THE OTHER SIDE OF LIFE
CHAPTER TWO
Wednesday, August 25, 1993
4:50 p.m.
As Sam opened the front passenger side door to the car that had stopped to pick him up, he noticed there was another person in back seat lying down that he couldn't really make out. Sam slid onto the bucket seat of the Thunderbird. They had gone up the road a little ways when the driver said to him. "You know, I'm a pretty nice guy, but my buddy in the back isn't always so nice."
Sam was about to answer when he heard the guy in the back seat say roughly, "Don't turn around."
Sam wasn't sure what he meant until he heard the sound of a revolver being cocked and felt a metal cylinder pressed against his skull. "Ummm...okay...let's not do anything rash. What do you want?" He stated the words with a calm he didn't feel.
"We want your wallet and that watch you're wearing. Just throw them over the back of the seat," answered the man in back who at this point was holding all the cards.
Sam nodded. He was terrified but figured if he just did what they asked, he had a better chance of surviving the encounter. Keeping his composure, he removed his wallet, an old decrepit Velcro one that looked as if it had seen better days. His watch, though, was a solid state time computer, LED digital watch from the Hamilton/Pulsar Watch Company which his sister had given him a number of years before. It had an inscription on the back.
The driver stated, "I want that calculator too. It looks cool."
Sam was confused, "What calculator?"
He nodded his head toward Sam's chest. "The one in your shirt pocket."
"That's not a calculator" Sam answered, hoping to keep the handlink.
"What is it, then?" the man asked.
"It's a computer interface. It wouldn't be much use to you."
"I don't care. I want it anyways."
"Throw it back here too," the man in the back snarled.
Sam sighed and took it out of his pocket. He took a deep breath, gave it one final look, and then threw his link to Ziggy over the seat. Once the men had what they wanted, they slowed the car down a bit. "Open your door," ordered the man in back.
"Um, the car is moving…and…"
He felt the gun barrel being pushed up against the back of his head again. He opened the door and saw the road moving rather quickly as the car continued on with constant velocity. Closing his eyes, he waited for the bullet to enter his skull, wondering if he would feel anything in the split second until his life ended.
The barrel was suddenly pulled away from his head providing the physicist relief that was quickly quashed as the man in the back hit Sam on the head with the butt of the revolver stunning him. He felt the driver push him out the door. As he fell towards the pavement he heard the car accelerate as they sped away, leaving Sam in their vapor trail.
Wednesday, August 25, 1993
5:10 p.m.
Al had driven only four miles before he saw the form of a man on the side of the highway. His heart in his throat, he quickly pulled over, put the car into park, and ran to it knowing from silhouette that it was his best friend.
"Sam! Sam, can you hear me?" Checking the physicist carefully, he winced at what he saw. Sam's face and elbows were pretty cut up and he had gravel in his wounds. Not to mention the nice bump that was forming on the back of his head. Thankfully, though, there were no broken bones or evidence of any life threatening injury.
"Ohhh...what..." Sam started, obviously not quite coherent.
"Come on. Let's get you fixed up. What happened?" Getting no answer, Al carefully pulled Sam up to his feet and guided him to the car.
Sam shook his head attempting to throw off his dazed look. He peered at Al, a question on his face. "Where did you go? The car was gone. I thought you'd left me!"
"I was in the Owl, Sam. They had me move the car so they could blacktop the parking lot." Al looked at him with concern. "I wouldn't leave you, Sam. I might threaten. But I wouldn't leave you."
"Well, I didn't know that. I hitchhiked. The guys who picked me up turned out to be thieves..." As his mind went over the past few minutes, his face contorted and he verbally exploded, "Oh DAMN, DAMN, DAMN!"
"You got mugged?!" Al exclaimed with alarm as he forced Sam to sit in the back seat of the car, pulling out the first aid kit as he did so.
"Al, they got the handlink!"
Al looked at Sam for a moment, slight shock on his face before he refocused on the task at hand, namely cleaning up his friend and making sure he was okay. "We'll build another one when we get back," he told him plainly. "Let me see your forehead."
"You don't get it do you? They got the handlink." Sam was agitated. "Oh, man...the committee's not going to like that I lost a $10,000 piece of equipment! And the prototype to boot!"
