THE OTHER SIDE OF LIFE
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I thank the creators and owners of these characters for allowing me to write fan fiction for my own and others enjoyment.
CHAPTER ONE
Wednesday, August 25, 1993
2:00 p.m.
Sam had searched everywhere he could think to look at the project including Receiving. The cabling for the Imaging Chamber simply hadn't arrived. He knew that he'd indicated in the project schedule that directly after the parallel-hybrid computer was brought online, the construction of the Imaging Chamber would need to begin immediately. He called up to Al's office.
"Al. You think you can come to the Control Room? I have something I need to talk to you about."
"Sure, Sam, be right there."
Al arrived a few minutes later. As always, the man was dressed in a unique palette particular to him. He consistently dressed sharp in a style that would garner a few pages in GQ. Still, it was flashier then Sam Beckett's more laid back style of blue jeans and button down shirts. Today was no exception. Al was wearing a bright deep purple silk shirt with black piping and a thin purple and blue tie. The blue in the tie was matched to the color of his pleated slacks, also in a fabric that indicated that the man tended to shop in rather expensive haberdasheries and not the local mall Gap. Not that there were any local malls in the vicinity of the project.
"What do you need, Sam?" Al asked casually. He was holding an unwrapped and unlit cigar, abiding with the no smoking policy at the project.
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. The headache that had been plaguing him for the past two days continued to annoy him. "Uh, well, I was wondering where the cabling for the Imaging Chamber is?"
Al's eyebrow went up. "You mean the cabling you asked for about a week ago?"
"Yeah," Sam replied, nodding.
Al shrugged. "I ordered it last week when you told me you needed it."
Annoyance crossed the physicist's face. "I need it now."
"Ever hear about a concept called lead time?" If Sam was annoyed, Al could match it. After all, he'd had to pull quite a few strings to get the order set up as quickly as he had. He'd put a rush on it and the materials would be arriving in approximately three and a half weeks. This particular order should have been put in place at least three months earlier.
Now Sam's eyebrows rose. "You've never needed much lead time before."
"You've never asked for special cabling like this before."
"Didn't you see the schedule?"
"Yeah, what of it?" Al didn't appreciate the sound of studied patience in Sam's voice. If that sound were coming from anyone but Sam, he'd peg it as condescending.
"The schedule showed that we'd be starting the Imaging Chamber this week." The studied patience continued.
"Okay." Al still didn't see where Sam was going with this.
"That means the cabling needed to be here. Now."
There it was. Sam was explaining this to him as if he were a child. Well, it was the physicist who didn't understand what was going on. "But Sam, the schedule isn't a requisition. How was I supposed to know which cabling you were going to need? Or if you were going to change the specifications or something like that?"
Sam started to pace. "Al, if I can't get that cabling in immediately, the project will fall behind schedule!"
Al watched Sam walking back and forth, his long legs striding a few steps before turning and repeating the movement in the other direction. "I can't help that, Sam. You don't give me the information when I need it, I can't help you with it. That cabling required special treatment and comes from a sole source vendor that is already at capacity supplying many of the other materials you need. It's gonna take almost a month before we'll be able to get it."
"That's unacceptable, Al." The physicist's voice radiated with slight heat.
Al answered dryly, "That's reality, Sam."
Sam narrowed his eyes, accusation pouring from his eyes. "Great! Just great! You drop the ball and we're now almost a month behind schedule. How do you think the committee is going take that news?"
Al's eyes widened, not believing what he was hearing. "I dropped the ball? Excuse me, Mr. Six Doctorates. I didn't drop the ball. The information was not given to me in a timely fashion nor with the proper need level. I handled the requisition exactly the way it should have been handled based on the data provided." He finished by crossing his arms. No way was he going to take the blame when Sam was clearly at fault.
Sam's eyes flashed. His tone was sharp. "If you hadn't been spending your time on extracurricular activities, you might have noticed that the cabling would be needed this week, regardless of the information given."
"What's that supposed to mean, Sam?" Al's voice held the calm of a coiled snake.
"I've seen you with that waitress at the Owl. Lynnette. Are you trying to make her your next conquest?" The derisive sound was not a typical one from the physicist.
"That was uncalled for, Sam." Al stated simply but with a warning in his voice as well.
"Why, 'cause she has the sense to turn you down on a regular basis?"
