Time Skip (Book 2): The Time Skippers

by Craig L. Seymour

  Chapter 20

  Lovelle never saw Hardy again in Detroit. He never even saw him again in that lifetime. After his father’s passing Lovelle made a point of visiting his mother regularly. Now aware that her son was in hiding from a killer, she did not question when he arranged for them to “vacation” together in various locations. In the meantime, he completed his work without incident. No FBI manhunt ensued and there was no indication that he was being pursed at all. He couldn’t be sure if Hardy had simply chosen the wrong place to lie in wait for him, or had switched now to some plan C. He was confident that Hardy had not given up. And that he had not seen the last of the man.

  When he skipped back to 16 he knew he had to get away from his parents home quickly. He did not know what Hardy’s home situation was, but, he had to assume he would make every effort to get to Detroit before Lovelle took off. Lovelle gave himself a single day. He knew it would likely take several days, even if Hardy didn't have to cross the Atlantic, as he was assuming. But likely wasn’t the same as certainly. And Lovelle wasn’t “likely” to survive long if he started gambling like that. For all he knew, Hardy was living across the border in Canada and had fabricated his tale of life in London to throw Lovelle off. Or he was a rich kid who could be on the Concord winging his way to New York right then.

  More aware of his own mortality than he had been in such a long time, he made a memorable day of it. When he saw his third wife, Trina, in the hall before first period he took her aside. After a pregnant pause while he just stood looking her in the eyes she asked, “Are you going to tell me what you want, or are we just going to stand here until we’re late for class?” She spoke to him with mock irritation. It was one of her mannerisms that he had always adored.

  “You’re probably going to slap me for this, but I think it will be worth it.” He placed fingers lightly on her face, holding her in place not by force but simply by direction. He leaned in and kissed her. Not passionately, but deeply nonetheless. She kissed him back willingly as someone who has suddenly discovered that they had certain feelings that they were previously unaware of. He pulled back and looked at her expectantly. She didn’t say a word. He simply said “Thank you.” And, “I’ll see you later.” He left her standing there wondering what brought on that sudden turn of events. It was their first kiss in more than one and a quarter centuries, and quite possibly their last. As he left her there, he hoped it was not. Even as he swirled with emotion’s he had kept buried for so long, he felt regret for time that had been lost. He had turned so cold for a time, and he had done it to himself with sheer force of will. He was not a cold person. He loved, and desired to be loved so much that he couldn’t bear all the loss. He had shut himself off out of self defense. But after finding Maria he had realized that he had not been merely saving himself from guilt. He had been wounding himself. Depriving himself of part of what made him whole.

  ***

  Trina was not the kiss and tell sort. Not even under such unusual circumstances. So she did not run to her girlfriends to get their opinions. She would in the days to come, as Lovelle pulled his disappearing act. But, for that day none but themselves, and a few disinterested passersby, new anything of the kiss they shared. That helped to keep it from being awkward when Lovelle took wife number four aside for a kiss of their own. Although Charlene was not his girlfriend at the start of the school year, there had already been a mutual attraction by that time in their first life. So she was not at all taken aback by his forwardness. She simply said playfully. “It’s about time.”

  “Yes, it is.” Was his reply.

  Charlene would certainty tell Trina, as she had been instrumental in the two getting together in the first place. But, they were more acquaintances than friends so he didn’t think she would rush to the phone as soon as she got home. And by tomorrow, his love life would only be a side concern as the search for him began.

  That evening he tried to soak up as much attention as possible from his parents. He sat with them at the dinner table far longer than usual. He watched TV with them for the early part of the night rather than retiring to his room for his own shows. He only left them before bedtime at all because he needed to prepare.

  He hated like hell to do it, but, for the first time in his life he took something from his parents without permission. On his way to his own room he hustled into their bedroom and withdrew the .38 special his father kept under his mattress. He didn’t like leaving them defenseless with Hardy on the loose, but, if something were to happen, he was far more capable of handling the situation than his father.

