Time-Travel Duo

by James Paddock

  “Yes, siree,” a voice said just loud enough to be heard. “My luck has sure changed. Yes, siree, it sure has.” His feet touched the ground and he stood with his back to James, straightening the coat. “Go’n south. That’s what I do now. Go south to where it’s always warm. Yes, siree!”

  James reached out and grabbed the individual’s collar. “You’re not going anywhere, friend.” But slicker than James could have imagined, the guy was running toward the alley and James found he had nabbed only a scarf.

  “Roger!” James yelled. “Apprehend!”

  Roark floated on cloud nine as he climbed out the window, muttering to himself how his luck had changed. “Go’n south,” he said. “That’s what I do now. Go south to where it’s always warm. Yes, siree!”

  And then there was a hand on him, a big hand and a voice to match. “You’re not going anywhere, friend.” Before the voice finished the sentence, Roark bolted away, surprised that he wasn’t yanked back and thrown on his back. He knew immediately that the big hand and big voice meant a big person, and Roark was small and fast, even with everything in his pockets. Quite happy to sacrifice the scarf, another procurement from the chandelier lady, Roark headed for the alley, planning an escape route that would take him into dark shadows. In two more seconds, he would make the turn into the alley and be gone. His father used to tell him he could be a track star someday, but Roark never wanted anything to do with that school sports stuff. He didn’t want anything to do with school, for that matter. Don’t grow up to be a bum like your old man, was one of the most common things Roark remembered him saying before Roark packed up and ran away shortly after his fourteenth birthday.

  Won’t be a bum in Florida, Roark thought ten years later, and then he heard the big voice yell, “Roger! Apprehend!”

  A rush of fear ran through Roark’s veins as he tried to guess where Roger was. And that word, apprehend. That was a cop word. Whoever this Roger was, Roark would just run right over him, cop or no cop. Roark was both fast and wiry, hard to hold on to. Then suddenly, something huge stepped out in front of him. Roark hit it dead on and was slammed to the ground. At first the only thing Roark could think of was that there was no air.

  “I can’t bre...” He knew he was going to die, and was certain just before passing out that there was a horse standing on his chest, and something wet... very wet.

  “Roger! Apprehend!” was one of many commands Roger understood. This one meant that he should block whatever person was running away from his master; pin him if he could. This one was easy because the man running away didn’t see him. He ran right into him and fell to the ground. Before he could get up, Roger placed a hoof on his chest, snickered at the smell, and waited for his master.

  “Okay, Roger,” James said. “Let him go.”

  Roger backed up, but the man didn’t move. He smelled like he had bathed in a tub of whiskey. After determining he was breathing and his heart was still beating, James dislodged an unopened bottle of whiskey from his hand and attached the handcuffs. He searched pockets for weapons, finding only cigarettes, money and another bottle of whiskey, broken, the contents of which were soaked into his clothing.

  James was just finishing separating the whiskey soaked money from the dry money and from the cigarettes when the individual woke up. James watched him while he figured out where he was and what happened. His ankle was handcuffed to a steel ring around which a rope had been braided. It led up to Roger’s saddle. If the guy thought to get rough at all, Roger would just jerk him off his feet. The guy sat up, analyzed the handcuff on his ankle and followed the rope into the dark, somewhere around the bush. Roger was out of sight.

  “What happened?” Roark asked.

  “How about I ask the questions,” James said. “What’s your name?”

  Roark thought for a while on how much of his name to give. “Sidney.”

  “Sidney what?”

  “Searoark.”

  “Sidney Searoark. Do you have a middle name?”

  Roark looked at all the money and cigarettes stacked near the police officer. “I could sure use a smoke.”

  “Wouldn’t advise lighting a match near you. What’s your middle name?”

  “Maxwell. Sidney Maxwell Searoark. How about a swig of that there whiskey then? My head really hurts. That other cop didn’t have to hit me so hard.”

  “What other cop, Sidney?”

  “That other cop. Roger. I heard you yell for him.”

