Limbus, Inc., Book III

by Jonathan Maberry

  “So when I am home, she ain’t? That don’t even make sense.”

  “It does to Martha.”

  “Yeah.”

  But Grams was doing okay, at least, which was what mattered.

  The assignment was to 2011. Wanda’s first question had been, “So, what, I’m goin’ to the moon or somethin’?”

  Chuckling, Isabelle had said, “No, not the moon. All your missions will be in New York City. It’s one of the ways we deliberately limit the time travel.”

  “So someone else gets to go to the moon?”

  “Not in 2011. I’m afraid that the moon won’t be colonized for another century after that.”

  “Really? With all them rockets they’re shootin’ up there, and you’re tellin’ me ain’t no moon colonies by 2000?”

  “Afraid not. And there are no flying cars, either.”

  “Good. Traffic’s bad enough on the ground.”

  She was sent through, along with the file on her target and identification that said that Wanda Jackson lived on West 225th Street in the Bronx, in the same projects that Rondell grew up in. She wandered the neighborhood and wasn’t sure what freaked her out more—how much changed, or how much was the same. The streets were a lot cleaner, though still not completely clean, entirely, and the projects looked just the same. The trees in the courtyards looked better than they did back a few years ago—or, really, forty years ago—and biggest of all, there was a large shopping center across 225th that wasn’t there in the old days. In fact, there wasn’t anything there, then, but now there were several stores and a parking lot.

  The target was a kid who lived in the projects named Javier Mota. He was going to Cardinal Hayes High School, and according to the file, he was trying to decide which college to go to. He’d been accepted by both Columbia and Fordham, and he was having trouble choosing. Wanda’s job was to help him choose.

  Seemed easy enough.

  Every afternoon after school, Javier went to the coffee shop in the shopping center. It was called “Starbucks” and it had an ugly mermaid logo. The shops were all over town, and Wanda couldn’t figure out why, because their coffee was nasty. She poured better coffee using yesterday’s dishwater at Smith’s.

  After the first few times Wanda and Javier saw each other in the coffee shop, they nodded and smiled to each other—and a few other times when they bumped into each other in the courtyard.

  She did that for a few weeks, and when she wasn’t doing that, she was having fun with the computer. To her, computers were big glunky machines with flashing lights and tapes, like what you saw on the tee vee. But in 2011, computers were like an even fancier version of what Isabelle had on her desk: a combo of typewriters and tee vees. People also had their own phones so they didn’t need to use dirty pay phones if they needed to call somebody when they weren’t home. The subways were actually clean and not covered in graffiti, there were twice as many signs and they were clearer, and the trains hardly ever broke down.

  Not that it was all great. Things cost a lot more. People in 1978 complained about inflation, but that was nothing compared to 2011. And despite what she’d said to Isabelle, she wished there were flying cars, because there were considerably more cars on the road, and they were all either much smaller or much bigger than the cars she was used to.

  The fashions were insane, too. Everything was too small. The collars, the cuffs, the hair. And the colors weren’t nearly bright enough. Plus everyone had to have a tattoo, apparently. Made everyone look like sailors or prisoners. People definitely dressed stupid in the 21st century.

  Finally, one day, it was crowded in the coffee shop, and so after she got a hot chocolate—the only thing in the place that was drinkable, as far as Wanda was concerned—she walked over to Javier’s table.

  “‘Scuse me, mind if I sit here?”

  Javier looked up from his book. He was always reading. “Hm? Oh hey, it’s you.”

  “Wanda.”

  “I’m Javier. And, uh, yeah, sure, have a seat.”

  “Right on, thanks.”

  Javier laughed. “‘Right on’? What is this, That 70s Show all of a sudden?”

  Wanda forced herself to laugh with him and managed not to punch him for that comment. She’d watched half an episode of that show, and they pretty much got everything wrong. Made her wonder about all those World War II movies she and Rondell used to watch. Were they all lies, too?

  “Whatcha readin’?”

  “Rereading, actually,” he said. “I love to reread books. Anyhow, this is the second Harry Potter. Have you read them?”

