Authors: John R. Maxim
Tags: #Horror, #General, #Psychological, #Suspense, #Memory, #Thrillers, #Fiction, #Time Travel
Time Out of Mind (29 page)
threw the deadbolt. He placed his bag of ribs and shrimp
on a Formica table and reached into a cabinet for a box of
Kellogg’s Bran Flakes. From this he withdrew a palm-sized
clump of aluminum foil. The front sight of a Smith & Wes
son .38 had cut through one end. Lesko stripped away the
rest of the foil and laid the revolver down next to his dinner.
Only then did he remove his coat and hat.
He did not seriously expect a visitor. Not tonight. More
likely there would be a telephone call. If the phone rang
during the night, especially if it rang late, it would almost
surely be Dancer trying to find out how much he knew.
Lesko wouldn't answer it. He'd let Dancer stew a while
until morning. He'd get a good night's sleep while Dancer
stayed awake wondering what he knew and who he was t
elling. It would cross Dancer's mind to send a shooter
tonight, assuming he had one handy, but he wouldn't. Not
until he knew more. He would call in the morning and in
his oily and tight-assed little way he would demand a meeting. He would use lawyer words like breach of faith and
professional ethics and then he would try to set Lesko up.
He'd have to. Dancer would have to assume that Lesko was
about to put the arm on him for a hell of a lot more than
the fifteen grand already in his pocket. He would also ex
pect Lesko to cover himself by stashing his notes with
someone reliable. Which meant he had to get Lesko by
eight in the morning, latest, one way or the other. No phone
call, on the other hand, would mean that Dancer wasn't
even interested in talking first. In which case there'd be
someone waiting outside his door when he opened it in the
morning.
These memories, Jonathan,” Harry Sturdevant told him,
“may be no less real than your own boyhood recollections.
Accept that.”
”
I do, I guess.” He moved a step closer to the framed
photograph of Theodore Roosevelt grinning next to a very
young Harry Sturdevant and Harry Sturdevant’s father.
Corbin found himself wanting to smile. He didn't quite
know why.
“
Is there something about Teddy Roosevelt?”
Corbin shrugged.
“
Is it possible you knew him?’'
I feel as if I did, yes. But it's probably that I've read
books about him.”
You're rejecting again, Jonathan. Try not to make judg
ments. How many books, by the way? Did you make a special effort to learn about him?”
“
Not really. Now that you ask, I have picked up a book
about him now and then and leafed through it. I didn't sit
down and read them, though. They were too
...
I don't
know.”
“
Superficial?”
”
I guess that's the word. Yes.”
“
As if they were written by someone who didn't know
his subject firsthand?”
“
Yes.” Corbin lowered himself to the edge of Sturde
vant's desk.
“
What was he like, Jonathan?
I'd
like you to try to have
fun with this question. Just let your mind flow with it as
you look at his photograph.”
“
Very gutsy, exciting to be around.” The beginnings of
a shy smile twitched at Corbin's mouth. “More energy than
anyone I ever—”
“
Even as a child?” Sturdevant had a hunch.
”
I guess.” Corbin's smile dimmed and his expression
became distant, “I know he was sickly. Asthma. I don't
think he was out of the house all that much when he was
real small.” ·
”
A bit later, then. If you were to try to see him in your
mind, assuming you knew him, what would he be like as
an older boy and where would that be?”
Corbin blinked once, then several times more rapidly. Sturdevant had a sense that a picture was forming but that
Corbin was about to shake it away.
“
Jonathan,” he said quietly, “I'd like you to try to en
vision him. Just allow a picture, a scene, a scene to float into place. Don't force it but don't resist it either. To help
it along, please sit comfortably in my chair. That desk must
be getting awfully hard.”
Gwen Leamas caught her uncle's eye and made a small
quick nod of encouragement. Jonathan had, come to think
of it, seemed somewhat bemused by that picture while
Harry was out of the room.
Corbin made a face, unseen. The desk must be getting
hard, yet. Next he'll be saying you feel relaxed and are
getting sleepy. Corbin thought of going back and sitting
with them at the little round table. But he didn't want to.
It felt too much like a seance. This end of the room
was
more fun anyway. But the desk actually was hard and Cor
bin did stand up again. He turned toward Sturdevant, mild
annoyance showing in his eyes.
“
Does that photograph upset you in any way, Jona
than?”
“
No. Not at all.”
Then perhaps it's a nice ünthreatening place to start.
You did react to that photo. Was there anything in your
reaction that surprised you?”
That he was president,” Corbin answered. Then his
eyes clouded over as he wondered why he said that. He
knew only that there was something amusing about the
thought. He bit his lip to keep from smiling.
You look as though that notion strikes you as funny
and yet you're resisting it. What's happening is that you're
responding to two different levels of consciousness. The
two appear to be in conflict, so you reject the one that has
the least tangible substance. We all do that, Jonathan. All
the time. Please try not to in this instance. What surprised
you about Roosevelt being president?’'