  James laughed. “My apologies for not introducing you. Sidney Maxwell Searoark, I’d like you to meet Roger, my partner. Roger, step around here where our friend can see you.”

  When Roger came into view and lowered his nose down close to Roark’s. Roark tried scrambling back under the bush where he had hidden for nearly two hours, but Roger stood on the rope and Roark went nowhere.

  “Tell him to let me go. Get him away from me.”

  “Where do you live, Sidney?”

  Roger snorted at the whiskey emanating from the man then nibbled at the coat. It had an interesting taste. He nibbled some more.

  “Get him... get him away... please... he’s trying to eat me!” Roark kept pushing away with his free foot. “I didn’t hurt nobody... I never hurt nobody.” To Roark, Roger’s eyes alone seemed as big as his own head and hot breath was blowing out his nose into Roarks’s face. “Oh, God, Please! Tell him to stop!”

  Roger found he actually liked this stuff all over the man’s clothing and was getting used to the smell. Roark thought he was going to pee himself. “Please, Mister Policeman. Make him stop.”

  “Roger! Back up.”

  Roger looked at his master, shook his head and snorted a couple times, then backed up.

  “Where do you live, Sidney?”

  “I have a room... on... on Queen Street.”

  “And what might that number be?”

  “Ah... ah... 27. It’s room 2C.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “I don’t have a job, yet.”

  “Yet? How long have you been here, Sidney?”

  “A month or two.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  Roark considered that question. Wouldn’t want them looking into his past in Charlotte. But his hometown is okay. No police record there. “New York.”

  “State or city?”

  “Brooklyn, New York.”

  “Sidney Maxwell Searoark from Brooklyn, New York.”

  Light flooded from Gee Gee’s back door and an officer and a civilian stepped out.

  “Did you get him, James?” the officer asked.

  “You might say Roger got him. We’re just having a little conversation.”

  The officer looked at Roark lying on the ground then back at James. “This is Gavin Gallagher, owner of Gee Gee’s. I’ll go bring the car around.”

  “Lamric. James Lamric.” James shook hands with Gavin.

  Gavin looked down at the stacks of money. “Thank you, Officer. If he had gotten away, I don’t know if I would have been able to make it. That’s everything. Business has been really slow.”

  “You should put your money in the bank, Mister Gallagher.”

  “Don’t trust banks.”

  “Well, this doesn’t seem to work either, does it?”

  Gavin didn’t say anything.

  “Did he do any damage?”

  “Broke a couple bottles of my best and a dozen or so glasses.”

  James pointed at Roark. “You can probably smell him from here. Appears a bottle of whiskey broke in his pocket.”

  The other officer pulled the police car up near them.

  James said to Gavin. “Total up the damage and bring it by the station. We’ll let you know when he goes before the judge.”

  By the time James had written the report and gotten Sidney Searoark stowed in the cell, his shift was almost over. He walked Roger the several blocks over to the stables, brushed and groomed him, checked his hooves and fed him. He talked to the stable boss for a
few minutes until Eddie showed up in his police car and together they headed for 27 Queen, Apartment 2C. James was certain Gee Gee’s wasn’t Sidney Searoark’s first hit, but before interrogating him, he wanted to see what all he had stored in his room.

  “So, James, how is everything been going?” Eddie asked.

  “Good.”

  “How’s your mother?”

  “Just fine.”

  “And how is Mrs. Waring doing?”

  James knew that question was coming. Every time he and Eddie talked, the question of Anne would come up. Eddie was the only one who knew of James’ feelings toward Anne, and sometimes he was sorry he had told him. But there was no one else he could trust. Eddie may make fun now and then, but James knew it wouldn’t go past him.

  “She’s doing just fine, Eddie. She’s talking about finding a job, and then moving into her own place.”

  “Tough way to go without a husband and all.”

  “She’s smart though. She knows things I haven’t even heard of.”

  “Like what?”

