“You’re counting cards?”
“Hell, yes,” answered Caesar, going all in again. “My mama didn’t raise no fool!”
OJ went all in, too. The whole table did. Caesar drew two face cards, not that it mattered. The dealer had a six up, and busted with two more face cards. The crowd erupted in applause, high-fives all around.
“Hey, you’re alright,” commented OJ, slapping Caesar on the back. “Definitely a player!”
“Better cool it,” I whispered in Caesar’s ear. “The House doesn’t like card counters.”
“The House be damned! What can they do? I’m the Emperor of Rome, and a personal friend of Bill Gates!”
I shrugged. “Learn the hard way.”
After several hands, Caesar went all in again. This time security intervened. “Sir, if you have no ID, you will have to leave.”
“I don’t need no stinking ID!” responded Caesar, shoving a security supervisor in the chest. “Fools, my smiling face is on all minted currency of the Empire!”
Security guards swarmed Caesar, wrestling his sword away. Caesar’s nine-millimeter pistol dropped onto the carpet.
“Gun!”
Security guards tasered Caesar as they beat him with night sticks. They even lit OJ up for getting too close.
“Punks!” shouted OJ on the floor. “What did I do? We all know what this is about. It’s because I’m Nubian, right?”
Both OJ and Caesar were arrested, cuffed and hog-tied, and taken to the Clark County Jail for booking. Me? I faded into the crowd, wanting only to resume my vacation on some beach, somewhere. I figured Caesar would get out of prison in one to five on the gun charge, and OJ would beat the rap. History wouldn’t change all that much.
Chapter 28
Before resuming my Ancient Rome vacation, I innocently asked to go home for supplies and to freshen up. I set the controls myself, and was gone before anyone realized I went back to the old neighborhood of my youth. I had unfinished business.
Patiently I waited and watched a bicycle leaning against the fence at my old school. Football players scrimmaged on the other side as the sun slowly set behind the Tucson mountains, providing a welcomed relief from the heat. A teenage boy jumped on the bike, peddling fast down the street. I tasered the kid, knocking him off the bike. Several kicks to the ribs and a stomp to the face took the fight out.
“Man, what are you doing?” he cried, looking up. “Get off me, punk!”
“That’s not your bike.”
“So? Is that what this is about? You can’t touch me, I’m a juvenile. I’m pressing charges!”
As the teen tried to get up, I kicked him again, breaking his arm. The sound of bone cracking was sickening. I felt bad, but got over it. He tried to roll away, but I was there, kicking him one more time.
“Is that your kid’s bike, or what? I’m sorry, man! Do I know you?”
“It’s my bike,” I answered, mounting the bike. It felt good gripping the handle bars after so long. “Stop stealing, or I’ll go to your house on 4th Street, and gut you out. Understand?”
“Jesus, you’re crazy.”
“That’s a side issue. Stop stealing. You got that?”
“I got it. Why me? Why are you picking on me? I don’t even know you.”
“Payback,” I answered, admiring the Arizona sunset. “Empty your pockets.”
“Oh, so now on top of busting my arm, you’re robbing me?”
“Empty your pockets, or I’ll break your other arm.”
The thief emptied his pants pockets of about twenty books of matches. He seemed kind of embarrassed about the matches, but just shrugged.
“That’s all I’ve got. I don’t have no money.”
“Why all the matches?” I asked, scooping them up.
“I smoke. Is that it? Can I go to the hospital now?”
“I’m doing you a favor.”
“Yeah, some favor. You broke my arm!”
“You always carry so many matches, don’t you Louis?”
“How’d you know that? You know my name? Man, who are you?”
“Your worst nightmare if you ever piss me off in the future. Lose the matches.”
“If I never see you again, it will be too soon!”
“That’s fine with me. But for now, all is right with the world.”
But all was not all right with the world, or me. Not even close.
* * * * *
Bill Gates posted Julius Caesar’s bail. Caesar had watched a lot of TV at the Clark County Jail. Now, he contemplated his future. What a mixed up world we lived in. What the world needed was order, and a leader with guts enough to impose that order. There were so many marvelous inventions that could help make that happen. Even the small inventions are a wonder to behold, he thought to himself, patting the jail-issue toothbrush in his pocket.
