by Len Melvin
“No. C’mon, let’s go see mom.” Beaux grabbed Simon by the elbow, pulling him toward the kitchen. “She’ll be glad to see you.”
Simon turned back to Bobby and gave him a half-wave with his free hand. As he did, he caught a glimpse over Bobby’s shoulder of a dark-headed man with long black hair sitting at a table with four other men. He turned to follow Beaux, not hesitating, not allowing anyone to see that he had been startled. Those guys again. His mind processed the information as he entered the kitchen, arms wide and shouted, “Margaret.”
Maddie’s eyes widened and she froze, a ladle held in place over a pot that emitted wisps of smoke that almost obscured her face. She screamed and ran from behind the cooking line and jumped into Simon’s arms. He twirled her as he had done Beaux just moments before. “Oh, Simon, it’s been so long.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“Well, that’s what happens when you get famous, I guess.” Maddie shook the ladle at him.
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Christina said as she came through the double doors of the kitchen. “Girls are throwing themselves at him all the time and he’s got such a big head.”
Simon rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He put an arm around Christina. “The thing is, all I ever do is work. You guys met last night, I think?”
They both nodded. “Just barely. I had a date and was late. I’m sorry.” Maddie gave Christina a half hug.
“No worries. I know how it is.” Christina smiled up at Simon.
“Mom, you always have a date. It’s always like that with you.”
“Oh, really, Miss-Getting-Too-Big-For-Your-Pants?” Maddie crossed her arms. “I hear you have a boyfriend, by the way.”
“Mom,” she said, shifting under everyone’s sudden interest, “how’d you know that?”
“I hear things. It’s a small town.”
“Bobby.” Beaux spit the name out under her breath.
“When are we going to meet him?”
“Yeah, Beaux. I’m only here for a while. I’d like to meet him.” Simon put his hand on Beaux’s shoulder.
“I don’t know.”
“C’mon, Beaux. When can we meet him?” Christina added.
“Well,” Beaux hesitated for a long moment. “Well, he’s not going to be here much longer either so maybe it would be okay.”
“Where’s he going?” Simon asked.
“He’s here on business. He’s leaving tomorrow.”
“What’s he do?” asked Christina.
“He makes documentaries.”
“Really?” asked Maddie. “That’s interesting.”
“What’s his name?” asked Christina.
“Malouf.”
“Malouf?” asked Simon. “Long black hair? Kind of dark-skinned? Hangs out with some strange guys?”
“That’s him,” Beaux cocked her head, her eyes wide in surprise. “You know him?”
“Yeah, I met him the other day.”
“Where?”
“At a coffee shop. He said he was from the press and they were here to cover the rally.”
“That’s funny. I can’t believe you met him.”
“And I see he’s sitting out in the restaurant right now.”
“How did you know that?”
“C’mon, you know that you and I notice everything.”
“He’s here?” Maddie asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’d like to meet him,” Christina said.
“Me, too,” said Maddie.
“And me again,” Simon said. “Now that I know he’s your boyfriend.”
Beaux nodded. “Okay. C’mon,” she headed to the door. “I guess if you don’t meet him now, it might be a while.”
“You all go ahead.” Maddie called after them, turning back to the cooking line. “I’ve got some orders to get out. I’ll meet him later.”
◆◆◆
“Uh oh.”
“What?” Malouf glanced at the android to his left who was staring over Malouf’s shoulder. A large piece of chicken-fried steak dripping white gravy was on a fork in front of Malouf’s mouth. “What?” Malouf insisted.
“The Secret Service agent from the coffee shop just came into the restaurant and he appears to be friends with Beaux.”
Malouf turned slowly toward the bar. “Ah, shit.” He turned back quickly, stuck the chicken-fried steak in his mouth and chewed quickly. He washed it down with a quick sip of beer. “Keep an eye on him.”
“They just went into the kitchen.”
“Did he see us?”
“I don’t think so. At least if he did, he didn’t show it.”
“I knew we shouldn’t have come here tonight. We’re pushing our luck,” one of the androids said.
“We should pay and go,” the android to Malouf’s right said.
“That might look suspicious,” another android said.
“And he already seemed suspicious,” one of the other androids said.
“I know,” Malouf shook his head. “Let’s just play it normal. We’ve already shown our credentials. We’re not doing anything wrong.” He sat up straight as a thought occurred to him. “Oh, man.”
“What?” all of the androids asked at once.
“Beaux said her uncle was a Secret Service agent. That has to be him.”
“The suspicious Secret Service agent is her uncle?” the android to the left asked.
“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” the android to the right said.
“What do you mean?” Malouf asked.
“Well, she is your…” the android searched for a word, “your friend. Maybe that is helpful.”
“How?” asked another android.
“Maybe it makes us less suspicious to him.”
“Maybe,” Malouf said.
“Well, they’re coming out of the kitchen,” the android to his left said. “And…” the android hesitated, “it looks like they’re headed our way.”
“Ah, shit,” Malouf uttered under his breath.
