by Shawn Inmon
“But, do your changes stick? I mean, if you save someone, they get to live out their normal lives?”
“As far as I know. With the possible exception of John Lennon, that is. Why?”
“Because I changed two events. Saving John Lennon and my two friends. Then, they all three died on the same day, less than a year later. I can’t figure out why the people that I saved died again right away, but the people you save don’t.”
“Maybe I’ve found my calling, and yours is to be something else. I think if God, or the universe, or whatever machine is out there, running things, didn’t want me doing this, the same thing would have happened to my people.”
Joe considered that, saw the truth in it. “So, what are you planning on doing next?”
“I’ve still got more things on my list, but I’m just not sure if I can keep doing this. I’m like Danny Glover in those Lethal Weapons movies—I’m too old for this shit.”
Joe’s eyes lit up. “I love that movie! Man, it’s good to have someone I can talk to about stuff that hasn’t happened yet. When I first woke up back in 1978, I tried just telling everyone what I was going through.”
“How’d that go?”
“Not so great. When something seems impossible, people just don’t want to believe it.”
“Well, to answer your question, I’m not really sure where I’m going next. I know who the Green River Killer is, and if I don’t do something about it, he’s going to keep going for a long time.”
“Yep. He was on my list, too. How you going to do that?”
“Haven’t decided yet. I could hang out on his hunting grounds and hope to get lucky, or I could put together a few reasons why I know it’s him and take it to the King County Sheriff up there. He’s a tricky one though. He lived in the shadows, so it’s harder for me to catch him in the act. Ted Bundy was easier.”
“Ted Bundy? He’s one of the big ones.”
“Right. You’ve heard of him, right?”
“Of course. Everyone’s heard of him. Mark Harmon played him in that made for TV movie, he’s famous.”
“Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we are well after the time he stopped killing in our other lives, right? He should be famous. But, ask anyone you know if they’ve ever heard of him in this lifetime. I guarantee you they haven’t.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Things clarified in Joe’s brain. “No one has heard of him, because you stopped him before he became well-known, right?”
Scott nodded and smiled.
“What did you do?”
“Do you remember when he abducted and killed two women at Lake Sammamish?”
“Of course. Anyone who lives in the Pacific Northwest would remember that. He had his arm in a cast, asked women to help him with something, then killed them.”
“Right. Except this time, he didn’t. Before I reset, I memorized the date he did that. Young Mr. Bundy didn’t take anyone that day, but he got taken himself.”
“You killed him?”
“Do you think anyone would miss him?”
“Maybe his family, but the world at large? No. Certainly not me. I know what he was capable of. How did you do it?”
“Certain stories, like this and the time I had to use force to stop an arson in progress, are better left unsaid. I don’t want to spoil your appetite.”
Joe looked Scott over. He wasn’t a large man. His demeanor was relaxed, but there was something beneath the surface that spoke of a strong will.
“Speaking of which,” Joe said. He stood up and walked into the kitchen that Claire Fornowski had once cooked in. He pulled two steaks out of the freezer and set them in some warm water to thaw.
“Got time enough to hang around here for at least a couple of days? I’ve got a pretty nice little house in the backyard that you can stay in for as long as you want. It’s not the New York YMCA, but it’s not bad.”
“I shoulda made myself rich this life. Then I wouldn’t have had to stay there.”
“Were you tempted?”
“What, to make myself rich? Nah. I did that a couple of times. Rich doesn’t equal happy. I’ll take happy. I just arranged it so that I never really have to worry about earning money.”
“So be it. Whaddya say, then? Want to hang out around here for a while?”
Scott leaned back in the chair and said, “Yeah, I think I could take a little time off the road. I’ve got some laundry that needs doing.”
“Washer and dryer right in the house. Come on, I’ll show you. You can get unpacked while I get the barbecue fired up.
Joe showed Scott the neat little house and gave him a key. He had left the cottage furnished as he’d had it and never turned off the cable television. He was prepared in case visitors dropped in out of the sky. That’s exactly what it felt like when Scott had shown up.
It was a warm evening, so Joe brought the barbecue out of the garage and set some lawn chairs up around it. He made a recipe that Claire had taught him—diced potatoes, peppers, and onions, wrapped in foil and set right on the coals. When he had given the potatoes enough of a head start, he dropped the steaks on to sizzle.
The smell soon drew Scott outside.
“I knew this would get you out here.”
“Smells good, brother.”
“Want a beer?”
Scott shook his head. “Nah, I don’t do so well with that stuff. That was my downfall a time or two, along with some worse things. No more of that for me.”
“How about the more gentle beer, then? I’ve got root beer, and a few other pops in the house. Pick your poison.”
“You know, a root beer sounds pretty damn good. Perfect with whatever you’ve got cooking there.”
Joe wandered back inside and emerged with two bottles of root beer, popped their tops, and offered one to Scott. Joe tipped his as a toast. “To friends.”
“I agree. To friends. I don’t have a lot of them. Being a vagabond crime fighter, moving from state to state, doesn’t allow you time to develop friendships.”
