Flirtinis with Flappers (28 page)

He shook his head, looking weary. "Maybe you can be that noble, Dora. But I can't."

Anger welled up in my gut. Of course he couldn't. I didn't know why I'd even bothered to open my mouth. Once Nick got something in his head, even God himself couldn't change his mind.

"You know, Nick, you're a selfish bastard," I retorted, my face burning with fury. "You only care about yourself. Just like in Iraq. You abandoned me on our mission. You went out and found a new girlfriend while I was being tortured in prison."

"What? Dora, that's not—"

"You know what?" I interrupted, my voice cold as ice. "The only history I wish I could change, Nick Fitzgerald, is the one where I ever fell for you."

I charged toward the door, ready to make my escape. He grabbed me by the shoulder.

"I can't let you go," he said. "I'm sorry."

I turned around and kicked him in the groin. He doubled over in pain. "No, I'm sorry," I said, my voice oddly calm. "But you can't stop me."

You know, if I wasn't so hurt and angry and bitter and hating life, being a blonde alibi for McGurn would have been a pretty good gig. He presented me a beautiful red silk gown, then took me out on the town to a fancy restaurant and then out to the theatre. He wined me and dined me, but I couldn't muster any appetite or enjoyment. All I could think of was Nick and what a bastard he'd turned out to be.

At least I could say I was right all along. I'd been fooling myself by thinking that I'd made a mistake hating him, not trusting him. It turned out that my initial instincts had been right on the money. The guy was a selfish jerk, willing to do anything—even change history—to get his own way.

I couldn't believe he'd actually been able to justify in his mind that what he was doing was honorable. Noble, even. Anyone who's seen any kind of sci-fi movie knows that you just don't change history. There was too much risk. Things played out for a reason. I had to believe that.

The possibilities of an alternate future were frightening. I mean, let's say McGurn did go down for the massacre. He then doesn't whack some guy—let's say he's named Charlie. Charlie, instead of dying, ends up marrying his childhood sweetheart, and they have a kid. That kid ends up falling in love with my mother, and she marries him instead of my dad. Then I'm never born! That doesn't seem very good, now does it? And that's just based on one tiny sperm. Imagine what implications McGurn going to jail would have on the rest of the world. Crashing dominoes. Everywhere.

I firmed my resolve. I wasn't going to let that happen. At least not on my watch. I was going to be McGurn's alibi tonight. Then I was going to sneak out of the hotel, head to Bugs' house, and make sure no one woke him up, that he'd miss the massacre, just as history had him do. Everything was going to play out exactly how it should.

And then I would go back to my unchanged twenty-first-century world and forget Nick Fitzgerald ever existed.

I watched as Jack downed his fourth cocktail at dinner, his nose getting redder and redder. He babbled on about nothing, his speech starting to slur. Hopefully he'd be so intoxicated he'd pass out as soon as we got back to the hotel. If not, I had a contingency plan I'd purchased at the local drugstore.

After dinner, we headed back to our hotel, where Jack continued to down shots of whiskey. He spent a good deal of time on the phone, firming up the plans for the massacre. I plopped myself down on the bed, watching, waiting. Bored out of my mind. When he hit the bathroom, I saw my opportunity. I emptied the packet of sleeping powder into his drink. I needed him to pass out hardcore so I could sneak off to Moran's house. Also, this would help me avoid any toe-related escapades he might have planned for a romantic V-Day evening.

The drugs kicked in around two A.M., and the mobster passed out in his chair, sawing logs like a lumberjack. I rose silently from the bed and walked over to him, wanting to make sure he was out for the count before I made my move. Didn't want him waking up a half hour later and learning I was gone.

I waved a hand in front of his face—no reaction. Good.

Slipping on my shoes and coat, I headed silently for the hotel door, praying it wasn't in need of WD-40. I wrapped my hand around the knob and pulled it open slowly.

It did let out a small squeak, and I glanced over at Jack to see if the sound had woken him. He snorted in his sleep, snuffled a bit, then went back to snoring. I let out a breath. Phew. Good drugs.

I slipped out of the room and closed the door behind me. Then I headed away from the hotel and hailed a late night cab to Bugs' house. Thankfully, Daisy had given me directions.

