him, that would mean using the lighter, hoping that the next preset would take me to where he was. I had good reason to think it would. I believed he had programmed it that way, in which case, I would always be at a disadvantage. I would be going blind, and he would be there waiting, just as he knew where I'd be the last time I did it.
And yet, I still didn't quite believe. After all, I had clicked the thing and it seemed like nothing had happened. I remained at my house, I didn't feel a thing, and after awhile Jones had showed up, but that might have happened anyway, even if I hadn't touched the device. The peach-tie twins assured me I had crossed over, but why should I believe them any more than Jones? That bit about presidential elections was confusing. I did remember those, of course. They still had them when I was a kid, but things were much more orderly now the generals were in charge. There was no more gridlock, no more stalemate, no more political posturing, no more puny half measures. Things got done, and if we had initially complained about losing our "freedoms", we were reminded often enough that freedom wasn't free, in fact it was damned expensive, and we were all saving a whole lot of money this way.
So, maybe Jones did have some kind of magic trick he used to apparently vanish, and maybe he was just another psychotic serial killer, in which case I should try and track him down the normal, police procedural way. Legwork. Interviews. All that stuff. I ought to be getting off my fat ass and doing my job, but I remained, rooted to the spot. I had in fact already decided I would give it up. That's why I was even there at HQ and not at home, where the lighter was, where I would be tempted to click it, and keep on clicking it, as far as it went and until it ran out. I also had half a hope that by remaining in HQ I would be safe, not only from Jones, but from the repetitious twin officials as well. Where could be safer than national police headquarters downtown?
I couldn't stay in the break room. Too many people were coming by, giving me hangdog looks, reminding me that I hadn't solved everything yet. I went into my office and sagged down on the old maroon sofa in there. I kept the lights off and would have closed the door if they hadn't taken all the doors away for reasons of security. I slouched in attempt to be invisible but of course it didn't work. I was just too big and fat to hide. I stayed there all day, barely moving. Once or twice I got up and went back to the break room, grabbed some coffee and grub, and grunted my way through any attempts at conversation. By nightfall I was exhausted from doing so little. I kept an eye on the clock. That twenty four hour deadline was approaching.
By "giving up" I knew I was tempting the fates. I was going to make those twins prove their assertions to me. If I was going to forfeit one of my souls, well, they'd damn well have to get to me first, if that's how it even worked. I have to admit, the whole idea was beyond my ability to grasp and I was content to leave it that way. When you can't even begin to think about something, it's better just to leave it alone. By my reckoning, I didn't have much time left when my visitors arrived.
I say it like that, pretty casually, "my visitors arrived". Truth is, they scared the heck out of me. One moment I'm sitting there on my couch, staring out the window at the city lights below, and the next I hear a voice, two voices, and turn to see Racine and Arab "Cricket" Jones standing right in front of me.
“Evening, Inspector”, said Jones.
“Hi”, added Racine, with a little wave of her left hand. Her right hand was on the hilt of the sword she had buckled to her belt. Racine looked the same as I remembered her from long ago. I don't know how she could be that young. She was dressed the same, too, in her spiky black boots, denim mini-skirt and cobweb stockings, flannel shirt unbuttoned halfway down. Her cold black eyes were shining, even in the darkness of my office.
Jones was the Jones I'd seen on TV the day before - middle-aged, cocky, smirking, pointing that little silver pistol at me.
“You really like that gun”, I pointed out. “It's kind of like your trademark, isn't it? So predictable.”
“Predictable?”, Jones practically screeched.
“Predictable?”, he repeated, his lips curling into a smile.
“That's the word”, I remarked.
“What's with the girl?”, I asked him. “What about your supermodel wife and your boy with the stupid science name?”
“Oh, I'm not greedy”, he chuckled. “I still get them in plenty of alternate realities.”
“Hey”, Racine pouted.
“I'm just saying how it is”, Jones told her.
