Jack grinned at her remark saying, “I’m certain he was, but you can tell me. I won’t tell. Promise.” Jack reflected shortly on the bad karma he was creating but put it aside for The Array.
“Can’t really.”
“Oh, go ahead, Kate. It’s safe.”
A few moments passed. She licked her dry lips. “Okay, little hint. Big movie star, movie star.”
This was not what Jack expected. It threw him completely. “Movie star,” Jack echoed, stunned.
“Um, yes. Rogue. Pirate. So handsome.” Then she started to giggle, her eyes fluttered open for the barest of seconds and then closed again. Jack was neither smiling nor laughing as he stood going over the collection of names, words, trying to make sense of it.
“Now, Kate. Wait I . . .” It was useless. As he stood staring down at her, he realized Kate was out cold. His anxiety level rose rapidly, leaving him with a thousand unanswered questions. “Goddamn it!” he swore under his breath. “What a hell of a mess.” In the end, he reached to take Kate’s warm, limp hand. Strangely, even in sleep his touch made her flinch. His hand fell away as his mind grappled with his own anger and frustration. “Her father was a goddamn movie star!” He replayed her remarks again, searching for definitive answers. They were illusive. He could think of several leading men from Fairbanks to Flynn that fit what she had alluded to. He could feel the tension building in his shoulders
and neck. He really didn’t need this. This was not a good start to his day.
Unexpectedly, Dr. Hendricks returned, entering the room quickly, “Jack, I’m so glad you’re still here. We need you right away. There’s an emergency.”
Jack turned and looked at the doctor as if he was crazy. “Emergency? This is the emergency.” Jack pointed at sleeping Kate.
“I’m afraid not at the moment. If you’ll come with me.”
Jack put on his hat and followed the doctor down the hall to the main lab that led to the computer transfer area. Jack didn’t like the overall tone of this or the fact that Fred Raymond, the managing director, Sherman’s equivalent in ‘39, was waiting for them.
“Over here, please,” Dr. Hendricks motioned to Jack.
Jack looked into the ruggedly handsome face of Fred Raymond. He never ceased to be amazed at the striking resemblance to Robert Mitchum. His six-foot, three-inch impeccably dressed frame was a force that dominated the room and he was not pleased.
“What is it?” Jack asked.
“Bad news, I’m afraid. We just had another transfer,” Raymond stated.
“A what?” Jack said flabbergasted.
“Yes, an unidentified man, it appears.”
“You mean he didn’t land here?”
“No,” Dr. Hendricks interjected. “From the force of his entry he was at a dead run and veered off course.”
“Veered off course?” Jack said. “Incredulous. You are kidding. Is that possible?”
Dr. Hendricks raised an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders. “It is a first, but I will say, he could not be far, within a few blocks radius I believe.”
“Were you expecting another party following you?” Raymond asked.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Ah, well, then we certainly have an interloper.”
“Popular trend these days,” Dr. Hendricks remarked.
His attempt at humor was completely lost on Jack.
Raymond raised an eyebrow in his direction.
“This is not happening,” Jack said more to himself.
“It’s not good, Jack,” Dr. Hendricks lamented.
“I know.”
“It’s more serious than that,” Raymond exclaimed. “He doesn’t belong with us, whoever he is, and he has the capability of influencing people’s lives and ultimately future events.”
Jack’s day was deteriorating rapidly. “I understand that, but we didn’t plan to have anyone else follow me. I’m certain of it.”
“Perhaps someone entered your facility. Was there a security leak?” Raymond asked.
“Not that I know of. Our only problem was with Kate.”
Raymond nodded. “Very well, then. I’ve dispatched two people to check the surrounding area. It’s definitely a needle in the haystack situation. We can only hope that he is still wearing clothing from 1999 and perhaps his behavior is a little unusual. Maybe somebody will notice. In the meantime,” Raymond looked at his watch, “. . . I have other business to attend to. I will meet you at four o’clock upstairs, Jack, as we agreed.”
