by W. Green
Patrick blushed. His eyes averted the direct gaze of the stranger. “We’ll see,” he said slowly, “that’s a long way off in the future.”
‘Patrick you will find the future has a way of arriving very fast. I’m sure you will make a great doctor.”
“I hope so. But first I have to get through college. I’m hoping for a scholarship to Tulane. I’m doing research now to build up my experience. I don’t know.”
A.C. looked at the boy. He was already carrying a load. He appeared delicate, unlike his younger brother who was all piss and vinegar. “You know Patrick my mother always used to say that our Guardian Angel will protect and guide us. And believe me I’ve been around awhile. My angel’s always there. And so is yours.” said Currant.
Patrick smiled and looked at this mother. “That’s funny that’s what Mom always says."
Mary Currant beamed. “See I told you so Patrick. You’ll make a fine doctor. Doctor Patrick MacAndrew Brennan. Don’t worry.” She washed her eyes over the older A.C., glanced at her two sons, then back. “I want to thank you Mr. Crawford. Your comments are very affirming. You know sometimes I worry about Patrick. He’s a very intense boy. He takes life very seriously. Sometimes too seriously.”
“Mom. Please.” Patrick grimaced. “Nice meeting you. I have to go now.”
A.C. locked onto Patrick’s eyes. He held out his hand. They shook hands over the fence. “Never ever lose your dream, Patrick. Keep the faith. The future is all yours.”
“Thanks. Mr. Crawford.” He turned and headed into the house.
“Goodbye Patrick.”
“Well I’ve taken up enough of your time Mrs. Currant.”
“Not a problem Mr. Crawford,” she said quietly.
He looked down on little A.C. who was studying the cover of the comic book. Currant pulled something out of his coat pocket. “Son, I’d like to show you something. Look at this.” His open palm displayed the brightly polished silver miniature replica of a 2017 Mercedes Benz coupe. “What do you think of this? The doors open. The headlights glow and if you shake it makes a sound like a engine.” He demonstrated all this for the boy.
“Wow,” said Arthur, “that’s cool. What is it?”
“It‘s a car of the future. I’d like you to have it, but we will have to do a trade.”
“Trade what?”
“That Batman for this car. I’d really like to have something to read on the ride home tonight. Nothing like the Caped Crusader to wile away the hours.”
Mary Currant looked puzzled but went along with the process. The boy looked at her for direction. “It’s your decision Arthur.”
The kid thought for a moment—looked at the little car. He took it from A.C.’s hand and carefully studied it. I really like this. It’s a deal.” He handed over the comic book and kept the trinket. “I already read the Batman.”
A.C. smiled. “Well then it’s a good deal for both of us.”
Little A.C. nodded as he played with his new keepsake. He looked up at Currant. “Gee Mister, this thing’s really cool. Thanks.”
Currant put both hands up as if to say, it was nothing. “It was a good deal Arthur. I love Batman too. A good righteous man with duel personas. Not unlike myself in a way.” He laughed lightly. “We need more Batmen around to take care of the bad guys.” He took one long, last look at his little self and his mother. Emotion welled up again, and his heart beat like an old school house clock. He wanted to say so many things, but he knew he could not. He wished he could tell her he loved her. He wanted to tell her the truth, but he couldn’t. He wanted to tell her not to worry. Her boys would be fine. Life would be good. He knew he had a mission ahead to make certain that Patrick’s life would continue. He knew he could not fail in that goal. That thought was all that was necessary to pull him away from this moment and his family. “I have to go Mrs. Currant. Give my best to the mister. Remember me please. In a way, I left a little part of me here in your house.”
Mary Currant nodded as if she understood completely. To A.C. she now looked like a mystical vision—soft, radiant, loving—he knew he would always carry this image with him.
“You know. All things and all people are connected in so many strange and wonderful ways. And the little car…”
She looked at him waiting for him to complete his sentence. He was very intense. She seemed to understand this effort to create a bridge over time. The inventor and his mother stared deep into each other’s souls forging a moment that would remain forever.
