Out of Time: A Time Travel Mystery (Out of Time #1)

by Monique Martin

  “It doesn’t matter anymore. You made yourself quite clear last night. I’ll have my own place by the weekend.”

  He fought against the urge to take her in his arms. Tell her it was all a mistake. That he’d made the mistake in pushing her away. But his feet wouldn’t move. He had done the only thing he could yesterday, but he couldn’t let her leave.

  “Like it or not,” he said, as evenly as he could. “We’re in this situation together.”

  “No. We’re not.” She picked up her costume and lifted her chin. “We need to keep up appearances. But since that’s all they are, where I spend my nights is none of your business.”

  ~~~

  King flicked the long ash of his cigarette out of the back window of his car and leaned forward to see across the street. These rounds were growing more and more tedious. It was hardly the first time Victor had collected payments. What could possibly be taking so long?

  Impatient to move on to the inspection of the new club in Chinatown, King reached for the door handle. His gloved hand froze in place as he saw a familiar face walking up the sidewalk in the late afternoon shadows. Elizabeth Cross.

  She was a puzzle, that one. One he’d enjoy solving.

  She looked around nervously, and King leaned back in his seat to hide his face. She didn’t give any sign of seeing him or recognizing his car.

  What was she doing here?

  Just as she reached the doorway to the pawn shop, Vic stumbled out and nearly into her, the big oaf. She sidestepped him and went inside.

  Curious.

  Victor lumbered across the street toward the car.

  “Hey, boss,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “That dame from the club, she’s—”

  “Shut up and get in the car,” King hissed.

  With one last ponderous look back at the pawn shop, Victor did as he was told.

  King stared at the door to the pawn shop, his mind sifting through possibilities. A few minutes later, Elizabeth emerged. She pulled down the rim of her cloche hat and hurried off down the street.

  King waited until she was out of sight before opening his door. “Wait here.”

  He swiftly crossed the street and entered the shop.

  One patron who was idly looking through the wares turned white when he saw King. Lowering his eyes to the ground, the man scurried for the door, leaving the shop empty.

  “King,” Smitty said with a broad, false smile that faded and quivered under King’s gaze. “The payment was in full. I double checked it.”

  King waved the notion away with his hand and looked down into the glass case before moving his gaze back up to Smitty. “That woman who was just here. Did she buy something? Sell something?”

  “Neither one,” Smitty. “She’s paying off a ticket.”

  King stared at the man, impatient that his needs were not already anticipated.

  “Oh,” Smitty said as dawn broke. “It’s an odd one. I should have come to you about it,” he added quickly as he dug around behind the counter. “It’s right up your alley, with the collecting.”

  King waited while the man opened and closed drawers.

  “Here it is,” he said triumphantly as he turned and unfolded a bit of cloth.

  King could barely believe his eyes. “How did you—?”

  His hand went quickly to his own breast pocket where he felt the outline of the ring inside. He stared down in disbelief. Identical, even down to the crack along the scarab’s back.

  “It’s probably a fake,” Smitty said. “Not worth much but—”

  King picked up the scarab ring and held it up to the light. “Oh, it’s worth a great deal, Mr. Smith. A great deal. To me.”

  ~~~

  Elizabeth ignored him all the next night at the club, never once even glancing in his direction. Simon managed to play the music, but he wasn’t sure how. Her anger was well deserved, but that was hardly a comfort.

  He finished his set and sat on the piano bench watching her lean against the bar, waiting for her order to be filled. She tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ears and gave Charlie a fleeting smile.

  The night dragged on painfully slowly. The bar was doing a brisk business for a Monday night, but every couple, every happy reveler was nothing more than painful reminder of something he’d never have. He watched her as she greeted each table with a smile. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely on her smile. How much that simple thing meant to him. Now they were all for someone else. He was starting to feel truly maudlin when the buzz of the crowd softened to a whisper. Every eye in the club was on the man in the doorway.

  “King!” Charlie said with forced enthusiasm. “Your table is waitin’ for ya.”

  The dark haired man nodded his head once and took a seat along the far wall. Simon nearly forgot his place in the song as he leaned to his right to get a better view. So this was King Kashian? He used so much oil in his hair, there was enough left over for his smile.

