19 or 2020

19 or 2020

Memories bobbed on an ocean of Captain and Coke; music, people laughing and dancing, the New Year count down. But those shifting, disconnected images offered no clues to explain where he was or how he got there.

What year had they even counted down? How long had he been walking around outside? In the snow?

Except for the anemic glow of a few bulbs burning on building-mounted fixtures, it was quite certainly dark.

Leaning against a wooden fence for support he muttered, “Man, I must have drunk more…more than I should have. Need to get a ride.”

A pat of his pockets turned up nothing and he absently repeated the process. But no phone, wallet or keys appeared.

 “Crap. Where’s my phone? Damn! Everything is gone. I got mugged? And why am I wearing a suit? I didn’t wear a suit to the party. What goes on around here? Who mugs a man and changes his clothes?”

Could Riley, his date, have something to do with it? And why would she do it? He didn’t know, but suspicion nagged him.

The alley he was in was a mystery too. It was in an old part of town; that much was clear. A place he surely didn’t want to be. 

“How did I even get here?”

Looking up and down the alley he tried to think and other memories splashed onto the shore of consciousness. A D.J. jammed and lights flashed. Riley, he recalled, looked exceptionally fine but she was yelling at him and dumped a drink on him. What was that all about? Oh! That blonde chick. What was her name? Rachel something?

“I was just talking to her, that’s all. Oh crap. Not enough flowers in the world to apologize for…what? We were just talking.”

His shoes were slick and he slipped three times while moving along toward the nearest end of the alley, the third time ripping the right knee.

“Ouch! Dang it! Crap. Aw great. Ripped the suit and it isn’t even mine. And my hat fell off.”

Reaching for the headgear he said, “What the hell? I don’t wear hats. They stole my stuff but then gave me a damned fedora?”

Nearing the end of the alley, he heard a car and saw it enter a sliding turn into the alley across the street.

“Hey!” He shouted. “Can I get a ride?”

The occupants didn’t hear but if they had it would have sounded like, “Ayyyyyy! …get…a rye?”

Moving along the narrow space between buildings, quicker, it seemed, than was safe, they were obviously in a hurry.  

Staggering along in the thick haze of alcohol, he tried to move fast enough to catch up to the car but couldn’t.

Stopping again to catch his breath he wheezed, “Man, it’s freezing out here. When did this snow start?” Continuing his conversation with himself he asked, “Why would I know what a fedora is when I can’t remember leaving the club? Or where my date is? Oh God, I hope she’s okay. This is not good.”

Following the tire tracks in the snow, he finally arrived at the back alley driveway to an automotive business of some kind.

“Okay, see if I can get a lift. Hey! Anybody here? I need a ride.”

No one answered and he called out again. Pounding on the back door gained nothing and, peering into a window revealed only darkness.

In the snow, footprints led off to the other end of the alley.

“Great. He dropped off the car for service in the morning and left on foot.”

That he didn’t have another car and simply walked away into the snowy night didn’t rouse his attention.

That it was a Model T Ford with enclosed cab did.

“Man. I wouldn’t leave something like this out in the weather. Gotta be worth a fortune.”

His hand resting on the hood, he admired what he could see of the car in the semi-darkness. Then, without stopping to think, he opened the door and climbed onto the leather seat.

Warmth from the previous occupant lingered and for that Jeremy was glad. A blanket wadded up on the floor was welcome too and without any thought to the ramifications of his actions, he pulled it over himself and fell asleep.

Thumping bass and loud voices pulled him back to consciousness. His eyes still closed against the morning light, he shouted, “Hey! Keep it down, wouldya? Tryin’ to sleep here. Morons. The party’s over.”

But the pounding continued and the angry voice continued.

Oh yeah. Not music. She’s mad at me. “Come on, Riley. Jeez, at least let me wake up before you start yelling.”

“Out of the car now! Wake up and get moving.”

Jerking back into clarity and the light of morning he pulled together what information he had. “Oh God. Still in the car. Sorry, sorry. I was a bit lost and just got in to warm up. Musta fell asleep.”

Jerking the door open, a gruff and irritated man repeated his order, “Out of the car.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t get your boxers bent. Oh, my head.”

“And just what would be wrong with your head?”

“Oh, I was at a party last night. New Year’s. Had a lot to drink and I don’t remember leaving the club.”

“You hear that, Erwin? He had a lot to drink. How sad.”

“No doubt getting a last drunk on before the law goes into effect.”

“What law?”

“Prohibition, fool. The United States will be dry as the Sahara Desert.”

“Huh. You are funny. Prohibition started back in 1920. Are you two even cops or is this some joke? Riley put you up to this, didn’t she? She’s mad at me and she set me up.”

“You see this badge? And this gun? We are police officers of the fine City of Chicago and you best be on good behavior. You are in plenty of trouble as it is.”

