Time Trapped (12 page)

“Where are we goin'?” asks Razor as soon as lunch is over.

“You'll see,” I say. “Please change into your mission clothes and make your way to the courtyard. We're leaping from there in five minutes.”

“Why are you acting so serious?” she asks.

“I'm not,” I say. In fact I am. I'm still trying to make sense of the meeting with Uncle and Frank. Uncle also hasn't told me what all I'm supposed to do in my new role. One thing is crystal clear, though. If I try to run, he'll find me and crush me, like he did that spider.

“Suit yourself,” she says. “But Dim already told me where we're going.”

“So then why are you asking me?” I say. There's a hard edge to my voice, but I can't help it. I have no patience for Razor right now.

“I'm just fact checking. You can't really put your money on anything coming from Dim's mouth. He operates in some kind of bizarro world of his own. He's not ordinary like you and me.”

Did I really hear her refer to herself as ordinary?

“So what are we gonna steal?” Razor asks, fingering her new wristband.

“You'll find out soon enough.”

“I hope it's something big,” she says, “like that tree.”

“We weren't supposed to snatch the tree,” I remind her, “just the leaves.”

“You don't know anything about horticulture, Jack. If you want the leaves to stay fresh, you gotta keep them on the tree as long as possible.”

I could stand here and argue the finer points of horticulture with her. Or I could get on with my life. “Get ready to go,” I say, checking my fingernail. “We're leaving in . . . three minutes.”

Before she has a chance to answer, I'm already halfway down the hall.

Abbie and the rest of the recruits are already in the courtyard when I arrive. As I approach, Abbie and I make eye contact. I want to tell her about my meeting with Frank and Uncle, but there's no time right now. It will have to wait until after the mission.

“Staggered landing,” Abbie says when Razor arrives. “Judith, Gerhard and I will land first. Dmitri, Razor and Caleb a couple of minutes later. Once you're thawed, look for Jacobs' Pharmacy at the corner of Peachtree and Marietta. There's an alley right next to the pharmacy. We'll meet up there.”

“What are we snatching?” Razor asks.

“Didn't you brief her?” Abbie says over my mindpatch.

“Not fully . . .”

Abbie looks from me to Razor. “You'll find out when we get there.”

Razor kicks at a stone and then whispers something into Dmitri's ear.

A shocked look comes over his face.

“Ignore them,” Abbie says over my mindpatch.

“Gladly,” I answer as Abbie and the others begin to fade away.

I stand alone for a moment, wondering about my life. In some ways I think everything was simpler when I had no memories. Because all I could do was look forward. And there was a lot to look forward to . . . growing up in Boston with Zach and Jim and Diane. My new family. Yeah, my future was in the past, if that makes any sense. But now my future is one big question mark. And even worse, when I think about trying to do something about my situation, all I feel is helpless.

I close my eyes and listen to the traffic sounds. I read somewhere that every five seconds a horn is honked out of anger in Manhattan. Which means that every five seconds, twelve times a minute or over seven hundred times a hour, someone in New Beijing is angry at someone else. And that's only the people who drive. There must be thousands of other angry people walking around New Beijing right now.

“C'mon,” Razor says, tugging at my arm. “We got to catch up to them.”

“It's not a race,” I say. “Besides, it doesn't matter when we leave. This is time travel, remember?”

“Whatever. Let's just go, okay?”

“Sure.”

I grab Dmitri's and Razor's hands. Razor's fingers are surprisingly slim and delicate.

Whoever thought up the phrase “appearances can be deceiving” must have had Razor in mind.

May 8, 1886, 9:14
A.M.

Jacobs' Pharmacy
Atlanta, Georgia
Operation Fizz

T
he first thing I notice when I land is the tickle in my nose. A moment later, I let go with three sneezes in quick succession.

As soon as my time freeze thaws, I'm up and looking around. We've landed behind a shed in someone's backyard, right next to a planter filled with daffodils. That accounts for my sneezing. I gather up the others, and we make our way past a well-tended hedge to the front. The first sign I see says
PEACHTREE
STREET
, and a minute later I spot the sign for Jacobs' Pharmacy.

I sneeze twice more and head for our rendezvous spot. It's a good thing this is going to be a quick snatch. I don't want to spend a minute more in this city than I need to.

Abbie smiles when she sees me. I blow my nose in greeting.

“All right, listen up,” she says, once we're all assembled.

Dmitri's hand shoots into the air.

“How can you have a question, Dmitri? I haven't even said anything yet.”

“Yes you have. You said, ‘listen up.' I would prefer you not use that phrase. Sound waves travel through the air in a spherical motion, and therefore it is a misnomer to say listen
up.
Listen
around
would be more accurate.”