“I don't want to hear it”, she snapped, and I thought I saw her hand grip the sword more tightly. Jones was going to have to watch his step with her. I didn't know much about Racine, but something told me she had a short fuse.
“So now it's your turn”, Jones said, turning back to me.
“So what”, I said, yawning, or pretending to yawn, really. Actually I was pretty nervous. I wasn't sure what to do except maybe stall for time and hope the twins showed up.
“So what?”, Jones said, and began to pace around the room.
“What is up with you?”, he asked. “One day you're a slug and the next day you're a sage. So what? Does mortality mean nothing to you now?”
“Yup”, I nodded. “Seems to me, now that you mention it, if what you keep saying is true, there are already enough of me to go around. What's one Stanley Mole more or less. And anyway, I'm an old man. I know my time is short. So if it's a little shorter, I can live with that.”
“Ha!”, Racine shouted, I think in appreciation of my attempt at humor.
“What happens here, happens”, Jones said.
“Happens here”, I told him him. “Didn't you tell me that the farther you cross, the less similar it becomes? The disparity grows over distance, is that how you put it?”
“Something like that”, he nodded. “So you're saying you're content if some of you survive.”
“Only one would be fine”, I replied. “Like you said, I'm not greedy.”
“Besides”, I added with my eye on the clock, “I don't even believe you. I think it's a joke. You've just got some trick up your sleeve.”
“Oh it's all true”, he snapped. “Look at her! How do you explain that?”
“Time travel, maybe?”, I suggested.
“There's no such thing”, he said. “Don't be silly.”
“Then prove it”, I said. “Click yourself somewhere right now. I want to see it in person.”
“You just want to get out of it”, he chided me. “You think you can tempt me to go somewhere else, while you run away. It won't work. I promise. Even if I did, and you did, I'd still find you. You know it. So there. I hope you're ready. It is time for you to die.”
“Not quite”, came a voice from the doorway, and not a second too soon! I was relieved to find out that when they said twenty four hours they really meant it, right on the dot.
Jones spun to see the two white-suited gentlemen standing there.
“Who are you?”, he demanded. “Get out, or I'll shoot you too.”
“No you won't”, said the one on the left.
“In other words”, said the other one, “you can't.”
“Oh yeah?”, Jones said, and he squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
“We've frozen your piece”, said the first.
“Laws of physics”, said the other. “You'd appreciate it more in other circumstances.”
Jones looked puzzled, then stuck the gun into his pocket, and held up the lighter with his other hand. He challenged them.
“Laws of physics, eh? I'll show you a little thing about that!”
He clicked the lighter, but nothing happened. No flame, no vanishing act, nothing.
“What?”, he yelled, and tried it again, and again, and again, until he finally realized it wasn't going to work, and lowered his arm and stared at the two.
“What's happening?”, he demanded to know.
“We have a friend in San Francisco”, said the one on the right, “He has adjusted the spin of the subatomic flux.”
“I
n other words”, said the other, “It's those pesky laws of physics again.”
“Just when you think you have them down,” said the first.
“They go poof!”, added his companion.
“Don't be ridiculous!”, Jones shouted. “I'm a physicist myself! What you're saying is absurd!”
“Doesn't seem any more ridiculous than anything else around here”, I muttered.
“You shut up”, Jones told me, and then to them said, “Who are you two, anyway?”
“Think of us as collectors”, said the one on the left.
“In other words”, said the other, “we've come to collect.”
“Your souls”, said the first.
“Our what?”, asked Racine.
“Our souls?”, asked Jones.
“If you say so”, I contributed. The two had sauntered into the room by this time, and were standing directly in front of the other pair. I remained on the couch. I was comfortable. Ever since the twins had shown up, I had a feeling that everything was going to be all right. I was ready to forfeit my soul, or even souls, as many as I had, or as many as they wanted. Just to be done with this whole damn business. I was sick of this Jones fellow, his threats
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