Chapter Ten

When Ray and Coley met again, each was on his way to see the other. They stopped in the middle of the hall.

"Rodman, I'm sorry," Ray immediately blurted. He sighed. "I was so caught up feeling overwhelmed that I didn't even thank you for standing up for me in front of Everly and those reporters." He shook his head. "I wouldn't blame you if you feel like I wasn't worth standing up for, after that."

"I don't think that," Coley responded. "And if you want the answers to your questions, I'll give them to you. Maybe it won't be what you want to hear, but it'll be the truth."

Ray nodded slowly. "I want to know," he said, "but only if you don't mind telling me."

Coley gave him a long look. "I don't mind. But let's go somewhere more private."

Ray was in complete agreement. He led Coley to the back lounge, where he had first brought the time-traveler upon his arrival. After closing and locking the door, he sat down on the couch. Coley stood.

". . . There's three kinds of gunfighters," he said after a moment of silence. "There's the kind that only does jobs for lawmen and other people basically classed as 'good'. There's the kind that only does jobs for people thought of as 'bad'. And there's those who really aren't choosey one way or another. They could take a job from a sheriff one day and gun the same sheriff down the next day, depending on who pays the most.

"My father was the third kind. As far back as I can remember, there was always a gun in the house. My mother hated it. She was always begging him to quit. He always said it was the only thing he could do well and that we needed the money." Coley's eyes narrowed. "But it was more than that. And that was the biggest problem. See, he liked killing. He was paid enough for his jobs that we really didn't need more money. He just wanted the thrill of stalking his prey and pulling the trigger when he caught up."

Ray shivered, stunned. "When I heard you calling for your father, and you didn't want to explain, I had no idea."

"Yeah, about that." Coley gazed into the distance out the window. "He got himself shot one night trying to gun down a sheriff. He stumbled back home and collapsed on the floor, bleeding all over it. I ran over and fell down next to him, calling to him. I saw him die."

Ray stiffened in disbelief. "I . . . I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine what that must have been like."

Coley nodded. "At least you aren't trying to tell me you know how it felt. No one could know. But there's the answer to one of your questions. I know the damage one bullet, one life lost, can cause."

Ray was sickened. "I never should have said that. You were right—I had no right."

Coley shrugged, crossing the room to stand by the window. "My mother made me promise I'd never be a gunfighter. And that was fine with me; I never wanted to be. I saw how much my father liked killing. He scared me half to death with that wild look in his eyes and that crazy grin. I didn't want to be like that.

"The money he'd made kept us going for a while. My mother went to work when that started running low. She couldn't get anything except a few cleaning jobs. I tried to find work, but no one would hire me. Everyone knew what my father had been, and that followed us around even when we tried to move."

He sighed. "When I took up robbing, it was because it was the only way I could get money. But I started liking it. I didn't ever go off the deep end like my father did with killing, but I liked the thrill of collecting the loot and counting it."

He looked back to Ray. "I used my gun only if I had to. Most of the time it was in fair fights. But I did kill or order the killing of some people who were a danger to me and the gang in other ways. And I'm not saying I liked it. You're right that I said I didn't mind shooting a man, but in a me-or-him set-up, I had to force myself not to mind. I killed to survive and only to survive. That never changed. Maybe it doesn't make it right, either, but I only did it when I had to. And I never went around gunning people down to make a living.

"I really liked Kirby's original germ, the one that only paralyzed people for a couple of days. We could get in and out of towns without anybody getting killed. And the gang liked it too. Oh, they didn't really care what happened to the townspeople, but they liked not having to risk getting shot themselves."

Ray frowned. "I remember you mentioned one gang member who wanted to shoot the paralyzed townspeople down for no reason at all."

"Frank," Coley nodded. "I never liked him, or he me. He was only in the gang for kicks and seemed to think that's how I ran things. He didn't get that for me, it was business. I knew he was going to be trouble; it was just a matter of time.

"Maybe it was because I wouldn't let him kill those people that he decided to go into business for himself. Or maybe he'd been planning it for a while. I wouldn't put either choice past him. But when we realized he was keeping the big bills from the Exchange office for himself, I slapped him around and he tried to shoot me. I got him first."

