Bob's Greatest Mistake_Part Two of The Journals of Bob Drifter Page 6

  When that didn’t calm the man down, Drisc realized he’d have to walk home alone to see if the man wanted to talk. So Drisc led him on a merry tour of Syracuse, acting more drunk than he was ... a little more drunk ... waiting for the man to approach. The man caught up to Drisc at the edge of the alley.

  The pudgy fucker shoved him against a chain-link fence and pointed a gun in his face. And here I was, willing to be nice. Drisc almost used his secret weapon, but he thought better of it. At least see if this is just a robbery.

  “Whoa there, lad,” Drisc said. “If it’s me money ye want, you might have tried to rob me before I got in the bar.”

  “Shut up!” the man barked. “I’m a detective from Arizona.”

  “Yer a bit out of yer jurisdiction then, aren’t ye, lad?” Drisc asked with a chuckle. The man pointed his gun at Drisc’s temple. Maybe he doesn’t have a sense of humor.

  “I ask the questions,” the man whispered harshly. “What do you know about Robert Drifter?”

  Bloody hell! Now Bob is causing problems for me? What’s the world coming to? “I know ‘E really hates it when people call ‘im Robert,” Drisc said calmly. He realized that rage he sensed radiating off the detective was linked to Bob.

  “Are you working with him?” the man asked.

  “Wait,” Drisc said slowly. “Arizona, round little man.-ye’ll be Richard Hertly, then.”

  Richard responded by moving the gun from Drisc’s forehead to his nose. “You’re going to tell me everything about what you two do,” Hertly said. Drisc imagined he tried to look menacing, but after seeing Grimm the other day, everything else just looked a bit funny; especially a man who wouldn’t hurt a fly, as long as that fly wasn’t a criminal, according to Bob.

  “Ye really don’t want anything ta do wit’ Bob, mate,” Drisc said calmly, hoping Bob was right about the detective. “You’re better off just goin’ home.”

  “You’ll be a lot better off if you answer me,” Richard said. He looked angry, but he moved the barrel away from Drisc’s face, and his finger was never on the trigger.

  Well, I tried to be nice. Bob, you owe me big time. Drisc slipped his Taser out of his pocket and sent a whole mess of electricity through the man before he knew what was happening. Richard jolted and collapsed.

  “That anger’s gonna get you killed if you’re not careful, lad,” Drisc said. Then he remembered he had just knocked Richard out. “Right. Next time, witty comment first. Then Taser.”

  Richard woke up in a bar with a pain in his head, a small set of burn marks on his chest, and twenty dollars in his hands. He cursed himself for not searching the drunken bastard first. He looked around the bar to see if the man, Drisc, was around.

  “You Richard?” a pretty young girl asked once he’d gained his bearings.

  “Yes,” Richard answered, after considering his options. He could head to the man’s apartment, but he still had the same problem: a lot of theories and no proof. The woman handed him a folded napkin. He opened it.

  The handwriting was almost illegible, thin and scratchy: “Sorry I had to leave. Use the money to go home.” The last two words struck Richard—a memory of something Drisc said just as Richard passed out. He couldn’t shake the memory loose. If Drisc wanted Richard to leave town, maybe that meant they were about to kill. Maybe his chance would finally come.

  15

  A Really Bad Headache

  November 14, 2007

  These headaches are the result of our powers trying to keep us from going insane at the sheer number of imminent deaths in the area. By now, though, I’d take the insanity. The pain is outrageous, like a train whistle between the ears that never runs out of steam. The only reason I’m able to pretend to function is how steady the pain is. You can learn to live with anything for a time. The horrible truth is, as long as I have this headache, I know that some tragedy is about to happen. The day the pain goes away, I know it’s too late. My relief is the doom of a lot of people, and I’m powerless to do anything about it.

