a pack a day again. I drew in a grateful hit and ignored the chief of police or whatever the hell his title was while I drew in some stress relief. A couple of hits of nicotine and tar and oh yeah, that part of my job, being a target for spit spraying out of control with rage imbeciles who think I can control or influence what was going on across the street. That does get old, way old, but you can't say it's 'boring' exactly, but nothing was going to happen here no matter how much he raged and ranted and screamed. There is something about people and power that just can't accept that they are powerless and the way that usually comes out is impotent screaming at some underling that can't do anything about anything besides stand there and take it. Well, while the job isn't boring, it certain does get repetitious.

The NYPD used to be all Irish but it's become as rainbow as any other force in this country. The top cop years ago would have been some big red faced Jamison's swilling Mick but now I had this light skinned black guy who was putting on a paunch and towered over me by a good six inches. Politicians seem to be taller than the usual folks. I guess so that they can stand out in a crowd, and yeah, there was quite a crowd gathered here. I wasn't quite sure exactly where 'here' really was, to tell you the truth, but the cop cars lined up all up and down the street to keep the crowd back all had NYPD on them and it looked exactly like the pictures I'd seen in all the movies and TV shows of what New York looks like so my hunch was that it really was New York. I took another hit on my cigarette and just looked at this guy and sighed.

"Please, just dial it back a bit, would you?" I asked politely. "I've had a really, really, long day and this constantly getting spit on all the time really is the suckiest part of this very sucky job." There were twenty or thirty cops standing around breathing hard and some of them had automatic weapons in their hands. "You know there isn't one fucking thing I can do about anything the Ambassador wants to do, and it's the same scene everywhere we go and I just don't fucking care how fucking outraged at all this you are, and the screaming and spitting stuff, well, it gets way old, you know?" I pulled my pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and offered him one. He glanced down at the pack and something in his eyes told me he'd once been a slave to the cylinders. He certainly looked tempted, and if there ever was a moment when he could have used one, that moment would be right now.

A gasp from the crowd caused us both to look across the street.

"Oh shit."

"Yeah." I agreed tiredly. Watching this through his eyes, I could feel for the poor son of a bitch. I guess watching a thirty five year old naked guy with an erection dancing around with a bunch of naked school kids must be about the most button pushing thing any cop could ever see. "Just make sure your troops don't lose it." He glared at me, but the warning I'd just told him had been ignored by others before him and I really didn't want another repetition of Cairo today, or any other day for that matter: "Ricochets, you know?" He pursed his lips tightly, then nodded abruptly and turned and talked to his uniformed aide, who passed the word along to the troops to safe their weapons and holster the side arms. I took another drag on my cigarette and dropped it on the carpet of whatever hotel we were in.

"How can you stand watching this all the time?" I shrugged.

"Nothing at all I can do about it." He looked at me for another moment and nodded abruptly again.

"Christ," he said softly. I shrugged.

"Well, this is usually close to the end of it." I said, and yeah, there went the kids on the field trip, gathering around in a circle and holding hands and the shimmering glow started to appear. The blustery January wind blowing down the street had some snow in it that helped illuminate the almost dusk scene as it hit the barrier surrounding the Ambassador and his naked little friends, all dancing around in a circle around that demented naked Pied Piper with the erection. "Yeah, and there they go."

Dancing around and around the man who'd once been my identical twin brother.

"Well, the wind's going to start taking effect on this pretty soon, so I guess it's time to saddle up." A gasp from the crowd as the shimmering bubble around the kids and the crazy dancing man started to rise up out of the side walk in front of the museum and the kids and the crazy kept on dancing around in a circle, only the circle was no longer on the side walk as the bubble rose. "You got the drill, just don't fuck up, hear?"

"Yeah. We won't." Yeah, they'd try not to, but things do come unglued at times and you never knew for sure what exactly was going to go on with the craziness. I gave him a pat on the shoulder and walked out into the wind and got a few more stares directed my way. Something about a guy in a Aloha shirt, surfer jams and flip flops in the middle of winter in New York with the snow blowing at twenty some miles an hour does cause even jaded New Yorker's to look. The cops surrounding me pushed back the crowd so we could get to the Ambassadors ride. I dug out my Camel pack, but since we were outside in the wind, I figured I needed something more than tobacco to relax me from the last scene and didn't give a damn if pot was still illegal or not. The cop downwind took a sniff of the smoke and turned to me while I toked up. "Diplomatic immunity," I hissed. "Wanna hit?" He wrinkled his nose and shook his head radiating disapproval. I shrugged. This job was pretty weird, no two ways about that, but it did have its moments. While it might not meet with the cop's approval, it did get me through scenes like I had just been through with his force's capo de tutti capo.

