Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  “Maybe he can just read what’s on the paper,” the senator said.

  “I don’t think so, and I’ll tell you why in a moment. One other little trick or slight of mind he did was control what we thought. He had two lap-size chalkboards. He invited a woman from the audience to write an eight-digit number on one. Neither he nor the audience could see it. He then stepped up to us, the audience. One by one he selected eight people and asked each one to give him a number from zero to nine. One of those individuals happened to be Franny. He wrote these digits onto the second chalkboard. When he was done, he had the woman turn the first chalkboard so they could be seen side-by-side. The numbers were identical.

  “That’s the power of mind control.”

  “You’re saying he mentally told these people what to say?”

  “He implanted the number into their minds in such a way that they thought they came up with it on their own. He also either read the mind of the woman who wrote the first eight digits or mentally told her what to write.

  As far as being able to read minds, I’d have to say he was able to read something. After the dinner and performance, people mingled about, politicizing with each other, exchanging favors and whatever. Philippe Thibodeaux was mingling as well and Franny and I had an opportunity to chat with him for a few seconds. Franny was totally flabbergasted by him and I have to admit I was rather impressed as well. I mentioned this to him and he said quietly, ‘You are not who you say you are. Samuelson is not your given name.’ He shook our hands, thanked us for coming, and walked away. Fanny and I left our drinks on the nearest table and walked out.”

  “Do you think he read anything else?”

  “If he did, he certainly didn’t let on. What I learned is that there’s something out there a whole lot bigger than us. I’m speaking of ‘Us’ in the more global sense. There’s a lot we don’t understand and likely never will. Sometimes some of us are allowed a glimpse into that unknown. That’s where Broad Horizons is now. We’re glimpsing something that’s a lot more powerful than us. All we can do is accept what we see and move on because if we stop and try to think about it, try to understand it, we’ll do nothing more than fall into, as Gracy so elegantly put it, the proverbial rabbit hole.”

  “You’re saying we’re under control of something greater than us,” said Henry. “Are you implying God or something?”

  “Call it what you wish. God. Space aliens. Ancestral spirits. A galactic force. A panel of angels. You choose.”

  Henry sat back and laughed. “I can choose, but whatever I choose, you’re saying, someone, something is actually telling me to make that choice?”

  “A bit unnerving, isn’t it?”

  It was a number of seconds before the senator spoke up again. “So, what is it we should do now, or more correctly, what is it you might think we shall be manipulated into doing now? Our little group has grown from seven to nine and we have yet to be asked or told. This James Lamric was a surprise.”

  “Yes, Officer Lamric showing up at Steven’s house certainly set me back to thinking. But, we see now he is becoming instrumental. I wish we had the foresight to have placed a bug in Steven’s home before that.”

  “What about Professor Hair? He was on our selection list four years ago. Why was it we didn’t include him? We were basing the entire program on his theories.”

  “I think we came to the conclusion he was too old, too inflexible.”

  “We all had a feeling that he wouldn’t be right,” the lieutenant said.

  Samuelson pointed his finger at the lieutenant. “That’s right. And none of us could put a finger on why, so we simply said too old and inflexible. Now, here he is, part of the program, without our approval and we all just sit back and say, okay. Does anyone actually object to him being allowed in?”

  He looked from person to person and only got shaking heads.

  “There you go again. We are being manipulated. We aren’t making these decisions. Someone else is making them for us. We are the puppets.”

  “Or we all think alike,” said the Senator.

  “Think alike, Henry? When outside of Broad Horizons have any of us ever thought like each other? Look at you and Gracy. She’s liberal. You’re conservative. That’s like saying a cat and dog think alike or a donkey and an elephant, for God’s sake.” He pointed at the lieutenant. “Then you have military and the both of you nonmilitary. Gracy is a Southerner yet she is a congresswoman from New York. Henry, you’re a Northerner yet a Florida Senator. I fail to see how you can agree on anything, yet inside the umbrella of Broad Horizons you hold hands and walk down every road together.”

  “I don’t concur, Sam,” the lieutenant said.

  “There!” Gracy shot up an excited arm. “He disagrees. That disproves your theory.”

  “I think not,” Samuelson argued. “This disagreement is outside the realm of the project. We have simply disagreed on the reason why we always agree when making decisions concerning the project.”

  The opening of the suite door broke the thread of the conversation.

  “Hi! Sorry I’m late. This old body just doesn’t move as fast as it used to.” Franny set her package on the table and reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

  “I’d be willing to bet you got stuck in Barnes & Noble.”

  She made a face. “Hush, Sam. It’s just so hard to get out of there. It’s like a giant candy store.”

  “You’ve already more books than you’ll ever be able to read, Aunt Franny.”

  “There are never enough books, Henry. And I’m only 75 years old. Lots of time. When I go, I just may have to take some with me.”

  “If I know my wife, she’ll figure out a way to do it, too,” Sam said.

  “So, what did I miss?”

  “We listened to parts of the tape from last night’s meeting at Jerry’s. There’s definitely some bad blood between Steven and his father-in-law. Their meeting didn’t start out very friendly.”