"And then later the same thing happened with Kirby," Ray remembered. "He tried to shoot you first, I mean."

"Yeah." Coley came back to the furniture and sat on a couch across from Ray. "It was like that a lot of times. It hardly ever got told like it was, though."

"You mean the stories got embellished and people thought you'd done things a lot worse than you did," Ray deduced.

"That's right. And then after the Kirby mess, everyone thought I'd condoned his other germ, the one that could wipe out towns and cities. Kirby's daughter Anna was telling it all around. Of course, everyone would believe her over me. I knew if I hadn't already done enough to get myself hanged, that right there would make sure of it. And shooting Kirby, too. West and Gordon believed I'd done it in cold blood.

"So I went on the run. And I've been running until just a few days ago, when I got mixed up in this Dr. Faustina case. I just can't seem to get away from crazy docs.

"I told Gordon that I wanted to turn my life around. And wherever I live now, that's the truth. I'm sick of running."

Ray nodded. "You did say things like that in your delirium," he said.

Coley looked irritated. "I must have said just about everything under the sun, except about my father."

"There's probably a lot of other things you didn't say, too," Ray tried to assure him. "I was foolish to think I knew you so well from what I'd heard. It takes years to really get to know someone. And usually they can still surprise you."

Coley considered that and nodded, trying to relax. He took off his hat and set it on the low table in between the couches. "You also asked if I regretted what I'd done. Let's say I regret having to do it, in some cases. But in others . . . well, you can't convince me the world isn't better without people like Frank and Kirby running around. The only problem is, there's always two of each trigger-happy nutcase to replace every one who goes down."

Ray sighed sadly and nodded. "That's unfortunately true."

"So that's the whole explanation." Coley looked steadily at Ray. "You can accept it or not. And if you want me to leave, I will."

"No." Ray's answer was instantaneous. "I would never ask you to leave. It wasn't in my mind before and it isn't now." He crossed the distance between them and sat on the other couch. "I accept your explanation. I can't even say I don't agree with some of it. I do, especially that the world would be better without mad scientists. Maybe they shouldn't be gunned down, but I'm not bothered that you killed Kirby, especially considering the way it actually happened. You couldn't have done anything else. And even before now, all I really wanted to say to you was to please stay.

"And also . . ." He looked down. "You started me thinking. Maybe I haven't quite thought that God wanted Portman to do what she did to me, but I realized that I've been thinking He didn't stop it because I was supposed to suffer, to pay for my wrongdoings. Maybe I was; I don't know. A nun told me that maybe it happened because I wouldn't have learned compassion any other way. That thought horrified me. I couldn't bear believing that I was so far gone that it would take being driven out of my mind to find myself."

"And you haven't been able to stop thinking about that since then," Coley said.

Ray nodded. "I haven't."

Coley thought for a moment. "One thing I've learned all too well is that the past can't be changed. All we've got is the present and the future. And I'd say you've been doing pretty good for yourself on changing those. Maybe you ruined Everly's life, sure, but it's his choice to come after you. He could fix up his own life if he wasn't so bent on wrecking yours."

Ray sighed. "You're right, of course. I've tried to reason with him, but it doesn't do any good. His heart is blackened with hate. And I still can't blame him."

Coley shrugged. "Maybe not. But at least you're not lying down for him to kick. You're fighting back. So you must figure that you don't deserve whatever he might do to you."

"Or maybe it's that, even if I feel I deserve it, my will to live is much stronger than those feelings of guilt." Ray shook his head. "The doctors at the sanitarium were amazed by my will to live. They said other than the grace of God, it was the only thing that could have sustained both my life and my sanity during those two years."

"I believe it." Coley sat up straight and turned to look at Ray. "So, where do we go from here?"

"From here?" Ray considered his response. "I never did finish showing you the desktop computer. Mabel is back at her desk now, but there's other desktops in the library. And then it will be evening soon and time to eat again.

"I want you to stay as long as you want to. If you decide to go back with Mr. West and Mr. Gordon, that's fine . . . if you're sure that now you'll be treated fairly by the courts. I don't want to think that you'll go back and end up killed or behind bars for life, and I know you don't either. And . . . well, I hope you'll keep considering that maybe you'll make this time your home instead."