As we drove down the silent, dark Chicago streets, I tried to focus on my mission. But all I could think about was Nick. My heart ached, and my stomach churned as my mind replayed that afternoon's conversation. He'd seemed so genuine. So sweet. And I had to admit, making love to him had been incredible. And yet, it was all just more lies and double-crossing. He was never going to be a guy I could count on. And I could never let myself trust him again. I shouldn't have indulged in that moment of weakness. Allowed myself to care. Because, like in Iraq, he had once again let me down.

The cab pulled up a block away from Bugs' house. I paid the driver with money I'd fished from McGurn's wallet and hopped out. I watched as it sped off into the night, then walked down the street until I came to the right address. It was a small blue house with one upstairs gable window, crammed between two houses that looked just like it. Definitely not as glamorous a place as I'd imagined a notorious gangster to live, but perhaps he had to keep his lifestyle low-key to fool the IRS.

I walked around the back of the house, looking for a place to hide while I waited till dawn. Unfortunately, I lacked Nancy Drew luck, and there were no convenient bushes to hide in. Not to mention it was about twelve degrees, and I was still wearing an evening gown.

I caught sight of a low window in the neighbor's house and decided to try it. I was in luck—it slid open easily, and I slipped inside. The basement was damp, dark, and cold, but at least it was more secure than hanging around outside. I regretted not waiting in the hotel room longer, enjoying the warmth from the fireplace. But no, if Jack had woken up then I might have never gotten out. And that would ruin everything. It wasn't going to be a comfortable couple of hours, for sure, but saving the world and stopping Nick would be well worth the minor discomfort.

I sat down in a corner and pulled my knees to my chest. Well, here I was, with hours to kill and nothing to think about. Okay, so I actually had a lot to think about, but none of it was pleasant.

Could I really pull this off? Would Nick try to stop me? What if I failed and Nick won? Would the future be greatly changed, or would there just be, like, a new New Coke or something?

Nick. The name made me sigh. What would have happened if I'd just gone along with his plan? Would he have wanted to date me again when we got back to the twenty-first century? Had he been serious about all he'd said before I told him I was Dora? Did he really love me? Miss me? Was he really unable to go on with life without me?

Or had that all been part of the act? If I had agreed to do my part in his history-changing plan, would he have used me and dumped me after he got what he wanted?

I guess I'd never find out. It was probably better that way, anyway.

Time passed slowly, but eventually the sky turned pink with pre-dawn light. I glanced at my watch and climbed out the basement window. It was almost time. I rose to my feet, trying to muster up some save-the-world energy.

If only Nick had believed me, had stood by my side for once. We could have been doing this together. I would have felt a heck of a lot more confident with him by my side.

You don't need him, Dora. You don't need anyone. You can do this. You are woman. Time
to roar.

I walked around the side of Bugs' house and found a low window. I pulled on it, praying the guy wasn't a lock-everything-up-tight kind of guy. But luck again was with me, and the window easily slid open. I climbed inside. I had to stop Daisy from waking him up. And keep him from leaving his apartment if she did.

I entered a dark kitchen and waited a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then I tiptoed into the living room, careful not to trip on any furniture. For once, my clumsiness would not just be embarrassing. It could be the difference between life and death.

I came to a narrow staircase, leading up—most likely to the bedrooms, where Bugs would be asleep. I tiptoed up the stairs, my heart beating wildly, hoping Bugs kept it in good repair and there were no creaky steps to give me away. Fortuitously, it seemed he was on top of the maintenance, and I made it to the landing without so much as a squeak.

I glanced around. There were several doors, all closed. One of which I assumed led to Bugs' bedroom.

But which one?

I shrugged. Only one way to find out. I tried opening the first. A bathroom. The second door led into an empty guest bedroom. The third was locked. I hadn't thought about the possibility that Bugs might keep his door locked.

Feeling less confident, I sneaked to the fourth door. But just as I was wrapping my hands around the knob, a voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Don't move."

I gulped.
I'd been caught.

Turn
around, and he may shoot.
The long ago warning from my Iraqi contact echoed through my brain.
Then again
,
he might shoot anyway.