Jack and Dr. Hendricks nodded as Fred Raymond left the room. The doctor turned and looked at Jack’s obvious distress and agitation and reached out to pat his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Jack. Not a good start to your final trip it seems, but I’m afraid I will have to add more to your burden.”
Jack just looked at the doctor waiting for the worst.
“I didn’t want to mention anything earlier to Kate, of course, but her mother is here. Her return is scheduled in about ten days. She’s over at the house in Hancock Park.”
Jack was strangely relieved. At least of this he was aware.
“Yes, I know. I am aware of the time overlap. It was a great concern to all of us, but with Kate’s unexpected transfer . . .” Jack paused and then added, “After reviewing the activity reports, I think we can keep this at least under control. There is something else, though. It’s about Kate’s father.”
Dr. Hendricks looked surprised. “Problems with her father? What could that have to do with us here?”
Jack took a few moments to explain the unusual situation to the doctor, bringing him up to date.
Dr. Hendricks frowned in his concern. “You have to get the truth out of her, Jack. You have to. This is absolutely imperative. I know she can be difficult, but I have all the faith in the world in you.”
Jack looked at Dr. Hendricks, appreciating his confidence in him, but now, Jack wasn’t confident about anything. Least of all, Kate.
CHAPTER X
It was the pungent stink of garbage and the incessant licking of his face by a stray dog that finally attacked Hawk’s dulled senses. He groaned, rolling onto his back. His body felt like it had been in the worst barroom brawl in history. “What the hell?” he mumbled. His mind was temporarily blank. As he managed to open his eyes, he stared into the face of a black and white dog. “Shit. Get away. Get away, you mangy mutt.” Hawk tried to push the dog away, but failed. He was too weak. He looked around, spotting one of his Nike’s over by the fence along with his backpack. His sunglasses were on the ground beside him. He reached slowly to push his shoulder length hair out of his face and realized he had serious beard stubble on his face. “How long have I been laying here?”
The dog continued to lick his face enthusiastically. “Get away, you crazy dog. Out of my face. Shit!” He managed to push the dog aside and tried to get up. He ached in parts of his body he didn’t know he had. “Damn, what the hell did I do to myself?”
Finally, he managed to sit up, brushing away twigs, leaves and the odd banana peel. He gasped from the pounding of a colossal headache . . . it stunned him with its pain. “Holy shit!” He grumbled. He must have drunk every bottle dry in the bar to produce this amount of pain. He rubbed his throbbing temples. It had absolutely no effect. He took a deep breath, blinked at the bright daylight and looked at his surroundings, trying to recall what happened. His brain strained as bits and pieces began to filter back to him. It was a slow process and he was still unable to stand; he tried twice.
Finally, he rolled over and crawled, dragging his aching body to his backpack. Slowly, he managed to get a hold of it. He unzipped, pleased to see his equipment seemed to be intact. He managed to pull himself closer to the fence and sat up. Leaning against it for support, he attempted to put the Nike back on his foot. That feat accomplished, he took in his surroundings. Clothes wer
e dry on an open line and he glimpsed at an old-time car parked in the driveway. “That is odd.” He didn’t remember any car collectors. Then his mouth fell open. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. It came rushing back to him in scenes that tumbled one over the next in jumbled memories. The tunnels under the Regent Beverly Wilshire, The Array, the Silver Screen, hiding in the utility closet, Laura’s frantic voice, Kate.
He recalled almost getting caught. Men running after him, chasing him as he ran right into the Silver Screen. The final sensation was of being consumed by light and then nothing. For a moment, Hawk was dumbstruck at the reality, and then he remembered the machine, the red letters that said 1939. He had to stand up to see it for himself. Somehow, he managed, grasping as he leaned against the fence. He felt as though he had climbed the tallest mountain just by being able to stand up. He blinked and looked around the neighborhood. Everything was there. The hotel was behind him. Then another old car drove past, an old Packard . . . unless everyone on the street was a car collector . . .
“Oh, God!” he said. He sagged against the fence again. He had really done it! It had to be 1939. It was elating, staggering and his enthusiasm drained his physical strength by the passing of each second. His legs suddenly gave way and he collapsed onto the ground. The black and white dog came over to him wagging his tail. “Not now, you mangy mutt.” Hawk took a deep breath, realizing he needed to eat and sleep or he wouldn’t be able to function.
