“Logan, I’m not hungover. This isn’t a joke. I’m dead serious. You’re more than just my boss. We’ve been friends for a long time, and that’s why I’m doing this. If I need to cash in some of those chips so that you can give me this one, then I’m cashing in. Please.”
“Okay, Quinn. I’ll humor you this time. I’ll reschedule the meeting and wait this out. But whatever this is, you better have a good reason. I just stuck out my neck for you on this deal. This meeting, and the one across the street’s for you, Quinn. You need this as much as I do.”
“What deal?”
“I’m putting together a team for a project. I was just in the middle of convincing my dad and the board to let you lead it.”
Quinn paused. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Me neither. I wish I knew what you were going on about right now. I hope you’re not in some kind of trouble.”
Quinn thought about Jeremy’s warning not to tell people he could travel through time. No one would believe him, anyway. Logan would think he was crazy.
“Logan, I overheard something earlier today. I called the police about a possible terrorist attack near the office.”
“And you’re just telling me this now? If that’s true, shouldn’t we be getting the heck out of here?”
“No. You need to stay there. It’s not that kind of attack.”
“It’s not what kind of attack? What aren’t you telling me?”
“I told you. You’re going to have to trust me. I don’t have all the details yet. Just stay there. I already talked to the police. Just stay inside the building.”
Quinn walked to his window and opened the curtains. He stared at his neighbor’s expensive new import with the candy-apple finish. He walked back to his computer and hunted for any information that might be useful if he made it back to the past, things like stock prices and box scores. He still wasn’t sure if, or how long, changes to the timeline would stick or if he was surfing different paths in the multiverse, so he’d take whatever advantage he could grab in the few moments he had.
A few minutes later, police sirens blared.
A couple of intersections uptown from Logan’s office, the police erected barricades. Half a dozen police cruisers waited behind the cordoned-off street.
A low-pitched echo reverberated throughout the area. Vibrations ricocheted through the bones of the immobile officers. At first, all they could see was smoke and something grey and black just beneath their line of sight, and then the top of a large truck revealed itself as it barreled towards them.
“This is it,” the police captain said as he drew his gun. The other cops followed suit.
The rubber and metal squeaked, like nails on a chalkboard. The truck slowed, but not fast enough. The wheels hit the curb, and inertia propelled the trailer forward.
“Everyone, get back!” the captain shouted as he motioned his officers to move out of the way. It was too late.
The bodies of blue-uniformed NYPD lay motionless, strewn across the asphalt.
Smoke billowed from broken pipes. Water spewed in the air from a main break.
The shaking rattled Valentino, who leaned against the window one floor below Logan’s office and then turned towards the direction of the officers.
On every floor, by every window, from every building in the area, people gawked at the dead officers, who resembled rag dolls tossed aside by a finicky, bored child.
Several police cruisers pulled in front of Quinn’s driveway. A shadow appeared from Quinn’s neighbor’s window between an opening in the curtains.
Officer Channing exited his black and white Ford Interceptor. Two officers caught up with him as they approached Quinn’s front door.
“Police! Open up. We have a warrant.”
The vibration knocked down a picture frame that rested on a nearby table. Quinn’s skin turned pale. Officer Channing turned Quinn around, cuffed, and Mirandized him.
“Looks like I already broke one of Jeremy’s rules,” Quinn said.
“Who’s Jeremy?” Officer Channing asked.
Half an hour later, Quinn’s head throbbed. He felt like he was on a merry-go-round. Chains tethered Quinn’s cuffed wrists to the cold interrogation table. An impersonal mirror stared back at him.
Officer Channing carried in the odor of stale coffee and pastries as he stepped through the door and tossed a yellow notepad on the table. He glared at Quinn, then sat down.
Chapter 7
“You said you overheard a couple of suspicious-looking men talking about crashing a large truck near your office building.”
“That’s right. I did what I was supposed to do. I warned you about it, so why are you holding me like I’m some kind of criminal?” Quinn replied.
Officer Channing squinted his eyes and tilted his head.
“You are a criminal,” he said as he gripped his pen and pressed it against the notepad.
“This is stupid. You know I’m not a criminal. Why are you holding me here?”
“I don’t know that. But I’ll tell you what I do know. First, you called to report a truck bomb. Second, the attack took place outside your office building. But the third thing is what bothers me the most. How did you know it was going to happen in the first place?”
“I told you. I overheard some guys talking, so I called the cops. It’s that simple.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little strange they would be talking about something like that, out in the open, risking anyone hearing their plans? Sounds too ridiculous to believe. And I don’t believe it. I don’t know why you told us. I’m still trying to find out why, but I can assure you I will. So, you better start cooperating.”
Quinn thought about the seven rules of time travel that Jeremy had told him the previous day.
“All right. You got me. I’m a time traveler. I’ve been looping through time trying to save my boss since he died in the attack the first time. I’ve been trying to save him ever since. That, and not get arrested or sent to the hospital. It’s Groundhog Day, and I need to fix what happened so I can move forward. At least that’s what I think I’m doing.”
Officer Channing grimaced.
“You think this is a joke? You think that dozens of my men lying dead on the asphalt is funny? You’re one sick guy. You know that? The worst kind of human.”
“Then stop questioning me. I told you. I overheard them talking about the attack, and I did my civic duty and called the police. That’s it.”
“And how did these men look, exactly? Were they Middle-Eastern, Asian, Black, Russian?”
Quinn said nothing. The door opened.
“Quinn, is it? You can call me Kate,” she said. Her hair was almost exactly the same as the first time they met except that it lacked the curls he’d noticed in their first encounter. He wondered what other changes he’d made in the short time he’d been in the current universe’s timeline.
“What he’s trying to say is that we have your entire block on camera. Several cameras in the area, including your neighbors and the convenience store across the street, show you in your home the entire morning. How is it that you could hear this conversation without stepping one foot outside?”