Joe opened the lid of the barbecue and smoke issued forth. He grabbed a big fork and turned the steaks. He sat down next to Scott with a sigh. “I never did get a chance to thank you for saving my life. He was drawing down on John, and I have no doubt I would have been next. There would have been two dead bodies at the Dakota that night.”
“De nada. Seriously. If the roles were reversed, tell me you wouldn’t have done exactly the same thing.”
“Oh, sure, if I could have, but I think you were better prepared. No one ever told me—what did you use to break his arm? Some kind of Special Ops jiu jitsu or something?”
Scott smiled. “Much simpler than that. My trusty twenty-four inch collapsible baton. It packs a wallop. Perfect for the vigilante on the go. My adrenaline was pretty high that night, so I might have used a little more force than was absolutely necessary. I heard his radius break on the first swing. I gotta admit, I kinda liked it.”
“John recorded one of my dad’s songs, you know.”
“I know. I heard Kasey Kasem talking about it on American Top 40. That’s a pretty cool story.”
“I’d like to split the proceeds of the royalties from the song.”
“Nope, no need. You keep all the money and the worry. I’ll take my freedom and happiness.”
“You’re a wise man. Just know that the money’s not going anywhere. If you need it, just let me know. One thing’s for sure—it woulda meant the world to my dad. It does leave me with a little problem, though. I am the sole heir of my dad’s estate, and all those royalties are still coming in. There’s too much money in the bank that I have no idea what to do with. I wanted to give half of it to you, but now you say you don’t want to be rich. Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”
“No, I won’t change my mind. But ‘too much money’ is a problem most people would like to have.”
Joe opened the barbecue again and forked the ste
aks onto a plate, then unwrapped the foil. “Soup’s on.”
“I am ready.”
“Steak sauce?”
“I feel no need to insult the cook with that.”
“Medium-rare okay?”
“Quit kidding around and give me the damned steak before I have to go get my baton.”
Joe laughed and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, just kidding around. Let’s eat!”
The two men, more than twenty years apart, but sharing a common secret that bound them together, ate quietly. The bug zapper on the porch lit up with the occasional mosquito, and the sun set and cast a reddish-purple glow over the whole sky.
For a long few minutes, the only sound in the backyard was the scraping of knife and fork against plate, and the occasional clink of a root beer bottle being set down on the patio.
Finally, Scott broke the silence. “If you’re still looking for a way to unload some of that money, I think I’ve got an idea.”
Chapter Forty-Three
“If you’re serious, I would love that. I do my best to ignore the pile of cash accumulating in my bank account, but if I could, I’d rather do something useful with it.”
“There are a lot of people like me—vets—who, as far as I know, don’t have the benefit of a few dozen lives to get their heads screwed on straight.”
“I can’t imagine what you and everyone who fought over there went through.”
“Right. I could tell you horror stories all day. Wiping out villages, killing kids when we thought we were only hitting the enemy, things worse than that.” His eyes unfocused for a minute and Joe knew he was back in that first life again. “But, none of those stories will capture what it was like to actually be in the shit there. That was the last time the U.S. forced young men to join. We ruined a big chunk of a generation of young men.”
“So, that’s an area of need. I know the government has programs for vets. Education, home loans, disability checks. What’s missing?”
“Government programs are fine for broad brush areas like that. But, the truth is, a lot of vets slip through the cracks. I’ve been wandering around America for quite a while now, and I see them in every city. I hate to say it, but some are so lost, I don’t know if they can ever find their way back. But there’s a whole group that’s wandered off the path a little. I think the right kind of helping hand could make all the difference.”
Joe nodded, thoughtfully. “I like it. That sounds a lot better than letting the money sit in the bank earning interest. I’d like to put it to work. What kind of specific thing are you thinking about?”
“Maybe some kind of housing, where a vet could come and spend a week, or a month, or whatever’s necessary. It would need to have things to keep them busy. It would be good if there was a therapist or two that would be available if and when they were ready to talk.”
Joe leaned back in his lawn chair and looked up at the darkening sky.
I’ve been looking for something to do for so long. I love how this feels. I want to help people. If we could do something for the people who risked everything for us, that would be the best thing possible.
“You done with your dinner?” Joe asked.
“Unless you want me to eat the plate.”
“No need for that. I’ve got some watermelon inside I can cut up for us for dessert. Let’s go inside and sit down and hash things out.”
Inside, Joe sliced the watermelon and put a slab on a dinner plate for each of them.
“Salt?” Scott asked.
“Wait. You put salt on watermelon?”
“For twenty-four lifetimes now. Doesn’t everybody?”
“Not this kid. At least, not yet.” He retrieved the salt shaker from the stove and sprinkled a bit on one corner of his melon before handing it over to Scott. Scott shook the salt vigorously onto his own.
Joe put a bite in his mouth and his eyes lit up. “I never knew what I was missing!”
Scott winked and said, “Ain’t that the way of the world?”
Joe retrieved a yellow pad and pen and said, “Okay. Let’s start a list.”
