by W. Green
“Please. Take this as a welcoming gift from our school,” said Emma as she handed the photo to the woman.
It was Delphine Roberts turn to beam. Emma expressed her thanks and left a card from her hotel with a phone number just in case. Then she excused herself and exited stage left, down the stairwell and out the door. Hitting the hot but much fresher air, she breathed in deeply and smiled. So far so good, she thought.
The next day Emma reappeared at the detective’s office. She knew Banister would not have returned and she played her part as directed by Dr. Currant. She told Roberts that she was in the neighborhood and she had a thought. “Wouldn’t it be better if the award presentation could be made with a few of Mr. Banister’s friends in attendance? It would be so much more special.” Roberts agreed. She would see what she could do.
The time travelers spent the remainder of Tuesday and all of Wednesday sightseeing. They ventured across the lake after talking with some of the locals about possible rebel training grounds. One of Currant’s new bar buddies had told him about such a camp in a small town north of New Orleans. However their visit was uneventful. They did find some people who were aware of military activity, but everything had been shut down last June. Emma was disappointed because she saw the logical connection between rebel training here in New Orleans and the training that Thomas Arthur Vallee was involved with in New York. This lead ended nowhere.
Returning New Orleans after the day trip, they were reminded of the grittiness of the town. It seemed like they had stepped back two hundred years rather than just sixty-five. All saloons and whorehouses, declared Ethan. Emma defended it—New Orleans operated at a slow, deliberate pace geared to the weather no doubt, but peaceful. However, even with all the historical acclimation provided by Professor Dufour before the trip, she was dismayed about the obvious racial discrimination. Separation of the races in some cases was easily facilitated by display of a whites only or colored only signs, which popped up everywhere—saving the white population from the frightening possibility of drinking from a water fountain previously tapped by a black person or pissing in the same urinal—not to mention more the elaborate techniques used to achieve total separation in schools, churches and public transit. It was called “separate but equal” in those days. And since the atmosphere was gentile at all times—'Yes ma’am'—'No sir'— it was hard to believe that this lazy, hazy environment had anything to do with a new JFK assassination attempt. But Currant believed it did. While he did not share everything he heard from Tom Quinn, she gathered enough to know there was something going on in town. A nastiness—that was always present, but never clearly visible—a Deep South hot mist of misdirection and deceit obscured all but the obvious.
Late Wednesday, Emma called Banister’s office and spoke again with the secretary Roberts. Emma expressed her excitement. “Had Mr. Banister seen the photo? Yes?—Great. And would we have an audience of his friends for the presentation?”
Roberts broke off and told her to hold the phone. She came back and said she had spoken with Mr. Banister. Yes, he would try to have a couple of colleagues in for the visit.
“Who might that be?”
“Mr. Martin and Mr. Ferrie may be here.”
“Wonderful.” Emma closed saying she was overwhelmed with their kindness, and their acknowledgment of the importance of this moment.
Late Thursday afternoon, the Twins and Zak arrived at the Banister Detective Agency a few minutes early. Banister’s secretary greeted them at the door. She was most effusive, bubbling over with excitement. The three young visitors wore new outfits for the affair. Zak came dressed in a pale green suit. Emma totally approved of his choice. She also admired Ethan’s light blue pinstriped seersucker suit that made him look much older and very handsome. No ties—too hot and muggy. Nicely detailed light green and blue cotton shirts and well-shined shoes completed the look. And Emma came at those gathered with the full charge. Her outfit was a neat-fitting, black and white lace sundress with large bands of white lace at the hem and white piping across the top. White gloves and matching gaucho hat completed her look. As they were leaving their hotel, Currant had declared their costumes stunning. Emma’s earlier look into the mirror told her she looked pretty damn hot. Such was the pleasant view offered up for the three men who straggled into the waiting area from an adjacent office. Delphine made the introductions—Mr. Martin, Mr. Ferrie, and Mr. Banister. Under normal circumstances, Emma might have laughed aloud. Martin looked like a dumpy dogcatcher. Ferrie looked totally weird with his phony red hair and grease pencil eyebrows. And Banister, while exhibiting some of what might have been a distinguished look at some much earlier date, appeared worn and aged. But smiles abounded from both lines of people.