I looked down the street. The fire department had managed to get their gear in place and had two of those telescoping ladders set up with a big net stretched between them. Good damn deal; at least the kids weren't going to wind up in the Hudson River or whatever the hell of the name of the one a few blocks away was called. The last of the bubble floated up out of the cement and the wind picked it up like a newspaper and away it went. About a minute later, there it was, right in the net, a glowing ball of naked children holding hands and dancing around in a circle, tilted about sixty degrees off the horizontal and upside down right in the middle of it, like some demented glass globe you shook and the snow would fly around in. I sighed. Colors swirled over the surface of the sphere and the snow picked up a bit and it was hard to make out what was happening down there in the next block, but I knew I had some time before whatever it was would be over. I turned to the cop next to me and figured I'd take care of my own needs while I had the chance.

"Say, where's good to eat around here?" He turned to look at me and I could read the expression on his face. "Hey, I have to eat once in a while, so where's good to grab a bit?" He shook his head. Well, this was New York, and I had heard the food's great anywhere you went. Maybe he just couldn't afford to eat uptown in this area. "Well, you know least know where I can get a hooker?"

"How can you even think of sex with something like that going on!" I shrugged.

"That ain't sex." He looked at me. "I don't know what it is, but it sure as hell isn't sex." How to explain to this guy that whatever it was that was happening there with the Mar Chine Ambassador and his group of children? There were a lot of scientists that poured over every single piece of video tape of these events and yeah, even the little six year old boys and girls were hard and wet between the legs, as he was about to find out first hand pretty soon. I could tell he didn't believe me, but I has some time before the scene shifted and didn't want to waste any of it. I got my phone out of my pocket and hit speed dial one. I kind of felt for the cop, to tell you the truth: He was about the age where he could have kids about the age of the children down the block dancing around naked in the middle of the air. "Really, man, I know how it looks, but the scientists tell me that after a certain point, the human nervous system fires up all the physical manifestations of sexual arousal during this whatever the hell it is, but none of those kids is going to be touched by that guy. He's not going to lay one finger on them. I've seen this hundreds of times and take my word for it, that ain't sex."

"How the hell can you stand there and tell me that?" I sighed.

"Because I'm the world's leading expert on the Mar Chine ambassador." I put the phone to my ear and didn't bother with hello or any of that nonsense. "Yeah, I need a hooker here as soon as possible." I put the phone back in my jams and pointed over to this place with a door man and a canopy over the side walk. "Come on, I'll buy you and the guys dinner, sergeant." At least I think that's what the three stripes meant and started over towards the doorman, who didn't seem very pleased to see me.

"I'm sorry sir, but we have a dress code."

"I have an armed escort here, you packing?" I asked pleasantly enough I thought. "Open the fucking door, I need a burger something awful, dude."

"I can't let you in, sorry." I shrugged.

"Okay, don't open the fucking door, I don't care." He put up a hand to stop me and I just kept on walking and his hand jerked away as it almost touched my chest and he got out of my way and I walked in. I turned around and looked at my police escort. "Well, just don't stand there, come on!" They were all standing out there on the side walk looking at the me shaped hole in the door where I'd walked in through the door. One of the ends of the brass bars across the glass fell out of thing holding it and rang on the sidewalk. The door man was staring down at his hand and the cops were standing there open mouthed and I just turned around and walked past the maitre d' as my posse of New York's finest came scrambling in behind me. "Table for six over there will work just fine for us, we're kind of in a rush," I said to the dish monkey gaping at me. Funny how they take that not wearing a tie bit, but I can truthfully say everyone in that room turned around and stared at me. I will admit that the Aloha shirt was pretty bright, and the surfer jams and flip flops weren't really exactly designer label, but I wasn't dressed to impress, just to be dressed.

A couple of waiters came rushing over my way and then stopped, seeing the cops behind me. They all probably figured the cops would be grabbing me and hauling me away and they were all wrong. The only thing the cops did was grab chairs and I impatiently motioned the closest waiter over.

"Look, I haven't got a lot of time here and I want a porterhouse steak, medium rare, a baked potato with chives and sour cream, a salad with oil and vinegar, a cup of coffee, a couple of beers and a chunk of apple pie with cheddar on it, and bring it as fast as you can as I'm really rushed for time. Give these guys whatever they want but get my order in right now."

"Sir, I am afraid I'll have to ask you to lea..."

"No, you can ask, but I am hungry and you will get me what I ordered as fast as possible. Otherwise, you aren't going to be working here anymore, and drop the fucking snottier than thou act or you ain't getting tipped. Now bring the boys in blue some menus and get your ass back to the kitchen and have the chef rush my order, please."

He looked at the cops, looked at me, figured that this was some kind of a candid camera joke and was about to waste more of my time. Time for my jack ass act. I reached over and grabbed a bottle of champagne out of one of those silver ice buckets on three legs. "Fuck it. If I can't have a couple of beers to chug, I guess I'll have to settle for this shit." I turned to the couple at the table whose champagne I was stealing. "Don't worry, I'll get you another bottle, but right now I'm just thirsty as hell." I upended the bottle and chug chug chug chug. Down it went. I held the bottle up from my lips, still raised, than downed the bottle too. I looked at the waiter and belched. "Bring them a bottle of whatever the most expensive thing in the house is, please, and how come you haven't left yet to put in my order? Don't think I won't stiff you for the tip, either. So far the service in this joint hasn't been jack shit."

