‘There’s only two drinks here,’ I told him.
‘Correct,’ said the barlord. ‘The bloke-on-the-blower is a bloke on the blower – a guy on the telephone, for you.’
‘You see, the Tyler Technique is already kicking in,’ I told the Doubting Thomas of a barlord-for-now. And I went off to answer the phone.
And then I returned to Fangio.
‘Where is the phone?’ I asked him.
‘Right here,’ said the barlord-for-now. And he presented me with a big black box about the size of a house brick. ‘It is the portable, or mobile, phone. It was just invented this morning.’
‘This morning?’ I said. ‘And you already have one?’
‘Not just me,’ said Fangio. ‘Folk all over the city. So I suppose that August the sixteenth nineteen seventy- seven will indeed be a date to be long remembered, just as you predicted.’
I made certain grumbling sounds but answered the phone anyway. I had to rest it on the bar counter because it was so heavy and then shout into it.
‘Who is this? I shouted.
‘It’s Elvis,’ Elvis shouted back.
‘What can I do for you?’ I shouted.
‘Nothing,’ shouted Elvis. ‘I just wanted to try out this new mobile phone that I got today.’
I made certain other grumbling sounds. ‘Where are you now?’ I shouted into the portable telephone.
‘Home in Graceland.’
‘That was quick.’
‘I travelled through one of the new teleportation booths. They just went “online”, as they say, today. So I suppose this date will be forever remembered for that.’
‘Teleportation booth?’
‘On the corner outside Fangio’s Bar. It looks a bit like a telephone booth, but more futuristic.’
‘Right,’ I said. And rolled my eyes. This was clearly a wind-up.
‘Well, have to say goodbye now, Elvis,’ I said. And with some sarcasm, ‘Have to test out my new jet- pack.’
‘Did yours arrive today, too?’
But I switched off the portable phone.
And pushed it across the bartop to Fangio.
‘Teleportation?’ said Fangio. ‘Ah-harr-harr. And jet-packs? What a historic day this is turning out to be.’
‘Yes indeed,’ I said and I tucked into my Dead-Man’s Chest. And presently pulled a digital watch from between my teeth.
‘Perhaps this is the dawn of the New Tomorrow that we have been promised since back in the nineteen- thirties, when Hugo Gernsback edited Amazing Science. Not to mention Future Scientist Today magazine. ’
So I didn’t mention it.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘it’s been a long time coming. Let’s be grateful, eh?’ And giving my eyes another roll, just for the Hell of it, I downed the rest of my Dead-Man’s Chest. And at least I did not pull an iPod from between my teeth. Which was something.
‘Well,’ said Fangio, ‘I can’t keep chatting here all day. Have to open up the bar for business. I do hope that delivery comes soon.’
‘And what delivery might this be?’ I asked. As this was now my bar.
‘The microwave oven,’ said Fangio and he stumped away.
I downed my other cocktail, gave up on identifying its ingredients, took myself away to behind the bar counter, cashed up ‘No Sale’ on the publican’s piano and helped myself to some fifty-dollar bills.
And then I thought I’d go for a walk. And that is what I did.
The folk on 27th Street were looking pretty spivvy. Today they mostly favoured silver jumpsuits with Dan Dare-style flared shoulders and platform-soled boots. Hairstyles were combed up very high and slim little sunglasses worn. I watched as a solar-powered dirigible crossed the sky and marvelled just a little as a hover-car moved by.
‘New York,’ I said to myself. ‘When New York takes to a fashion, it really takes to a fashion.’ And then I spied the teleportation booth.
There was a bit of a queue formed beside it. And I joined the end of this queue. Just to have a look-see, you understand. Not to do anything purposeful. And not to do anything involved with the case I was on. I was sticking with the Tyler Technique for now. What would happen would happen, and as long as I was in the right state of mind when it did happen, then I would benefit from it happening. So to speak.
A guy at the head of the queue now entered the booth. He spoke into a sort of grille, received instructions, inserted money, pressed certain buttons. Then there was a buzz and a flash and a puff of smoke and the guy had vanished away.
‘Now that,’ I said to a lady in a straw hat, who was before me in the queue, ‘is very clever, don’t you agree?’
‘We’ve had them on my planet for years,’ said the lady.
‘On your planet?’ And I viewed the lady. Her skin was quite grey and her eyes rather black. ‘You are not from this planet?’
‘I am from Planet Begrem in the Sumerian Constellation. Haven’t you been watching the news? Our ambassador landed his craft upon the White House lawn this morning and made first contact with your President.’
‘It’s true as true,’ said a fellow before her in the queue. ‘A fellow in a weather dome, with a zero-gravity briefcase. August sixteenth, nineteen seventy-seven. This date will go down in history, eh?’
And I agreed that it probably would and got in a right old grump.
And presently all the folk in the queue before me had vanished away in little puffs of smoke, and I found myself standing before the teleportation booth.
‘I wonder how this works,’ I wondered, into the little grille.
‘Please place a fifty-dollar bill into the slot provided,’ said a strangely mechanical voice. And I shrugged, and having nothing better to do, fished out a fifty-dollar bill and slipped it into the slot provided.
‘Where to, sir?’ asked the artificial voice.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. And I didn’t.
‘Have to hurry you, sir,’ said the voice. ‘There are other people waiting behind you.’
‘Yes, get a move on,’ said a different lady in a different straw hat. ‘I need to go to the toilet.’
‘This isn’t the queue for the toilet,’ I told her.
‘The toilet in Graceland.’
‘Graceland? ’ I said.
‘Graceland it is,’ said the voice.
‘No, hold on-’ I said. ‘I-’
But there was a buzz and a bang and a flash.
And I vanished off in a puff of smoke.
And I appeared in a kitchen.
It was a rather attractive, kitchen, really. All mod cons. All well beyond mod, really. There was a microwave oven, although I did not recognise it as such then. And what I did not recognise as a plasma-screen TV a-hanging on the wall. And a computerised food-synthesiser and a device for peeling potatoes that involved the transperambulation of pseudo-cosmic anti-matter. And a Teasmaid.
And a large black lady, who looked like the cook in the Tom and Jerry cartoons. And she was frying up peanut butter and banana on French toast in a frying pan about the size of a dustbin lid.
And I gave this lady a bit of a shock through my unexpected and sudden arrival.
‘Oh Lordy, Lordy, Lordy,’ said this lady, as it was still permissible to say such things back in nineteen seventy- seven. ‘By the laser-lav of Lady Raygun, Queen of the Pan-Galactic Ukulele All-Stars! Where did you spring from all
