The Pilgrims of Rayne tpa-8

by D. J. MacHale

  He tipped his cap again and left Courtney to pull the cart of food into the room. All thoughts of Dodger and Saint Dane and Ibara evaporated for the few minutes it took her to enjoy the feast. Dodger had brought her a fabulous dinner of sliced turkey with mashed potatoes and gravy, nut stuffing, cranberry sauce, and buttered green beans. Thanksgiving had come a few weeks early. Courtney was all set to chow down when the thought crossed her mind that somehow Saint Dane knew how much she liked Thanksgiving dinner, and this meal was another way to earn her trust. Was he that incredibly devious? She decided she was too hungry to care. She put her fear of manipulation-by-turkey out of her head, and tucked in. It was delicious. She ate too fast and ended up feeling totally bloated, but she didn’t care. Dodger had thought of it all, including the pumpkin pie and milk. Courtney decided to hold off on eating the pie until she digested a little. That held her back for a whole five minutes. It was too tempting. She downed the pie and enjoyed every last decadent crumb.

  It was late. Courtney didn’t finish feasting until nearly ten o’clock. She knew it wasn’t smart to go to bed on such a full stomach, but she was dog tired and the tryptophan was working its magic. She could barely keep her eyes open long enough to brush her teeth and pull off her clothes, before she fell into bed and dropped off to sleep. One of her last thoughts before nodding off was that Dodger’s thoughtful meal had an added bonus. She was going to get a good night’s sleep without all the tossing and turning she usually had to endure while her mind raced and worried. She was on her way out. That was good, because she knew the next day would be busy. She was going to begin her quest to find Mark in this alien world.

  The next morning she was woken up by the jangling telephone. She leaped up, ready to grab her clothes and run out of the building to escape from the fire. It took her a second to realize it was only the annoying phone.

  “What’s with these old-time people?” she asked herself. “Are they all deaf?”

  She answered the phone and heard Dodger’s friendly voice. “Change your mind?”

  Courtney glanced at the bedside clock. It was nine thirty. She had slept nearly twelve hours.

  “Yikes, sorry. I’ll be right there.”

  Courtney didn’t bother with a shower. She her woolen pants and white shirt. She threw on socks, tied up the leather shoes, and slipped into the green sweater. The finishing touch was the floppy hat that she tucked her hair into. She had no idea what she’d find on First Earth, but there was one thing she knew for sure. She didn’t want anybody treating her like a “skirt.” Satisfied, she left the apartment and headed upstairs.

  The hotel lobby was bustling with people. Courtney saw Dodger leaning against a big, marble column near the lounge. She watched him for a moment. He looked innocent enough, she thought. He wore plain black pants and a short charcoal gray cloth jacket. Without his bellhop uniform, he looked even younger. Being short added to that impression. He stood watching the hotel guests as they passed by, waving and smiling to those he knew. One elderly woman was having trouble getting the attention of the busy bellhops, so Dodger jumped in and helped her carry her suitcase to the front desk, even though he wasn’t on duty. There was nothing about Dodger that made Courtney think he could be Saint Dane, other than the fact that she thought everybody could be Saint Dane. She wasn’t going to let her guard down, but she needed help finding Mark. She decided it was worth the risk. She left the doorway, stuck her hands in her pockets, and walked toward him. When Dodger saw her, he brightened up.

  “There you are!” he said. “Good afternoon!”

  “Yeah, very funny,” Courtney said, all business. “Let’s go talk.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dodger said obediently, then winced. “I mean, yes, Courtney.”

  Courtney led him into the lobby lounge. It was loaded with people chatting and socializing.

  “No good,” she said, putting on the brakes. “Is there some place private?” She thought a second and added, “But with other people around?”

  “You want private but with other people?”

  “Uh, yeah.” She realized how ridiculous that sounded.

  “Still don’t trust me? Even after the turkey dinner?”

  “Especially after the turkey dinner,” Courtney said. “But thanks anyway.”

  “You’re welcome. Follow me.”

  Dodger led Courtney through the opulent lobby. The short guy walked with a cocky strut, like he owned the place. He brought Courtney through the hotel restaurant and into the bustling kitchen.

