Low City: Missing Persons (A Tractus Fynn Mystery Book 3)

by Alexander, MK

  It was me.

  The man stopped some yards away and just stared in my direction. He didn’t seem especially surprised to see me.

  “You’re my doppelgänger,” I said.

  “Or you’re mine,” he countered. We were standing face to face, circling each other slowly. It was like looking in a mirror, but without the glass, and the reflection was delayed and inexact.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Me? I live here— you’re the visitor…”

  He had a point. “Your hammock?” I asked.

  The other me smiled. “Yeah.”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  “Um, you’re leaking money,” he said and nodded.

  Some coins had spilled onto the sand. I stooped to gather them, then tossed one over to the other Patrick. He caught it deftly and gave a quick glance.

  “Seventeen eighty-seven… a doubloon maybe? Thanks, I’ll add it to my collection.”

  “Your collection?” I asked.

  “Yeah, so far I have a drachma, a sovereign and a double eagle twenty dollar piece.”

  “All gold?”

  “Yeah.”

  “From Inspector Fynn?”

  “None other,” he replied with a smile and looked at me. “Fynn said you might show up someday.”

  “Did he?”

  “Well, he said it was a distinct possibility.”

  “Where is Fynn?” I asked.

  “No idea… not here.” He paused. “Why, are you expecting him?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. He seems to be missing.” I stared at this other me. “When was the last time you saw him?

  “Last spring maybe?”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “Why is that good?” he asked.

  “This morning, someone told me he was dead.”

  “Who said that?”

  “Elaine Luis.”

  “That artist lady? Lives in Garysville?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m supposed to interview her. Something about a giant sculpture…”

  I decided not to say anything about it. “You’re absolutely sure it was Fynn you saw last year?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Old guy, white hair, bow tie tucked under his collar, snappy dresser.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “Investigating Durbin’s murder.”

  Something must have crossed my expression. The other me took a step closer. He almost seemed concerned.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I read about that this morning. This timeline is all screwed up.”

  “Not for me.”

  “No, I guess not…” I smiled weakly. “Also, couldn’t help but notice my byline in the paper.”

  “Oh yeah, sorry… Fynn told me. Patrick Jardel… a cool name. Couldn’t resist using it.”

  “How did you know I’d be up here in the pine grove today?”

  The other me laughed. “I found your clothes at the Chronicle office,” he said and looked down at himself. He tipped the hat and took off the coat, then hung them both on a branch.

  I realized we were now dressed pretty much the same: jeans and a pullover, though I doubt very much I’d ever wear that particular shade of green. “You don’t seem too surprised.”

  “I saw my car parked on the shoulder— the car you stole this morning.”

  “Sorry, I thought it was mine.”

  “No problem. I took the bike instead.”

  “Isn’t that Hector’s bike?”

  “You mean Hector Diaz— the drunk in Partners?”

  I nodded.

  “I guess it could be his, maybe once. Now it’s the Town Bicycle.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, anyone can grab it... and ride, and just leave it where they want… for someone else to use…” He paused for a moment. “How did you get here? And I don’t mean my Saab.”

  I laughed. This me had a sense of humor at least.

  “Are you from the past or the future?” my other self persisted.

  “That’s a problem, I think. This is supposed to be my present.”

  “Your present? I think it’s mine.”

  “Yeah, I probably shouldn’t be here.”

  “That might be an understatement,” he commented. “Hmm, I was worried that it was one of those I’ve come from the future to save you from your past kind of thing…”

  “No, nothing like that.” I chuckled. “But it does seem to break the fundamental idea that a person can only be in one present at a time.”

  “Is that what Fynn says?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’re probably going to annihilate the space-time continuum just by talking to each other,” he said with a slight grin.

  “You think?” I smiled back.

  “Maybe… we definitely shouldn’t shake hands or anything.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Okay then, let’s try.” The other me extended his hand. We shook. There were no sparks or lightning, no ominous clouds gathered on the horizon, just a lingering awkward feeling.

  I had the sense that I could almost read this other person’s mind, hear their thoughts. I pretty much knew what he’d say even before I asked a question. It was a safe bet that the other me was feeling the exact same way. I had questions though, a lot of questions, but he started first:

  “Oh hey, I found this…” He pulled a playing card from his pocket. “Yours?”

  My expression must have betrayed me. I shrank back, hesitant to look.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Oh, I left that in the coat pocket before.”

  “Pocket? I found this on the path.”

  “Really?” I asked, and took a closer look. It was The Tower not the Hanged Man.

  “What does it mean?”

  “Wish I knew. That’s like the fifth one I’ve found today. I’m getting a little paranoid.”

  “Why?”

  “These cards keep showing up. Almost seems like someone is following me.”

  “Kind of ominous, don’t you think?” he asked.

  “Yeah, especially the lightning there, and those two people falling from the tower.”