  Dix went to his table, but he waved her off. His dark eyes traveled across the room until they found their prize. Elizabeth. Dix signaled for her to come over. King’s gaze raked over her body, and Simon hit a sour note. He covered quickly, then strained to see them through the crowd.

  The man’s look was positively indecent. King waved a gloved hand and gestured for Elizabeth to join him. She shook her head. Good girl. King leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. Elizabeth put her tray down on the table and took a seat.

  They spoke for a few minutes until King turned and nodded toward Simon. Elizabeth followed his gaze and said something in response. King laughed, and they both turned away.

  What the bloody hell was she doing?

  Simon ground his teeth with growing aggravation. He wished he could see Elizabeth’s face, but all he could see was King’s smug expression. They were too far away for lip reading, but it was clear enough that the gangster was enjoying her company. A bit too much.

  Simon played a few more standards, trying not to race the tempo, but his heart wasn’t in the music. After a few more minutes, King pushed his chair back and stood. He gave Elizabeth a courtly bow and a not so courtly leer, before heading for the door. She took up her tray and walked to the bar. Simon finished the last bars of “S’Wonderful”, ignored the smattering of applause and walked over to her.

  She was waiting for an order to be filled when Simon gripped her by the arm and forced her to turn toward him. “What was that all about?”

  Her eyes were cold, and she wrested her arm from his grip. She turned away and grabbed her tray. “Thanks, Charlie,” she said, and moved back into the crowd without giving Simon another glance.

  He grunted in aggravation and ran a hand through his hair. What did she think she was playing at? They knew King was dangerous. Why didn’t she just go and play in traffic, for God’s sake?

  “You all right, Professor?” Charlie asked as he served up a particularly vile smelling concoction.

  Simon gave a terse laugh. “Fine.”

  “Sorry about King. Fancies himself a real cake eater.”

  “Really?” Simon said, unimpressed. “And I suppose fraternizing with the clientele is part of Elizabeth’s job.”

  Charlie frowned. “It ain’t like that. When King wants to talk, ya talk.” He put down his dishrag, leaned against the bar and nodded toward Elizabeth. “I don’t know what you did, Professor. But if I were you, I’d fix it.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Simon said, bristling.

  Charlie shrugged. “I’m just sayin’ flowers might not be a bad idea.”

  “I don’t remember asking you for advice on our relationship. I’m fairly certain it’s none of your business.”

  Charlie’s kind eyes grew hard. “Anything affects the club is my business.”

  Simon cocked his head to the side in challenge. “If you have a point, I suggest you get to it.”

  Charlie sighed. “Look, I like ya. Well, I like Lizzy; you’re a pain in the ass. But L
izzy likes ya, so you can’t be all bad.”

  “Thank you,” Simon said dryly.

  “Alls I’m sayin’ is: men, we mess up. Don’t always know why, but I know one thing. You got a good thing in Lizzy. Do what you gotta do. Cause trust me, there’s always somethin’ or somebody there waitin’ to take it away from ya.”

  Simon nodded and turned to watch Elizabeth. If Charlie only knew how true that was.

  Chapter Fifteen

  BACK AT THE APARTMENT, Elizabeth kept her distance and her silence. They hadn’t said more than two words since their brief contact in the bar. Simon continued to sleep in the chair. Nightmares plagued him. Awake or asleep, it didn’t seem to matter. No matter how hard he tried, doubts crept in. He told himself time and again that he’d done the right thing, but the truth inched its way to the surface. He wasn’t protecting her at all. It wasn’t a matter of sparing her the infliction of his inevitable failure, it was something much simpler. Something far less noble. She was right. He was afraid. Petrified actually. The idea of loving someone, of being loved in return frightened him beyond words.

  More often than not, he’d ended the relationships before they could begin. Then Elizabeth had come into his life. All the walls he’d built were slowly being worn away. Until now, when the cracks became fissures, and the walls started to crumble. He could feel the past repeating itself. Was he strong enough to face it all again? Or could he change his destiny?