That he
...
that he pulled it off. No one in their wildest
dreams ever thought he could . . .” Corbin's voice trailed off. But he let the smile happen.
“
Become president?”
“
Yes.”
“
Do you recall the circumstances?”
'”No ... yes. He was vice president. Then McKinley got
shot.”
“
Did you know him?”
“
No.”
“
Jonathan, do you
feel
that you knew him?”
Corbin hesitated for a moment. The answer was yes but
his impulse was to deny it. He felt as though he knew
Abraham Lincoln, too, but that didn't mean he did. But he
also knew that wasn't what Sturdevant meant. The high-
backed chair began to look good after all.
That's good, Jonathan. Just lean back and relax. Let
your body feel heavy and warm and safe and very, very
relaxed.”
Gwen touched her uncle's arm. “Hypnosis?” She
mouthed the word.
Sturdevant smiled. “My niece sees that you're relaxing at last, Jonathan, and she asks whether you're being hyp
notized like the lady from Colorado. You're not, are you?
You're simply finding a little peace.”
Corbin barely heard him. His mind was on a boy with
skinny arms and glasses and reddish hair.
“
We were talking about Teddy,” Sturdevant said.
“
Uh-huh.”
“
If you'd lived in the same city at the same time, don't
you think you would have known each other?”
I'd know his name, who he was. Our parents would
have known each other better.”
But you would have had friends your own age.
Wouldn't Teddy have been a friend?”
I don't think he had many friends. Not then. Your
friends are mostly boys from school. Teddy didn't go to
school. He had tutors. Besides ...”
“
Besides what, young man?”
“
Besides, Teddy was older. He was two years older.”
How old was he?” Sturdevant reached for Gwen's arm and squeezed it.
“
Sixteen, I think.”
“
And you are fourteen?”
“
Yes. But just as big.”
Where did you meet him? You did meet him, didn't
you?”
Yes. It was in the Rhinelanders' stable. It was just
down from ours in the mews in back of our house. It's
where I met John Flood, too.”
Gwen flipped two pages of her spiral notebook and un
derscored the name Big John Flood, holding it up for her
uncle to see. Sturdevant nodded.
“
John Flood was the man who taught you to box?”
“
Yes.”
Was that the same John Flood who once fought John
L. Sullivan? I believe they called him the Bear's Head ...
no, the Bull's Head Terror.”
“
What?” Corbin seemed confused.
“
Oh, nothing. My mistake.” Sturdevant chewed his
lip.
“How old was John Flood, by the way?”
“
Eighteen, perhaps. But he often passed much older.”
Ah, Sturdevant thought, that was it. If it is the same Big
John Flood who fought John L. on a barge up in Yonkers,
this must be a much younger version.
“
John Flood was handy with his fists all the same. Cor
rect?”
“
He was teaching Teddy. Teddy was always calling
other boys out when they insulted him but he was always getting whipped. He was getting a real drubbing once from Todd Fisher and John Flood came by on a beer wagon and
pulled them apart. He told Teddy he'd best either grow a
few stone or learn the fancy.”
“
The fancy?”
“
That's what the English called pugilism. He said all the young bloods were learning it. From all the best famines.”
“
John Flood was English?”
Corbin chuckled. “You dasn't say that to John. He'll rear
up on you for sure. His father still carries the cut of a
British officer's saber across his back.”
”
I see. And Teddy Roosevelt took him up on his sug
gestion?”
“
He went and had one lesson. How to hold his hands
and to jab. How to measure your blows so you don't crack
a knuckle. How to block and smother punches and how to
trip up the other fellow and throw him down. Actually,
Teddy's father had Teddy taking boxing lessons a full year
before that. Even had a gymnasium set up at his house over
on Twentieth Street. Teddy knew how to box. John Flood
taught him how to fight. There's a difference, John told
him. Afterward, Teddy went out looking for Todd Fisher
again.”
'
“
And whipped him?”
“
No. Todd drubbed him worse than before. Todd just
ducked under those jabs and grabbed him in a bear hug and
bit Teddy's ear near off. Then he threw Teddy down and
jumped on his chest. John Flood showed Teddy how to do
just that but Teddy wouldn't, don't you know. So Todd
started punching up Teddy's face and I couldn't bear that
so I grabbed Todd by the hair and pulled him off. I hit him
too. I cut my knuckles on his teeth” Corbin held up his
right fist as if to show the scar. “Then Todd went wild and started smashing me but soon Teddy was wading back into
him. Todd was so crazy mad he probably would have whipped us both except that a big German woman came
out of her store that we were having this grand battle in
front of and began smacking all three of us with a broom.
Todd backed off first. Teddy and I still wanted to have at
him but the German woman between us was holding that
broom like Friar Tuck's staff. Todd's mouth was bloody
but what bothered him most was that his pants were split
clear up the back and some of the other boys were laughing
at that. He called us cowards for ganging up on him and
he said he'd get us.”