“Good luck with your empire-building,” said Bill Gates, walking Caesar to Starbucks on the Strip for transport. “Don’t come back. This is my turf.”
“Fine, whatever.”
“Go easy on the Christians, too. They’re the future, the next big thing.”
“I want to buy a nuke,” announced Caesar, not entering Starbucks quite yet. “Can you make that happen, or do I have to go to the North Koreans?”
“What do you want with a nuke?”
“I want to bomb Attila the Hun.”
“No one will sell you nuclear weapons.”
“Only nuking Germania will make my Empire safe.”
“Attila isn’t German.”
“He’s a barbarian. That’s close enough. How about nerve agent?”
“Leave.”
“If the Mongol hordes threatened America, you’d be singing a different tune. Czerinski showed me your future. I know what you and Russia are going to do to the Chinese. I’ll make my own nukes if I have to. How hard can it be?”
“Go home. Do it now.”
“And another thing. That statue of me in the casino, the one next to the naked Greek guy. It doesn’t look anything like me. I want that wimpy statue removed.”
“Shut up and get out of town.”
“Just do it. Don’t make me come back!”
* * * * *
Upon my return to the Time Travel Center, travel agent Clyde Takeuchi met me at the portal with a stern warning. “You better be more careful about changing the past. I’m fining you a half million dollars for Julius Caesar. It’s a good thing he returned from Vegas. What were you thinking?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I answered sheepishly. “I’ll stay as far away from Caesar as possible.”
“That’s not good enough. From now on, you’ll have an escort.”
“No way.”
“I am personally going to make sure you stay out of trouble. I’m traveling with you. Where do you want to go?”
“I’m thinking somewhere Biblical,” I replied thoughtfully. “Surprise me.”
“Do you want to see Jesus get nailed to the cross? That’s a favorite.”
“Not really. How about Jonah getting swallowed by the whale?”
“That didn’t really happen,” advised Takeuchi, checking Internet Explorer’s database. “Any other bright ideas?”
“Noah’s Ark would be awesome.”
“Noah’s Ark it is. Hang on!”
“Wait, I don’t swim so good!”
“Too bad, so sad. I’ll rent you water wings, but they’re extra.”
* * * * *
Clyde Takeuchi and I arrived at the Black Sea Resort of Odeassa. The beaches were beautiful. Babes played volleyball in the sand. Noah sat in his rocking chair on the boardwalk, ogling each bounce. Our appearance caused a bit of a start.
“Who the hell are you?” asked Noah, pointing a whittling stick at us menacingly. “Are you angels sent by God?”
“No, sir,” I answered respectfully. “We came to see your ark.”
“What ark?”
“Don’t you have a boat?” asked Takeuchi. “Yo
u’re supposed to save all the world’s animals two by two.”
“You must be crazy. I don’t let no critters in my boat.”
“Where is your boat?” I asked, panicking. “Our calculations are that global warming is going to cause an ice dam to break, raising the level of the Atlantic Ocean, creating the Mediterranean, and flooding the Black Sea. We need to get aboard your boat before it floods.”
“Pirates stole my boat, and it ain’t no ark. It’s just a little fishing boat. I use it mostly to smuggle sponges past the Greeks.”
“But the Bible says you built an ark of gopher wood three hundred cubits long, fifty cubits wide, and thirty cubits high,” insisted Takeuchi.
“What’s a cubit?”
“Got me.”
“I just used the last of my gopher wood to build this boardwalk for the casino,” boasted Noah. “I smeared the wood with pitch. It should last forever.”
“God is going to destroy the world for mankind’s evil misdeeds. Everyone is going to drown!”
“Hey, are you one of those anti-gambling zealots that have been protesting the Casino? Don’t you know casinos mean jobs?”
“But the flood!”
