The future next door box.., p.34
The Future Next Door Boxed Set, page 34
“Yes, just like yesterday,” the man continued. “But that was just once. I thought we solved it but now it keeps happening.”
“Sir?”
Another voice came from down the corridor.
“Hold on a sec,” the man said into his cellphone. He put his hand over it and looked up.
A soldier walked into view. He was dressed in gray camouflage fatigues and carried a very large rifle.
“Hey, Doc,” the soldier said. “They asked me to come find you. It keeps happening.”
“Coming,” the man said. He hurried off the way the soldier had come, and the GI followed behind.
Mark started to sneak around the wire rack, intending to follow them, but Duff grabbed him and pulled him back.
“Are you nuts?” Duff said. “Soldier! Big gun! We gotta get out of here.”
Mark saw a glow out of the corner of his eye.
“Watch out!” he said, pulling Duff out of the way of the rapidly expanding circle. Duff stumbled into him, and the two fell backwards into the second rapidly expanding circle which had opened behind them.
They landed on a concrete floor. They seemed to be in a dimly lit basement. They were surrounded by more shelves, these ones wooden, all filled with large cardboard boxes.
Mark stood and offered Duff his hand. “We’re inside again,” he said. “Maybe we’re done with being cold.”
A circle about two feet wide opened in the air directly above Mark’s head. A torrent of water poured out of it, drenching him completely. The water was cold. Very cold. It battered him to his knees. It got in his mouth, and tasted salty. Something hard hit him on the head.
Duff scrambled out of the way, jumping to his feet and running to the other side of the room.
After a few seconds, the portal vanished and the water was cut off. Mark was on his hands and knees, drenched and cold and aching. He sat back, and reached into his hair to remove the piece of seaweed that was dangling down in front of his eyes. He flicked it aside, disgusted.
Something was flopping on the ground in front of him. A fish. Mark didn’t know what kind.
Duff was looking at him with pity. Duff’s shoes and the bottom of his jeans were wet, but he had otherwise escaped unscathed. He walked over to Mark and offered him his hand.
“Dude,” he said. “That was just uncalled for.”
“That was on purpose,” Mark said, standing. “Had to be. Somebody’s fucking with us.”
He felt a vibration from his pocket. He pulled out his phone – it was a little damp but undamaged. There was a text from Alan, telling him they were almost at Slot Machine.
Slot Machine. Mark looked around, taking a better look at the room they were in. The boxes on the shelves were cases of liquor. One had a delivery slip taped to the side. He tore it off and read the address.
“Slot Machine,” he said. “Duff, we’re back at Slot Machine. We’re in the store room.”
Duff grinned. “Shit, man,” he said. “Maybe it’s over! Maybe whoever’s doing this had their joke and now they put us back where we started!”
“Come on,” Mark said.
They ran for the stairs. At the top of the wooden steps was the door which led to behind the bar, to DJ, to safety. Mark took them two at a time, Duff close on his heels.
Mark put his hand on the doorknob and the stairs disappeared from beneath them. He grabbed the knob with both hands and tried to hold on, but Duff threw his arms around Mark’s waist and the extra weight was too much. They fell through, Slot Machine vanishing above them.
They landed on hard pavement. Mark dragged himself to his feet, his knees aching where they had connected with the sidewalk. It felt even colder than before, with his soaked clothes clinging to his body.
Duff got up and stood next to him. “Fuck, man,” he said. “I really thought it was over. Where are we now?”
“I don’t know,” Mark said. “The Financial District, maybe? I don’t recognize this part of town.”
They were surrounded by office buildings, although there was more distance between them than Mark was used to. Looking down the streets, things just looked off – he couldn’t see many skyscrapers, and the ones he could see, he didn’t recognize. Were they in Brooklyn? Or Jersey?
“There’s a hotel,” Duff said. “Let’s go in there.”
Mark looked across the street, where Duff was pointing. The lobby looked warm and inviting. The large sign on the front of the building read ‘Le Centre Sheraton.’
