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I ripped the placard off one pole and reversed it to the unused side. I quickly and neatly sprayed, in blue, CIA MAN. I looked around on the platform, found some used chewing gum and plastered it to the underside.
I took the other placard and changed the writing on it to DOWN WITH THE CIA!
The woman was calling Bury names. I could see what he meant about the dangers of a kiosk being undefended.
The woman left. As Bury started to go into the kiosk, I slapped the CIA MAN sign on his back. He didn't notice.
"My God, it stinks in here!" said Bury. "She must have been chewing garlic!" He left the door open.
I began to parade up and down with my placard, DOWN WITH THE CIA! People veered off sharply.
Bury put coins in the phone. He said, "Operator? Get me the Chief Operator of the New York Telephone Company at once.... Chief Operator? This is Bury of Swindle and Crouch. Patch this pay phone, KLondike 5-9721, into Unlimited International WATS Line Number 1.... Of course I know it is a secret line. I ought to: We own the phone company.... What is your name, please? Goog?"
He was writing in his little notebook on the ledge. "G-O-O-G. Thank you, Miss Goog.... My phone credit card number is IT&T Number 1.... Yes, we do own the phone company, Miss Goog.... All right. Now, patch this pay phone into the WATS line. You stay on this line personally to shift co
He listened for a moment. Then he underscored Miss Goog's name in his little notebook. "No, Miss Goog. I don't care if the President is talking on it, clear him off the line...."
The crowd was staying very clear of us. I marched up and down with my placard, DOWN WITH THE CIA!
Bury said to himself, "Dumb (bleepch). Trying to plug me into the hot line. Who the hell wants to talk to the President at a time like this?" He was fa
A train pulled in. The passengers saw the signs and stayed on.
Bury said to me, "We're in luck. Hatchetheimer is heading a terrorist group in Cairo and they think he's pla
The crowd was very clear of us. I marched a bit with my placard. Bury fa
He went back on the phone. "Hatchetheimer? Ah, there you are. This is Bury.... Yes, I'm fine.... He's fine, too.... Oh, dear, you don't tell me.... Well, I'm sorry about that. I faithfully promise to see that the defective firebombs are replaced right away. Yes, you have my word on it.... Now, listen, General. I have a military problem I need your advice on. Down at Pier 92..."
A train came in. The doors opened. Passengers started to get off, saw the signs and stayed aboard. Passengers trying to get on jammed the cars. The doors clanged shut and the train roared on.
I could hear Bury again. "... oh, not the New York police. God, no.... We save the New York National
Guard for real emergencies.... The U.S. Army would use it to up their defense budget. Listen, General... Yes. International Zone at the end of Pier 92. It's an international problem...."
The young black was coming around, probably from being stepped on. He got up groggily, saw his paint spray cans, came over and picked them up and got back to work on his graffiti.
Bury was saying, "Oh, yes, that is splendid, General. And I do thank you for your time. Good luck on the embassy." He jiggled the phone hook. He looked at me. "There's hope. Hatchetheimer is a brilliant man."
The phone rang suddenly. He put the receiver to his ear. He listened, then he spoke. "No, (bleep) it, this is not the Horseburger Delicatessen!... No, I will not send you three Ponies Supreme!" He jiggled the hook agitatedly. "Miss Goog! God (bleep) it, keep this line clear! All right. I'm glad you are sorry. Now co
He had his call. "This is Bury of Swindle and Crouch. What NATO units do you have right this minute in the New York area?... What?... What is your name?... Sheridan. General Sheridan." He was writing in his notebook. "I don't think you heard me, General Sheridan. This is Bury of Swindle and Crouch.... Oh.... Well, match your (bleeping) voice print, then. My God!" He underscored what he had written in the notebook.
He fa
Some gawkers weren't as cowardly as the rest. I pushed them on, poking them somewhat with my placard.
Bury was talking again. "All right, I'm glad you are satisfied it is really me. Now answer my God (bleeped) question.... Ah. A NATO tank squadron giving a show at the 7th Regiment Armory tonight. They will have to do. Have them meet me three blocks south of Pier 92 at 8:30 tonight, all equipment, tanks and combat ready.... General, I don't happen to care if it wrecks their show. And I don't care if they are British. Get onto the Supreme NATO Commander at Strasbourg at once and get your clearance and right now! Issue the God (bleeped) order!"
He underscored something in his notebook. "All right, General. There is now one more thing. Do you have an aircraft carrier in the Brooklyn Navy Yard?... You do?... The U.S.S. Saratoga. ... General, I don't care if she is in dry dock. Issue orders at once transferring her for the next twenty-four hours to NATO command, Europe.... Well, get the God (bleeped) Secretary of the Navy out of the God (bleeped) di
He jiggled the phone hook. He turned sideways to me. "We're making progress on Madison." Then he was back on the phone. "Miss Goog? No, God (bleep) it, your pants are not ready and this isn't the Yorkville Dry Cleaners! Miss GOOG!... Listen, (bleep) it, stay on this line. Now co
Bury looked at his watch. "Time, time," he said sideways to me. "All this is taking time. But we're making progress on Madis... Hello. This is Bury of Swindle and Crouch.... How do you do, Captain Jinx. Captain, you will shortly be receiving confirmation from the Secretary of the Navy but you are not to wait for it. You and all your crew have been transferred to NATO command for the next..."
A train roared in. Bury shut the door so he could talk.
A mob seemed to be gathering. There were two tough-looking fellows who wanted to get through the picket line and at Bury who still wore the sign on his back. Some others tried to join the picket line.
I fended them off with various pokes and sorties. One timid-looking fellow seemed to have gotten caught between the mob and the phone booth. He had an overcoat the same color as Bury's. I hoped Bury would finish up quickly. This was getting tight. The mob was increasing. Instead of the placards fending them off, they seemed to be attracting them. These were a different crowd—blue-collar workers. An ugly situation was in the making.