9781940740065

by Paul B. Kohler

  Peter took in these last words, and agreed that if what the general was saying came to fruition, his life could be better all around. If this mission could improve the global economy, maybe he wouldn’t be in the financial crisis that had developed over the last few years. “All right, General. I’ll think about it. I’ll let you know by the end of the week, one way or the other.”

  They both stood up, and Peter led the general to the door. But before Peter had the door open, the general opened his attaché case once more, this time producing an envelope and handing it to Peter.

  “Here’s a little something for your time and consideration. I understand your unemployment has run out. This should help you out until you come to a decision.” He left before Peter had a chance to open the envelope.

  CHAPTER 6

  Peter stepped back into the house, pondering the absurdity of the last thirty minutes of his life. Time travel, he wondered. Was it even possible? If it was, could he actually change the future? These questions would have to remain unanswered, for the moment at least. He dropped the unopened envelope onto the coffee table next to the bottle of scotch. Seeing the bottle, he decided another drink would help calm his mind.

  With a refreshed drink in hand, he paced around the house. Peter often paced when his mind was working. Minnie use to tease him about “wearing a path in the carpet.” What would she do? She was the adventurous type, and Peter thought she would most definitely go for it. But he was not his wife. Regardless of his failures since her death, he had to remain somewhat responsible for his kids.

  The kids. What would they think? He knew he couldn’t tell them about it, so how would he answer their questions? Questions about why he would be leaving for four months, maybe longer. On the bright side, Minnie’s parents could be a part of their lives again. He had tried many times to get his in-laws involved with the kids’ lives, but every time he picked up the phone to call them, he’d stopped halfway through dialing their number. He just couldn’t swallow his pride long enough to ask for their help, let alone help from anyone else.

  As he paced around the house, sipping his scotch, he heard the familiar click of the front door. He walked into the foyer and was surprised to see Brett.

  “Brett? Everything okay? Why are you home early?” Peter glanced down at his wristwatch; it was just after one o’clock.

  “The nurse sent me home. The school tried to call, but they said the phone had been disconnected. I’m having another migraine.” Brett dropped his backpack next to the sofa and tossed the day’s mail on the coffee table. “Can we call the doctor now? This is the third time this month that I’ve been sent home with a migraine. I think something’s wrong.”

  “Sure thing, kiddo. I’ll call and see if I can get an appointment for later this week. Why don’t you head up and get in bed. I’ll bring up some aspirin.”

  Brett just nodded and sluggishly climbed the stairs to his room.

  Peter stood in the hall, staring up the stairs, wondering where he could get the money for another doctor visit. He finished his scotch in one swallow and headed to the bathroom to get Brett some aspirin.

  Once Brett was seen to, Peter returned to the living room to tidy up a bit. He returned the bottle of scotch to the liquor cabinet and picked up the mail that Brett had brought in when he got home. It was the usual: bills and ads. He tossed them back onto the coffee table and opened the envelope from Applegate. Inside was a stack of hundred-dollar bills. Peter sank into a chair as he began to count them. He counted out twenty crisp hundred-dollar bills. Peter smiled and thought his week was taking a turn for the better.

  CHAPTER 7

  With Tori at a sleepover, and Brett quietly moping in his room, Peter decided to go out to the bar. After changing clothes, he stopped in his study and pulled a few hundred-dollar bills from the general’s envelope. It had been a while since he had gone out, and he felt that his recent windfall was as good a reason as any to celebrate.

  He was pretty upbeat considering everything that had been happening lately, especially that day. He decided that this monetary bonus would not go to waste. So, with pep in his step he moved vigorously through the house and out the front door. The nine-block walk did his mind good. As he headed down the sidewalk, he thought about what life would be like in 1942. Could he fit in enough to not draw suspicion? What if someone caught him and found out he was from the future? He giggled. He realized that if the police picked up some guy today that claimed he was from the future, they’d think he was from the loony bin.

