“Plant what now?” Leo scrunched his face then looked at me. “Oh like vegetarianism? Shit. Wouldn’t catch me going there then. Too hard. How you live like that?”
“The key to most “isms” is not being a dick about it,” I said. “The rest is practice.”
Leo still didn’t move. “Where you get your protein?”
I sighed. “Where do you get your flavonoids?”
His brow wrinkled. “Huh?”
“Leo.” Amadeus’ voice had an edge this time. “Get lost.”
Leo rolled his shoulders but nodded. “Right. Sure thing, boss.”
When he was gone, Amadeus sighed. “My apologies about that. Leo is a local. We’re working on his social skills.”
“You seem to know a lot about me. I explained my trick. What’s yours?”
Amadeus shrugged. “It’s my business to know these things.”
“What business is that?”
“Time management.”
I leaned back in my seat. “We all have that job.”
“I’m better at it than most.”
Roman Amadeus seemed at ease so I decided to play things straight.
“Came here tonight on the tail of two guys who used a portable time gate in late 2018.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and displayed a photo taken from my sunglasses cam. “They were lurking around a client’s house. I assume they’re yours.”
Roman took a glance at the phone.
“You want to meet them?” He lifted a hand and gestured to the barman. The bartender put down a bottle and hurried over.
“Yes, sir?”
“Quinn, I’d like you to get a hold of Tommy Garcia and Magic Max. Send them an invite, will you? Five minutes.”
“I’ll make it happen.”
Amadeus turned to me. “There you go. Happy to assist with whatever you need, Greyson. Do you mind if I call you Greyson?”
I had to give him credit. He was two steps ahead of me. Now if I asked why these thugs were showing up to see him, he’d say it was to meet me. A tidy causal loop.
“You have an interest in Foster Phillips.”
I caught a hint of change in his expression. It passed in an instant.
He sipped his drink and set it back down. “Do you know what the most valuable commodity in the world is, Greyson? It’s time. So many people in this world chase all the wrong things.”
“Still runs out,” I said. “No one can buy more.”
“That’s where I’ll politely disagree. But I think it’s a shame to see a man wasting his time.”
Implying me, no doubt. But I didn’t get a chance to reply.
Two men arrived at the bar, appearing out of thin air. There was no fanfare. No noise. One moment the stools were empty, the next they weren’t.
The two men surveyed the room with an air of curiosity. Must not be regulars. They located Amadeus’ table and slid off their stools. The squinty one eyed me quizzically as he walked up. Neck Folds looked even bigger out of the SUV. I’d underestimated his height.
“Gentlemen. So glad you could join us. This is Mr. Greyson Travers, a private investigator. He has some questions for you. Greyson, meet Tommy ‘The Tank’ Garcia and Magic Max.”
“You two have a show in Vegas?” I asked.
“That’s your question?” Squinty was apparently Max. Couldn’t imagine anyone labelling him Tank. And it was hard to think of his friend as anything else now that I’d seen all of him. Max had a diamond stud in his right ear I hadn’t noticed before.
“What were you doing outside the Phillips’ house tonight?” It was technically thirty-four years from now but he knew what I meant.
“Looking for a dog. Named Barkley.” His eyes were flint.
So he did recognize me. I hadn’t expected a real answer. “I’d bet you lost something more expensive than a dog.”
Max flinched and glanced to Amadeus before clenching his jaw. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
It was Roman’s turn to narrow his eyes. With the fire behind his stare, I was surprised Magic Max didn’t spontaneously combust.
Hit.
If this was Battleship, something on their side was smoking. Only time would tell if I’d struck the carrier or the PT boat.
Roman motioned with a casual wave of his wrist. Tommy and Max got the message and faded back to the bar, their looks to me all shivs and switchblades.
Roman fiddled with the pegasus ring on his finger. “You have a reputation in this community, Travers. Your family has a reputation. We have that in common. We come from significance.”
I sipped my tequila. Waited.
“Significance in this world comes with respect. Your family, my family. We have our own rules. So when I tell you a thing, I know you’ll think of them, you’ll think of that respect.”
“I can hardly stand the suspense.”
Roman cocked an eyebrow. “You’re smart, Greyson. And if you stay smart, you’ll leave this thing alone.”
“Foster Phillips is dead.”
“A tragedy.” Roman shrugged. “It happens.”
“It was murder.”
“The police ruled suicide. Suicide is . . . simpler.”
“For you?”
“For everyone. Leave this to me. I absolve you of it. No longer your problem.” He wiped his hands on his napkin. Dabbed at his mouth.
“And if I make it my problem?”
“I’d say that means something. About respect.” He clenched the napkin in his fist. His knuckles were bloodless.
I got up. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll be going.”
Amadeus affixed a polite smile back to his face and signaled the bartender again. “I’ll have Quinn arrange you an exit.”
“No thanks. I can find my own way out.”
“It’s been a pleasure, Greyson. I do hope you’ll drop in again.” Amadeus didn’t get up.
Tommy the Tank and Magic Max glared at me from the bar. Tommy was flexing.
Guy needed another hobby.
The elevator was at the back of the restaurant.
