Remember the Future (2 page)

2

A plane roared overhead as Grant opened the door to his apartment.  Even if it had not already been broken, he would not have bothered to secure the lock.

The room was as he had left it--in complete shambles.  Drawers overturned.  Dishes broken.  Mattress and pillows ripped to ribbons.  Cheap foam drifted across the pealing linoleum floor in the gentle night breeze.

About the only thing still operational was the answering machine upon which the destruction crew had left their calling card.

He wondered how they could be so sure that he wouldn’t go to the police first with the address on the card.  They were used to dealing with the scared and cowardly, he knew.  Perhaps it had never occurred to them that he would ever do otherwise.

“I saw them, Mr. Fred.”

Grant jumped and spun around.

A bony seven-year-old boy stood bare-chested behind him on the second floor landing.

“Justin, what the..?  What are you doing up at this hour?” Grant snapped, feeling more angry at being spooked than anything else.  He checked his watch.  It was a quarter to midnight.

“You seen my mama?”

Grant made a face of frustration and scanned the horizon.  From his height on the second floor, he could see a generous-sized woman waddling down the street leading from the liquor store a block away.

“Looks like she went to get cigarettes again,” Grant told him with a heavy sigh.  He considered calling child protective services again, then remembered that the lines on his phone had been severed.

“They was white,” the little boy declared, stepping up to inspect the interior of the trashed apartment.  “Just didn’t want you to go blaming the wrong folks, s’all.”  He kicked an open Doritos bag gently with his bare dirty foot.  “Looks like they got into your food, too.”

“Here, you can help me out by taking some of this.”  Grant retrieved a cereal bar from the floor and handed it to Justin.  “Just don’t tell your mom I gave you that,” Grant told him, pointing out the woman as she took a seat on one of the deck chairs below in the pool area.  She lit up, oblivious to her seven-year-old waiting for her above.

Glancing down, Justin had snatched up the bar and had already consumed half if it before Grant could say a word.

“Easy there.”

Giving one last wave, Justin scrambled back to his unit next door.  “Thanks, Mr. Fred,” he hissed in that loud projecting whisper of his, before disappearing inside.

Grant sighed again and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.  Spray-painted above on the inside wall in bright yellow paint were the words: “TIME TO PAY!”

He withdrew to the remains of his bed and reached into nightstand to find the only object left seemingly untouched, a black-leather Bible.  Opening the book to Revelations, Grant gazed down at a single photograph of a smiling dark-haired woman in her early thirties.  Giving a long hitching sigh, he traced the face in the photo with his index finger before placing it securely in the chest pocket of his shirt.

“I’ll clean this up, hon,” he whispered.  “Don’t you worry.  I’ll clean it all up for you.”

3

Maddy studied the out-going flight monitor and waited for inspiration.

“Do yourself a favor and forget about the blue chip stocks.”

She glanced at the young, suited man on his cell phone that appeared beside her, the single well-used suitcase resting beside him.  The ever present anxiety of being followed slowly subsided as she took his measure and determined that he was not a threat.

Just before returning her eyes to the monitor, she took a look at the mirrored wall to her left.  Tightly gripping a small satchel colored blue with bright yellow daisies and wearing clothing chosen for comfort rather than style, the twenty-five-year-old must have appeared to be either someone waiting on a traveler with which she was only reasonably acquainted or someone taking a short trip and therefore traveling light.

“They’re high dollar and don’t present the kinds of quick returns you’re looking for.  Trust me on this,” the young professional continued, giving her a quick look then returning to let his eyes to linger.

Maddy stepped casually over to another monitor and put some distance between them.

Finally ending his phone conversation, the man stepped closer to Maddy.  “So which lucky destination will be graced with your presence?”

Maddy leaned over conspiratorially.

The young man eagerly lowered himself closer to the red hair that framed Maddy’s face. “Between you and me, I’m a nurse waiting to intercept an Ebola patient being escorted from Zaire.”  She gave him a serious look and held a single finger to her lips.

The man straightened up and studied Maddy.  Finally, he gave her an uncertain smile and began to chuckle weakly.  “Oh, she’s got a sense of humor,” he replied, building his confidence back.  “I like that.”

Maddy ignored him and continued to allow her eyes to touch each destination one after the other, waiting patiently for something.  Anything.

“I’m headed to a world trade conference on the west coast.”

“Already been west,” she replied disinterested, taking another step away from him.

“So where are you headed again?”

“I don’t know yet.”

He assessed her, made a determination, and seemed even more intrigued because of the challenge she presented.  “Buy you a drink while we’re waiting?”

For a moment, Maddy considered.

Was this something she was meant to do?  Perhaps this random meeting led to something else.  Something more significant.

