The Nick of Time

A young woman with a bright red scarf slid a street map out from its sardine nest and flipped it over, intent on its back cover. She turned and bobbed away, head down and focussed. Everyone else stared into a phone, managing, almost magically, not to run into each other. Almost everyone else. Not the tall man carrying the brown leather briefcase. He had just appeared from around the corner. He stopped in front of the stand and perused. He selected a visitors map, looked it over, looked back again at the offerings of pamphlets and tapped his thigh absent-mindedly with it as he resumed his perusing.

Across the street, another man leaned against the brickwork alcove in a doorway of a bookstore, sipping black coffee from a paper cup. He was watching the visitor information stand on the corner, waiting for a man who would do these very things.

The woman with the red scarf had opened her map and had crossed the street. She was taking turns at consulting her map and turning in oblivious circles. She was muttering and apparently flummoxed.

On the other side of the doorway of the alcove, a man sat on a bench. He was watching the man in the alcove. He was also talking to the muttering woman with the red scarf. The man in the alcove did not know he was being watched – neither did the man with the briefcase.

“Are you set?” she asked again.

“Yes. The briefcase has arrived,” he replied.

“About time. I’m getting dizzy.” She stopped turning, and took a few tentative steps in their direction. She consulted the map once again and looked up and around, seemingly puzzled. “Well?”

“He’s moving.”

“Here we go. I’m on my way.”

Satisfied that the man with the briefcase was indeed the right man, the man in the alcove had tilted himself off the wall and was moving slowly into the throng at the street corner waiting to cross. The light changed.

“Hurry up,” said the man who was no longer on the bench. He was now just a few people behind the moving man in the bustle crossing the street.

“I’m coming.”

“I see you.” She would be hard to miss. She walked out through the stopped traffic, still twirling, seemingly unaware that she was in the middle of 49th, making a lost-tourist bee-line for the information stand. Only the briefcase and walking man paid her no attention. “I have the briefcase,” he stated.

“I have moving man,” she replied. She continued her charade along the sidewalk, as the shoppers and commuters deftly avoided her and her gaudy display. As she arrived at her destination, she spun around and right into the moving man, spilling his coffee. Her map took the brunt of it. She let go of the map as he reacted to the collision. She pricked his left hand, he had seemingly offered so conveniently, with one of the rings she was wearing on both gloves. He looked up at her. “Good bye,” she said.

He stood there for a second, recognition just dawning in his eyes, as the neurotoxin took effect. She let his hand slip away as he collapsed on top of the map and spilled coffee. She turned nonchalantly away and disappeared around the corner.

“Mister, are you okay?” The briefcase man heard the words and turned, his hackles raised. He hardly felt the needle enter his neck, as someone’s hand wrapped around the handle he was holding. An old woman was rapping a someone with her cane.

He had no choice but to let go of the handle; his knees had already buckled. He did not even see the man walk away with the briefcase. His killer was already around the corner and walking beside the woman, by the time someone finally noticed that he had also died.

“Clean?” she asked, as they strolled along.

“As a whistle.” His tone was light, but his eyes were flat and determined. He looked straight ahead. “Time?”

“Relative, as always,” she answered, more playful than usual at this juncture. She gently took hold of his hand as they stopped at the next crosswalk. The light changed. There was a stutter, like a blink of an eye. The crowd hurried their way across and past each other, but not the two. They had disappeared.

Three days later, in a large, private office, a small team of dedicated zealots watched their friend die on a small computer screen. Gloria was directing the viewing: “Stop it. There. The woman with the red scarf. Slow it down. A quarter speed.” The three watched the scene unfold again, in slow motion, captured by a street security camera. “You see?” she continued. “Stop it. Don’t look at Daniel. Look in the background. Top right. The man beside Browning. Focus here.” She pointed at the screen. “Go.” Alex played the scene forward in slow motion. They watched their contact turn his head. The left hand of the man standing beside him seemed to barely brush his neck. The man next stooped a bit and continued walking as Browning collapsed. The briefcase was gone. Their leader continued. “Ready? And…stop. There!”