“I want to thank you for the photo young lady. You three look like hard-working reporters,” said Banister in a voice that had been pickled rough by a lifetime of drinking.
“Our pleasure Mr. Banister. Oh. This is so exciting,” gushed Emma.
“Well you have come by way of Chicago to see us. Tom Quinn sent you. That was very kind of him. It’s been quite a while since we swapped tall tales,” said Banister. “What kind of lies has he been telling you?”
“Just that you were the head of the F.B.I. in Chicago and that you helped put an end to Dillinger,” answered Ethan.
“I was there. But that was a long time ago.”
“And you are a formidable Commie-hunter,” said Emma.
Martin broke in. “Damn right—sorry young lady. But that he is. About time someone gave him credit.”
Ferrie walked up to Ethan and Zak. He looked at Zak like a hungry dog contemplating fresh meat. “We’ll young fellow. What do you have to say about the Great Guy Banister?”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” said Emma. “We forgot to mention. Zak is a mute. He cannot speak. We use sign language to communicate. It works very well.”
Ferrie smiled. “No matter. Talking is over-rated . He reached up and patted Zak on the back lightly. “Isn’t that right young man?”
Banister frowned slightly and his eyes sent a quick message to Ferrie. After a long pause, he returned his focus to the others. “So what do you have planned for this occasion, young people?”
Delphine Roberts, ever sociable, interrupted this line of thinking and suggested they have something to drink. She brought out a pitcher of lemonade and poured out a round for all.
With a drink in hand, Emma announced that they would be making the presentation shortly. She was expecting their teacher Doctor Currant to arrive any minute. For the next ten minutes it was all lemonade and small talk. Then, as if on cue, Ethan distributed more gifts—yellow wallet I.D. cards, which made Banister, Roberts, Ferrie and Martin each “Honorary Senior Reporters” for the Springfield Shout, their imaginary school newspaper.
Then A.C. Currant arrived—big smile—hair slicked back—white suit—pale pink starched shirt—white shoes—all topped with white Panama hat. Emma was impressed. He looked like the male lead in a Tennessee Williams movie—vintage 'N'awlins'. A.C. carried a package with him. He offered his own elaborate and gracious introduction to the secretary and somewhat less formal greetings to the three men. He paused for a moment as he fronted Ferrie—taking a look too long at the weird one, thought Emma.
“Well thankfully I made it,” announced Currant. “For I have the presentation package.” He handed a large envelope to Emma.
She opened it and revealed a wooden plaque with an engraved brass plate. “I will read the inscription,” she said with great solemnity. “The Students and Faculty of Springfield Heights High School Acknowledge and Salute the Honorable William Guy Banister, A Great American, for his Many Accomplishments, both National and Local, in Law Enforcement and in the Preservation of the Security of the United States of America.” She handed the plaque to the burly detective. She wasn’t sure but there might have been a little glassing of his eyes. This is working, she thought.
“William,” he said. “Where did you get that?”
Emma smiled and nodded toward Delphine.
Banister returned the smile and sidled up to his secretary whispering something in her ear. Then he commented to all: “Well I am flattered and thankful for this great honor. To be honest, I’m at the age when I don’t get as many accolades as I would like to receive. This is one of the best. Thank you Zak, Ethan, Dr. Currant, and Emma.” He singled the girl detective out for a two-handed shake. In one last grand effort, the time travelers announced they would like to sing a song to celebrate the occasion. Everyone, except Zak, joined in for a chorus of God Bless America. It was a great ending to this portion of the show.