  Franny raised her eyebrows. The senator said, “If not for our Officer Lamric, Steven may have been dead and Professor Hair up for murder.”

  “I gather everything is okay now.”

  “He quieted down and stopped threatening to kill him once he understood how it all transpired. They told him everything. He’s at the lab right now coming up to speed. He’s still treating Steven like nothing more than a college freshman.”

  “So! Nothing much to do but wait, and keep the moneybag open. How long now, Sam?”

  “65 days.”

  The lieutenant said, “Not very long to make it work.”

  “But they do make it work, Lieutenant,” Sam said. “I don’t know how well, but I do know, they will make it work.”

  Chapter 35

  Sunday ~ September 12, 1943

  Roark pulled out the crumpled pack of Pall Malls, extracted one of the last three cigarettes and put it between his lips. He didn’t light it. He didn’t want to take the chance. He knew he was nearly invisible in his dark clothes in the deep shadow of a big leafy bush. But he needed a cigarette. It was at least the tenth time in two hours that he pulled it out of the pack. The waiting was driving him crazy with not even being able to light a smoke. It would be his luck that just as he lit the match some busy body would be looking out her window. Too many windows in sight of where he hid.

  He was careful. Never could be too careful. He staked out this bar for several nights, as well as going in during the day for a little drink and a look about. He even bought the now nearly empty pack of cigarettes in the establishment – his last pack. He spent those nights studying where everything was until he was sure he could navigate the place in the dark, and watching the habits of the proprietor when he locked up and went home. The previous night, Friday, Roark sat and nursed a beer until near closing and then pretended to pass out. The proprietor emptied the cash register into a cigar box and carried that into a small room Roark assumed to be an office. When he came out he shook Roark and told him to go
home. Roark kindly staggered out the door. Banks don’t open until Monday so Roark figured Saturday’s money was probably added to the box and left in the office room.

  He visited the bar again this night and a half hour before closing he went into the men’s room. It had a window off the back that had been painted over. He locked the door and then went to work unlocking the window and cutting along the edge where it had been painted shut. It didn’t take long as there wasn’t much paint. He flushed the toilet, unlocked the door and walked through the bar and out to the street.

  That was two hours ago.

  The guy should have gone home by now.

  He rolled the cigarette around in his fingers and then put it back in the pack. Besides the money, he would grab as many cigarette packs as he could put in his pockets, and a bottle of rum. Maybe two. And then tomorrow he would pack up and head south where it was warmer. That’s what he promised himself if the money was good from this bar. He also promised himself he would never be cold again. Already the nights in South Carolina were getting uncomfortable. Maybe he would go all the way to Miami or to the Keys. He heard you never have to wear a coat down there.

  He put the cigarette pack into his pocket, and then took it right back out. He turned it around in his fingers for a while and thought about the fact that in the middle of the night nobody would be looking out their windows to see him strike a match. He pulled out the cigarette, put the pack in his pocket, then dug for a match. He put the cigarette in his mouth and then looked at all the dark houses with pains of glass peering down at him.

  Quiet and dark.

  He pulled up his pant leg to expose his left boot, laid the match against the rib, and then saw the back door to the bar open. The proprietor dragged out several trashcans then went back in, leaving the door open. Roark put away the match and cigarette, and continued to wait.

  The night was cool; exactly the way James liked it. It was a good night to patrol through the streets of Charleston. The bars were closed and even the rowdy drunks had gone home. Now, it was just him and Roger, and his thoughts.

  And what James thought about most in those quiet times was Anne.

  A month and a half and she was still living in his house in the room next door, which used to be his brother’s. She talked of finding a job and getting her own place because it was something she needed to do. It was something he needed even more and didn’t want. He didn’t want her where he couldn’t see her every day, couldn’t smell the fragrance of her presence, or feel the movement of air she disturbed when she passed near him or even just entered the room he was in. He took to reading books more, for no other reason than to otherwise occupy his mind when she was around or to give him a cover when he couldn’t think of anything but her. He was glad he worked nights and slept days, giving him fewer agonizing hours in her presence. He hated the fact that he worked nights and slept days giving him fewer pleasurable hours in her presence. Too often, he would wake early and agonize over whether to get up or not.

  He dismounted at a call box and pulled a couple of sugar cubes from his pocket. Roger took them from his hand appreciatively. “You like her too, don’t you old boy?”

  Roger waited on the possibility of more sugar cubes showing up. James occasionally came by the house while on duty and let Anne ride him up and down the street. Roger got a lot more sugar cubes out of her as well as some sweet talk and soft stroking on his neck. He really liked that and sometimes James found himself a bit jealous.

  James slapped him on the neck and stepped over to the call box. He didn’t have to give Roger an order to stay. He was well trained so that anytime they were at a call box he waited. Anytime James dismounted for anything, he waited, unless called or given orders otherwise. Until the saddle came off, Roger had no inclination to do anything but what he was trained to do.

  James called the station.

  It worked like a charm. In three minutes Roark had the window to the men’s room open and was inside. He felt his way into the short hall and up to the office. He closed the door and turned on the light.