“Holy shit! The case. I watched this tape five times and missed it!” said Max, stunned.

“It’s the woman. Everyone is watching her! Go back and play it again. Half speed. It’s like a goddamn ballet,” she fumed. Alex adjusted the playback and pushed ‘play’. As they watched, it unfolded, indeed, like a dance. The woman swerved here and there, spinning full around once, but never wavered off her inevitable collision with Daniel. The pedestrians opened a path for her like she was the lead character in a movie scene. Then she spun full circle into Daniel, her open map shielding her from the slow-motion splash of coffee, his hand reaching out in surprised apology, her hand grasping it and her head turning up to look at him as he looked up at her. He slid out of her grasp and she disappeared as well.

“Who are they?”

“There’s more. Cue it up, Al. Watch this.” She gave a quick nod. He played the video. “There they both are. The man with the case and the woman, together, waiting at the light a block away. Everyone starts to cross.“ Alex stopped the tape.

“What the? Where did they go?” Max asked.

“Exactly? They’re gone,” Alex said, as he held both of his hands up in frustration.

“But, that’s impossible!” Max exclaimed.

“I know. It should be. It’s supposed to be!”

“Gloria, who are they? I mean, this is a real problem!” Max persisted.

She moved over and leaned against the table, blocking the screen. Alex scooched aside for her. ”Our problem is we have to try again and we don’t know who these people are or when they are. And…” She paused here and looked at them all in turn. She continued. “Apparently, they can exit the timeline and we can only go one way.”

“I thought it was only one way, period!” said an incredulous Alex.

“You saw the tape.”

“Fuck!” said Max.

“Yeah. Fuck,” Gloria agreed.

In that blink of time, the two killers peeled away from the crowded corner and walked back the way they had come, along the same sidewalk. They were present in what they had coined ‘the Nick’, a stolen moment which allowed them a window where they could exist beside time. They could move about freely, but they had limited interaction with inanimate objects and none with anything living.

They reintegrated, as always, exactly ten minutes later inside the Nick, but at the very same time as they disappeared. They closed and locked the door of their walk-up penthouse apartment behind them. The proximity of today’s job was a luxurious first. Stan took the briefcase, containing the timeshift device, and placed it into the small incinerator. He closed the door, turned it on and watched the fire begin. Ollie poured two stiff glasses of rum. Neither took off their shoes. She presented him with a glass as he looked away from the inferno.

“Thanks, love,” he said. They moved to the small, gray marble table and sat in the two plain wood chairs opposite each other. They both put down their drink and held each other’s hands. They closed their eyes. He waited a whole minute for her to start.

She squeezed his hands tightly and opened her eyes. He met her gaze. “Daniel David Brenner,” she whispered.

“Geoffrey Bruce Lyle Browning,” he countered, only slightly louder. Both were thinking their own private thoughts they had shared with each other so many times. They let go of their hands and drained their glasses deliberately. They had agreed to only use their targets’ real names once they were gone, once they were dead. It was too much to bear as it was.

It was 2022. Time travel had been theorized and hypothesized and fantasized for over a hundred years. A very select few knew of its existence. Once the technology was created and unveiled, the Consortium Guild bought it and all the legal rights to its manufacture and use. The engineers who actually built it, or could build it, were not above recreating it if the price was right.

It was an inexact science; but all agreed travel was one way only. Even so, there were many who would venture back in time, sacrificing the life they knew, to try to change a terrible event, avert a disaster. And there were many who would pay for this to happen.

The Consortium’s members were unsure if the past really could alter the future, but they unanimously erred on the side of caution. No one could be allowed to alter the timeline. It could prove to be a catastrophe. It was better to deal with the devil you know. Stanley and Olivia Fehrman, young members, were appointed. They accepted and were trained. The Guild used their vast resources to gather intelligence and the couple were assigned their objectives: retrieve the device and eliminate the courier and collector both. They had embarked on seventeen such missions. No one had, so far as anyone knew, managed to travel backwards through time for any purpose.