“Why is it in...” he started to ask.
“Vous êtes arrivés d'où?” came a shocked voice.
A man was staring at them, open mouthed. He must have seen them fall out of the sky.
“C’est impossible!”
“What’d he say?” Duff asked.
Mark looked at the street again. He read one of the signs. Boulevard Rene-Lavesque. He read another. Everything was in French, including the street signs.
“Oh, shit.”
Chapter Six
Alan inspecting
Alan and Caitlin showed their driver’s licenses to the woman standing outside the door to Slot Machine, who stood with folded arms bared in defiance of the brutal cold. She barely glanced at the cards before waving the duo inside. Quickly they stepped off the street and into the welcoming warmth of the bar.
“It’s crowded tonight,” Alan said as he unzipped his coat. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the blaring rock from the juke box.
“Yolanda and Vicki are at the bar,” Caitlin responded, winding her way towards them.
Alan followed behind and found himself swallowed up by a bear hug from Vicki.
“Al-Al!” she said.
“Hey, Vick,” he said when he got his breath back. “Hey, Yolanda.”
“I am so glad you two are here,” Yolanda said to them as she waved for DJ’s attention. “You gotta save us. Mark’s friend is driving us nuts.”
“What friend?” Caitlin asked.
“Daffy, I think his name is? Another trainer,” Vicki answered.
“Duff. Ugh,” Caitlin said. “I hate that guy. I work out at their gym now, he’s always making gross comments.”
Alan pictured Duff working out and smiled. “He can make gross comments at me any time he wants,” Alan said.
“You’re kidding,” Yolanda said. “I know you like dumb jocks, but come on. You can do so much better.”
“Not lately I can’t.”
“Vodka tonic and a light beer,” DJ said, bringing Alan and Caitlin their usuals. “Where have you guys been all night?”
“I had rehearsal,” Caitlin said. “Alan met me after. No Dakota yet?”
“Not yet,” Vicki answered.
“Where are Mark and Duff?” Alan asked.
“Bathroom,” Yolanda said. “They’ve been in there a while.”
Alan noticed movement at the rear of the bar. “Ooh!” he called out. “Our table’s opening up!”
He grabbed his drink from off the bar and elbowed his way to their favorite table, diving into a seat just before a woman in a leather jacket could snatch it away.
“Sorry, sorry, all taken, sorry,” he said, hurling his jacket over one chair and stretching his limbs onto the others. The woman glowered at him and stalked away.
Caitlin appeared from the crowd, overloaded with coats. She dumped them on one of the chairs.
“I paid for your drink, douche-nozzle,” she said. “You’re welcome.”
“Why the coats?” Alan asked.
“They’re Mark and Duff’s,” she said. “Vicki and Yolanda are leaving so I grabbed them.”
She dropped herself down into the chair next to Alan and raised her beer to him.
“Cheers,” she said.
“Cheers,” he said, clinking her bottle with his glass. They drank.
“This is nice,” she said. “When was the last time just the two of us hung out?”
“Yesterday, when we were attacked by a homeless gay teenage werewolf.”
“I meant in a social setting, but since you brought it up,” Caitlin said. “Any word?”
“I couldn’t get to Project Q today,” Alan said. “My temp job ran long. Kevin’s performing at Oomph tonight, he said he’d stop by here before and fill me in.”
“I hope they find him. Poor kid. What do you think happened to him?”
“Well, this crazy actor I know has a hypothesis that he was locked up in the basement of a theater and experimented on by a nice old mad scientist lady.”
She lifted her beer to her mouth, casually extending her middle finger. “That was just a working theory,” she said. “It fit the facts at the time.”
When Caitlin had arrived home from rehearsal the night before, she told Alan about the mysterious disappearing dog in the basement of the Dillon Theater, and about the elderly artistic director’s scientific background and suspicious behavior. Alan told her about Deshawn’s disappearance, and she hypothesized that the bark she had heard was the disfigured teen crying for help. She had been so excited to have a mystery brewing right under her nose that Alan had hated to point out that she had heard the dog before Deshawn had disappeared, so the two couldn’t be one and the same. He also didn’t think that physicists did much in the way of human experimentation.
