[Jennifer Cloud 01.0] The Shoes Come First

by Janet Leigh

  I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, worrying about Gertie and finding Marco. My dreams took me to my first kiss with Marco and the incredible heat that engulfed my body then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. My dream transformed from the dark night and fireworks to the dusty barn where Caiyan first showed me what sex was all aboot. The incredible heat surged through my body, then came the moment when he took me over the edge and I exploded.

  I woke suddenly, drenched in sweat. Exasperated. How can Caiyan have that effect on me even in my dreams? I looked at the clock: 4:30 a.m. Geesh! My hormones were overloading my brain. I took a hot shower and contemplated the events that had taken place since I met Marco. I hoped he would remember me from the wedding. Almost ten years had passed since he had given me my first kiss.

  At promptly 7:00 a.m. I heard a swoosh outside. I had just finished my second cup of coffee and hoped the surge of caffeine would give me the courage to ask Ace to take me to New York instead of Gitmo. I unlocked the sliding door, allowing Ace to enter. I was mildly shocked; he was wearing red leather pants and a white Guess button-down with a multicolored T-shirt layered underneath. His hair was dark and curly to his shoulders, and he had on a kick-ass pair of cowboy boots. Basically, he looked like a tired rock star.

  “Good morning, love.” He kissed me on both cheeks, then looked me up and down. “Where’s the sexy outfit I picked out for you?”

  “Well, I’m thinking there might be a change of plans.”

  Removing his designer sunglasses, he looked down his nose at me, then wandered into the kitchen. “Got any java?”

  “Um, yeah, there is still half a pot left.” I opened the top cupboard and presented him with my yellow “Have a nice day” coffee mug, complete with big smiley face.

  He frowned at the mug.

  “What gives with the smileys, hon?”

  I poured the coffee. “They just gravitate to me, I guess. Dressing down today?”

  “Orders from the chief. I am supposed to be as manly as possible today. I am also ordered to take you directly to Gitmo, no side trips. I swear that man has ESP. How did he know I had an exceptional breakfast planned at a sidewalk cafe in Paree?” He poured some vanilla-flavored creamer in his coffee, no sugar.

  “What happens if we don’t follow orders?” I asked.

  “Ooh, girl, don’t even think about it. They ground you.”

  “They what?” I asked, stunned.

  “They make you remove your key, and they lock it up. You can’t lateral-travel, which means no fun. In fact, the last time I was grounded until the next full moon, and you know what they say: all work and no play…”

  “Damn, I really need to get to New York.”

  He lowered his mug and looked at me quizzically out of his hazel eyes. “What is in New York?”

  “I know of a defender who lives there who might help us.”

  “Who is this defender?”

  “Marco Ferrari.”

  Ace threw his head back and laughed. “Why do you think Marco is going to help you?”

  “Because he is related to Gertie.” Sort of. “So you know him?”

  “Girl, someone needs to sit down and tell you about our dirty little past. Marco doesn’t travel.”

  “Why not?”

  “After his grandfather was killed, he took off his key and hasn’t transported since. The WTF has tried to claim him, and so have the Mafusos. He works for neither. It’s a shame, really, because Marco has a great gift. Even his grandfather didn’t have the gift like Marco.”

  “What can he do?”

  “I’m not allowed to say. It’s classified. Your supersecret agent will have to tell you, or Marco himself.”

  “How do you know?” I asked, my eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  “Well, your Aint Elma was Giorgio Ferrari’s transporter.”

  “What?” I didn’t understand.

  “OK, I’m probably not supposed to tell you this either, but since it was never stamped confidential…Your great-aunt and Marco’s grandfather were lovers.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes, and I know this because when I first became a transporter, my grandfather was beside himself. He was a defender and came from a long line of defenders, but it was obvious when I inherited the gift, transporting was my gig.” He sipped his coffee and sat down at the breakfast table, crossing his legs, and finished his story.

