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Created December 23, 2001
This page is ©2001 to Barton Smith
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Laz' Journal

Chapter Three

I sigh and make for the 'phone booth, not sure whether to curse or bless this latest jaunt. I'm still trying to find out exactly who is framing this Levitt dame, and also still trying to put together my other dilemma, that being that I seem to be unable to stay in one era for more than ten minutes.

Anyway, I reach the booth, and grab the directory which is dutifully chained to what appears to be to me an obsolete rotary-dial telephone with slots for dimes, nickels, and pennies.

Then it hits me: I don't even know this guy's name. All I know is that he's a Frenchman.


I decide to try another avenue, and let the book drop. As it falls, the chain pulls loose, and the directory falls flat, opened to the yellow pages. I bend down to pick the book up and see that one page is completely taken up by an advertisement for a "DuBois Dry Cleaners".

DuBois. French. What the hell, I might as well at least try. Stranger things have happened. And currently *are* happening, I remind myself. I jot the address down along with the rest of my notes, and set off down the street.

Again, music is following me around, this time, the strains of U2's "In God's Country". In fact, I realize that I didn't hear *any* tunes while playing Cowboys. Maybe this isn an important clue.

I finally reach the dry cleaners, a *very* long hike. The joint's closed. So, I get a lockpick from a secret pocket in my trenchcoat, and let myself in. (By this time, knowing how to do this stuff isn't as suprising to me anymore...) My initial suspicion is that this place is nothing more than a dust-trap that hasn't seen even a handkerchief for months. A quick search proves me right.

It serves me right for thinking that any random event would lead me to a Frenchman whose hame I don't even know. But I never give up, and can't afford to, really. There's more at stake here than some babe's reputation, and I think I have to defend that rep in order to get out of this mess.

I decide to call it a day and head back to my office, if it's still there, that is. After I'm too far away to take any notice of, I hear some weird sirensfrom behind me, and turn around.

A weird hovercar that just *screams* "Police" lands in front of the same abandoned establishment into which I've recently broken into. From this I can deduct two things: one, I'm in the future, and two, I tripped a silent alarm. All I can do is hope that there were no cameras there to record my hide and seek mission.

Continuing my trek back to "ground zero" (it's as good a name as any), I glance at my watch (yet another added feature), and marvel at technology beyond my era. I press a tiny pad on the watch face, and suddenly I'm getting a high definition resolution hologram fed directly into my brain!

Shocked, I look away from the watch and lose the picture. I recover, and notice that the watch actually projects a pair of laser beams. Interesting... I'll bet the lasers carry signals to the retinae, and those signals are somehow translated into the hologram, and somehow, the sound. I wonder if this is as simple as it sounds...

Intrigued and fascinated, I once more look into the "watch" face...

Chapter Two Laz' Journal Index Chapter Four