Two months later, the zealot group was reassembled in a different office, in a different city. She was arguing to take the lead on their mission. “How many of our people died in those horrible camps? How many others starved and were murdered?” Gloria almost yelled it at him. “I will stop him. I will stop them!”

“But it can’t be you,” Max insisted. “What if we fail? You’re too important!”

“This is too important! This is everything! Enough. I‘m going. It’s settled. Now, back, once again,” she glared at them, and calmed herself, “to how they knew who we were and where we were in the first place.”

Alex continued from where he left off. “Like I said, they can’t be from the past. The future is just as unlikely. How would they know when and where we were? They couldn’t.” He let that sink in for a few seconds. “They couldn’t! There’s no frame of reference! We never got the briefcase and activated the machine. They knew who Daniel was! They knew exactly when to be there to get both and the machine. They have to come from now. It’s the only explanation,” he stated plainly.

“If that’s true, they know who we are,” Max reasoned.

“Most likely. I’ve been thinking that a lot,” he said.

“How do they know who we are?”

“Been thinking that, too.”

“Then why are we all still alive? And our benefactor?”

“And what did they do with the device?”

“Oh my God!” Gloria yelped, in her own little ‘Eureka!’ moment.

“What?” both men said.

“It was bought and paid for and we delivered it right to them. All they had to do was show up and take it! You don’t kill the goose to get the egg.” She turned away from them and watched the rain pelt the window. Her blurry reflection stared right back at her, dripping, surrounded by the night and a few scattered apartment windows across the street. She was already hatching a plan for ensuring success. The other two had been discussing their current dilemma.

“Well, then that means we have a leak somewhere,” Alex shrugged.

“Obviously, but where? How many leaks?” Max said, exasperated. “There could be lots!”

“Not in this room!” said Alex, challenging him to argue.

Gloria turned to face them. “No. Not in this room.” She settled them with the assurance of her tone. “I have a plan.”

All the information on the technology stated that the device created a field of distortion - a time bubble of a sort. It could be tuned, much like an old-fashioned radio, one way or the other past perfect harmony. It could only go so far, however, at one time. To travel back in time any great distance (or to the future for that matter), required a series of hops.

Olivia and Stanley checked their equipment. It had been four quiet months since they last worked for the Guild. She wondered, in that time, whether they ever might “retire” and have a family and a real life. Their own home. She was only thirty-two, Stan, thirty-four. They had discussed it a few times. She looked at her husband and decided to broach it again when they got back.

“I’m double-checked,” he said. “Let’s get to work.”

She smoothed his jacket over his custom harness. It was strapped tightly over his torso and under his shirt. It carried the machine that laid flat against the small of his back, a mere seven inches by seven and barely an inch thick. Stan activated it with a small remote. As long as they maintained physical contact, they both remained within the Nick. They loved to hold hands, so that was never a problem. It was not quite leisurely, their stroll through time. It was quiet and contemplative. Every time, they had just conducted terrible business and each had to weigh their purpose against the action. It was easy to conceptualize beforehand, but much more difficult after the grim reality.

They left their hotel room, confident of their information as always. Once they stepped outside, she was immediately chilled. Hartford was cold and damp. The wet bite of January seeped through her parka. Olivia reminded herself to breathe through the discomfort. Staying impassive physically helped immensely to do so mentally. Thankfully, the concierge had a cab waiting for them.

Gloria surveyed the arrivals area of BDL airport with Max and Alex. They swept the entire baggage claims area separately and gathered back at carousel two, satisfied that the killer thieves had not yet arrived. They took up their positions and waited for the baggage to arrive from the incoming flight.

Stan and Ollie watched the three novices survey the area. “They do have backup this time,” she warned.

“Good for them. We knew they might. We would,” said a very different looking Stan. His hair was long and tied in a neat little knot on top of his head. He had a smartly trimmed beard and wore round, thick-rimmed glasses. Ollie had a great mane of carefully sprayed and coiffed blonde hair. Her pointed red nails tapped messages on her phone with astounding alacrity, while Stan scrolled through his. They both wore matching blue blazers and stood behind the Enterprise Car Rental counter - two bored employees waiting for the next rush. The manager was in the back waiting as well and planning how to spend her windfall.