The celebration was over. There was some talk about the evening ahead. Emma and Ethan casually said that they were going to attend a concert in park. Currant made a point to say that he was quite available for the evening. He wondered if the three men and Delphine Roberts could join him for dinner and a drink, his treat. Roberts declined. But once Banister nodded in affirmation, the other three agreed it was traybone. Gazing in Zak's direction, Ferrie wondered aloud if the young man could join them. Zak looked at Dr. Currant and appeared to seek his approval.
“Of course Zak can come along. Right Zak. Just so long as he doesn’t drink anything alcoholic. He is only seventeen,” he said setting the hook into Ferrie.
"He doesn’t look a day younger than eighteen." Ferrie smiled like a crazed clown.
O.A. LOG TTA2028-2
INVESTIGATOR: Joell Costas
DATE: November 14, 1963 (July 15, 2028)
PROJECT: JFK-11.02.63
PROGRESS REPORT: I assumed the roles of a City of Chicago Building Inspector, and an Insurance Investigator, which allowed me relatively easy access for investigative opportunities.
Interview with Landlord LOWELL NELSON — Janitor of the building in which VALLEE lives, Lowell NELSON, stated that on or about November 6, 1963, he confronted Thomas VALLEE about the continuing police presence in the building and in VALLEE’s apartment. VALLEE stated to him that he was taken into custody by police for questioning in the early part of November. NELSON stated that VALLEE contended it was a case of mistaken identity. I examined the apartment (supposedly checking for code violations) during the day when VALLEE was at work. I discovered several firearms and a stock of ammunition. NELSON stated he was going to demand that VALLEE remove them from the apartment. In addition to the police presence, NELSON stated he saw a middle-aged man and a teenage boy on the before VALLEE was arrested. These two may have been watching the apartment from a bus stop location across the street. At that same time (most likely the morning of November 1, 1963), NELSON saw two men enter and leave VALLEE’s apartment. They appeared to be police detectives according to NELSON.
Interview with Cab Driver RALPH BUFORD—A news item in the local newspaper described an accident involving a cab driver and two passengers on the morning of November 1, 1963, in a location not far from VALLEE’s apartment. I located the driver. He stated his two passengers were a male 17/18 years old and a middle-aged man. The older one said he was a teacher. The younger one never spoke, but was remembered as having a striking appearance. Apparently their cab was forced off a roadway by another car and then drove into a lakefront harbor. The cab driver says the younger passenger saved his life. There is no mention of the identity of the two passengers in the police report, which the cab driver provided. However, the description given by BUFORD matches that of the two people provided by VALLEE’s landlord.
Interview with Office Assistant MARJORIE KOSTIK—I checked with all the newspaper offices in the city regarding the taxicab story. No additional information was provided. However, at the newsroom of the Chicago’s American, a daily newspaper, I interviewed KOSTIK. She remembered that sometime in the last days of October, 1963 three young people: a girl about 17, and two boys about the same age or slightly older visited the office. They met with THOMAS QUINN, a reporter, for about 20 minutes. Later QUINN told her they were journalism students. She remembered one of the two boys was “a real looker” in her words, and the other was very tall. She thought the tall boy and the girl might be twins. She also said she could not be certain, but that the same persons may have returned several days later and had a meeting with QUINN in a private conference room. According to KOSTIK, QUINN left for Florida this morning (11-14-63) to cover John F. Kennedy on tour.
Checking local downtown hotels, I could not locate anyone matching the description of the parties listed above. While posing as an insurance investigator, hotel personal interviewed would not discuss these matters with me. However, one bellhop at the Plaza House hotel, ROBERT NETTLES, recalls three young people (two teenage boys and a girl with an older man) as guests in the hotel in late October and early November. He has not seen them since that time. His best estimate of their date of departure was November 7 or 8, 1963. The hotel guest records were not accessible.
It is possible the four people identified above could be suspects, but I do not believe they are in Chicago now. If they reconnected with the future, they would now be aware of the new history. Considering this, I will complete my work here and then proceed to Dallas, Texas. I will make contact with the Office upon arrival.
TRANSMITTED VIA CODED TIME JUSTIFIER AT 16:09 CT 07/15/28.