She was on the cusp of accepting his invitation—after all, what’s the worst that could happen?  Boring conversation?  This line of thought was interrupted by something more definite.  A sensation more familiar.

Maddy stiffened suddenly and slowly looked over her shoulder.

Grant Frederickson strode casually past, his eyes at his feet tracking only the immediate path before him, seemingly oblivious to everything and everyone else surrounding him.

Turning her back to the suited man, Maddy watched Grant with interest as he continued across the airport to an elevator.

“Sorry, I have to pass on that drink.  I just remembered that I have a job interview,” Maddy answered.

“Really?” the suit replied with a bitter smile.  “At least the Ebola brush-off was original.”

After the elevator door closed on Grant, Maddy turned back to the suited man.  “Y’know, I could have had a drink with you.  We might have filled up on Spinach Artichoke dip at Polly Bar and Grill’s, had a few too many Long Islands and you might have started to tell me about your girlfriend Valerie. How she wants to get married and you don't.”

Joe College took an uncertain step backward, eyes widening slightly.

“Maybe you should be telling her these things and not a total stranger in an airport. You think?”

Maddy turned her back on the departing flights monitor, confident in her new found knowledge that she had not been meant to take a flight out of Bush International Airport as she had first thought
.
She had been meant to make a connection of a different sort.

Now she had the “where” and the “who.” As to the manner of “how,” she knew from experience, the details would become clear to her if she only practiced patience.

Ten minutes later, she stood outside the small coffee shop that she had only half-noticed on the way into the airport that morning just as an elderly waitress with a jacket over her uniform rushed past her in an angry huff.

“And for that matter, you can tell that asshole of a cook that he needs to work on his interpersonal skills, too,” the waitress exclaimed.

Ignoring the looks of the shocked customers, Maddy strode right up to the well-dressed woman behind the register.  “I’m looking for work.”

The woman stared at the retreating back of the elderly waitress then studied Maddy in disbelief.  “You’re kidding me, right?”

4

Leslie elbowed Sharon and nodded in the direction of the man in his mid-thirties sitting alone on the backseat of the tram.  “Isn’t that your friend from the tower?”

Sharon nodded, took Leslie by the arm and edged across the tram to stand beside him, waiting for him to notice and offer her a seat.  Unfortunately, the man stared glassily out the window, eying the oppressive view of the grim grey walls surrounding their car.

The guy was certainly an odd one
, Sharon thought, not for the first time.

“Looks like you like Italian as well,” she said, prodding the take-out bag of Sbarro’s at Grant’s feet with the toe of one of her heels.

Finally coming out of his reverie, Grant gave her an almost apologetic smile.  “Yeah, it’s a little expensive, I know.  I normally bring my lunch, but I… kinda got off my schedule this morning.”

“It’s okay to indulge every now and again, right?” Leslie said cheerily.

“Oh, Grant, this is my friend Leslie Conners.”

The younger of the two women took the available seat next to Grant and held out her hand.  Grant shook it shyly and gave her a very brief moment of eye contact but said nothing.

Leslie glanced away and blinked up at her friend with a look of awkwardness.  Sharon finally found a seat on the opposite side of Grant.

“By the way, those backstreet shortcuts you gave me really cut my husband's commute in half,” Sharon told Grant.  “How do you do it?  Were you a bike courier or something?”

“I have a pizza delivery job on the side to make ends meet.”

Both Sharon and Leslie tittered at the obvious joke.

Grant blinked at them expressionlessly.  “I-I really did actually.”

“Oh, wow, you’re a workaholic, huh?  And what a far cry from what you do at your day job,” Sharon exclaimed, turning to Leslie.  “Grant works as an air traffic controller in the tower.”

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Leslie replied.  “That must be how you come by that talent for directions, I guess.”

Grant shrugged.  “I'm like a savant when it comes to getting around this city, but take me outside of Houston and I'm clueless.”

The women laughed politely but Grant continued to look embarrassed.

The tram stopped, an automated voice announcing the stop.  Grant rose and the women followed suit.

“Excuse me,” he said as he stepped from the tram.

The women’s smiles ebbed slightly as they returned to their seats.

“Kinda of cold fish, isn’t he?”

“He’s just one of those quiet types,” Sharon responded.  “That may have been the longest conversation I’ve ever had with the man.”

Sharon raised a hand to him outside as the tram started to move again.  “Heard he’s a widower.”

“Oh, my,” Leslie exclaimed.  Then after a moment’s thought, she scooted forward on her seat toward Sharon and asked, “So, he’s available then?”

5

Grant stepped into an office tucked into the corner of a bustling air traffic control tower and knocked on the open door.