“Oh, the car? I wasn’t stealing it. I’m not even sure I remember getting in. Just needed to get warm. I think.”

“You sure you weren’t up to anything else?”

“Like what? I’m not a thief. I just drank too much and, if you don’t mind, keep your voice down. My head is pounding.”

“Well, like I said before, that’s sad. Very sad. But you are still in trouble. Now, what is your name?”

“Jeremy Harrelson.”

“Well Mr. Harrelson, do you have a lawyer?”

“A lawyer? No. I’m not a criminal. Why would I need a lawyer?”

“This car belongs to a man named Big Jim Colosimo. You may know of him as Diamond Jim.”  

“Never heard of the guy. Look, I’ll pay for any damage I caused. Just let me get on home, alright?”

“Just hold on. The car was stolen last night and you are sleeping in it this morning. Your new year is not off to a good start. Now, you just wait here and try to remember what you were doing last night and if anyone saw you.”

“I was at Brew Year’s Eve over at Artifact Events for the celebration. My girlfriend was there and so were a bunch of my friends.”

“Artifact Events? Brew Year’s Eve? Never heard of those, have you George?”

“No. And just where is this Artifact Events located?”

“You serious? You two must have had more to drink that I did. You know, over on North Ravenswood Avenue. Help me find my cell phone and I’ll get you everyone’s contact info.”

“You watch it, Mister. Being rude is not going to help your case.”

“Sorry. I just want to get home, okay? My girlfriend is mad at me.”

“Then why do you want to get home? Well, no worry about that. You’ll be in a nice, safe jail cell and she won’t be able to harm you.”

“Jail? Why? For sitting in someone’s car?”

“No. You have bigger problems.”

Jeremy tried to jerk away from the hands that grabbed him but felt a heavy hit to the back of his head.

When he woke he was face to face with a grizzled man with whiskey breath and bad hair.

“What are you looking at?”

“You. You snore like an old bear. You surely do.”

“Yeah. Been told that before.”

“Well, now you’re awake, you can tell me your story.”

“Well, you’re abrupt. Give a guy a chance to wake up, huh? And why would I want to tell you my story?”

“Don’t know. Pass the time, I guess. We are sharing a jail cell, you and me, and there must be a story about why you’re here. Always a story.”

“Ah crap. Yeah, jail. Did that cop hit me? God, my head hurts.”

“That happens when you try to resist. Lucky you didn’t get shot.”

Ignoring the comment, Jeremy looked around and saw that he was held in relatively primitive facilities. Two rough beds, actually wooden slats covered with flimsy bedding. A toilet, open to the world, was underneath a high window barred with thick, iron slats. The door, of course, was a narrow affair of iron bars.

Gotta be the oldest jail in the United States.

“Holy crap! What am I in here for?”

His cellmate casually said, “Well it prob’ly has to do with you murderin’ that girl.”

“What? I didn’t murder anyone.”

“Not what I heard.”

Killed someone? “No, no. I never killed anyone. I was at a party and got pretty drunk but I never killed anyone. They really think I killed someone? Holy shit. Who?”

“One of Big Jim’s girls, so they say.”

“Big Jim. Who is he? I keep hearing that name.”

 “Important man, is Jim. Runs brothels, gambling dens and such. If you believe what you hear. Not a man you want to annoy.”

“I didn’t kill anyone. God, this is crazy.”

Just then, an officer walked to the cell, a cocky swagger alive in his movements.

“Oh, good to see you’re awake, Mr. Harrelson. You have visitors.”

Fantastic. Dante came to bail me out!

“This way.”

In a small room with a table and two chairs, the officer indicated the empty chair across from three men.

What is with the old-school theme here? Old clothes, old prison, no modern stuff. Pretty elaborate hoax.

The officer said, “Mr. Harrelson, this is Mister Torrio and his associates. They wish to discuss what happened last evening.”

Jeremy looked at the grim-faced men and sat in the offered chair. The officer said, “Rap on the door when you’re finished, Mr. Torrio.”

When the door slammed shut, Jeremy said, “Ah, okay. Who are you guys?”

“I am Mr. Torrio and these gentlemen are of no concern to you just now. You can call me Sir.”

“Well, Sir, are you an attorney or what?”

“Lawyer? No. Don’t like them much myself. But I can get you out of the fix you’re in. You have moxie, you surely do. Stealing Jim’s car and then killing poor Jenny. Ah well, she needed to go, that much is true. A real troublemaker she was. And not much to look at, you ask me, but Jim doesn’t care much to have his toes stepped on.”

The other two nodded in agreement.

“Now wait. I didn’t kill anyone and I didn’t steal a car. I was at a club last night and I drank way too much but I never killed anyone. And someone stole my wallet and my Smart Phone.”

Mr. Torrio raised an eyebrow. “But they tell me you don’t remember anything. If you don’t remember anything, who’s to say you didn’t kill her? You aren’t exactly a…reliable witness.”