"Uh, is that you, Bugs?" I tried, swallowing down my rising panic.

If only Nick had come. He could have kept guard while I tried the doors. Now, once again, I'd been caught. Just like in Iraq. Once again, Nick had let me down. And this time, I was pretty sure I wouldn't end up in a prison cell. I'd end up dead.

"Who are you?" the man demanded.

I turned around slowly, hands in the air. Sure enough, there stood a squat Irishman with a big nose and a cleft chin, wearing a pin-striped nightshirt and pointing a shiny black pistol at my head.

Bugs Moran.

Think fast! Think fast! Think fast!

"Uh, heya, Mr. Moran. I'm a friend of Daisy's. Is she around?" I asked, my mouth hardly able to form the words because my teeth were chattering so badly. Would this work?

I'd heard Daisy say the guy had earned his nickname "Bugs" because he was "Buggy." As in crazy. Off his rocker. There was no way this psycho was going to let me off easy. I was as good as dead. The only question was how many minutes did I have left?

Well, I would stall him as long as possible. Sure, I didn't have much of a prayer of getting out alive, but if I managed to make him late for the massacre, late enough that he missed getting shot, at least I'd still be saving the world.

Was this how it had originally played out? Were we in some sort of weird time-loop thing? The history books never explained why Bugs was late. Just that he'd overslept. Maybe I was always supposed to be here, keeping him from his demise. But then again, if Louise died, then she couldn't be the blonde alibi. Bugs would survive, but McGurn would go down. That couldn't be right either.

The time-travel intricacies were too much to wrap my head around. Best to just focus on the man with the gun.

Bugs stared at me, recognition dawning on his race. Maybe turning around hadn't been such a good idea. "Why, you're Louise Rolfe!" he cried incredulously. "You're Machine Gun's moll."

"Well, not really," I corrected, making it up as I went along. "You see, we broke up, actually. And he's planning this big attack on you. The whole Clark Street thing? That's a setup. He wants to kill you."

Bugs raised a skeptical eyebrow, keeping his gun trained on me. "So you came to warn me," he said. "You think I'm gonna believe that Machine Gun's dame shows up in my house at the crack of dawn to warn me that her boyfriend's gonna blow my head off?" He cocked the trigger of the gun. "Seems a little far-fetched to me."

I squeezed my eyes closed. This was not working. I needed more time. If he shot me now, he could still get down to the massacre on schedule. And then I'd not only be dead, but I'd have failed my mission. Bugs would be killed, and McGurn wouldn't have his blonde alibi to get him off. Nick and his Time Warriors would have won.

"I know, but—" I cried, trying one last time.

"She's telling the truth."

Speak of the devil! My eyes flew open at the voice behind me. I whirled around, not caring anymore about Bugs'
don't move
command.

Nick! And he had his gun pointed directly at Bugs.

My heart caught in my throat, my brain hardly believing what my eyes told it to be true. Nick was here! He'd come! He'd actually come! I was saved. And maybe, just maybe, so was the rest of the world.

"Who the hell are you?" Bugs cried. "Jeez Louise, my house is Grand Central Station this morning. Can't a guy even get any sleep around here?"

"Here's the deal," Nick said, his voice steady and calm. "You're going to take that gun off of Louise there and head back to bed. In a half hour, you can leave your bedroom and head down to Clark Street. Then you'll see that Louise is telling the truth."

"And if I don't?" Bugs snarled. "If I just go ahead and shoot the dame?"

"Then I'll shoot you," Nick said in a calm voice. "And you'll be dead too. Machine Gun will have won."

Bugs trained the gun back on me. I winced. Was he going to take his chances, shoot me anyway, hope that Nick wasn't a great shot?

 He didn't. Instead, he lowered the gun and sighed. "So what you're saying is the whole Canadian gin deal was a setup? By McGurn?"

"And Capone," I added.

"And so right now, as we speak, my men are heading to their deaths? But you're not going to let me stop them?" He shook his head. "Those are family men, you know. They got wives and kids. You want their blood on your hands?"

I bit my lower lip. This was like one of those ethical questions they always threw at you during job interviews. Was it better to shoot down a plane or let it crash into a building?