Chapter 10: The Tollbooth


Lower Manhattan was just one concrete canyon after another. On either
side of every street, large grey buildings rose up for forty or fifty
storeys, and sometimes more. New York City was the financial capital of
the world, and Wall Street, smack dab in the concrete canyons of Lower
Manhattan, was the heart of the financial capital of the world and where
fortunes were made and lost in mere minutes. Where the movement of
money, if represented in actual physical paper money, would bulldoze
entire cities. 

Frankie got out at the Chambers Street subway station. Heading South on
Broadway, he braved the throngs of pedestrians in this perpetually busy
part of the city. Busy during the day, at least, for at night, even
though the city likes to pretend that it never sleeps, there is an eerie
quiet down in the lamp lit streets. By day though, the area was a hive
of activity. Each day, thousands upon thousands of folks would head up
into the skyscrapers to earn a living. And for everyone else, the ground
levels of said buildings were farmed out to restaurants, stores and
services. There were discount stores, five and dimes, clothing
boutiques, bookstores, drug stores, restaurants and lounges to suit
every taste.

He headed on South, crossing Duane and Reade Streets along the way.
Those streets were the ones who lent their names to a citywide chain of
drugstores. As he passed by the flagship Duane Reade, he gave
a nod to its massive storefront. Continuing further to the South, he
came across a massive memorial in a section of the city occupying
several city blocks. Light grey marble steps led up to an enormous
light grey marble platform. In the center of the platform, there was a
concrete building with an arched concrete roof. Ionic, or was it doric,
as Frankie was never quite sure, columns led down from the roof of the
building to the marble platform. Looking inside, Frankie saw a black
marble monument. Its base was rectangular and about five feet high. At
the top of the monument, there was a replica in marble of a pair of
skyscrapers, blocky and unremarkable in design. Even though the marble
monument was over three hundred years old, it was remarkably well
preserved. All the inscriptions were still legible and there was not
even a scratch on the surface of the marble. Frankie read the
inscription on the front of the monument. He read that it was in memory
of the over three thousand people who had fallen in the terrorist attack
on the World Trade Center twin towers on September 11, 2001. He read
further that on that day, a group of terrorists commandeered two
passenger aircraft and flew them into the twin towers, causing fire and
massive structural damage and within the hour, a total collapse of the
buildings.

Frankie paused for a bit to take in the scope of the memorial and to
reflect the myriad ways in which the international geopolitical scene
had changed since then. For the first time in a long while, he truly
appreciated how fortunate he was to be living in an era of relative
peace. Even if there were still minor wars and skirmishes going on in
other parts of the world, a major act of war on the city had not taken
place in over a century.

He headed back down the marble steps to Broadway. As he continued
walking several blocks further to the South, the character of the crowd
changed markedly. Gone were the T-shirt and jeans set. Gone were the
long haired hippies and the loitering slackers. It was all grey business
suits and business casual dockers, at the very least. If he were
asked, Frankie would honestly reply that he felt a bit out of place
there in his jacket and blue jeans. For it was obvious that he had
ventured into the financial district. The office buildings with rag tag
stores on the lower levels made way for the headquarters of
superregional banks, stock brokers and psychiatric clinics. The
latter was not surprising for you see, managing the big money was a
tough and demanding job and you can either take the stress or take the
valium.

Frankie knew where he had to go. He had to go around the corner at the
strange sculpture at the Fleet Boston building. It was a large
black marble cube standing about fifteen feet tall. The cube stood on
one of its corners. He had never read the inscription at the base of the
cube and did not do so on that day either as he was in a bit of a hurry.
Some locals called it the banker's heart, in mockery of the supposedly
cold, black heart of coal and lack of compassion that banking
institutions were reputed to have.

Heading up the side street, Frankie stopped after about half a dozen
doors. Just past the grey steel handrail on the sidewalk, a set of
concrete steps led down to the basement. There was a small green sign
above the basement door. It had a white border and white lettering, in
the style of most street and highway signs. It read "The Tollbooth".
That was the entrance to The Tollbooth, a small bar and club strangely
tucked away in an obscure street in the financial district. Frankie went
down the steps, turned the steel handle on the grey gunmetal door and
opened the door.

Inside, a completely different world awaited. The interior of the club
was dimly lit but red, green and yellow strobe lights illuminated the
lounge area. The thumping beat of the music, mostly rock and roll with
an underbeat of techno, was intoxicating. In contrast to the strictly
business attire of the pedestrians on the street above, nearly everyone
inside the club was dressed casually, even irreverently. A good many had
body piercings. Some had rings on the ears. A few, that Frankie could
see when they were talking, had small barbells in their tongues. A
cheetah in a sleeveless running top had a ring on one of his eyelids.
Frankie did not know how anyone could have that done but there was the
evidence standing by the bar in all his pierced glory.

