He stared at me, hard, as if trying to puzzle me out. 'So… how far from the future are you?'
'I'm not. I'm from three years in the past. But I've been to the future. Twelve years anyway. You're going to like it. Parts of it, anyway.'
'Like what?'
Shrug. 'Things like… um, well, Stonewall, for one. Neil Armstrong. Apple. Luke Skywalker. Pac-Man. But I think, Stonewall might be the big one.'
'What's Stonewall?'
'You'll find out soon enough. It's -it's going to be… kind of important.'
'Give me a hint?'
'Rosa Parks.'
'Who's Rosa Parks?'
'Look it up.'
He frowned, annoyed. Then his frown eased. He dropped the duffel on the living room floor and came back into the kitchen nook. 'Tell me what you know about me.'
'Urn-'
'You want me to do this, you have to tell me.' He sat down opposite me and waited.
'Okay,' I said. 'Wait.' I went into the bedroom, came back with the folders. Tossed it on the table. 'I have to prevent the disappearance of this boy. Have you ever seen him?' I slid over the picture of Jeremy Weiss.
Matt looked, frowned, started to shake his head no, then said, 'No, wait, I think he comes in mostly on weekends.'
'He's number three. There are two other disappearances before him. Ten more afterward. Here's number one.'
'That's Brad. Brad-boy. He rides a motorcycle. He comes in, picks up a trick, rides off. Nobody knows much about him, not even his tricks.'
'Yeah, I've seen it.'
'When does he -?'
'Two weeks. A little more than two weeks.' I passed over the next folder. 'This is the second victim.'
He opened it, saw his own picture, and flinched. He deflated like a balloon. 'I - I'm going to die.'
'No. You're not. I promise you. I promise you.'
'But I did. I mean, I will, won't I? I mean -this?' He looked suddenly terrified.
'No. You won't.'
'But how do you know? I thought time was - '
'Time is mutable. If it wasn't, I wouldn't be here. I couldn't be here. Neither could you.'
He accepted that, but only because he wanted to. He wasn't convinced. After a bit, he reached over and took the other folders, opened them one at a time. He recognized two more of the boys, none of the rest. Not surprising. The last disappearance was only fourteen this year.
'All right. Now, tell me -do you go anywhere else besides Gino's?'
He shook his head. 'There's a club down in Garden Grove, for eighteen-and-up. But I've never been there. Um, there's the tubs. The Y-Mac. I've only been there two-three times. There isn't any place else. I can't get into any of the bars.'
'So mostly you go to Gino's?'
'That's where everybody goes.'
'All right. Here's the deal. You don't go to Gino's unless I go too. I want to see who talks to you. And if somebody asks you to go home with him-we'll work out a signal. You'll tug on your ear. And I'll… I'll do what's appropriate.'
Matt nodded. He seemed grateful to have a plan. He took a breath. 'I saw some knockwurst in the freezer. Should I make that for dinner?'
I wasn't that hungry, but I nodded.
He clattered around in the cupboards for a bit, looking to see what else he could put on a plate. 'There's some baked beans here, and some English muffins. I can make a little salad and open a couple of Cokes…?'
'That sounds good.' I gathered up the photos and slid them back into their respective folders. 'Mike…?'
'Yeah.'
'If I don't go home with anyone, how will you know which one's the killer?'
'I'm still trying to figure that out.'
'You'll have to watch Brad-boy too, won't you?'
'Yeah.'
'Maybe I'm not getting this right. But the only way you'll know who the killer is… will be by letting him kill someone. Brad. Right?'
'Well, no. I have a pretty good idea which night Brad disappears. So whoever talks to him on that night, that's probably the killer. But if I can keep Brad from going off with him, then I can save his life.'
'But what if it's the wrong guy. I mean, if he doesn't get a chance to kill anyone, how will you know he's the killer?'
I got up, put the bottle of scotch back in the cupboard. Leaned against the wall and looked down at Matt. He was cutting up lettuce. 'There's another part to the problem. Let's say that I give Brad a flat tire so he can't go out that night. Or something like that. Let's say I keep Brad from tricking out. Then that means Mr. Death-that's what I call him-picks up someone else. And maybe not that night, maybe the next night, or the following week. Maybe the whole timetable gets interrupted, screwed up -then this whole schedule is useless.'
'So you have to watch Brad…'
'Yeah. And I'll have to tail him to wherever he goes and… and hope it's the real deal.'
'That's not fair to Brad.'
'It's not fair to any of you guys. I'm only hired to save one boy-but there's a dozen others, and maybe more, who are equally at risk. I told you, time is mutable. If I jiggle it too hard, I lose the whole case. I can save you and Jeremy and Brad, but who else dies in your place?'
He got it-it was like a body blow. He laid down the knife and said, 'Shit.' And then he reacted to his own vulgarity with a softly spoken, 'Well, that wasn't very ladylike, was it?'
He put dinner on the table and we ate in silence for a while. Finally, I said, 'This is very good. Thank you.'
'You like it?'
'It's a whole meal. It's more than I would have done for myself.'
'I had to learn how to cook. My mom - ' He shrugged.
'Yeah, I saw.'
'She's not a bad person. Neither is my dad, except when he drinks too much - '
'And how often is that?'
He got the point. 'Yeah. Okay.'
Later, after the dishes were put away, I took a quick shower. I came out, wearing only a towel. He looked at me, then glanced away quickly. He said something about a long soak and hurried into the bathroom. I heard the sound of bath water running. After a moment, he stuck his head out. 'Towels?'
'Hall closet. Top shelf. Here.' I pulled the yellow towels down for him. 'Anything else?' 'I don't think so.' Still not looking at me.
'All right. I'm going to bed. I've got a meeting in the morning. When I get back we'll go get a bed for you.'
'Urn. Okay. Thanks.' He disappeared back into the bathroom.
I like to sleep with the windows open. Here, just off Melrose, the nights were sometimes stifling, sometimes breezy, sometimes cold. Sometimes the wind blew in from the sea, and sometimes the air was still and smelled of jasmine. Tonight there was cold wind, the last wet remnant of a gloomy drizzly day. The air smelled clean. Tomorrow would be bright.
I got into bed, listened for a while to the water dripping from the corners of the building, to the occasional wet swish of a car passing by, to the distant roar of the city, and maybe even the hint of music somewhere. Got up, went to the closet, pulled out an extra blanket and dropped it on the couch. He'd need it.
Got back into bed and listened to the roar of my own thoughts. Matt had put his finger on it-what I already knew and hadn't been willing to say. I had no way to ID the perp. Not unless I let someone die.