Carousel two started to move. Gloria excused herself to use the washroom. “You’re leaving now?” an incredulous Alex asked. They were standing together. Max was sitting on the edge of the next carousel.

“I'll only be a few seconds. Passengers are just arriving. It’ll be a good ten minutes before the bags even start to get here. Don’t worry.” She rolled her suitcase alongside her. She would be departing upstairs for an overseas flight in a short while. They had already said their goodbyes. Max stood and caught his attention. Alex shrugged his reply.

As Gloria passed the rental counter, the blond worker offered a vague smile, but did not stop her vigorous barrage. Those are some nails, she thought. She made it to the far end of the building and entered the restroom. She opened her bag and removed three matching ensembles and three large brown purses; one was full of all her essentials, the other two just had cash and plane tickets. She waited.

The area around Alex had filled up and bags were sliding down the conveyor onto the roundabout. He craned his head around looking for Gloria, stoic in his resolve to stay put as planned. Max had moved closer, near their carousel, his back against a square pillar. His eyes were all adrenaline.

The man with the briefcase arrived. He was wearing a parka and a green toque. He walked in through the sliding doors followed by two other men in parkas and green toques. They stood separated from each other in the waiting throng of impatient travellers. “This is a wrinkle,” Stan admitted, “but not very clever.”

Ollie almost stopped her tapping as she spotted the other three lookalikes walking towards the carousel. “ Stanley. We have a big problem.”

“I see them.” The identical women were walking three abreast, as if they were movie stars of old - black scarves wrapping their heads and audacious sunglasses ensuring both their anonymity and their smoky glamor. They wore the same coats and shoes. They carried the same oversized purses. They were all redheads.

“Can you tell which one is moving woman?"

“No. Not a clue," he answered.

“They’re even the same height. What do we do?” They always planned together and with the Guild, but sometimes there were unforeseen circumstances and obstacles. She always deferred to Stanley. He thought more quickly. Even so, he always asked her for confirmation.

“Forget briefcase man. Focus on Gloria.” It was a statement and a question. They both failed to notice he used her name.

“Agreed.”

Alex smiled when the three briefcase men arrived. Gloria was driven and smart as a whip. She was their leader. He looked up to her with good reason. When he saw the three women walking he almost cheered. Brilliant, he thought. I can't even tell who you are! His next thought, though, was that she didn’t trust him. They all knew there was at least one leak in their network, but to not be in this loop? Did she suspect him, of all people? She had not said a word. He deflated as he searched their blank sunglass stares for consolation.

Max, on the other hand, was a frantic mess of indecision. He had amassed a small fortune and would stand to double that so long as the Consortium retrieved the case. He had tried to talk Gloria out of taking the lead, but she had to have it her own way. He thought he would never have to use his hidden gun. He also thought that she must have found out he had betrayed them from the beginning! Sweat began pooling on his brow.

Gloria’s heart was pounding. She knew they could not fail this time and it broke her heart not to confide in her two most trusted friends. She had no choice. If only she knew of this plan, then no one else would know. No one. Max and Alex would surely understand.

The other women who had met her in the washroom had no idea of the danger they were all in. They were Extra actors from a local agency. They thought they were involved in a rich woman’s fantasy escapade. Five thousand dollars and a trip to Vienna. They were all business though, playing their silent movie star roles to perfection.

Stan and Ollie rechecked their earpieces and microphones, and adjusted their deadly instruments; both of them had delivery systems hidden in their phones. They swung open the counter flap door and moved to surround the carousel area, just as the three men deposited their briefcases atop the circling luggage. “You have the women. I’m on the backup,” Stan reaffirmed.

“There’s too many.”

“We’ll be fine. Smooth and steady, like always.” Both of them carried a small placard advertising their business logo and the last name of a customer for pickup.

