Time Line Page 15

  Don was a little reluctant but you could tell he was the kind of guy who would help a neighbor out, so they headed down there, the three of them.

  Don said hi to about 5 people on the way, no surprise. Pike of course was thinking, this Mike Keegan--with a bunch of other people around, closer to the house he was moving into--why go all way to the end of the block to ask Don to help?

  Though Pike unfortunately was pretty sure he knew the answer. He didn’t know why, but just that this stuff happened.

  The back of the truck was open and there was other furniture and all kinds of boxes but Pike could see the guy’s point, the one item you definitely needed help with was this couch. It was one of those over-stuffed jobs you saw at Costco sometimes, where admittedly you really did sink into the thing and didn’t want to get back up.

  Mike said he’d show them around the apartment first, why not, before it got cluttered up with furnishings. That wasn’t as weird as it sounded, since when Mike Keegan introduced himself, Pike introduced himself as looking around the neighborhood.

  So Don kind of shrugged and went along with it, and the three of them went tromping up the stairs, and the apartment wasn’t bad at all, a little small, but a nice layout, three bedrooms. Plus a decent view, looking out toward the Hudson River, Pike was placing it, though you couldn’t see the river itself but you could see what was on the other side, and it was a lot of open area, mostly woods, sort of hard to believe this close to New York City.

  Anyhow the guy asked Don a question about the washing machine that was in the kitchen--he said the landlord told him that part was as is, that he’d have to maintain it himself if something went wrong. It was one of those economy stack-jobs, and this seemed kind of rude, but you could tell Don was into it and he was obviously mechanical and he asked the guy for a screwdriver and opened a front panel and started looking around in there.

  Some time went by, and the guy told a story, and before you knew it it was quarter to 3 . . . and Pike knew Don didn’t have that much time, and right on cue Don said we better get a move on with the couch.

  When they had a hold of the thing, the three of them grabbing and reaching and pulling it out of the truck, Pike noticed Don had a back brace on . . . and that alone was odd, since Pike reminded himself that Don at this point should know that he’s plenty strong, and by now Pike had heard enough stories from Dani, how Don’s partner Otto had witnessed Don perform unusual feats but kept quiet about them.

  Pike couldn’t really picture any circumstance where he, himself, would be needing a back brace these days . . . and he couldn’t resist asking Don about it.

  “This?” Don said. “Preventative. My chiropractor, he insists that too much gardening can throw me out of alignment.”

  Chiropractor now, but not worth making a big deal out of . . . Meanwhile, the couch was a beast. The power quotient wasn’t the issue obviously. If Pike cut it loose he could carry the thing up by himself, and he knew Don could too . . . but the bulk of the thing and specifically the protrusion angles of the arms were making it real tough in what was likely a 1960’s hallway not designed for 21st century ridiculously overstuffed furniture.

  What screwed them up was the turn halfway up, and the couch wedged into a kind of point of no return, where if you tried to un-wedge it too hard you were probably going to break the hallway window . . . Or in the case of Pike--or Don--muscling it, they’d most likely be breaking the couch itself.

  So there they were, analyzing the possibilities like 3 guys on one of those road crews where the one individual looks through that scope for a while and then stands back and someone takes notes on a clipboard and they all consult on what their next move is.

  Don was starting to get a little jumpy, since he was getting real close to having to be at work, and was clearly a dependable employee. Meanwhile though, you could tell the guy didn’t like to leave a job unfinished--especially where, in his mind, he contributed to the cause of the problem.

  So Don had two hands on the front end, was sizing it up, and trying to slide it gingerly out of its predicament . . . and Mike on the back end was trying to help with the leverage . . . and Pike was in the middle and was pretending to help . . . but at the same thinking maybe this is how it’s supposed to work after all.

  Meaning . . . Don misses his shift as a result? Or gets there late and is assigned to another partner, and the housing project thing never happens?

