Sonya sat on the sidewalk, citing soreness in her knees from the long walk on rough terrain all day. She planned to take a warm bubble bath whenever they checked in to a hotel.
The sun had set for good when the taxi arrived, an all-black box that looked like a hybrid of a future Jeep and the past’s horse-drawn carriages. There was no sign on the roof indicating its purpose, but when the lights flashed at them they knew it was for them.
Martin led them to the car and opened the door for Sonya to slide in first. They settled in the squeaky leather seats.
“Good evening,” the driver said, turning to look over his shoulder at his new passengers.
Martin immediately examined the man’s skin, not seeing any glow.
“Good evening, sir,” Martin said.
“My name’s Thomas. How do you do?”
“We’re doing well. I’m Martin, and this is my wife, Sonya.”
“Ma’am,” Thomas said to Sonya with a nod.
Thomas looked like he couldn’t have been much older than twenty-one. His face was youthful, glowing, and his brown hair slicked back with plenty of grease.
“Where can I take y’all tonight?” he asked.
“We were hoping you could tell us,” Martin replied. “We want to stay downtown, but don’t know any hotels. Is there anywhere you recommend?”
Thomas drove away from Main Street and stared at Martin in the rear view with a thoughtful expression. “What kind of hotel you looking for? I know the fancy ones, the average ones, and the ones where you can take a street lady into. I’ve seen it all since I started driving this taxicab two years ago.”
“How about a fancy one?”
Thomas nodded. “Sure. The fanciest are the Oxford and the Brown Palace. The Brown Palace is where the rich and famous stay. President Taft stayed there a few years ago when he was in town.”
Martin should’ve remembered these two options, seeing as both hotels remained in operation in 2018, still welcoming the high-class members of society.
“Let’s do the Brown Palace then,” Martin said.
“Alrighty,” Thomas said as he led them through the outskirts of Littleton.
Martin noticed the engine’s steady puttering and thought back to the BMW he wanted to buy in 2018. It was going to happen, dammit. After all the shit he had endured in 1996, the least he could do was splurge some of the money he had wisely invested.
“You folks new to the Denver area?” Thomas asked as they approached an on-ramp for the freeway.
Sonya stared at Martin, deferring to him to keep their fake story going.
“Yes, we just arrived here from Dallas,” Martin said.
“Dallas, huh? I’ve heard that’s a good place.” Thomas spoke in an emotionless voice that made Martin wonder if the young man was depressed or just bored.
“Yeah, we heard Denver is a fun place, and wanted to see it for ourselves. How long have you lived here?”
“I’ve lived in Colorado my whole life. Grew up on the eastern side of the state. My papa runs a ranch, but I wanted to go to school and got the chance here in the city. He wasn’t happy that I didn’t wanna continue the ranch life with him, but my mama talked some sense into him.”
“What are you going to school for?”
“Business. I don’t know what I wanna do, just that I wanna work for myself. Like Mr. Brown, the owner of the hotel you’re staying at – he owns everything in this city. I just started my senior year, so we’ll see how it goes when I graduate in May.”
“Well, good luck to you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Martin stared out his window at the blackness of the night. There were no neighborhoods, no commercial buildings to provide the glow of a city at night.
“How often do you drive?” Martin asked, breaking a prolonged silence. Sonya had curled up against the door, likely traumatized that Martin revealed his secret about the glowing skin. She’d have a million questions when they arrived at the Brown Palace. They hadn’t wanted to speak too much in downtown Littleton after she claimed to have felt them being watched. Martin experienced the same sensation, but didn’t admit it.
“I drive five days a week—or should I say nights. Wednesday through Sunday. During the week I drive from six ‘til midnight. Saturday I go until two, but that’s prob’ly gonna change when Prohibition goes live—no more drunks to pick up. And Sunday I drive from lunch ‘til dinner time, an early night for me.”
“And are you mostly in Denver?”
“Yep, I’m only in Denver. Only time I’m not is when someone requests a ride elsewhere, but that’s not too often.”
“We may need some rides around town in the next couple months. Would we be able to request you?”
Thomas nodded, staring from the rear view to the road with quick flicks of his eyes.
“Yessir. Just ask for me when you call, if it’s during those hours. If I’m available, I’d be happy to give y’all a ride.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Martin sunk deeper into his seat, relieved. Thomas had passed his first test and didn’t realize it as they drove closer to downtown. The young cab driver didn’t ask what they were in town for, why they would need rides, or why they insisted on having him. It was simple yes and no answers with the kid, and Martin appreciated it. They now had a local with plenty of knowledge of the geography and happenings in Denver. He didn’t know how often they would need him, if at all, but it was a tremendous resource to have in their back pocket.
Buildings appeared in the near distance, many of them lit and glowing a soft golden light in contrast to the black night. It was nothing like downtown in the next century, but it was downtown Denver just the same. And they had finally arrived.
