Middle Falls Time Travel Series, Books 4-6 (Middle Falls Time Travel Boxed Sets Book 2)

by Shawn Inmon

  “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 steaks 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 you 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.”

  Ben steepled his fingers against his chin. The gesture made him look more like an altar boy than a wizened professional. After a moment’s contemplation, he nodded.

  “How do you feel about nepotism?”

  “This coming from someone whose mom is running his office? All I care about is finding someone that can handle all the details I know I would let get away from me.”

  “I have a cousin who’s a few years older than me. She’s been working for one of the bigger construction companies, doing work like this—pulling permits, overseeing job sites, organizing projects.”

  “She?”

  “Yep. She. A little unusual, I know, in this field, but she’s the first person that came to mind. I’ve known her all my life and she’s the most diligent person I’ve ever known.”

  “Sold. She sounds like just what we need.”

  “Great. I have a feeling she’ll prefer a gig like this to what she’s doing, but she’ll want to meet with you first and she’ll have to give her current employer at least a few weeks’ notice. He’s come to rely on her pretty heavily.”

  “I would expect no less. You’ve got my number, can you have her call me?”

  “Her name is Samantha, but everyone calls her Sam. I’ll have her call you tonight.”

  JOE AND SCOTT ARRANGED to meet Sam at Verrazano’s the following evening. They arrived twenty minutes early.

  “What do you expect her to be like?” Scott asked.

  “Organized?” Joe answered.

  “You’re hilarious. Seriously, what do you think?”

  “No real idea at all. What does a smart, organized person look like? Thick glasses and carries a big stack of books around with her?”

  While they were absorbed in their conversation, an attractive young woman had approached their table. Joe and Scott looked up with a smile.

  “Sorry to disappoint, boys. I left my thick glasses at home today. I do have a stack of plans out in my pickup, though, if you’d like me to fetch them.”

  Joe and Scott both hung their heads. Joe choked a bit on the sip of tea he had just taken.

  “Sam?”

  “The one and only.”

  Sam Straley was not in the least bit bookwormish. She was petite, with short blonde hair and freckles. She would not have looked out of place on a southern California beach, aside from her no-nonsense khaki pants and work shirt.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Joe said “Sorry...”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m a woman in a man’s world. If I was the sensitive type, I wouldn’t have lasted twenty-four hours. So. Let’s talk about this project of yours.”

  The conversation started over bread served with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, continued through clam fettucine and lasagna, and lasted long after the last dish had been cleared away.

  By the end of the evening, Joe, Scott, and Sam all knew they had found a perfect match.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “I’ve gotta head out, brother. I haven’t been in one place this long in years, and my feet are itching for the open road.”

  Scott Mckenzie had just walked through Joe’s back door and was having his first cup of coffee for the day—a ritual they both enjoyed. Jenny always gave a single woof when Scott opened the door, but it was her happy “I know you!” woof.

  Joe looked at his back door and saw Scott’s bedroll, packed and ready for the road.

  “You’re not gonna leave me to do this all alone are you?”

  It had been six weeks since their first meeting with Sam, and the project had expanded and picked up steam.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Good. I thought you were serious, hauling your bug out bag around with you like that.”

  “Oh, I’m serious about leaving. You just won’t be alone, and you know it. You are the money and idea man. Sam is the person that makes things happen. Happily, that means you don’t need this old soldier.”

  “Damn. I don’t know why, but I was sure hoping you were going to hang around through the duration of the project.”

  Scott shook his head. “This project is bigger than both of us. It’s going to take years. No insult intended to the tiny hamlet of Middle Falls, Oregon, but if I had to stay here until then, I’d be crazier than I am now. It’s not my nature to stay in one place this long.”

  “Tell me that you’ll at least check in every few days, so I can tell you all the ways I’m messing up.”

  “Deal.” Scott set his empty cup down in the sink, picked up his bedroll and headed to the front door without ceremony.

  “Hold on, brother.” Joe grabbed Scot
t in a hug. “Don’t stay gone too long, all right?”

  Scott gripped Joe on the shoulder. “I won’t. I’m going to be out there, scouting for our first customers, remember?”

  Joe nodded. “You’re right. That was our plan.”

  “For now, though, I’ve got a few people on my list I want to get to before I get too old to wield this baton. Right now, a certain Green River Killer should be looking over his shoulder, because I’m coming for him.”

  Scott slipped through the front door and was gone.

  Joe wandered through his small house for an hour. Aside from their morning coffee, Scott had rarely been inside it, but it felt empty once again.

  He picked up his phone and dialed Sam’s number. It rang six times, then an answering machine picked up.

  It would be easier to get everything done if we were a few years further into the future and I could just call her cell phone when I needed to.

  Joe locked up the house and he and Jenny jumped in Stan’s old Courier pickup and backed onto the street. “Rent a husband” was still painted on the passenger doors, although it was faded now. He drove past downtown to a flat parcel of land on the edge of town.

  In Joe’s first life, the property had been bought by the city of Middle Falls for its new water and sewage treatment plant sometime in the 1990s. In this life, it was destined to be the home of the new center for veterans.

  Gotta think of a snappy name for this place. It’ll come to me.

  Joe had spent much of the previous month looking at every available parcel of land in Middle Falls that was big enough to sustain the footprint he and Scott had in mind. The same real estate agent he had used to sell his house years earlier had suggested this spot. As soon as he drove up to it, Joe knew it was perfect.

  It was ringed at the back by a stand of trees, which also ran alongside the west side of the property. The rest of the acreage was level and clear. The lot sat on the outer edge of town, far enough away from residential neighborhoods that it didn’t cause a stir. Everyone wanted someone to do something for homeless and struggling veterans, but no one wanted that facility in their own backyard. It wasn’t in a neighborhood, but it was close enough to the infrastructure of the city, that water and sewer hookups were already in the street. That shortened their development and permitting period dramatically.