Abbie rolls her eyes at me. I shrug and wipe my nose.

“Fine,” she says. “Here's what's going down. Three minutes from now, a woman named Clara Rowbottom will walk into the Venables Fountain in Jacobs' Pharmacy, seat herself on the third stool from the end of the counter and order a glass of cola syrup from Sam Jacobs, the owner's son. Sam will fill Clara's glass with one-third cola syrup and, at her request, instead of filling it the rest of the way with spring water, he will add soda water. By making it this way, Sam will have poured the first-ever glass of Coca-Cola.”

“So where do we come in?” asks Razor.

“Our mission is to snatch the first-ever glass of Coke before Clara drinks it,” Abbie answers. “One of Uncle's clients is paying big bucks for it.”

“How much?” Razor says.

“I don't know,” Abbie says. “I just know it's a lot. But you don't need to think about that. Just think about performing the snatch smoothly. No mistakes. Dmitri, you will seat yourself across from Sam. You'll be able to identify him by his distinctive handlebar mustache. Your job is to strike up a conversation. Sam's interests are golf and guns. Do you think you can do that?”

“Unquestionably,” answers Dmitri. “I am skilled at pleasantries, small banter and other pointless forms of communication.”

“Good,” Abbie says. “As soon as Sam finishes pouring the glass of Coke for Clara, you're to let out a groan, crash to the floor and act like you are ill. At that moment, Sam will put the glass down on the counter and hurry over to see if you are all right.”

Dmitri raises his hand.

“Yes?”

“How do you know that he will place the glass on the counter?” Dmitri asks. “Why would he not first give it to the customer before he attends to me?”

“Human nature, Dmitri,” answers Abbie. “If someone is in trouble, the normal reaction is to put aside what one is doing and to see if one can help.”

“If it were me, I'd keep on serving,” Razor says.

Abbie ignores her and continues. “When he sets the glass down, Judith, your job is to snatch it and bring it back here, without spilling a drop.”

“Why does she get to snatch it? I wanna do that part,” Razor complains. “Besides, Judith is a klutz. She's gonna spill it all over the place.”

“I will not,” Judith says.

“You will so!”

“Enough,” says Abbie. “Razor, it's Judith's turn. You had your chance in China.”

“No I didn't,” says Razor. “Dim stole the tree before I had a chance to climb it.”

“This isn't up for discussion. Caleb and I already decided who is going to do what.”

“Well, you haven't said what I do yet,” Razor says.

“You and Gerhard are to stay outside with Caleb and me. We're all going to watch the snatch through the window.”

“That sucks,” Razor says. “Can't I at least be inside, closer to the action? How am I gonna learn anything if I'm out here?”

Abbie and I exchange looks.

“If she goes in, you should too, Cale, to keep an eye on her,” she says over my mindpatch.

“Okay,” I say to Razor. “You can come. But we're staying near the door.”

“How about my buddy Gerry over here?” says Razor.

I glance across at Abbie.

“All right,” she says. “We all go. But like Caleb says, everybody except for Judith and Dmitri stands by the door.”

Razor smiles and claps Gerhard on the back. “We're in, Ger!”

“Don't do that!” Gerhard yells. “I told you I don't like to be touched! And I don't like to be called Ger or Gerry.”

“Sorry,” Razor says. “I forgot how sensitive you are.” Then she turns to me and says, “I swear we won't mess things up. On Gerhard's grandpa's grave.”

“Hey, why my grandpa?” Gerhard says.

“Enough!” Abbie says. “We're going in.”

A bell tinkles as we enter the pharmacy. There's a long bar of dark polished wood. Four customers are seated at the counter, nursing their drinks. Two men and a woman are behind the bar mixing drinks. Luckily only one of them has a handlebar mustache.

I nudge Dmitri, and he steps forward, positioning himself at the far end of the bar opposite Sam.

“I find that the firing mechanism on the new 1886 Colt functions optimally when lubricated with seal fat,” Dmitri says in a loud voice.

I groan under my breath. Sam looks up from what he's doing, squints at Dmitri and then goes back to pouring drinks.

Gerhard takes a step toward the stools. As I grab his arm to bring him back, Razor skips past me toward the back of the store. I'm about to go after her when I see that she's not causing any trouble; just standing by a rack of small blue bottles. With any luck, she'll stay there—out of the way.

“I like nothing more than measuring the trajectory of a little white sphere on days such as today, when the wind patterns are agreeable,” says Dmitri.

Sam looks up again. “What did you say, son?”

“Your choice of appellation is interesting. I am fairly certain that I am not your son, although there is a one-in-three-hundred-million chance that I may be your great-grandson. That aside, I was remarking on the pleasures of partaking in a game of golf.”

