****
I realized I was in parallel universes at the same time. I
had no idea how I was going to get out of this one. In
one, Natricia was about to blow my head off…in the
other, we were having sex. Actually, it worked out
pretty well, because in the one, she pulled the trigger
and I just ceased to exist, while the other I was having
a great time…and now he could concentrate.
****
He woke up in the morning and she was gone. The leather
bag was still there. She hadn’t left a note. She had left a
half pack of cigarettes. In the pack was a book of matches:
“Tangerine Club” …with an address. On back was a name
in long hand: Tsnelda Von Crissendorf. “What’s with these
names?” He thought….”first it’s Natricia and now it’s
Tsnelda…? And why didn’t she take the bag?”
Then he remembered the other universe. In that one,
Natricia had known about the bag, was after it, and killed
me for it. In this one, it was as if she had no clue what
the bag was about. He would have to locate this “Tsnelda”
person. First, he would have to transfer the contents of the bag.
There was a floorboard under his bed that was his hoarding place.
He put the contents in the hiding place.
He got two bricks from a crumbling wall outside and brought
them inside, wrapped them in newspaper and taped them, and
put them in the leather bag. He looked at the address for the
Tangerine Club. It was in a black market area…not a surprise.
He decided to arm himself. He opened a door in the back of
his closet and chose a Mac 10 and a set of brass knuckles.
****
Clubs and diners…bars and cafes…these were the only places
I’d go into, usually…and my apartment. I had little use for
bowling alleys, malls or museums, public spectacles or
gatherings. I didn’t mind a political rally, as long as
there were a few good fistfights. Train stations were the
best places to meet people. A nice quiet restaurant was the
best place to make a hit.
I was a hit man for two years and made enough to retire
forever. This thing with the bag was just a transporter deal,
but the parallel universes had given me quite a shock, so I wanted
to find out the score before I finished the transaction.
The bouncer at the door of Tangerine gave me the quick once
over and let me pass. I went to the bar and sat on a stool. I put
the leather bag down on the seat next to me. I ordered a double
Stoli martini, dry and dirty. I looked around me…it was a nice
hallucination…fifties modern retro…lots of wavy chrome and
black leather. The bar was bamboo with a faux thatched roof….
Gilligan’s Island meets Madonna…it seemed to work.
****
In the corner booth was a man who looked a lot like Steven
King…he had a squat face, dark hair and eyebrows and wore
thick dark rimmed glasses. He was speaking with a woman
who looked about forty, but it was hard to tell. She had black
hair in a crown of dreadlocks on top of her head that also
trailed down her back. She wore heavy black eyeliner and
rich red lipstick. Her voice was throaty and deep. His was flat.
She passed him the key to a locker at the train station. “This
is it.” “OK…and nobody will be waiting for me…right?
You know I’ll know.” “Yes….I know.” The man took the
key, got up and left. The woman stayed there, working on
her drink.
Frank had heard their conversation. He couldn’t believe what
was happening there…to him. He would have to be very skillful
with his next move. He waited for ten minutes. He took the bag
and walked over to the woman and stood there. “Tsnelda, I
believe?”
She looked at him and her mouth fell to the floor. Frank took the
bag and plopped it on the table.
“How is this possible?”
“Oh, a little parallel universes experience…but what I don’t
understand yet is whether you set me up with Natricia, or,
that busting me was her idea…?” Frank moved his coat
enough to show Natricia the Mac 10.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really…then you don’t care about this bag here…ok…
well…goodbye…”
“WAIT!…..alright!….it’s just…I don’t understand how
you could do this…..alright….I’ll tell you…it was…
Thornvold Arnquist….it was his idea.”
“Thornvold Arnquist?” I hadn’t heard that name in years…
“Thornvold Arnquist?” I hadn’t heard that name in years…
“What’s he doing in my novel?”