A dizziness was descending on him when he heard a women’s voice. “Horace, Horace, you naughty dog. Where are you hiding?”
“Horace,” Hawk muttered to himself. “Who the hell would name their dog Horace?” The dog’s ears perked up instantly as he started to bark. It sounded like thunder to Hawk. “Oh, shit. Stop that!”
The dog abruptly stopped barking as Hawk looked up to see a plump, matronly woman come out the back door of the house. Gray hair in a bun with a faded pale blue apron over her printed navy blue dress. She instantly reminded Hawk of Bea from the old ‘50s show. “Mayberry.” Hawk stared at her, having the odd sensation of being suddenly a step out of time.
“Oh, goodness me,” the woman said as she approached Hawk and Horace. “Are you all right, young man?” she observed with sincere curiosity.
Before Hawk could reply she said, “Now Horace, what have you done? Don’t mind him. He is just so friendly. He really wouldn’t hurt a soul.” Her words trailed off as she looked at Hawk, waiting for him to speak.
“Uh, I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m afraid I’m a bit lost.” Hawk paused, thinking he had to do better than that. “I’m a long way from home.” Now there’s an understatement, but he was nervous, panicked actually, afraid that she would run to the police, looking at his long hair, unshaven face, not to
mention his strange clothes. What would he do? How could he explain it?
Instead, she put her hands on her ample hips saying, “Well, if Horace likes you, we can’t leave you out here. Heavens, you look exhausted and I would say you could do with a hot meal. Now,” she added, as if she had settled something within herself on the matter of taking this unusual looking and strangely dressed young man into her home. She believed in helping others. After all, she had lived through the Depression. “Folks need help sometimes. Yes, a shower and a hot meal. That’s what you need. Now, what’s your name?”
Hawk looked at her curiously for a moment wondering how he would explain, “My friends call me Hawk.”
“It suits you,” she smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “I’m Mabel Carson. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hawk.”
Hawk couldn’t get over the fact that she hadn’t run to call the police by now. In his time, well, he knew what would have happened.
As Mabel reached out to help Hawk to his feet she asked, “This contraption, is it yours?” She nodded at his backpack on the ground.
“Yes, it is.”
“All right then.” She picked it up, handing it to Hawk.
“Miss Carson,” Hawk began. He remembered how formal people always were in those old black and white movies. He figured it was the safest way to go. “Miss Carson, I . . .”
“Please call me Mabel. Everyone does.”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks, Mabel.”
“Life is about helping others,” she states as matter of fact.
Horace decided to bark at that moment. “Oh, Horace, we have company. Quiet down.”
Hawk accepted Mabel’s helping hand as they made the way slowly into her home.
Two hours later, showered and dressed in an assortment of Mabel’s nephew’s clothes, Hawk sat in the large old-fashioned kitchen eating a feast. It beat the hell of McDonald’s egg McMuffin. He couldn’t recall when food had tasted so great. He had taken four of her Aspirin. Tylenol hadn’t been invented yet. However, between the Aspirin and an incredible meal, his body was slowly returning to normal.
Mabel got up to refill her cup, offering him the same. He had learned she was a widow. Her husband, William, had passed away—heart attack two years ago. She kept busy with charity work, visited a reader/psychic at Regent Beverly Wilshire once a month and she was in love with the movies.
Hawk had listened to her stories, amused and entertained, but with one thought in mind. He was searching for something, anything to not only help him in his search for Kate and The Array, as well as locating Jack Baldwin.
It came as an off-handed remark as Mabel joined him at the old pine table. “You know,” Mabel remarked, “. . . when William passed away, I was tempted to go back to Kansas, my home as a child, but with so many happy memories I wasn’t ready to go yet. Lately however, I’ve been thinking more about it. I had the most intriguing offer for the house.”
“Really,” Hawk said, “What do you mean?” Only mildly interested. He was focused on piling on the homemade jam on a buttermilk biscuit.
