The Asian man stood five feet away from him with a rifle pointed directly at his face. Martin saw the blackness in the barrel, death taunting him with its black eye.
“Whoa, man, I don’t want any trouble,” Martin said, trying to sound calm beneath his panicked surface.
“Who are you? What do you want from me?” the clerk asked, his lips trembling nervously.
Martin gulped, wondering what the hell he did to make this man think he needed to pull a rifle on him.
“Look, I think you have me mistaken for someone else. All I want is this bottle.” Martin stuck the bottle in front of him, but the clerk kept the gun aimed at his face.
“Bullshit! Who sent you?”
“No one sent me. I live down the street. I’m new in town.”
“That’s exactly what a Road Runner would say.”
Road Runner? What the fuck?
“Okay, can you please put the gun down? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The man refused, and Martin’s heart tried to burst out of his chest. The adrenaline heightened his every sense as he caught the light reflecting off the man’s shiny black hair, heard the buzzing of the lights above, and could smell the overall fear present in the room. The man’s eye appeared magnified through the scope he looked through.
“Tell me what year you came from and what your business is here,” the man demanded.
“Uh.” The question smacked Martin with shock and confusion. “I’m sorry, what did you just ask?”
“You heard me just fine,” the clerk barked, not budging his shotgun.
“How do you know?” Martin uttered in a soft whisper.
“Stop playing with me and tell me who sent you!” the clerk screamed, his hair ruffling as his body convulsed in rage.
“An old man named Chris sent me here. I’m from the year 2018.” Martin decided to stop asking questions and cooperate with the crazed gunman.
The clerk lowered the shotgun from Martin’s face, but kept it pointed to his chest. The rage behind the man’s eyes softened as he cocked an eyebrow. “And why are you here? In this year? In this city?”
Martin hadn’t realized his hands were raised in defense, so he lowered them to his sides. “I’ve always lived in this city, born and raised. My daughter went missing in 1996…was never found. I’m here to figure out what happened.”
The clerk lowered the shotgun more as it now pointed to Martin’s knees. “Prove that Chris sent you.”
“How do I do that?”
“Tell me the name of his store.”
“Wealth of Time,” Martin said with complete confidence.
“How did he send you here?”
“With a pill.”
“What’s the painting hanging on the wall in his back office?”
Martin closed his eyes and imagined the painting. “I don’t remember what he called it, but it was a sailboat in a storm with Jesus Christ.”
The response satisfied the man and he lowered his gun all the way to the floor, loosening his tense shoulders in the process. “Okay, I believe you. What’s your name?”
“Martin,” he said, his heart rate dropping back to normal.
“How did you meet Chris?” the clerk asked, still sure to keep his distance.
“At his store. My mom loves antique shops and dragged me in there.”
“How did you know to come find me here?”
Martin threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know who you are. I honestly came in here to buy this bottle. Can you please tell me what’s going on?”
“Did Chris not tell you?”
“Tell me what? That there are people who know I’m from the future? No, he didn’t.”
Martin’s earlier fear had now morphed into anger.
“Okay, okay. Come with me to the front. I don’t want someone to walk in and see us like this.”
The clerk turned and shuffled his feet back to the cashier’s counter. Martin saw the homeless man still outside, falling deeper into sleep as the morning grew warmer. The clerk returned his shotgun underneath the counter and slapped his hands on top, leaning in to Martin who studied the miniature bottles that stretched the length of the front wall.
“Where to start?” the clerk said under his breath.
“You can tell me your name,” Martin said.
“Ahh, yes, of course. My name is Calvin Yoshiki. I’m a political historian from the year 2076 and am here studying the re-election and impeachment process of President Clinton for references that we need in the future.”
“2076? But that year hasn’t happened yet. It’s only 2018.”
Calvin raised an eyebrow to Martin and rubbed his chin aggressively. “Chris really didn’t tell you much on how any of this works, did he?”
“Apparently not. I don’t know anything about 2076, or Road Runners, or why you know I’m not from here.”
“Okay, okay. I can explain.” Calvin repositioned himself to face the door while he spoke. “Time is always happening; we just live in our current times based on birth. Just because it’s 2018 where you come from, doesn’t mean 2076 isn’t happening somewhere else. Every era in history and the future rests in its own dimension. Chris provides us the means to jump across these dimensions for our work.”
“Okay, I understand the time travel portion, just didn’t understand going to the future was an option.”
“Yes, of course. You can go anywhere, but you must have a reason. He doesn’t send you for vacation. You need a purpose.”
“So who are the Road Runners, and why do you want to shoot them?”
“The Road Runners are evil bastards. They stole the potions from Chris and have been jumping through time trying to take over the world in every era of time. They will kill anyone who travels through time and doesn’t join them on their mission.”
“Why wouldn’t Chris warn me of these people? How do you know who they are?”
“Look at me.” Calvin stepped back and held his arms out.
“I don’t see anything. You look like a normal guy to me.”
And he did. Calvin was a twig of a man who would likely be toast against these Road Runners if not for his shotgun. Martin shrugged his shoulders.