"Sam. What happens between me and a lady is between us. I thought we were talking about the project."
"Yeah. We were. It's just that this delay is your fault." Sam stood there, his arms crossed over his chest. His stance uncharacteristically towered over Al.
I don't have to take this. The Kid is obviously having a bad day, better to just leave, Al thought turning away. He was angry right now and, with the headache he had, he knew this was not an argument to continue at the moment. Hell, it was no wonder that he had a headache. He'd had to deal with Sam's childlike attitude for the past two days. Sam was being petulant and, from Al's perspective, acting very obstinate. Al figured that it might be due to getting what seemed to be no more than three to four hours of sleep each night for much of the last six years. It obviously had caught up to the 'genius' who claimed not to need much rest. Al didn't believe that and had tried to get Sam to take better care of his health, but the Kid would push himself too far. "We'll talk about this when you can discuss the issue rationally."
Sam had to shoot a last barb. "Can't take the truth, huh, buddy?" The words held a viciousness that caused Sam's partner to stop in mid-stride.
Al turned around slowly, eventually facing his best friend straight on. If looks were daggers, both men would have been impaled. Neither one was giving the other the benefit of civility.
Suddenly, a male voice was heard coming from throughout the room, no place in particular. "Now, boys!" Both men looked up as the voice continued, "Quit fighting now or I'll zap your neural networks."
The new computer that Sam had designed had come online a couple of days before. Al recognized the voice as Ziggy, the name that he had given to the computer. He'd felt it had a nicer ring then Sam's Alpha. Al answered the computer which incorporated Sam's brain cells and his nerve cells, "He's the one accusing me of screwing up the project."
Sam answered, this time mixed with the viciousness, an accusatory tone had been blended in. "You screwed enough women since we started. Why not my project?"
Al didn't need to hear anymore; he suddenly had had enough. He pulled back his arm as if to hit Sam. Ziggy sent an electrical charge running through the former Golden Gloves champ. It wasn't enough to really hurt him but it was enough to cause him to flinch. "OUCH!!!! All right! All right!! Stop it!"
Sam was somewhat concerned that Ziggy would shock Al, but on the other hand, the man really had deserved it from his point of view. "You know, Al, if you had just read the project reports a little closer…"
Al stated vehemently, calling out to the disembodied voice, "Hey! Why aren't you picking on Sam? He's pushing my buttons again!"
Ziggy answered, arrogance dripping. "Dr. Beckett...bringing up the past will not help matters. What's done is done. I'm sure the Admiral had his reasons." Ziggy stopped a beat and then added, "What they are...the deity that humans reference as God only knows." He then added to Al, "And, Admiral...you have been known to push my father's buttons as well."
Al rubbed his head. "Oh, lecture him but give me a jolt!"
Ziggy answered. "You were threatening bodily harm."
Al's voice was heated as he answered, "I was challenging him, not threatening him."
The computer's voice replied, "There was a 98.3 percent chance that you would have thrown what I believe you would refer to as a 'punch.'"
Answering, the feisty Italian defended his actions, "Well, then you would have been wrong! I wouldn't hit Sam. At least, not without giving him a chance to defend himself."
Ziggy's voice took on a higher level of haughtiness. "I am not wrong, Admiral. As a parallel-hybrid computer, I take into account multiple data streams. Your heart rate and brainwave activity indicated that you were at the point of action."
Al continued to argue, "A little dancing here and there followed by storming off to the gym to blow off steam isn't a threat!"
Ziggy was not backing down. "At any rate Admiral, as I indicated to Dr. Beckett. The past is past. Move forward."
Al rolled his eyes in annoyance and muttered, "I'd like to move you somewhere else."
Ziggy was nonplussed. "Dr. Beckett has determined that the current location is ideal for Project Quantum Leap. Moving it elsewhere would be illogical." Again Ziggy had a slight pause before adding, "But logic has never been your strongest ally, Admiral."
Al rolled his eyes again, looking over to Sam, "You programmed him. You explain it."
Sam answered, a bit of sarcasm in his voice. "Oh, Ziggy, that was low. Al's not that bad!"
Not hearing the tone, Al started to say, "Yeah! I…" when Sam cut him off.
"A bit emotional at times, perhaps. Hot headed, even. But illogical... seldom that entirely."
Suddenly realizing Sam wasn't being the ally he normally was, Al narrowed his eyes at him. "Oh, geez! Thanks, Sam. You're a real help."