  “Weird, right?”

  “I’ll say.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “No idea.”

  “A message from Inspector Fynn?” he wondered.

  “That doesn’t seem likely.”

  “Who then?”

  “Good question.”

  The other me sat across in the sand, his back against a scrubby pine tree. I did more or less the same, but in a pile of pine needles.

  “Where did you come from? The past… the future?” he asked.

  “Oh. The past,” I said. “Somehow it seems like I landed in the wrong future.”

  “Yeah, it seems like you landed in my present.”

  “Sorry.” I shouldn’t have been at all surprised by what he said; he was me after all, but I was. Did I really smirk like that?

  “Well, why don’t you just jump back to the past, to a previous you, and then everything will be fixed,” he offered. “That’s how it works, right? The whole soft jump, hard jump thing.”

  “Yeah, maybe, maybe not. Fynn warned me not to go back if possible. The past always changes the present.”

  “I’ve heard him say that many times,” the other me commented.

  “And… I’m not sure I want to lose that cane just yet.”

  “Oh, you mean with a soft jump?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fynn explained that to me once… not sure I get it completely.”

  “You and me both.” I tried to smile. “I don’t think anyone does.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “Not sure… Probably has something to do with the cane.” I saw the other me glance at the bear claw walking-stick leaning against the tree. He reached over and picked it up. I felt alarmed, possessive. He seemed rather covetous.
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br />   “Nice,” he said. “I’ve seen this before… isn’t it Pagor’s?”

  “Used to be.”

  “So… this cane… how does it work, how does it let you travel through time?”

  “It doesn’t.”

  “What?”

  “More of a guide than anything. It tells you when and where to jump, how far and how fast,” I said, and practically snatched it from his grasp.

  “Tells you?”

  “Not with words…it’s like having an extra sense.”

  “Sounds strange.” He fumbled in his pocket. “Ever see this?”

  It was Edmund Fickster’s pocket compass. “Where did you get that?” I asked.

  “Can’t really remember… Inspector Fynn maybe, or some guy with goggles.”

  I took the compass from his hand. “Deja vu all over again.”

  “You can observe a lot by just watching,” he replied.

  “What?”

  “Yogi Berra,” the other me said with a smile.

  “Oh… right.” I laughed slightly. “Speaking of ball players, does Billy Baker own that house up near South Point?”

  “Who?”

  “Probably not important.”

  “You mean the abandoned house?” he asked. “Some say it’s haunted.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, people see lights on and stuff.”

  “It was Fynn’s house in my timeline.”

  “Fynn’s house? I don’t think so. He usually stays at the Ramada or the Blue Dunes.”

  I handed him back the compass. “You should hang on to this. Never know when you might need it.”

  “Me? I’m not going anywhere.” My alternate self paused. “How does it work?”

  “It’s easy, like a compass.” I showed him. “Two buttons: forward and back. When you see the green arrow, you can jump.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where do you end up?”

  “That’s anybody’s guess.” I paused to chuckle. “Have you… ever… you know, traveled?”

  “No… well, not really.” He took his chin in his hand. “The whole crazy idea is kind of scary.”

  “Confusing is a better word… but I know what you’re saying. Fynn’s dire warning: the past always changes the future.”

  “Does it?”

  “Hard to say.” I paused. “Ever been to Athens?

  “Georgia?”

  “No, Greece.”

  “Not that I recall.” The other me looked a bit uncomfortable. “Well, there was that one time I jumped… Hope I never have to again. Fynn insisted that I go with him.”

  “Nineteen thirty-three?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Is that where you went?”

  “Yeah, how did you know?”

  I smiled. “What happened?”

  “Took the wrong train, got lost.”

  “What train?”

  “The A-train, a subway.”

  “What else?”

  He seemed embarrassed. “Don’t recall much— more like a dream than anything… some crazy library… maybe riding on a blimp? A dust storm… and the Chicago World’s Fair.”

  “Drinking with Judy Garland?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  “Well, her name was Frances back then, I think.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Did you drink coffee?”

  He repeated the word, “Coffee… Oh yeah, I prefer coco myself.”

  “Doesn’t seem to exist here.”

  “It’s not completely unknown… illegal in most places though.”

  “Really? Not a beverage?”

  “No. I think people boil down the berries into some kind of oil and inject it into their veins— or maybe grind it up and smoke it.”

  “Wow.”

  “And no one calls it cough-fee,” he said rather phonetically. “Some people might know it if you say ka-fay.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  “I wonder how different our worlds are,” he said.

  “Probably take weeks to figure out.” I felt a bit of anger rising. “How can everything be exactly the same except for that one thing?”

  “Cafe, you mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe things are more different than you think,” he said.

  “Like?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “Everything else seems about the same. The Chronicle, everyone there: Miriam, Amy, Melissa, Joey…” I paused. “Wait a minute, who’s Lilly?”