  As he crossed the street, he glanced down and noticed a penny lying next to the curb. He leaned over and picked it up. He inspected it with the idea of adding it to Brett’s coin collection, if it was worth anything. He flipped it over and noticed that it was a wheat penny. Flipping it back over, he looked at the front more closely: 1947. He chuckled, and thought how ironic it would have been if the penny were from the same year as the mission. That’s when Peter paused. He smiled as he slid the penny into his pocket. A plan was starting to form in his mind. A plan, his plan, which could change his future.

  Even though it had been four months since he had last been there, Peter sauntered into Herb’s Corner Pub like it was yesterday. Joe, the evening bartender, looked up and smiled at Peter as he approached the bar.

  “Howdy, stranger! It’s been some time since we’ve seen hide or hair of you. Pull up a chair.”

  Peter smiled as he slid onto the only available bar stool. “Hey, Joe.”

  “What brings you in this fine evening?” asked Joe as he started to pour Peter a drink. “Still scotch and water?”

  Peter nodded. “Oh, nothing too much. Just thought it would be good to get out. It has been a while.”

  “Well, you’ve been missed, that’s for certain. Benny’s been asking about you. So has Stella.” Joe slid Peter’s drink across the bar, eyeing his expression. “How are the kids?”

  “You know. Teenage know-it-alls. Nothing I can’t handle.” Peter paused to sip his drink, then continued. “Can you believe Tori wants to get her nose pierced? Seriously? Everyone wants to get perforated these days.”

  “My kid got her nose done first, then it was her tongue, and just a month ago she got her eyebrow done. I thought about putting my foot down, but I could tell in her eyes that if I said no, she’d go ahead and just do it anyway. Granted, she’s seventeen, but I still hate seein’ it.”

  “Tell me about it, Joe. Tell me about it.”

  “Are you working yet? I imagine unemployment won’t last much longer.”

  Peter winced at the topic. Being unemployed for the last eighteen months had been rough, and his mood on the topic had not been great. But Peter pushed away the negative thoughts in his mind and said, “I haven’t found anything yet, but I have a promising lead. That’s why I came here tonight, to sort of celebrate.” Once the words were out of his mouth, he realized that he had already decided to take the mission. He smiled to himself and took a long sip of his scotch.

  “Well, that’s great news, Peter. First one’s on the house, then!” Joe smiled at him and moved to the other end of the bar to fill a drink order.

  Peter sat in silence, briefly scanning the room to see if he recognized anyone. To his surprise, the atmosphere hadn’t changed at all. The same tacky vinyl booths lined the outside wall, and that tear in the pool table felt still hadn’t been fixed. He felt comfortable in his local dive bar. He turned back to his drink and noticed a reflection, in the mirror behind the bar of a woman staring back at him. Peter smiled, lifted his drink toward her reflection, and then took a sip. She returned his smile then looked away, her eyes darting to something across the bar. Peter continued to look in her direction as he tried to place her familiar face, but she didn’t return his gaze. He supposed it was her pleasant, but remarkable profile. She reminded him of… His recollection was interrupted as a man walked up and sat across from her. They whispered briefly, before he nonchalantly glanced up to the bar. Without focusing on anyone in
particular, his eyes landed on Peter momentarily as he scanned the place. Peter noticed the not-so-obvious glance from the stranger. The two sitting in the booth were obviously discussing him. He began to wonder if the general had had him followed. But before he could give it another thought, he was tapped on the shoulder.

  Peter turned his bar stool to see Stella Fryer standing behind him. Stella stood a gracious five feet, two inches tall, and wore a jean miniskirt. She wore three-inch black pumps, which greatly improved her height. Her top was slightly sheer, and he could see the outline of her black bra beneath. Her ruby red painted lips smiled ear to ear, and parted to say, “Long time, no see, handsome.”