  The things that had once defined him, detachment and control, lay in rubble at his feet. She’d given him the chance to live again, and he’d thrown it in her face. Judging from the way she’d treated him since, she wasn’t about to forgive him. Not that he deserved her forgiveness. Or would even know what to do with it if it were given. Not much to worry about there either; she would be gone in the morning, just as she had been every morning since Coney Island. Yet, somehow, hope flickered in his chest, refusing to be snuffed out completely.

  Knowing Charlie’s was the only place he’d see her, Simon went in early. The bar was eerily quiet. Empty tables, empty chairs: the perfect place for an empty man. Charlie was putting a new picture of Lillian Gish on the wall behind the bar. He straightened the corners and stood back to admire his work.

  “Pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

  “Hmm? Oh, I suppose,” Simon said, as he took a seat on one of the wooden stools. He’d never felt so at sixes and sevens; a bleak future ahead, and nothing but mistakes behind him.

  Charlie shook his head and pulled out the bottle of Glenlivet from behind the counter. “You got it bad,” he said and set-up two cups. “Lizzy still givin’ ya the cold shoulder?”

  Simon’s frown was answer enough, and Charlie nodded in commiseration. “Want a snort? Cure what ails ya?”

  Simon desperately wanted a drink, but feared he wouldn’t be able to stop with just one. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

  Charlie opened the bottle and poured the drinks. “Naw, probably not.” He slid one cup across the wooden counter to Simon. “Sometimes wise ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  Simon laughed and took the cup, but he didn’t drink. Charlie raised his cup in toast. “Here’s mud in yer eye.”

  Simon breathed in the scent, letting it fill his lungs with pungent warmth before taking a sip. “Quite good.”

  Charlie nodded and stared down into his empty cup. His usually jovial face was lined with worry. “You try the flowers?”

  “I think we’re well beyond that,” Simon said, surprised at his willingness to talk to the man, but he felt too tired to fight it anymore.

  “I know you don’t want me stickin’ my nose in, but bein’ alone ain’t good for no man.”

  Charlie’s wide shoulders seemed bowed under some unseen pressure. He looked at Simon with unaccustomed passion, a ghost of pain floating in his eyes. Simon knew the look. He’d seen it often enough in the mirror. “Who was she?”

  Charlie’s meaty face wrinkled in a mixture of chagrin and sorrow. “Mary. She was beautiful, my Mary.” He poured another drink and looked down into the cup, his eyes dreamy and distant. “Seems like yesterday.”

  Charlie closed his eyes for a moment and smiled ruefully. “A real looker. And a sweeter girl you never will find. Met her in the park. Saw her walking with her sister. Real pinched-face sort of broad. Just made Mary look even prettier. Not that she needed the help.”

  He stopped for a moment, poured another and took a deep drink of the Scotch. “Minute I laid eyes on her, I knew she was the girl for me. Crazy, huh?”

  Simon shook his head, remembering the first day he’d seen Elizabeth. She raised her hand, interrupting his lecture, and challenged his theory on the motivational hunger of lycanthropics. He was annoyed at the disruption and impressed with her audacity. But it wasn’t her question that lingered in his mind later that day. It was the sound of her voice, the tilt of her head, the fire in her eyes.

  “Anyway,” Charlie continued, breaking Simon from his reminiscence, “I walked right over to her and introduced myself. Tipped my hat and said, name’s Charlie Blue and I think I love you.”

  Simon grinned in spite of himself.

  Charlie laughed and reddened at the memory of his boldness. “I know, but ya say some pretty stupid stuff when you’re in love. She laughed at me, but I was a cocky son of a gun and didn’t give up. She said it was improper for her to talk to a man she hadn’t been introduced to. See? Her sister piped up that no matter what, it wouldn’t be proper for her to be talking with the likes of me, but Mary, she had this look in her eyes. Then she, I’ll never forget, she asked me if I knew anyone in the park. Told her I knew the cop over on the southeast corner. Course, I didn’t tell her how I knew him,” he added with a wink.

  “Luck was on my side that day. She knew the fella too. God bless him, old Pete never let on and gave us the proper how do ya do’s. And from that moment on, I couldn’t think of nothin’ else but her. It was like a fever, ya know? A wonderful fever.”