  Pike was thinking, that would be a first. Usually--if not always--this correction stuff works against you, throwing up roadblocks the other way--not with you. This was nuts.

  Mike was saying now don’t worry about it, it’s my problem, I had no business dragging you fellas into this.

  Don said, “Let’s us be the judge of that, huh?”

  And wow, a little edge to the guy. Pike could understand it. If they didn’t get it--and Don had to take off for work leaving not only unfinished business but a massive obstacle right in the middle of someone’s hallway--he wouldn’t enjoy himself tonight, it wouldn’t sit right.

  Pike thought should I or shouldn’t it, and bit the bullet and said to Don, “I see you keep looking at your watch . . . You know what? Why not call it in . . . wherever it is you work at?”

  “It is the 4th of July,” Mike said.

  Pike said, “I mean, maybe you have overtime built up or something? Vacation days?’

  “Can’t do it,” Don said, and he tried a different maneuver, from lower down on the couch. But that baby wasn’t going anywhere at the moment. One added difficulty was that the hallway walls were coated with a thick stucco. So even if you didn’t accidently wrestle the arm off the couch, you still had to contend with scraping the heck out of the thing, and probably opening up the stuffing.

  Which Mike was addressing, to not worry about that, let’s just get it freed up. But Don wasn’t that type, that wasn’t going to fly.

  Pike thought of the pizza place from earlier, and you figured if they opened up period on Independence Day that they’d still be open now . . . and he said, “I’m gonna . . . like grab something for us to eat. That sound okay?”

  It was a stupid suggestion and Pike didn’t expect a reaction, except Mike said, “You know something? That really sounds great. Here’s a few bucks.”

  Pike said don’t worry about it, and as he headed down the stairs Mike was telling Don it wouldn’t be the worst thing to get a little something in our stomachs, recharge the batteries and we’ll figure this out.

  Pike ordered an extra large pizza with all the trimmings, and as he was waiting for it he wondered, should he commit a crime here and use his fake California ID to buy a 6-pack?

  Pike was good about this--yes he had the ID like a lot of 18 year-olds probably did, but he never used it to buy alcohol, it was strictly to get into music and dance clubs where you had to be 21.

  So there was a guilt factor as he grabbed the beer out of the cooler and put it on the counter--not to mention the arrest factor, if this didn’t work.

  He held his breath and the counter guy put the beer in a bag and set it aside, and when the pizza came out the place got busier and another guy rang him up and no one asked for ID.

  Pike hustled back over there--you obviously wanted to stall Don as long as possible, but the flip-side, if you take too long he might go to work on you . . . so it was fortunate he was still there, and he and Mike were sitting on the outside stoop now shooting the breeze, and Don did seem a little more relaxed.

  You didn’t want to jinx it bringing it up--had he called it in that he was taking the shift off--since that might re-direct his focus if he hadn’t. It was 3:20 when Pike left the pizza place, so it had to be past 3:30 now, Don’s normal departure time.

  Either way . . . the plan was to embellish the meal with some booze, and relax everyone all around, and for Don to switch gears if he hadn’t already and enjoy the 4th of July on his own friendly block like millions of other Americans.

  They all dug into the pizza, and Mik
e polished off a beer pretty quick and was on his second one and said, “Donnie you need to join me here,” and he opened one for Don and handed it to him.

  Don said, “Thanks but no thanks, I’m good.”

  Mike considered this, and said, “Don are you on the wagon? I understand if you are, because I’ve been there.”

  This was getting strange, and Pike always mixed it up, the on and off--but he was pretty sure on the wagon meant a guy wasn’t drinking . . . and you wondered about the underlying root of the thing, did that mean a person had a real problem, or just currently was holding back?

  “I’ve been there too,” Don said, and he lit a cigarette.

  No one said anything for a couple minutes. Maybe it was just his imagination but Pike could sense a connection between these two guys, that they’d known each other before. Maybe not literally . . . but that Don at least had known a few ‘Mikes’ in his day, and probably one or two of them at AA meetings.