As he entered the club, the first thing Frankie came across was a
tollbooth incongruously standing next to the doorway. It had a
brick and plaster base painted in a cream color and coming up to his
waist. Above that, there was a clear glass window going nearly all the
way around, except for the side where there was a wooden door. There was
a cash register inside and a brown mouse stood in the booth behind the
cash register. He was wearing a dark green jacket and a dark green cap.
The uniform had a logo with the letters T and P on it, and so Frankie
assumed it was meant to imitate the logo for the New Jersey Turnpike.

"Welcome to The Tollbooth" said the mouse, smiling.

"Umm... Thanks" replied Frankie. He assumed that he was not supposed to
hop in the tollbooth and join the mouse.

"Just to let you know... there is a two drink minimum" said the mouse.

"Oh, that won't be a problem" said Frankie, with a grin.

"Hehe... ohhkay. Enjoy your trip on the Turnpike... I mean to the bar."
continued the mouse, chuckling. He handed Frankie a card.

Frankie took a look at the card. It was quite obviously a replica of a
classic Turnpike toll ticket, before all toll collection was turned
over to electronic systems. There was a list of interchanges and the
toll for leaving the turnpike at each of the interchanges. Frankie noted
that the toll went from eighty five cents for one exit to four dollars
and sixty cents for going all the way. So, he thought, that must be a
really old rate schedule. There were also some admonishments printed on
the ticket about not making U-turns and not leaving the vehicle in case
of a problem or accident.

Stepping beyond the tollbooth, Frankie took a look around the club. The
walls were decorated with kitschy highway stuff. There was a scale model
of the Pulasky Skyway, a bridge of black steel, elegant in its elaborate
tracery and multiple suspension spans. The cab of an orange Turnpike
maintenance truck stuck out of the wall as though it was about to crash
into the club, but Frankie could see that it was only a sliced off part
of the truck that was mounted there.

In one of the corners, stood the disc jockey, in front of a console with
two turntables, although the turntables appear to be for appearance
only as there were no records on them. He was a cat in brightly colored
light blue fur. Frankie wondered if his fur was dyed as that was
certainly not a color occurring in nature. The cat was wearing
headphones and the same dark green jacket that the greeter in the
tollbooth was wearing. So apparently, that was the staff uniform. He was
busy turning dials and flipping the many switches on the console
although all the frantic activity did not seem to be affecting the flow
of the music one bit. Surrounding the disc jockey was the dance floor,
an uncarpeted area of the floor with wooden tiles. Dancers were gyrating
to the beat of the music. One particularly energetic coyote was doing
the step to the beat with his arms folded. 

Turning away from the dance floor, Frankie saw the restrooms, two
doorways with Men and Women written on them in an old style Modern font,
an unusual clash of curved and straight lines. This part of the club was
styled a bit like a Turnpike service area, or a rest stop as those were
more commonly known. Next to the restrooms, there was a small alcove
with a collection of video game and arcade machines. There was a weight
and fortune machine, which stood about waist high, and true to the
Turnpike styled decor, there was an "Out of Order" sign on that machine.
There was also a penny smashing machine next to the weight and fortune
machine. It was a clear plastic case with an elaborate looking set of
gears inside. Once the money was placed into the machine, one would use
a hand crank on the front of the machine to turn the many gears until
the flattened penny with a design on it would fall out into a slot at
the bottom of the machine. Ironically, one of the designs offered
by the penny smashing machine was of the World Trade Center Twin
Towers, which were long gone. Further in the alcove, there were a number
of video game machines, including one that was a car racing game. It had
two steering wheels and two sets of pedals and a big screen displaying a
crude depiction of a road. Frankie always thought that the racing video
games found at Turnpike rest stops were rather ironic considering that
there was a speed limit on the actual highway. But better the racing be
done in the video game, he figured, than out on the highway.

Frankie headed on over to the bar. It was a long formica counter with
garish light blue track lighting running all the way around the edge of
the bar. There was a sheet of glass on top of the counter. Frankie
noticed that under the glass, there were a lot of turnpike toll
tickets arranged in seemingly random order, with the tickets pointing
in all different directions. On the wall behind the counter there was an
assortment of bottles of liquors of various kinds. There was a tap with
a red handle just behind the counter. Frankie presumed that's where the
beer was dispensed from. Frankie took a seat on one of the bar stools at
the counter. In just a minute or two, a heavy set brown bear, also in
the same dark green jacket and cap came walking behind the counter over
to Frankie.

