Read Online Strange Trades by Paul di Filippo - Free Book Online Page B

were at a premium.…The feminine world should be your oyster. (But what did that cliché mean, anyway? Oysters were tough to pry open, and you could rip your hands to shreds on them.) As long as the cops weren’t battering down his door, he’d try to maintain his usual optimism.
    Honeyman stepped forth from the shadowy doorway, resolved to have a great time tonight.
    He tripped over someone who had come to sit unnoticed on the single step before him. Both Honeyman and the unknown figure went tumbling to the turf.
    Recovering, Honeyman confronted Hilario Fumento, writer with a peculiar mission.
    Fumento had become fixated early on in his career by a certain frisson provided by the best fiction: the encounter in print of a commonplace mundane item, experience, or sensory datum which was instantly recognizable but also previously unrendered in print. The famous shock of recognition, in fact. It was Fumento’s dream to construct a novel made entirely out of these gems. He was still in the process of collecting them, leaving the arrangement into a narrative, however bizarre, until later. Lacking money for materials, Fumento pilfered call slips and pencil stubs from public libraries, and used these to record his epiphanies.
    Fumento, digging a scrap of paper out of his pocket now—Honeyman had a brief fear that it would turn out to be a spondulix ready for redemption—said, “Hey, Rory, what do you think of this one: ‘Washcloth hanging over a shower-curtain rod: its lower, wetter edge is darker.’”
    “Beautiful, Hilario. It’s got an almost haiku-like quality.”
    Fumento smiled bashfully and stuffed the paper back into his jacket. “Gee, thanks, Rory. It just came to me this morning, while I was washing up. We’ve got water at the Brewery now, you know.”
    Honeyman’s curiosity was piqued. “Oh, yeah?”
    “Yeah. Earl swung it. He’s got big plans for fixing the whole place up.”
    It flashed on Honeyman how Erlkonig intended to pay for these dream renovations, and he grew angry. He must confront the albino before he went any further. “Well, we’ll see how far he gets. Listen, I’ll catch you later, Hilario.”
    “Bye, Rory. Have a good time.”
    Honeyman got to his feet and moved off.
    Attracted by a scattering of airy multicolored spangles, he found himself at a broad, flagstoned pavilion at the western edge of the campus. Here, the trees had been bedecked with strings of fairy lights. A bandstand had been erected, and a crew of volunteers was arraying speakers and other equipment atop it, under the direction of Hy Rez, the Beer Nuts’ technical expert, and his assistant, Special Effects.
    Special Effects’s given name was Saint Francis Xavier, commonly abbreviated S.F.X. His father was a defrocked Jesuit. Special had long red hair down to his shoulders, and a dopy broad face. These looks, however, belied a quick wit.
    “Hey, Special. Seen Earl around?”
    Walking backward, laying cable from a coil, Special replied, “He was overseeing the fireworks, last time I spotted him.”
    Fireworks. Did the man’s temerity have no end? This night would see them all in jail for sure. Honeyman debated leaving the party before it had begun, then decided against it. He was in no mood to mope in his apartment alone. And he had to confront Erlkonig about his cavalier spending of spondulix.
    Honeyman spotted the refreshment table, and decided he could use a drink. Nodding in that direction, he asked Special Effects, “Can I get you anything?”
    “No thanks. Hy and I are permanently wired now.”
    Honeyman smiled, certain that Special was joking. The man stopped playing out wire and lifted a strand of hair. In the dim light, Honeyman thought to detect something behind his ear. Special Effects resumed his work. Honeyman shrugged and moved away. Chances were Special was just yanking his chain, but he didn’t care to inquire further.
    From an aluminum keg, Honeyman drew a big plastic cup of beer, sipped. Belhaven