Joe (Beginnings Series Book 25)

by Jacqueline Druga

“Yes. But not now,” Owens replied. “The problem is pickles.”

  “Him again,” Frank shook his head once in disgust.

  Hal groaned. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Well, seems Hector tried to grow cucumbers. Which have not been a successful harvest ever. Well, he got them, but they’re small.”

  “Like pickles?” Hal asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And this is a problem how?”

  “There aren’t that many, and Hector along with Mr. from Fabrics made pickles. They have them on sale, one per person.”

  “Go on.”

  “As you can guess people are pretty excited about having pickles again.”

  “Wait.” Frank held up his hand. “Where are they selling the pickles?”

  “At the Unique Boutique.”

  “Excellent. See ya.” Frank took off running.

  Owens exhaled. “Hence the problem. Another person in line.”

  “So they are lined up for pickles, big deal.”

  “All the way around the block and getting antsy because they haven’t opened the selling door yet. And some people are getting irate about the price.”

  “Which is?”

  “The problem. Ten Danny Dollars per pickle.”

  “Ten!” Hal barked. “They are changing ten dollars per pickle? Good God, in Beginnings market compared to old world pricing that would be 500 dollars a pickle.”

  Elliott shook his head. “Your father did not want to bring back money because of this.”

  “Exactly.” Hal said. “He wanted to avoid profiteering. Thank you Owens. Let’s go Elliott.”

  Just as they stepped to leave, a call for Hal rang out. Hal turned. It was Jay.

  Out of breath, the soldier caught up to them. “Sorry.” Jay said. “I just remembered something.”

  “What is it?” Hal asked.

  “It may or may not be important, but as I was writing I recalled finding something odd in the woods on the way back. It’s with my belongings.”

  Elliott suggested. “How about I go there and you handle the riot.”

  “Sounds good. Check back with me,” Hal said. “But I have no fear. My brother went ahead. He will be the first to stop the madness of the price.” Another shake of his head as they walked. “Ten dollars a pickle.”

  ****

  “I’ll pay twenty!” Frank shouted. “Are they kosher, dill, or sweet?” Frank asked Hector who manned the door.

  “Kosher Dill.”

  “Fuckin awesome. I’ll pay twenty-five for that shit, as long as I get a big one.”

  A sudden murmur of ‘Captain’s coming’ rang though the mob and Frank turned to see Hal approaching.

  Hal sighed out in relief. “Frank, glad to see you up front.”

  “Me, too.”

  “You are handling the situation?” Hal asked.

  “Absolutely. Under control.”

  “Good. Good. It was outrageous,” Hal said. “Hector you understand, right?”

  “What was?” Hector asked.

  “Charging ten dollars a pickle.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Hector nodded. “Totally wrong pricing. People want pickles, I know, the reason we set the price so high was we wanted those who really loved them to get them.”

  Frank added. “People are willing to pay, too. But the price was wrong.”

  Hal smiled. “Good. So I assume they are no longer ten dollars a pickle?”

  Hector shook his head. “Twenty-five.”

  “What!” Hal blasted. “How the hell did that happen? You cannot charge twenty-five a pickle!”

  “Yes, I can. Bidding wars, like with the old world gas crisis brought the prices up. Supply and demand.”

  “But my father had strict rules on profiteering.”

  “We aren’t keeping the money,” Hector shrugged. “We’re keeping it in the system. We’re just having auction fun.”

  “Who . . . started the bidding war and who authorized this?”

  Hector pointed.

  Hal pivoted his body and Frank grinned widely.

  ****

  Elliott held the device in his hand. He knew right away it was like nothing he had ever seen, held, or knew about. There were digital displays of sorts, but they weren’t lit up.

  “Odd, isn’t it?” Jay asked.

  “Yes, very.”

  “Probably nothing but you never know. What if is one of those foreign invaders?”

  “You found it where?”

  “About a hundred miles from their camp. But, not too far from where I was nabbed.”

