Shift (ChronoShift Trilogy) (15 page)

He’d been a little off in his guess, but not enough to matter.  The second attacker stood in front of him, motionless, catatonic after having witnessed his partner decimated by a phantom who appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye.  Only two seconds had passed here.

Calmly, Mark strode up behind the man and swung his bat silently through the air.

Crack!

The thug went down in a heap.  Mark would be surprised if his skull were not fractured.

He turned to the boy who looked upon Mark with a mixture of horror and disbelief, which melded into relief when he realized Mark had saved him, but then to fear again wondering if Mark might mean to harm him also.  The boy had seen the phantom popping in and out of his reality too.

Mark didn’t feel the need to say anything.  Herbie was safe.  That was all that mattered.  His young friend had seen what happened and was returning to come to Herbie’s aid.

Mark shifted forward to his own time.  Mission accomplished.

10:00 AM, June 8
^th
, 2012, Atlanta, GA

Hardy Phillips was already waiting in Mark’s office when he got there.  Phillips was lounging in his leather-backed swivel chair with his feet propped up on Mark’s desk, a lit cigar in one hand.  That peculiar smell, which belonged so distinctively to burning cigar tobacco, permeated the office.  Wisps of blue smoke floated in disappearing swirls.  The man certainly looked pleased with himself.

Another newspaper article lay on the desktop, awaiting Mark’s perusal.  It was dated fifteen years ago.

“Congratulations,” Hardy said enthusiastically.

Walker Donates Building

          Last Thursday evening, at a banquet commemorating the event, Herbert Walker Jr., donated a large industrial facility in downtown Chicago to the local Boys & Girls Club for use as a new gymnasium and athletic center for inner city children.

         Walker also plans to donate materials and the use of his construction company’s services in order to remodel the building.  Total expected cost to the Boys & Girls Club will be just one dollar.  The property has an estimated value of $15 million, and remodeling costs are expected to run close to  five million.

Construction is expected to begin later this month.

“Philanthropist Herbert Walker has once again surpassed all expectations of generosity,”
commented Mayor Richard M. Daley in a speech at the banquet.

Previous contributions by Walker to the Chicago community are innumerable, among them being a large fund established to combat illiteracy which has helped over 10,000 young adults to date, and a revolutionary job training program, Job Corps, which has provided countless opportunities for the training of poorer individuals who find themselves unemployed.  Walker has also been known to sponsor small business loans for high-risk individuals trying to pull themselves out of poverty.

Hopes are the gymnasium will be ready to open by next March at the latest.

“This is the same Herbert Walker I saved back in 1934?”

Hardy nodded.

Mark dwelt on that for a moment.

“It looks like he did a lot of good with his life.”

“Yep.”

“How did you know he would turn out this way?”

Hardy grinned, shrugging uncommittedly.

“You knew he was going to do all these good deeds,
right
?  I mean, that's why you picked him.  But....until I saved him, all you could know is that he died in 1934, so, how could you possibly know what he would or wouldn’t do in a hypothetical future?”

Again, a silent shrug accompanied by a smirk.

“Has anyone ever told you how irritating your shrugs are?”

They were beyond irritating actually.

“As a matter of fact, they have.”  His grin now extended from ear to ear.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged.

Mark couldn’t help but laugh.  It felt good to have helped that boy, and even better to know that he had turned out so well and had gone on to help so many.  Plus, Mark was getting used to Phillips stonewalling him on answers.  It could be frustrating, but he was learning that there was no way on earth he could pull information out of Hardy Phillips unless Hardy Phillips was ready to give it.

“So, what’s next?”

“What do you mean, ‘What’s next’?”

“I mean....what’s the next assignment?  You do have something else for me to do, don’t you?”

“A little anxious, aren’t we?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed, “If you’ve got something to say, spit it out, but don’t play games.”

“Sorry, sorry.  Yes, I’ve got another mission if you’re up for it, and it seems like you are.  I must warn you, though, this one may be a little more mundane.”

“That’s okay.”

“No, I mean it.  This will be different.  This mission is to go to Boston, shift back to 1926, and locate the residence of Mr. Randolph Vinson.  On the evening of September 19
^th
, sometime between 5:00 PM and 7:00 PM, you are to steal his cravat from his bedroom.”

“That’s all?  Sounds odd.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it, don’t worry.”  Mark leaned forward in his chair.  “By the way,
who
exactly am I working for?  I think I should know.”

“Do you really want me to shrug again?”

“The only reason for time is so that

everything doesn't happen at once.”

                                    ~ Albert Einstein

September 19
^th
, 1926, Boston, MA

The Vinson estate was more like a castle from the Middle Ages than a home.   Upon seeing the stony mansion four nights ago when Mark had first shifted into 1926, he’d had to double-check the setting on his watch, thinking he’d mistakenly shifted back seven hundred years instead of ninety.

Unlike a castle of old, however, this fortress was lit up by electric lights both from within and without.  It was ready for a party.