I sat down. The cops were all looking at me with that standard look on their faces. "Don't be afraid to order whatever you want, fellows. I'm picking up the tab."

"How did you do that?" One asked.

"Dude, I'm the head of security for the fuckin' Ambassador, you know?"

"That's fucking impossible!"

"Naw, it's a party trick."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You kind of pick up tricks along the way, you know?"

"So how did you do that one? I mean, that bottle was bigger than your throat, and you couldn't have planted it before we came in here, right?"

The waiter came back with a tray with a selection of beers on it, plus a frosted mug. "I didn't know what you liked, sir, so I took the liberty."

"Yeah, that one's good," I pointed at one, not knowing what kind of beer it was, but I figured that old German script on the bottle probably made it an okay brew. He tilted the mug and poured carefully down the side, not letting the head build up. He was going to pick up the rest of them, but I just shook my head and he left the others.

The other people in the room I just ignored. What, they hadn't ever seen an Aloha shirt? I had to admit that the colors were a bit on the loud side, but so what? I turned back to the cop who'd asked about the disappearing bottle act I'd just pulled.

"Same deal as the door."

"Yeah, but how did you do it?" He asked. I shrugged.

"I guess the same way you breathe. You want to explain that trick to me? I just do it, same as you just breathe. I can't really explain how it's done any more than you can put into words how you reach out and pick up something with your hand. You just reach for it, y'know?"

"Well, that's still the damndest party trick I ever saw." I grinned at him.

"Yeah, it is a hell of a trick, isn't it?" There was a guy bringing over to the couple at the next table another bottle of wine to replace the one I'd stolen from them. He showed it to the guy and his eye brows rose. "That the best you got in the cellar?" I asked the guy holding the bottle.

"Yes sir, it is."

"Good, send over a couple of bottles to us, too. Might as well try it out."

"Sir! This is a fourteen hundred dollars a bottle champagne!"

"Oh yeah? Then we should probably get a few to go, then. Bring us a couple of six packs of that stuff." The guys jaw dropped and a couple of the cops at my table laughed. The wine waiter did that look down the nose at me thing they do to intimidate you. "I'm serious, pal, and get your ass in gear." I snapped my fingers at him, "Twelve bottles of wine, fifteen thousand bucks, ca-ching! Move it!" He moved it. "Speaking of ass in gear," I pulled out my phone, hit redial, "Where's my hooker?"

"Just coming in the door."

"Cool."

I waved my hand and I guess they must have been able to spot me because I had a steak hitting the table in front of me and a the guy and his girlfriend across from me saying thanks and a very uptight FBI agent that I'd run across in my travels once before showing up at my table with three very attractive and well build and well dressed women accompanying the Federal Agent.

"Hi Amy, how's tricks?" I asked the agent.

"Red." She acknowledged me and ignored my joke. "This is what you asked for."

I stood up from the table like a gentleman. "Ladies."

"The blonde is Ashley, the brunette is Bridget and the red head is..."

"Let me guess. Charlene?" She laughed a delightfully musical note of grace.

"No, actually, my name is Margret."

"Oh well, not my day to play the lottery, I guess." I gave three graces appreciate looks and said, "Thanks, Amy, I'll take it from here. I take it they have been briefed on payments?" She nodded; it was plain that I wasn't her favorite person.

"Well, I guess that means I should get right to the point. Ladies, I'm a very, very busy man and haven't a lot of time, and my sex life is pitiful, so I'm afraid that there won't be much wining or dining going on here, nor any romance. This is a strictly commercial transaction, and while I'm sure that your all working your way through college, I have no time for idle chit chat as I've only about twenty or thirty minutes before I have to leave town. While I'm sure you've all had your shares of rather strange requests from your clients from time to time, I feel fairly safe in venturing that, while my own request is fairly simple and rather vanilla, the working conditions will be a bit unusual to say the least. If this insults any of your sensibilities or outrages you, please forgive me in advance. Like I said, my time is limited, but my bank account isn't. So please, while it's unusual, this request of mine is for real, and I do have the means to pay for it, and I assure you that you won't be getting into trouble if one or more of you chose to go along with it." I could see curiosity on their faces. After all, having a rather eccentrically dressed client is one thing, having a rather eccentrically dressed client in a very upscale New York restaurant is an entirely different kind of strange, but having the business arraignments taking place in front of an agent of the FBI and a half a dozen uniformed cops, well, that took 'levels of strange' to another level of reality that was out of this world, doesn't it? "One other thing that I should mention before I tell you about my request here is that where I am is considered to be an embassy. I have full diplomatic immunity for anything I do, that there aren't any laws being broken by me, nor by you, for whatever business arraignments we come to. Is that understood?"