Eighty-Sixed: Chapter 75 - Trio

Photo by Giorgio Trovato on Unsplash

The front gate was crumbled in the middle like aluminum foil, curled and bent in upon itself, a tangled mess of wire and mesh. On the asphalt outside were a series of dark black skid marks, still visible even with only the faint glow of the streetlight illuminating them. Inside the perimeter of the fencing that remained intact — though now severely curved inward in several places — was a long 18-wheel semi-truck. It had a dirty red cab and long flatbed that, given the lengths of fencing wedged in barbed wire-like masses of metal around several of the tires, was the cause of the smashed-in barricade. Strangely, the truck had been backed up into the confines of the fence, with the rear of the flatbed pulled directly up to the front door, as if the driver had attempted to make nothing more than a standard postal delivery, a manilla envelope, perhaps, with a contract inside, or maybe a rush delivery of toner cartridges for the office photocopier.

On the side of the building, next to the small glass double doors that led to the lobby inside, were rather nondescript and dull silver letters that spelled out the words “ENH Initiative.” In a similar style below the company name, the address in smaller individual silver numbers and letters also adhered to the brick facade.

The truck was pulled so close to the building that the words were nearly blocked except for the direction from which Jeremy and David now approached in the Cutlass Sierra.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” Jeremy said as he slowed to a stop just feet from the smashed-in spot in the fence. They both leaned forward in their seats to take in the full view from behind the windshield.

A skinny old man with a bushy white beard stood atop the flatbed, sweating heavily in the faint light of a nearby streetlight. He was struggling with a set of chains affixed to something covered up and tied down beneath a yellow tarp. As their headlights flashed over the area, illuminating the truck bed in faint yellow light, the skid marks on the asphalt, and faintly, the man himself, the skeletal character stood and hooded his eyes with his hand, squinting into the lights from the car. He passed David and Jeremy a feeble backhanded wave as he backed away from his task. He lowered himself to the lip of the flatbed before dropping off the edge and landing with surprising balance on the ground below. He brushed his hands on the legs of his shorts as he started to make his way toward the car.

“Who do you suppose this is?” David asked.

“Looks like a shipwreck castaway.”

As the man approached, his white hair blowing backward in the breeze, he smiled awkwardly, his head tilted to the side as he walked headlong into the beams from the headlights.

“Watch yourself,” Jeremy whispered as he looked at his brother, his face still marked from their last unexpectedly lousy turn with a stranger.

The brothers nodded to each other, and then, trepidatiously, David and Jeremy opened their doors and climbed out, both of them feeling surprisingly stiff-legged.

“Hey there,” David called out.

“You work here?” Jeremy asked.

The man looked behind him at the parked semi-truck, then back at David and Jeremy.

“No, ah,” he said, lifting a hand toward the building, then quickly shoved both hands into his back pockets, his words trailing off into the humid night. The old man took out one hand and scratched his scruffy chin of white hair. “Making a delivery, I guess.”

“You guess?” Jeremy muttered, just loud enough for David to hear.

“Looks like a pretty big delivery for a tiny front door like that,” David called over to the man.

“At this time of night,” Jeremy added.

“Ha!” the man laughed, taking tentative steps toward them. “I was just having that realization myself when you two drove up. I should have found a loading dock, I guess.”

“Would have been a good idea before you drove through the fence,” David said, trying to smile.

The man laughed again, his smile holding steady, but David clearly saw the man sizing them both up, taking them in, as cautious of them as they were of him despite his scrawny build.

“You’ve got a heck of a shiner there,” the man said.

“All this craziness,” David said as if that answered the man’s inquiry. He gently rubbed the right side of his face, still tender to the touch, though the swelling had subsided considerably. “This is from about a week ago.”

“Must have been a humdinger.”

The men stood silently in the headlights of the Cutlass Sierra, an uncomfortable introduction melding into an unexpected standoff of sorts. All three men were waiting for someone else to show a card or make a move.

“So what brings you here this late at night?” the man asked.

Jeremy and David glanced at each other.

“Looking for someone,” David said. “Meeting someone here.”

“At ENH?” the man said. “Huh. I guess I am, too.”

“Who would that be?” Jeremy asked.

“Oh, a scientist lady, you could say,” the man answered. “She and another guy with her.”

“A scientist?” David asked.

“That’s who the delivery’s for, then?” Jeremy asked.

“Well, yeah, with all this craziness, as you say,” the man responded as if that answered the question.

Again, they fell silent for an uncomfortably long time, though it was probably no more than ten seconds.

“Say,” the man finally said, a broad, friendly smile on his face. “I don’t suppose either of you have a gun?”

“What?” David answered, taken off guard. “No. Why? What? Do you?”

“No sir,” the man said, pulling up his shirt and spinning around, revealing his tiny waist and the edge of his shorts.

After a full turn, he stopped and patted himself down. His loose-fitting, untucked shirt, with a flower pattern, was buttoned down the middle. He was wearing cargo shorts with open pockets and tennis shoes with socks that covered his calves.

“You can see I ain’t hiding anything,” the man said.

“What about in your truck?” David asked.

The man turned around and looked at the truck, then back at the brothers. He scratched his chin again quizzically, and then, his eyes lighting up and bushy white eyebrows raised, he reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out the keys attached to the same worn plastic fob he’d taken from the shipyard in Florida.

“Here you go,” he said, tossing the keys across the twenty-foot gap between them.

Reflexes kicking in, David moved surprisingly quickly and snatched the keys mid-air.

Palming the keys in his right hand, the brothers looked at each other again, passing more unspoken words. Then, both lifted their own shirts and spun around for the man, an awkward and unexpected do-si-do in the middle of an abandoned office park. Jeremy, wearing jeans, lifted up the cuff of his pants to reveal he wasn’t hiding anything below, either.

“Well, fair enough,” the man said. “That’s good enough for me. I don’t like playing games, so let’s just cut to the chase. I’m Charlie. And that scientist woman I told you about is the one who apparently caused all this time travel craziness.”

“My wife,” David said. “She’s supposedly here.”

“Your name’s not Frankie, is it?” Charlie asked.

“No,” David said. “I’m David. LaGrange.”

“Who’s Frankie?” Jeremy asked.

“Well, from what I gather, he’s the husband of that woman who I highly suspect may be in this building right here,” Charlie said. “Front door’s locked, though.”

Then, Charlie’s eyes lit up again as they had before, and a broad, toothy smile broke out across his face.

“Tell me,” he said. “How good are you both at breaking and entering?”