Remember Me (12 page)

you were inquiring about. Give me a call, and we can meet over dinner. You’ll be buying of course! Thanks, bye.”

I smiled. CJ never spent a dime of his own money if he

could get by with it. I returned the call, and we agreed to meet at the Village Inn for a late supper—around eight. I had a few hours to kill so I sat down to read the newspaper. I jot-ted down notes in my ever expanding compilation of what ifs.

It was becoming common to read about something and have

it kick loose the dust in my brain, enabling me to remember something of value. I’d also purchased a journal to inscribe the things I might want to remember later on. Every page had a small notation of what I’d done that day. I never knew what might impact the future in some large or small manner. All I can say is it felt right to keep a record. It might have only been a personal comfort sort of thing, but my gut feeling was that it should be done.

CJ was always true to his persona. He had on a bright

blue-colored shirt, matching tie and sports jacket. His shoes couldn’t have been more polished had he been a Marine

Captain. The one thing I noticed was the new watch, gold and shiny, replacing the one I remembered him wearing during our earlier visits. I’d always been somewhat of a people person—noticing the finer details surrounding them. It was just something I’d been born with, the “Sherlock Holmes syn-drome” in me. Samantha seemed to share my cunning insights.

She and I could sit on a bench at the mall and just watch the S 85 S

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people pass by. We would compare our mental notes on who we thought they might be and what their story was. It was the best way to wait while Tami and Emily spent their time shopping. It never failed to end in a shared bout of laughter together. I missed her laughter now. I missed her companionship.

We always stayed close, even after she went away to college.

We talked on the phone, and even managed to still see an occasional movie together. I wondered what she might say about me, if I were to someday walk by her while she was sitting on a bench somewhere…

“Ah…I see you noticed my birthday present,” CJ sang out

to me. His expensive gift, and the fact I’d noticed it, made him smile with satisfaction.

“Rolex?”

“Is there any other?” CJ responded.

I shook my head from side to side, and CJ’s smile broadened even more. I was taken again by his perfectly straight, gleaming white teeth. In this era, all the whitening products had yet to be developed. A person who wanted white teeth spent the big bucks for them at the dentist’s office. In this time, it was a sign of vainness. In the future of self enhancement, it would become the norm. Those who didn’t participate would slowly shift to the minority.

“Why did you choose this place to eat?” CJ asked me, “They have no alcohol for consumption.”

“Exactly,” I responded, “it keeps my dinner bill to a

minimum.”CJ feigned hurt, but the smile never left his face.

“I’m guessing the betting Gods have been ultra kind to you?”

“More than you know. Let’s just say that Uncle Milton is happy, and his happiness equates to my happiness. I have a little bit of an edge, at least for the moment. He knows there is someone out there who is giving me quality tips. He is aware of how he stands to personally profit from them as well. He S 86 S

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nearly went all in himself when I called in the bet for the Belmont Stakes.”

I raised my eyebrow at him. “You do remember that I said I wasn’t a hundred percent certain on that one!”

“I’ll take your ninety percent hunches any day! I’m a betting man, and those are just too good of odds to ignore.” CJ

reached for his water, took a drink, grimaced as he stated,

“Needs Gin.”

I laughed as I replied, “I somehow believe you have the

means to buy your own booze.”

We didn’t talk about business until after the meal was

nearly over. I ordered a club sandwich and fries while CJ ate a sirloin with all the trimmings. I figured it would be a cold day in hell before I got him to buy me a meal. After he scraped the last pea from his plate, he looked over at me.

“Here’s the deal. A week from Friday, the 28th, you are going to meet Charlie at the Brockton Hotel, Southside Chicago.

Your room is already booked and paid ahead for the weekend.

When you checkin, give them the name Peter Warren. I’m

going to caution you right here and now; you shouldn’t ask Charlie any questions, you should only do what he tells you…

understand?”

“Yes! Charlie, Brockton Hotel, no questions.” I gave CJ my best grin.

CJ didn’t smile, and I let the one disappear from my face.