  Besides a desk and two chairs, there were stacks of boxes – liquor boxes – whiskey, rum, bourbon and other names he couldn’t read. He only knew those because that’s what he saw the most when he sat at a bar. Those were a few of the words he had memorized. No point in filling your head with a lot of useless words. He just memorized the important ones.

  The flaps of a rum box were open and there were three bottles. He pulled out two and placed them on the desk. His eyes lit upon cases of cigarettes. This wasn’t an office. This was a storeroom with a desk in it. From a case of Pall-Malls he took three cartons and sat them next to the bottles of rum.

  I should have brought a pillow case, he thought, then reminded himself how that wasn’t a good idea. Take only what you can put in your pockets or otherwise carry concealed. You walk down the street with a bulky pillowcase over your shoulder and you’re sure to be asked questions. Stay as invisible as possible.

  He began looking in the drawers of the desk. Only papers and junk, except a bottom one which contained a stack of towels. He closed it and looked around the room. On a shelf in the corner was toilet paper, barroom dust, cartons of candy and more towels. He walked over and opened a box of candy and stuffed some into his pockets. Maybe the proprietor didn’t leave the money here. Maybe he took it home with him.

  Roark opened the cartons of cigarettes and began distributing packs throughout his pockets. He wore a coat but even with that he couldn’t get all of two cartons. Not and leave room for the rum. The coat, which he borrowed from the big house with the chandelier, had a large inside pocket. He tried putting one of the bottles in it. The pocket wasn’t big enough. He put the bottle down.

  I could just carry them.

  No! Just take what you can carry hidden.

  He turned away from the rum bottles and thought about the money again. Why would the proprietor walk down the street in the middle of the night with so much money? Not smart. It’s got to be hidden here somewhere. He looked under the desk and around the stuff stacked on the shelves. He pushed the towels back and forth and then started going through all the open boxes. Nothing but more beer and liquor, which only frustrated him more. He stood in the middle of the room and turned slowly until his eyes lighted again on the towels.

  Why would someone keep towels on the shelf and in a desk drawer?

  He returned to the desk and opened the bottom drawer where he had seen the towels. Instead of the expected stack of towels, Roark found only three, under which were two cigar boxes. One was half full of paper currency. The other was packed so full the lid wouldn’t shut all the way.

  Roark was so excited that he was shaking. “Didn’t I say it’d be in a cigar box? Nobody trusts banks anymore. Trust in your cigar box. Yes siree!”

  But now Roark had a problem. He had to remove packs of cigarettes to make room for the money. Don’t get greedy Roarky boy. With this money and what you got from the doctor and the chandelier lady, you can take a bus to Miami instead of thumb, and live for years without having to steal. Yes siree. My luck has certainly changed.

  He unloaded the cigarettes, distributed the money – lots and lots of money – and then replaced as many of the cigarette packs as he could. Then he remembered the smaller, flat bottles of whiskey. He saw them behind the bar before closing. That’s what he’ll do. He’ll get one of them little bottles, maybe two. Put one in a pocket and carry the other. No big deal to be carrying a small bottle of whiskey down the street. He’d just look like the average drunk. He turned off the light and opened the door.

  It took Roark a while to find the whiskey, even after waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. There was almost no light whatsoever. After knocking over a stack of glasses, two bottles of something and then slipping and falling down in the mess of broken glass and liquor, and receiving a painful cut on his hand, he located the smaller bottles. He sacrificed three more cigarette packs in order to get one bottle nest
led into the inside pocket and then picked up a second bottle, carefully retreating through the broken glass. He wished he could find a towel to wrap around his bleeding hand. He no sooner had the thought than his hand lit on a bar towel. He took it and several shot glasses crashed to the floor.

  Once clear of the bar area and crunching of glass, Roark felt his way down the hall to the men’s room. He was rich and very happy with himself, and he thought that if he was quick he could come back for more cigarettes. This was a gold mine, but it wasn’t going to be open past sunrise.

  “We’ve got a call,” James said to Roger and pulled himself into the saddle. All Roger understood was the word, Call and the shift in his master’s attitude and body odor. Roger’s sense of smell in relation to the actions of humans was keen, and he understood his master’s most of all. They were going somewhere and they were going there fast, but not at breakneck speed. Unless it was life and death of a human, they never went at breakneck speed. If they weren’t careful, the hard paved streets and cobblestones were not forgiving to a horse and his master.

  James and Roger approached an alley that separated a few small businesses from a row of Victorian three story homes. It was one of the homes from where an old woman watched someone go in a back window of Gee Gee’s Bar, and then called the police. James dismounted and walked with Roger up to where he could see the back of the establishment. He left Roger in the alley and approached the final twenty yards alone.

  Although at first appearing to be closed, when he got closer, he could see the painted over window was open a crack. All he could do now was wait and hope the perpetrator would come out the same way he went in. The station was trying to get a hold of the owner. Another officer was on the way.

  James was expecting it but he was nevertheless startled when the window started moving up. He pressed himself against the brick wall and watched first a foot then a leg, followed by a second leg and a torso, work their way out the window.