Sam shrugged. "Hey, you want me to lie?"
"Maybe a little wouldn't hurt."
Sam continued, too casually from Al's point of view. "Ziggy would know I was lying, Al. He's built using my brain cells. You know that."
Al was upset and he started showing it. "You know, Beckett? I'm getting tired of this whole thing. Something goes wrong and suddenly you're blaming me for it and taking potshots. Well, I don't need this!"
Sam was equally upset. "You want to leave? Is that what you're saying? Well, then, why don't you. I can figure this out on my own!"
Ziggy chimed in. "If the two of you can't come to some sort of a compromise, there is no use for me to continue to maintain the facility. Until you resolve your differences, I will not deem activity in this project to be worth my while. I furthermore suggest that you go elsewhere to do it. I will make the arrangements. You have thirty minutes to pack and if you are not off project grounds within an hour, I will make sure the cooling and ventilation systems are compromised…permanently."
Suddenly, there were messages coming in from all parts of the complex: electricity being shut down, running water being shut off. Critical systems were fine for now but no one was sure what was happening and why. Al indicated that they would take care of it on their end. He looked over to Sam.
The dumbfounded physicist looked at the orb, now darkened. Al had never seen the younger man like this, his mouth slack and open, confusion clearly on his face. Even though Al was really upset with Sam, he couldn't help but feel for the inventor of this computer monstrosity. After all, this entire project had mostly been conceived in that Nobel Prize winning skull of his. Sam looked utterly lost but then just as suddenly walked to an input station and started typing.
Al watched as Sam tried every trick he could to try to access the computer's core. Ziggy had blocked all possible input ports.
"Damn it!" Sam exclaimed, frustration tangible. "I can't believe Ziggy is doing this!"
The orb suddenly lit up and the supercilious voice piped into the room. "You now have twenty-five minutes to pack." After the announcement, the orb darkened again. Sam gazed in horror at the darkened sphere, realizing he had no choice. His voice was a bit shaky as he stated, "We're going to have to leave, Al."
"You're going to leave because a computer tells you to? You've got to be freaking kidding me!" Al hadn't expected that. Sam always seemed to have a solution. They weren't always the best ones and Al sometimes needed to show Sam a superior remedy to the problem at hand. Now the Kid wasn't saying anything except to acquiesce to several thousand pounds of silicon and electronics.
The expression in Sam's eyes somewhat shocked the older man. Sam looked scared. "Ziggy can do it Al! He can hose the systems!" He started to pace, "I...I need more time to get in. I don't understand what went wrong! There must be something in the coding I missed!" He stopped. "I need to fix this or the committee is going to have my ass!"
Al nodded. He didn't want to have to face the committee anymore than Sam and tell them the billions of dollars they had poured into PQL had been wasted before the project even had a chance to get off the ground.
Al had realized early on that the Kid was onto something. He may not have multiple doctorates like Sam, but his own doctorate in Astrophysics had provided him with the tools to be able to follow Sam's concepts and a good deal of his equations. The project sounded insane but it would work; he was sure of it. He had placed his reputation on the line, had backed Sam to the hilt. If this project failed, they would both fall together. Al was sure neither of them would get another chance.
Putting aside his anger for the time being, he stated, "Okay, Sam. If you say we need to heed the words of this overgrown bucket of bolts, then we need to. I'm going on record, though. This makes no sense whatsoever. Who's in control here, the computer or its creator?"
As Sam looked at him, Al felt a chill run up his spine. Sam's face revealed he was likely too afraid to look closely at the answer to the question.
Wednesday, August 25, 1993
3:00 p.m.
They met at the motor pool a half hour later. Al had two small suitcases. Sam had six.
"What the hell is all that?" Al asked, incredulously.
Sam looked at him, surprised, "What?" He gazed around, wondering if he'd grown a second head the way the Al was acting.
Al blew out a short breath. "We aren't moving to another state, Sam. You can leave the kitchen sink behind." Al gestured to the multiple luggage that Sam had at his feet.
Sam gave the items he'd packed a glance. "Um...well...clothes and other necessary items like shoes and toiletries. Work including a laptop, snacks..." He stopped his inventory and then stated plainly, "there's nothing here except things we would need on this trip which Ziggy has deemed necessary. We don't know for certain how long this will take. I believe in being prepared."
