After the note he never saw her again in her original form, although a ting of blue hair remained, as Charlene the Punk explained it. In a certain light, say, at dawn or dusk. She announced she was now a messenger, *The* Messenger, and has lived a long time and seen a lot of things and was getting tired, getting wore down. She needed to pass some of her knowledge onto another. Thus the revelation of the Big Inside at this here dinner meeting at Perch. the one Jeffrie Phillips wrote about in his note slipped under her Kidd Tower door.
All she asked for in return was the monster book Jeffrie possessed. He’d bought it for a hefty price (300), but she said money was not an option. When Jeffrie asked if she meant money was not an issue, she replied, “I said what I said.” He tried to figure this out. Did she just want him to *hand* it over, no strings attached? She stared at him, 3rd eye obviously squeegeed wide open but with no drugs involved. Just wisdom derived from being a relative immortal. They called themselves that, anyway, she explained during another part of their meeting, before the mushroom and olive pizza arrived which they’d agreed upon. Despite the actual limited shelf life.
“How old are you, then?” asked Baker, mesmerized by the turn of things.
“Do you have all night for me to recite the numbers?” She winked with this, but two eyes still remained open. He was like a fish on a hook, being real real realed in. The Big Inside awaited. Yes, he had all night. But not at the Blue Feather. He knew a little hotel up at Starfish Lake that had a couch with some nifty animations. They could go there. He’d phone Charlene up and say his car broke down over in Tinseltown down at the bay. “Must have been the weighty or salty sea air,” he rehearsed in his head. She’d suspect but he had to give it a try. He’s been good before about balancing two women, heck three or four at times, he he. A natural juggler he is. But of course Sally knew this too and had also given it a shot. It worked. She was inside as well.
Sunklands 