A.C. continued and she listened with unique attention. “The little car is a talisman as well as a toy. It has the power to bring you good luck. Look closely sometime when you find yourself in need of something and you will know what I mean. It’s very special. It’s the car of the future—it’s full of good fortune—and pleasant surprises. Goodbye Mrs. Currant. Goodbye A.C.” He gave them a quick wave, turned and walked away.
“Good memories Mr. Crawford. Come back again,” she said slowly. “God bless you.”
He looked back. “Thanks Mrs. Currant. I was a boy once too. Thank you for letting me go home again.
In the distance he could hear Little A.C. say, “I really like this car Mom. I really do.”
Currant walked away down the street knowing exactly what he had to do. His whole body tingled with anticipation of his work ahead.
O.A. LOG TTA2028-3
INVESTIGATOR: Joell Costas
DATE: November 14, 1963 (July 15, 2028)
PROJECT: JFK-11.02.63
REPORT OF PHYSICAL CONDITION:
Recently, I have been experiencing severe abdominal pain and other symptoms that might affect my ability to complete the assignment. I had no choice but to seek immediate medical attention. The conditioned worsened to the point where it was necessary for me to visit a local downtown Chicago hospital to have it evaluated. After running a series of tests and procedures, doctors here have informed me I have a gastric cancer. While surgery can be performed to remove the tumor, there is no cure. Doctors were unable to determine whether the cancer has spread. In any event, their prognosis for this type of disease suggests it will usually result in incapacitation and death in a fairly short period of time. Considering the event timetable, I am convinced I can complete this assignment and maintain the continuity of the historical event tree. I will make no additional visits to medical practitioners.
Advise if this information will cause the Office to introduce additional operatives or initiate any other changes related to this assignment as soon as possible.
TRANSMITTED VIA CODED TIME JUSTIFIER AT 17:27 CT 07/15/28.
-Chapter 18-
Saving PMB
It was early evening when the cab dropped off A.C. Currant on Louisiana Parkway. He told the driver to wait. Standing at the curb, the darkness quickly enveloped him. The mock-Spanish style residence was bathed in blackness. He approached the two-story stucco edifice slowly, wondering if the house was empty. Gingerly he looked through the door glass for a sign of life. There was none. The house felt like a mausoleum—grim and dim. Cricket noise echoed in dank recessed porch. The stagnant air was heavy with the smell of mold and magnolia. The doorbell elicited a muted response from somewhere in the rear of the house. He waited. Again he rang and waited. The house was dead. He pushed his face closer now almost on the glass. Then abruptly, the piercing black eyes of another human stared at him for a moment like a mirror image—his “reflection” a white-faced, bald-headed clown wearing arched eyebrows of crimson paint. Startled, Currant backed off. David Ferrie opened the door. He wore a mortician’s grin.
“This is a pleasant surprise. A doctor who makes house calls. What brings you to my humble abode?”
Startled by the quickness of Ferrie’s arrival and the way he looked, Currant stumbled over his words.
“I can see you are taken aback by my naked pate. Such is the fate of surprise guests,” said Ferrie continuing to wear the smile.
“My apologies for the late hour. May I come in
?”
Ferrie nodded and welcomed him into the foyer. They walked up the stairs to his apartment. Entering his parlor, he switched on a small Tiffany lamp that offered just enough light for Currant to locate an over-stuffed chair. Taking a seat, Currant briefly glanced at his reflection in a oval wall mirror which was surrounded by an assemblage of framed photos—Ferrie the young seminarian—Ferrie the gregarious Civil Air Patrol captain—Ferrie the neatly uniformed Eastern Airlines pilot—Ferrie the dedicated trainer of freedom fighters—and others—all featuring men and boys doing manly things. In the compact confines, David Ferrie sat nearby, sighing as he dropped his large frame into the chair. He crossed one leg over the other. His foot dangled inches from the physicist’s knee. Currant straightened.
“I’d offer you a drink Doctor. But after Thursday night's outing, I doubt either of us wants to test our limits again.”
“No thanks. Had enough.” Currant paused gathering his words. “I wanted to talk to you alone.”