70
Chapter 15
The Brown Palace looked no different from how Martin remembered it in 2018. He had never been inside the luxurious hotel, but the exterior apparently went undisturbed over its century of existence. Its brick facade towered eight stories tall, one of the bigger buildings in town at the time. The street-level windows provided a glimpse into a packed bar of patrons—mostly men—enjoying the last days of alcohol before the government took it all away. Signs on the building advertised a spa, along with times for serving tea throughout the week. Martin felt like he was trapped within an old black and white photo of the historic hotel.
Thomas had dropped them at the main entrance, but they walked down the block to get a feel for the area and their bearings, wanting to know exactly how much had changed since they were last downtown to collect Martin’s millions of dollars in 2018.
Sonya gawked at the building. “I’ve been here before, but look how pristine the building looks in this era. All of the future chaos of downtown is gone, and this is clearly the place where the highest class people hang out.”
“Well, this is where we’re going to be tonight and maybe the rest of the week.”
“I just can’t believe I’m going to stay at the Brown Palace when it’s still a newer hotel in the city.”
The same street names were in place, but downtown was still in its early years and lacked the towering skyscrapers and constant bustle of a major city. A few homeless people rummaged through trash cans on the deserted sidewalks. One in particular walked by them mumbling to himself about a spaceship landing on his brain. Apparently, some things never changed.
They completed a lap around the hotel and Martin remembered a bit of history he had learned about the Brown Palace. There was supposedly an underground tunnel that ran from the hotel to a brothel across the street. This gave the upper-class businessmen a chance to sneak over and live out their wild fantasies. Rumor had it that even Presidents who stayed here took advantage of the secret tunnel. Martin recognized the whore house right when he saw it, a two-level house directly across the street. All the lights were off, every drape closed, and the front door had its window covered up, too.
Martin wo
uld confirm if this longstanding rumor was true on his own time.
“Shall we?” Martin asked when they arrived back to the entrance, a set of heavy double doors with shiny golden handles.
“Please, I’m exhausted.”
Martin leaned into the bulky door as the hotel’s lobby welcomed them with the soft tune of a piano in the background. Chairs and tables filled the open space ahead with hotel guests enjoying a late dinner as the pianist played from the corner of the room, his fingers gliding like angels over the keys. Granite walls towered over them, lanterns hanging on each pillar. They looked up to see the square shape of the lobby stretch to the hotel’s ceiling, the hallways for the eight levels of rooms appearing maze-like from the bottom.
Across the lobby Martin spotted the front desk, and led them to it, slightly embarrassed at their raggedy appearance as everyone in the dining area was dressed in pristine suits and dresses while they sipped expensive champagne and ate steak and lobster dinners.
A tall man with thin complexion and pale features stood behind the counter dressed in a black-and-white suit and a top hat. He smiled at them as they approached.
“Good evening, and welcome to the Brown Palace,” the man said in a stern voice. “Do you have a reservation?”
“No. We were hoping you might have a room open.”
The man looked Martin up-and-down, not bothering to hide the disgust in his eyes. His eyes jumped to Sonya and made the same judgmental path along her dirty clothes. The man, whose name badge read Carson, sniffed and looked down to the guest book on his desk.
“I’m afraid we have no open rooms,” Carson said after a few moments. He looked at Martin blankly.
“Are you sure about that?” Martin asked.
“Certainly.”
Don’t cause a scene, but don’t be pushed around, either.
“Well, sir, I think you’re lying.”
“I most certainly am not lying.”
“You’re assuming I don’t have money because of the way we look. You’re making a mistake.”
Sonya tugged on Martin’s arm. “Let’s just go.”
“No, we’re not going.”
Martin rarely caused a fuss, but felt compelled in the heat of the moment. His legs were practically numb after walking all day, even after dinner and the long cab ride. All he wanted was a drink and a hot shower, and if this skinny asshole behind the counter was trying to stop him, then he was going to hear about it.
“Sir, money is not the issue. I have no rooms to offer.”
“Is there a manager I can speak with?”
Carson scoffed and turned away, disappearing into a back room behind the desk.
“What happened to keeping a low profile?” Sonya muttered under her breath.
“I’m not putting up with this guy’s bullshit,” Martin said, emphasizing bullshit so the word would carry into the room where Carson had gone.
Three minutes passed and Martin wondered if Carson was simply hiding in the back and waiting for them to leave. As someone who used to spend eight hours in the same spot on the couch, drinking and smoking, Martin welcomed the challenge.
Two more minutes passed before another man walked out of the office and approached the desk, a wide grin revealing polished teeth.
“Good evening, folks, what seems to be the problem?” the man asked. He stood eye level with Martin, and appeared slightly younger than Carson. He wore the same suit as every other staff member in the hotel.
“I feel judged by the gentleman who was just helping us. I just want a room for my wife and I. We’ve had a long day if you can’t tell—that’s why we’re a mess.”
Martin pulled his wallet out and rummaged through it, slapping a crisp hundred dollar bill on the counter.
The manager’s eyes bulged at the sight of Mr. Franklin staring at him with his usual pursed lips.
“Like I explained, I have money. I’m sorry I don’t look like the rest of your guests right now, but I just need a room so we can clean up and stay in town for a few days.”