“Maybe if she were a biologist, instead of a physicist,” he said. “And her name was Doctor Moreau instead of...whatever the hell it is.”
Caitlin sighed. “I was hoping for another chance to break out my new ass-kicking skills.”
“I don’t think movie heroes beat up old ladies, as a general rule,” Alan replied. He sat up and waved across the room. “Dakota’s here.”
Dakota was scanning the crowd for them and spotted him. She nodded, then made her way to the bar.
“I still think something’s going on in that basement,” Caitlin insisted. “They’re so secretive about it.”
“Did you do any snooping at rehearsal tonight, Miss Marple?” Alan asked.
“No,” she said. “I didn’t have time. Didn’t see Lidia at all, just McAuley lurking around. Guy gives me the creeps.”
“That’s the tech guy everyone thinks is hot?”
“Yeah. Hey, what are you doing Sunday? You want to come and watch the run? It’s the last run before tech and Bebe wants some friendly faces in the audience.”
“I can’t, I have a raid with my guild.”
Caitlin stared at him blankly for a long moment. She put her beer down on the table. “Is that a fucking video game thing?”
Alan stirred his drink. “Yeah...”
“I thought we were moving on from the video games.”
“No,” he protested, “I’m not abandoning games, I’m just not neglecting other areas of my life in favor of them.”
“Well, this sounds like neglecting real life to me. Half the cast of my show is beautiful gay boys. Most of them haven’t paired off yet but that won’t last past opening night so you’re coming to the run and then you’re coming for drinks with us afterward and I don’t want to hear another word about video games, young man.”
“Yes, mother,” Alan replied. “Fine, if there’s a chance for sex I’ll go. Ugh. My guild is going to hate me, we’ve been building up to this raid for weeks. I’m their strongest tank.”
“Everything you’re saying is meaningless to me,” Caitlin said.
“Hello, beautiful people!” Dakota said, arriving at their table. She put her scotch down and took off her coat.
“Damn!” Alan shouted. “Somebody’s sexed up!”
“You didn’t wear that to work today, did you?” Caitlin asked. “You don’t want a sexual harassment suit on your first day.”
Dakota was wearing a tight-fitting shoulderless red dress with long sleeves and a high hemline. Alan had never seen her wear it before. The lesbians around them were risking whiplash as they looked her up and down.
“No, I went home to change,” Dakota said innocently.
“It’s a little dressed up for Slot Machine, don’t you think?” Caitlin asked. “Not to call our favorite bar a dump, but there’s been a bologna sandwich in one of the pool table pockets for a week.”
“I just wanted to look nice,” she said, sliding into a chair. “Nothing wrong with that.”
Alan and Caitlin said nothing. They looked at each other.
“Do you see her?” Alan asked.
Caitlin craned her neck to look at the crowd. “Well, we know it’s not Vicki, that ship has long since sailed. There’s a candidate by the juke box but Dakota walked right by her without looking.”
“There’s somebody coming out of the bathroom,” Alan said. He looked at Dakota, who was staring at them in confusion. “Too small, I think.”
“What are you talking about?” Dakota asked. “I think I’m being made fun of but I can’t figure out how.”
“We’re just looking for whoever’s floor you’re hoping that dress will be on at the end of the night,” Alan said.
Dakota pretended to look outraged for a moment, then abandoned the pretense. “Fine. I met someone at work today. I told her I’d be here tonight and she said she might come by.”
“Tell, tell, tell!” Alan said. He rapped his glass on the table, sloshing some of the drink over the rim.
“Her name is Tayisha Farmer,” Dakota said. “She’s Mister Keaka’s administrative assistant. She’s got the desk next to mine.”
“Cozy!” Caitlin said. “And getting involved with someone at work, that’s so unlike you. It’s like me, though, so I approve.”
