From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 20, Going For A Walk

This is episode twenty of the novel, From Here To 1137. 

   If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback.

Going For A Walk

   Tom suddenly appeared in an alley in Brooklyn. He looked down at his feet, and the bag containing the $100,000 of Grasso’s money suddenly materialized. 

‘Brain?’

‘Yes, Tom.’

‘This place stinks. The alleys are better in Manhattan.’

‘They pay higher taxes.’

Tom walked toward the street. ‘What’s the name of the bar I’m going to?”

“Rossi’s,” Brain said.”It is a really tough bar. Remember, as long as you wear MAS, you can’t be hurt.’

“Except by a nuclear blast,” Tom reminded.

“To be candid, there are a few other exceptions; however, none will come into play tonight,” Brain said.

“Unless Grasso has a competing alien intelligence apparatus,” Tom said. 

“He doesn’t.” Brain assured.

‘Does the Instaport ever make a mistake and forget to transport the MAS? I can’t tell whether I’m wearing it or not.’

‘No, however, I checked again to ease your anxiety.’

‘You are quite a fella—ahem, thing, apparatus, machine, whatever.’

‘Your expressions are noted,’ Brain said.

Tom walked toward a neon sign hanging over the sidewalk that said, Rossi’s. 

He walked in. Nearly everyone turned, stared, and nudged the person next to them. As soon as they had a look, they went back to their conversations and drinks.

Tom walked toward the bar. He looked for Frankie Grasso’s table. He spotted it just as described. Grasso was a short, round man with a puffy face and a thick, shadowed black beard.

He changed direction and walked toward Grasso. Immediately, his two guards stood and hurried to each side of Tom. They were husky, wearing cheap suits.

“What’s your business?” One of them said.

“My business is with Mr. Grasso,” Tom said.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I can see that he’s not busy, so his calendar must be empty.”

“Throw him out of here,” Grasso said.

“I have $100,000 in this bag for you,” Tom said, holding the bag up.

“Check the bag,” Grasso said. “There better be something in the bag besides groceries.”

Tom unzipped the bag, and one of the guards looked inside.

“There’s a lot of Gs in here.” 

“Sit down,” Grasso ordered.

Tom sat in the chair across from Grasso. The two guards stood behind Tom.

“You realize,” Grasso said, “walking in here with a $100,000, the money stays, and you go. You ain’t so smart, farm boy. Looks like you just came in on the last load of tomatoes.”

“How are your mother and father?” Tom said.

“Fine, what’s that got to do with anything?” Grasso scowled.

“Just a friendly get-to-know-you type of question,” Tom said.

“Take the hayseed for a walk, fellas,” Grasso said. “Leave the bag.” He laughed.

The guards grabbed Tom and stood him up. 

“561 238 2879,” Tom said. “That’s your mom’s and dad’s number on 2189 Sally Drive. You should call and see how they’re doing. I hear the weather is very nice tonight in Boca Raton.”

“Let him go,” Grasso ordered. He nodded for Tom to sit.

“Trust me, Mr. Grasso,” Tom said, “your mom and dad are just fine.” Tom looked at his watch. “About now, they’re playing cards with that couple around the corner from them, the Donatello’s.”

“Okay,” Grasso said. “What’s up?”

“You love your mom and dad—your family,” Tom said. “So you’ll understand. My name is Tom Bales. I’m the brother of Edgar Bales. I love him. He’s the only family I have. Our mother and father have both passed.”

“He owes me a lot of money,” Grasso said.

“Mr. Grasso,” Tom said, “with all due respect, my brother was set up.”

“He got himself in the mess that he’s in,” Grasso countered.

“I’m willing to be fair about this,” Tom said. “There’s $100,000 in the bag. I think that should pay off his debt.”

“He owes about $110,000,” Grasso said.

“I understand,” Tom said, “but I figure ten percent off by paying in full.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Grasso said. “Here’s something else, you know a lot about my mother and father, but if they were in jeopardy, you wouldn’t be negotiating with a bag full of money.”