"I'll take care of it," Al told him more firmly. "You're more important than a lousy $10,000. Now, let me see your hands."
Sam continued moving around, not letting Al take care of his wounds. Al sighed in frustration. "Beckett, are you going to let me take care of your cuts or do I have to take you to the hospital and have them strap you down?" As he was trying to calm Sam down, he noticed that the watch Sam always wore wasn't on his wrist. He wasn't surprised. A thief would see a fine watch like that as something to pawn.
When Sam finally stopped moving, allowing Al to clean the cuts, Al spoke as he gently wiped the wounds with the antiseptic cloths. "They got your watch," he said matter-of-factly, although there was a sense of condolence in his voice.
Sam's face took a downturn. "Yeah...Katie saved all year when she was 20 for that watch."
"I'll take care of that too." Al was using a Q-Tip to brush on antibiotic ointment.
Grimacing, Sam asked, doubt evident in every word, "How are you going to take care of it, Al?
Al stopped and looked into Sam's eyes. "Trust me. I'll take care of it."
Looking at his friend, wishing he could trust the look in his eyes, the younger man suddenly exclaimed, "You know, Al... today just really sucks rocks!"
Al couldn't help but chuckle slightly at that. "You can say that again." Finishing his ministrations, he stood up. "We better get going."
"I suppose." Sam was despondent. He was sure that everything was coming apart at the seams. The computer, the project, his friendship. How stupid could he be!
Taking a deep breath and a long look at his friend, Al responded. "Look. Let's just get to Socorro and check in. Then we can decide our next step. Did you have anything else project related with you that they took?
Blanching white, the injured man exclaimed, "I had my PQL access card with me! I didn't take it out 'cause we were so rushed!"
With a sigh came the answer. "I'll take care of it, too."
Despondency turned to fretfulness. "Just how are you gonna take care of it, Al? Huh? Those jerks put a gun to my head and I give them everything. There's no way you can take care of this." Sam shook his head and hotly added, "I must be the dumbest guy on the face of the planet. Getting in a car with two people I don't know!"
"Smart people do stupid things when they're frustrated and angry. It happens all the time, especially with you." He regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth.
Sam looked at his partner, eyes narrowed. "So...you're saying I'm frustrated and angry most of the time?"
Al lowered his eyelids. "I'm saying that..." He sighed. "Never mind."
"No, Al... spit it out. You usually say exactly what you think."
Al took a breath. "Well, you don't often think things through before jumping ahead and making assumptions."
"So now I just go off half-cocked!" Sam looked away. By the set of his jaw, Al could tell he was ticked.
Al tried again, not sure he wasn't just digging in deeper but wanting Sam to know he appreciated the man's uniqueness. "Sam, it's just that with someone with as high an IQ as yours - although I'm still not sure how they came up with a number of 235 - well…you don't always see things the same way as everyone else."
The physicist turned his head suddenly, glaring at Al. "Hey...you're knocking my IQ now? First you tell me I'm frustrated and angry. Then you tell me I go off half-cocked. now you tell me my IQ isn't accurate? God, Al...with friends like you..."
"No, Sam. You just... well, you react." He shrugged. "Anyway, it's a moot point. We got to get back on the road and to our hotel." He looked at Sam's pupils. "I don't think you have a concussion. Maybe you should lie down and rest in the back seat."
"I'm not lying down in the back seat. I'll just sit up front." Sam obstinacy continued to rise.
Al put his hands up as if to say 'have it your way' and got out of the way as Sam stood up quickly. The sudden change in blood pressure caused the physicist to stumble. Al put out a steadying hand. Sam growled out, pushing the hand away, "I'm all right."
Al sighed and held his hands up splayed in front of him. "Fine." He walked around the car to get into the driver's seat. "Could give stubborn lessons to a mule," he muttered under his breath.
Sam walked to the front passenger side and opened the door, getting in. With his voice dripping with sarcasm, he stated, "Come on, Al. We might as well find out what lovely things are still waiting for us. The way the day is going, Murphy must be laughing his ass off."
"He's having a regular field day," Al commented as he started the engine again and eased back onto the highway. After allowing Sam to sulk in silence for a few minutes, he started casually, "You remember anything about that car, Sam?" Even before Sam spoke, Al pressed a couple of buttons on the console.