“I know it’s a bad idea,” Dakota said. “But I just can’t help myself. She’s so beautiful. She’s...”
“We know what she looks like,” Alan said.
“How?” Dakota asked. “You couldn’t.”
Alan and Caitlin looked at each other again. Neither spoke.
“Oh, hell no,” Dakota said. “This is something you talk about behind my back, isn’t it? Spit it out.”
“It’s just...” Alan said. “Don’t get mad, but we’ve noticed a pattern in the women you date.”
“You have a type,” Caitlin said. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“We noticed it,” Alan continued, “and mentioned it to Mark, and he said it was the same in college.”
“What type?” Dakota asked, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t have a type. I appreciate all forms of womanly beauty.”
“You may appreciate all forms of womanly beauty,” Alan said, “but you don’t date all forms of womanly beauty.”
“You only seem to date...” Caitlin reached for the right words. “African-American women...of...”
“Of a certain...” Alan hesitated. “Stature.”
“Oh, fuck it,” Caitlin said. “You only date large black women, Dakota. You really never noticed?”
“That’s not true!” Dakota protested, slamming her glass down. “I...there was...no, not her. There must have been...huh.” She paused, then shrugged.
“All right,” she said. “My name is Dakota, I am a strong woman of color, and I like big butts and boobies. I can own that.”
“Here, here,” Caitlin said, raising her beer in a toast.
“To big butts and boobies,” Alan said, raising his glass.
Dakota picked her scotch back up. They clinked, and drank.
“On the other hand,” Dakota said, “I hope this isn’t indicative of some kind of mommy issue on my part. That would really put a damper on things.”
“Your mother’s super skinny,” Caitlin pointed out.
“Exactly! And as much as I love her, she’s neither nurturing nor physically affectionate, which are stereotypical traits society places upon African-American women of size. It’s the mammy archetype.”
Dakota put her glass down again, a worried look on her face.
“Maybe I should call this off before it starts,” she continued. “I don’t want to worsen a racist paradigm just because my mother didn’t hug me enough.”
“D, chill out!” Alan said. “Don’t get all Freudian! It’s not a big deal. We all have types. Do I like big muscular guys because my dad was one and he died when I was a kid? Maybe! Who cares?”
Dakota raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that why you like big guys?” she asked him. “That’s disturbing.”
“And older guys, too,” Caitlin said. “You like older muscular guys. That’s kind of messed up if you think about it.”
“No, it’s not! Shut up!” Alan said. “We’re getting off track. We’re talking about Dakota’s uncomfortable psychosexual issues, not mine.”
“Right,” Dakota said. “Find me a skinny white girl. I need someone to fuck the internalized racism out of me.” She took a large, bracing sip of scotch.
“Don’t look at me,” Caitlin said. “I keep the drama on the stage and out of my bed, thank you very much.”
Dakota snorted her drink trying to hide her reaction. Alan laughed openly.
“What?” Caitlin asked.
“No, nothing,” Dakota said. “Where’s that boyfriend of yours? The one who insulted everything that matters to you on the night you met?”
“He can’t make it,” Caitlin said quietly. “And he apologized for that. Many times. Lachlan’s a great guy. Perfect, really.”
Alan agreed with Dakota, but Caitlin looked so vulnerable he couldn’t bring himself to pile on. “He matches your new action and adventure lifestyle,” he offered instead.
“Yes!” Caitlin said. “Exactly! Thank you.”
“Is that a good reason to date someone?” Dakota asked. “Because you want to be a movie star, and he looks like one? That’s a perfect match?”
Caitlin folded her arms and glared. “I think we’ve strayed from the topic again. We were talking about you and your mother-girlfriend and how weird that is.”
“All right!” Alan shouted, sloshing some more of his drink. “Truce. Dakota, you like this girl? She’s cool?”
“Yes,” Dakota said. “I only met her this morning but we spent the whole day talking. She’s amazing.”