  “Lilly the Lurker.” He chuckled. “That’s what everyone calls her. Melissa’s PA, proofreader and copy editor. Works part time… Hair tied back, wears glasses, and clothes that seem one size too big.”

  “Hmm.”

  “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “She’s not in my timeline.”

  “I do remember Fynn said there were some things he couldn’t account for.”

  “Like?”

  “Something about the Victorian Age ending too soon, and something about Lenin going to Russia.”

  “John Lennon?”

  “No, um, Vladimir.”

  “Huh… Could be significant.”

  “I guess.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “He asked a lot of questions about Vikings.”

  “Vikings?” I made a face. “And?”

  “Well, not many around these days… but we do get our share of French-Canadians in the summer…”

  I heard a rustling in the nearby thicket and was startled. So was my counterpart. “Did you just hear someone?”

  “Some thing… a coyote probably.”

  “Not a bear?”

  “No bears here.” He paused to look at me. “Are there bears in your timeline, in Sand City?”

  “No.”

  “Wonder what else is the same.”

  “Well, one thing that’s not: Chief Durbin… He should be alive.”

  Chief Durbin?” The other me chuckled. “You mean Detective Durbin.”

  “Yeah, I guess. And I heard he has a son.”

  “Ricky, from his first marriage. Nice kid. We’re friends, sort of.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “To Durbin? Weird, he was shot in the foot, or the feet, more accurately.”

  “Murdered though?”

  “Yes. Bullet through the chest too.”

  “When?”

  “Last year. That’s when I first met Fynn. Chief Arantez called him in to investigate. He was here for a couple of months. Seems there was a spate of murders just like it… in Belgium.”

  “Belgium?”

  “Maybe Holland or Denmark…”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Same exact crime, a bunch of detectives gunned down in broad daylight. Like the same killer or something.”

  “Did he solve the case?” I asked.

  “No… He suspected Melissa’s husband though; that much, I remember.”

  “Melissa’s husband?” I paused. “How many eyes did he have?”

  “What?” The other me just stared with his mouth open.

  “Weird question, I know. Maybe he had an eye patch?”

  “Like a pirate?” The other me laughed. “No, but he disappeared exactly at the same time Durbin was murdered.”

  “Mysteriously?”

  “Well, now that you mention it. Why?”

  “Where did he disappear?”

  “At the Quarry… most people say he drowned but they never found a body.” The other me paused. “Apparently he was worth a lot of money. Mel cashed in a huge insurance policy, and bought the paper from Eleanor.”

  “Eleanor? Is she okay?”

  “Retired the end of last summer. Seems fine. Haven’t seen much of her lately.”

  “Mr Chamblis?”

  “In prison. Bribing an elected official.”

  “His lawyer, Michael Burton Dean?�
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  “Also convicted.”

  “The asylum?”

  “Saint Albans, you mean?”

  I nodded.

  “Might be making it into a community college, a satellite campus… or a planetarium— an observatory.”

  “An observatory?” I asked.

  “Well, that’s Chloe’s idea.”

  “Oh yeah, I met her today. She seems nice.” I paused. “Not a casino, a golf course?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Tell me more about Durbin’s murder.”

  “Well, to be honest, I don’t remember much… hmm, small caliber handgun… no witnesses, no trace evidence.” The other me paused awkwardly. “I think Mrs Domino did him in.”

  “That’s a weird thing to say.”

  “She’s a weird lady, you’ve never met her.”

  “Actually, I did, this morning.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t know why she’d want to kill anybody.”

  “Neither do I,” the other me said. “But I’d like to find out.”

  “What about Fynn?”

  “Oh yeah, he disappeared around the same time too.”

  “I mean, did he suspect her?”

  “I don’t think he even talked to her… but he comes and goes, you know?”

  “Aren’t you like best friends?”

  “Best friends?” the other me repeated. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “What would you say?”

  “Honestly, I think he’s out of his mind. Vanishes for a day or two, pops back in and asks what’s changed.”

  “And?”

  “Well, he seemed very disappointed when nothing was different.” My alternate self paused for a moment. “That reminds me, I’ve got something for you,” he said and reached into his back pocket. “Fynn told me to give this to you if you ever did show up.” He handed me a manila envelope.

  “What is it?”

  “Passport, driver’s license, and a debit card. I had duplicates made.”

  “Wow…” I looked over the documents. “I’m Gary Patrick Stevens now.”

  “Yeah,” he laughed. “And don’t abuse the privilege.”

  “Not Gary Sevens?”

  The other me smiled. “Okay, well, it’s not my real name— it just sort of stuck.” He paused. “Sorry about the license being expired… but the passport still has a couple years left on it.”

  “And the debit card?”

  “Oh yeah, a special account. I’ve had to dip in from time to time.”

  “What’s the PIN number?”

  “Fynn said you’d know.”