Could I have trusted Amadeus’ man to find me a jump location back to tomorrow? Probably. But I wasn’t going to risk it.
The ground floor lobby let out onto Stone Street in the financial district.
It was a cold night. Chilled the blood. I could see my breath.
There was history here, a dark cobblestone avenue dating back centuries stuck right in the hub of modern commerce. Modern for ’84 anyway. The gutter smelled like motor oil and mothballs. I walked toward the Goldman Sachs building, pulled earbuds from my pocket, and popped one into my ear so I could communicate with Waldo.
The first earbud was barely in when Waldo spoke. “Someone is tailing you.”
That’s when I noticed I had a tail.
Half a block back. Trench coat. Slouchy but he couldn’t hide his size. Could have been a linebacker.
Should have figured.
“Thanks, buddy.”
“Would you like me to call for assistance?”
“I’m offended by the suggestion.” I pocketed the earbuds again.
The good thing about Stone Street in the eighties was that it already resembled a dark alley.
I found a dead-end walkway and ducked down it. Looked like as good a place as any to get jumped. Never let it be said that Greyson Travers didn’t do things right. A detective had to have some kind of standards.
When my tail came around the corner, I punched him in the throat.
11
Pro tip: When you are fighting in a back alley, throw out the rule book.
There’s nothing like a good throat punch to get a guy’s attention.
I hadn’t crushed his windpipe, but the guy did make a lot of funny noises as I hit him with a flurry of jabs and a right hook that sent him to the sidewalk. He also got a kick to the gut as he tried to crawl away. That made him roll over so I could stomp on his knee.
I considered just shooting him to make my life e
asier. Less exertion. I pulled my Stinger from its shoulder holster and aimed it at his face. “Any last words?”
“Tee . . . See . . . Eye . . . Dee,” he gasped.
“Those are some stupid last words. But it’s your funeral.”
He was fishing in his coat for something. The coat had fallen open, revealing a pistol in a holster at his hip, but that wasn’t the side he was fumbling with. He finally got his fingers on what he was after and tossed it to my feet. The wallet fell open to reveal a badge.
I stooped and picked it up.
The badge was engraved with the letters TCID. Temporal Crimes Investigations Division.
Ah.
I could admit that his last words weren’t entirely stupid.
I holstered my gun.
“We just . . .wanted . . . to talk,” he wheezed.
“You’re not very good at it. Your voice is all weird.” I read his ID. Said his name was Theodore Baker. “Okay Teddy, where’s your boss? I know you aren’t the brains of this outfit.”
Theodore struggled to his knees and pointed across the street. There was an unmarked van parked a half dozen cars away.
“Don’t get up on my account,” I said, and dropped his badge to the sidewalk again.
I crossed the street and walked up to the passenger side of the cargo van where the sliding door was. I rapped on the door with my knuckles.
It slid open and a female agent stared at me over the barrel of a .45 caliber Falcon Nighthawk. Her chestnut hair was tied back. She was wearing blue jeans, a navy T-shirt, and a bomber jacket. It was a good look. I put her in her late thirties but it was hard to tell.
Agent door-opener made an appearance too. He was an overweight, fortyish white dude, looking less cool in khakis and a beige Members Only jacket. Tough to be hip in beige. His gun was out too.
“Heard you wanted to talk.”
The aviatrix lowered her Falcon by a degree. “What’s your name?”
“Puddin’ Tame.”
She frowned. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.”
“Ask me again and—”
“Yeah yeah,” she muttered.
“Nice surveillance van. This thing have cable?”
“Oh good. We caught a wise guy.”
I scanned the interior of the van and noted a wastepaper basket full of takeout wrappers. “Looks like you’ve been here awhile. You find the good coffee yet?”
The agent lowered her weapon the rest of the way. “Next block over.”
I said, “You’re buying.”
* * *
It was hard to tell if the twenty-four-hour diner was a throwback to the fifties or just hadn’t been updated in thirty years. Either way, it made me want to order a milkshake.
We settled into a booth and Agent Stella York slid her business card across the table to me.
Above her name it said TIME CRIMES.
Not to be outdone, I pulled a business card from my wallet too.
She took it and snapped a photo with her phone.
Cheater.
“Travers?” Her eyebrows lifted. “You related to Benjamin Travers?”
“When I have to admit it.”
She tapped the edge of the card on the table. “I thought your family stayed on the right side of the law. What are you doing coming out of a place full of known mobsters?” She pocketed my card.
“I like to stay well-rounded. How long have you been watching the Amadeus organization?”
“You say that like we ever aren’t watching them. The family is into everything you can imagine. But our current interest is a money laundering scheme. We have reason to suspect Amadeus, but so far we’ve got nothing to pin on him. You talk to him in there?”
“You didn’t get an invite?” I asked.
“TCID doesn’t get asked to gangster parties.”
“Sounds like it’s time to quit. Make your own way in the world. Have some fun.”
“That you? Lone wolf? No one to hold you accountable?”
“Many hands make more messes.”
“So, private investigator. Investigating what?” She sipped her coffee and watched me over the brim.
