From: ckelll@hotmail.com   
      
   NEW: "The Beginner's Guide to Tightrope Walking" (2/2)   
      
   "The Beginner's Guide to Tightrope Walking"   
   Part 2 of 2   
   by Kel   
   ckelll@hotmail.com   
   Keywords, disclaimer with part 1   
      
      
      
   Mulder was in and out of the office over the next few days.  I don't know if   
   he was dodging me or if he was just busy.  One evening I picked up a six-pack   
   of Molson and headed over to Skinner's.   
      
   He was using the walker this time, and leaning on it hard.   
      
   "Bad day," he explained, grimacing.  He took his time getting himself back   
   into his chair, and when he was finally seated he unfastened his prostheses   
   and let them drop to the floor.   
      
   "Can I get you anything?  Call anyone?" I asked.   
      
   "No.  Just a bad day," he said.   
      
   "Maybe you shouldn't," I said, showing him the six-pack.   
      
   "Few sips won't hurt."   
      
   I opened a beer and handed it to him.  He took a swallow and set it down on   
   the table.   
      
   "How's life up on the tightrope?" he asked.   
      
   "Maybe you can help me out with that," I said.   
      
   Before he answered, he looked down to where his legs ended in stumps.  It was   
   a quick glance, and he looked up as soon as he realized he was doing it.   
      
   "What can I do for you?" he asked.   
      
   "Whatever Mulder's doing to fight the aliens, he's doing it on his own.  If   
   more of us could get together, at least we'd have a chance.  We can go   
   on-line, hook up with other people who believe.  We can spread the word."   
      
   "Were you in the service?" he asked.   
      
   "MP."   
      
   "Ever seen combat?  Because you're looking at it the wrong way.  They're   
   stronger than us by a factor you can't imagine.  They have abilities we don't   
   understand.  Our only real hope is that they get tired of us."   
      
   "So, sabotage?  Guerrilla tactics?"   
      
   "Think about this, Luskin."  He folded up the walker and set it down to lean   
   against his chair.  "You've got a wife and a family.  You better think long   
   and hard before you decide to do anything that will make you stand out."   
      
   "What if I'm willing to take the risk?" I asked, even though I didn't know if   
   I was willing or not.  For the first time I considered that torturing Mulder   
   and letting him go might have been their idea of a warning.   
      
   "Then do it on your own.  Don't turn to the internet because that's one place   
   where they blend among us with total ease."   
      
   Skinner picked up his bottle and picked at the label.  I opened a Sam for   
   myself.  "They're not invincible," I said.  "I saw Mulder kill one."   
      
   "What kind?" he asked.   
      
   "Huh?"   
      
   "What kind?  Black oil?  Big claws?  Shapeshifter?"   
      
   "I don't know what you're talking about.  No claws, no oil, and no   
   shapeshifting either.  He stuck a pick in its neck and it died."   
      
   "Green stuff came out?" he asked.   
      
   "Yeah, green poison gas."   
      
   Skinner nodded.  "That was a shapeshifter. Some of them are on our side. Some   
   have moral objections to interfering with us, and many more think it's not   
   worth the expense. A few just think we're cool.  They come here on assignment   
   and *go native.*"   
      
   Mulder had compared himself to an Aztec trying to warn Montezuma about the   
   Conquistadors.  I was starting to feel like an Aztec dropped off in the middle   
   of the Senate cafeteria, trying to make sense of the cliques and coalitions.   
      
   "That's hard to believe."   
      
   "Some of the aliens are better friends to us than some of the humans," he   
   continued.  "The last time humans banded together to face the threat, they   
   sold us out."   
      
   ==============   
      
   Skinner was telling me to give Mulder room to work, and my wife was saying it   
   was time to drive up to New York and see Mark's play.  We went.   
      
   Holy cannoli but he was good.   The play was so-so, sort of a semi-comedy   
   about a mob boss.  Think *Guys & Dolls* meets *Scarface.*  Mark, though, was   
   phenomenal.  He played the second-in-command to the main detective.  He didn't   
   have any solo numbers,    
   but in one of the songs he had a line to himself.  Also, in scenes with just   
   the crime family, he was one of the background mutts.  I knew he had a great   
   voice, but I never realized he could dance.  It was weird to see his name on   
   the Playbill, because    
   he goes by Mark Laskin.  Sounds better than Luskin, right?  It took me a   
   second to remember it wasn't a typo.   
      
   We spent a few days, did some tourist stuff, revisited some favorite places.    
   Roz said there was no point in even thinking about how much we were spending,   
   and I agreed with her.   We took Mark out to dinner a couple of times, and   
   once we had lunch with    
   him and his roommate.   
      
   Driving home, I felt pretty good.  You don't like to see your kid pick a   
   career with so many ups and downs.  A million broken hearts and all that.  But   
   I could see that right now he was doing okay.  Doing great.   
      
   "We should fly out and visit Jenny," my wife said.   
      
   "We should," I agreed.  "Maybe fly her to New York so she can see the play."   
      
   "I'd like to take Mom."   
      
   Bringing her mother home for Passover every year is more work than the cooking.   
      
   "Her hearing's gotten so bad," I reminded her.  "Maybe Mark could get someone   
   to tape him."   
      
   "It's a short flight."   
      
   "You know, Marthe was saying she wanted to see it. . ."  What would it take   
   for me to send my office manager in my place?   
      
   "We'll wait till it's warmer," she said.  "Jerry, what did you think of   
   Lawrence?"   
      
   Lawrence was the roommate.   
      
   "He seemed nice," I said.   
      
   "I like him too."   
      
   Roz was beat, so instead of stopping at the diner we went straight home.  Then   
   I went out for coffee and a doughnut.   
      
   Couple of doughnuts couldn't add much damage after four days of fabulous   
   dining.  No point in brewing a whole pot of coffee  just for me.  That   
   explains the coffee and the doughnut.  I have no explanation for why I decided   
   to stop in at my office.   
      
   Mark's big number was about forgotten cops, how everyone remembers the bad   
   guys' names, but not the cops who brought them down.  I was whistling the tune   
   as I opened the door.  The reception area was dark, but light was coming from   
   the hallway.  I    
   stopped whistling.  I hadn't seen any cars out front, but I hadn't checked in   
   back.  I drew my weapon as I went to investigate.   
      
   And yeah, I'd brought my piece to New York.  I feel safer if I'm packing.   
      
   Mulder stepped out of his office and stood there blocking the doorway.   
      
   "What's up?" I asked.   
      
   "My client doesn't want to be seen here," he said.  "I promised him privacy."   
      
   I gave him a look to ask him what was up.  If he couldn't talk at least he   
   could give me some signal.   
      
   "I'll explain later.  Go home," he said.   
      
   It wasn't so much that I didn't believe him as I didn't care.  If Mulder was   
   telling the truth all we'd lose was a customer.  I pushed past him into the   
   room.   
      
   "Jerry!  Now this is a treat."   
      
   It was Barry, the dart-playing bowler from Applebee's.  Only there was   
   something off about him, something I hadn't noticed the first time.   
      
   "Good to see you, man.  Are you here on business?" I asked.   
      
   "Yes, unfortunately.  I wish I had time to buy you a drink."   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)