  Just a guess.

  Almost on cue Don picked up the bottle of beer and took a swig, and he said you’re right, what could it hurt, if you’re not going to partake on the 4th, when are you . . . and Mike smiled and seemed to relax, and he patted Don on the back, and he said where were we . . . referring to the story one or the other had been telling . . . and Pike was estimating it, that by now it’d be after 4 and Don sure didn’t look like he was going anywhere tonight . . . and Pike quietly headed back down Gliver Street, and neither Don or Mike seemed to notice, and when he got to the corner and looked back they hadn’t moved.

  Chapter 24

  Piked went the other way from Roberts Avenue this time, which was mostly residential except for the 2-block strip where the pizza place and some other small businesses were. You also had the business park up there but that would be too modern.

  It was 4 blocks to Nepperhan Avenue and that did have the right look, plenty of old brick buildings, reasonably spread out . . . and first was a public pool, indoor, and they’d had a holiday session today but it was ending at 5 and it seemed too tricky to contend with . . . and further along you had a supermarket, not a chain but a family-type one, and that building looked old, and Pike took a peak around the back but there were delivery guys fooling around back there, throwing a football.

  The building up ahead said Con Edison Number 118a, and Pike wasn’t sure what you had here, but it felt kind of government-industrial, and there was machinery humming and not much sign of human activity . . . and Pike tried a rear door but it was locked so he tried another one and it worked.

  The steady buzz of the apparatus seemed to help, and Pike made a mental note to remember that in the future--if God forbid he had to keep going places--and Pike achieved the necessary state pretty quick . . . and he’d had success on the return trips, always crashing back in the vicinity of Beacon, so he didn’t screw around any more, just focus on Hamilton High School and you won’t go too far wrong . . . and boom . . . he ended up in Beacon okay, but this time at that gas station south of town where he’d run into the guy way back when, the uncle with the story about the San Francisco nephew . . .

  Not important right now, the backstory, and Pike focused on Jeez, let me out of this mess . . . and he tried his phone and it worked--always a good sign that you probably nailed the time frame--and Jack Hannamaker answered on the 2nd ring.

  “Yeah man,” Jack said.

  “First--and don’t give me a hard time here, just spit it out--what day we got?”

  “Friday.” Pike was bracing for something sarcastic. Jack surprised you sometimes.

  “What time?”

  “2:48 at the moment. What’s your deal?”

  Good. So the Yonkers business--putting it all together--the arrival in Pennsylvania, the railroad stuff, the Gliver Street effort--that consumed a little more than a day in Yonkers time . . . so we’re talking 2 hours here.

  “My deal depends on your deal,” Pike said, and he was rambling, but what he was angling for, without having to explain himself, was could Jack pick him up.

  “Well . . . Heidi and me, we’re on our way to Disneyland.”

  “Excuse me?” Pike said, but yeah, unfortunately now he was picking up road noise out of Jack’s phone. It also made Pike nervous that Jack would be talking while he was driving, but Jack said, “You worry too much, she’s holding it for me.” And then you heard Jack say to Heidi, real buttery, “Aren’t you babe?”

  And you could hear Heidi giggle and so forth . . . and wasn’t that sweet . . . the lovebirds on their way to LA.

  Pike hung up anyway because he didn’t like people doing anything on the phone while they were behind the wheel, even if someone was assisting them.

  Meanwhile that was that, and he called an Uber, and it took a while, and while he was waiting a 1960’s Ford Mustang came by at high speed and looked like it was racing a souped up 21st century Honda . . . and did something like that happen before, a version of it, last time Pike was stuck hanging around this old gas station?

  He got home okay and went up and closed the door. Now you had a Friday night in front of you, the last one before school unfortunately started again on Monday . . . and Pike knew what he was supposed to do, but he felt like anything but that, and he tried every which way to procrastinate.