Model T’s had been arriving intermittently for the past twenty minutes.  The guests all appeared to be high society, dressed in the finest attire of the day.  Styled women hung onto the arms of their men as they strolled inside.  Their short hair and straight lined dresses were right out of a movie set in the roaring twenties.  Many of the women sported cigarettes, held in those old-fashioned, long, slim cigarette holders.

Mark dropped a bag of refuse outside the service entrance, careful not to dirty the white sleeves of his waiter’s uniform, and turned to go back inside.  It was almost time.

Four days ago, Mark had applied for a job as an assistant to the caterer who would be servicing the party and had gotten it.

Locating the residence had been a fairly simple matter.  Randolph Vinson had been a wealthy man and socially very active, so he’d left lots of records.  Land deeds had showed this address as belonging to him.  Although the home had been destroyed along with the street in the 1960's for a new housing development, older city plans had pointed Mark to the right place.

He’d found an old newspaper article reporting on the social event at Vinson’s castle the night of the 19
^th
, and the article had mentioned the name of the caterer.  If the caterer hadn’t taken Mark on as a hire, he would have found another way in, but as it was, they had, so no need.

He didn’t understand the reason for stealing the man’s cravat, but he was operating on faith that there was a darn good reason for it.  If this turned out to be Phillips’ idea of a practical joke though, he might find the cravat stuffed somewhere unpleasant after Mark was through with him.

Mark’s plan was to snatch the cravat right before the official beginning of festivities.  Vinson was not dressed yet.  A formal dinner was planned at 7:00 to kick off the evening.  Vinson would greet his guests then.

Even with the shifter, this was going to be tricky to pull off.  It would all be in the timing.  If Phillips had just said,
‘steal the cravat
’, and left it at that, the task would have been as easy as pie. 
But no
, it had to be done
this
evening, between five and seven, no sooner and no later.

Mark guessed the cravat would be in the man’s bedroom suite where he would dress.  The problem was, Randolph Vinson hadn’t left his suite since Mark had arrived on the premises at 3:00 PM.

Mark had risked as many trips upstairs as he could without raising too much suspicion.  He had to catch Vinson outside of his room.  Just one moment would be enough.

Twice already he’d had to offer flimsy excuses when he was caught upstairs outside of his permissible territory.  One of those was to the head caterer.  If caught again, they’d probably throw him out on his ear.  Still, he had to keep risking it.

He climbed the stairs once more.
  Oh, sorry, I was looking for the linen closet. 
That’s what he would say this time.

Halfway up, he heard a door open and shut in the hallway above.  Mark stealthily raced up the last of the stairs to see who it was.

It was Vinson himself, headed for the bathroom.  Finally.  The man had left his room.  A maid, however, was dusting in the hall.  Mark wouldn’t be able to stroll into the bedroom of the master of the house without her taking notice.

He noted the time, ducked out of sight, and then shifted forward nine hours to 4:00 AM, when he hoped everyone would be asleep.

Unfortunately, they were not.

The hall was pitch black, but someone was walking down it toward Mark.  No time to find out who.  Before he was discovered, he hastily shifted back to 6:31 PM....right into the arms of another caterer who’d come up the stairs behind Mark.  The man startled and let out a yell.

Cheeks flushing red, Mark fumbled with his shifter, changing his target time from 4:00 AM to 8:00 PM.  The caterer stood there flabbergasted while Mark manipulated his buttons, pretending the man wasn’t there.  Mark shifted out, leaving the caterer on the stairs staring open-mouthed.

At 8:00 PM, the hall was lit — and empty.  At last.  No maid.  No caterer.  Vinson would be at the party.

Mark entered the suite.  It was extravagant, a testimony to the times.  A large four-poster Mahogany bed was the centerpiece of the room, expensive looking linens covering its high mattress.  A bearskin rug, head and all, adorned the floor at its foot. Two red divans filled a sitting area by a large bay window.   A silk vest hung from a Mahogany dresser, and various porcelain knickknacks sat atop the numerous furnishings.

Taking a deep breath, Mark shifted back to 6:31 PM, the time when Vinson had gone to the bathroom before he’d gotten dressed.  At that time, there was nothing different about the room, except the sun outside was a little brighter.

Queasiness reared its ugly head once more.  Why did it always seem like circumstances forced to him to shift one more time than he wanted?  He detested this nausea.

The cravat was strewn on the bed, along with a few other articles of clothing.

Mark took it.

Easy enough.
 
Time to skedaddle.

He knew he was approaching the limit on the number of shifts he could do, and worse, he knew the next one was going to be unpleasant.

Hopefully, the party would still be going by 11:00 PM and Vinson would still be entertaining his guests.  Mark shifted forward to that hour, ready for a full onslaught of nausea, and he was not disappointed.

Before he could even make sure he was alone in the suite, Mark fell to his knees, retching and vomiting onto the bearskin rug.