Time pirate, p.1
Time Pirate, page 1
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Chapter 1
The beep beep beep of the crosswalk sliced through the air, and I pushed through the throngs of people around me to cross onto the right side of Madison Avenue to get to my job at the Smithsonian Museum of American History. The DC air was fragrant and humid with the beginning of summer, and the streets were filled with tourists and locals alike, even though most of the buildings around here were closing soon.
A little kid holding an ice cream cone stopped dead in front of me, and I had to sidestep the little rugrat to prevent from knocking him over. Luckily, my shifts as an overnight security guard at the museum kept little kids and their sticky fingers out of my daily routine. The kid’s mother grabbed his hand, melted ice cream and all, and dragged him across the rest of the crosswalk as the little green man changed to a little red man.
“Sorry,” the plump, harassed-looking mother said when she noticed me trying to get around her petulant child. Then she eyed my uniform, and her eyes lingered on the gun strapped to my belt before she turned to her kid. “Look, the policeman there says if you don’t hurry up, he’s going to arrest you.”
“Oh, no, I’m not--” I started, but I was cut off by the kid’s wails.
“Mommy, no, I don’t wanna go to jaaaail!” the kid shouted with a red face.
“Hurry up, then,” the mother huffed.
I hightailed it away from the crying child and jogged toward the manicured lawn of the Museum of American History. I was already running late for my shift, not that ol’ Hank would mind. I didn’t think my colleague had much going on outside of work, and he wouldn’t even notice if I turned up two hours late. My boss, Harrison Riggs, though, that bastard was always looking for an excuse to fire me, so I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. I didn’t know why he hated me so much, but I figured it had something to do with the times over the years that I’d corrected him when he tried to show off his inaccurate historical knowledge.
Sorry, dude, just because you’ve been at the museum the longest, doesn’t mean you know the most about the place. I’d dedicated years of my life to studying the intricacies of American history from all angles whereas Riggs retired from the military, took an easy job as a security guard at a museum, and fancied himself an expert. The dude could barely name the first five presidents in chronological order, so I couldn’t take him seriously.
I hurried past the Infinity Sculpture, an abstract piece of modern art with a twisted piece of metal that resembled the figure eight infinity symbol from certain angles and slowly rotated around non-stop. I thought it was a weird sculpture to display at the south entrance of the museum, but when it was erected in the sixties, it was quite the hit. There were tourists snapping pictures in front of the sculpture, but it was just part of the landscape to me at this point, and I continued past it toward the row of glass doors that granted entry to the long, flat, gray building where I’d worked for the past two years.
Since it was already past closing time, the doors were already locked. I reached for the keys in the pocket of my security uniform, but through the glass doors, I could see Hank rising from his seat before he started to slowly lumber toward the doors. It probably would have been faster for me to unlock the door myself, but I waited and let the old man feel useful as he pulled the ring of keys from the retractable cord on his belt. The potbellied and balding man with his deeply lined face shuffled through the keys until he found the right one, and then he gave me a nod as he slid it into the keyhole and pulled the door open.
“Evening, Frankie,” Hank said gruffly as he stepped back to let me through the door. Once I was through, he shut it and locked it again.
“Evening, Hank,” I said as I nodded. “Anything exciting happen on your shift?”
“Some punk kid pulled the fire alarm on the third floor, caused a right kerfuffle, but we got it fixed up right quick,” Hank said as he slowly ambled back to the security desk.
Hank had been at this position for decades, and if there was one thing he hated, it was kids. Lord knows why he took a public facing position at a location that was popular for school trips, but he’d been at it for nearly half a century at this point, so he must not hate them as much as he let on.
“Damn kids,” I said with a grin.
“You’re telling me,” Hank huffed.
“Who’s on controls tonight?” I asked as I adjusted the revolver on my hip.
Hank also had one strapped to his belt, but it was common for us security guards to carry our issued .38 Smith & Wesson revolvers with us to and from work, zipped up underneath our uniform-required jackets. Some of the other guards complained that we didn’t have better guns, but our boss was a penny pincher on top of being an asshole. I was fine with the revolver, though. I’d even bought a smaller version for my own personal, concealed carry weapon, since I’d logged countless hours and bullets at the range with that type of gun.
“Jim started about half an hour ago,” Hank replied as he smoothed his gray mustache down with his fingers. Then he reached down and tugged the zipper of his jacket up to conceal his revolver.
Controls referred to the security guard assigned in the control room, which was a darkened room at the back of the museum filled with dozens of screens that live streamed the feed of every security camera in the Smithsonian. The museum had some valuable stuff, so there were a lot of cameras. The security guard assigned to controls was required to stay on their post all night, and if they needed a bathroom break, they called the security guard assigned to the front desk, which was me tonight. Jim was another old-timer like Hank, so I knew he probably wouldn’t call me to relieve him for a break. Most likely because he would sleep through most of his shift, but as long as it didn’t come back on me, I didn’t care. I’d check in on the control room at the start of my shift anyway.