“Well, you got me there,” Tom said. “I’m a softy. I know a lot about your mom and dad; I’d never dream of hurting them. So that means we’re back to square one.”

“It does?” Grasso said. He looked at the guards. “Take this chump for a walk.”

The guards lifted Tom. 

“As you wish, Mr. Grasso,” Tom said, “but after we’re done with our walk, I’ll be back to talk over our agreement.”

Grasso laughed. “Get this clown out of here.”

The guards rushed Tom out the front door.

On the sidewalk, they faced Tom as if they were about to do something pleasurable. 

“We can do this here,” Tom suggested, “or there’s an alley a few doors down.” 

The one guard belted Tom in the stomach. Tom moved slightly. The man appeared surprised that Tom didn’t fall to the ground. 

Tom’s arm hung limp at this side. He made a fist. He felt the MAS tightening it. He swung with his left-handed fist and felt the velocity exceed his expectations. His fist met the jaw of the man. To Tom, it felt like hitting a baseball perfectly. And a crack echoed much like hitting a baseball solidly. The man collapsed. With Ton’s clenched right hand, he hurried a punch into the ribs of the other man. He growled and bent over. He tried to straighten up, but the pain was too great.

“You two should get to a hospital,” Tom said. “That’s a broken jaw and about three cracked ribs. If you like, when I go back inside, I can call an ambulance.”

They cursed and hobbled away.

From Here To 1137 AD; Plummer and Howton At Granville's, Episode 19

This is episode nineteen of the novel, From Here To 1137. 

   If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback.

Plummer and Howton At Granville's 

Before Tom grabbed the door handle to Granville’s, he heard the sounds of laughter and rock music. He opened the door and walked in. 

‘It sounds more crowded than it really is,’ he thought. 

It wasn’t a weekend crowd, but definitely an after-work crowd. It was half full. It was clean; a turn of the 20th century bar and backbar. The rest of the exterior matched.

‘Brain, find  Walter Plummer and Jason Howton for me.’

‘Third booth on your left.’

‘Thanks, Brain.’

Tom walked past a couple of tables and stopped at Plummer’s and Howton’s booth. 

“Are you Plummer and Howton?” Tom asked.

A thin-faced man with oily black slick hair said, “Who wants to know?” 

Brain interrupted, ‘That’s Howton.’

“I’m Edgar Bales’ brother, Tom.” Tom tossed the bags on the benches, one next to Howton and the other next to Plummer.

Behind Tom was an empty table. He grabbed a chair and set it in front of the booth, and he sat on it.

The waitress came.

Tom reached into his pocket and handed her a $20 bill. “We don’t want anything.”

She raised her eyebrows, smiled, and walked away.

“What’s this all about?” Plummer asked. He was a round smooth faced boyish looking man. 

“You two are bottom-feeding blood suckers,” Tom said.

“Hey, Clem,” Plummer said sarcastically, “we can take this outside, if you want.”

“Believe me, pal,” Tom said, “you don’t want that.”

“Careful,” Howton said, “Jethro may have a whittlin’ knife.”

“What’s in the bags?” Plummer asked.

“Money,” Tom said. “$50,000 in each bag. It’s yours.”

“For what?” Howton asked.

“To get lost,” Tom said. “I know you don’t believe me. Before going further, look in the bags.”

They unzipped the bags and looked in. Their eyes widened. They took deep breaths as they looked at each other.

“Okay,” Howton said, “you have our attention.”

They relaxed.

“Believe me, my friend,” Plummer said, “that isn’t near enough. That might get me an upgrade in an apartment, and that’s about it. Jason and I live pretty well.”

“When I’m done here, I go and see Frankie Grasso,” Tom said. “I’m going to give him a large sum of money. He’ll be happy to receive it. Grasso will soon figure out that the money I gave him was his own, taken from his safe deposit box. I happen to know that box is a drop-off. He has a key. The bank has a key. And one of you has a key. He’s going to think one of you, more likely both, gave the money to me to pay off my brother’s debt.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Plummer said. 

