Oliver Benjamin
re-checked the address on the ticket. It couldn’t be. He shuffled in
and unsteadily made his way up to the counter. All sorts of odd-
looking folk were strewn around the lobby. Many looked homeless.
Almost all looked clueless. A general muttering filled the air but no
one seemed engaged in proper conversation. Could this be a police
station? This wasan unusual part of town. Built over a reclaimed
lagoon a century before, its developer intended for it to rival the
worlds finest resort rivieras. Though the man had clearly failed, the
carnival atmosphere persisted, extending even to the police who
wore short pants and rode bicycles. In this droll district, even
mayhem was mellowed by sun and surf.
“Excuse me,” Roy said, “I’ve come to pay this parking ticket.”
An old man behind the counter looked up from his sewing
project. He was tailoring a pinkish pair of stretch pants.
“What’s that?” Roy inquired, “New uniforms?”
Without a trace of humor, the man grunted “No.”
“Okay. About this ticket…”
“Some kind of a prank. Just tear it up.”
“This isn’t a police station?”
“Not even close. It’s an alternative living estate. For nutcases and
weirdos.”
Roy flicked the ticket in his hand. “It looks real,” he insisted,
“Could it be some kind of a typo? I don’t want to have this come back
to bite me.”
The old man stood up slowly and shuffled around the counter.
Roy saw that he was diminutive and beaten, but robust and electric.
“Somebody’s playing a trick,” the old man leveled, “going around
the city putting fake tickets on cars. One of my former tenants, most
likely. Working with crazy people ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Roy laughed a little. “I’ll bet.” He handed the man a flyer. “Well,
if you need a break, come have a drink on me. I’m Roy Makonnen,
the proprietor of Undergrounds.”
“I’m Paul Partment, director of World O’Partments. I’d offer you
services in return, but I’m afraid you’d have to lose your marbles
first.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Roy said, “What kind of a name is
Partment anyway?”
The man shrugged, “Part of one.” A sudden bang turned their
heads. Somebody had tripped upon entering the doorway, sending a
pile of pink flyers fluttering in all directions.
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