  About one a.m. Lovelle took off with a gym bag full of clothes, what little cash he had, and the gun. He sped off in his Alfa Romeo Spyder and flopped in a no tell motel on Michigan Avenue. Nearby were several shady used car lots where he could trade in his very recognizable little ride. And also a bank branch where he could clean out his meager savings. The next day he drove away from a car lot with a couple hundred bucks and a non-descript Plymouth. Add that to the money in the bank and he was on his way to see a bookie he knew with just over $500 in his pocket. It was chump change to the bookie, but, it was a good start for someone who knew exactly what to bet on.

  ***

  Lovelle went into surveillance mode. He died his hair again but was too young this time to grow any sort of beard that would cover his face. He traveled back and forth to his parent’s neighborhood, at first from his seedy motel, and then as his funds grew, from a decent place in the next town. In short order he secured his Mark Ridge identification and Curtis Lovelle truly disappeared. He ditched the Plymouth just in time as police finally discovered the Alfa and connected the dots to his new car. As Ridge he was able to really run up his money at the horse track. He bought a van and an assortment of weapons, even though by now he was coming to the conclusion that Hardy wasn’t going to make a play in Detroit.

  He returned his father’s handgun, delivering it in a package at his office. He dropped it off at the reception desk and made the lady sign for it as if he were an official courier. In with the gun he placed a handwritten note.

  I hope you didn’t even know this was gone. I’m sorry I had to take it. Don’t worry. I never fired it, and it hasn’t been used in a crime. The only time it’s seen the light of day is when it’s been moved from under my own mattress, into my pocket, and back. I had to spend a little time in a less than desirable area while I earned some money. It’s a lot safer where I’m living now, and I hate having taken something that didn’t belong to me. Especially from you or Mom.

  I’m also sorry that I took off on you the way I did. I had a good reason, but, I’m not sure if it would make any sense to you if I tried to explain. Please just know that I am okay. No one has coerced me, taken me, or harmed me in any way. I left of my own free will, and for reasons that do not involve you in any way. You are not responsible for my leaving, and neither is anyone of my acquaintance that you are aware of. I know I cannot expect you to stop looking for me. If I were in your place, I would not. But please do not look for someone to blame. I don’t want anyone I know to suffer for my actions any more than has already happened.

  All my love to you and Mom,

  Curtis.

  When the time was right, Lovelle made his way down to Miami. He lined up his Cuban ex patriots and proceeded on his mission. He could not relinquish the last vestiges of hope until he landed on that beach. Although her absence only confirmed what he already knew, his heart broke all over again. He fell to his knees, his gun thudding to the ground. His body sank until his forehead touched the dirt. He sobbed openly until Manuel hauled him to his feet.

  “Come on boy. I’m sorry your girl is not here, but, we have to get going.”

  Lovelle knew the man was right. In fact, he knew precisely when a patrol boat would visit the little cove they were using for the pick up. He thought for a moment about sending the Cubans on their way and heading inland to look for his wife. But he simply wasn’t prepared for that. He did not have t
he equipment for that sort of mission. And he knew that if Maria were alive that this is where she would be.

  ***

  Lovelle returned to Michigan and collected his things. He would resume his life as the vigilante and await the next appearance of Hardy. Not wanting to have to be on full alert all the time. He moved to Atlantic City instead of Vegas. The casino’s there could support his activities just as well. If he needed to make a big score, he could always visit his old stomping grounds where he could spread his bet over a wider number of sports books. But for daily living he would be much more at ease in New Jersey. There, he would not be constantly looking over his shoulder.

  With no Maria to come home to, and a climate he found much less agreeable than the desert he had grown accustomed to, Lovelle spent more time away from home than in it. Afraid to go to Detroit, and not in any mood to vacation alone, he stepped up the pace of his work. He was removing targets years ahead of his normal schedule. He figured this actually worked to his advantage, as Hardy would almost certainly have some loose idea of the normal timing of the assassinations. Given that, he was unlikely to choose a target that he knew had always been killed sometime in the last half of the skip.