“Crime doesn’t make sense, does it?” Tom said.

“How many times have you defended someone and said to yourself: ‘Why did they do that, it doesn’t make sense?’”

“What’s your point?” Howton asked.

“The point is, you have chosen to slip into bed with a criminal,” Tom said. “He knows guys who associate with him are criminals. They are willing to take risks. He’s going to figure you guys were willing to take a risk. Risk comes with rewards. Risk can come with disaster. No matter what you say, he won’t believe you. He will think you were taking a risk—a risk with his money. You know him and his type better than most. You take his money is like taking one of his family members. What do you think the response will be?”

“We’ll just take the money to him and tell him the truth,” Plummer said.

Tom grinned. “Did you hear that? Truth! How do you think he will process that information? Let me help you. These guys stole a hundred thousand, hoping to make a killing with it. He will probably think you guys could buy $100,000 in coke and triple or quadruple your money. The deal fell through, and all the money was lost. You begged, borrowed, stole, and scraped enough money together to pay him back.”

Howton and Plummer stared across the table at each other. They knew that’s what Frankie Grasso would think.

Howton sullenly looked at Tom. “How do we know that’s Grasso’s money? How could you possibly get a hold of it?”

“I’m going to give you some advice,” Tom said. “You can take it or not.”

“What is your advice?” Plummer said. “Assuming what you are telling us is true.”

“Fifty thousand isn’t a lot to you two,” Tom said. “I mean, it’s a lot, but not when compared to your potential.” 

“Get to the point,” Howton demanded.

“Go home and pack,” Tom said. “Go to any ATM and clean out your accounts. Go to a bus station, train station, or airport. Go somewhere and start a new life under a new name. Because tonight, I’m going to meet with Frankie Grasso. I’m paying off Edgar’s debt. It will be paid off with the money I took from him. That means tomorrow, when he takes this cash to his safe deposit box, he’ll see money is missing; money, in his mind, that only one of you could have taken. He’ll feel as if somebody has taken advantage of him. And you know who that is.”

“None of that will happen,” Plummer said.

Tom stood. “Take the money and have a good time, or take the money and run.”

He turned slightly toward the door and stopped. “I almost forgot; how did I get the money from the safe deposit box? An alien intelligence source transported me inside the safety deposit box room and out again. And just so you believe I’ve been there, the box number is 247.”

Tom walked out of Granville’s and back to the alley.

“Brain,” Tom said, “Have you been tracking Frankie Grasso?”

“Yes,” Brain said.

“Where is he?”

“He’s at what the police call a mob bar in Brooklyn,” Brain said. “It appears he has been there for twenty-one minutes.”

“Is there a similar vacant alley close to the bar?”

“There’s one on the same block,” Brain said.

“Can you look around for hoodlums this time?” Tom said.

“You handled the situation admirably,” Brain said. 

“Thanks,” Tom said.

“Are you ready for the transfer?” Brain asked.

“One more thing,” Tom said. “Can you Instaport the other bag of money?”

“Yes,” Brain said.

“Then, I’m ready.”

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 18, 4H

This is episode eighteen of the novel, From Here To 1137. 

   If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback.

4H

“Brain,” Tom said, “what other bank safe deposit boxes does Frankie Grasso have money in?”

“That can’t be determined with certainty,” Brain said. “However, I was running a scan on an auxiliary system and found there is a large sum of money in a storage locker on Long Island.”

“Replicate two leather bags with zippers,” Tom said.

“What?” Brain asked.

“Each about half the size of a feed sack.”

“They’re being replicated as we speak.” 

Tom slipped on his coat. He grabbed the two leather bags from the replicator next to the Instaport station. Tom stepped into the Instaport station.

