Inside the large station, Drew walked around, taking it in. Being barely past midnight, it was pretty empty. Several trains were drawn up next to the platforms, but none had their engines going. The first trains wouldn’t pull out for another five hours.
As he was walking around and taking in the atmosphere, Patterson joined him.
“We figure the nigger hopped a morning train. Crump and Douglas didn’t come on duty until seven-thirty, and they were found shortly after ten, so if the nigger fled on a train, it was probably between then.”
“Well, not many people we can interview right now who might’ve seen anything. You said you had a place for me to stay?”
The shrill ringing of his portable alarm clock woke Drew four hours later. Having collapsed into a deep sleep upon entering the small hotel room the lieutenant had secured for him, the awaking was quite rude. His eyes opened, taking in the pre-dawn light streaming in through the small fly-specked window. Rolling over, the bed squeaking with the effort, Drew turned off the alarm.
He rolled back and flopped an arm over his eyes for a moment, before surrendering to the need to get out of bed and prepare for the early morning interviews.
Fifteen minutes later, he was showered, shaved, and ready to go. “Now for some coffee,” he muttered to himself as he opened the door into the hotel’s third-floor hallway.
A brisk walk down the stairs and he was in the lobby, the smell of coffee and fried food emanating from the small dining area. Not being much of a morning person, Drew didn’t bother ordering any food, but he did get a large cup of coffee to go. He figured he’d get a breakfast sandwich or something at the train station after doing some investigative work.
The drive to the station didn’t take long, and he arrived while the sun was still working to break above the horizon.
Should give me at least four hours to find anyone who might’ve seen something, he thought as he parked the car in the space reserved for law enforcement in front of the station, in front of the hack stand. The CBE prefix on his license plate would warn any zealous parking ticket issuers that this was not a vehicle to be trifled with.
Carrying his coffee with him, Drew left the car, not even bothering to lock it, despite the weaponry he kept in the trunk, and headed up the stairs into the train station, which was just coming to life with human activity.
It took talking with numerous people before he came upon the old janitor sweeping the train platforms. It was clear the old man didn’t want to talk to him, but it didn’t matter what he wanted. He was a Negro. They did what they were told, or else. Usually, that would bother Drew, but not today. Not when he was working a homicide.
When Drew first began questioning the old man, he could tell by his actions and micro-expressions that he wasn’t telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It took a bit of encouragement (read “tell me the truth or I’ll drag your ass in”) before Drew got the story.
The janitor had seen the two constables drag a Negro off the Whites Only section of the platform and take him through the door into the alley. A couple of minutes later, two white men followed them, leaving another man who was sorta white, but not white, maybe Chinese or Japanese, alone on the platform holding their packs. Several minutes later, the two white men returned and boarded the train for Birmingham. The janitor didn’t see if the Negro returned.
Drew knew better than to ask the janitor if he had bothered to look in the alley to see what was happening. That was how Negroes got killed, being too curious.
Thanking the janitor for his cooperation, Drew took the information he had and sought out the ticket agents. None of them remembered any combination of white men with a Chinese or Japanese man and a Negro. That would have stood out in their minds. One did remember seeing a guy who looked like he was Chinese or Japanese. All she could remember was “he had black hair, yellowish skin, and slanted eyes.” Not a great description, but at least a start.
A quick check of the schedules showed yesterday’s train to Birmingham arrived late in the afternoon. Wherever the suspects were, Drew doubted they were still in the Birmingham train station.
Borrowing the stationmaster’s telephone, Drew called Lieutenant Patterson’s office. He was told by the desk sergeant that the lieutenant wasn’t expected in for another hour, but when Drew identified himself, the sergeant gave him Patterson’s home number.
When Patterson answered on the second ring, Drew filled him in on what he had uncovered, and put in a request. “Can I get some of your guys to do a quick canvass on the local hotels and flophouses and see if anyone remembers either the three men or even just the Asian? That should give us an idea on what we’re looking for. Sooner the better, as I need to start heading for Birmingham.”