Sam heard the reasonableness in Al's voice and felt a little guilty for the way he'd been acting since Al had found him on the side of the road. He should be grateful, not petulant. He brushed off his attitude, figuring it was just the residual fear from having been mugged affecting him. That and the headache had only continued to get worse. Now it was pounding out a rhythm more in line with a jackhammer.
Sam closed his eyes, remembering. "Yeah... it was a Ford Thunderbird, probably an '80 or '81 model, dark blue. It had bucket seats in fake leather. There was a pair of green, spongy dice with black spots hanging from the rearview mirror. The car smelled like they were smokers and the ashtray overflowing confirmed that. The driver was sandy-haired and I don't know what the guy in the back looked like...but he had a revolver."
When Sam hesitated, Al gently pressed, "What kind of revolver?"
Sam shook his head. "I'm not sure...I didn't get a look at it but from the way it clicked and the feel of the barrel against my head, I think it might have been a .44."
Hearing his friend talk so casually about having a loaded gun against his skull gave Al a shiver. He knew that Sam was just pulling on the fact that his memory was better than most. Still, the sheer lack of emotion was disconcerting. Instead, he asked, "Anything else you can remember?" Al's gaze shifted from the road to the dashboard.
"Hmmmm...I think that's about all, not that it matters. They're never going to catch those guys." Sam slumped a bit. The despondency was back.
"Trust me. I'll take care of it." Al gave a slight smile when he saw the small green light on the dashboard come on, assuring him that Sam's information was in good hands.
As they pulled up to the old 1960's style two story motel, the Desert Oasis, Sam noticed the neon Palm Tree sign that might still light up in the night sky. He remembered staying in some of these old places during trips with his family when he was a boy. He and Tom had always loved the pools.
"Oh, this looks... interesting," Al commented with a voice that indicated the word was being used as a euphemism. He never was fond of motels. The rooms weren't big enough for his tastes. But it was only one night. He supposed he could put up with one night. After parking the car just in front, Sam and Al both got out of the vehicle and headed into the lobby area. There was a short, skinny guy with a pimply complexion behind the counter reading the sports page. The two men waited a moment before Al said, "Excuse me. We'd like to check in."
The clerk raised his head and looked first at one and then the other. "You're kidding, right?" His gaze indicated that they were not worth missing the news on his favorite team. Still he got up and asked, "Do you have a reservation?"
"Under Calavicci."
The man nodded and checked the reservation. His eyebrow rose for just a second and then he asked Al to fill in the little card with all the pertinent information
As Al slowly started to fill in the card he asked, "Where can we get a good cup of
coffee?"
Sam frowned at his question. "How can you think of coffee after what just happened?"
Al raised his head to look at his friend. "Quite simple. I want coffee. And I want you to relax. You can have a cup of tea if you'd prefer."
Sam shook his head. "I don't think I'm gonna relax. You know what the committee is going to do when they find out about all this? I'll be lucky if I can get a job sweeping floors on someone else's project!"
Al sighed. "They wouldn't waste your talents like that, Sam. I told you... I'm taking care of it. The committee will only have to worry about whether or not you are alive. And you are. So... tea or coffee right after we check in."
Sam wasn't letting it go. "I still can't understand what you think you can do. Those guys are long gone and we haven't even contacted the police yet.
Turning to Sam, Al cut his bickering short. "Stop it, Sam. Just stop thinking about it. Give me the benefit of the doubt, okay? I've pulled tougher rabbits out of my hat than this one."
Sam sighed, shaking his head. He was just pointing out what anyone could see. If Al wanted to delude himself, who was he to try and remedy that. "Okay. Whatever..."
Al rolled his eyes before accepting the keys to the motel room. He noticed that they'd been given a second floor room. "Do you have a first floor room?"
The clerk shook his head. "No, we're booked up. We have a festival in town tomorrow and the rooms are all booked. You were lucky to get a room as it is."
Al nodded. "Okay. We'll be at that coffee shop if anyone calls for us," he told the clerk before grabbing Sam's arm and pulling him out of the lobby." They walked out to the car. Sam stood there for a moment, still lost in thought. Al tried to get his attention. "Sam… Sam… In the car. Coffee. Tea."