"Hi, I'm Joe Bruno, your barkeep." said the bear. "Welcome to The
Tollbooth. I do not believe I have seen you here before."

"Hi... umm, no, I think this is my first time here," said Frankie.

The bear nodded. "Would you like a drink list? Or do you know what you
want?"

Frankie pondered for a moment. He asked "Could you make a Ferret In Your
Pants?"

"I can't do that. Not on a first date, at least." joked the bear. Before
Frankie could respond, he continued "Sure. Anything for a cute ferret
like you."

If Frankie's face were not covered in fuzzy fur, he would be blushing
with embarrassment. The Ferret In Your Pants was a mix of vodka and
lime. The final touch was a packet of orange flavored Vitamin C energy
drink mix from the sporting goods store. It was reputed that Frankie's
grandfather Ferdinand invented the drink because he did not know if the
Vitamin C energy drink mix went with anything. So he made that mix and
drank it in one gulp. And he was bouncing off the walls for the rest of
the day.

The bear busied himself with Frankie's drink. He fill a glass with ice.
Then he poured the vodka, some freshly squeezed lime juice and the
contents of a yellow and blue energy drink mix packet into a chrome
colored drink shaker. Then he shook up the contents of the shaker and
poured it out into the glass. He put a straw in the glass and placed a
slice of lime on the rim of the glass, and placed the finished cocktail
in front of Frankie. "Here you go. Enjoy" said the bear with a smile.

Frankie sat at the bar, nursing his drink. It was a pale yellow,
except for the bubbly foam head at the top, which was white and tall
from the carbonation of the energy drink mix. He took a sip of
the drink through the straw. There was a sharp burn from the vodka
with a hint of sourish tang from the lime. And then there was a bit of
orange flavor from the energy drink mix. He thought something would
pop inside of him but nothing did, which was funny as the energy drink
mix usually gave him some extra pep. As he sat at the bar with the
drink in front of him, he was still wondering what, according to the
note, he was supposed to do at The Tollbooth. After a few minutes, he
decided that it had been a long time since he last went to the bathroom.
So he got off the bar stool and went over the the restrooms, checking
that he was indeed entering through the doorway labeled "Men".

In contrast to the dimly lit dance and bar area with blinking strobe
lights, the lighting in the men's room was a uniformly bright white
light from a series of flourescent lights in the ceiling. The floor was
paved with white marble tiles. The restroom proper was behind a bend in
the wall for privacy. A row of four sinks with automatic infra red
detector faucets were lined up after the bend. The sinks were embedded
in one long counter with a white formica surface and there was a row of
mirrors behind the sinks. Across from the sinks, there were three
urinals of white porcelain in a row. One of the urinals was shorter than
the other and it was presumably for kids. Or the vertically challenged.
Next to the urinals, there was a row of three toilet stalls with light
green walls and doors. The overall decor and style of the bathroom was
meant to project a squeaky clean and bright image, although some stains,
explained, unexplained and prefer not to be explained, had set in on the
walls, the sink counter, and the floor.

Frankie decided he would take one of the stalls, even if he only had to
pee, because he felt like it. So he got into the first stall. No sooner
had he closed the stall door and begun to unzip, when he heard some
footsteps entering the men's room.

"So how about that Dee Jay, huh?" the first voice said.

"Oh, he's alright." replied a more gruff sounding voice.

"Ya know, I never know whether to get the Monkey Rum or the Flesh Eating
Virus" said the first voice again.

Frankie hoped those were names of drinks.

"I would go with something classic. Bloody Mary. Shaken, not stirred."

Both of them laughed.

"So did you hear about the move to the new location?"

"Yeah, the boss Red Rooster told us this afternoon."

At the mention of Red Rooster, Frankie's ears perked up. He turned
around and peeked over the bathroom stall door. It was the lion and
tiger, the Red Rooster's henchmen, in business attire.

"So we are going to move everything? The test equipment, the moulding
tools, the ferret girl?" asked the lion.

"Pretty much. Ya know, I kinda do feel sorry for the ferret girl, going
through all those tests and surgical procedures. Never seeing the light
of day for years. But work is work. We are just doing our jobs." said
the tiger.

"That's a classic line. I bet Hitler's SS officers said that all the
time. In German, probably." said the lion, with a bit of a wry grin.

