8

CHAPTER 5

St. Paul, Minnesota
Wednesday, Thursday, Friday
August 12, 13, 14

1925

With Christopher's consciousness fully awakened, the two identities had to learn in a hurry to cooperate.

Although communicating without speech came easily, both decided they preferred to speak aloud, as if each possessed a body of his own. To avoid being shipped off to the nearest loony bin, they 'sent' conversations to each other mentally whenever someone might observe Christopher talking to himself, and answering with an entirely different manner of speaking. While concealing their private thoughts proved fairly simple, strong emotion bled through despite every effort to hide it. Christopher, Chance learned, took everything to heart.

By the end of their third conjoined day, they had developed a certain grudging respect for each other. Neither man wanted to allow the other to take full charge, but Chance realized Christopher knew the lay of the land, and he did not. For the most part, he deferred to the rightful possessor of the body they shared. No way in the world would Chance risk shaving with Christopher's straight-edge razor. Nor could he drive Christopher's car again. When he insisted on trying, he had almost flipped the top-heavy runabout like a pancake. Even with Lefty's modifications, Model T's did not perform bootlegger turns.

"I'm five-eleven," Chance informed Christopher as they sat comparing notes.

"Five-eight."

Chance had been right about the trouser length.

"I can ride a horse."

Christopher shrugged. "Who can't? How fast can you run?"

"Fast enough to outrun the Gustav sisters."

Both men tried to snicker at the same moment. The sound was not pretty.

Christopher's physical fitness impressed Chance. He swam at a nearby YMCA, wrestled, and boxed. While the fad for jogging lay many decades in the future, Christopher often ran just for fun.

"Not to brag, ya understand, but two weeks ago at a track meet, I ran the 440 in 49 seconds flat. The record's 47.6, set at last year's World Olympic Games.

Chance whistled. "Not bad. I can fly a plane."

Now Christopher's ears pricked. Ford tri-motors were the coming thing, but surplus bi-planes, Curtiss JN-4's - the Jenny - could be acquired almost as easily as a used automobile. He longed to fly a plane. If the guy in his head already knew how….

"Jennies?" Christopher asked.

"No, jets."

"What in blazes is a jet?"

Living in a 1920s boarding house differed little from some places Chance had stayed in the early days while on assignments for the Old Man. Sharing the upstairs bathroom with four other boarders, however, was tedious. There was never enough hot water.

Mrs. Gustav was a wonderful cook, but served only breakfast and supper. Boarders were left to their own devices for luncheon. Chance and Christopher had strolled to the corner saloon and were enjoying the free lunch that came with the purchase of a nickel "near beer" when Chance told Christopher he was the first of five men to carry on his name and his commitment.

'First of six, then,' Christopher sent, salting a hard-boiled egg. ' 'Tis not the name I was born with, 'though an honorable one. Borrowed, ya might say, from a gent I knew in the Old Country. Bit of a Robin Hood, he was, or maybe more like your own Jesse James.'

'Robbed the rich?' Chance sent back, marveling how much fun it was to 'talk' with his mouth full. He bit into a sandwich made with thick slices of bakery bread, cheese, and the best ham he'd ever tasted.

' 'Tis no use robbin' the poor, now is it? And it wasn't like he needed the swag. He kept enough to keep his lads comfortable and loyal - or so he believed. The rest appeared on the doorsteps of the needy.'

'So you were part of his operation?'

'Operation. There's a term he'd've liked. You could say so. I was a bit young to go along on the raids, but I had me uses - ears and eyes. No one pays attention to a kid hanging around. Had I but seen what was what a bit quicker, I might have been in time to stop….'

A sense of deep sorrow washed over Chance as Christopher recalled the betrayal and subsequent execution of the first Christopher Chance. And the keen satisfaction this Christopher felt when he slit the throat of the man who'd sold them out.

'Only man I ever met who truly deserved to die,' Christopher sent. 'Me hands are bloody, but I'm after carryin' on Old Chris's mission: - help those with nowhere else to turn.'

Christopher's words sent a thrill of recognition coursing through Chance. So this was where the creed he now lived by had come from.

A figure approached their table. Lefty Caruso sauntered up, carrying a beer mug and a towering sandwich made with cold-cuts, slices of cheese, pickles, relish and mustard.

"Mind if I join you?"

There was a brief tussle for control as both men tried to gesture Lefty to take a seat. Christopher won.

"Take a load off."