  Nevertheless, Lovelle was no less vigilant on these out of sequence missions. But, he was more relaxed. Several years and numerous missions went by and there had been no sign of Hardy. Lovelle wondered if he had just been lucky. Was Hardy living someplace, enduring a multi-year stakeout of one of the targets. Lovelle could hardly imagine how miserable that would be. The monotony of watching a subject day in and day out, cursing each day that the vigilante failed to re-emerge. It would be mind numbing boredom. Lovelle smiled to think of it. The bastard deserved that and so much more.

  Lovelle had proven that time heals wounds. Oh, he had some nasty emotional scars, but, he had moved on successfully from numerous tragic losses. A son, a daughter, and four marriages before Maria. But the death of Maria was not getting easier to take. Instead, it was festering. Lovelle continued to get angrier and more vengeful. Undoubtedly, because, unlike those other losses, there was a tangible person to blame. Hardy was out there, unrepentant and threatening. Lovelle wondered if he could keep his rage in check the next time he saw him. Would he be able to stop short of killing the man, knowing the potential consequences to the broader world.

  ***

  As the time for his next trip to Sudan approached, Lovelle was struck by the notion that Hardy might just be waiting for this event. In the last life he had expressed his appreciation that the job was complete before what he’d hoped to be the final showdown. That could explain his absence. He might well have decided to wait for Lovelle to do the one job he wasn’t sure he could do himself before trying to ambush him again. He might just be on an extended vacation right now. He might be crossing all of Lovelle’s kills off his own to do list, grateful that he would have so little to do once Lovelle was disposed of. Lovelle could just picture Hardy with a smug smile on his face, and it burned him up.

  He tried not to let his anger get the best of him. He supposed it didn’t really matter. He had no intention of letting Hardy get the best of him. Time wasn’t going to move on, or end, so it didn’t really matter if Lovelle took care of all of his removals early or not. The only one who was going to benefit with a little R&R at the end of this skip was going to be him.

  ***

  As always, Lovelle arrived in Eritrea a couple of weeks before he was set to assassinate Bin Laden. He had to procure the tools of his trade, and despite knowing exactly where to go and who to see, these things took a little time. Besides, he actually kind of enjoyed the Italianesque city of Asmara. There were people there who could be a little off putting, especially to westerners, if you didn’t know where to go. But Lovelle knew precisely where to shop and eat. He’d had to figure it out by trial and error, but, he’d had plenty of chances to get it right. He had long ago discovered a little hotel that was both welcoming and discreet. He could come and go as he liked and never turn a head. And although he liked to explore a little each time he was in town, he only did so as a part of his down time. When he was purchasing his gear he mirrored his past actions as closely as possible. He had safely bought his Toyota Corrolla and the weapons from the same people at the same time over and over again. It was a formula that worked, and when he was working in a potentially hostile land he did not take unnecessary risks.

  On the appointed day, and at the same time as always, Lovelle headed off on his excursion to Sudan. He took off for the border city of Teseney where he would make a quick pit stop before heading overland where he could cross the border unnoticed and follow the Mareb River to Kassala in Sudan. Once there he would find a road that could lead him to Khartoum. His stay there would be very short. He would have Osama Bin Laden in his scope that same night.

  During his first trip to Sudan he had spent a long time trying to locate his target. He’d had a close call when a pair of armed men approached him during his search. He’d killed the men, and to this day he had no idea who they were and who they worked for. In a city were the police weren’t the only ones patrolling the streets, it didn’t pay to spend any extra time wandering around looking for trouble. He had it all timed out so he could drive right into town and not stop until he was parked around the block from the building where he would be perched for the kill shot.

  From his passenger seat he retrieved a heavy back pack and strapped it on. He slunk through the dark street until he was at the foot of the building. He scaled a drainage pipe and flopped over the parapet. He mused at how, after all these years, he was just as physically fit for this climb as he had been every other time he’d made it. He removed his pack and liberated from it a repelling rig. He secured that to a sturdy exhaust pipe and left it piled up at the base of the parapet. Although he did not expect to have to make a quick exit, he was the perpetual Boy Scout when it came to these things.