  “Hey, Dodger!” one of the cooks called out. “Ain’t this your day off?”

  “Nah, I’m always workin’,” Dodger shot back quickly. Another cook whistled and yelled, “Dodger! Whose the Kewpie?”

  “That’s ‘dame’ to you, pal!” Courtney shouted back.

  The cooks laughed in mock fear. Dodger laughed too. Courtney could see that he was well liked. Would Saint Dane be well liked? She shook off the thought. It was making her nuts.

  Dodger brought Courtney to the back of the kitchen, where the dishes were washed. It was hot and steamy, with only a few dishwashers at work.

  “How’s this?” Dodger asked. “Quiet but not too quiet, nobody to bother us, and a couple of witnesses in case I do something you don’t like. All you gotta do is put up with a little steam and some dirty dishes.”

  “This is fine.”

  “Now, how can I help you?”

  “If you are who you say you are, you won’t understand what I’m about to tell you. If you aren’t who you say you are, then you already know everything I’m going to say anyway, so it probably doesn’t matter if I tell you or not. Get it?”

  Dodger gave her a sour look. “I lost you after This is fine.’” “Good. Here’s the deal. I’m trying to find somebody. He’s a friend of mine. And Bobby’s and Gunny’s.” “Is he on the lam too?”

  “No! None of us are on the lam!” Courtney snapped.

  One of the dishwashers turned from his work to see what the shouting was about.

  Dodger yelled to him, “Relax, Tony. Everything’s peachy.”

  Tony the dishwasher shrugged and went back to work.

  Courtney continued, “It’s critically important that we find him. I’m not even going to begin to tell you why, because it’s too long of a story and you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

  “And I wouldn’t understand if I am who I am, but if I’m not who I am, then I should already know, but I have no idea what you’re talking about so what the heck does that make me?”

  “It’s starting to make you annoying. This is serious.”

  “Sorry. Tell me about this pal you’re looking for.”

  “His name is Mark Dimond. He’s seventeen with dark curly hair and glasses.”

  “Oh,” Dodger said. “Easy-peasy. Only about a million guys fit that description in New York.”

  “He stutters when he gets nervous,” Courtney added.

  “That narrows it down to a half million guys. We’re getting there.”

  “Stop making fun!” Courtney barked.

  They both looked at Tony. The dishwasher didn’t turn around this time.

  “Sorry,” Dodger said. “Ain’t you got something a little more specific to go on?”

  “There’s one thing,” Courtney admitted. “If I was home, I think I could use it to try and track him down, but I’m not. I don’t know how things work around here, and that’s why I’m talking to you in the first place.”

  Courtney was getting worked up. Tony looked around again. Courtney yelled, “Hey! Tony! Mind your own business!”

  Dodger led Courtney away from the dishwashers into a storage area that was surrounded by shelves loaded with clean plates.

  “It’s okay,” Dodger said reassuringly. ‘Tell me about the thing.”

  Courtney took a breath to calm herself and said, “On October sixth, Mark filed a patent application at the US Patent Office. I have to believe that when you do that, they ask for an address or som
ething, where you can be contacted. I was hoping that if we look up that information, it might give me a lead as to where to find him.”

  Dodger waited for Courtney to say more. She didn’t.

  “That’s it?” he asked.

  “That’s it.”

  “That’s all we got to go on?” “Afraid so.”

  “You’re telling me this mystery guy is some kind of inventor?”

  Courtney was about to say no, but that’s exactly what Mark was. “Yeah,” she said. “He’s an inventor. If Gunny were here he’d tell you how important it is that we find him. But he’s not. It’s just me. Can you help?”

  Courtney watched as Dodger frowned, deep in thought. He paced. He scratched his head. He paced some more. None of this looked good to Courtney. Her spirits sagged.

  “I know,” she admitted, defeated. “It’s hopeless. There’s no way we can find somebody that way.”

  “No!” Dodger said. “Finding him is no problem. I got friends who work for the government.”

  “Are you kidding?” Courtney shouted, her spirits suddenly back up. “Why are you looking all concerned?”