  Bob sat at his desk, holding his head in his hands. Light hurt, and if he closed his eyes, the headache was the only thing he could focus on. He gave the children worksheets for class, something he hated to do. They sat quietly. At least, Bob tried to tell himself, they sat as quietly as any six-, seven-, or eight-year-old could. One child would say something funny, and his classmate would giggle at the comment. The giggle sounded like a siren in Bob’s ears.

  Reading was out of the question. He had enough trouble seeing straight. There was no way on Earth he could focus on a book. Another student laughed, and Bob winced in pain. He rubbed his temples with a thumb and index finger. If he’d had the strength, he was willing to rip his own head off at that point. The nurse had given him the strongest headache medicine she had and gave him the name of a prescription he could request at the doctor’s office. Bob didn’t imagine it would do much good, but any good at all had to be worth the effort.

  He opened his eyes and was startled to see a flower right in front of him. He recognized the bud. They were common on the school grounds. The hosta flower had pale-blue, almost white, petals in the shape of a star. Green stems bloomed from the petals and curled back into the flower. Bob followed the flower to a small arm and recognized Calista, a flower of a girl in her own right.

  She had golden hair cut short around a tan face. If a sunflower was turned into a princess, Bob imagined Calista was the result. “Is that for me?” he asked with a smile.

  Calista nodded her head. “My mommy says flowers make everyone feel happy. Are you feeling better now?”

  Bob smiled, took the flower, and carefully tucked it in one of the brass penholders on his desk. “I certainly do,” he lied. He smiled at her and tried not to wince as one of his other students squealed with glee at some joke or jibe from a friend.

  “Did you see the doctor?” the curious girl asked.

  “I’m going today, but it’s just a very bad headache,” Bob answered. “I’ll be fine in a few days.” Unfortunately, he thought sadly.

  “When you feel better, will you read us more Boxcar Kids?” she asked. And there it was- a wonderfully innocent attempt at bribery. The kids loved it when he read to them; it was the voices.

  “Is that what this is all about, then?” Bob asked, smiling. Calista only nodded quickly.

  “Well, I suppose I owe you that much. The minute I feel better, I’ll read two chapters to the class.”

  She surprised him with a hug. He held her in his arms for a minute, nearly forgetting about the headache- nearly. He let her go, and she smiled up at him.

  “I want to see what happens to Watch,” she said cheerfully. “And Violet. I don’t want her to be sick anymore.”

  Bob tousled her hair. “You’re not getting any secrets from me, little flower,” he said. “You’ll have to wait with the rest of the class to find out what happens.”

  “Just a hint?” she asked.

  Bob thought about it for a second and then nodded. He wiggled a finger at her to come close for a secret. She leaned in with a bright smile.

  “You find out what happens in the next chapter,” he said quietly, as if no other student could possibly guess the answer would come eventually.

  “No fair, Mr. Drifter, you promised,” Calista said with a pouty face. “You were supposed to tell me a hint.”

  “Give you a hint,” Bob corrected. “And I did. No one else in the class knows we find out what happens in the next chapter. For all they know, they have to wait until the end of the book.”

  Calista looked thoughtful for a moment before she shook her head. “That’s not a good hint, Mr. Drifter.”

  Bob laughed. “Maybe not,” he admitted. “But sometimes a person just has to wait to see what happens next.” Bob wondered if the advice was for Calista or himself.

  Patience wasn’t sure she could convince Bob to come out. His migraines were worse than ever. She tried to bring up a rain check, to which Bob silenced her with a soft kiss.


  “I’m here now, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he said. They were at Onondaga Lake Park, just a few miles from his house, in case he felt up to ... more time with her. He lay with his head on her lap. They watched the sun set over Onondaga Lake while she gently stroked his head with her fingertips to help ease his headache.

  He held his book in front of him, but he hadn’t so much as tried to turn a page. Something nagged at her, telling her whatever bothered him was more than a headache. She didn’t bother him for quite a while. She watched the rays of the sun spin along the horizon and eventually fade.