Al looked again at the multiple bags. "No way all that is going to fit in the Ferrari." He looked over to his car and then back to Sam. "You need to learn to pack more condensed."
The Motor Pool officer came up just as Al had pointed out the space problems with his car. "I've been told not to allow you to take the Ferrari, Admiral. Something about the liabilities inherent with a private vehicle when on work related travel."
Al was sarcastic. "I wouldn't call being kicked out over a minor disagreement work related. We're taking the Ferrari." Al started for the sleek vehicle and opened the door.
Sam shook his head. "I hate to say it, Al, but he's right. Since we're both partners and the only reason we're doing this is to get the program up and running again, it is work related. Besides, if something happens to your car, the project's insurance wouldn't cover it." He stopped a second before adding, "And with as whacked as things have gone today, I certainly wouldn't want to put my car at risk and it's only a Jeep."
A breath exited from Al swiftly, "Fine." He closed his car door and followed Sam and the officer to classy Cadillac Deville. "Just... don't speed."
Sam's countenance couldn't have been more astonished. "You want me to drive? I was planning to work on the laptop while we were driving."
Sarcasm dripping, Al replied. "Of course, you were. Can't have Dr. Beckett spend more than three seconds away from his precious calculations." He snatched the keys from motor pool officer. "Knock yourself silly." They put most of the luggage into the trunk but the things they might need in the car in the back seat. Sam kept the computer bag in the front with him. After they were ensconced in the car, Al asked, "Where did you want to go first?"
Sam was at a loss. "I don't know." Suddenly they heard a chirping sound from the computer bag. Sam bent down and unzipped one of the compartments, pulling out what looked like a Plexiglas calculator. "Great...he's talking to us now."
Al growled, "Tell me he's going to stop being a pain in the butt and let us back in." Watching Sam press a couple of buttons on the small device, he frowned as he noted the expression on the physicist's face.
Sam shook his head, matching Al's frown. "I don't think he's permitting us back in. The link says, 'Reservations have been made in Socorro at the Desert Oasis for one night in the name of Albert Calavicci. Have a nice trip.'" Sam gazed at the Plexiglas handlink as if it were an alien technology rather than his own creation. "This is unreal! Now he's telling us where to go!"
Al glanced at the handlink, a wry grin on his face. "Oh, yes, Beckett. This is real and even better. I wouldn't be surprised if he even used my credit card to make the reservation." Al buckled himself in, waited for Sam to do the same, and turned the engine on.
Sam added softly under his breath..."I can't believe that I can't rein in this computer! He's like HAL in 2001! There has to be a way to hack into him, reset some parameters. A computer shouldn't be able to do this." He looked again at the handlink. "This wasn't in the specifications."
"Your computer, your fault," Al told him before carefully driving out of the parking garage and pulling onto the dirt road that would lead them eventually to the narrow two-lane highway.
Sam's head snapped towards Al's and with a somewhat heated expression in his eyes, he responded, "Don't you think I know that, Al? If I can't fix this, there's no way anyone's going to be able to use the Accelerator. If Ziggy isn't operating as designed, it would be too dangerous."
Al shrugged, "Well, then, fix it."
Sam answered, the heat in his eyes now seeping out in his voice, "Why the hell do you think I want to work on the laptop while we're driving? The sooner I can figure this out, the sooner we can get back to what's important."
Al ignored Sam's tirade. "Hey, you hungry?"
Sam didn't say anything for a moment. He'd felt somewhat distracted and suddenly realized that Al had asked him a question. The heat dissipated suddenly. "What?"
"Hungry. You hungry? You know, like in consumption of food?"
Sam looked at the driver, nodding. "I guess...a little. Where are you thinking of?"
"The Owl. I'm starved. I sure could do with a good burger," Al answered conversationally.
"If you want a good burger, the Buckhorn would be better," Sam answered in counterpoint.
This particular argument had started almost as soon as they had found the site for PQL. StarBright, while in NM, had been above ground where observations of the heavens through various instruments ranging from optical to radio telescopes could be performed. PQL, though, was build underground, close to the Trinity Bomb site on White Sands Missile Range. San Antonio, NM, the closest town to the project, had little other than the two restaurants that both claimed to have the best Green Chili Cheeseburgers in the state.