-Chapter 16-
Boys Night Out
This is my lucky night, thought Zak—dining with four old guys in New Orleans. Fortunately, he was only there to look, listen with all his senses and learn. A.C. Currant appeared to be very pleased with the situation. At a round table in Mancuso’s Restaurant located on the ground floor of the Lafayette Street building, Currant was positioned between Banister and Martin and Zak sat next to Ferrie. Ferrie had a special interest in Zak even though he couldn’t return the conversation. At times the clown man would totally disengage from the main conversation and talk only to Zak, which particularly unnerved him. One didn’t have to be psychic to sense a creepy quality in every word he uttered. Obviously he was taken by Zak’s extraordinary good looks and very pleased with the one-sided conversation. Dinner was over. The drinks added up. The restaurant was swinging over from dining to drinking. It was crowded with regular Friday-night patrons. Banister’s cigar smoke mingled with the hot 90 proof exhalations of the patrons and the smell of their days-end sweat. An attentive and saucy waitress wore a tight-fitting halter-top that revealed as much as it concealed. It appeared to Zak that Banister was a regular customer and he was afforded special treatment by the wait staff and management. The redhead laid down another tray of drinks at the table. As Banister slipped her a silver dollar with one hand, he playfully grabbed her left butt cheek with the other. She giggled and danced away seemingly amused, but not concerned. Zak was the only one at the table who was not drinking anything of substance. Given this, he had a ringside seat on reality. Clouded minds ruled the night in an alcohol-soaked conversational mishmash. Loud talk to make a point—words slurred—and faces pushed close to each other—all this, Zak surmised, to increase the possibility of cogent communication. For Zak, this meant Ferrie’s clown-face was in his face—a most distasteful and frightening vision. Zak looked at Currant. He and Jack Martin were engaged in the tight little bout of banter about World War II. Martin was a frail knot of a man—aged and hollowed out by a lifetime backwash of booze. He and Currant swapped war stories. Zak was certain A.C.’s stories were fabricated and his best guess was that Martin’s were equally fictitious.
“I put in my time,” said Martin for everyone at the table to hear. “Served my country well. Not like some people I know who spent the war years chasing altar boys.”
With this comment, Ferrie dropped his conversation with Zak and focused on Martin. “Jack, you are, as usual, full of feces. If anyone at this table deserves to be recognized for their service to the county, I’m sure it would be Dr. Currant, Guy Banister or me. Only in your vivid imagination, would someone ever find a patriotic act on your part. Of course, I’m not counting all your services as a fraudulent roles of govern
ment agent, Army colonel, priest, or doctor.”
“Right, Dave. You’re good with the words. But I’ve been around. I know how things work. Just because you want to be a man of the cloth doesn’t mean you’re an angel.” Martin grabbed his drink and downed the last of it.
“I’ve given blood for my country Jack. How about you?" Ferrie raised his voice.
“Gentlemen. We are the guests of the good Doctor. Let’s keep our conversation relatively civilized,” Banister got off a hearty laugh followed by a short coughing fit.
Currant appeared to be upset by this aggressive talk, although Zak knew he was not. “That’s all right, Guy. I’m used to boys being boys. But all evening I’ve been overhearing some of Dave’s conversation with Zak and I’m very impressed. I know you’ve been involved with patriotic causes, but I didn’t know you’ve been helping to build a team to go after that Communist bastard Castro.”
Everyone looked at Guy Banister. At first he didn’t respond. Then he spoke slowly and quietly as if he was letting them in on a secret. The words carefully and slowly exited his mouth. “You know, Doctor, we do our work here without fanfare and mostly without the support of people who should be providing support. But I can tell you this, we are very strongly committed to working with those who oppose the capture of any free country by Communists—particularly Cuba. Hell, it's 90 miles from our home. We would have to be fools not to do something.”
“Somebody has to,” said Ferrie.
Currant nodded. “I heard—I should say, it seems everyone knows—that they closed the rebel training camps on the other side of the lake this summer. The government—what’s that about?”
