Jump City: Apprentice

by MK Alexander

  “Did he say what it was about?”

  “No, I told you, it was a telegram.”

  Less than a dozen people stepped off the train at Sand City, Fynn the last among them. He spotted Durbin and I, and walked over briskly, then gave me a pained expression and greeted Durbin rather formally. Fynn took the sheriff by the arm and led him aside. I watched the inspector hand Durbin various sheets of paper. Some kind of documents, I supposed, as he examined each at some length. Both men shot a glance in my direction. I heard Fynn’s voice rise to the fore once the train shut down its engine with a sighing release of steam: “…could be dangerous, there’s no way of knowing for certain. One moment he may be fine, the next moment he could go on a murderous rampage…”

  I saw Durbin flash a look in my direction. There was contempt in his eyes, as if I had betrayed a great trust. He strode over without a word, turned me around facing forward and a set of handcuffs clicked onto my wrists. He handed Fynn the key. Durbin presented no other emotion whatsoever, other than grim.

  “May I speak with this man for a moment, Sheriff?”

  “I’ll be inside if you need me.” Durbin sauntered into the train station. I could see he was dialing the phone. Fynn led me to a bench and I sat down awkwardly with my hands in my lap.

  “A wanted man?” I started in on Fynn with a seething tone. “Why not an important witness or something?”

  “Oh, that’s rather good. I hadn’t thought of it. Still, I’m not sure such would get you placed in the asylum.”

  “It’s more like a hospital, and I’ve already been there, several days in fact.”

  “I hope you did not suffer any great injury.” Fynn looked down at my cane.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “And?”

  “You had the idea that Doctor Valenti was Mortimer. I can tell you, he’s not.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I was so sure of this.” The inspector made a sour face.

  “Doctor Valenti is actually a very pleasant guy, definitely not tall enough, and has both eyes as far as I can tell.”

  “Where is he then?”

  “Mortimer, you mean? Well, he’s been here for certain, and he’ll be back. Probably goes by the name of Mallinger.”

  “Mallinger…” Fynn repeated. “Not a name I’ve heard before.”

  “Can you let me go now?”

  Fynn reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of identification papers. “These are not very flattering, but please don’t take it personally.”

  I checked my identity. I was a wanted man with a warrant issued for my arrest. It seems I had just escaped from a Canadian asylum and was described as a mentally unstable killer.

  “Why did you bring these papers?”

  “Best to be prepared. Of course you understand, Patrick, I had no idea what I might be walking into. Not to worry though, I have a different set of papers as well,” Fynn said hopefully and started to search through his pockets again.

  “You do know that the timeline is all screwed up— right?’

  “How so?”

  “FDR was assassinated.”

  “When?”

  “Um… last February.”

  “Yes, but the exact date. It could be rather important.”

  “Guess I’ll have to ask someone.”

  “Might it be rather suspicious if you just blurt out, ‘Where is FDR?’”

  “Right.” I laughed to myself. “Actually, I already did that.”

  “And you aroused no suspicion?”

  “It’s pretty convenient having amnesia.”

  “I see. And what else have you determined?”

  “I’m embarrassed to say my history is not as good as I thought. I can only remember the big events: stock market crash, prohibition, dust bowl… I still have trouble with the exact years for everything.”

  “That’s understandable, Patrick. It happens to me quite often.”

  “Well, that said, I’ve learned quite a bit about this particular present.”

  “How?”

  “I’m a good listener.”

  “You are invaluable, Patrick.”

  “There’s also the whole martial law thing.”

  “Yes, even as a Canadian, I find this rather alarming,” Fynn said with a smile.

  “And there’s the new president, Cactus Jack.”

  “Oh yes… Have you ever heard of this man before?” Fynn asked.

  “Honestly… no.”

  “John Nance Garner, is it?”

  I nodded.

  “I know of this man… great bushy eyebrows. He has witnessed much in his long life, from scalping Indians to horse and carriages, from the civil war, to men on the moon.” Fynn paused for a moment. “I also recall a curious coincidence regarding this man.”

  “What?”

  “Another assassination… your President Kennedy in the nineteen sixties. This man Garner was there.”

  “There? In Dallas?”

  “Indeed… your president visited him that very morning to wish him a happy birthday.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, what do you remember exactly about nineteen thirty-three?” I asked.

  “My knowledge is detailed but sporadic, it would seem,” Fynn said and paused to recollect. “Bonnie and Clyde are still on the loose… That man Mr Gandhi is making a name for himself… I recall something about the Loch Ness Monster… and Hitler being named Chancellor, though it’s rather too late to stop him at this juncture.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Specifically? Not as much as I’d like,” Fynn said. “Only what I remember from reading the newspaper.”

  “What paper is that?”

  “The Ottawa Citizen.”

  “Probably better than the Fairhaven Times.”

  “Our knowledge of exact history is lacking for us both, it would seem.”

  “Well, closer to home, I’ve run across Mr Mears.”

  “Mr Mears? How curious. You’ve seen him then?”

  “No, not really. I just heard a lot of talk…”

  “I see.”

  “Seems like he runs the whole town.”

  “How so?”