Ferrie smiled. “I prefer this setting for conversation. More intimate.” He looked directly into Currant’s eyes and exhaled. “Our boys night out was fun, but I’m afraid conversation with our friends Guy and Jack, is by the nature of their interests, rather limited. Particularly Jack—if you know what I mean. He does have a way of alienating almost everyone he touches.”
“I noticed you and he might have some issues.”
Ferrie laughed. “Issues? It’s like having issues with a household pest—maybe a little pesky mouse or a giant palmetto bug.” He chuckled again. “A palmetto bug is more like it. Banister puts up with him and Banister’s a good client—but I digress. Let’s not dwell on him. What about you? You seem to be having fun. I did enjoy speaking with your young man Zak. He’s quite a charmer. Very quiet. But one look into his eyes, and I knew he was very intelligent. Should have brought him along Doc’. He’s nice to look at. You know I admire you. You seem to relate to your young charges well. It’s good for men our age to be able to do so. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I do enjoy working with young people.”
“Especially Zak?”
Currant squirmed in his chair. “I’m a teacher David. I enjoy working with youth. It keeps me young.”
“I’ll bet it does—youth has a way of its own.” Ferrie paused and looked over to the photos on the wall. For a moment, he appeared lost in his own world. Then he turned back to Currant. He ran a hand back over his bare head. “Alopecia areata.”
“Sorry…”
“My condition. Loss of body hair. It started a few years ago. Permanent. I'm afraid. Not a pleasant thing to be viewed as a freak. You might wonder why I don’t invest in a Hollywood rug and some decent eyebrow makeup.”
“Hadn’t thought about it David.”
“Hard to believe that. Everybody thinks about it. That’s why I wear that red shag carpet on my head and the grease paint eyebrows. People don’t forget me, Doctor. They’ll always remember David Ferrie. I’m like Popeye. I am what I am. At my age, I don’t give a damn about it. I take what I want out of life, and I give back what I can. It’s a fair trade in an otherwise unfair world. Screw’em if they can’t take a joke. So what’s on your mind? You didn’t come here to discuss my physical beauty.”
Currant gazed across the room recomposing, forgetting the presence of the clown-man for the moment, anchoring his thoughts—and focusing. He churned inside, but maintained control. “Mr. Ferrie…”
“Dave…”
“Dave. You have a young friend who is my nephew.”
“Really. And who might that be?”
“Patrick Brennan.”
“Yes, I see,” said Ferrie not missing a beat. “Patrick is your nephew. I didn’t know that. What an outstanding coincidence that you and your students should come to me here in New Orleans. Hundreds of miles from your home. And to think that you are Patrick’s uncle. Mother or father’s side?”
Currant stared into Ferrie’s black eyes. “His mother is my sister. She remarried after her first husband died. The late Mr. Brennan was his father. The family moved here from Massachusetts. Not really a coincidence though Dave.”
Ferrie smiled. “I thought not.” He twisted in his chair and moved closer to Currant. “Patrick is a fine boy. Very smart. Very good looking. I don’t know much about his home life. Never met his parents. He is a big help with my lab work. Wants to become a medical researcher. He wants to cure cancer. Did you know that?”
“Yes, he has told me that.”
“You know I’m quite an expert on that subject. You could call me ‘Doctor’ too, but don’t bother. Anyway that’s why he likes to work with me. He handles the mice. Quite well I might add. I imagine he gets that scientific bent from you Doctor Currant.”
“Possibly," Currant looked into the man's black eyes. "You like young men don’t you Dave?”
Ferrie stopped smiling. “What are you trying to say Doctor?"
“You know," said Currant.
“I know you’re making me uncomfortable. You take advantage of my hospitality. You and your students pop into my life blowing smoke up Guy Banister’s ass. We do a little socializing. And now you seem to be going someplace else. What’s your point? Are you concerned about my relationship with your nephew?”
Currant sat silent.
“He was one of my Falcons you know. My air patrol. Metairie Falcon Cadet Squadron. Patrick was a solid cadet. Understood the principles well. Very patriotic too.”