  “She knows how planes fly and about planes with special engines she calls jet. Jet engines.”

  “What’s a jet engine?”

  “Beats me. She also knows about nuclear power. I don’t know what that is either. Mom’s radio stopped working and she opened it and fixed it.”

  “Bet she knows how to cook real well too, doesn’t she?”

  “Not a lick, Eddie. She says without Hamburger Helper, Macaroni and Cheese and TV dinners, she would be lost.”

  “What are Hamburger Helper and TV dinners?” Eddie stopped the car in front of 27 Queen. “And what kind of meal is Macaroni and Cheese?”

  “I’ve no idea. She hasn’t made it. Mom’s teaching her how to cook. She made a loaf of bread last week.”

  “Was it good?”

  “It wasn’t mom’s but I ate it anyway. I don’t think she’ll get out on her own until she figures out the cooking. And I didn’t tell you about the sewing part.”

  Eddie raised his eyebrows. “She can’t sew either?”

  “She cooks better than she sews.”

  Eddie laughed and got out of the car.

  The key to room 2C was the only other thing Sidney Searoark had in his pockets besides cigarettes, money, a box of matches, some candy, and a broken bottle of whiskey. Room was the perfect description for it. It was one room with a couple of blankets and a worse for wear pillow. Clothes were scattered around. A couple of girlie magazines lay next to the blankets. Beer bottles, wine bottles and liquor bottles were stacked upon a table sporting one chair. A pile of trash was growing out of one corner. James kicked a wine bottle. It spun off toward another corner, which passed for the kitchen. On a counter stood a single burner hot plate, and a half dozen empty soup cans.

  At first there seemed to be nothing of value in the place, then Eddie started walking around and picking things up. James headed for the kitchen corner to see what was there besides empty bottles and cans.

  “Look here,” Eddie said.

  James turned to see him crouched next to the mattress. He was holding a woman’s silk scarf and had uncovered an assortment of rings, necklaces, bracelets, and broaches. Eddie picked up a gold broach, with five colored gemstones.

  “Remember the old woman over on Tradd who was burglarized a few weeks back? This is exactly what she described as an heirloom. I remembered it because she said there wasn’t another like it. This necklace looks familiar, too.”

  James picked up several of a half dozen wallets sitting on the table. “Looks like this guy is our pickpocket,” James said.

  Eddie found several more. “Or maybe he just collects wallets.” He moved toward the trash pile and started poking at it with his foot. A couple palmetto bugs appeared and then disappeared.

  James gathered the wallets and put them next to the door, then started to do the same with the jewelry when he stepped on something under one of the blankets. It was a cigar box. James opened it and then said, “Would you look at this.”

  Eddie walked over and looked at the box stuffed full of money. “Wow! But I think you should take a look at this, James.” Eddie held a wine-stained white envelope so that James could see the writing on the front.

  “How the hell!” was the only thing James said as he took the envelope from Eddie. There were only two words and they comprised the name, Anne Waring.

  Chapter 36

  Sunday ~ September 12, 1943

  “Well?”

  James looked from the envelope, which felt hot and heavy in his hands, to Eddie’s face. “Well, what?”

  “Are you going to open it and see what it says?”

  “It isn’t mine to open.”

  “I found it in the line of duty, in the possession of a common thief. What would he be doing with it? Maybe they’re partners and have some kind of scam going.”

  “No! –– NO!” James shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

  “Then how would you explain it being here?”

  “Sidney’s a thief. He stole it from someone.”

  “Who?”

  Go to hell, Eddie, James wanted to say. Instead he folded the envelope, put it in a pocket and said, “I’ll find out.” He began picking things up; the blankets, the pillow, old socks, a shirt, papers, empty soup cans; and throwing them into a pile in the center of the room. There was no rhyme, and there was no reason to his actions. He was angry with Eddie, and if he could have he would have punched him in the face. He was angry because when he first saw the envelope he thought only about how Sidney Searoark got a hold of something that was Anne’s. Then Eddie accused her of being part of him.