Sam had taken to the Buckhorn right away, Al to the Owl. Neither one was willing to give on which place they liked best but usually one would acquiesce for the sake of a shared meal. Today's other argument was still making its presence known within the older, more esoteric one.
Al grimaced. "Are you deliberately trying to put a hole in my stomach? We're going to the Owl."
Sam continued working on the laptop, tossing Al's line of reasoning out as non sequitur. "You can always get the burger without the green chili. And the Buckhorn simply makes a superior burger."
Rather perturbed at Sam's mind-set, Al countered, "What kind of a burger would it be without the green chili? Besides, I refuse to drink my beverage of choice in a paper cup and eat off of a Styrofoam plate. Do you know how bad for the environment that stuff is?"
Sam felt Al was being difficult. "You can always request a glass and a ceramic plate. They've always given you one before."
The response was accompanied by a small, forced breath. "And I usually have people staring at me because of it. Besides... that place is too bright for my mood and I want a cigar and I want Lynnette."
"Ah." Sam feigned amazement, as if he'd discovered a significant truth. "I wondered when the real reason would come up."
Barely sparing the physicist a glare, the older man answered, "What's wrong with a good cigar and an even better waitress?"
Sam glanced over to him, eyes presenting irritation, "It's just that you're so predictable." He paused a moment before adding, "And I can tell you plenty that's wrong with a 'good' cigar."
"I'm not predictable and there is nothing wrong with having an occasional cigar."
"Right. You can't defend that statement. You're just too stubborn to give them up. And, anyways, it's Lynette that really has you trouncing over there every chance you get."
"No, I just really like the atmosphere over there. Lynette has nothing to do with that."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, Al...spare me. If there is one thing that I've learned in the eleven years I've known you, if women are involved, you're all over it. I sometimes wonder how we've managed to avoid any sexual harassment charges at the project."
Al was hurt that Sam would infer such actions on him. "There is nothing wrong with the appreciation of the female gender. And I do not harass. I would never dream of imposing myself upon a woman without her complete consent."
Hearing the hurt in Al's voice, Sam conceded but barely. "Hmmm...yeah. I suppose."
Al's sarcasm came back full force. "Oh, gee. Thanks. Glad to know that my partner is on my side for a change."
Sam looked over at him, "Sorry, Al. You've got to admit though...you do spend an inordinate amount of time in that 'appreciation.'"
Al had a slight smile with a hint of wistfulness as he replied, "Yeah. Ain't life great?"
Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes again as a thought hit him. "Hey...I have an idea. Why don't you go over to the Owl and I'll go to the Buckhorn. That way both of us will be happy."
"Fine. Suit yourself. At least I won't have to put up with your complaining."
"And I won't have to put up with your cigar or ogling!"
Al gave his passenger another glare before continuing the trip into San Antonio. He pulled the car into a parking space on the west side of the Owl Cafe. Sam got out and walked across the street, heading further west to the Buckhorn. Al stepped out and started for the entrance to the Owl. He called out to Sam, "I'm leaving in an hour and a half. You can walk if you aren't out by then."
Sam turned to him, "Yeah, Al, just leave me in the middle of nowhere. Thanks!"
Al lowered his eyelids. "You can call the Project if you need a ride, you know." But even Al had to admit that he probably would wait for Sam, even if he were late in getting back from his lunch. "Okay. I'll wait. Just...go." He wasn't sure that Sam heard him but he waved him off before going into the Owl, letting the door close behind him. Sam had to know that he wouldn't leave him.
Sam continued walking over to the Buckhorn. Suddenly, it didn't feel as good to have gotten his way. He always enjoyed their conversations in either of the venues. It just wouldn't be the same going in without Al. Still...if Al hadn't missed expediting the parts he needed, they wouldn't be a month late on the project schedule and likely to slip more. Maybe it was good they stayed away from each other a little bit. He headed in.
The small establishment wasn't busy but it wasn't empty either. The Buckhorn bartender noticed him and gave him a smile. "Go ahead and have a seat, Dr. Beckett! We'll be right with you!"
"Thanks." Sam was suddenly reminded of the many lunches he'd eaten alone while in college. When most of the students had been going out, he'd either been in class or in a lab or teaching. Many of his meals had been solitary ones except when he was dating someone but that hadn't been a constant. Since coming onto StarBright and meeting Al, he'd become accustomed to sharing a meal with people more times then not. And for the past eight years, it had usually been with Al.