Hank and I crossed the echoing atrium toward the desk, and my eyes slid to the wall, where the abstract rendition of the American flag hung large. No matter how many times I saw it, it was still one of my favorite things in the museum. The mirrored pieces of polycarbonate were arranged to make it look like the structure was waving in the air, and the light reflected off each piece differently so it gave a constant feeling of movement. No matter how much I disliked my boss and the boringness of my job, at least that was the first thing I got to see every shift.
Our footsteps echoed across the empty atrium as we made it to the security desk. Hank tugged his uniform jacket off the back of the spinning office chair and tossed it around his shoulders with a groan, and then he grabbed his black shoulder bag from underneath the desk.
“Any big plans for the evening?” I asked as I plopped my bag on the ground and kicked it under the desk. Then I slid my own uniform jacket off and tossed it on the back of the chair.
“Got a hot date,” Hank grunted.
“Is that right?” I asked with raised eyebrows. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
“Sara Lee.” Hank grinned. “Got a pound cake and an apple pie defrosting in the icebox as we speak.”
“You lucky, lucky man,” I sighed as my stomach let out a little grumble.
I hadn’t had time to eat my dinner yet since the Korean family I rented a room from was busy in the kitchen when I would usually eat before a shift, so I’d just had to grab a banana and make myself scarce.
“There’s some leftover pizza in the break room, help yourself,” Hank said as he headed toward the door.
“Appreciate that, Hank,” I said as I pulled my keys out of my pocket and followed him. It would be easier for me to let him out than have the old man dig through the keys again.
“Oh, and there’s some researcher coming in tonight, I left a note on the blotter,” Hank said and waved a hand at the desk.
“Got it,” I replied as we made it to the door.
“Take care of yourself, son,” Hank said, like he did every time we switched off shifts.
“You, too,” I answered, just like always, and then I locked the door behind him and turned back to the empty atrium.
It was quiet except for the hum of an unseen air conditioner, and I found it very peaceful. I double-checked that all of the main doors were locked, since Hank was prone to forgetting a door here or there, and once I was assured they were, I returned to the desk, enabled the silent alarm, and glanced down at the blotter. Hank had scrawled something on today’s date on the large calendar. I tried to decipher his chicken scratches, and it looked like it said ‘John Giles - researcher arriving at 10PM.’
Great, now I had to pretend to be polite to some nerd coming in halfway through my shift instead of reading my book. I sighed, grabbed my bag, and headed for the break room.
In stark contrast to the sleek, modern feel of the museum, the security staff break room was dingy and decrepit in comparison. A single round table with two plastic chairs that had seen better days dominated the small space, and the bare lightbulb above the table swung gently back and forth from the force of the opening door. It smelled like feet and old food, but at least there was a microwave on the small countertop space that lined the back of the tiny room. There was a pizza box on the table, and I stopped and flipped open the cardboard box to reveal a half-eaten pepperoni pizza. I shoved my bag in my designated locker, and then I grabbed a paper plate from the stack on top of the microwave and tossed a couple slices of pizza on it.
I chucked them in the microwave, leaned against the counter, and sighed as I took in the sight of the dingy room again.
The space was only slightly worse than the bedroom I rented out in the southwest corner of DC. I’d been pretty freaking lucky to find a room so close to my work, but I couldn’t pretend to be excited about renting out a single room in the back of a house owned by a large Korean family with a minimal grasp on the English language. I just kept to myself for the most part, or tried to stay out of the house. Sometimes, like when the family had relatives visiting from Korea, I preferred the peace and quiet I got at the overnight shift at the museum.
I knew I needed to get out of that tiny room in the crowded house and get my own place, but it was easier said than done, especially with the cost of living in this city. I had a good chunk in savings, and as long as my jackass boss didn’t find some asinine reason to terminate me, I should be able to have enough saved up to move by the end of the summer. Then I’d be living on ramen noodles for a while, but at least I’d be able to eat them in my own kitchen.
There was a beep, beep, beep from the microwave, and I pulled the floppy plate out. Pools of grease glistened on top of the concave pepperoni slices, and my mouth watered instantly. I glanced at my sports watch strapped to my wrist, and I figured I had a few minutes to enjoy the pizza before I needed to start my first rounds of the perimeter.
I grabbed the first slice of pizza, and I needed to use both hands to prevent the cheese and pepperoni from sliding right off. I caught a scorching hot glob of cheese with my mouth before it dripped onto my tie, and I had to make a little afs-afs-afs noise as I breathed through the pain of the blazing cheese. Once my mouth was used to the heat, I scarfed down the slice of deliciously cheesy pizza and salty pepperoni. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that first bite, and I polished off the second slice in less than a minute.
As I swallowed the last bite, I glanced at my watch and sighed. I needed to do my rounds before I could finish off the rest of the pizza, because I knew my boss would be watching the cameras after my shift and scrutinizing the screens for any signs of negligence.
Well, I wasn’t going to give that bastard the satisfaction.