  Elliott looked at the device again. He knew he had to give it to Danny Hoi or Roy to look at. “I’m going to take this and have it examined by our tech minds.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you think erosion of the land resurfaced it? Look at the lettering.”

  “You mean, do I think it could be ancient civilization?”

  “Yes.”

  “Possibly. That or . . .” Elliott dropped his voice to a mumble. “Future.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Elliott shook his head. “Nothing.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  In Roy’s new lab, located in Lars’ former therapy room, the communication device set on counter. Hal stood back, along with Frank. While Danny, Roy, Dean, and Henry hovered over it.

  Henry shook his head, astounded. “It’s like nothing I have ever seen.”

  Crunch.

  Pause.

  Danny lifted it. “What is the material?”

  Crunch.

  Pause.

  Dean lifted his head, looking over his shoulder. “Feels like plastic. But it isn’t.”

  Crunch.

  Roy touched it. “I’m willing to bet it is a material not yet invented.”

  “From the future?” Henry asked.

  “Possibly. But I don’t know it.”

  Crunch.

  Pause.

  Danny questioned. “I wish we could analyze it.”

  Roy shrugged. “We can.”

  Crunch.

  “How?” Questioned Danny. “We don’t have anything like that.”

  “We can get it,” Henry suggested. “Hit some scientific place.”

  Crunch.

  Pause.

  “Or build one,” Roy said. “Give me a day.”

  Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re going to build an analyzer in one day.”

  “Should it take me shorter? I can work faster.”

  Crunch.

  Finally, with the lift of all heads, Hal had enough. He back handed Frank, “Will you knock it off.”

  “What?” Frank asked. Crunch. He slurped his bite of his pickle. “I can’t help it, they’re crispy. Want some?” He showed Hal the pickle.

  Hal just stared.

  Frank shrugged.

  “I’ll have a bite, Frank,” Henry said.

  “I’ll try it,” Dean said. “Be nice.”

  “I’d like to, too.” Danny said.

  “Ha. Fuck you. Buy your own.”

  Henry gasped “You are so rude.”

  “I’ll save the rest for later.” Frank said, slipping the pickle into his front tee shirt pocket.

  Hal’s mouth dropped open in disgust. “You are so foul.”

  Frank waved him off. “You’re just jealous.”

  “Ha!” Hal laughed. “Hardly.”

  “Gentlemen,” Dean called out. “Can we not fight?”

  “I’m not fighting. He is.” Frank pointed.

  “You’re a moron,” Hal snapped. “Eat your pickle.”

  “I’m saving it.”

  Danny chuckled. “Ok. Now that we have collectively envied Frank’s kosher dill.” he paused when Frank laughed. “What?”

  “Pickle envy.”

  Danny cleared his throat. “We’ve also collectively determined that we don’t know what this is. Roy, tell me what you need and we’ll get it so you can built the analyzer.”
/>
  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to watch and learn,” Henry stated. “If that’s ok.”

  “Oh, wonderful.” Roy clapped. “I am a wonderful teacher. Dean would you like me to teach you.”

  Dean stared. Just stared, then with a laugh, he shook his head. “No. No thanks. I’m good.”

  “Dean, look at you being mean to Roy because you’re jealous.” Frank laughed. “Man, you’re just jealous of everything. Roy, his intelligence, my pickle.”

  Arms folded, after a smug breath, Dean turned around. “You know what, Frank? You are absolutely right. I am jealous.”

  “See.”

  “But, I can’t do anything about Roy’s intelligence. Can’t have that.”

  “Nope.”

  Dean stepped to Frank. “But there is something I can do about my jealousy in another area.”

  “No, Dean, I’m a married man.”

  “Ha, ha, ha. Funny. I can’t have Roy’s intelligence, but I certainly can have . . .” Dean reached up. “Your pickle.” With a quick movie, he reached into Frank’s pocket, lifted the pickle and took off.