  “He’s a county commissioner and he’s got a whole lot of money that he spends very freely.”

  “Working for Mortimer might be my supposition.”

  “I’ve also seen the twins, or some version of Drummond. You do remember them?”

  “Yes, of course…” Fynn said, but gave me a grim look. “All the more reason you should remain inside Saint Albans.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “I could force you to stay.”

  “How?”

  “A few more words to Sheriff Durbin is all it would take.”

  “Fynn, you wouldn’t do that to me.”

  “Seems I already have…”

  “Mortimer is not even here. What good does it do to stay?”

  “He might return at any moment.”

  “He’s not due back till next month, end of the summer.”

  “How do you know?”

  “That’s what everyone else has said.”

  “Everyone else?” Fynn asked.

  “Doctor Valenti, my nurse, Higgins, Carter, Durbin…”

  “Seems to be quite a consensus,” Fynn said.

  “The borders are closed.”

  “Yes, this I noticed.”

  “Well, I think that’s why Mortimer or Mallinger hasn’t made it back yet.”

  “You make a good point.”

  “So, you can un-cuff me then?” I raised my hands.

  “Patrick, this is rather embarrassing… We’ve come this far already.”

  “Fynn…” I said impatiently.

  “I must beg your favor, Patrick.” He hesitated. “I’ll have it all fixed by tomorrow, I promise.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s a bit tricky logi
stically…” Fynn hedged. “Though easily managed. I’ll have to jump back to the very recent past and arrive at the train station again.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Of course. Anything for you, Patrick. Though it may take a while.”

  “A while?”

  “Less than a day, unless of course something were to go wrong.”

  “You’re not inspiring me with confidence.”

  “Good thing I came prepared,” Fynn said with a smile. “I’ll be back in a few short hours.”

  “If you are thinking about libra lapsus, I would not recommend the quarry.”

  “And why not?” Fynn asked.

  “Looks to be very busy up there. Still digging, dynamite too.”

  “Indeed.”

  “There’s a very nice boulder on the bay beach.”

  “Thank you, Patrick. That sounds quite suitable.”

  An ambulance pulled into the station. Durbin returned. Some of the contempt in his eyes had softened a bit. “Are you going to come quietly, son?”

  I nodded. My handcuffs were replaced by a straitjacket, and the next thing I knew I was back at Saint Albans. This time, I was roughly thrown into a cell in the basement.

  ***

  The sliding metal hatch on the door opened with a loud rasping noise. It startled me awake. Someone unseen began to speak: “Your precious FDR is already dead. Y’all came too late to do a damn thing about it.”

  “Who is that?” I asked. “Who’s out there?”

  “I know who you are. I read all about it in the journals. Just wait till the Professor gets back. He’ll fix you up real good.”

  “The Professor? Mallinger?”

  The man laughed. “Mallinger, yeah, Mortimer to you.”

  Some hours later, another visitor came to my door, this one most welcome. I saw Elsie’s face peering through the grate anxiously. “I brought you a sandwich and some coffee,” she said in a whisper. “Are you alright?” She put something wrapped in wax paper and a thermos into the steel drawer that opened into my cell.

  “I’m okay for now, thanks.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, it’s a case of mistaken identity… and it’s only temporary, you’ll see.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll be out by tomorrow, I promise.”

  “Oh Patrick…” she whispered in anguish.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “Daisy heard it on the wire.”

  “And how did you get past my giant for a guard?”

  “Who, Lothar? Oh, he’s a sweetie-pie once you get to know him… and he has a fondness for freshly baked gingerbread men. Daisy cooked up a batch.”

  “Elsie, good girl…” I heard Lothar grunting. He stooped down and stuck his head to the window. “Mmm, ginger men…”

  This made me laugh at least. “Elsie... I can’t begin to tell you how much this means to me.”

  “What?”

  “You… coming here… thanks.”

  “I’m planning your escape,” she said and smiled. “Oh Patrick, I do believe I’ve fallen for you completely.”

  “Me too, Elsie.”

  We kissed through the metal grate.

  * * *

  chapter twenty-six

  due south

  We have nothing to fear but the false hope of tomorrow’s inevitable…

  As soon as I heard those words crackling through the speaker I was overwhelmed by a heavy deja vu. I knew that Sheriff Durbin would knock on the door in just a few seconds.

  “Did you hear the news?” someone asked as Durbin entered the parlor.

  “Yeah, I heard… Listen, Mr Jardel, you’re going to have to come with me.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Your long lost friend just showed up. C’mon.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “The station.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “Not that station.” Durbin laughed. “Evening train just coming in…” He reached into his vest pocket to consult a watch. “If you listen hard enough, you should hear the whistle any second now.”

  “What’s this all about?”

  “All I know is, I got a cable from some policeman named Fynn. He wants you at the train station, pronto.”

  “Did he say what it was about?”

  “No, I told you, a telegram.”