  “Hello, Stella. It has been a while.” Stella was a few years older than Peter, and was the only woman that he had considered romantically since Minnie died. But something always delayed Peter from acting on his visual attraction. He wasn’t sure if it was her over-flirtatious personality that stopped him, or if it was the fact that she was the local “bar ornament” with a moderately slutty disposition. After many nights spent drowning his sorrows there, he never saw her leave with another man. Still, Peter found it difficult to make a move. “I’d offer you a seat, but as you can see, all full.”

  “Don’t worry about it, baby. Grab your drink and come back to my booth. I’ve got someone I want you to meet anyway.”

  Stella was the one person Peter didn’t want to see tonight. The last time he was there, he and Stella had a few too many drinks, and things moved a bit too far, too fast. She knew he was still suffering the loss of his wife, and he told her he wasn’t ready, but Stella pushed and pushed and had her hands down his pants most of that late night. Stella was a good part of the reason why he’d stopped going into Herb’s—that, plus his lack of discretionary income. That had been four months ago.

  “I would love to come back to your booth, Stella, but…” Peter paused to think of the right words to communicate the messages “not interested” and “no chance in hell” without hurting her feelings. “It’s just that I need to talk with Benny, and Joe thinks he’ll be here any moment,” lied Peter. “Maybe later?”

  Stella turned on a heel and ambled back to her table. Peter felt bad for being so blunt with her, but he was still not in a place where he felt comfortable, romantically, with another woman. Deep inside, he still felt devoted to Minnie, even though enough time had passed. Benny would tell him “Just sleep with her, already” anytime Stella would hang around them. Benny’s thought on the matter was “It’s just sex.” Maybe Benny was right, thought Peter. Maybe he should just sleep with another woman—maybe he would feel better for it. Maybe with another woman not named Stella.

  Peter chuckled to himself about the thought as he downed the last of his scotch. He flagged Joe down for another. Joe nodded and held up his finger indicating it would be a minute. While he waited, Peter began to review the conversation with the general again in his mind. Could it all be possible? Could time travel actually work? Peter recalled reading many science fiction stories where time travel was possible, but only if you didn’t change the past. But that was exactly what the general was proposing. What if he went back to make this small change, and it ended up making a much bigger transformation than anyone ever considered? He surmised that the think tank behind the mission had to have already given that a lot of thought if they were moving forward with the program.

  Completely lost in his thoughts, Peter didn’t see Joe slide his drink in front of him. Peter picked up the drink and toasted him. Joe returned the nod and continued about his business. Peter raised the glass to his nose to smell the woody notes he was so fond of. He took a long drink, savoring the burn as it went down. Peter was not a lush, but the day demanded drinking. This was now his fifth or sixth drink for the day, and he was feeling a bit fuzzy. Granted, they were spread out through the day, but it was a nice buzz nonetheless. It was a good feeling after so many months of self-control.

  The longer Peter sat alone, the more the loneliness started to creep in. He was really hoping that Benny would have been there by now. What were his options to kill the boredom? He could strike up a conversation with one of the strangers to his left or to his right—both of whom were deep in conversation with others. He could venture back and talk with Stella. He knew where that would lead: having Stella play footsie with him beneath the table, and possibly getting blown in the parking lot. Or he could sit and wait until Benny or somebody else he knew arrived. He tossed back the remaining few swallows of his drink and flagged Joe for another. He would wait. It had been a long time since he and Benny had talked, and he had things on his mind that he could only share with Benny.

  As Peter waited, he peered into the reflection in the mirror to see if the couple was still in the booth across the bar. The booth was now empty, and once he noticed it, he turned and looked around the bar to see if they had moved or just left. He found them sitting in the corner booth with Stella. From what Peter could see, they were in a deep conversation and Stella did not look comfortable.

  Peter looked over at Joe and waved him over. “Hey Joe, you see those two talking with Stella?” Peter tilted his head in their direction. “Have you seen them here before?”