The tiger rolled his eyes. "Oh stop it with the history. You are just
going to make me learn something and get a conscience, aren't you?"

"Say..." the lion stroked his fuzzy chin with a clawed finger. "Do you
happen to have the address for the new location? I did not quite catch
it when the Red Rooster was telling us. As usual, he sounds a bit
muffled through his funky chicken suit."

"Oh sure" the tiger said. He searched the pockets on his wool coat. Then
he checked his shirt pocket. Then he put his hands in his pants pockets
and fumbled around. "Uhh..." he continued, "I do not seem to have a pen
and a piece of paper on me."

The lion looked at the mirror. "Hey, the mirror is a bit steamed up.
Maybe you could write there. In the steam."

The tiger frowned. "Would that not be a security risk? What if someone
sees that?"

The lion chuckled. "Oh pshaw. No one knows who we are. And you are just
writing an address. You aren't going to write 'Location of secret
underground lab' on the mirror, are you?" He made a little quotes
gesture with his hands as he said "Location of secret underground lab".

The tiger sighed. "Ohhkay. Whatever you say."

The tiger lifted his right hand to the mirror and with his index finger,
he scrawled out "1452 Shorter Way, Middletown NY."

From inside the bathroom stall, Frankie watched the tiger write on the
steamed mirror. He scribbled the address down on a piece of paper from
his jacket pocket.

"Shorter Way? Are you kidding? Shorter way to what?" asked the lion
quizzically.

"That's the name of the road!" emphasized the tiger. "Yes, it is.
Really. I looked it up in Streets and Trips 2305."

"Darn. That version is three years old. Are you still using that? I bet
you haven't even started using the new brain beam feature and you are
still printing out directions on paper!" mocked the lion.

"You know that brain beam thingamajiggy causes cancer. High energy
electromagnetic pulse headed straight for your noggin and you think
nothing will be adversely affected?" retorted the tiger. As he spoke
about the electromagnetic pulse, he made a gesture with his index finger
pointing at his forehead and with his hand moving back and forth.

"That has never been proven. There is no medical evidence to
substantiate that claim." said the lion indignantly. "You all just want
another excuse to sue Microsoft."

"Okay, Dr Dean" sighed the tiger. "Don't blame me if you end up with a
skull full of mush. Umm... on the other hand that does explain a lot
about you." he joked, with a bit of a chuckle.

The lion rolled his eyes. "Okay okay. Well, this men's room talk is
becoming a bit stale. Let's head back out to the bar and continue
drinking."

The tiger replied, "Alright. Finally something that we can agree on. You
know, that guy in the first toilet stall is taking an awfully long
time."

"Constipation is the enemy" said the lion with a smirk.

They walked out of the bathroom.

Frankie finished his little piddle in the toilet stall. He zipped back
up and exited the stall. Frankie always washed his hands after using the
bathroom. And this time was no exception. As he stood in front of the
sink taking care of that detail, he read the writing on the mirror a
second time. Then he headed back out to the bar.

His drink was still sitting at the bar. Remarkably, it appeared
undisturbed. And more remarkably, no one had taken his stool at the bar.
Frankie took a few more sips of his drink.

It was not more than a few minutes before he was joined by a fox who
took a seat in the bar stool next to his. On his forehead, the fox was
wearing what appeared to be World War II pilot's goggles with leather
straps, although Frankie was not too familiar with the styles of eyewear
back then. The fox also had on grey track pants and a college
sweatshirt. The sweatshirt read "Cluck U" on the front in a large dark
blue collegiate style font. Frankie had never heard of that particular
institution of higher learning.

"Hey there, cutie" said the fox.

Frankie turned to look at the fox.

"So, come here often?" asked the fox.

Frankie replied "Umm... no. It's my first time."

"Cool. A first timer. It's truly a hopping place, isn't it? And right in
the middle of this stodgy and grey part of Lower Manhattan." said the
fox smiling.

Frankie nodded. "Yeah... would not expect to find this club here."

"The name's Martin, by the way." offered the fox. "So are you in town
for business or pleasure?"

"I'm Frankie" said Frankie. "Let's see... I have business, the pleasure,
then business. Then serious business."

"Okay" Martin put his hands up in mock surrender. "Mr Complicated. Hey,
can I buy you a drink? How about the Monkey Hop?"

Frankie's ears perked up a bit at the mention of Monkey Hop.

"Ah, I see you're interested." said Martin, noticing Frankie's ears
perking up. "So how about it?"

"What's the Monkey Hop? What's in it?" asked Frankie, with an eyebrow
raised quizzically.