Sam slipped into the passenger side. He sat cross armed, not saying a word as they headed toward the restaurant. He was definitely in a snit. When they got to the establishment, he excused himself to go to the restroom.
Al, on the other hand, ordered a sugar-free cappuccino for himself and a pot of orange spice tea for Sam. The waitress brought the cappuccino and he sipped at it as he waited for Sam to return.
Finally, Sam made his appearance at the table, sitting down across from Al..."They really did a number on me. I look like I've been in a fight."
"You have been, Sam. One for your life. You did the right thing letting them rob you. They could have killed you."
Nodding and shaking slightly at the memory, the younger man replied, "I was terrified, Al. I thought they'd do that anyways. I really believed that my life was at an end. I guess it was a good thing there weren't any cars coming when they pushed me out."
"I'm glad that you weren't seriously hurt," Al stated emphatically.
"Yeah...I was really lucky I guess."
Nodding, Al gestured towards the pot of tea. "I ordered you a tea. That orange stuff you're so fond of."
"Okay...fine. I don't know why you're insisting I drink something though."
"Because if you don't relax, you won't sleep a wink tonight, that's why. You've just got to trust me. Things will work out."
"Al... I'm not going to be able to sleep anyways. I can't believe I gave them the handlink. Just threw it over the seat." He took a sip of the tea.
"Handlink or bullet. Don't think you had much of a choice there, Sam." He was taking another sip of his coffee when he noticed a police officer entering the cafe. After talking with a hostess, the officer started towards the two men.
Sam was oblivious to the officers. "Well...when the committee realizes I lost $10,000 worth of equipment, I might have preferred the bullet."
"Don't talk like that! They won't ever hear about it," Al assured, looking up as the two lawmen approached.
Al had known that Sam would continue on this line of thought. When Sam got stuck on something, it was like hearing a broken record. He gritted his teeth to hear him say yet again, "You keep saying that. We can't keep something of this magnitude from them. You know that."
"Excuse me, gentlemen," the officer put in as he approached. "Are either of you Dr. Samuel Beckett?"
Sam looked up, "I'm Dr. Samuel Beckett."
"We got a tip on some stolen items that belong to you."
Sam was startled. He certainly hadn't expected this. "Excuse me?" He looked at them confused, "How could you know...we haven't called you yet?"
The officer ignored the confusion. "All I know is that someone called it in. We were able to track the suspects and we retrieved... let's see..." He looked down at his pad. "…A wallet, a watch and a calculator. At least, we think it's a calculator."
Sam's eyes grew wide as he heard the list of the items. "How...what...?"
"Caught these guys about fifteen minutes ago trying to pawn the calculator and the watch. Hate to say it but you aren't the first they've done this to."
"Can't say I'm surprised. They seemed to have no problem with taking what they wanted."
"We just need you to come down to the station and verify that these are indeed your belongings. We'd also like a statement and ask you to identify them."
Sam didn't know what else to say. "Okay. But I can't identify the guy in the backseat. I never got a clear look at him"
Al quickly took a draw of the last of his coffee and stood up. "We can follow you, if you don't mind." He got up to start after the officers when Sam called the server over.
Sam asked the waitress for a cup to take the tea in. Now that he'd been drinking it, he decided that Al had a good idea after all. She brought him a Styrofoam cup quickly.
Al grimaced at the take out container but figured that getting the tea into Sam was more important. He watched his friend put on the lid then rise to follow Al. His buddy was still confused.
"I still don't understand how they could figure this out."
"Socorro has a good police department," Al said, shrugging.
"They can't be that good, Al. The thieves sure as hell wouldn't have told them; they were trying to pawn the stuff. Something's up."
The officers were waiting at the door. They paid their bill and exited with them, following the patrol car to the main police station in the sedan and hoping that the necessary paperwork wouldn't take too long.
Sam had been quiet since they'd left the café but as they pulled up to the station he started up again. It was getting on Al's nerves. "It just doesn't make sense. I mean, if someone saw what happened, surely they would have stopped but you're the only one who did. And we sure didn't call it in."
"Well, I couldn't let my friend just lie there on the interstate," Al hedged, ignoring Sam's last comment. He figured if he ignored the issue, perhaps he'd just let it go.