  For the same reason, he did not show up for this mission bearing a single rifle, although that is all he had needed for that last six times he had been here. Out of the stuffed pack he extracted his model 89 sniper rifle. This compact semi auto Israeli rifle was a lot easier to tote around than the WWII era Browning Automatic Rifle he had used for his first excursion to Sudan. As with the BAR, this rifle did not have the range of some other choices, but was more than adequate for this distance and afforded him the opportunity to take multiple shots as quickly as he could take aim.

  Also in the pack were his favored Colt 1911 pistol, a buck knife, and an UZI. Although he had removed all of the guess work, he could not guarantee that other variables outside of his control would not spoil the shot. The precise placement of the rifle on the parapet. The wind speed and direction at the exact moment of his trigger pull. Even though both his target, and the environment would be precisely the same each time, any variation in his own actions from mission to mission could change everything. So he strapped on the holster and laid the UZI on the roof next to him. He would be in action soon.

  ***

  The two SUVs arrived and Lovelle felled his subjects as always. As the bodyguards returned fire in futility, he shoved the Uzi and the rifle back into the pack and prepared to repel. He was still a dozen feet from the ground when he was struck by a bullet in the shoulder. He lost hold of the rope and dropped like a stone. He landed hard on his pack and his head snapped back, cracking into the blacktop. A small stone cut deep into his scalp and blood began to pool.

  He nearly lost consciousness, but, he struggled to remain awake. He heard the approach of footsteps and controlled his breathing. If he played possum he just might get a chance to counter. He closed his eyes, just in time as a beam of light struck his face. “Sorry, old boy. But it had to go this way.” He heard the familiar British accent, murmuring more to himself than to Lovelle. Hardy, who had been trying to make a head shot on a moving target, and in the dark, had seen the blood under Lovelle’s head and assumed he had succeeded. Although the shoulder wound was bleedi
ng more severely, Lovelle’s clothing was soaking that up enough to keep it from being apparent.

  “For good measure.” Hardy announced stupidly as he aimed for Lovelle’s head again. Lovelle rolled out of the way in time to take several bits of concrete in the face as Hardy’s bullet struck the pavement just inches away. Lovelle tore the 1911 from his holster and tried to return the favor, aiming for his adversary’s shoulder. Hardy, anticipating a head shot, ducked. Instead of the shoulder, Lovelle’s round tore through the side of Hardy’s neck.

  “No, no, no!” Lovelle shouted, seeing the damage. “You maniac! Look what you made me do!”

  Hardy fell to the ground, grasping at his neck, while Lovelle climbed to his feet, ignoring his own injuries. “Damn it. I’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

  He kicked Hardy’s gun away, then rifled through the man’s pockets to make sure he wasn’t concealing any other weapons. He found a knife in his waist band and a small pistol in an ankle holster, both of which he tossed aside. He removed a medical kit from his backpack and gave Hardy some gauze pads. “Hold these on tight. You’ve got to slow the bleeding if you want to take another crack at me.” He hoisted the man over his good shoulder and hurried to his waiting car. He was running on pure adrenaline, oblivious to his own pain, at least for the moment.

  He propped Hardy up in his passenger seat, where he could keep a watchful eye on him as well as try and keep him awake. He was no medic, but, it seemed to him a bad idea for Hardy to pass out right now. It was a good half hour drive to the hospital, so he tried to keep the man engaged.

  “How the hell did you find me?” Hardy had seemed more than happy to talk about his achievements in the past and Lovelle thought the invitation would keep him engaged. That was the way it worked in the movies at least. The killer had to tell his story.

  Hardy started weakly, but seemed to strengthen with the opportunity to boast of his cleverness “This is the third time I’ve been here. The first time I missed you entirely, but, I was able to find out where Bin Laden was living before you killed him. The second time, two lives ago, I was nearby when you shot him. I pinpointed your location that night, but, I wasn’t ready for you to die just yet. I did not come last time, because I wasn’t sure when, or even if, you would come. But when I found out you were there on the same night, I knew I had you, if only I could be patient.”