“Look carefully. Stare at my arms.”
Martin adjusted his focus, zeroing on the skinny arms that trembled slightly. A subtle, golden haze glowed from the man’s skin.
Calvin saw the confusion fall over Martin’s face and smiled. “You see it, yeah?”
“I think so. Are you glowing?”
“Yes! Exactly! Once you travel through time, your body emits the smallest amount of light. Something happens in the process that causes this, but everyone has it.”
“You make it sound like there are a lot of people who travel through time.”
“There are thousands of us. That’s how I knew you were from another time.”
Martin thought his eyes might be playing tricks on him; the glow wasn’t visible unless he really focused on it. He held his own arm out and studied the same glow emitting from his skin.
“It’s so hard to see,” he said to himself.
“Yes, but in time you’ll know how to look for it more easily.”
“So what made you think I was one of these Road Runners?”
“Well, word is there are a couple in town. They usually like the finer things in life; they’re very rich. So when you asked for an expensive bottle, I assumed you were one.”
“Makes sense, but I can’t be the only person to travel back in time and spend money. I might be poor in 2018, but with inflation, I’m rich now. I’m sure you’re loaded with money, seeing how far from the future you’ve come.”
“On the contrary, that’s part of why I’m here. The year 2076 is ugly, my friend. We’re on the verge of a dictatorship, and the economy is collapsing. We’re studying the impeachment process, which is why I’m here.”
“A dictatorship? In the United States? Impossible.”
/> Calvin chuckled. “That’s exactly what we all thought, but here we are, fighting for our democracy one day at a time. But we can have that conversation another time.”
Martin nodded, not sure what to think. Fortunately, he’d be long gone by the year 2076.
“That’ll be $126.98, please,” Calvin said, placing the scotch in a brown paper bag. “You come find me if you need anything. We don’t typically mingle, best to not be grouped together in case the Road Runners show up, but we do help each other. Don’t be afraid to introduce yourself when you see another one of us.”
“How do I know who the Road Runners are?”
“Oh, you’ll know when you come across one,” Calvin said and shot Martin a wink.
Well, that does me no good.
“It was great meeting you, Calvin. I honestly had no idea there were other people doing this.”
“Pleasure’s all mine. Best of luck finding your daughter. Come back any time if you need more booze, I’ll give you a deal.”
Martin had never heard more beautiful words spoken.
17
Chapter 16
With pieces of the puzzle finally falling in to place—granted, he hadn’t been aware there was more to the puzzle—Martin returned to his apartment with a sense of accomplishment. Calvin had just taken him through Time Travel 101, and he now felt ready to take on whatever the past would throw his way.
Despite the information he had just learned, Martin felt relaxed, like he belonged in his current situation. He considered buying a gun to protect himself from the Road Runners, wondering if they would even bother a desperate father out on his own agenda. Martin felt relief knowing he was not alone in his time traveling adventure. Even if he never saw Calvin again, just knowing there were others out there made him feel less lonely on this journey.
He arrived to his complex and walked straight into Vinny’s office where the landlord peered over a stack of documents. Martin kept the bottle hidden behind his back as he stepped into the office.
“Hey, Vinny.”
Vinny looked up with droopy, tired eyes that quickly brightened up at the sight of his new tenant. “Mr. Martin! Quite the game last night. I saw the highlights. You were right, I can’t believe it!”
“I know my basketball.” Martin grinned and pulled the bottle out, dropping it on Vinny’s desk. The landlord stared at it, and his eyes exploded once he realized the type of scotch. He grabbed it like a frantic child getting a new toy.
“Are you shitting me?” he whispered. “Where did you find this?”
“I have some connections,” Martin said with a smirk.
“I’ve only ever heard of this scotch. It’s like the fucking unicorn of scotches, but here it is on my desk! Holy shit!”
Vinny placed the bottle back on the desk and pushed it across to Martin.
“It’s for you,” Martin explained, realizing Vinny thought he was just showing off.
Vinny looked at the bottle, then to Martin with his giddy grin. “Get the fuck outta here,” he said, revealing his inner Jersey accent that had remained hidden thus far. “Are you shitting me?”
“Not at all. I told you I’d get you a new bottle with my winnings. So there you go.”
“And this is the bottle you decided to buy?” Vinny’s eyes bulged.
“I won really big, what can I say?”
“Well get on over here and let’s have a drink,” Vinny said, standing to fetch a couple of glasses from his back cabinet.
“It’s not even eleven yet, are you sure? I can come back later.”
“I don’t give a shit about the time when there’s cause for celebration. Have a seat.”
Martin obliged and sat down while Vinny popped the bottle open and filled two short glasses with the expensive liquor. Vinny pushed a glass toward Martin.
“Cheers,” the landlord said while holding his glass in the air. “To the Bulls shitting the bed. God bless it.”
The two men talked, Vinny suddenly interested in learning everything he could about his new tenant. Martin told of his faux life as a fiction writer traveling the country in search for new inspiration. He lied about having no wife, no family, no history, really. Vinny never asked about any past books he might have written, keeping the conversation fairly high level. Half an hour later, they both had finished their glass of scotch when Vinny offered to refill it.