"I'm still considering it," Coley said.

Ray smiled. "Good."

"Although I still don't know why you took such a big interest in me, of all people. Is it really just your way of making up for not caring about anyone in the past?"

Ray drew a deep breath. "No, it isn't," he said then. "If it's time for confessions, I guess I should make mine, too.

"I've been lonely, Rodman. Oh, there's people all around, but no one who really understands me. I wanted to find someone who could relate to being tortured. Maybe even to walking on the shady side of things and wanting to do different now."

". . . And then I ended up on your doorstep."

"Yes." Ray shook his head. "To be perfectly honest, I wanted a friend. That's why I didn't feel comfortable telling you why I wanted you to stay. It sounds ridiculous! I know friends can't be made instantaneously over a common interest or knowledge. Well, kids do that all the time, but adults know that deep friendships have to grow and develop naturally over an extended period of time."

Coley regarded Ray in surprise. "I never expected that explanation."

"I didn't think you would." Ray half-smirked. "Does it sound as nonsensical to you as it does to me?"

"I don't know about that," Coley grunted. "You're right about friends having to bond over time, but they have to start somewhere, too." He leaned back. "I haven't had any friends—real friends—in a long time."

"I think Mr. Gordon considers you a friend."

"Maybe," Coley mused. "But if you want to try working on a friendship, I think I'm up for it."

Ray stared at him in amazement and disbelief. "You mean that?"

"Yeah." Coley held out a hand. "I'm pretty sure I can trust you, more sure than I've been about a lot of things lately."

Ray grasped Coley's hand in his. "You can," he vowed. "And I'm sure I can trust you too."

"Well, that's a start."

They shook hands.

xxxx

"These bicycles certainly are an interesting invention."

Jim looked to Arte as he fell onto the park grass, bike in tow, for about the third time. "If you can stay on it long enough to find out," he intoned.

"Oh, very funny," Arte grunted. He tried to untangle himself from the metal frame. "You haven't been doing much better."

Jim shrugged. "I'm used to a horse. You're the one who said you rode the velocipede."

"Well, I did," Arte grumped. He sat on the grass, his arms draped on his knees. "But that was a long time ago."

Jim smiled and got back on his own bike. They had brought them here after renting them, hoping to get more familiar with how to work them before starting out on their search for the portal. And they were improving. But it was taking too long to figure them out. The search might have to start tomorrow instead of today.

"I wonder how long it takes to get a license for one of those automobiles," Arte mused as he got to his feet and steadied the bike. "That's what I'd really like."

"I guess it might depend on how quick you could learn to drive it," said Jim. "It would be nice, though. We'd probably cover a lot more territory than we will with these bicycles."

"Exactly. And it's probably a lot harder to fall off an automobile." Arte mounted the bicycle and took off down the path. This time he did not topple over. "Hey!" he called. "I think maybe I've got it now."

"Good," Jim called back. He started after Arte, balancing as best as he could and managing to succeed for the most part.

He nearly fell off again when he caught sight of a man standing nearby, watching them as he ate a sandwich. "Arte!" he called, pushing the pedal backwards and dragging the bike to a stop.

"What is it?" Arte called back from up ahead. But then he saw as well. "Holy Mackerel!" He also stopped. "What are you doing here, Sergei?"

Sergei kept eating. "I want to know where Miss Posey and the others are," he said.

"So do we," Jim replied.

"Not to mention a little matter of the portal leading home," Arte added.

"I do not know of any portal," Sergei shrugged.

Jim sighed. "We can't really arrest you in this time; it wouldn't stick. Maybe the most logical thing to do right now would be to stay together, since we're from the same time."

"I will look on my own," Sergei answered.

"Suit yourself," Arte said. "But if we find the portal first, and fall through, you won't know anything about it."

"I will not leave without the others." Sergei peered at them, suspicion heavy in his eyes. "You are sure you don't know where they are?"

"We don't know," Jim insisted.

"The most we can tell you is that one of your friends had a heyday torturing Coley Rodman," Arte said darkly.