As if on cue, we could hear the rumble of the ocean flood in the distance. Huge flocks of birds blackened the sky in advance of the impending catastrophe. Animals of every kind ran for their lives. Gamblers ran to the blackjack tables.
“We have to leave,” advised Takeuchi, contacting the Time Control Center. “We can’t stay.”
“But we can’t let Noah and his family die,” I argued. “You warned me not to change the past. Isn’t Noah drowning changing the past?”
“Maybe Noah is supposed to die.”
“I don’t think so.”
I called UPS, ordering an express delivery of a large inflatable pontoon raft. What can Brown do for you? Lots. In moments, the pontoon raft appeared, self inflating. Noah gathered his family.
“What about the animals?” I asked frantically. “We must save two of everything!”
“I don’t know what you’ve been smoking in your pipe,” replied Noah annoyed. “But all I’m bringing is a few chickens and my favorite goat. There’s not enough room.”
In an instant the waves hit us, thrusting the raft far into the Black Sea. We rode the surf like Hawaiians. Then a giant whale surfaced and swallowed us whole. WTF? I used my communications pad to light the inside of the beast. Fish lay flopping and splashing all about.
“Ahoy!” called out a voice on loud speakers. “This is Captain Gregoire of the U.S.S. Jimmy Carter Research submarine. You are under arrest for time-traveling without a license in a restricted time zone.”
“I’m innocent!” I protested, my voice echoing against the steel hull. “I’m just a tourist. It was all Takeuchi’s idea. He should walk the plank!”
“Is that God?” asked Noah, cowering as he clutched his beloved goat. “Is this Hell?”
“You will be arraigned before a magistrate,” advised Captain Gregoire. “Then I will flush you out with the garbage!”
“We have Noah with us!” I warned. “Let us go, or Noah and his goat get it. You will change history and the Bible forever!”
“Don’t hurt the goat,” ordered Gregoire. “I don’t care about Noah!”
We came to an arrangement. Noah and his family were released. Noah went on to sign a book deal with Dead Sea Publishing of Jerusalem that got him featured in the Bible, and he penned fiction about Jonah getting swallowed by a whale. The goat became a Navy mascot at Annapolis football games. Takeuchi skipped bail and is still a fugitive in most jurisdictions, rumored to be hiding somewhere in the wilds of the Pacific Northwest. I innocently resumed my vacation.
Chapter 29
Upon return to Rome, Julius Caesar summoned his best engineers. He had not wasted time in Las Vegas. Besides drawing plans for casinos, blackjack tables, and mechanical slot machines, Caesar provided a formula for improved cement, and a diagram for the innards of a modern float-based toilet.
“Make it happen,” decreed Caesar when finally dismissing the engineers. One remained at Caesar’s bidding, Archimedes, a clever fellow from Syracuse.
“You have something special for me?” asked Archimedes, not easily impressed by Roman know-how, but all ears now. “You abducted me though time to be your confidant, so confide in me. How is my being here possible? What gods gave you such power?”
“I want the power of Greek fire,” answered Caesar arrogantly. “I don’t need gods, but I want their power. You will assist me.”
“Making a functioning toilet and sewer is one thing, but there is no Greek fire. Greek fire is nothing more than the invention of fools and cowards, afraid of Neptune’s wrath upon the sea.”
“I don’t care about burning ships! I brought a nuke back from the future, but only one. You will examine the nuke. I want more made.”
“Nuke?” asked Archimedes, skimming through the instruction manual. He rapped on the outer shell of the device with his knuckles, listening intently to the echo. “This is a weapon? You hope to harness the power of the sun?”
“Yes,” bragged Caesar, wincing as Archimedes then tapped the bomb with a small hammer. “Careful! Greek fire pales in comparison. One nuke can destroy an entire city.”
“Which city do you intend to strike first?”
“Can you build more?”
“I can’t build this abomination. Even if I wanted to, the metallurgy alone is beyond mere mortal men. You say gods of the future gave you this nuke? What gods? Where is this God of the Red Star?”