“I understand, and I appreciate what you are doing for me.

Someday I might even be able to let you in on the whole story.

I will be a good soldier and do as you command.”

CJ cleared his throat and kept his eyes firmly fixed on me,

“I believe you will and as long as you do, I don’t foresee any complications.”

CJ broke his eye contact with me and gazed at a couple eating at the next table over from us. I understood the underlying S 87 S

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meaning of our unconventional friendship. CJ liked me and was trying to do right by me, but I was still only as good as my worth. I took it to heart. It might have been a small token of compassion, but it was there, along with the warning that his statement meant. As long as I dished out the winners, I had a purpose. Should I someday lose my privileged status all bets would be off. I knew I would have to be careful, and always try to stay a step ahead—if it was even possible.

“On a happier note,” CJ exclaimed, “I was promoted at

work today. My title is, Regional, Assistant Supervisor.”

“Sounds like a mouth full.”

“Exactly…a mouth full of crap, to be precise! It seems

that the new corporate business wave is for everyone to have some form of a precocious title. Mind you; no increases in pay, just the satisfaction of believing you are now a person of greater importance.” CJ snorted, and the two of us laughed out loud. If CJ could only see where the corporate world was headed. Greed had no end, and corporate executives had no justification for all their illegal dealings in which they would eventually get caught. The one truly good thing about the information highway was that it became harder for the abusers to get away with their dirty deeds.

I paid the check, and together we walked out the front

door into the parking lot. We shook hands, and CJ offered me a “Good Luck,” before turning away and heading to his car. I watched him drive off. The hairs at the back of my neck began to prickle, and I had that sickly-churning feeling in my stomach. It wasn’t from the food I’d just eaten either. My fate had been sealed. There would be no turning back. I was no longer abiding my time; I had taken the steps to throw myself into the heart of the game.

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Here comes Peter.

June 29th, 1985

I parked in
the underground lot below the Brockton Hotel in downtown Chicago. As I rode the elevator to the third floor and the front desk, many thoughts permeated my brain. First and foremost was, “What the hell am I doing here?” I was more than a little scared, I was nearly petrified. I couldn’t keep my heartbeat under control, and I was perspiring heavily. My pulse was racing faster than the elevator was rising. When the door made a sucking, swooshing sound, opening up to the lobby, I almost stayed put, too afraid to venture out. I trembled where I stood. I was uncertain if my legs would even work.

The door was about to close when an elderly man in business attire managed to pry his hand in between the doors before they shut. The doors re-opened and in he stepped. I swallowed hard, made my move, and exited the elevator.

The Brockton Hotel, in my opinion, was mid-level gran—

diose—at best. I hadn’t known what to expect. Thus far I was satisfied with the location and the outer appearance of the hotel. It had a feeling of old age about it, but it was very clean. I could see the dedicated and diligent upkeep to the inside. The lobby was brightly lit and many people were milling about.

A group of three couples made their way past me as I began moving towards the checkin station. My first reaction was purely instinctive. I moved out of their way and let them pass.

I noticed the men were all older and the women noticeably S 89 S

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younger and too beautiful for them. It felt like I was an extra in a gangster movie. I was playing the role of the down-on-his-luck patsy. He thinks he’s going to break free only to end up dying a horribly violent death at the hands of the Godfather for some trivial misunderstanding.

I had on nice slacks, a nice shirt and tie with a blue sport coat; suddenly, I felt grossly underdressed. CJ had called just before I left home and told me to dress up, but he didn’t convey the degree of dressiness. He didn’t say how expensively dressed I should look. It didn’t make any difference, because I wasn’t here for a social visit. The woman behind the front desk had a name badge identifying her as Jacqueline. She was stunning in a black blazer, white blouse, and black skirt ensemble.

She had long, jet black hair pulled back and held in place with a jewel-encrusted solid-gold barrette. It stood out, as did her enormous brown eyes. She had to be nearly fifty, but had the fit look of someone in their thirties. I looked. She wore a very large diamond wedding ring.