  “Not yet.”

  “The last movie’s coming out this summer, so I figured I’d reread the series. They’re my second favorite books.”

  Wanda smiled. “What’s your favorite?”

  “L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time.”

  “No foolin’? Those are my favorite too! Read those when I was a kid. I just finished the third book—rereadin’ it, I mean, like you.”

  “Nice.” Javier put a bookmark into the book and set it down next to his mocha caramel whatever-it-was. Wanda figured they created all these stupid extra things for the coffee to hide the fact that it tasted like sewage.

  “Oh, hey, I don’t mean to get in the way. I just wanted to sit. Keep readin’.”

  “Nah, it’s all good. I wasn’t really readin’ that close.”

  “Why not?”

  Javier leaned back in his chair. “I’m havin’ trouble with somethin’, is all. No big.”

  “What’s the trouble?”

  “It’s nothin’, really.”

  Wanda shrugged. “Okay, groovy.”

  That got Javier to laugh again. “You are really rockin’ the 70s lingo.”

  It really worried Wanda that her way of talking was so exotic that people were laughing at her. Why couldn’t these 21st century cats talk normal?

  “A’ight, look, the problem is, I got accepted to two colleges.”

  “Okay. So pick one.”

  “I can’t.” He shook his head. “It ain’t about the money. Columbia’s more expensive than Fordham, but Columbia gave me a bigger scholarship.”

  “Scholarship, huh? N-nice.” She was about to say “right on,” but she didn’t want to start that up again.

  “So it’d cost the same either way. My parents are all, ‘whatever you want, Javy,’ since it cost the same either way. They’re just all happy I’m goin’ to college, y’know?”

  “Well, maybe make a list.”

  “A what?”

  “A list. Write down what’s good about each one and what’s bad about each one, and whichever one has the longer good list and the shorter bad list, go there.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Javier reached down to his backpack, which was down under his chair. He pulled out a laptop computer and started typing things on it. “Okay, let’s see. Transportation don’t matter. Got the 1 train to take me to Columbia, got the 9 bus to take me to Fordham. They both got good English lit departments.”

  “That’s what you gonna be studyin’?”

  Javier nodded. “I think I want to be a lawyer, but I maybe wanna be a writer, too. I mean, I’d love to be like J.K. Rowling or Madeleine L’Engle, or even Stephen King. Hell, I’d even be Stephenie Meyer.”

  Wanda had no idea who that last one was—Rowling was the name on the book Javier was reading. “Okay, so what about law departments?”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter what you study as an undergrad if you want to go to law school, long as you have good grades.”

  “Okay, what about the place itself?”

  Javier shrugged. “They’re both nice campuses. Columbia’s on the Upper West Side, though. Real nice neighborhood.”

  Wanda already knew that the UWS was, if anything, even nicer than it was in her day, and it was pretty damn groovy then. “And Fordham?”

  “Not so great. But you do have Arthur Avenue, and the food there’s amazing.”

  “What about the professors?”r />
  “I don’t really know ‘em.”

  “Ain’t Fordham a Catholic school?”

  Javier winced. “Not really? They’re kinda Catholic. The slogan says, ‘a school in the Jesuit tradition,’ but a lot of the faculty and administration are Jesuit priests.”

  Wanda didn’t know enough about Catholicism to know what a Jesuit was, and how they were different from regular Catholics. “That good or bad?”

  “Well, the Jesuits are really good teachers. But—” He sighed. “Okay, here’s the thing. Mamí wants me to go to Fordham. I know she says she don’t care, long’s I go to college, but she wants Fordham because of the Jesuits. But I’m sick’a priests! Hayes is all Catholic up in there, but Columbia’s a real school, private and stuff. I mean, Fordham is too, kinda, but—”

  “But you don’t want a religious education?”

  “They make you take theology, man!”

  Wanda chuckled. “So go to Columbia, fool!”

  Javier straightened up his back. “I ain’t no fool!”