“Hey, Judith, get over here. You gotta see this!” shouts Razor.

Judith looks over her shoulder for a moment but refuses to take the bait.

“Suit yourself,” says Razor. “But there are some cool ingredients in these little jars. This one says it's got sassafras in it.”

The bell to the front door tinkles, and a woman enters. She's petite and carrying a paisley umbrella. She plunks herself down on one of the stools between Dmitri and Judith.

“Hello, Clara,” Sam says, moving over to wipe the spot of counter in front of her. “How are you today?”

“I've had the most dreadful morning, Sam,” Clara says. “My cousin Rita has decided to stay in Atlanta for another fortnight. That woman is eating us out of house and home!”

“Sorry to hear that,” Sam says.

“And she simply will not stop following me. I had to take a circuitous route here, and even then, I'm not entirely certain she didn't see me slip in.” She eyes the door.

“Well, perhaps a refreshment to calm your nerves?” offers Sam.

“Yes, Sam, that would be just the ticket. How about one of your new syrups?”

“Of course. Which would you like? The cola or the root beer?”

“Hmmm.” Clara strokes her chin. “It is so difficult to decide. I believe I will take the cola.”

“Smart choice, lady.”

I cringe when I see Razor making her way to the bar.

She plunks herself down next to Clara, smiles up at Sam and says coolly, “I'll have what she's having.”

“This isn't your snatch, Razor,” I say over her mindpatch, trying to put as much menace into my voice as possible.

“Relax, Jack,” she mindpatches me back. “I'm not gonna do anything. I just want a front seat for the main action, that's all.”

“I don't believe your parents would approve, young man,” says Clara. “Cola is a digestive remedy.”

“Perfect,” Razor says, “because this whole scene is giving me heartburn.” Then she looks up at Sam and says, “Hey, if you don't mind, Sam old buddy, why don't you pour some fizzy water in mine. They say bubbles are good for settling the old tum tum.”

“That is exactly what I was thinking, young man!” says Clara. “Sam, I'll have the same, if you please.”

“Two fizzy water colas coming up,” Sam says.

He pours the drinks, sets the first one down in front of Clara and is about to set the other one down when Dmitri falls off his stool. On his way down, one of Dmitri's flailing arms rakes Gerhard's sleeve.

“Don't touch me!” yells Gerhard.

“He didn't mean it, Ger,” says Razor.

“Thin slices of rubbery solitude amid a wasteland of wine gums,” recites Judith.

“Judith, what are you doing?” Abbie shouts over Judith's mindpatch and mine. “Grab the glass of Coke!”

“But Dmitri is hurt,” she says.

“He's not hurt!” Abbie answers. “It's part of the act.”

Judith doesn't seem to hear her. Along with everyone else, she just stares at Dmitri, who is alternating between lying completely still, jerking various parts of his body and shouting out names of Kentucky Derby winners from the 1920s and '30s.

“What do you make of that, Clara?” Sam says, coming from behind the bar and gazing at Dmitri's intermittently jerking body.

“TWENTY GRAND!” screams Dmitri.

“He could be having a fit,” Clara says, knitting her eyebrows. “Of course, it's the strangest looking fit I've ever seen—”

“BUBBLING OVER!”

“Or heard,” finishes Sam.

Sam brings two fingers to his mouth and whistles. A big, hulking boy wearing suspenders emerges from the back of the shop.

“Help him up, Jimmy, and bring him outside,” says Sam.

“BEHAVE YOURSELF!” shouts Dmitri.

Jimmy lifts Dmitri up with ease, slings him over his shoulder and carries him, sack of potatoes style, to the door.

“Judith, finish the snatch!” shouts Abbie.

Judith reaches for Clara's glass of coke, but Clara grabs it first and raises it to her lips.

Before she can take a sip, Razor clutches her middle and falls to the floor, moaning.

Not again.

“Young man, what is the matter?” exclaims Clara.

“Oh . . . oh, my stomach!”

“You poor dear little man. Here, have this.” Clara kneels down next to Razor and brings her glass of fizzy cola halfway toward Razor's lips.

Just then, the front door swings open and a woman comes rushing in. She's built like an icebox—short and square.

When Clara sees who it is, her face turns white and her hand slips off the glass.

But Razor has a firm grip on it and as Clara's hand slides away, Razor lifts the glass the rest of the way to her mouth.

“Razor, don't!” I scream over her mindpatch.

“Found you, cousin!” shouts Rita.

“Strawberry sentries scatter like toast crumbs in the night,” recites Judith.

Razor ignores me and tips the glass toward her lips.

Abbie and I lunge for it at the same time.

But Razor's too quick. In one fell swoop, she drains the contents.

“Ahh,” she says.