  “You’re thinking of something,” she said.

  “I usually am,” he replied. Maybe she shouldn’t have made such an effort to help him learn to tease her so much.

  “All right, smart-ass,” she said with a smile. “You’re distracted. I can accept that you might be more interested in that book than in me, but you’re not even looking at it anymore.”

  He took a deep breath. She worried for a moment that he wouldn’t talk to her. She wondered how someone so earnest could hold himself apart so much. She knew he wanted to share his thoughts, so why wouldn’t he?

  “I heard about this robbery once,” Bob said. He closed his book and set it neatly on the bench over his head. “An off-duty cop happened to be in a Quick Mart when a man came in to rob it.”

  “What happened?” she asked. Bob cleared his throat. Did he know the cop? she wondered.

  “He tried to keep the situation under control, but the clerk on duty had seen one too many movies and tried to save the day. The cop died saving that clerk. The robber died in the attempt, but that cop ... ” Bob closed his eyes for a moment. He seemed to be trying to find a way to explain something to her, something very complicated.

  “What?” she asked, smiling to encourage him to continue.

  “What if it could have happened another way?” he asked.

  She slid down to nestle beside him. He pulled his coat off and wrapped it around her. It was getting dark quickly, but she felt content to stay there with him as long as he wanted.

  “It couldn’t have happened any other way,” she said, feeling certain. He opened his eyes, one eyebrow higher than the other. “Whatever happened, happened exactly the way it was supposed to.”

  “You think there’s a bigger plan?” he asked.

  “Don’t you?”

  “If there is, no one seems to want to clue me in,” he replied a bit sullenly.

  “What would be the point if you knew the way the story ended?” she asked. Bob started laughing. He tried to catch his breath, but he only laughed harder.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, chuckling along with him.

  “I told one of my students something like that today,” he answered.

  “See, you know better,” she said, lightly kissing his neck. “Think about Pip.” They’d talked about their favorite books. She liked Great Expectations; he hated it. It was one of the few things they truly disagreed on. “Would he have done anything differently if he’d known who his benefactor was? Would he have learned the lessons he had?”

  “The book might have been a hundred pages shorter, at least,” he muttered. She lightly slapped his chest. He winced, truly hurt. She’d forgotten about his migraine.

  “Sorry,” she said, frowning.

  He wrapped an arm around her. “So what if you were there, and you knew what was happening? What if you knew what would happen, and you couldn’t stop it?” he asked.

  “Were you there that night? When the off-duty cop died?” she asked, already knowing the answer. He nodded.

  “I knew the moment that guy came into the station,” Bob said quietly. “Sometimes, I wonder if I should have done something else.”

  “I already told you,” she said. “You did exactly what you were meant to do.”

  He let out a long breath. She didn’t believe he felt any better, but he wouldn’t talk about it anymore.

  “At least you’re here now,” she said with a smile.

  “I like it here,” he said.

  “It’s a nice park.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the park,” he said. He gripped her tighter and kissed her neck. “I mean, I like it right here. I don’t care where here is, so long as I get to be right here.” She laughed. He made absolutely no sense, and yet, she understood him completely.

  “I happen to like you right where you are,” she whispered. “Do you think you could be there some place warmer? Some place more private?” She watched his smile grow and chuckled at him. Had it only been a week? It was ridiculous! Could she really fall for a guy that fast? Maybe, she answered herself. Just maybe

  16

  Tracking Grimm

  Drisc dialed a number on his phone after taking some aspirin. So maybe drinking to kill the pain of a headache was a bad idea. It’s not like there were a lot of other options. He sat in his apartment that he swore he’d clean one day. Tomorrow, definitely. The dirty clothes behind his bathroom door and the six, no seven, empty pizza boxes would be easy enough to get rid of. And I’m the guy responsible for the Transportation of human souls. He stood and grabbed a few pizza boxes just as a recording for Information answered.