  “Hey!” Frank yelled “My pickle.” Without hesitation, he ran after Dean.

  “Serves him right,” Hal said.

  “Yeah, but its short lived,” Danny stated and looked at his watch. “I give it three seconds. Dean forgot Frank runs fifty-five miles an hour.”

  Disgruntled, Hal winced. “Fuck.”

  ****

  “Fuckin Dean.” Frank shook his head, patted his pocket and stepped from his office. Oh hey, Hal.”

  “Why are you cursing Dean? I can see . . .” He pointed to Frank’s pocket. “That you got your pickle back.”

  “Yeah, but he’s wiry. Darted in and out of spaces.” Frank lifted the pickle from his pocket. It was semi smashed and distorted.

  “Good Lord, what happened to it?”

  “He took a bite. Then dropped it.” Frank peered close, dusted off a piece of dirt, and then took a bite himself. “Still sort of crunchy.” He put it back in his pocket.

  “Oh my God. How can you eat that now?”

  “What? You think I’m afraid of Dean Germs?”

  “Um . . . never mind. I’m glad I found you. I’m heading back, let me know if you hear anything about the device.”

  “Will do. Oh! Hey. Hal?”

  “Yes?” Hal stopped walking.

  “If I give you something will you read it, since you know, you read.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Something I wrote.”

  “I have the script. I’ll read it tonight.” Hal, again, started to walk.

  “I wasn’t talking about the script. My book.”

  “Another one?”

  “Yeah.”

  Hal produced a smug smile. “Sure. That won’t take long.”

  “Thanks. Hold on.” Frank ran inside, came back out and handed Hal a thick envelope. “It’s not done yet. I don’t think. You read it and let me know what it needs.”

  Hal’s smile dropped and he felt the thickness. “Good God, Frank, this isn’t a children’s book.”

  “No, it’s too big. And there’s more swearing. I’m at like 100 pages. I think. I don’t know.”

  “You wrote it?”

  “It’s an apocalypse novel.”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  “Yeah. I figured I was Beginnings bestselling author, I better have a follow up. Besides, I have all those pictures.”

  “You’re Beginnings only author. Frank, I’m . . . I’m impressed. I mean, I couldn’t believe you turned a twelve page children’s book into a seventy-five page screenplay, but this. When are you finding the time?”

  “Well, I don’t want too many people to know. But I throw in a couple hours at night. Then in the morning. If I can’t sleep I come up to my office.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, Hal, I mean, you’re a writer.”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “But, have you ever had this happen. I think about my story. I write some. I get stuck, I come back to work on it, and the fuckin thing writes itself.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember those days.” Hal smiled. “So many writers will tell you the same thing. Or would have if most of them weren’t dead. Creative juices flow, and the story writes itself.”

  “Fucking unbelievable I didn’t think that shit happened.”

  “It does when you write.”

  “My writing subconscious talks to me.”

  “It will. Are you . . .” Hal lifted the envelope. “Using spell check.”

  “No a computer.”

  Hal chuckled. “Better than a typewriter.”

  “Yeah, I’m not good on the typewriter even though I am the literal guy now.”

  “Literary.”

  “What?”

  “You said you were the literal guy. You mean literary.”

  “No, I mean literal.”

  “It’s literary Frank.”

  “Literal. I should know. I’m a writer.”

  “Yes, so you’re the literary guy.”

  “Hal! I’m right. Listen. If you were a nice guy, I’d consider you congenial. If I was full of hope, I would be what?”

  “Hopeful, but . . .”

  “If I was agreeing with you …”

  Hal scoffed. “Agreeable.”

  “I go into the post office and kill people. I’m postal. So it only makes sense that if I write literature, I’m . . .”

  “Retarded.”

  Frank gasped. “Hal, when you say that word you insult our community of mentally challenged.”

  “Frank, you are the community of mentally challenged. And I’m going to go before you frustrate me and make me think that you stole this from someone.”