"Yeah. Thanks. As groggy as I was, I'd probably have walked right into traffic. That would probably have killed me as much as any bullet. Probably what those guys were hoping for. They wouldn't have to murder me and it would have been looked at as an accident."
Al cleared his throat for a moment as if uncomfortable at Sam's statement, again said with seemingly the same concern as if man were talking about which wrench to use on the Control Room shelving. "Let's just get this over with and make sure they don't do this to anyone else again."
"Yeah." There was enough picture identification in the wallet to prove that the items were Sam's, other than the "calculator" which didn't have his name on it. But he was able to describe it in detail so they figured it must be his. Sam put the watch back on his wrist and the wallet back in his pocket after checking to see that everything was in it. The five dollars cash that was in it was gone, but all of the cards, including his PQL one were still there.
The paperwork and the line up, though, took longer. It was 11 p.m. before they got out of the station. "Hey, Al? You think that coffee shop is still open? I'm feeling a little hungry."
"We'll take a look. If not, I know of a 24 hour taco stand we can grab something from and take it back to the hotel."
They found that the coffee shop was still open. Sam decided that breakfast sounded pretty good and he ordered the huevos rancheros and a glass of orange juice.
Al, on the other hand, ordered another cup of coffee - decaf this time - and blueberry waffles. They were both eating in relative silence when Sam again brought up the mysterious return of his possessions.
Al let out a frustrated breath. "Give it a rest, Sam. You got them back. That's all that matters, isn't it?"
Sam gave him a look that indicated that he found the situation at least as interesting as figuring out the energy signatures necessary to charge the radium ring of the Accelerator. "Yeah, it matters. It's a mystery. I don't know how I'm going to get to sleep until I solve it!"
Al knew Sam was telling the truth about the possibility of lack of sleep. If Sam needed one thing after this horrible day, it was sleep.
Sam had continued, "I hate it when something like this happens. I mean, everything has to have a logical explanation. Things don't just happen. The police aren't psychic. At least I don't think they are..."
"No, they're not psychic," Al agreed with a sigh. "And you aren't going to get a wink in if I don't fess up."
"What do you mean? You didn't call the police. I was with you all the time."
"Yes, you were. You were also preoccupied while I used the in dash communications link to Ziggy while I was grilling you about the car. He sent that information to the Socorro police."
"You've been in contact with Ziggy?" Sam's stopped his fork in midair as he looked over to Al, disbelief on his face.
Al nodded, cutting a piece of the pancakes with his fork. "In a way."
Sam huffed, "He won't even take my calls. I tried from the Buckhorn. The project operator tried to put me through and then the line went dead. I tried it five times." He put down his fork. "The last time the operator started to tell me there was a computer problem but then the phone went dead."
"It wasn't exactly a phone call, Sam. It's all part of the security system. It was an emergency so Ziggy responded and tracked the handlink."
"I figured you'd left for Socorro. You said if I wasn't out in time, you'd leave. But I was out earlier than the time you gave me and since I didn't see the car, I figured the only choice I had was to start walking." He paused for a moment. "When was the security system put in?"
"Finished last week. All of the project's vehicles have it, including my Ferrari and your Jeep. Took me months to get the whole thing set up. You did ask me to head up security for the complex, didn't you?"
"Yeah... Is that what was keeping you from getting the cables?"
"Hey, you're the one that didn't get the requisition to me in good time."
"I told you it was in the schedule."
"A schedule isn't a requisition form nor does it tell me what kind of cable you specifically need."
"Still... you could have asked me about it."
"I did. And you told me that you would tell me later. Later turned out to be a week before you actually needed it, not the three months it takes for it to be manufactured under current constraints."
"Whatever." Sam paused a moment and then added, "This argument is going nowhere. Let's just drop it for now." He started to pick up his fork again but decided against it. Suddenly the eggs in front of him didn't have the same appeal.
"Fine by me." Al tried to focus on the blueberry waffles but found that he no longer had an appetite. "How about we get back to the motel? It's late and I'm exhausted."
"Okay. I'm pretty tired myself." Sam took care of the check with his credit card and they headed out the door to the car.
The drive back to the motel room was quiet. Few cars were on the road and even fewer people were walking about. Nevertheless, Al wasn't comfortable with the area and decided that it was best if they get into the motel room quickly.
Thursday, August 26, 1993
1:00 a.m.