  You had Facebook and Instagram and some Twitter but you could only tolerate so much--it was good to be connected with everyone, a little news here and there, but you had too many people posting junk and looking for approval. Though Pike knew he was as guilty of that as anyone, it was admittedly fun to throw something out there and see who reacts.

  He tried the TV, maybe settle in with some live sports, but it was all pre-lims, various roundtable discussions as intense as the White House situation room, all concerning the NFL playoff games this weekend.

  Today was December 30th--and wow, New Year’s Eve tomorrow, Pike hadn’t even zeroed in on that--but we’re talking 4 months and 26 days since Don. The housing project business--and the hopefully revised hanging around the Gliver Street neighborhood-instead business.

  You could call Mitch, have him tell you what happened. That’d be one way.

  The concern there, you’d might be opening up the if the tree fell in the forest and no one heard it can of worms.

  In reverse.

  If Pike was successful in Yonkers, Mitch in theory shouldn’t have ever known about any transplant recipients, or any Erline for that matter.

  But if Pike asking triggered Mitch to check his database and his notes--what if something still registered there? Such as Mitch’s record of the guy going crazy at the air show? . . . Would that then make it a reality? Or even a partial one?

  Would the whole shebang be going interdimensional on you? . . . Whatever the heck that really meant . . .

  Pike remembered Mr. Gillmore the astronomy teacher touching on this stuff. Most of it was over Pike’s head--and what he could understand he had trouble buying into, it all seemed too way out there--but the fact was, it still didn’t sound wise to mess with it, even if you didn’t believe in it.

  So no. No way to safely procrastinate by tracking down Mitch and letting him skip to the punch line.

  Pike knew it was on him, wasn’t it, always his deal, always up to him to find out . . .

  So he turned on the computer. And as it was firing up he remembered a camp counselor from one summer when he was a little kid at the YMCA--rugged athletic guy who they all looked up to, but there was some big game on TV and the guy was rooting hard for one team, and he said halfway through he got too nervous and had to turn it off and find out what happened later.

  This seemed extreme, but Pike could identify with it.

  But forget all that . . . he took a long a look at the NY Daily News website, and you had the search icon dangling up top . . . and Pike entered July 5th, 1976 and held his breath.

  He scoured the front page, flipped to the inside . . . the metro section, the national, the business, the sports . . . and not a thing about Don.
>
  His heart was beating rapidly as he switched to the NY Post, went through the same procedure . . . and came up empty.

  Then the Yonkers paper itself, whatever it was called, finding it now, the Herald Statesman . . . and it wasn’t nearly as comprehensive as the major New York City papers but . . . it had enough relatively unimportant news in there, that you knew if something important happened on the night of July 4th it would definitely be in there . . . and zippo.

  Pike stood up and felt like doing 100-mile an hour jumping jacks or something. Wow . . . He wished he could call someone, share this instant of monumental celebration. It was like a drug . . . He thought of Dani, but . . . if you were taking the cautious approach with Mitch, you needed to with Dani as well.

  There was the one down element though, and Pike felt his throat tighten.

  If you’d stopped Don from perishing, then the 5 people on the other end would still be waiting for transplants . . . and Pike didn’t want to go there--you couldn’t. He’d been through this before, and convinced himself for a hundred reasons that those transplants weren’t meant to be, and they were faulty and dangerous . . . and you prayed they would all get resolved with correct procedures . . . and meanwhile Don was alive again . . . and it hadn’t been meant to be for him to get gunned down, either.

  You couldn’t torture yourself. The world--the worlds--were complicated. There was no script . . . You did the right thing.

  Pike felt like something sweet, bad. You had to--celebrate was the wrong word-- but break the stress somehow, and maybe there were baked Christmas something or others still hanging around in the kitchen . . . and he was halfway down the stairs when it hit him that . . . you know what? You better check the next day too.

  So he trudged back up to his room and shut the door and went back on the computer.