Sergei calmly took a bite of sandwich. "He is dead?"

"No," Jim said. "He's getting better."

"It happened out near the warehouse district," Arte said. "If you happen to run across Little Pinto, you might tell him for us that we're not too pleased with what he did."

"Why do you care?" Sergei shot back. "Rodman is your enemy too."

"Actually, no, he isn't," Arte said. "Not anymore. But that's neither here nor there. We don't appreciate anyone being tortured."

Sergei shrugged. "I will tell him." He started to walk past. "First I will find this warehouse district."

"Just follow the smell of the ocean," Arte said.

He and Jim watched him start off, leaning on the handles of their bicycles. "I wonder, Jim—should we really let him go?" Arte frowned.

"What can we do, Arte?" Jim answered. "We can't arrest him. And we can't really drag him around with us. I'm not crazy about the thought of taking him back to the golf club with us, either."

"Oh boy, me neither," Arte shuddered. "Not with Rodman there. Who knows how tight-knit these guys are? Maybe Sergei would decide to try to take Rodman back to Pinto."

"And even if he didn't, it wouldn't help Rodman's recovery any, to have one of Pinto's cronies hanging around."

Arte nodded. "You're right. Mr. Norman might not even let him stay in the first place. Well, I guess we'll just have to work on rounding everybody up after we find the portal."

"If there's a portal to find," Jim returned.

Arte sighed. "Yes, there's that."

He looked towards the direction of the piers, far in the distance. "You know, Jim, I never really thought about how far Rodman must have walked when he got away from Pinto." He frowned. "I mean, the golf club is up by the mountains. How did he possibly go that far, on foot, after being tortured half to death for two weeks?"

Jim frowned too. "Either he's got some of the best endurance I've ever seen . . . or there's some warehouses closer than the ocean."

"Which there might be," Arte nodded. "We may have just sent poor Sergei on a wild goose chase."

"Just as well. There'd be less chance of him running into Rodman by accident." Jim kicked the pedal forward. "Let's see what we can do about breaking in these bicycles."

"You're on," Arte smiled.

They took off down the path.

xxxx

Snakes was not sure what he expected to find if he ever ran across Flo. It had long ago started to seem unlikely that he would find her at all. He was weary of searching through cheap dives and dark nightclubs, asking about her, only to be met either with bewilderment or uncommunicative concern. If anyone knew where Flo was, they did not seem to want him to locate her.

Gallito was weary of shadowing him. He was convinced it was important, but he was not convinced that anything would come of it any time soon.

Now Snakes was wandering through a more high-class but eclectic nightclub that proclaimed itself one of the few holdouts from the 1940s. It also claimed that it still operated in the style and clothing of that period. Snakes and Gallito really had no idea how accurate that description was; they only knew that the staff's hair and clothes and the music were quite different from what they had heard in the other joints today.

A black-gloved hand suddenly reached out from a nearby corner booth, beckoning to Snakes. He blinked and looked over in surprise. The perfectly manicured hand belonged to a woman with short-cropped red-blonde hair and sharp, assertive green eyes. "You're Mr. Tolliver, aren't you?" she greeted.

Stunned, Snakes went to her table. Gallito slipped in at the one next to hers, pulling the curtain around the table to conceal his position.

"Lady, how do you know my name?" Snakes demanded. "I haven't told anyone."

"You haven't told anyone here. But you introduced yourself at more than one location today." The woman laid her hands on the table, calm, unconcerned. "Trust me; I know."

"Obviously you do. But who are you?" Snakes went closer to the table. "You remind me of someone else I know."

"A friend?"

". . . Let's just say a former employer."

She shrugged. "Did she let you go or did you decide to strike out on your own?"

"I guess you could say some of both. But look here." Snakes leaned on the table with both hands, frowning. "Why are you asking the questions? It seems like I should be doing the asking."

"On the contrary, especially when you've been asking for me all day."

Snakes' eyes went wide. "You're Flo?!"

She nodded. "Once it came to my attention that you were looking for me, I had some of my men direct you to this club. My organization owns it." She gestured to the table. "Sit down, won't you?"

Snakes did so. "What organization is this?" he wondered. "I thought you were working on your own."