  “City and state, please,” a robotic female voice said. Bloody machines.

  “Coronado, California,” Drisc said clearly.

  A series of beeps sounded before Drisc heard a single ring. “Thank you; what listing are you looking for?” the voice of a young man said. Drisc wanted to ask him why he didn’t just answer the phone in the first place, but instead he told him to connect him to “For All Time.”

  The young man at the other end of the line offered a thank you, and Drisc heard the phone ring. The ringing set his headache ablaze again, making him think about what disaster might be coming. He supposed a hurricane wasn’t out of the question, but it was unlikely.

  “For All Time,” a young boy said on the phone.

  “Tom?” Drisc asked. Tom was a young boy who helped at the shop from time to time. The old man had an interest in the boy Drisc couldn’t understand.

  “This is,” Tom answered.

  “I need ta talk to the Clockmaker,” Drisc said formally.

  “Right,” Tom said. He must have put the phone down, because all Drisc heard for a few moments were idle sounds of an empty clock shop. Even through the phone, he could hear the ticking. Drisc used the time to shove his pizza boxes in an empty trash bag and set it by his door. He’d take them down to the trash in the morning.

  “I’m not certain I can help you,” the Clockmaker said. He wasn’t much for greetings sometimes. The Clockmaker usually responded to whatever he was thinking, not necessarily who he was talking to. He also had a knack for knowing who was calling and what that person needed.

  “Aye’ve got Grimm here and der’s something big about to happen,” Drisc said.

  “Which is why I made sure you had help,” he said calmly. He was actually a very nice old man, but he didn’t suffer people trying to get out of a bad situation. That meant he didn’t suffer much of anything from Drisc.

  “So what should aye do?” Drisc asked, knowing the answer.

  “I’m in no more control over things than you are,” the Clockmaker answered. Drisc could almost see his bushy, white mustache waggle as he spoke. “At best, I have a little more notice than you.”

  “De ye ‘ave any notice on what might be comin’?”

  “Only that what’s coming will cost dearly. I’m sorry, young man, but I’m afraid that the pending event is just the beginning of something much bigger, and it won’t be pleasant for you or your friend.”

  Drisc kicked the bag of pizza boxes as hard as he could. “Den could ye give me ‘o bit more fucking advice den that?” Drisc regretted yelling. His head was splitting.

  “If I knew, I swear, I’d tell you,” the Clockmaker answered. Drisc tried to breathe. The old man had more information than Drisc, which was to say he had any at all
. That didn’t mean he had names, times, or specifics. It wasn’t the Clockmaker’s function.

  “Whoever made dis system was out’ve ‘is mind,” Drisc complained.

  “What has The Grimm been doing?”

  Drisc walked to the only chair in his apartment, sat down, and let out a slow breath. “He ripped the soul right out’ve da poor bastard. He was a killer, and by the end, I felt truly sorry fer him. Oh, and ‘e made a right mess ‘o it, too.”

  “What are they saying?”

  “They don’ know what ta say. Me ‘N Bob got out without so much as three questions, but if dat bastard keeps up like this, our job is goin’ta be a lot more difficult.”

  “I think he’s very frustrated I’m still alive,” the Clockmaker said calmly. Not for lack of trying, from what I hear. “Have you discovered where his extra powers are coming from?”

  “Der’s no fuckin’ way ye didn’t already know dat!” Drisc shouted, truly angry at this point. “Tell me the real reason why aye had ta look into this.”

  “If we’re being honest, Mr. Navin, you know why.”

  Drisc put a hand against his chest. The memory of that execution flooded through his thoughts again. “Am I right? Is he really trying to actually make Blacksouls?” Drisc fidgeted impatiently. It wasn’t a direction he ever wanted a conversation to go.

  “I’m afraid he’s quite out of his mind,” the Clockmaker said.

  “No fucking shit!” Drisc barked. “What are da consequences if ‘e lets too many souls sour?”