“Dead guy. Murder. Followed a couple of Roman’s gun thugs here. Just kicking the hornet's nest to see what buzzes.”
“We know they’re in there, but you’re the only one we’ve seen come out. What’s the trick to getting inside?”
I located the card the bartender had given me for The Last Nightclub and handed it to her. “Put a space in the word nightclub and it gets you the time. It’s a space/time joke.”
She studied it carefully. “Last Nightclub becomes Last Night Club. Clever. You’re the first person I’ve spoken to that’s actually been given one of these.”
I wrapped my fingers around my coffee cup to warm them. “It’s a pretty foolproof system. The meeting is always the night before you get the invite, so it’s exclusive to time travelers. They use someone who was in attendance as a gatekeeper. If he didn’t see you there the night before, you don’t get access. That way only people who have been there can get there.”
“What happens if the gatekeeper forgets to invite someone who already showed up?”
I shook my head. “These guys aren’t amateurs. They don’t strike me as the type to mess around with paradoxes. Who has you watching Amadeus?”
“ASCOTT concerns get the highest priority. My division is focused on missing time gate technology and black-market personal time travel devices.”
I was familiar with the Allied Scientific Coalition of Time Travelers. The organization was the closest thing the time travel community had to a formal government. The Temporal Crimes Investigation Division was subject to their authority. They laid down the law for the use of time machines and the creation of parallel timestreams. But 1984 was well beyond their normal jurisdiction. They were going out of their way for this one.
“You think Amadeus is pulling something big?”
“Rumors on the street are that he’s working for someone bigger. But we don’t know all the players. Tracking these guys is like grasping at smoke. There’s never any kind of paper trail and even if we catch someone in the act, there’s no way to trace it to the Amadeus family.”
“You tried following the money?”
“We haven’t seen any change hands. These people are good.”
I liked that she wasn’t trying to disguise her lack of progress. She was floundering and sharing it openly. I respected that. Showed she didn’t confuse setbacks with failure.
“You new to TCID? Most of the agents I’ve dealt with aren’t so forthcoming.”
Stella brushed her hair behind an ear. “Been at Time Crimes six months. Did fifteen years with the FBI before that. It was actually your grandfather who put a word in for me with the division.”
“That a fact. Good to know.”
“We’re getting nowhere with Amadeus right now. I was planning to pull up stakes here after today if we didn’t gather anything new. You learn anything we can use?”
“Roman seems to be the guy in charge. He kept things casual but made an interesting comment about time being our most valuable commodity. Thought he was speaking metaphorically, but maybe he wasn’t. I’ll keep digging and see what I can come up with. If you’re looking for stolen time gates, I might be able to point you to one.”
“You have my card,” Stella said. “Maybe next time don’t cripple my agents?”
“They should learn to stay on their feet.”
I got up and Stella York rose with me. She had a good face. I liked her. Definitely wouldn’t knock her down in an alley.
“One more thing, Travers.” She brushed her hair back again. “I find you’re playing both sides of this somehow, famous family or not, I’ll put you away.” She locked eyes with me. Held it.
I gave her a nod. “We know where we stand with each other.”
“Yeah. We do.”
I held the door for her.
We parted ways on
the sidewalk and I noticed Agent Punching Bag glaring at me from the driver’s seat of the van as I walked away. I had a feeling we weren’t friends anymore.
It was going to be a pain getting back to St. Pete to pick up my car, but at least I knew where I was headed.
It was time to run down my next lead.
And I knew just where to start.
12
Waldo planned the route back to 2019 with precision and I made it without completely draining the batteries on the Boss.
It was a little after seven o’clock, Saturday evening. Still an hour till I had to be at Isla’s place for dinner.
I pit-stopped at the apartment to ditch my gun and snag a bottle of wine from the rack above my fridge. Isla hadn’t said what she liked. Weren’t all the hip millennials drinking pinot noir these days? I didn’t have one so I went with a Hedges Red Mountain cabernet. Isla deserved the good stuff.
The trip across the bridge was pleasant. I let Waldo drive. The night had cooled and we cruised through Tampa with the windows down. He shuffled some Hans Zimmer movie soundtracks, mostly from Christopher Nolan films. I took control again when we reached Hyde Park.
Isla was outside chatting with another woman when I pulled up. They both gawked at the car.
“Wow. That’s sexy,” Isla said as I climbed out. “New toy?”
“Spoils of war.”
“Then I’d hate to be your adversary,” Isla said. “What would you take of mine?”
“Whatever I can get my hands on.”
Her companion was an older woman, sixties, fit and pretty. Looking uncomfortable with the conversation.
Isla introduced her as her neighbor, Jan. The woman sized me up with raised eyebrows. “Didn’t know they still made men like you.”
“Limited editions sometimes get a second printing.”
Jan patted Isla’s hand as she said goodbye. It was nice to meet me. Best get going.
Isla practically beamed at me. She had a drink in her hand. Suspected it was another White Claw over ice. Her eyes were slightly glassy, maybe not her first.
“I’m happy to see you.”
I raised the wine bottle. “I come bearing gifts.”
Time of Death Page 6