  Dodger said, “I can’t figure out what’s so important about some kid inventor that Gunny would want me to find him so bad.”

  Courtney grabbed Dodger by the lapels and shouted, “Ask him when you see him. Right now, let’s find Mark. Got that Tony?”

  Tony the dishwasher shrugged and went back to work.

  A few minutes later Courtney stood outside a telephone booth near the lobby while Dodger made a call. The door was closed, so she couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she could tell he was doing a lot of laughing and gesturing. Courtney noticed that Dodger did a lot of gesturing with his hands when he spoke, for emphasis. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Dodger hung up and pulled open the glass door of the phone booth. He looked at Courtney without saying a word. He had no expression. There were no hand gestures.

  “Well?” Courtney demanded impatiently.

  “People think bellhops are just guys who carry around luggage and flag down cabs, you know? But we have power most people don’t see. For example, if somebody’s big-shot boss was coming to town and the hotel was booked solid, I could make that somebody look really good by getting his boss a room, because I know that some of the real special suites are saved for last-minute VIPs.”

  Dodger smiled proudly at Courtney. Courtney stared blankly at Dodger.

  “And you’re telling me this because…?”

  “Because a friend of mine needs a favor, and I’m gonna fix his boss up with the best suite in this joint. Now that friend owes me a favor, get it?”

  “Not really,” Courtney said.

  Dodger stood up and combed his already perfectly combed hair. “This friend just so happens to work in Washington and has access to certain files that aren’t always open to the public, if you get my drift.”

  “Just tell me!” Courtney shouted.

  “Two forty Waverly Place.”

  “And that is…?”

  “It’s an apartment building in the village where your friend Mark Dimond lives,” Dodger announced proudly. “Now do you think I am who I am?”

  Courtney threw her arms around Dodger and hugged him tight. “I don’t know who you are and right now I don’t care, because you might have just saved all humanity from total destruction!”

  She let go of Dodger and ran for the exit. He stood there for a moment, basking in the glory. The smile dropped off his face. “I just did what?” he shouted as he ran after her.

  (CONTINUED)

  The cab ride from midtown Manhattan to Waverly Place was a short one. It seemed to Courtney that the deeper they got into the neighborhoods of Manhattan, the less it felt like she was in the past. The buildings didn’t look all that different from the buildings of Second Earth, especially as they drove through Greenwich Village. Most buildings were three- or four-story brick walk-ups. The ground floors had restaurants and cleaners and clothing shops. The upper stories looked like apartments. It was pretty much the same as on Second Earth. With no Starbucks. The only obvious, in-your-face sign that things weren’t like home was the cars. The streets were clogged with big, growling monsters with gleaming chrome grills. They had names like “Studebaker,” “Hudson,” and “Cord.” There wasn’t a single Honda, Volkswagen, or Volvo in sight.

  The streets of Greenwich Village were narrower than the wide avenues of midtown. They crossed one another at odd angles and had weird names like “Bethune,” “Gansevoort,” and “Bleecker.” Courtney was happy to see that the cabbie knew exactly where he was going. In no time he made the turn from Bank Street onto Waverly Place and stopped In front of a quaint corner eatery called “Ye Waverly Inn.” Dodger wanted to pay the cab fare, but Courtney wouldn’t let him. This was her mission, after all. As they got out of the car, Dodger looked around at the narrow street and shook his head in wonder.

  “Coming down here feels like taking a trip into the past,” he marveled.

  “You have no idea,” Courtney said with a snicker.

  Dodger put on a brown hat that made Courtney chuckle.

  “What?” he asked innocently.

  “You trying to be Indiana Jones or what?”

  Dodger shook his head in frustration. “You know what I’d like? Just once I’d like it if you said something that made sense.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Courtney replied.

  Next to the restaurant was the entrance to a four-story brick building-#240.

  “This is it,” Courtney said nervously.

  “Now do you trust me?”

  “No.”

  Dodger took a small piece of paper out of his pocket. “My friend said the patent was issued to Mark Dimond at this address. Apartment number four-A.” He put the paper back into his pocket and asked, “If you could get the patent number, how come you couldn’t get the address?”