  “Anyhow, my grandfather consulted Giorgio. They were friends from the old country. We met at Elma’s house. My grandfather thought it was the safest place. While they were discussing my so-called tragedy, she was there. I remember her twinkling blue eyes and the way she smiled when she took me into her kitchen and gave me cookies. I was just sixteen, had terrible acne, and my hormones were completely out of control. My grandfather couldn’t figure out why I didn’t want to shag females. He thought it was confusing, my gift, and if he could just fix it, I would miraculously change into a defender. Honestly, I didn’t know what I wanted to shag. I call those my swinging-door years.

  “Anyhow, Elma told me it didn’t matter what I was, I should always be true to myself and to hell with what other people thought. She was a strong woman, and I remember Giorgio coming into the kitchen and placing an arm around her, and she kissed him.”

  “But wasn’t he married?”

  “Yes, but according to some, his wife was a bitter woman. You see, he was from the old country, an arranged marriage.” That explains his wife’s scowl in the family picture, I thought as I poured Ace more coffee and topped mine off.

  “When you pass the key, you no longer travel. You are supposed to train the younger generation to take over. When Elma was in trouble, he made Marco give him the key, and he went back to help her. They were both killed.” Ace put a hand over his mouth. “Oops, that was confidential, I’m sure of it.”

  The year I turned sixteen, I thought to myself, and the same year the picture of Marco’s family was in the paper and Cousin Trish got married.

  “If you could convince Marco to come work with us, we would get major brownie points from Agent Hot Buns.” Ace tapped a well-manicured finger on the table as he contemplated the situation. “Let’s do it. But we will have to make a pit stop.”

  Excited, I asked, “You mean for weapons?”

  “Absolutely, I need a jacket to go with these pants. Looks can kill…you know.”

  Then he trotted off toward the backyard.

  I followed Ace outside. My outhouse sat looking forlorn in the shadow of Ace’s photo booth. I couldn’t help feeling responsible for Gertie and my inability to travel in my own vessel. I’ll get them back. I rolled my slouching shoulders back, pushed my chest out, and braced myself for the mystical ride. Ace grabbed me and pressed his cheek up to mine as we stared into the mirror in front of us.

  “Smile, hon.” He made a kissy face at the mirror.

  “What?” I started to say, then a light flashed. Orange and purple swirls formed in front of my eyes. The Rolling Stones sang “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction,” and we landed with a quick rock back and forth.

  The lights blinked on, and Ace pulled back the purple curtain and jumped out before I could get my eyes to focus.

  “Let’s have a look at our photo,” he said, doing a disco spin, and he picked up a strip of black-and-white photos from the little slot in the front of the booth.

  “Oosh, honey, you gotta relax.”

  I stepped out and looked at the photo. I had my mouth open, my eyes were squinting, and a “what the hell” expression contorted my face.

  “You could have warned me you were taking my picture.” I frowned.

  Ace shrugged and tucked the photo strip into his shirt pocket. I looked around and saw we had landed in a park. A large tree partially camouflaged our arrival, but we were not too far from a hot-dog vendor whose cart was positioned on the stone walkway. He didn’t seem to notice we had just materialized from thin air.

  “Didn’t he see us pop in?” I ask
ed.

  “No, it’s so subtle; we sort of glide in, and people just don’t notice. Besides, people believe what they want to believe.”

  The vendor was busy stacking his buns and barely gave us a second thought.

  “So, where are we?” I asked.

  “Central Park, baby.” Ace swished his hips and started walking. I sped up to match his pace.

  We walked through the park, passing a large fountain. A few joggers ran around us. People were out for morning strolls, walking their dogs and picking up the dogs’ poop with plastic bags. A few businessmen rushed to work with the papers under their arms, coffees and briefcases in hand.

  “Why didn’t Jake tell me about my aint Elma and Marco’s grandfather?” I asked.

  “Agent McCoy is new, and I am sure the boss upstairs said you are on a need-to-know basis.”

  “But he’s my friend.”

  “Not when it comes to General Potts. All work and no play, that one. He most likely has something to do with making sure you are with the WTF and not the Mafusos.”