“Is that you with your Falcons?” Currant pointed to the black and white photo of men dressed in army fatigues having a cook out with a group of young boys. Ferrie wore a combat helmet.
“That was awhile back. Before the Falcons. I was a commander in the Civil Air Patrol. You know I’m a pilot. Flew with Eastern Airlines for a number of years. I love flying. It’s very freeing to float above the world A.C...may I call you that?”
“Right...yes,” said Currant.
“See this?” The clown man pointed to a series of scars on his right arm. “I got that flying into Cuba. Not too long ago. I’m not just a cartoon character playing war with some kids. It’s more complicated than that.”
“Maybe that’s so Dave, but let’s stick with kids for a moment.”
“OK. I’ll stay there. You know a number of my cadets moved on to join the Air Force—the Marines—the other services. They’re the future Doc. Those kids are the future. This country needs them. I love those kids.”
Currant fired back. “You had to shut down the Falcons because you were caught with your fingers around the wrong stick. Didn’t you?”
Ferrie smiled. “Very good Doctor. Very funny. Malicious rumors spread by my enemies. But those charges were dropped. Totally unsubstantiated. That’s all behind us. Why bring that up now?”
“Because I am concerned about my nephew Patrick.”
“He’s a big boy now. You need not be concerned. I can’t help it that he prefers to work with me rather than stay home with his stepfather. I don’t think the two of them really get on. Maybe I’m a better father figure? The fact is he’s a smart boy and a quick learner. He’s a lucky young man. Working in cancer research at the age of sixteen. That will be a real feather in his cap when he applies at Tulane. Won’t it?”
Currant looked at Ferrie who seemed to be drifting annoyingly closer. He got up and moved over to the wall of framed photos. He studied them before speaking. “Well Dave. I'll tell you what I'm up to—straight out. I’m here to put an end to your relationship with Patrick.”
“What relationship? He’s my lab assistant.”
Currant’s eyes locked into the two black orbs floating menacingly beneath the red painted eyebrows. “Let’s drop the pretense Ferrie. You’re a homosexual. You like young boys. You like Patrick. You want to become his special friend. Well it’s not going to happen.”
“So you say Doctor. Do you intend to take residence in our fair city?”
“No. We’re leaving soon. But I am asking you to end it no
w.”
Ferrie laughed lightly. “And if I don’t?”
Currant moved in front of Ferrie. “You will. Because I say you will. I know all about you Dave. I know your friends, your enemies, your wants and desires. Your weaknesses and your strengths. Vanity is your weakness. Lack of self-respect is your weakness. Young boys are your weakness. You lost your job as an airline pilot because of it. And now you couldn’t be ordained in a two-pew church now. You think you have friends in the government, Cuban exiles, mobster buddies. These are not your friends.”
Ferrie stood up and the two men faced each other. “Listen. You don’t want to test my friendship with those people. They are not as forgiving as I am."
“I’m not afraid of them. They will never find me, but I can always find you. And I will bring the wrath of hell upon you if you don’t do what I say. If you want to continue your life, such as it is, you best accept the fact that you can do without this one young man.”
“Really,” said Ferrie, “Really? Let’s put our cards on the table Doctor A.C. Currant. While I enjoyed your dog and pony show here in New Orleans, I’m afraid you’ve played this ‘high school high jinks’ game in one city too many.”
Currant was puzzled. It was not the response he expected.
“I see. You’re surprised. As I said, I have friends. I even have friends in Chicago. My group of friends is always talking. Conversation is the lifeblood of a good organization. Wouldn’t you agree? Anyway. You and your junior reporters stirred up some dust around the president’s trip to Chicago. I guess everything worked out OK. One of those no harm—no foul things. You just a concerned citizen Doc’ or what?”
“I’m only concerned about Patrick.”
“And that’s why you entered our crazy little world?”
“It is.”
“Well. All right. I doubt I would get a straight answer from you. And you may not get one out of me. But I’ll offer you a deal. Do you like to deal Doc?”