Max saw the rental agent stop behind Alex. The agent turned his head slightly and looked directly at Max, who realized, then, the killers were hiding in plain sight. Max saw his own death in those slow, steel eyes. Those eyes looked away, dismissing him. Thinking he was a loose end, he fumbled inside his jacket for the gun. He fished it out and headed straight at him like a Kamikaze.

Ollie stood right beside the women, as Stan and she conversed. "Do you recognize her?" Stan asked. He had had his private, cocky fun with frightened backup two and had already turned his attention back to number one and his business.

"No, not yet," she answered aloud, clearly bored. "It’s supposed to be my break," she added, slightly perturbed. The three women beside her saw the cases come around. They all strode forward, picked up a case and headed for the escalator to Departures. Ollie had no choice but to follow.

Alex watched the Glorias’ exit. He also saw the blonde abandon her facade and follow them. Where is the man? he asked himself, as he turned a cautious circle, hand reaching for his own gun.

Stan had activated the protrusion on his phone and pricked the back of Alex’s hand as he turned around - the barrel of the gun not yet pulled quite past the zipper of his coat. Max, only now just a few feet away, held his gun with both hands at his waist, like an awkward quickdraw artist and managed to shoot Stan as he turned to face him. It ripped through his right cheek, just below his eye.

Even in the din of the crowded terminal, the scream came like a knife. Everyone but Gloria froze and looked for the source. By the time she thought to stop and turn with the others, Ollie was right there. They looked at each other.

“Please, no!” Gloria pleaded. “You have to let me go!” They stood there, alone, the two of them. Everyone else was running away in every direction. Olivia did not know Stanley had been shot. Gloria held the case between her and Olivia like a shield. “I have to do this! Why would you stop me? For money? This will save millions of people. Millions!”

“You have no idea what it will do,” Olivia instructed. She batted the case away with the palm of her left hand, as she stepped forward and tapped Gloria‘s near arm with her phone. The briefcase continued around in an arc as Gloria’s desperate eyes registered her failure, her momentum spinning her around as she collapsed. Her chin hit the cement floor, but she never felt it. Olivia bent to retrieve the briefcase. There was a small square of masking tape on the handle. She grasped it and turned to make her way back to Stanley. Something was wrong. People were still screaming.

The back half of Stanley’s head had exploded in a terrible spray of blood and matter. After he hit the floor, bystanders in its gruesome wake discovered bits of him plastered on their persons. Some became quite hysterical. Alex’s own head, his eyes still open, lay atop of Stanley’s outstretched legs, an ironic pillow.

Max had kept walking past them both as they fell to the floor almost simultaneously. No one even noticed the gun he still held in both hands. It was pointing down as if he would shoot his own feet. Everyone around him was caught up in their own horrible dilemma or witness to someone else's. He gathered his wits and tucked the gun back under his coat just before he bolted through the exit and into a waiting taxi.

Olivia began her foray with caution, slowly making her way towards the carousel. She called Stanley as she walked over. “I have the case,” she added, but he did not reply. Then she saw him, bloody, on the floor, obviously dead. Alex Samuel Superstein was dead on top of his legs. It looked like some ugly, public, double suicide. Security guards were running into the scene. One slipped on a small piece of skull. He bowled into a man and they went down in a heap. Three people captured the collision and pile-up on their phones.

Olivia turned around and walked directly to the carousel. She sat and opened the case. She had studied many such cases and devices. They were all practically identical. She turned back the dial to what she thought must be at least several days before. She pressed the button and she disappeared into the Nick, intent on saving her husband. Time beside her, however, did not change. It behaved the same as it did every other time she and Stanley had operated their own device. She turned the knob again as far as it would go. She moved to the back wall, away from the scene and she waited the full ten minutes. She had to wait alone and helpless, exploring the gravity and loss of the situation, the lies and deeds of the past five years. She reintegrated exactly into the present moment, just in time to see herself vanish. Enraged and wasting no time at all, she closed the case and pushed its tabs into place. Briefcase in hand, and vengeance in her eyes, she strode out the exit.