“I’ll have to pass on round two. This has me ready for a nap, I don’t know about you.”
“Guess you can’t hold your liquor at this high altitude.” Vinny chuckled as he slapped his desk. “Suit yourself, but know you’re welcome any time for a drink.”
“I appreciate that,” Martin said and extended a hand to shake.
“You let me know if you ever need anything at all. You seem like a good guy, so just let me know.”
Martin nodded before walking out of the office. Because of one ludicrous bet he now had a friend and a half in Vinny and Calvin, not to mention the knowledge gained about how this time travel business actually worked. He returned to his room and collapsed on to his bed, falling into an instant sleep with a wide grin slapped across his face.
* * *
Over the next six hours, Martin enjoyed the deepest sleep of his stay in 1996. When he woke, his mind felt clear and energetic, ready to tackle his next task.
“Dammit!” he barked when he checked his watch, realizing he had slept the whole day away. He had planned to see Izzy today, ideally after school during her walk home, but it would have to wait another day now. She would be at home already, doing her homework while Lela cooked dinner.
I can still drive by, maybe catch a random glimpse.
Martin needed no further convincing as he grabbed his keys and ran out the door. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he mentally planned his route. The house was a mile west of The Devil, so he pulled out and drove in the same direction for the third trip in a row, admiring the fiery orange sky above the deep blue mountains as the sun began its evening descent.
Heavy traffic appeared on the road for the first time since he’d been in town. Everyone was on their way home after a long Monday’s work, and Martin enjoyed the fact he wouldn’t have to work one single day while he poked around in the past. Somewhere in 2018 his body lay asleep, an entire minute having passed, while he continued his search for his daughter. One day this would all end and he’d wake up to go back to the post office for another miserable day at work.
Until then, he needed a taste of his own past and turned onto his old block, pulling over immediately at the corner where he could see his home eight houses down. Two cars were parked in the driveway, both his and his wife’s.
“We’re all home together,” he said to himself, a wave of emotions running through his body. He imagined the inside of the house: Lela cooking, Izzy at the table with books and notepads splayed all over, and himself at the sink washing dishes. That was the routine as long as Martin worked a day shift. That would change later in the summer when he moved to the graveyard shift.
He pulled the car back onto the street and coasted toward his old home, its light green exterior sending ripples of memories. The grass appeared freshly cut, likely for the first time that spring.
He pulled up directly in front of the house and gazed at it when the front door swung open suddenly, and he saw himself.
The man who he had once been, athletic build and chiseled jaw, locked eyes with the familiar looking face in the car. Martin floored the accelerator, tires screeching in the quiet neighborhood, and zoomed out of sight. A sharp pain struck the back of his head like someone had stabbed him with a chef’s knife. The world spun around him as he approached the end of the block, nearly clipping a few cars parked along the sidewalks. He slammed on the brakes once out of sight and panted heavily as if he had just run a mile.
“What the fuck?!” he gasped, fighting for breath. His lungs felt like someone was squeezing them.
“I told you not to see yourself!” Chr
is’s voice echoed in his mind, except it didn’t feel like a memory, it felt like he was actually speaking in his head. “You’ll survive this encounter, but be careful!”
The invisible hands released their grip from his lungs, and the imaginary knife pulled out of his head. Martin grabbed his chest and rubbed his skull simultaneously. “What the fuck?” he whispered.
This must be the price for seeing your past self.
Martin shook his head, unable to shake the intensity of what his body had just gone through. “Okay. So that’s no bluff. Don’t even look at my past self, got it.”
He pulled back onto the road. Izzy would have to wait another day. He wouldn’t approach her and would remain invisible with the many cars parked on the street. All he needed was to see her, to remember her presence. He could close his eyes any moment and see her face, hear her giggle, and smell her sweet scent. Feeling her presence, her soul, however, was not so straightforward. He couldn’t picture the way she used to walk or the way her head bobbed when she spoke. These were the finer details that had faded as time passed.
Martin now knew exactly where the line was drawn in terms of interaction with his past self. He imagined the consequences would have been less severe had his young, handsome self not locked eyes with his uglier future version.
He drove back in the direction of his apartment, pulling into a restaurant parking lot. Dinner sounded like a good way to take his mind off things, perhaps a margarita, too. The Mexican restaurant, La Casa del Rey, had the lovely smells of grilled chicken and fresh tortillas oozing from its clay exterior. The sign in the front read “Bienvenidos, We’re Open!”
His stomach growled at the thought of chips and salsa. The parking lot appeared packed for the dinner rush.
Martin killed the engine and strolled into the restaurant’s lobby, ready to eat. A mariachi band played in the main dining room, their horns and guitars filling the air. A young boy who couldn’t be older than twelve manned the host stand and greeted Martin with a warm smile.
“Good evening, sir,” he said in a voice that cracked with the earliest signs of puberty. “Are you dining in tonight?”
Wealth of Time Series Boxset Page 9