Jacqueline looked me over. To be fair, I was sizing her up as well. I could see the look of official distaste run across her face before she finally asked, “May I help you?”

Standing tall in the face of my accuser, I responded with as much conviction as I could, “I’m Peter Warren, you have a reservation for me.”

She thumbed through the reservation box and pulled out

a card with my name on it. She instantly changed her attitude towards me. “Mr. Warren, we have you confirmed for two

nights, prepaid. You will be in room 622. I’m also to let you know that you may take your meals at Devonshire’s. It’s just down the hall behind you and to the left at the T intersection.

Just give them your room number, payment is not necessary. A fully stocked refrigerator in your room has also been provided for you. Should you need any assistance, whatsoever, please S 90 S

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don’t hesitate to call.” And with a perfectly, practiced smile, she added, “I will take care of it personally. I hope you enjoy your stay at the Brockton.”

The ice queen had become a blazing fire of warmth. I

couldn’t help myself and smiled. I said in my best big-shot tone, “I’m sure everything will be satisfactory.” Jacqueline feigned another smile, but I noticed the concerned look, so I added much more sincerely, “Thank you. I will definitely ask for you if I need anything.” She didn’t seem to be too appeased by my comment. I reached and took the key from her outstretched hand. I couldn’t be certain, but I thought her hand was trembling.

She asked if I needed assistance with my suitcase, and I politely told her no, I could handle it. The hotel definitely had a unique, underlying pulse to it. The feeling of being in a gangster movie returned. It was now much stronger than it had been before. I left Jacqueline behind the counter and walked towards the elevators. Hers’ weren’t the only hands that were shaking. I knew extreme caution was the best course of action that I could take.

I rode the elevator up to the sixth floor. No one else was on it with me, nor did it stop along the way. Even though the ride was short, there were many thoughts flooding my head.

One struck with me. It was about how technology would soon come to invade every part of our daily life. For now, surveillance cameras were still minimally used; but not too far in the distant future we would be watched everywhere we went, even in our cars from the satellites orbiting overhead.

On my floor, the elevator door opened out to a small

foyer. It was neatly decorated in brazen contemporary. It was gaudy if it was anything at all. A large vase of freshly cut flowers adorned a cherry-wood table situated right below a huge oval mirror. Next to flower vase was a marble bust of some S 91 S

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man that I didn’t recognize. I didn’t bother trying to take a closer look. I opted instead to find my room. I turned to my left and headed down the hallway, following the directional sign to rooms 601-644. Based on the quickly changed reaction of the reception clerk when she heard the name Peter Warren, I was unsure what to expect when I slid my key into the lock and opened the door.

My room was nothing spectacular. It had one queen-sized

bed, a small table and straight back chair. A long dresser held a 27 inch RCA color television set. Next to it was the Brockton Hotel’s hospitality book. The bathroom smelled strongly of a recent disinfection and cleaning. The room was on the small side, but it was well maintained. I tossed the hospitality book on the bed, and placed my suitcase on the dresser next to the television. I opened the drawer of the nightstand by the head of the bed. I was relieved to find a Gideon Bible presiding there. Above my bed was a reproduction of a famous painting by Monet, “The Red Boats.”

I plopped down on the bed, let my legs hang over as I fell backwards, lying on my back on the bed. I looked up at the ceiling and noticed several plaster cracks. I could feel the fingers of tension and nerves creeping deeper into my neck and shoulders. I wasn’t cut out for this and I knew it. I also didn’t want to run away. I’m sure it wouldn’t go so good for CJ if I did. I had no idea why I even gave him any consideration, but he was there in my thoughts. It should be the other way around if it was anything, after-all I was his “cash cow.” I settled on it being a joint need, and let it rest.

My mind wandered to thoughts about what Charlie might

look like. Living in the past was like trying to get used to the time changes as you moved from east to west or vice versa.

My mind and body seemed to be having a tough time adjusting. It wasn’t like a traditional feeling of déjà vu, the feeling of S 92 S