  “Look, you obviously don’t wanna be goin’ to Fordham. Only reason you ain’t accepted Columbia yet is ‘cause you’re afraid of your mother. Well, that’s just some nonsense, right there. You’re the cat that’s goin’ to college, not your mother. It ain’t gonna cost her no more money than Fordham, and you get to go where you want. If she asks, tell ‘em the neighborhood’s safer, especially if you’re taking the subway late at night.”

  “I guess.” Javier was squirming in his seat.

  “Look, I ain’t gonna tell you that your mother ain’t important. But you can’t be lettin’ her control your life, neither. You wanna go to Columbia, so get your behind up outta this coffee shop and go to Columbia.”

  Javier just stared at her for a few seconds. “Damn. Anyone ever tell you you’re pushy, Wanda?”

  “Not twice.”

  They both laughed at that.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” she said, “but you was havin’ trouble, and I told you how to get out of it. You don’t gotta listen—I’m just some lady in a coffee shop havin’ a hot chocolate. You wanna take my advice, groovy. You don’t, just as groovy. Ain’t no thing to me.”

  Then she got up and walked out.

  6

  When Wanda returned to 666 Fifth Avenue, Isabelle was waiting for her when she came out of the Device Room. (Wanda had thought they needed a name for it that wasn’t stupid. Isabelle was right there with her, but they needed a boring name because it was secret.)

  “I was expecting something a trifle more encouraging.”

  Wanda just stared at her. “Say what?”

  “I meant—”

  “I know what you meant. Look, that’s where it’s at with me. You don’t like it, you shouldn’ta hired me.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, Javier decided to go to Columbia. Which means he’ll meet Aaron Shivovitz and Jamal Jones in college instead of in his twenties, and their boutique tech business will be formed in 2017 rather than 2025, and become far more successful. Since they’re a Limbus contractor, this improves our own bottom line quite a bit.”

  “Hooray for you. Long as Grams gets paid?”

  “Of course. Oh, and as an added bonus, your mother’s disability payments are now part of the same direct-deposit package that includes your grandmother’s social security and the stipend from us.”

  Wanda’s eyes went all wide. “You mean, Mama can’t touch it?”

  “Not without your grandmother’s consent, no.”

  “Right on.” Wanda smiled. “I need a shower, then I wanna go visit.”

  “I’d say you’ve earned it.” Isabelle returned the smile. “In fact, you can have the rest of the week off. Report back on Monday.”

  “Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout? It’s Friday.”

  “No, it was Friday when you left 2011. It’s still the same Tuesday afternoon when you left here.”

  Wanda blinked. “Damn. This gonna take some gettin’ used to.”

  “It took us all some time to adjust. You will eventually. Enjoy your week off.”

  7

  Wanda actually came back to 666 Fifth Avenue on Friday, as she could only stand Mama for so long.

  “Where you been?” Mama kept asking.

  “Earning bread, Mama. What you been doin’?”

  “That ain’t none’a your business, baby girl. And why ain’t you home to be makin’ dinner?”

  “‘Cause my job means I’m travelin’ a lot.”

  “Oh yeah? Where you been goin’?”

  Wanda just smiled. “That ain’t none’a your business, Mama.”

  “Don’t you sass me, baby girl, you ain’t too old for me to—”

  “To what, Mama? Take me over your knee?”

  “Easier’n ever to do it in this chair.”

  It went on like that for days, before Wanda finally had to leave.

  When she got off on the 42nd floor, she saw a familiar face walk past her and enter the elevator to go back down.

  Whirling around, she peered right at him as the door closed on him. It was a brother, and one she knew. He was wearing a suit and was clean-shaven, but she’d seen him before wearing a big overcoat and all unshaved and stuff.

  And then she placed him and she ran to Isabelle’s office.

  “What the hell is that cat doin’ here?”

  Isabelle looked up from her computer. “Which, ah, cat are you talki—”

  “Why is Leroy up here wearin’ a damn suit?”

  “I don’t—”

  Wanda put her hands down on Isabelle’s fancy desk. “Do not jive me. Why you got some crazy brother workin’ for you? I thought the fuzz arrested his behind.”