Drew knew that this last statement was one that gave the lieutenant some relief. The Confederate States, despite being a single country, weren’t all too keen on cooperating on just about anything, especially on any crimes that might cost precious funds to investigate. That’s where the CBE came in.
“I’m gonna have breakfast here in the station, so you can either meet me here, send someone, or call the stationmaster’s office.” At this, Drew looked over at the stationmaster, who was watching him with wide-eyes, for confirmation that he would serve as a messenger for the CBE. The man nodded.
An hour later, after a breakfast of runny eggs, floppy bacon, burnt toast, a generous helping of buttered and sugared grits, along with a second and third cup of coffee, Drew saw Patterson crossing the station floor toward the restaurant. The CBE agent waved.
As soon as the lieutenant was seated, a waitress appeared with a cup of coffee which she set in front of him without asking. Patterson nodded his thanks then turned his attention toward Drew. “We got ‘em. Turns out, men matching that description, stayed at the Excelsior Hotel. Clerk says they were from the Republic of California and just arrived three days ago. Left yesterday morning, bright and early. Leader’s name is,” at this, Patterson looked at the notebook in his hand, “William Clark. From Washington State in the Republic of California.”
“Customs or Immigration got anything on them?”
“Our Homicide guys are on the way over there now.”
“Great. See if you can get some composite drawings on the suspects.”
“Already happening as we speak.”
Drew nodded. “I’ve gotta get back on the trail of these guys. How soon before you’ll have something for me?”
“Gimme an hour.”
The CBE agent nodded again. Looks like I’m not gonna get a chance to catch up on that lost sleep after all.
“Great. I’m gonna head back to the hotel and check out. I’ll meetcha back there.”
Drew stood, dropped a silver dollar on the table for his meal, and headed toward the station’s front entrance.
As promised, Patterson showed up at Drew’s hotel within the hour. Drew was having a cup of coffee in the dining room when the lieutenant dropped a stack of papers on the table in front of him.
“Composites and Customs info,” he announced.
Drew flipped through the drawings. Two were white men, apparently in their twenties, one looking older than the other. Both had mustaches and long hair, but one’s hair was longer than the others, curling over the back of his collar. A name was written on the bottom of the page: William J. Clark. It also listed a birth date. Guy looks pretty old for only being twenty-four. I would’ve figured closer to thirty with those lines and eyes.
The second page had no identifying information. Drew looked up from the paper toward Patterson with a questioning look.
Patterson shrugged. “No idea. He was with the others, so we included him. Only two guys from the Republic of California went through Customs. Clark and the nigger. The Asian’s from the Kingdom of Hawaii.”
Drew raised his eyebrows at that one.
“Hawaii, huh? Wonder what he’s doin’ here.”
Continuing his perusal of the documents, he saw
the drawings of the colored man, identified as Jordan Washington, and of the Hawaiian, Lane West. Washington was also in his early twenties, but not so the Hawaiian, who was in his late twenties. That’s one tough looking hombre.
The other papers had more identifying information on the suspects, but not much. Just name, country of residence, and dates of birth. Not a whole lot to go on to find them, but it was more than the Memphis Police had before Drew arrived.
“Was your man able to identify any of the suspects?”
Patterson shook his head.
As Drew went to pass the documents back to Patterson, the lieutenant waved him off. “Those’n are yours. We got ours.”
Drew nodded his thanks. “Well, I’d better be off, then.
Standing, he reached into his pocket to get some change to pay for the coffee.
“Don’t you worry about it, Agent. I got this. And, thanks. Hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t know where to be looking.”
If it weren’t for me, this case’d be dead in the water, Drew thought, taking the outstretched hand of the lieutenant.
“My pleasure, Buck. Be seein’ you.”