  Charlie started to take another drink, but his cup was empty, and he set it aside. “I courted her best I could. She was from a good family. The kind that lives so high up they can’t see nothin’ without lookin’ down their noses. Me, I was a regular Joe, but Mary, she made me feel special. Like me, Charlie Blue, was somebody.”

  Simon knew the feeling, the way Elizabeth had looked when he gave her the stuffed tiger—like he was the only man in the world.

  Charlie looked at the bottle for a moment, then pushed it aside with the back of his hand. “One day, we hadn’t seen each other for a week. We’re supposed to meet, and she don’t show. That’s not her, so I get worried. I go round to her house, and her mother tells me she won’t be seeing me no more. Seems she’s found another fella. Somebody who could give her the things I couldn’t, I guess.” His voice couldn’t hide the bitterness, even after all the years.

  “I didn’t believe it at first. Not my Mary. So, I went back the next day and told ’em I wasn’t leavin’ till she told me face to face.”

  Charlie shook his head, and his eyes misted over. “I was a damn fool. She came down and stood behind the screen door. Looked me in the eye and told me it was over.”

  Simon remembered all too well the expression on Elizabeth’s face when she told him she was moving out. An ending before a beginning.

  Charlie’s brawny hands clenched around the empty cup. “I was so angry, I couldn’t see straight. Didn’t see straight. Didn’t see what was right in front of me. She was thin. Too thin. And so pale. But I didn’t see it. All I saw was red.” He laughed bitterly. “Last time I saw her, and I didn’t even really see her.”

  Simon fought down the panic that welled inside his chest.

  Charlie sighed heavily and played with the frayed ends of his bar rag. “Got a letter from her sister ’bout two months later. Mary had the influenza and…died. Didn’t want me to know. Didn’t want me to watch it happen.”

  The desperation Simon had felt during his nightmare pric
kled at his skin. Watching Elizabeth die.

  Charlie nodded slowly, once again resigned to his fate. “I woulda taken those two months over the nothin’ I got any day. I shoulda kept on tryin’. Never be another Mary. Not for me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Eleven years ago. Coulda been yesterday.” He looked up from the tattered edges of the rag and made sure he caught Simon’s eye. “You’re a lucky man, Professor. You’ve got your Mary. Don’t let her go.”

  Simon nodded thoughtfully and drank the last of his Scotch. Elizabeth wasn’t his to lose. Or was she? The real question was, did he have the courage to find out?

  ~~~

  Elizabeth gave Simon a wide berth all night. A few times he made tacit overtures; a gaze that lingered a moment too long, the beginnings of an unsure smile, and he even stuttered something about her hair. If she didn’t know better, she might let herself believe he was feeling contrite. But this was Simon Cross after all. The same man who’d just two nights before rejected and humiliated her. The same man who had nothing more to say than that he was sorry.

  She’d fooled herself into believing he was something he wasn’t and paid the price. Working at Charlie’s used to be fun, but now it was all she could do to keep a smile plastered on her face for the customers. It wasn’t bad enough that she had to work with him all night, but the walk home was unbearable. Once they were in the room, she could crawl into bed, hide in the darkness. But the silence and awkwardness of walking home on the deserted streets was strangely too intimate.

  Tonight she was lucky; it was bank night. Growing up around pool halls and race tracks, Elizabeth knew what that really meant. Banks, the kind Charlie and some of her father’s friends used, were no more than glorified bookies. A safe house to store your cash. The locations changed to keep the bad guys and the feds guessing. It was a risky way to handle money, but when you made your living under the table, it came with the territory.

  If she could make the run with Lester the bouncer, then he could walk her on to the apartment, and she could avoid the death march with Simon. It was a good plan. Of course, convincing Charlie wasn’t so easy. He rejected the idea at first. He wasn’t too crazy about letting her go to the safe house. Guns, money, and a pretty girl—nothing good ever came out of that mix. She promised to stay out of the way, but he wouldn’t budge. When she pushed out her lower lip in her patented pout, his resolve began to weaken. She knew it was dirty pool, using her feminine wiles, but what good were wiles unless you used them now and again? Finally, Charlie agreed, the old softie, but only if she did everything Lester told her.