“Oh, you know, a man representing someone called . . .
goodness, my memory. He had two first names. He’s involved in the movies I think. At least I see him with starlit types in Photoplay and Silver Screen magazines.”
“Two first names,” Hawk repeated. His interest pricked.
“Yes, I’m . . . oh, yes. I remember. Howard Hughes. Yes, that’s it. Can you imagine? He wants to buy my little house.” Hawk put his biscuit down on the plate, thinking it was all he could do not to gape at Mabel.
“What’s the matter, Hawk? Are you feeling ill again?”
Now that’s a good word, Hawk reflected, but more like shocked.
“Oh, sorry. I just . . . well, I remember him, too. Yeah, from the movies I think.” Lame answer, Hawk reflected, but Mabel didn’t notice.
“Yes, isn’t it exciting? But it is strange. Most people want land on the other side of Wilshire. I’m behind the hotel. No room for one of those glamorous Hollywood swimming pools. But I suppose people all have their different tastes.”
Hawk sipped his coffee; his brain was jumping in complete disorder. Of all the houses to find himself, and Hughes was making his move.
“So Mabel,” Hawk said, “. . . are you going to go for it? Take the offer?”
“Possibly. It’s very good money, but I’m not going to rush. Besides, my nephew, Johnny Carson, loves to visit here.”
“Your nephew?” Hawk repeated, astonished.
“Yes, on my husband’s side. Johnny is an ambitious young man. His heart is set on broadcasting.”
Hawk couldn’t help but smile. “I think . . . no, I’m sure he’ll make you proud.”
“I think so, too.” Mabel beamed.
“By the way, Mabel,” Hawk began, “. . . I’m looking up somebody a friend asked me to connect with. I was wondering, have you ever heard of somebody named Jack Baldwin?” It was a gamble, but one that Hawk was willing to take.
Mabel actually blushed. It both surprised and amused Hawk. “Oh, heavens, that good-looking man. He’s so popular in the So
ciety Pages when he is in town, of course. Yes, but I saw him in person. It was just thrilling, I can tell you. I was having my monthly reading with Helena Davis. She reads for all the stars, you know. Well, he was in the restaurant talking to Fred Raymond, a talent scout I think. I read that in Photoplay Magazine. But that Jack Baldwin . . .”
Hawk’s heartbeat picked up instantly. He thought, Busted, Baldwin. I’m on your tail.
Hawk cut in, “Mabel, was it recently that you saw Jack?”
“Yes, just two days ago,” she smiled in memory. “So exciting. My friend Thelma was just green with envy.” She paused looking at Hawk, who was looking at her quietly.
“I’m sorry, Hawk. I did ramble on a bit. Does that help?”
Hawk grinned, “Very much. More than you know.”
CHAPTER XI
Kate awoke stronger and very hungry the night after her interaction with Jack and Dr. Hendricks. A nurse had brought in a meal on a tray along with an assortment of magazines and the daily paper. An old style radio was playing music to keep her company. But despite the upbeat sounds of the popular clarinet tones of the big bands, Kate ate her first meal in 1939 alone.
The more Kate dwelled on Jack’s absence, the moodier she became. After all, he was her host. So maybe she hadn’t exactly been invited, but nonetheless, he was doing a dreadful job. She knew she sounded like a brat of a single digit age. What was it about him that provoked her? It couldn’t be that she found him remotely attractive. “No, I won’t fall into that trap,” her words echoed in the empty room, giving decidedly no comfort.
Then, this was all her doing. That didn’t ease the knot that had settled in her stomach. The thought of being stuck in this god-awful room for the next three weeks made Kate want to howl with frustration. Irritated, she pushed the empty dinner tray away and reached for the daily paper; anything for a distraction. Amused and intrigued, she glanced over the cover of the old/new edition of the Los Angeles Times. Her eyes suddenly shot up to the date on the corner of the newspaper. “Ah ha,” she muttered, a mischievous twinkle returning to her moss green eyes. “Well, well, Jack Baldwin. If you think you can keep me under lock and key, think again.” The date was days before her parents were to meet at the Brown Derby.
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