After placing a quick phone call to his supervisor back in Montgomery, Drew stashed his small suitcase in the trunk of his car, keeping his briefcase, with his notes and Patterson’s documents tucked inside it, on the passenger seat next to him.
It took him most of the remaining daylight just to make it to Birmingham, and when he did, he was too exhausted to even consider trying to continue the investigation on his own. He stopped in at the Birmingham Police Department Headquarters, an imposing brick structure near the courthouse, and introduced himself to the duty captain, explaining his mission and the help he needed.
The rail-thin captain, balding on top with a monk’s fringe hairstyle, and numerous ribbons on his chest, took Drew’s information, finishing with, “You go get you some sleep Agent. You look all done in. My boys’ll handle it.”
Drew waited while the captain had copies made of the drawings of the four murder suspects, looking about the office as he did. It appeared the captain’s office was a standard duty captain’s office. Nothing personal about it, unlike the office of a department head, like Homicide. If he was in the Homicide captain’s office, he was sure there’d be a plethora of documents and pictures hanging on the wall, a veritable “I love me” wall. Drew had an “I love me” wall as well, but it was in the privacy of his home. It had his high school and college diplomas, his certificate from graduation from the CBE academy, and his Pistol Expert certificate from the academy. In addition to that were some certificates for training he had attended, such as Hostage Negotiation, Field Sniper, and Interviews and Interrogation. All in all, not a really overwhelming “I love me” wall, but a pretty good start for a guy only in his twenties.
The captain gave back the original drawings and, he gave Drew directions to a decent hotel nearby. With barely enough energy left to safely navigate his official vehicle, he made it to the hotel. Five minutes after checking in he was sound asleep.
66
Like the Excelsior in Memphis, the Peachtree Palace had two entrances, one for whites and one for coloreds. As the group climbed the marble steps up to the veranda in the early morning light, Bill, Matt, and Lane made for the Whites Only door while Jordan and Summer separated and headed for the Coloreds Only door.
The interior was also similar to the Excelsior. Not quite the run-down dump they had stayed in while in St. Louis, but not quite the kind of place they would have stayed in on Earth, let alone Hayek. Luckily, the hotel had air conditioning, at least in the lobby, but it still stank of sweat, fried foods, and the stale smoke from countless cigars and cigarettes. Bill wouldn’t say he was used to the odor, but it was less jarring now, after a couple of weeks on this planet, than it had been the first time their nasal passages were assaulted.
As the three entered the Whites Only section, Matt suggested that he be the one to register. “After all, y’all ain’t from around here, are ya?” he asked with a grin.
Bill agreed, thinking that the less of a footprint he left, the harder it would be to tie him to the death of the police officer in Memphis.
While Matt was getting them registered, Bill picked up a newspaper from one of the many small tables scattered about the lobby. A quick glance showed it to be the previous day’s evening edition of the Atlanta Constitution. Bill folded the paper and tucked it under his arm as Matt returned from his task.
Matt had arranged to get them a suite on the fourth floor. Fortunately, the elevator worked, and soon they were resting in a room that was supposedly non-smoking but still reeked of stale cigarette smoke. Fortunately, the sheets and pillowcases didn’t.
Looking out the window, Bill wondered aloud why they didn’t get a suite on the top floor, just above them.
“Think about it,” Matt said, “if’n we were on the top floor, all that sun and heat would make it unbearable, even with the a/c. This way, we’ve got a/c that actually cools the place off, and we’re not dyin’ of heat prostration.”
Bill couldn’t argue with that logic.
After putting their limited attire away in closets and bureaus, they took turns showerering and resting. At least the water’s nice and hot, Bill thought as he slipped into the shower stall and felt the hot water pelting him. He had napped while the other two showered. The shower would hopefully refresh and waken him. They had a full day ahead, and dawn had barely made its appearance. Like the others, Bill spent more time in the shower than he usually did, enjoying the stinging spray and muscle relaxing heat. Reluctantly, he ended his shower and exited the stall into the steamy bathroom. A quick wipe of the mirror with one of the few remaining dry towels, and Bill was able to see enough to shave. Not that shaving took too much. While his mustache was nice, his beard was still relatively sparse, so shaving that was easy.
