He tore a piece of paper from his wallet and scribbled a note, “Bike borrowed by Quinn for an emergency. Will return later today.”
Quinn lifted the short-wheeled rusty BMX bicycle that rested in his neighbor’s yard. He stepped on the pedals and rode.
The sky was brighter, the scents stronger, his pulse faster.
Curb, drop. Rock, jump. Light, turn. Corner, turn. Hill, break. Car, turn. Curb, jump.
Quinn pedaled like he had the summer his parents bought him the BMX bike he’d wanted—ever since the sixth grade. His parents bought it because of how Quinn had handled things after Quinn’s grandparents died.
Light, turn.
Quinn pedaled faster.
Curb, jump.
His office building was visible from a couple of blocks away.
Curb, drop. Kid, break. Parent on the premises, stop.
“Watch where you’re going, freak!” the kid’s dad said.
His young son quivered. Quinn’s hand trembled. The boy couldn’t have been older than four or five.
“Sorry.”
Quinn jumped on the pedals.
Cop, stop.
A Ford Interceptor blared its sirens. Officer Channing instructed Quinn to pull over. He opened the door, approached Quinn, then pulled out the ticket pad from his shirt front pocket.
“I’m sorry, Officer. It’s an emergency.”
Officer Channing’s eyes tightened, contorting his face into the resemblance of an overly muscled caveman.
“What kind of an emergency?”
“There’s going to be an accident. Someone’s about to die.”
Quinn realized how that sounded. Quinn’s shoulders raised as he sunk down into himself.
“What do you mean exactly? Who’s about to die?”
“No, I mean, there’s going to be a traffic accident, and a lot of people are going to get hurt.”
Officer Channing twisted his lips and squinted his eyes.
“Uh, huh. Let’s see, riding without a helmet, riding on the sidewalk, riding on the wrong side of the road, and turning without signaling. I have enough violations to bring you in.”
“Please, Officer. It’s an emergency.”
Quinn’s brain finally retrieved the image of Officer Channing, only a much younger version.
“Yeah, I remember you saying that, but that’s not helping you any. Better keep your mouth shut and let me take you to the station before you make things worse.”
Quinn questioned the point of the rest of the day. It wouldn’t help to call anyone. In a few minutes, Logan would leave the office building and get struck and killed. After that, Quinn would end up at the station. He would call Valentino, who would show up past the deadline. Quinn’s stomach would grumble, and then he’d wake up again the next day, on the same day.
Quinn took a few slow, deep breaths and reflected on the different scenarios and outcomes. He thought about the situation, how he got there, why the day was repeating, and how he might change it the next day.
Why was it repeating? Who could he talk to? If he had been back in high school, that person would have been his best friend, Jeremy, who resembled and reminded Quinn of a younger and smarter version of Valentino.
Back in Quinn’s office building, Logan attended a company board meeting. A half-dozen men in their late-fifties to early-seventies wore high-end black or grey suits. They sat at a large oval table adjacent to the penthouse office suite with an immaculate city view.
“I have every confidence in him. Quinn’s more than just a friend. He’s reliable, hard-working, honest, and brilliant at making a plan,” Logan said.
“Then why hasn’t he beat sales expectations the last two years? A third of our sales associates have outperformed his numbers. Why should we promote him over any one of them? Most of them are just as qualified and well educated,” Robert, his father, noted.
“For the same reason you took a chance on me.”
“What did you expect me to do? You’re my son. Of course, I was going to give you a shot. You just happened to be brilliant at it,” Logan’s dad replied.
“And Quinn will be brilliant at it, too.”
“Then answer the question.”
“Quinn clocked in the top three sales, five years running, but he took it hard after his friend died. He’s just had a couple of unlucky years.”
Logan often found himself in similar conversations with his dad, who looked just like him, only a few decades older and more Italian. Robert always made Logan fight for his positions. Most of the time, he was successful. Logan loved his dad but hated looking at the crow’s feet around his eyes because it symbolized the long hours at work Robert could’ve spent with them before his mom died. And after she passed, Robert dove more into his work, becoming distant and cold.
“You know better than that. People make their own luck. Quinn’s no different,” Robert said.
“Quinn has worked his butt off ever since he was a kid, but he just had one bad break after another. I mean, I could list all the crap he had to go through—from his grandparents’ death at the end of eighth grade and Jeremy’s, a couple of years back. He’s bounced back each time.”
“But not high enough. At least not this time. His numbers are flat. Have you forgotten what I’ve taught you, the most important thing? It’s not what happens to you. The only thing that matters is how you respond. Why should we give Quinn the promotion until he shows he deserves it?”
“I know Quinn, and I know what he’s capable of. We’ve put together the perfect team, but it’s only perfect if Quinn leads it.”
“Logan, you should know better than anybody that the single most accurate predictor of success is a past history of success. We haven’t offered him the position yet. It’s not too late to offer it to someone else. He’s late today, for Pete’s sake. What about Valentino? Last year his numbers were through the roof.”
“I like Valentino, but if we put him in charge, he’ll waste half his time chasing women. Quinn, on the other hand, is a brilliant planner. That’s why I hired him, and that’s what this project needs. And it will give him the motivation he needs to find his footing. I promise you, you won’t regret it.”
Robert shook his head. “Fine. I’m only going to go along with this ‘cause you’re usually right on these things, but if Quinn crashes and burns, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“He won’t. I promise”
Logan hurried out of the office to meet some potential clients. He left the building and navigated through the arms and legs in his way. A low-pitched echo reverberated throughout the area. Vibrations ricocheted through Logan’s bones.
Quinn watched the replay of events, this time from the back seat of Officer Channing’s squad car across the street. A massive steel rectangle raced towards Logan. Time slowed. Logan froze, and then it was over.
Quinn gritted his teeth and throttled back. He lifted his legs and maneuvered in the backseat to get his arms in front of him, the best way he could in handcuffs.
An unnerving look overcame Officer Channing’s face.
“Officer Channing requesting back up.” He turned toward Quinn.
“What did you do, Mr. Black?”
“Nothing. I swear.”
“Then how did you know there was going to be an accident that kills a lot of people?”