“Transport me to the storage locker where Frankie Grasso has his money stashed.”

A moment later, Tom was in a dark storage locker. 

“Brain,” Tom said, “I’m gonna need some light.”

Instantly, a portable light appeared and lit up the storage locker. 

Tom looked around the 12’ X 12’ locker. There were two large Army-type barracks bags and three stacked foot lockers.

Tom opened the top of one of the bags. It was stuffed with strapped 50-dollar bills. He stuffed ten straps of bills into each bag and zipped them.

“Brain,” Tom said. “Transport me to an alley near Granville’s bar. I don’t want to be seen all of a sudden showing up. It’s liable to cause a stir.”

“Ready when you are,” Brain said.

Tom grabbed hold of the handles on the bags. “Ready.”

A moment later, he stood in a dark alley with the two bags of money. 

Brain spoke telepathically. “If you walk out of the alley to the street closest to you and turn right, Granville’s will be a block and a half away.”

Tom relied telepathically. “Thanks, Brain.”

“What is your intention with the money?” Brain asked.

“I’m giving Walter Plummer and Jason Howton a golden opportunity. When I step into the bar, give me directions to them.”

“I can do that,” Brain said.

Tom left the comfort of the alley that shielded the wind and was warmed by exhaust fans. He walked toward Granville’s, holding tightly to the handles of two leather bags. 

Three men wearing hoodies approached from his rear. 

The MAS that Tom wore immediately detected a hostile movement. It clenched Tom’s hand, and as it did, Tom also clenched. At the same time, something pushed him from the rear. Again, MAS immediately sensed the aggressive force and took prompt action.  

Tom jerked the bags away from the men on both sides. 

The three men surrounded him.

“Give us the bags, and nothing happens.”

“Yeah, ya won’t get hurt.”

One young man smiled and looked amusingly at Tom’s attire. “What’s goin’ on, a 4H convention in town?”

Tom tried to step around the man in front of him. He shoved Tom back.

“Ain’t nobody around ta help ya.”

“Actually,” Tom said, “I was wondering where your help was.”

“What have we got here, a regular comedian, funny guy?”

“Yeah, like Jay Leno or somethin’.”

“Let’s just cap him now, grab the bags, and go.”

“Whoa, gentleman,” Tom said. “I’m going to be straight up honest with you. I have $50,000 in each bag, that’s a $100,000. I’m going to assume you figure that’s worth killing for. In fact, you’d probably kill for a lot less. I don’t think I’d die for this money. I could just hand it over and let the chips fall where they may. Or, I could hurt you bad enough that you would never forget this time, and it might teach the three of you a lesson.”

The man on Tom’s left removed an automatic pistol from behind him that was tucked in his pants. He held it to Tom’s head.

“Do it!” One man said. 

Tom used the quick reflexes of the MAS. With his left hand, he grabbed the man’s wrist while removing the pistol from the man’s hand with his right hand. Then, with his left hand, he reached up and grabbed the man behind the neck and squeezed. With the pistol in his right hand, he pointed it at the two other men.

Fear flashed across their faces.

“You’re crushing my neck!”

“Not until you hear the bones crack,” Tom said.

“Look, man, we wasn’t gonna shoot you.”

“Don’t believe you,” Tom said, “but this is your lucky day. I got some immediate business to tend to. And that’s kind of taking up a lot of my thinking. And there are just too many moral imperatives to filter through for the time being. So, should I let you off with just a warning, or should I put a bullet in each one of you? How ‘bout this, just thought of it; one of you made a joke about me being the 4H. Actually, I am. There are three of you and one of me, that’s 4, and there are 4 Hs. They stand for heart, hand, head, and health. One bullet in one of you guys’ hands, another in the heart, and another in the head. It’s sort of poetic.”

Each man looked as if he wanted to beg for his life.

“I’m messing with you guys,” Tom said. “Get lost.” He waved them away with the pistol. Then he dropped the pistol in a storm drain.