◆◆◆
Moments later, Beaux laid a hand on his back and Malouf turned around. “Hey,” she said, beaming down on him. I want to introduce you to my uncle and his girlfriend.” Malouf wiped his mouth with a napkin and rose from his chair. “This is Christina. She lives in the District and is super cool. And this is my Uncle Simon. He’s the Secret Service agent I was telling you about. And this is Malouf,” Beaux kept her hand on Malouf’s back as she turned to Christina and Simon. “He’s a really good friend of mine. And these are the boys.” Beaux motioned toward the androids.
Christina took a step forward. “Very nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, also,” Malouf shook her hand.
Simon moved forward and extended a hand to Malouf. “I don’t think we’ve met formally.”
Malouf took the offered hand. “Malouf.”
“That’s right. Just one name. I remember. Simon. Simon Sorenson.”
Malouf froze, his hand still engulfed in the hand of the Secret Service agent. “Sorenson?”
Simon nodded. “That’s it.”
“Simon Sorenson?” Malouf asked again, an air of disbelief in his voice.
Simon hesitated. “Yes. Why?”
“Nothing.” Malouf released the hand and eased down into his seat, casting an uneasy glance at the androids. “That name just sounds familiar.”
“I told you, I thought you looked familiar when we met the first time.”
The color had drained from Malouf’s face. “Maybe,” he stuttered, “maybe we have met before.”
“Maybe. But I still can’t remember where.”
Malouf whirled in his seat and stared at Beaux. “Your name. What is your real name?”
“Beaux. Why?” Beaux took a half-step back in surprise. “Why would you ask that?”
“That’s your real name?”
“She’s been Beaux so long she considers it her real name,” Simon answered, placing
his hand on Beaux’s shoulder. “Her real name is Diana. Her brothers tried to call her ‘brother’ when they were young but they pronounced it as ‘Beaux.’ And it stuck.”
“You’re Diana Sorenson?” Malouf pronounced each word slowly and deliberately.
“Yeah, why?” Beaux glanced at Simon and then looked back at Malouf. “Why did you say it like that?”
Malouf stared at Beaux, his hands clasped so tight that his knuckles turned white. He rocked slowly back and forth as he glanced at the androids.
“What’s wrong with you?” Beaux’s voice rose in annoyance, a slight frown on her face. “Why does that matter?”
“Nothing.” Malouf’s voice was so low that Beaux moved forward in order to hear. “It doesn’t,” he said louder. “I was just surprised. I just always thought your name was Beaux.” Malouf looked ashen-faced at the androids who were all still staring at him. He turned back to Beaux and Simon. “It just surprised me. Sorry. Anyway, can I get the check? We need to be going soon.”
“Sure,” Beaux said, her voice uncertain. “I’ll get it.” She hesitated, gave a sideward glance at Simon and then turned and went to the bar.
Simon surveyed the table. No food or drinks were in front of the four others at the table. Malouf was struggling to get his wallet out of his pocket. He tried to remember where he had seen him before. And the reaction at his and Beaux’s name? What was that? Something’s really wrong here. But they’re not assassins. He knew that. He had been around too many of those and these guys were not killers. Then what?
◆◆◆
Malouf grabbed the only empty chair at the table and with both hands, hurled it against the wall. “Freaking Diana Sorenson,” he screamed. “Motherfucker!”
The androids sitting in the remaining chairs exchanged startled looks.
Malouf strode the length of the hotel room and back, his arms clasped behind him, head down, muttering to himself. The four androids sat at the table in the middle of the room watching him. “Sir, if I may, I think this was one of the reasons behind the rule of not becoming involved with people or to be interfering with events as they are happening.” Malouf ignored the android, and continued pacing.
“Sir, you know that you cannot take any actions based on what we just learned. We are not to affect, alter or change things.”
Malouf stopped, said something to himself and then took a quick step and kicked the upended chair, sending it rattling across the room.
“Sir, we are not to get involved. The fact that she is…”
Malouf whirled around. “Go pack up. We’re getting out of here. Thirty minutes, we’re out. Any questions?”
They blinked back at him. “Where are we going, Sir? And why so early?” the same one asked.
“Just a feeling that we need to get out of here. And it might be good to get to the site early.”
The androids rose in tandem, but one of them stopped and turned back to Malouf. “Sir, a question.”
“Yes?”
“You have become friends with this girl?”
“Yes.”
“You know that she and her uncle are going to die?”
Malouf was silent for a long moment. He put a hand to his brow and breathed out deeply. “Yes,” he said finally.
“And how they are going to die?”
Malouf leaned over and put his hands on his knees. “Yes,” he mumbled.
“Sir?” The android moved forward.
“Yes, I know,” Malouf snapped.
“You know the possible consequences of altering what is to be?”
Malouf nodded without answering.
“I am just reminding you of the mission, the objective of the mission, and the rules concerning engagement of the people in this era.”
“Got it.” Malouf set the chair upright. “Out. Let’s go. Thirty minutes and I’ll see you guys at the front door of the hotel.”
“Yes, sir,” they said, then filed out of the room in single file.
Malouf locked the door behind them and sagged against the doorframe. Beaux and her uncle were going to die. And horribly. And like all of the times before, he could do nothing but stand back and watch it happen. He straightened and, head down, began pacing, a hand over his mouth in thought.