The waitress came to the table. "What can I get you, Dr. Beckett?"
He didn't need to think. He knew what he was going to get. "A green chili cheeseburger, extra onions, and a corona," he told her, smiling.
The waitress looked at the empty side of the booth with a frown as she spoke. "Where's Al today?"
Squirming slightly, he answered, "Ummm...we had an argument, Mary."
"Well, that never stopped you two from having lunch together before. Has it?" Mary was looking at him just like his mother used to on the rare occasions when he and Tom got into an argument.
Conceding the point with a lopsided grin, he responded, "No. It hasn't. I guess today is a bit different. We just decided we both need a little space."
"Must have been some argument," Seeing the look on Sam's face, she gestured towards the kitchen. "I'll just get your order on the grill."
"Thanks." When Mary came back with the beer, Sam added "I don't think Al and I have ever had a fight like this one. I mean...he was ready to punch me out!"
"Oh, that doesn't sound like Al!" she commented, watching as Sam first juiced the lime slice against the lip of the bottle and then forced it into his Corona so that it was sitting inside the bottle.
Sam nodded, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Yeah...I know...I guess I was a little out of character too." He paused for a moment and then sadly added, "I'm not exactly proud of what I said to him."
Mary paused as if wondering if she should insert herself into the conflict. Finally deciding that she should at least ask, she voiced, "Did you apologize?"
Sam looked up suddenly, heat in his eyes, "Hell, no. I may not have been nice about how I said it...but I was right! If anyone is apologizing, it should be him."
Mary sighed. It was obvious that Dr. Beckett was still upset and, although she seldom saw this side of him, knew he could be a stubborn cuss. "Well, give him some time. I'm sure that everything will work out."
"I hope so." He took a pull on his beer. It tasted good; it was hot out today.
Giving Sam a little smile, the Mary attended to her other customers while Sam's cheeseburger was being prepared. A few minutes later, the burger was brought out with a rather large bun and hand formed patty. He noted that his beer was almost empty and ordered a second one. He took a bite from his burger and was rewarded with the burn of green chili. That's what he loved about these burgers!
Mary brought him the second beer and he repeated the juicing of the lime and forcing it into the bottle. Sam continued to sip his beer and enjoy the best green chili cheese burger anywhere.
Wednesday, August 25, 1993
3:30 p.m.
Al felt a sliver of the tension in his shoulders ease as he walked into the Owl. Okay, so the ambiance was brighter and a little more cheery at the Buckhorn. But Al wasn't in a cheery mood. The darker lighting in the Owl suited his mood to a "T" at the moment. Pulling out a cigar, he cut off the end and lit it, puffing on it to get the ambers burning evenly. When he was satisfied with how it was burning, he walked into the main room.
"Hi, Al!" Lynnette tossed over her shoulder. "Sit anywhere you want. I'll be right over."
Al grinned winningly at her words and followed her suggestion. Finding a booth just across from the bar, he slid in, occupying his time by noting the various dollar bills and photos that adorned the walls. The place really reminded him of some of the many bars he had visited during his flying days, before Vietnam.
Lynnette finished serving the other table and came over to Al, pulling out her pad. "So, Al, same as always? Green chili burger but chili on the side and an A&W Root Beer?"
He gave her another winning smile to match the first. "Unless your boss has decided to go with my suggestion and make a specialty root beer, darling."
"You know we're never going to do that, Al. Even with all the people coming into town to check out the 'war,' there's not enough business for that to be profitable." She paused a moment before asking "By the way, where's your sidekick?"
"Across the street," he told her bluntly. "And he can just stay there, for all I care."
"That doesn't sound like the Al I know. I mean, I've seen you two arguing over things but never getting… you know… mad. What happened?" Lynette leaned against the edge of the booth, allowing the hand with the pad in it to drop to her side.
Al chuckled bitterly. "Oh, it was a doozy. The damned nozzle goes and accuses me of holding him back when he didn't even give me a chance! And then, he starts bringing up every little idiosyncrasy I have and practically accuses me of being the spawn of the devil himself!"
Lynette shook her head. "That doesn't sound like Dr. Beckett either. He's usually so…I don't know...quiet and nice."