“In North Korea,” answered Caesar, exasperated. “I bought the nuke from a pawn shop on the Las Vegas Strip. They found it on eBay. But it was manufactured in North Korea. Can you make more or not? It not, what good are you? If you are of no use to me, I’ll nail your Greek ass to a cross!”
“Take me to North Korea, and maybe I can learn their secrets.”
“Perhaps,” conceded Caesar thoughtfully. “Nuclear power is the future. I also bought a nuclear reactor capable of lighting all of Rome. Rome will be the City of Eternal Light.”
“From the North Koreans?”
“From Walmart.”
Caesar handed Archimedes another formula. “The Chinese call this gunpowder. It’s a simple but powerful process for making explosives from sulfur, saltpeter, and charcoal, used to fire bullets, cannons, and missiles.”
“What are bullets, cannons, and missiles?”
“An insurance policy,” answered Caesar, patting the nine-millimeter pistol under his robe. “I’ve got big plans for my empire, and for the world. You’re either with me, or against me.”
“I’m with you.”
* * * * *
Tired of the rain, Takeuchi turned himself in and got a plea bargain. He sent a troubleshooter from the Time Travel Agency, my old friend Guido Tonelli, to escort me back to Ancient Rome to fix things and check on Julius Caesar. It was rumored Caesar took unauthorized technology. Takeuchi blamed me for his mess and legal problems. It wasn’t my fault Takeuchi got arrested. Geez. People need to learn take more personal responsibility for their actions and problems.
“I got stuck babysitting you because I’m Italian,” griped Tonelli as we stepped out of Starbucks. “After my shop burned down, I swore never to return. I’m from the Bronx. This is a dump! To me, Rome smells like one big load of Roman horseshit.”
“Dump?” I asked incredulously. “This is Imperial Rome, the greatest Empire ever, the basis and foundation of western civilization. This is where it all began. Watch your step.”
“Good advice anywhere,” replied Tonelli, avoiding a steaming pile. “Let’s just get the job done quickly, badda bing badda boom.”
“Job?”
“You provide the introduction, and I’ll whack Julius Caesar. How hard can it be?”
“You can’t just whack Julius Caesar,” I argued. “It’s like assassinating the President. He’s the Emperor, for Christ’s sake. He’s protected
by the Praetorian Guard. They’re some bad-ass dudes.”
“And I’m protected by Smith and Wesson. So what? Takeuchi wants it done, and he’s paying big bucks. If you’ve got a problem with that, Czerinski, you can be next.”
“I don’t have a problem. I just don’t think this is going to end well. Look what happened to poor Brutus. He got fed to the lions. You’ll change history. As soon as I provide the introduction, I’m out of here.”
“You’re staying until the job is finished,” insisted Tonelli, patting his concealed pistol, making me an offer I couldn’t refuse. “It’s your fault Caesar is still alive. Besides, he’s on borrowed time anyway. All I’m doing is foreclosing his account. Or do you want to join him?”
“Don’t threaten me.”
“I’m running out of goodwill. Play ball, or you’re history. Capisce?”
“I get you. Just saying. Caesar is smarter than he looks. He’s not so easy to kill.”
“If Brutus could whack him, so can we.”
I wanted to add that Brutus didn’t actually whack him, but then remembered the timeline had been changed by my interference. Shit!
* * * * *
Roman architecture is not only meant to last a thousand years, it is meant to intimidate, to tower over conquered subjects and mere people, showing off the power of Rome. The Emperor’s Palace Complex on Palatine Hill was no exception. Its tall columns, victory arches, and beautiful fountains merely added to the splendor that was mighty and powerful Rome, undisputed ruler of the known world.
The Praetorian Guard quickly ushered us in. Julius Caesar was glad to see me, clasping my wrists to shake hands Roman style. It was a sincere and prolonged manly grasp, kind of awkward. I was glad to be let loose of his grip.
However, one look at Guido Tonelli, and Caesar ordered him arrested. Tonelli drew his pistol, but Praetorian Guards were on him, giving the wise guy thug a good old-fashion Roman beat-down. Caesar adroitly scooped up the pistol as it slid across the shiny marble floor.
America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 20: Time Machine Page 14