"My organization is F.O.W.L., the Fiendish Organization for World Larceny." Flo spoke flatly and then smirked. "So I suggest that you don't do anything foolish. Tell me why you've been turning this city upside-down looking for me."

Snakes had no idea what this F.O.W.L. was, but he had the feeling that Flo was intimating that she had all manner of thugs at her beck and call. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together on the table. "Okay. But I need to ask you this first. Do you believe that time travel is real?"

"I really couldn't say," Flo replied. "Our scientists have been investigating the possibilities for some time, without arriving at any solid answers."

"Well, I'm the living proof that it's real," Snakes declared. "I'm not from this time."

Flo seemed to be considering this statement. She nodded, leaning back in her chair. "That will be easy enough to check," she said. "Supposing it's true, what do you have to offer me?"

"A proposal . . . maybe a partnership, of sorts." Snakes' eyes glimmered. "I came through a portal, along with my former boss and her crew. They're out to get me. If you give me protection while I figure out how to get them out of the way, I'll take you through time in the portal."

In the next booth, Gallito stiffened and muttered in Spanish. Of course Snakes was not likely to tell why they were after him. And if this Flo agreed to his terms, who knew how many assassins she might be able to send to kill Miss Posey and the rest.

Flo mulled over the information and the offer as she stirred the cup of hot chocolate in front of her. "Why don't you just go back through the portal and leave the others here?" she said.

"Well . . . with them ready to kill me, I can't go to the portal all by myself. They'd never let me get to it."

"I see." Flo set down the spoon and sipped from the cup. "But tell me this, Mr. Tolliver. You look like you're from the past. I assume this portal only goes to the past. F.O.W.L. is interested in the future. How would your portal benefit either me or my organization?"

Snakes smiled. "If your scientists are really good, maybe they'd be able to study the thing and figure out how to make it do whatever they want it to."

Flo nodded. "Possible." She paused. "But here I must ask. Mr. Tolliver, if your former boss is a smart woman, she wouldn't discard worthy help for no particular reason. Why is she out for your blood?"

Gallito tensed and leaned back farther to catch Snakes' low words.

"She said she wanted worthy help, but she and I never got along," Snakes said. "Finally she just up and fired me. And since I knew too much about the workings of her organization, she decided I had to go in every way possible. She and her men have been after me ever since. I got cornered on the street by two of them yesterday. They would've tried to kill me if we hadn't collected a crowd."

Flo nodded. "You could be telling the truth," she said.

Snakes shot upright. "Could be?!" he exclaimed. "What do I have to do to get you to believe me?"

"I suppose there's nothing much you could do, Mr. Tolliver," Flo replied. "But if you take me to this portal and I can see you're telling the truth about that, I might believe you about the rest."

Snakes flushed, shifting in discomfort. "Sure thing. I'd be happy to. The only problem is . . . well . . . when we ended up here, we got spread out all over the place. I don't know exactly where the portal is. I know it has to be there!" he rushed on. "But 'there' could probably be anywhere in Los Angeles."

"Or nowhere at all," Flo said boredly.

"It's there!" Snakes insisted. "You have to believe me; it's there."

Flo replaced the cup in the saucer. "Here's what I'll do, Mr. Tolliver. I'll have my men run a check on you. If what you've told me is true, I'll talk to my superiors about your proposal."

Snakes rocked back. "I thought you ran this F.O.W.L. thing," he exclaimed.

She smiled. "I will, one day. I'm the ambitious sort."

Snakes smirked. "Then I think you and I are going to get along just fine."

Gallito frowned deeply. He had just been about to get up and call Snakes' bluff, to tell Flo why they were really after him. Now he wondered if it would do any good. What if Flo was the type who would support and even be entertained by Snakes trying to kill Miss Posey with an explosive-laden gavel? What if she would order her men to take Gallito prisoner?

Maybe the best thing to do would be to bide his time and wait a little longer, just until Flo found out from her own men that Snakes had lied. Then, depending on her reaction, Gallito could decide what to do.

And if she decided to align herself with Snakes in spite of the truth, then Gallito and the rest were going to have a very large problem.