"Got a message from Hogan," Lefty said. "The trigger-man's on his way back. Picked him up in Ogden. He'll be on the train tomorrow. Oh, and Nina Clifford said if I saw you, ask you to drop by."

Another summons from Nina. She or Althea would expect a progress report. Becoming accustomed to another entity occupying his body had taken valuable time. Beyond the news Lefty just brought, he had little to offer.

"I'll drive. No arguing," he told Chance as they left the saloon.

Christopher no longer knew what to expect when he started the Model T, which Lefty continued to 'improve' with his tinkering. One day when he started it, the dam' thing would sprout wings and take to the sky. Then he would have to let Chance take the wheel, something which, after what happened before, he would swap the runabout for a milk-wagon to avoid.

Chance eyed Nina's office with interest. Its crystal chandelier, deep pile carpet, velvet drapes and white marble fireplace mantle looked more like the parlor in one of San Francisco's 'painted ladies' than a brothel's business office.

'I've heard,' Christopher sent, 'Nina puts up a Christmas tree in here every year, and hangs stockings on the fire place. One for each of her girls.'

'I don't want to guess what Santa puts in them.' Chance gave a mental shudder.

"Sit down, Christopher," Nina said, gesturing to the visitor chair beside her desk. "One of my girls has something to tell you."

Uh-oh.

Nina seated herself behind the desk, picked up a small silver bell, and rang it. A moment later, Masie walked in, looking as hang-dog as a striking brunette flapper could look. She wore street clothes, not one of the luxurious outfits Nina provided, and no makeup.

This, Christopher thought, does not look good. Masie was the…lady he'd spent the night with before awakening with Chance riding around in his head. The morning after he escorted Althea Macklin to the movies and stole some of the sweetest kisses it had ever been his good fortune to claim.

Neither he nor Chance understood how or why he'd gone from Althea's embrace to Masie's room at Nina's. Now that he might find out, he wasn't so sure he wanted to know.

"Hello, Masie," Christopher said, "what's up?"

Masie did not reply with the off color wisecrack he expected. Instead, she extended her hand in which she grasped a $20 bill, and a $5. "This is yours," she said. "I shouldn't've took it. I'm sorry."

She sounded like a little girl whose mother had marched her into the local sweet shop and made her admit stealing a chocolate bar, Christopher thought, amused.

He ignored the proffered money. "Why not?"

"'Cause I didn't earn it. You were too blotto to do anything when they carried you in the other night. Mrs. Clifford had them put you to bed and told me to watch over you 'til you sobered up. That's all I did."

He stifled a sigh of relief. He'd been covertly alert for any symptoms of disease ever since. Although Nina's girls were clean, it paid not to take chances. Now he was far more interested in learning what happened after he blacked out than recovering any wrongfully collected money.

"Who brought me here, did you see?"

Masie shrugged. "A couple of mopes that hang around the Bucket of Blood. I don't know their names." She glanced at Nina. "He's lucky they didn't roll him."

"Take the money, Christopher," Nina said. "How much did you pay her under the table?"

You weren't supposed to tip. Most customers did anyway. He gave Nina his most innocent look. "Under the table?"

"Bunk! You overpay the shoe-shine boy. How much, Masie?"

"Five," Masie muttered.

"Give it back."

"Mrs. Clifford," Christopher said, "that's not necessary."

"Shush. I will not tolerate my girls stealing. Masie."

Masie added a $5 gold-piece to the cash she'd dropped on Nina's desk.

"Now get your things and get out."

"But Mrs. Clifford, I - "

Nina stood. She looked as formidable as an angry queen. "You knew the rules. You chose to break them. Get your things, or I'll have Louie toss them in the street."

When Masie had gone, Christopher said, "That was a wee bit harsh, I'm thinkin'."

"Is that so? Listen, Ducky, I pay my girls better than Dottie Hazzard or Frankie Elden, or even Sadie Burnett. I provide their working clothes, I make sure they see a doctor regularly, and I don't let just any bum waltz in here and take them upstairs. Hell, I even send them to the Mounds in a taxicab when some of them want to go. Good publicity for me, fun for them. All I ask in return is they give the customer a good time, and they never - ever - steal. If I let one get away with it, they'll all try. I've got a reputation to maintain."

Christopher sighed. "What will she do now?"

Nina reseated herself. "She'll find another place, or set up on he own. Frankly, I don't care. Now, Christopher, there's another matter I'd like to discuss with you…."