Finally clean, faces shorn, and partially rested, the three Hayekers sat down to discuss the next several days’ worth of activities. Naturally, high on the list was identifying exactly where the anti-gravity device was being developed, manufactured, or tested.
“So, what we’re most likely looking for is a research facility, probably down near Candler Field,” Bill started off the conversation while laying one of the Atlanta city maps on the small table in their room, pushing the folded newspaper aside. “We’ve got a couple of options: first, we just head on down and try to find a place that looks like it’s working on the device; second, we check the phone book and see if there’s anything that looks like it would be involved in that type of research; third, we separate and hang out at local diners, coffee shops, and bars to see if we can overhear anything; and fourth, a combo of two or all three.”
“I guess we can all agree that searching the internet ain’t a happening thing,” Matt observed while looking at the map.
“Yeah, I second that,” agreed Lane.
“Okay, so, those are our options. Thoughts?”
“I think the phone book’s a waste of time,” Matt said, looking at the spread-out map.
“Why?”
Matt tore his attention from the map. “Simple, we don’t know what we’re looking for. There’s probably hundreds, if not thousands of businesses listed in that book.” He gestured toward the thick book next to the old-fashioned telephone on the table between the two bigger beds occupying the small suite. With his sweeping gesture, he managed to knock the folded-up newspaper onto the floor. The other two men’s eyes tracked in the direction of Matt’s gesture, then back to him. “I think we’re gonna have to beat the bushes on this one. But, also make our presence known.”
Bill made a come-along gesture with his hand, indicating Matt should explain further. “How so?”
“Like you said, hit the bars, restaurants, cafés. Basically, anyplace people gather and talk.”
As Matt was talking, Lane picked up the knocked-over newspaper. As he straightened in his seat, he looked at the front page, now completely unfolded
. Lane set the paper down on top of the map on the table. “Yeah, I don’t think we’re gonna have to look too hard.”
The below the fold article on the front page simply stated, “New Way to Fly Discovered!” A picture showed a man sitting in a two-seat convertible auto which seemed to be suspended in air several feet above the ground.
“I’ll be a sumbitch.”
Bill mentally agreed with Matt’s statement. Picking up the paper, he read it with more interest. “Looks like they’ve either come up with an anti-gravity device or managed to find one. Either way, they’re looking for investors. Anyone interested?” Bill looked at the other two.
Continuing, he read the pertinent parts of the article, naming the company, its address, and the person to contact. “They’re even holding an open house this morning.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Matt asked.
“Considering it’s not even nine o’clock yet, maybe then,” Lane commented in a droll manner.
Bill looked down at the old-fashioned analog watch he wore and saw that it was barely past eight.
“Well, then, if we leave now, we should be there by opening time.”
As the three rose, Lane asked, “Shouldn’t one of us tell Jordan?”
Bill thought about it for a second, then shook his head. “Naw, I’ll leave him a note. Let him know where we went.”
Exiting the small elevator in the lobby, Bill went to the front desk, where a different desk clerk than the one they had seen while checking in was manning the desk. Placing the note he had quickly written before leaving their suite on the desk, he said, “I’d like to get this to someone in the colored section.”
“My pleasure, sir. To whom would that be going?”
“Marty King. He just arrived this morning so he might be sleeping.”
“Very well. I’ll send it over to the colored’s desk clerk. I’m sure he’ll get it to your boy as soon as possible.”
Bill cringed when he heard “your boy.” It brought back all the racist behavior he saw as a youth. Keeping his expression neutral took a great deal of effort, but he did it.
The Corps of Discovery Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3: A multiverse series of alternate history Page 72