  Isabelle just stared at Wanda for a second. Then she leaned back in her chair and sighed. “The, ah, the fuzz went to the address you provided on 139th Street, but it was an abandoned building. Leroy Washington never lived there—or anywhere else in 1978. He’s an employee of the department, and he was originally born in New York City in 2019. He’s also one of our more talented agents.”

  “Agents?”

  “Yes. You see, Wanda, we needed you. We still need you. Recruiting you would have been possible if you’d only lost the job at Smith’s Diner, but we decided the chances would be much higher if you lost both your jobs.”

  “So you just sent him there to get me to lose my job?”

  “Well, not just that. The man Mr. Washington shot was Harold Gage, and while the doctors at Harlem Hospital were able to save his life, he was a changed man. His near-death experience made him a much more conscientious businessman.”

  “Lemme guess, you’re contracted with him, too?”

  “No, his competitors. Being conscientious led to poor judgment, unfortunately.”

  “You wanted me that bad?”

  “Yes.”

  Wanda shook her head and started walking toward the window. “Crazy. I’m just some lady from Harlem.”

  “Who has a marketable skill that was being wasted in your previous circumstance. One of the reasons why Limbus is so successful, Wanda, is because we are able to identify resources that other people can’t. You are, bluntly, an African American woman in a poor neighborhood. The mainstream of your society does not recognize your talents.”

  “Got that right.” She stared at the New York skyline, which looked even more wrong. There were more, and taller, buildings. “What year is that?”

  “Hm?” Isabelle looked over at the window. “Oh, that’s around 2050, I think. Yes, I can see the Bloomberg Tower, and that opened in ‘50.”

  “City just keeps gettin’ bigger. Even that new World Trade they were puttin’ up in 2011, that was gonna be bigger, too.”

  Isabelle nodded. “But it’s the smaller elements that we’re concerned with. And I have your next mission, if you’re ready.”

  8

  Dressing in regular clothes for the time she was in wasn’t too bad in 2011. It wasn’t great, but at least the early 21st-century fashions weren�
�t actively offensive.

  But her second assignment took her to 1943, to talk to a young man who was planning to bring a gun to an Army recruiting center. He wasn’t taken in the draft, and he wanted to serve, and they wouldn’t let him. Wanda talked him out of it while sitting next to him at the Automat on Sixth Avenue, getting him to take a job working a factory, instead. And that was all well and good, but she had to wear tight, uncomfortable stockings and an ugly dress—and the shoes! Just before she went through the device, she asked Isabelle, “How did ladies wear these damn heels that feel like your feet’re bein’ crushed by a damn vise? Give me platforms any day of the week, least they let my feet breathe.”

  The guy in the Automat went on to have a moderately successful career as a musician and a record producer, and he produced several hits for a record company that Limbus was invested in.

  Her third assignment was during the blackout in 1965. Wanda had lived through the ‘77 blackout—that was when Rondell was killed—and it would’ve been one of the worst nights of her life even without what happened to Rondell. Just a damn nightmare with fires and looting and so on.

  She’d just been a kid during the ‘65 one, and she didn’t really remember it all that well. What amazed her now walking around in it was that it was so quiet. There weren’t as many cars on the road, and nothing was on fire, so it was a lot darker, too.

  A couple was looking for their six-year-old girl, but they were too scared to go out in the blackout. Wanda saw them sitting on their stoop and talked them into going ahead and looking because it was safer than they thought it would be. (“Man, that conversation woulda been different in ‘77,” she’d told Isabelle, who replied: “But the same in 2003.”)

  They found her over by the FDR Drive, which meant she didn’t die by falling into the East River and drowning, which meant she grew up to be a lobbyist who helped pass legislation that helped Limbus.

  And on and on she went, to different times, but always in New York City. One time, she convinced a farmer in the Bronx not to sell his land (which was in the middle of what Wanda knew as the Parkchester neighborhood) in 1880, and then her very next assignment was talking a small business owner in Parkchester not to close her store in 2075, since she would get a big bump in sales for the Tricentennial the next year.