It was late when they arrived back at the Desert Oasis and were glad they'd picked up the key earlier. Al found he had to park a distance away from the stairs to the upper floor door marked 126 as the rest of the spaces were taken. Not surprising with the entire place booked.
Al turned to Sam. "Here, load up and carry in what you can. I'll secure the car and be right up."
Sam took his luggage, trying to carry way too much. Al was making sure everything was stowed away that they wouldn't be bringing in. Sam opened the door with the keycard, balancing the stuff. He kicked the door open with his foot, finding the room to be very dark. He walked in and soon found the edge of a bed. Putting the things he was carrying on it, he turned to find a lamp. His was rewarded with the feel of a lampshade and figured that there would be a switch on the body of the lamp.
Sam was rubbing his hands along the lamp trying to find the switch. He was getting the distinct impression there was something familiar about the shape of the lamp. Al suddenly switched on the light next to the door and was greatly amused to find Sam Beckett with his hands firmly on the 'body' of the lamp. It was in the shape of a woman's naked form. Sam's one hand was on her hip and the other on her right breast.
As soon as Sam saw what he was doing, he pulled back as if the lamp was white hot.
Al stood by the door, leaning against the door jam. The Kid's face was so freaking shocked. "So, Sam, how long has it been since you had a woman in your arms?"
"That's not funny, Al." Sam was blushing deep red.
"Actually, it's quite hysterical. I just wish I had a camera!"
Sam's shock turned to a glare pointed directly at Al who he knew would not let this go. He was about to say something else but his voice was effectively stopped as the décor of the room suddenly reached their consciousness. The walls were covered with garish red velvet wallpaper and there were mirrors on the ceiling. However, it was when they both simultaneously noticed the single queen size bed that they decided to take action.
They called down to the office. The night clerk reiterated that no other rooms were available, that, no, there were no roll-a-ways and, just to note, it WAS 1 a.m. Both Sam and Al knew that finding another place at this late hour was not likely especially if a place like this was booked solid. They suddenly realized that this was it. Ziggy had booked the room and Sam was ready to pull out all the chips he'd so carefully put in place and melt him down for scrap metal.
He voice was quiet rage as he said to Al, "You take the bed, Al."
Al looked at him, concerned at the tenseness in Sam's shoulders. "Where are you going to sleep?"
"On the floor, of course."
Al shook his head. "And hear you complain when your back is killing you tomorrow. No way. I'll take the floor. I've done it enough in my lifetime."
Sam wasn't going to concede or compromise. "No way, Al. You've definitely got a bad back. As a doctor, I can't let you do that."
Al knew he was pushing it, but he wasn't going to give in. "My back's fine. You take the bed."
Sam voice was adamant. "No, it isn't, Al. You know you should take the bed. I'm sleeping on the floor. That's final."
Al figured there was only one thing he could say. "Then I'm sleeping on the floor too. I'm not taking the bed."
Sam gave up. "Suit yourself, Al." He took a pillow and a cover off the bed and went into the corner, turning his back to Al."
"Hey, aren't you going to get out of your clothes?"
A petulant "No" was all that Al could get out of Sam.
Feeling discretion was the better part of valor, Al decided that two could play that game. He too grabbed bedding from the bed and headed into the opposite corner. As he tried to find a comfortable position he muttered under his breath, "Stubborn mule!"
Sam's voice piped up. "I heard that. I'm not stubborn."
Al didn't answer. They both eventually fell asleep. Several hours later, Al awoke from a nightmare. He realized that Sam was probably right. Ever since Vietnam, sleeping on the floor would often trigger nightmares. And Sam was also right about his back. It was really hurting. He looked from Sam, sleeping and slightly snoring, to the bed and decided. "Hey, this is stupid. I'm driving again tomorrow…I should get a good night's sleep." He got up and took the bed.
The next morning, Sam was up early as was his habit since he was a child on the farm. He hadn't slept well and was still yawning. He looked over to the corner where Al had fallen asleep the night before and was surprised when he didn't see him. Hearing a soft buzzing sound coming from the bed, he realized what had happened. While he was glad that Al had finally given in - after all 'someone' should use the bed. - he also noted that Al had been right. His back was killing him. He pulled out the first aid kit and looked for the Tylenol that he knew he would find in it.