  “Why would I work with the Mafusos?”

  “Oh, power, money, fame…what most people who live in Manhattan are striving for.”

  “But the Mafusos are bad.”

  “Easy to turn the other cheek when your pockets are lined with gold.” Ace put his hand on my shoulder and gently nudged me to the right, gesturing for us to turn off the path.

  “Why don’t you work for the Mafusos?”

  “Doll, I do this for my family. It’s expected, and I like the perks of lateral travel. If my family thought for one minute I was working for anyone but the WTF, they would rip the key right off my neck.”

  “But you would have to be dead for that to happen, right?”

  “Exactly. Besides, in between transporting the bad guys, I can be in Rome or Greece doing as I please.”

  “How do you afford to go to these places? I mean, I understand how you get there, but where does the money come from to hang out?”

  “Trust fund, baby.” Ace grinned.

  “I don’t have one of those.”

  “It makes traveling a little more difficult, but I know several of us that hold down regular jobs in between travels.”

  “Like Caiyan?” I asked shyly. I was dying to know what the guy did for a living, but the opportunity to ask had never presented itself while we were being chased by Villa.

  Ace laughed. “Caiyan owns things. He flits around the world buying art and real estate. If you need a place to stay, he would be the one to contact, because he probably has a place in every city.”

  “Figures.” I shrugged off the news that Caiyan was out of my league, but my subconscious pulled out a tissue.

  “The Mafusos, of course, have a family business,” Ace said. “They practically run Staten Island.”

  “That’s what Cousin Trish said.”

  “Who?”

  “Gertie’s mom. She is married to Vinnie the Fish.”

  Ace froze. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No, why?” I asked, stopping and looking at myself in the reflection of his sunglasses.

  “Because everyone knows the Gambinos and the Mafusos are archenemies unless they are working together evading the law.”

  “Aren’t we the law?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I thought the WTF would have known all about my family tree.”

  “After Elma died, they assumed the ability to travel was lost, and stopped monitoring. I think they do a periodic check of the dead families,” he said, making air quotes.

  “But what if they miss finding a traveler, like they did with me, and the Mafusos get them?”

  “Trust me, you are the exception.” He smiled and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “If you were from a family that has a strong gene lineage, your grandparents would have been slapping that key on you from the moment you got your first pimple.”

  As we walked through the park, Ace noticed me looking up at the tall buildings that peeked out above the treetops. “First time in New York?”

  “Yes, I can hardly wait to see the city,” I said excitedly.

  We passed a beautiful fountain I had seen in several movies and the Central Park Zoo. “Next time when you are here for fun, I’ll take you to all the cool spots,” he promised, but his mouth held a sly grin. “Today we work.”

  As we left Central Park, the tall buildings sprang up around us. We strolled down Madison Avenue. Many of the shops were open thanks to the time change between Texas and New York. Ace popped in to Armani and picked out a really terrific jacket.

  Ace had decided the best place to look for Marco would be his penthouse. He reassured me it would be better to catch Marco midmorning than to wake him up, so shopping was a good diversion. I was beginning to like Ace and all his eccentricities. We cut back to Fifth Avenue, and I gawked at Tiffany’s and Gucci. After an hour of completely satisfying browsing, we set our sights on finding Marco.

  Ace stopped at the corner and looked up and down the street. “Marco lives in SoHo. We should probably catch a cab.”

  “Why don’t we get one of those?” I said, pointing to the pedicab that was waiting curbside. The bicycle-driven cart was missing its driver.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Ace frowned.

  “C’mon, I want to see the city, and it looks like fun.”

  “Girl, you got a weird definition of fun, but if you want to risk your life, I’m game.” He pointed to the group of guys huddled around another bike, and a lanky, dark-skinned young man came over to help us.

  We climbed aboard a rickety, pale-blue pedicab, and our driver welcomed us with a big white smile that glowed in his rather dark face. He told us his name was J’rule and he was from South Africa.

  “Newlyweds, yes?” he asked.