  “Ok. Read it and let me know if it’s any good. I don’t read.”

  “A lot of people don’t like to read their own work. But it’s a must Frank when you write. And I will read this...” Hal turned and began to head to his truck.

  “Enjoy.”

  Unseen to Frank, Hal rolled his eyes.

  Frank smiled, walked in his own direction, but not without stealing one more bite of that pickle.

  ****

  To Joe, it was a matter of waiting. He knew it wasn’t going to be that much longer until the event occurred that would, hopefully, change the face and outcome of the Great War without Joe’s interference.

  He just had to bide his time, wait and watch. Watch his family and their lives at a distance. Like a ghost. In essence he was a ghost. No one really could see him.

  It was painful for Joe. He wanted to hug his wife and Ellen. Kiss his grandchildren. Well, he did, but when they were sleeping.

  He couldn’t receive their love in return. Not yet.

  He would. One day again.

  Would they forgive him? Would they understand why he did what he had to do? He knew he had placed them in a tremendous amount of pain, but it was nothing compared to what they would face in the wake of the Great War with the decisions he supposedly made in the future.

  He didn’t know what the decision was. He didn’t even know what the event was. All Roy told him is it was coming, soon.

  His days at times seem to drag on. It helped a lot that Danny and Robbie knew of his situation. It gave him someone to talk to. Hang out with. Roy was fun to mess with but that only went so far as entertainment.

  He’d slip into the Social Hall and watch people have fun. Occasionally messing up the karaoke rotation and moving pool balls and darts.

  That amused him.

  Watching Frank chase Dean for that pickle was amusing, too. Quite like the old days.

  It lost a little of impact when Joe couldn’t yell at them.

  One day.

  One day.

  He hated sleeping alone and spending so much time in silence. The control freak in him wanted to take back control of Beginnings. Not that Frank was doing a bad job, but it was Joe’s community.

  At
least he was going to have fun observing one thing, he looked forward to the Beginnings Most Smartest Hero contest. It started the next day.

  Needing some excitement at the present moment, Joe headed to the Social Hall. As always he stood by the door, waiting for someone to open it.

  It was mid-day, just after work hours, and soon enough the hall would get some of the men. It wasn’t thrills and chills, but it was people.

  Sure enough, someone headed to the hall.

  That someone was a person Joe hadn’t been close to in ages.

  George.

  Joe’s eyes widened. Until Robbie uncovered him, he had remained hidden and away during the day.

  More than anything Joe wanted to talk to George or at least hear what he had to say. But he was the first one in the hall. And it was George who would talk to him.

  “George. Wait up!”

  Jason? Joe turned to see Jason trotting a quick walk toward the hall.

  George paused in the doorway.

  Why was Jason being like that? Friendly? Joe wondered. What all had transpired between them? He knew they had to come to a peace treaty of sorts. Worked together. But drink together? That was like a creed of brotherhood not to be broken. One way to find out.

  Moving as fast as he could, Joe edged out to the street, and just as Jason moved quickly to the hall, Joe extended his invisible foot.

  Down went Jason.

  “Oh my God,” George raced his way. “Are you ok?”

  Jason slowly lifted himself. “I seem to have tripped over … nothing.” He shifted his eyes around.

  George did too. “Are you ok, though. You’re not hurt?”

  “No. No. Fine. Need a drink.”

  “We’re headed in the right direction. Let’s go. I got first round.”

  Jason chuckled.

  Joe flicked him.

  Grunt. “Damn it.”

  “What’s wrong?” George asked. “You are hurt.”

  “No, I just had this very painful memory of Joe.”

  “They’re all painful, Jason. Will be for a while.” George opened the door to the hall.

  Joe thought, ‘Christ, what is he up to? Painful? He hated me.’

  With those thoughts, Joe followed him inside.

  It didn’t take long, much like before Joe went into hiding and the preverbal flashing light went off signifying work was done and the hall filled up.