After taking the Tylenol, he set up his laptop working on the coding that he'd written to build Ziggy trying to figure out just what had gone so terribly wrong. If he'd been concerned before, the previous day - and night - had only solidified his desire to get to the bottom of Ziggy's problem.
About an hour later, a soft moan came from the bed as Al's eyes slowly opened. Rolling towards one end, Al turned and sat on the edge, rubbing his face before looking around. The room was still horrible but at least the bed was comfortable... for the most part. He slowly stood up and walked towards the only desk in the room, where Sam looked as if he were having the programmer's equivalent of the Heavyweight Championship.
"Any luck?" he murmured around a yawn.
"I just don't get it, Al. Ziggy shouldn't be acting this way. I can't find anywhere in the coding where he'd develop the ability to do what he's doing. I mean, he's the closest to true artificial intelligence that's been built up to this point, but he's still a computer."
"Maybe you made him too smart for his own good. You certainly gave him a big enough ego!" Al joked haphazardly. "Listen, I'm going to go grab a shower and get dressed so we can get out of this dump."
Sam nodded absentmindedly and waved him off, still lost in the work he was engaged in.
After Al was finished, he tapped Sam on the shoulder. He noticed the Kid's muscles were tense. "Hey... you want to get your shower so we can get out of here?" He knew if he didn't get Sam off the computer now, they would be there all day and perhaps another night and that just wasn't going to happen. Not in this place.
"Just a minute more, Al," Sam said as he continued to tackle the dilemma of Ziggy's coding. He again waved Al off, focused on the work before him. Al decided that he'd have to use a little force to get the physicist under a stream of running water.
"No," Al told him plainly, putting his hand in front of the computer's screen. "Now. I'm not spending the rest of this trip here while you tinker with your wunderkind. Get showered and dressed while I pack the car."
Sam looked up at Al ready to argue but noticed the mirrored ceiling. He smiled. "Yeah. I guess you're right. I don't want to stay here any longer than necessary either."
He saved the work he'd been doing and shut off the computer. He headed into the shower and found that the heat of the water somewhat soothed his still aching back.
Thursday, August 26, 1993
8:30 a.m.
After they had gotten cleaned up and checked out, Sam heard the chirping again on the handlink. He took it out of his pocket and read the information presented. "Ziggy's telling us to go to Las Cruces."
"I don't care what that bucket of bolts says. If we have to be out on the road, we're going to Albuquerque. I'm making the hotel arrangements from now on." They put the rest of their things in the car, got in, and headed out.
"Okay. That works for me. You know, since we're out here anyways, we should try to address that problem with the project."
"The only problem with the project is your stupid computer." Al stated, a little venom in his voice.
The hurt in Sam's voice gave Al a bit of pause. "Ziggy isn't stupid."
"Just stubborn like you," the older man quipped back.
"And I told you last night, I'm not stubborn." The justification in Sam's voice was thick.
Al let out a derisive breath, "Yeah, right. Tell me another one, Josephine."
Sam's head popped up. "Josephine? You know a Josephine?"
"Sam, you obviously don't recognize a reference to one of the funniest movies ever made."
The younger man looked hurt. "I recognized it. And the proper line is 'Not tonight, Josephine.' Why to you think I questioned the name? I wasn't sure if you actually knew a Josephine."
"So you've seen the movie, 'Some Like it Hot?'"
Rolling his eyes, Sam gave Al a sarcastic look. 'What, you think I've spent my life holed up in a cave?"
"The thought did occur to me," Al taunted him mercilessly.
"Hey, I enjoy classic film as much as the next guy. I used to go to the student union and watch Monroe pictures all through college. I bet I know more about the picture than you do."
Al chuckled. "You got a bet. So... what's the prize?"
"Um...one who wins buys lunch?"
Al blinked for a moment. "Wait a minute. The winner buys? Isn't that a little backwards?"
"Yeah...well, I figure that after trouncing you, I'll need to cheer you up."
"Oh, ho ho ho, Mister Wise-Guy!" Al grinned. "It's you who's going to be crying tears of defeat!"
"You talk big, Al. Now lets see if you can live up to the words."
"Hey, young 'un. I saw most of the classics before you were even a twinkle in your mother's eye."