Al huffed out a breath, stating with vehemence, "Believe me, darling. Nice and quiet are not the words to describe him." Al looked up at her. "You've never seen the man when he's on a good stubborn." He rubbed his forehead. "Anyway, I didn't come in here to dwell on Sam Beckett." He gave her a lecherous smile. "How about that beer?"
Lynette smiled, "Coming right up, Al."
The order was placed and Al's root beer was brought to him in a red plastic glass with a straw.
Al's smile dropped the moment Lynette was out of sight. "Damn it, Beckett. All you had to do was let me know ahead of time when exactly you needed that requisition. It isn't that hard!"
About five minutes later, his burger arrived via Lynette and was served on a small plate with a paper underneath the burger to sop up any excess grease. Admittedly, the burgers at the Buckhorn were bigger, but they were still mighty tasty at the Owl. The patties were hand formed at the Owl just like at the Buckhorn. And Al preferred the more conservation-oriented Owl. And not just for the plastic, reusable plates and cups. The fries were crispy on the outside and soft and warm on the inside, just like Al liked it. Plus, the burgers weren't as spicy, which was a benefit to Al's weakened digestive system.
Putting a small amount of the green chili on the burger, Al loaded it up with ketchup and mustard before taking a bite.
He was savoring the flavor when Lynette came up to Al. "Hey, do you know who might be driving that Cadillac that is parked on the west side? George is wondering if it can be moved. We're having the blacktop people coming in today to take care of that side of the building."
Al put down his burger. Waving his arm, he answered, "Pave over it. Just let me get the luggage out first."
Lynette's jaw dropped. "That's the car you're driving? Al, it's just not you! What happened to your little red Ferrari?"
"Tell me about it," Al commented. "But you know how businesses are. If you are on their time, they want you to drive their vehicles. I had to leave the Ferrari at home."
Lynette sighed. "I wouldn't know. I only have the 1978 Ford pickup that Bill left me in the divorce. I guarantee the Owl's not going to give me a car to drive!"
Al lowered his eyelids seductively. "And why haven't you invited me in your cab for a test drive yet, Lynette?"
"You're welcome to take a test drive with me anytime, not that it gets much pick 'em up. But really, can you move the sedan? I don't want George getting upset."
Al sighed slightly. "All right. Keep the burger warm for me, will you?" At Lynette's nod, Al went out to move the vehicle. He found all the spots along the front were filled, so he had to park the car on the east side of the building. After moving the vehicle, he headed back in to enjoy his lunch.
Thirty minutes later, Sam walked out of the Buckhorn and started walking across the street. He stopped suddenly, his mouth dropping open. He knew where Al had parked. He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. "Great. He did it. He left me!" he said out loud to the New Mexican desert.
He turned and walked back to the restaurant where he'd just finished his lunch, quite a bit upset. He tried to call the project but Ziggy would not allow his call to be taken. Continuing on the same path, the situation conveyed him into an angrier mood. He figured he had no choice but to start walking to Socorro. Perhaps he could hitch a ride there.
Sure enough, a car came by and picked him up on the service road, the driver agreeing to let him off at the Socorro exit.
Wednesday, August 25, 1993
5:00 p.m.
Al sat in the Owl and finished his burger, topping it off with a dessert that seemed to make the world a better place, in his opinion. Paying his bill, he gave Lynette a friendly kiss on the cheek before heading out the door. Maybe this day would get better after all.
He should have realized that the stars, as usual, had it in for him.
Al looked around the parking lot with a frown. No Sam. He looked at his watch, wondering what was taking him so long. He walked over to the Buckhorn, ready to quote Sam the Riot Act about dragging his heels. He was livid when he learned that the latter had left a good ten minutes before.
Mary explained, "He tried to call to his work but said the damned computer wouldn't answer his call."
The bartender added, "I noticed him walking off in the direction of I-25."
Al looked at him, incredulous. "You're kidding me. Sam's not that stupid."
"Listen, all I know is what I saw. Dr. Beckett seemed awfully upset and angry."
Al pinched the bridge of his nose. "This isn't happening," he muttered under his breath. "Thanks," he told the waitress and bartender before leaving the Buckhorn and heading for the car.
"George should have paved over the car," he groused. Getting into the vehicle, he pulled out of the parking area and started west towards I-25, assuming that Sam made the dim-witted decision to walk to Socorro, which at fifteen miles was one hell of a walk. He was somewhat annoyed by a prickling sensation bothering him, as if he needed to hurry to his destination.