  It was less than a five minute walk to the station but Durbin insisted we take his car. Along the way I saw many more ghosts than usual, like shadows just out of sight, flitting across the sandy streets. I didn’t remember this happening the first time. Less than a dozen people stepped off the train at Sand City, Fynn the last among them. He spotted Durbin and I, and walked over briskly. He gave me a happy smile and greeted the sheriff rather formally. He took Durbin by the arm and led him aside. I watched as Fynn handed him various sheets of paper. Some kind of documents, I supposed, as Durbin examined each at some length. Both men shot a glance in my direction, then Durbin walked toward me. He took off his hat and shook my hand. “I had no idea… It’s a great privilege, Officer Stevens.”

  “Um, thanks.”

  “Still meeting with the gang tonight?” Durbin asked as we strolled towards his sputtering car.

  “Of course, wouldn’t miss it. Okay if I bring my friend along?”

  “We’d be honored… Say, you two gentlemen need a lift anywhere?”

  “We’re good, thanks.” Once Durbin was out of earshot, I turned to Fynn.“What the hell did you say to him this time, Inspector?”

  Fynn gave a small chuckle. “I came ready for two contingencies… and prepared a different identity.”

  We sat on the nearest bench. I looked through the new papers. I was now Gary Stevens, Royal Canadian Mounties, Special Investigator and Liaison Officer. Either Fynn had added a T to my name or somewhere in the course of events the T would be lost.

  “I will need a photograph,” Fynn said.

  “A photo of what?”

  “Yourself, of course. Is this possible?”

  I thought for a moment. “I guess I can use the darkroom at the Chronicle. Why?”

  “It’s important that you have a complete identity, is it not?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Documents don’t lie.”

  “Well, okay… and thanks for all this.”

  “What?”

  “Arriving a second time… I’d rather be a Mountie than a crazed madman.”

  Fynn laughed.

  “Have to say, Inspector, you’re looking pretty spiffy as usual…”

  “Thank you, Patrick.”

  “Shouldn’t you be younger or something?” I asked.

  “Why would that be?”

  “I don’t know… nineteen thirty-three and all?”

  “Is that extraordinary memory of yours beginning to falter, Patrick?”

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “I am a policeman from Ottawa.”

  “Right— but what about China? Hong Kong? Wasn’t that your last lifetime?”

  “Yes, as you say. And I arrived aboard the Manchurian. It docked in Fairhaven a few days ago.”

  “So you did come from Hong Kong, after all?”

  Fynn laughed. “No, I’ve yet to begin that new life, speaking in a relative sense.”

  “But—”

  “The Manchurian is a tramp steamer that does a coastal run from the Great Lakes, down the Eastern Seaboard to Argentina, I believe, and then back north. I doubt it’s ever sailed in Pacific waters.”

  “Well, I am glad you’re here… again.”

  “I do apologize for taking so long. I was delayed in Fairhaven. Financial matters mostly... A rather arrogant bank manager by the name of Prescott. I rather doubt I got a favorable exchange rate for my Canadian dollars.”

  “Not a problem. How does it feel to be back in nineteen thirty-three?”

  “Rather like I never left.”

  “Any regrets?”

&
nbsp; Fynn looked at me oddly and laughed. “Sadly, it’s a year before the Thin Man.”

  “The who?”

  “A film made around this time about a drinking detective.”

  “Drinking?”

  “He had a special fondness for alcohol, yes. Very entertaining and quite amusing.”

  “Well, we might have the chance for a little drinking tonight, if you’re up for visiting my new friends.”

  “Has prohibition ended?”

  “No… Not till October, officially.”

  “I don’t plan on staying that long.”

  “And, where are you sleeping tonight? I’m sure Mrs Moriches can put you up.”

  “I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

  “There’s no train till tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, as you say.”

  “And there’s still the photograph for my new identity.”

  “I too have a small errand for tomorrow,” Fynn said, then thought for a moment. “I suppose I’ll be more comfortable at the hotel for a day or so.”

  At that I rose from the bench and pointed up the road. “Governor’s Inn, it’s also where Mr Mears lives. You might get the chance to meet him.”

  “Meet him or avoid him altogether. I’m not sure which is the better course of action. Yet, there’s nothing I would like more than a good meal and a hot bath.”

  Fynn followed me towards Commercial Street. He carried a single soft suitcase made of leather. I leaned on my cane from time to time when the road became uneven.

  “So… we should spend a couple of weeks here?”

  “It’s best we do not linger. As you have said, the timeline is rather askew, yes?”

  “Well, Professor Mallinger is due back at the end of the summer, or so everyone says.”

  “But a long time for us to wait, eh?”

  “It might be worth it. You never know who you might run in to.”

  “I see your point… someone else who does not belong, you are saying.”

  “Exactly…. like Hector Diaz looking for his bicycle.”

  Fynn let go a hearty laugh, but it ended abruptly when I said, “Or Lucinda…”

  “Lucinda? Your hapless colleague?”

  “Yes. How can she even be here? Her mom isn’t even born yet,” I asked, almost with anger. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “Patrick, you see time too linearly,” Fynn cautioned in a soft voice, then added, “The poor creature. She has no past, no future, not that she’s aware of… She only exists in the present.” He paused again. “I think if we can find out why she is here, we will gain a fuller understanding of what Mortimer is attempting to do.”