  “Slow down, James.” Eddie put his hand on James’ arm.

  James jerked away and started in on the trash pile.

  “This isn’t the way to do it.”

  “She’s not a thief.”

  “I didn’t say she was.”

  A can bounced off the wall and James turned to face his friend. “The hell you didn’t. They’re partners running a scam, you said.”

  “All right. Maybe I implied at the possibility. But one of us has to think like a cop. You’re certainly not.”

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “We don’t know enough to know whether it makes sense or not. The proof is in your pocket that somehow Sidney Searoark and Anne Waring are related. It may be as simple as his having stolen it from someone. If that’s the case, then I think it’s your duty, both as a police officer and her friend to find out who that might be. If they’re related in some illegal way, then I think it’s your duty as a police officer and your mother’s son to find out who this person living in your mother’s home might be.”

  James shook his head and said quietly, “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I told you before you were too close to this, James. Didn’t you tell me one time that a good investigating officer doesn’t just look at what only makes sense?”

  James didn’t answer.

  “Let’s find the answers. We’ll go through this place systematically and capture every piece of evidence we can to figure out where this guy has been, and then we’ll go talk to him.”

  James looked around the room and nodded his head.

  “Let’s start with the trash pile and go through it piece by piece.” Eddie knelt down and started sorting.

  James saw a piece of metal and pulled on it. It was attached to a pocket watch. The glass was cracked. He placed it with the wallets and then started going to work.

  The pile of trash in the middle of the room grew.

  The sorting didn’t take very long, but when they were done they had seven wallets, four pocket watches, a large assortment of jewelry, a camera, a derringer with no ammunition, a small notebook and a cigar box of money, which they hadn’t counted yet.

  “He’s not a very big-time thief,” Eddie said.

  James separated the clothing and blankets from the trash pile and pulled the pillowcase off the pillow
. He placed everything they had collected into it, except the box of money.

  Eddie thumbed through the bills. “Looks like he has had a couple lucky hits.”

  “Many people don’t trust banks –– have stacks of cash not very well hidden,” James said and picked up the pillowcase full of stolen property. “Let’s go.”

  Eddie followed James out to the car, the box of money tucked under his arm.

  “Good cop –– bad cop, James.” James and Eddie stood outside the interrogation room where Sidney was waiting to be interviewed. “I’ll be the bad cop.”

  “Why? You don’t think I can be a good bad cop?”

  “The bad cop has to have his head screwed on straight and right now I think you’re a little lopsided. We do him wrong and he’ll clam up, and then we’ll get nothing.” Eddie looked around and then headed for the break room. “Let’s get some coffee and donuts. He doesn’t look like he has had a decent meal in a while, so a couple of stale donuts are going to be like prime rib. Soften him with one, then lead him into talking with a few more.”

  James followed along, part of him knowing Eddie was right, the other part wanting to be pure bad cop and rip the answers out of him.

  “Okay,” Eddie said once they were back at the door. “Butter him up. Make him feel like you’re his best buddy.” He pulled out a half pack of Lucky Strikes and stuffed them in James’ pocket. “Wave these under his nose and he’ll do anything.”

  Roark sat at the small table wishing he were back in his cell, sleeping. He wondered how he was going to talk his way into a lighter sentence. He did it in Charlotte, but then he was only caught with his hand in a cop’s pocket. He was wearing regular clothes. How was I to know he was a cop? he had cried. That’s what he did. He cried about how he got kicked out by his old man and he was looking for a job so he could send money home to his grandma in New Jersey.

  The judge found him a job and then gave him a six-month sentence, paroled. Keep the job for six months and visit the parole officer twice a week was all he had to do. Could do that no sweat, he told himself as he nodded his head in agreement to the judge.

  Cutting sleeve pieces out of huge bolts of cloth wound up not being all that much fun. The day after his second visit to the parole officer, Roark picked up a ride heading to Columbia, South Carolina. From there he found another heading for Charleston.