THE NEXT MORNING, JOE was up and at ‘em early. He pushed the “start” button on the coffee maker before the sun was up over the horizon.
His kitchen table was covered with discarded balls of yellow paper, which he swept into the garbage can. There was a sheaf of additional pages stacked in the middle with scrawled notes and drawings. The top sheet was a to-do list, and the first item was, “Hire a Project Manager.”
Both Scott and Joe knew that although their intentions were good, neither of them had experience with cutting through red tape, getting permits, hiring workers and overseeing workers on the job.
Joe sat at the table while he waited for the coffee to brew. He grabbed the Middle Falls phone book and flipped through, wondering who to call to hire a Project Manager.
Once again, the Internet would have been pretty spiffy at providing a lead. No matter what, we’re going to need a lawyer, though. Might as well start there.
He flipped the Yellow Pages open to “Attorneys” and was surprised to see several pages of ads. Most of them had headlines like, “Been in an accident? We can help!” or “You want someone like us on your side.” Joe skimmed past those. His eye fell on a small ad for the Jenkins Law Firm, Ben Jenkins Esq. He made a note of the number on the to-do list as Scott knocked on the back door.
“Come in!” Joe hollered as he retreated to the kitchen for the coffee.
Scott poked his head in and said, “I could smell that coffee brewing clear out in my place.”
“Mi casa es su casa. No need to knock. Just come on in.”
They spent the next several hours going over much of the same ground they had the night before, parsing and refining their concept. When Joe looked at the kitchen clock, it read 9:05.
He dialed the lawyer’s number he had written on the pad. A woman answered on the second ring. “Law firm.”
“Hello, this is Joe Hart. I’m in need of some legal advice on a project I’m preparing to launch, and I wonder if your firm handles that type of project?”
“It depends, of course, on what the project is, but I’m happy to set up an appointment with Mr. Jenkins for you. Are you free this afternoon, say at 3:30?”
I’m free just about any old time, actually.
“Yes, that will be great.” Joe gave the woman his number, spelled his last name for her, and hung up the phone. He raised his eyebrows at Scott. “Well, that was easy. Why do I have a feeling not every aspect of this will be this easy?”
“Wave a checkbook in front of a lawyer, and they’ll usually see you,” Scott said with a smile.
“Let’s dig in to this pile of notes and try to organize it before the meeting.” Joe sorted through the papers. When he looked up, Scott was smiling.
“What’s so funny?” Joe asked.
“Yesterday, you were sitting here without a care in the world. Now, here we are, planning a huge, life-altering project. Life is funny.”
Chapter Forty-Four
An older woman shuttled Joe and Scott into an office with a large mahogany desk. Bookshelves lined one entire wall, filled with a library’s worth of law books. Ben Jenkins was young, with blond hair cut short and parted neatly. He wore a charcoal gray suit with a white shirt and a tasteful red tie. He was smiling.
Joe was a step ahead of Scott, but when he saw Ben, he stopped abruptly and Scott bumped into him from behind. “Ben?”
“Don’t remember your old friends, eh?”
“Holy cow, I saw the firm name, but I never connected it with you! I mean, we’re the same age, aren’t we?”
“Almost. I was a year ahead of you.”
“And while I was lying around, doing nothing, you were going to college and law school. Man, it’s great to see you. I’m so glad I’m not seeing some stuffy old guy. I was sweating just thinking about that.” Joe introduced Scott to Ben and they all sat.
“So, what is this project y
ou mentioned to Mrs. Jenkins?”
Joe started to answer, but stopped. “Mrs. Jenkins?”
Ben leaned forward. “My mom. Don’t tell anyone. She was a legal secretary for years, and she’s just helping me get off the ground. We’ve only been open a year. There’s a lot to learn. I’m sure that will inspire confidence in you.”
Joe shook his head. “I’d much rather work with someone just starting out that I know.” Joe turned to Scott. “Our esteemed attorney and I used to play Dungeons and Dragons together in high school.”
“Guilty,” Ben said to Scott. “Now, what’s the project? I’m charging you by the hour, so I don’t want to waste your money.”
“Money is the least of our problems.”
“Finally got into a lucrative career as a drug smuggler, then?” Ben asked with a small laugh. “No, no, I remember. You and your mom had your dad’s music royalties, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Mom died a few years ago, though, so it all comes to me, now.”
“I’m sorry, Joe. I hadn’t heard. Your mom was a nice lady.”
“So, Scott and I have an idea of something we would like to do with some of that money, but we’re going to need some excellent legal advice.”
“Lay it out for me,” Ben said.
Joe explained what he and Scott had been talking about, using their notes and drawings. When he was finished, Ben leaned back in his swivel chair and whistled.
“That’s a pretty immense undertaking. I can help you with a few of the legalities, like forming the not-for-profit, and drawing up all the paperwork. Beyond that, though, you’re going to need someone to coordinate with the city, the county, the state, and all the boots on the ground. You need a manager.”
Joe lifted up his to-do list, with “Hire a Project Manager” written as item #1. “I just don’t know where to find someone like that. I was hoping you might have a name for me.”