Christopher was only half listening as he watched Masie lug a heavy-looking faux alligator suitcase down the stairs. He supposed Nina was right to evict a thief. Just the same, he couldn't help feeling sorry for Masie.

Following Christopher's gaze, Nina frowned. "I better not find any bed sheets or negligees missing," she called, "or I'll know who to come looking for."

Masie replied with a phrase loaded with more obscenities than Christopher had heard since before mustering out of the Merchant Marines. She slammed the door so hard the chandelier shivered.

"Christopher," Nina said, sounding very much like one of the nuns who taught at the church school he'd haphazardly attended, "you need to be truthful with me. I've heard you've been acting very strange since the other night when you were…taken ill. Althea is worried. As am I. What's going on?"

Oh, nothing much. Just someone claiming he's from the future who's taken up residence in me head.

" 'Tis nothing to be concerned about. I'm working on her case but these things take time."

"That's not what worries us. I thought you were drunk when they brought you here Tuesday night, but Althea says neither of you drank anything stronger than ginger beer. Christopher, does…epilepsy…run in your family?"

"Epilep - Hell no!"

Chance winced in sympathy. While treated routinely in his own time, in Christopher's day, epilepsy in one's bloodline was kept a deep dark secret, considered almost as damning as insanity. Epilepsy caused many an unfortunate sufferer to be shipped off to the nearest mental institution, or worse, locked in family attics.

"I'm sound as a silver dollar! Of all the things to ask, Mrs. Clifford."

"Now don't get all lathered up, Christopher. Your blackout frightened poor Althea out of her wits. Then when you didn't telephone…."

'That must have been when you moved in,' Christopher sent. 'The last thing I remember was kissing Althea.'

'I don't remember blacking out either. I remember the car I was in skidding, then waking up here, upstairs.'

"Christopher!" Nina said, coming to her feet, "are you listening? Are you going to faint?"

"Men don't faint! I'm tryin' to remember what happened is all." Christopher rubbed his temple and sent to Chance, 'You got me into this - '

'Not on purpose.'

'And that makes everything hunky-dory? Now get me out, and pronto.'

'Pronto?'

'It's what Tom Mix says. It means - '

'I know what it means!'

"Peanuts," Chance blurted.

Nina shot him a startled look. "I beg your pardon?"

"Peanuts. I'm allergic to them," Chance said. "I don't dare eat them, they make it hard for me to breathe. Make me…act crazy. I must've eaten some at the movie, in the dark. I didn't mean to frighten Althea. I must have…."

"Passed out?" Nina supplied. "Since of course men don't faint."

"Exactly."

'Slick,' Christopher sent. 'Is it true?'

'No.'

"How angry is Althea?" Christopher asked.

"She'll be relieved it wasn't something serious. She's not at all pleased you haven't come to see her since your…allergy fit. I can't say I blame her. You might at least have telephoned. Shame on you, Christopher, I thought you had better manners."

"I'll send her flowers," Christopher said. "Do you know what kind she likes? Maybe chocolates, too, do ya think?"

Nina smiled. "It would be a start. And maybe a bottle of Dom Perignon, as well."

… … … … …

'It couldn't do any harm,' Chance sent as they left Nina's, 'to deliver those flowers in person.'

'oh, so now it's a lady's man ya are? The expert in making sweet talk and goo-goo eyes?'

'I'm not so bad.' Wilson and Guerrero might not agree, but they weren't here to call him on it. 'I sweet talked a real, live princess into bed once. Not so sure about the…goo-goo eyes?'

With the Model T running, Christopher spoke aloud. "And did ya take yer princess flowers after scarin' her half to death with a…a peanut fit?"

"Well…no…."

"Then I'll thank you to stay out of me personal affairs."

An hour later, Christopher returned to Nina's carrying a long white cardboard box tied with a red satin ribbon.

Nina met him coming in. "Oh, aren't you the sly one?" she said, eying the box. "Althea's at the house, trying to decide on a costume for her début. Run on over, Duckie, and surprise her."

'Do me a favor,' Christopher sent as they walked the short distance between Nina's brothel and her residence, 'just keep quiet. No helpful suggestions. Go to sleep or something. 'Tis difficult enough having a chat with the lass without knowin' somebody's eavesdropping' on every word.'

'Pretend I'm not even here,' Chance replied, fighting to restrain the mirth Christopher's predicament provoked. 'Say anything you want. I won't breathe a word.'