  “No offense, love, but hell no,” Ace responded.

  J’rule wove through traffic and took us down Seventh Avenue, right through the middle of Times Square. It was amazing. The lights of the billboards blinked at us, and people rushed around on their way to wherever. The huge marquees displayed the latest musicals, and ABC Studios showed the most up-to-date news.

  J’rule talked us through the garment district, avoiding a large red double-decker tourist bus by mere inches. Ace shrieked and grabbed my hand.

  “Do not fear, good people, you are in safe hands with J’rule,” our driver said.

  “If we get through this alive, transporting should be a cakewalk,” Ace said, cutting off the circulation in my fingers with his death grip.

  “Haven’t you ever ridden in one of these before?” I asked.

  “I can thankfully say never, and this will definitely be the last time.”

  As we Fred Flintstoned down Seventh Avenue, the traffic eased up, and Ace took a deep breath. I could see the top of the Empire State Building to the left, and the smells of the local pizzerias preparing their dough infused the air.

  “So, how are we going to pay for this cab tour?” I asked Ace.

  “Rule number one: when you lateral-travel, make sure you take your driver’s license and credit card. Stealing in the twenty-first century is much harder than while traveling back in time. No one leaves her doors unlocked, and most everyone has an alarm system. If you go back to 1955, you can hot-wire a car in ten seconds. No alarms, no fuss, and most of the time, the keys are left in the ignition.” Ace sighed. “The good old days when people trusted each other.”

  I laughed. “Maybe if you didn’t steal their cars, the alarm system would never have been invented.”

  “Hmm, food for thought.” He tapped his finger to his chin.

  “So you just put your credit card in your mouth and hope you don’t choke to death?” I asked.

  Ace laughed. “Lateral travel is different. You can put things in your pockets. Cell phones, credit cards, money. You keep the same clothes, so you keep the contents of your pockets. But for some reason you can’t take luggage, purses, and such. One transporter tried to take
some Prada luggage home, and the thing ended up shredded. Such a loss, but I thought it was so last season anyway.”

  J’rule turned left down Houston Street, and cute little shops representing the artsy nature of SoHo appeared. He took a right on Mercer and stopped short in front of a tall brick building laced with intricate scrollwork on the outside. Ace and I lunged forward, trying not to get thrown from our seats. We stepped out, and Ace paid the driver.

  “See you later, honeymooners.” J’rule smiled as he rode off.

  Ace growled, “Get a real job.”

  The building had several buzzers outside the door.

  “Marco lives here?”

  “You expected something fancier?”

  “Well, yeah, I thought being the son of a multimillionaire, he would at least live in a building with a doorman.”

  “Marco likes to keep things simple.” Ace began pressing all the buttons.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “You don’t actually think he’s going to buzz us up, do you?”

  “Well, why not?”

  “Because to him, we are the enemy.”

  Several voices came over the speaker asking who’s out there. One sounded like the Chinese guy I took my laundry to at the Superclean. Ace spouted off something back, and the door buzzed open.

  “You speak his language?” I asked.

  “I told him I was delivering a pizza.” He did a shoulder shrug. “Just wait, the WTF will have you speaking six languages and shooting an Uzi.”

  “A machine gun, really?” I asked. My voice rose an octave in angst.

  He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Well, maybe they will give you a slingshot.”

  “It worked for David against Goliath.”

  “Somehow, doll, with your gumption, I think you would have the same result.” Ace grinned, holding the door for me. Inside was a long hall that contained mailboxes, a door marked “stairs,” and a single elevator.

  We rode the elevator up to the top floor. It opened out to a long hallway. There was a door to the right and one at the end opposite us. I followed Ace to the door at the end, passing a large gold-framed mirror. My reflection looked back at me as I walked by. Jeez, my hair was a mess. How was I supposed to convince Marco to help us if I looked like Barbie on acid? I stopped and smoothed down a few flyaway pieces of hair, then bit my lips to give them a little color. Ace turned around and came to stand beside me. We looked at each other in the mirror.