He turned suddenly, grabbed a vase that sat on a table and threw it against the wall. “Fuck!” he screamed. He put a hand over his brow and went to his knees. He put his arms onto the bed and nestled his face into the crook of his elbow. He stared into the darkness and thought of all that was about to happen. Tears appeared from the corners of his eyes and he began to sob.
After some minutes, he swiped an arm across his face and pushed himself up from the floor. In a trance, he gathered his things, stuffing everything into his bags and then he checked the room one last time.
Something was missing. That’s strange. He emptied all of the contents of the bags onto the bed and then repacked everything again. He retraced his steps through the room, the bathroom, under the bed, and in the closet, searching everywhere in the hotel room. He checked the pockets of his jacket. Finally he returned to his bags and stared down at them. Fuck.
His baton was gone.
Chapter Twenty
Saturday
“Oh, my God!”
Simon sat straight up and blinked into the darkness. He hesitated and then jumped from the bed and ran to the computer. He jammed his finger against the power button and waited impatiently for it to boot up.
Across the room, the covers rustled. “What’s wrong?” Christina muttered sleepily.
“It can’t be,” Simon whispered, as his fingers moved restlessly over the mouse.
Christina sat up, rubbed a hand across her face. She brushed hair out of her face, and leaned against the backboard of the bed, the sheet covering her just above her breasts. “Another nightmare? Which one is it this time?”
“Not a nightmare.” Simon peered at the screen and began to click keys. “I just remember where I’ve seen Malouf.”
“Malouf? Is he going to be added to the nightmare sequence?”
“But it just can’t be.” Simon said ignoring the question. “It just can’t be,” he repeated. “It’s impossible.” He hit some more keys and moved his head closer to the images on the screen. “Oh, my God,” he said, elongating the phrase. “My God, it can’t be.” He leaned back in the chair and then rose and walked a semi-circle around the chair. He sat back down, a hand against his forehead. “How could this be?”
“What are you talking about?” Christina’s voice rose in a mixture of annoyance and puzzlement.
Simon stood again and walked to the other side of the room. He put a hand across his mouth as he continued to stare at the video playing on the computer screen. He went back to the computer and stood in front of it. “They have the same mannerisms. They move in the same way. God, it’s him. It has to be. But how? Come here.” He stared at the grainy image of the figure walking to the side of the motorcade, still refusing to believe what he was seeing. “Come over here,” he said, when Christina didn’t move. “You have to see this.”
“What?”
“Come here,” Simon said, his voice rising. “My God,” he said in a lower tone to himself.
Christina rubbed her eyes again, yawned and shivered as she rose from the warmth of the bed. She picked up a white bath robe, slipped it on, tied it around her waist, then pulled her long blonde hair out from under the collar as she stepped up behind him. “What?”
“Look.” He clicked a key on the computer and the motorcade began its path around Dealey Plaza. “Tell me what you see.”
Christina shut her eyes. “C’mon, Simon, I don’t want to see this. It’s gruesome and it’s hard to watch.”
“Not the President. Look at the figure in the background.”
“Who?”
Simon picked up a pen from the table and placed it over the image of a man in the video, moving slowly, staring at the President and First Lady as they passed. “Look
closely.”
Christina moved closer to the screen, squinting at the man in the video. “So?”
“Do you recognize him?”
“What do you mean recognize him?”
“Look again closely.” Christina stared at Simon, her eyes clouded in confusion, then turned back to the computer screen. Simon replayed the video and pointed to the figure again as he walked along beside the motorcade. “Take the glasses off and put him in black clothes and long hair.”
“What? What are you saying?”
“It’s Malouf.”
Christina jerked her head back and her eyes narrowed as she glared at Simon. “Have you gone crazy?” She put her hands on her hips and then, exasperated, tapped her hand on top of the computer. “That’s from 1963.”
“I know.” Simon clicked the mouse and zoomed in on the figure, as the image became blurry and pixelated. “But that’s him. I can tell by the way he moves. I watched him leave the coffee shop the other day, and it was exactly the same.”
“Look, you’re tired.” Her voice was resigned and matter of fact. “You have…”
Simon interrupted. “It’s him, I tell you.”
“Simon,” Christina let out a deep breath, “c’mon.” Her head dipped, tilted in doubt, her eyes small as she squinted at him. She put a hand on his arm. “Look,” she began in a deliberate manner, “I’ve seen you do some incredible things with that super-recognizer thing you have and I’ve never doubted you when you remembered something or someone no one else could. But this is preposterous. No, wait,” Christina held up a hand as Simon started to speak, “just a second. This is more than preposterous.” Christina’s voice became louder, filling the room. “It’s fucking impossible. That—” she pointed at the computer, “happened almost seventy years ago. And Malouf looks like he’s about thirty.”
“I can’t explain it. But that’s him.”
Christina rolled her eyes dismissively and put a hand over her mouth as she yawned. “I can’t believe you got me up for this.” She checked the clock on the nightstand. “It’s after two. I’m going to back to bed.”
“Just give me ten minutes.” Simon pulled out the chair next to him. “Have a seat. I want to show you something.”