  “I don’t know,” Courtney answered as she started toward the door. “Computers aren’t infallible I guess.”

  “There you go again not making sense,” Dodger said as he followed her toward the door.

  “It’s only going to get worse,” Courtney said. She stopped at the bottom of the steps that led up to the black front door.

  “Now what’s the problem?” Dodger asked.

  “I’m debating about letting you come in with me.”

  “Why?” he whined. “I got you this far, didn’t I?” Courtney nodded.

  “So why don’t you trust me?” Dodger asked. Courtney looked him over, thinking, then said, “You can come. If you’re Saint Dane, I’d rather know where you are.” “Good. I think.”

  Courtney walked up the stairs and scanned the door.

  “What are you looking for?” Dodger asked.

  “The panel with the security buttons so we can get buzzed in.”

  Dodger gave her a strange look and opened the front door. It wasn’t locked.

  “Oh,” Courtney said, and stepped inside. It was yet another subtle sign that she was in a different time.

  The building was too small to have an elevator, so they climbed the marble staircase up to the fourth floor. It wasn’t a fancy building, but it was clean. The smells of cooking filled the stairwell. Good cooking. Courtney thought it was either spaghetti sauce or some yummy soup. It gave the building a warm, inviting feel. She was glad that Mark had landed in such a comfortable place.

  Mark. With each step up, Courtney grew more tense. What would she say to him? More important, what would he say to her? Courtney couldn’t imagine any excuse for why he’d brought technology from home to a different territory. He knew how wrong that was. She couldn’t come up with a scenario that would explain it. As she grew closer to her reunion with Mark, Courtney wasn’t sure how she should feel. Angry? Hurt? Frightened? Sympathetic? All the above? The best thing she could do was take it one step at a time. First find Mark and make sure that he’s okay. After that, the way to go would be clear. Or so she hoped
.

  They arrived on the fourth floor, where they were faced with five doors leading to different apartments. Number 4A was to the far right of the landing.

  “What do we do?” Dodger asked.

  Courtney’s answer was to stride across the landing to Mark’s door. Before she could change her mind, she boldly knocked. No answer. She knocked again, louder. Still no answer. They waited a solid minute, knocking a few more times.

  “Either nobody’s home or they don’t want company,” Dodger said.

  “I’m not leaving until we find out who lives here,” Courtney said adamantly.

  “That thing you said before? You know, about saving humanity from total destruction? That was a joke, right?”

  Courtney gave him a serious look. She didn’t confirm it, but she didn’t scoff and say, “Nah! Just kidding!” either.

  “Right,” Dodger said thoughtfully. “Never mind. I don’t wanna know.”

  “I can’t begin to tell you how huge it is,” Courtney finally answered.

  “Right,” Dodger said again. “Just making sure.” He took a step away from the door, rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, then suddenly ran for the door of apartment 4A.

  “Hey!” Courtney shouted in surprise.

  She had to jump out of the way or she would have been bulldozed. Dodger hit the door with his shoulder, hard. With a loud crack the door gave way, swinging in and smashing against the inside wall. Dodger tumbled inside, falling to his knees. Courtney ran to him.

  “You’re crazy!” she exclaimed.

  “A little.”

  Courtney helped him to his feet. “Are you okay?”

  Dodger rubbed his shoulder. “Sure,” he answered casually. “Wasn’t the first time I had to break down a door. Won’t be the last. Being a bellhop ain’t all glamour.”

  Courtney quickly closed the door. She didn’t want nosy neighbors peeking in to see strangers smashing into the apartment.

  “Looks like we’re too late,” Dodger said.

  Courtney saw that the place was empty. It was a small, clean apartment with white walls. The short front hallway led into a small living room. To the right was a door leading to a kitchen. To the left was another short hallway that led to a bedroom and bathroom. There were no pictures on the walls. No plants. No rugs. No clues as to who may have lived there. Courtney walked into the kitchen. There was a small stove and a table. That was it. She left the kitchen, walked through the living room and into the bedroom. She found a small bed with no sheets or blankets. The one piece of furniture was a wooden bureau. Courtney deflated.