Martin felt Sonya’s leg bouncing beside him, and nudged her to stop.
The manager flipped through the book, searching for anything that Carson may have missed.
“What is your name, sir?” he asked casually, as if there had been no issue at all.
“Martin Briar.”
“Mr. Briar, we can make arrangements for you to stay as long as you’d like. I do apologize for any inconvenience so far.”
Martin wished he could laugh in Carson’s face. That would cause a scene. He had always fantasized about being rich, having that rare opportunity to push his way through any situation with the power of a dollar, acting entitled, knowing the world owed him everything because of what was stashed in his pockets. And it worked. And he liked it.
Martin never thought money would change him, but then again, he never had money like he did now in 1919.
The manager completed checking them in to a room and handed over a pair of two brass keys that jingled. “You’ll be in room 619. It will be $30 per night, but I’ll waive the first night for the trouble we’ve caused you today.”
“Thank you,” Martin said in his best I’m-rich-and-entitled voice.
“Please let us know if you need anything at all during your stay.”
Martin took the keys, grabbed Sonya by the waist and left the front desk with a quick nod. They rode the classic elevator to the sixth floor—stairs weren’t an option for their exhausted legs—and proceeded down a narrow hallway to room 619. Old Western paintings decorated the walls in the hallway, as they passed them in a blur, gaining speed as they approached their room door.
Martin jiggled the key into the lock and twisted until he heard a click. The door creaked open to the room already lit up from a floor lamp in the far corner. Their legs were useless as Martin’s knees tingled from the throbbing pain. Without saying a word to each other, all stress had disappeared as they stepped into the room, relieved to have made it to the end of the day that seemed to never end.
71
Chapter 16
“I’m not gonna lie, I could go for a shower right now,” Sonya said when they entered the hotel room. “I’m pretty sure my brain is running on fumes, but I am not getting into that comfy bed covered in dirt and sweat.”
“I agree, but I just need a second to lie down,” Martin replied, lunging for the bed and splaying across the comforter decorated with a pattern of large, obnoxious flowers. The curtains over the windows had a matching design that made Martin feel like he had traveled back one hundred years. He took a moment to admire the repeating hexagonal pattern running along the carpet, and the small cushioned chair and ottoman that appeared to be for someone half his size. “How about you get started and I’ll join you in a bit?”
“I’ve heard that one before,” Sonya said, rolling her eyes. “I’m gonna get out of the shower and you’ll be snoring in that same spot.”
Snoring never sounded so appealing, the ultimate sign of a heavy sleep in Martin’s opinion.
“Whatever you say. I just need five minutes,” Martin mumbled, already feeling sleep’s tight grip around his mental throat.
Sonya wandered into the bathroom, closed the door, and had the water running within seconds as Martin rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling.
Here we are again, he thought. Back in the past with no clue how this will turn out.
A knock banged from the door, causing Martin to jump off the bed and stumble to catch his already wavering balance. Did they forget to give us something at check-in?
There were no peepholes in 1919, just a solid door to leave the surprise of who stood on the other side. But with Sonya in the shower, and Martin alone for at least the next fifteen minutes, he already knew who was knocking. The very thought of the old man sent fresh adrenaline throughout his veins, even with his body fatigued beyond belief.
Martin pulled open the door.
“Fancy finding you here,” Chris said, grinning
in his usual black suit.
The quickest way to get rid of him, Martin had learned, was to listen and do whatever he asked.
“What do you want, Chris?” Martin asked, trying to sound authoritative, but too tired to make it believable.
“I heard you were staying here. A good friend of mine owns the hotel, and told me he spotted you checking in.”
“You’re friends with Mr. Brown?” Martin asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Certainly. Mr. Brown chose to use his Juice to create businesses in sites that will thrive in the future. He’s made billions throughout time and all around the globe. The savviest man I know.”
This impressed Martin, but the fatigue tampered any excitement.
“So why are you here?” Martin asked again.
“I know you had a long trip today, so I’ll make it brief. May I come in?” Martin stepped aside and let the old man enter.
Chris plopped down on the chair next to the window, and grabbed his chin before he spoke. “I have some news about the Road Runners. It appears they’ve made you a top priority.
“The Road Runners know you’re in this year and plan on hunting you down,” Chris continued. “That’s why I’m here—to warn you.”
“And what exactly am I supposed to do about it?” Martin asked.
“Do exactly as I told you. Be aware of anyone trying to be extra kind. You can look for the glow, but they keep it concealed with long sleeves, gloves, and anything that will help cover their skin. I’d advise you don’t go out at night. That’s the only time they’ll snatch you off the street. During the day is when they’ll try to lure you. If you know you’ve encountered one, it’s important that you lose them. Change locations because they’ll be following you all over town until they find the right moment to take you.”
“What do they want from me?”
Chris shrugged.
“They think you’ll betray me and join them. It’s unfortunately something they’ve succeeded at in recent months. You don’t have any plans on joining them, do you?”
Wealth of Time Series Boxset Page 39