"A curious one, I see" replied Martin. "Well... it is made from
hops and... umm... monkeys."  Seeing the look of horror on Frankie's
face, Martin explained, "No, no. I'm just kidding. See? I kid because I
love. No, actually, I think it is a German lager. Mixed with extract of
mushroom and banana powder."

Remembering his past experience with mushrooms, Frankie shook his head
slowly. "Umm... maybe not."

Martin said "Oh, come on. It's okay. I'm buying."

"Oh alright then." Frankie nodded.

Martin turned to the bartender. "Yo, barkeep." he said. "Could you make
a Monkey Hop for my friend here?" He winked at the bartender. "Make it
with love."

The bartender nodded. He started pouring the ingredients into the
shaker.

"So how about those Yankees, huh?" said Martin.

"Sorry? I haven't been watching baseball much of late." said Frankie,
his eyes gazing in the distance. "I was more of a Red Sox fans."

"The Red Sox? They haven't won a World Series in three and a
half centuries." said Martin.

"I guess once you get the curse of the Bambino, it just doesn't go away.
Maybe give them another hundred years and they might have a chance."
Frankie nodded.

"Ohkay... hey, I thought of something. There's a new minor league team.
The Franklinville Ferrets. You're a ferret. You can be their mascot.
Wear a clown suit. Run out on the field with a noisemaker and an air
horn." Martin grinned.

"Umm..." Frankie actually pondered that for a second. "I don't think
so."

The bartender had just finished preparing the drink. He set it down on
the counter in front of Frankie. It appeared to be a brown clear liquid
with some bubbles on the top. There was a customary slice of lime on the
rim of the glass. Frankie sniffed at the drink. It smelled odd but a
little sweet.

"Try it" said Martin.

Frankie took a sip through the straw. It tasted like a bunch of monkeys
had taken a piss in a storm drain, not that he would have know
personally what that was like but if he had to describe it, that's what
he would say. On the whole, it was not that bad as it had a zing to it.
He took another sip.

"It's good, no?" said Martin.

Frankie nodded.

Martin nodded. "So what's a cute ferret like you doing in this part of
town? This is the district of high finance. Got any investments? Any hot
stock tips?" Martin smirked.

"Um, no that is not what I'm here for." said Frankie. "I'm tracking some
leads that may take me to the secret location of a secret underground
organization conducting illegal experiments on my sister. She was
kidnapped when she was little."

Frankie slapped his hand over his mouth. He could hardly believe he had
just said that. And to someone he just met a few minutes ago. Boy, the
drinks must have loosened him up, he thought.

Martin nodded and sighed. "Sorry to hear that. I hope you can get your
sister back. Many kids have been kidnapped and never returned. Who knows
where they end up? Slave labor camps? Toy factories? Gubernatorial
reelection boards?"

Frankie might as well blow the whole thing now, he thought. Or perhaps
that was what the drinks were making him think. "I have actually been
looking for some time. I think they are holding her in some secret
lab. Don't know what exactly they are doing but they are getting blood
and tissue samples. Robbing banks. Killing puppies."

Martin had a look of horror on his face. "Oh, damn it. Have the cops got
on this case?"

Frankie replied "Well, they searched for my sister back when she was
kidnapped. Searched for a couple of months. Came up empty handed. So
they probably won't open up a new search for my sister now until I get
her back myself. Then they will start a search and say 'Aha, there she
is. To your left.'" He shrugged.

Martin chuckled. "Ah, that's the way things are done these days. Not
like in the old days when they brought tanks in and ploughed through
buildings to free the hostages."

"Um" Frankie said, "How long ago was that era?"

"Beats me" said Martin.

And then the drink Frankie was holding turned into a badger. He put it
down on the table. The badger looked at Frankie for a second and then it
took a walk down the counter.

"Badger badger" said Martin. "Badger badger?"

As Frankie looked around, everything and everyone had turned into
badgers. Martin was a badger. The bartender was a badger. All the bar
patrons were badgers. The lion and the tiger were badgers. The Dee Jay
was a badger sitting in the corner with his headphones and his console.
The dancers were all badgers. The greeter sitting in the tollbooth was a
badger. The bar stools were badgers. Frankie was sitting on a badger.
The bar was a badger. There were badgers everywhere, twisting and
squirming and wiggling and dancing. As the scene around him dissolved
and started dripping like the clocks in a certain Salvador Dali painting
and just before he lost consciousness and fell backwards, Frankie felt
an arm supporting his back. He knew what was coming next. He closed his
eyes. And all was darkness.