Jeremy had no answer for that. Could he really have turned into an animal after getting drunk?  

“So, you see, Mr. Harrelson, you are in a bad place. Now I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. You seem to truly believe that you didn’t kill the girl. Maybe you didn’t. But can you say who did?”

“Well, I remember seeing the car. That old Model T. Whoever was driving turned into the alley and parked it. They were gone when I got there.”

Mr. Torrio scratched his neck. “You get a look at the guy in the car?”

 “No. There were footprints in the snow leading down the alley to the next street when I got there. I called out and knocked on the door but no one showed. Look, can a guy get some coffee around here? Maybe something to eat?”

Ignoring the request Mr. Torrio continued, “You know what bothers me?”

“No, sir.”

“You calling the car an old Model T. That was a new motorcar last year. Explain that, if you would.”

Misunderstanding the man’s meaning, Jeremy said, “So it was purchased at a classic car auction or something. There are a lot of those around still and some companies are making aftermarket parts for them.”

 “Mr. Harrelson, you are beginning to sound like you come from the Moon or someplace. My advice to you is; don’t irritate me.”

“Aw, come on. Everybody knows that Model T Fords are a hundred years old. I really don’t know what game you people are playing here but I’m tired of it.”

Turning to the younger man Mr. Torrio said, “Mister Capone, can you explain good manners to Mr. Harrelson?”

Capone? Al Capone? You gotta be kidding me! This punk is pretending to be the Al Capone.

Seeing too late what was coming, Jeremy pushed back his chair but not fast enough to miss the swing and hit of a heavy sap against his head.

 When he came to, his head rang like church bells and hurt like nothing he’d felt before.

“What’d do that for? Police brutality isn’t legal.”

“We’re not cops and legal is whatever I say is legal. 1920 can be a good year for you or a bad one. Choice is yours.”

“1920? Okay, now I know it’s all a joke. We rang in 2020 last night, boys. I gotta say this is pretty elaborate for Riley to pull off. Damn, she must be some kind of mad at me.”

“You calling me a liar?”

“I know where I was last night. And when. I was born on March 6^th, 1998 and last night I was at the Brew Year’s Eve celebration.”

“No. The year is 1920 and there was no such event as Brew Year’s Eve in Chicago. You just made that up. Now, granted, you may have drunk too much last night but you seem like a smart man and I’m going to give you a chance to prove it.

You can stay in jail and go to trial for Jenny’s murder or, you can come and work for me. I’ll tell you now that the trial will not go in your favor. You were in a stolen car and parked near the body. All this talk of you being from 2020 and how the Model T is a hundred years old and what was that other thing, Frankie? What’d he say?”

“Oh. Smart phone, boss. Smart phone.”

“Yes! Smart phone. Listen, Mr. Harrelson, Judge and Jury are going to think you’ve gone mad. The stuff that comes out of your mouth is hard to believe.

Now, if you cooperate, there is money to be made, especially now that booze is illegal in these United States of America. We’re going to fill that need and I need drivers, enforcers, and warehousemen. There are lots of jobs available for a guy with brains.

Say. You know how to work a Tommy Gun?”

“Tommy Gun? No, never fired one. But I was in the Army and know how to handle AR-15’s and M-4’s.”

Mr. Torrio smiled and shook his head. “See what I mean? The crazy things you say. Keep telling people you are from the year 2020 and making up crazy things, well, you’re going to get killed.  

“Just know this; I don’t tolerate dewdroppers. You work for me, you work. Frankie and Al here, they work hard and get paid good. I’ll give you until five o’clock tonight to decide if you have brains.”

“But, ah. Yeah. Right. I’ll think about what you said. Sir.”

The officer nodded to Mr. Torrio as he left and waited until they were out of earshot before speaking. “Mr. Harrelson. I’d wager that you have a decision to make and quick.”

“Yes. I just don’t understand how I ended up here. Not supposed to happen like this.”

“Well, this life doesn’t always work out the way it’s supposed to. And be clear on this; Going against Mr. Torrio or his boss, Big Jim, is not a good idea. I know that you didn’t kill that girl but the way it works here is that if you choose to not go along with Mr. Torrio’s offer, you will get the chair.”

“Come on, man. You’re a cop. Can’t you do something?”

“No. Got a wife and kids to think about. Things will happen to them if I don’t cooperate. Big Jim and his, they own this town; the mayor, the chief of police, most every politician. A guy like me can’t go against all that. You can’t go against all that. Listen; just do what Mr. Torrio suggests. At least you’ll be alive.”

“Damn. I’m not a criminal.”

“Neither was I. Let’s go back to your cell.”

As time ticked toward the appointed hour, Jeremy considered his situation. None of his choices were good choices. If I could just get back home!

Promptly at five, Mr. Torrio walked to the cell door and asked, “You made your decision?”

“I have, sir. I’m wondering; do you have any work available for a guy like me?”