  Joe, not the most discreet person, flipped his head in their direction. “Nope. First time I’ve seen them was tonight. They came in right about the same time as you. Why do you ask?”

  “I noticed them earlier and they seemed to be watching my every move. Kind of creeps me out.” As he told this to Joe, he began to develop a plan—an alcohol-induced plan at that. He leaned closer to Joe and whispered into his ear. As Peter continued to talk, Joe’s solemn expression turned into a devious smile. He nodded and said he’d play along.

  CHAPTER 8

  “What do you mean I can’t have another drink?” Peter exclaimed loudly, while standing up so quickly his bar stool tipped back and crashed to the floor, grabbing the attention of everyone in the bar.

  “I’m cutting you off, Pete. You’ve had enough. I can get you a cup of coffee or you can find another place to get a drink.” Joe winked ever so slightly.

  “No, no. It’s fine. I was losing my fondness for thish plashe anyway. I think I’ll take my hard-earned money to Charlie’s over on Seventeenth. He never turns away my money.” Peter grabbed his glass and took the last swallow and tossed the glass to the floor, breaking it into dozens of pieces. “Now, I’ll leave.”

  Peter peripherally glanced around the bar, ensuring he had the appropriate eyes on him before he turned for the door and stumbled out. Once the door closed, he ran straight for the alley and ducked out of sight. Standing in the shadows of the dark alley, he leaned around the corner to get a good view of the front of the bar. Moments later, the couple burst out of the double doors in pursuit of Peter. He held back until they crossed the street and got into a nondescript black sedan before he turned and walked down the alley. Peter entered the back door of Herb’s, completely unnoticed.

  Through the back door, he found himself face to face with Stella.

  “Oh Peter, what have you gotten yourself into?” cried Stella, with an overly concerned look on her face.

  “Gotten myself into? What are you talking about?”

  “Those two! They cornered me in my booth and they really gave me the willies. They kept asking me questions about you and how well I knew you. What’s going on, Peter?”

  “I’ve never seen those guys before in my life. I caught them watching me earlier, and then when Joe and I noticed that they were talking with you, we devised a plan to get them out of the pub. I’m not sure who they were, or what they wanted, but I’m glad they’re gone.”

  “Oh, Peter!” exclaimed Stella as she thrust herself into his open arms, hugging him. “I was so scared.”

  Not knowing exactly how to react to Stella hugging him, he lightly patted her on the back and said, “There, there. It’ll be all right.”

  She continued the hug for a few moments, but when it became a little too awkward,
Peter began to pull away. “Not yet, baby.” Stella said. “I like feeling your warmth.”

  “I should at least go check with Joe. Make sure he’s not pissed at me for breaking his glass.”

  “Okay, baby. Come back to my booth soon,” replied Stella, and then walked into the ladies’ room. Peter realized he also had to pee, so before heading back up front, he stopped in the men’s room to take care of business.

  When Peter emerged from the back hallway, he was met with a round of applause from the entire bar, and Joe was grinning ear to ear. He must not have been too bent about the broken glass. Peter gave an embarrassed wave to everyone, and the applause began to die down. With everyone returning to their own devices, he made his way back to his bar stool and sat back down. Joe made his way over to him, then pointed to the booth where the two strangers were seated earlier. Peter’s eyes followed Joe’s pointed finger and found Benny sitting alone, staring back at him.

  “Benny!” Peter called out across the crowded bar.

  “The one and only. I hear I missed quite the performance from you.”

  “Joe, another scotch for myself and whatever Benny is drinking. Oh, and a couple shots of whatever you got handy. Can you send the drinks over to the booth?”

  “Sure thing, Pete.” Joe started mixing fresh drinks.

  Peter walked over and slid into the empty seat across from Benny. “How the hell are you, buddy? It’s been way too long.”

  “I can’t complain. The powers-that-be at work have been keeping me busy. Just when I think I’m getting ahead of things, I get a new load of crap dumped on my plate.”