I pushed back from the plastic chair, tossed my greasy paper plate in the garbage can, and then headed out of the sad room and back into the impressive museum.
My job required me to do an hourly check of the internal grounds of the museum. The museum consisted of three floors, and due to the sloped layout of the building, I was currently on the second floor. I liked to start from the top and work my way down, so I headed up to the third floor via the staircase. Hank preferred to take the elevator, but Hank was a fossil who practically belonged in a museum himself. I was barely in my mid-twenties, so I had the physical ability to climb the stairs pretty easily. Hank liked to tease me about taking my job too seriously since I also liked to train mixed martial arts at a gym near my house twice a week, but I liked to live my life by the philosophy of ‘expect the best, prepare for the worst.’ DC wasn’t exactly the safest city, and while I was confident in my weapons training, I liked to know that I’d be fine without a gun, too.
I made it to the top floor, and I started my round of checks with my favorite place in the museum, The Price of Freedom exhibit. I sauntered over to the impressive exhibit, and I took my time as I wandered around it. Early American history was my favorite subject of study, and I paused at George Washington’s sword and appreciated the impressive sight for a few minutes. Our nation’s first president had actually held that weapon in his hand and used it to kill the Redcoats, and I grinned as I imagined myself wielding a thin, sharp sword and plunging it into the chest of my enemy.
Wartime these days was too easy. Long-range weapons, high-tech camouflaging techniques, remote controlled drones; that wasn’t real war. Not like the old days, where distinguished officers faced off across a battlefield and rode alongside their men as they advanced on the enemy.
I swung an invisible sword as I imagined myself on the manliest of battlefields fighting the British. Then I glanced at the camera in the corner and sighed as I lowered my hand.
I’d always felt like I’d fit in better in the early years of my country’s birth. These days, Big Brother was watching your every move, and the gentlemanly art of a sword duel to the death was just something kids read about in history books. I longed to face off against my enemy, who unwittingly challenged me to a duel, then my maiden would be on the sidelines to cheer me on and wrap me in a warm embrace once I’d driven the blade of my sword through my opponent’s heart.
The closest I could get these days was facing off with a thirteen-year-old kid in Call of Duty.
I finished off my check of the America at War exhibit and then hurried through the rest of the third floor. The American Presidency exhibit, the First Lady exhibit, the Gunboat Philadelphia. All of the rooms were empty except for the relics and me. The Hall of Music and the two surrounding temporary exhibits were cordoned off to the public for renovations, but I stepped over the ropes and did a quick check of the rooms. They were empty, like always, so I headed downstairs again to check the second floor.
I started with the exhibit called ‘Within These Walls,’ which contained the largest artifact in the whole museum, a whole ass house. Well, most of a Georgian-style house and information about the five unique families who lived there over a two hundred year span. It was an interesting section of the museum, but it wasn’t my favorite, so I sped through the area and determined pretty quickly that no bratty kid had stowed away in the partial house until after hours.
I moved on to the other exhibits on the floor. The American Democracy one was my favorite, but I was already behind schedule, so I didn’t stop to enjoy the sights of Thomas Jefferson’s desk or James Madison’s letters. I did my contractual duty and then took the stairs down to the first floor. There were a lot more exhibits on this floor, but the rooms were smaller, so I could mostly get away with shining my flashlight inside the small rooms and moving on. By the time I was finished with this floor, my stomach was growling again, so I checked in on Jim in the control room. We made conversation, but his eyes started to droop while we talked, so he waved me away and said he’d call me if he needed me. I made my way back to the second floor and logged my rounds in the blotter at the desk before I went back to the break room. Then I warmed up a couple more pieces of pizza in the microwave, and I scarfed them standing up before I checked my watch and headed back to the main desk.
It was getting closer to ten o’clock, and I needed to make sure I was ready for when this John guy came into the research lab.
I still had some time to kill, so I pulled out my Kindle from my pack, leaned back on the spinning office chair, and kicked my feet up as I turned it on. This book was about a guy from Orlando who ended up turning into a dragon in a fantasy world, and he got to marry the king’s daughter and a bunch of other monster girls.
I tilted my head as I pondered how many wives I would be able to handle if I ever got teleported to a fantasy world, but my pondering was interrupted by a tapping sound, and I jerked my head up to see a small figure standing at the door and trying to balance a large cardboard box in one hand as they tapped with the other. I frowned and tossed my Kindle on the desk as I deactivated the silent alarm, and then I stood and made my way to the door. I glanced at my watch to see it was just about ten PM, but this small, attractive woman certainly wasn’t the John I was expecting.
As I approached the door, the raven-haired, pale woman gave me a bright smile that lit up her face. I smiled back politely, and then I unlocked the door and opened it a crack.
“Evening, ma’am,” I greeted. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Ugh, ma’am! Do I look that old?” the woman asked in a light, airy voice, and her brown eyes shone as she looked up at me. She definitely didn’t look old. She looked even younger than me, and it didn’t help that she barely came up to my chest when she stood at her tallest.