"Yeah... but that was my favorite Marilyn picture. I must have watched it a few hundred times."
"Not a million? Let me guess... your favorite scene was when she shook so hard the liquor flask fell from her garter."
"No... it was when Sugar said, 'Story of my life. I always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop.' She just seemed so vulnerable." He paused. "And Al, we both had an equal time to watch this one. The movie came out when I was six, so I couldn't have just been a twinkle."
"I didn't say you were with 'Some Like It Hot'. But I know you were with 'White Heat'. Now, THERE'S a classic!"
"But we're talking about 'Some Like it Hot.' Besides, for a two hour movie, seeing it a million times would require 2 million hours, which would be equivalent to 83,333 days or 228 years and that's assuming watching it over and over 24/7. Even at your age, you couldn't do that."
"Ha ha ha," Al said sarcastically. "You know what? I'm not sure I even want to get into this bet."
Sam had a smug grin on his face. "So you concede?"
"Sure. I could use a free meal anytime."
"Okay...so, how does La Placita on the Plaza sound."
"Sounds marvelous. But since I conceded, I have another stipulation. Since you seem to be in the buying mood, you check out the movies."
"What movies?" The confusion on Sam's face was complete.
"'Some Like It Hot' and 'White Heat'," Al told him. As the confusion on Sam's face deepened, Al explained, "Hey, I wouldn't mind taking it easy and renting some movies. And, if we're going to watch movies about gangsters, we ought to go with the best of the classics."
Sam smiled, finally understanding. "Okay, Al. I'll rent them. But what kind of film is 'White Heat?'"
"I told you. It's a James Cagney picture, the best one he ever did!"
"I mean, is it a comedy like 'Some Like It Hot?'"
Al looked at Sam with a frown. "You honestly never heard of 'White Heat'." Seeing Sam shake his head. "It's a drama… a gangster movie, Sam. A look into the life of the grittier side of prohibition."
Sam shrugged. "Okay. I just haven't seen it."
Al was exasperated. "You know, Beckett, you really ought to broaden your experience."
"Where do you get off saying I don't have a broad experience base? I've got six freaking doctorates!"
Al's retort came back quickly, with a cadence. "And not one of them is in anything fun."
Sam's head tilted and he replied, "Archeology's fun."
"Yeah, it's right up there on my things to do to have fun list, right next to getting a root canal." You could cut the sarcasm in Al's voice with a knife.
Sam gave Al a look that indicated he wasn't overly impressed with Al's idea of fun either. "Yeah… well, I've seen your library. It's filled with what you consider classic playboy and the rest is nineteenth century English romance. Neither of which is my idea of fun."
"It's just like the prudent prince not to appreciate the finer things in life," Al answered back quickly. "There's nothing wrong with appreciating the female form and romance is the best way I've found to woe a woman. They really dig that stuff."
Sam shook his head. "Yeah, you would find an angle like that. And since you brought it up, would you stop calling me that?"
"What?" Al asked.
"The prudent prince. Just because I'm not promiscuous like you doesn't mean I don't appreciate women or their forms."
A grin bloomed on Al's face. "Oh, I could see how much you liked a woman's form last night with the lamp."
Sam glared at Al but kept silent.
"You never answered my question last night, when was the last time you were with a woman?"
In addition to the glare, Sam started blushing. With a voice almost a whisper, he answered, "That's none of your business."
"That's what I thought. You know, you really need to move on. She's not coming back."
Sam looked down at his hands. His voice was still soft. "You don't know that."
Al looked over at the man beside him and understood that the wound still hurt. "Trust me, Sam. She's not coming back." The younger man nodded but didn't seem convinced. Al decided to get the conversation back onto something less painful. "Besides, we're not talking about Donna; we're talking about the movie 'White Heat.'"
"Back to that again." Sam's heart didn't seem to be in the conversation anymore.
"Hey, it's a great movie. You'll love it. It's a classic, pal. That and 'Some Like it Hot' so you get back in touch with your sense of humor. Plus I love the part where Marilyn drops the flask. That scene alone is worth seeing the movie."
Sam finally looked up, and Al saw he had pushed the pain out of his eyes again. "Okay, you win. We'll rent the movies tonight unless something else comes up. Where are we staying?"
"Albuquerque Hilton."