Standing in the corner of his office in front of an open filing cabinet, Preston Mann, a large suited man, motioned Grant inside.  In a mirror attached to the front of the top drawer, he struggled to remove his knotted tie with one hand, cell phone pressed to his ear with the other, resorting finally to holding the phone between one broad shoulder and ear.

“The wife has me on hold.”  He gave a little shake of his head and nearly lost the phone.

“Simmons said you wanted to see me before I sat down.”

“You’re subbing for Lewis, right?”

“Yes sir,” Grant answered, glancing at his watch.

“I’m afraid I had to let Jordan take that shift.”  He motioned for Grant to sit, but Grant remained standing.

“Sorry, sir.  I’m not sure I understand,” Grant responded in confusion.

Making a face of frustration, Mann tossed the cell phone to his desk and finally managed to remove his tie successfully.  “I also wanted to talk to you about your vacation schedule.”

“I’m not scheduled for a vacation.”

“You are now,” Mann stated bluntly, casually tossing his tie across the room into the open cabinet drawer.

Grant opened his mouth to express confusion when a tiny voice called out from the cell phone lying atop the desk.

Mann spun around and scooped up the phone from the desk.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” he spoke into the phone.  “I’m leaving right now.  No-no, I don’t have time to…”  Collapsing into the seat behind his desk, Mann shut his eyes and gritted his teeth.  He motioned for Grant to sit opposite him and lowered the phone to review some information on its screen.

Grant tentatively took a seat at the desk, glancing at his watch.

“They tell me that lately you’ve been cashing your hours out and covering some of the other guy’s shifts as well as working your normal hours.”  Mann gave a weak chuckle and glanced up at Grant with a troubled expression.  “Wish I’d heard about it earlier so I could have advised you against it.  Sometimes being the boss only assures that you’re out of the loop.”

“I’m not sure I’m following you, sir.”

A different tiny voice spoke from the phone and Mann held it up to his ear again.  “Hey, honey.  Yes, daddy will be home soon, okay?  Put mama back… that’s right, I will… put mama back on the phone.  Okay.  Love you too, kiddo.”

Preston shuffled his phone aside and cocked a brow at Grant, checking the other man for a reaction.  Grant pretended to notice something going on outside the tower.

“I’m taking the family on vacation to Disneyworld in Florida for two weeks,” he said as way of explanation, then suddenly looked guilty.  He cleared his throat and attempted to start again with more authority.  “Listen, FAA regulations stipulate that all traffic workers adhere to the required vacation schedule.  Since you haven’t chosen a time, they chose one for you.  Your forced vacation starts Saturday.”

Preston struggled out of his suit jacket and tossed it on a hook beside the cabinet.

“Forced vacation?” Grant protested.  “But I need to work, Preston.  I need those hours.  My record is as clean as a whistle.”

“And we want to keep it that way.  You know that they’ve been scrutinizing us lately.”

A tiny voice erupted from somewhere in the office.  Mann looked around the desk in confusion.  Grant pointed to his jacket hanging on the wall.

Mann leaned over and grabbed the phone out of his jacket pocket.  “Yeah, I’m here,” he grunted.  “Right, got it!  I’m gone.  Love you too.”  Mann rose abruptly.  “The FAA basically told me to restrict your presence from the tower for three days.”

“Thing is, I need the money,” Grant told him, all the enthusiasm leeched from his voice.  He knew that he had sounded this alarm so many times before that even
he
was tired of hearing it.  But this time, he had given literally everything to Torres with the expectation that he may not see the light of a new day.

Plans had changed, it seemed.

Mann started for the door then turned back when he noticed that Grant was still seated.

“Listen, Grant, I know you’ve had some tragedies.  If anyone should have a little time off, it’s you, man,” he said in a low voice, then cleared his throat.  “For Pete’s sake, Frederickson, it’s a three measly days.”

“I’ve made a substantial investment that didn’t go the way I wanted,” Grant found himself lying, his back to his boss.  He felt like dirt the moment it was out of his mouth.  Preston Mann was a decent boss and a good man.  He deserved better than to be lied to, but under the circumstances, Grant saw no way around it.  The truth was an opera that no one outside of the local asylum would believe.

“Look, I’m sorry, but the Feds make the rules and we have to abide by them.  This thing is non-negotiable.”  Preston stood at the door anxiously staring back at Grant.  “Look, we can talk more about this when I get back here in a week, okay?”

Preston flipped out the light in the office, leaving Grant alone and slouching in the chair.  After a moment, he glanced at his watch, started to leap up, then fell lifelessly back into the chair.  He pounded the armrest of the chair and cursed under his breath.