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. 

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 17, Planning For Frankie Grasso

This is episode seventeen 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.

Planning For Frankie Grasso

After breakfast, Tom returned to the captain’s chair and continued to read Frankie Grasso’s dossier. He focused on Grasso’s responses to being challenged. He wanted to know his habits, routine, and what triggers him. 

Two hours passed.

“Brain,” Tom said.

“Yes.”

“Call my brother,” Tom said. “And make it sound like a phone line.”

Tom listened to the phone ring twice, and he picked up.

“Hello.”

“Edgar, this is Tom. How are you?”

“Where are you?” Edgar said. “You sound like you’re in the next room.”

“Must be a good connection,” Tom said. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” Edgar said. “Are you close by?”

“I’m on my way,” Tom said. “I need you to sit tight.”

“How soon will you be here?” Edgar asked.

“Look, Edgar. I called only to check on you. I can’t tell you anymore than that.”

“What’s going on?” Edgar sounded panicked.

“Stay calm,” Tom encouraged. “Everything is under control. Tell me where you are.”

“I’m less than a half mile off the William Floyd Parkway. It’s called Four Seasons Bed and Breakfast.”

“Okay,” Tom said. “Stay there. I should be there before midnight.”

“Are you flying?” 

“Just leave it to me,” Tom said. 

“You know my life is worthless, don’t you?” Edgar said.

“It’s not worthless,” Tom said. 

“There’s only one way I can make it all right,” Edgar said. “That’s, be their man.”

“How can they use you?” Tom asked.

“I set up shell corporations for them, for one,” Edgar said. “I bill one corporation and run it through a dozen more. I bill them a lot and lose it gambling. Which I have done, but I use their money to lose it to them—kind of.”

“To the best of your knowledge, are you clear under 18 U. S. C.?”

“What!?” Edgar exclaimed. “What do you know about that?”

“It’s not important what I know,” Tom said. “It’s important that you have protected yourself.”

“Have you been consulting with another lawyer or the law?” Edgar asked forcefully.

“No,” Tom said. “I read a lot.”

“You have help,” Edgar said. “If the law is mixed up in this, I may lose my license no matter what 18 U. S. C. says.”

“I’ve read opinions and some cases,” Tom said. “I’m sure you have been coerced. Does anybody in your firm know?”

“Is this being wiretapped?” Edgar said.

“Absolutely not,” Tom said,

“I can assure you that I have not talked to another person about this,” Tom said.

“You’re too naive to lie,” Edgar said. “I’m not sure, but there may be a couple of other lawyers in on this.”

“Let me guess,” Tom said, “they were the ones who helped exploit your weakness for gambling.”

“Look, Tom,” Edgar said, “I never played so much as penny ante poker in school. It’s not a weakness. I got played.”

“Forgive me for pointing this out,” Tom said, “but who is the naive one, now?”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Edgar said, “trying to fit in.”

“No,” Tom said, “because I’ve never had that need.”

“Lucky you,” Edgar said.

“We’re going to get out of this mess,” Tom said. “There’s something I need from you.”

“What’s that?” Edgar asked.

“The names of the two lawyers whom you suspect,” Tom said.

“I can’t do that,” Edgar said. “And why would you want to know?”

“First of all,” Tom said, “don’t claim some sort of collegial honor. If those guys are mixed up in this, they are dirty—dirtier than you. And I want to know. Maybe they can be helped, too.”

“Walter Plummer and Jason Howton,” Edgar said.

“Okay,” Tom said. “Stay put. Call if you need me.”

“When did you start using words like ' collegial?” Edgar asked.

“Nice,” Tom said, “I’m glad you caught that. I’m really trying to impress you.”

Edgar hung up.

“Brain,” Tom said.

“We have some work to do,” Tom said. “Walter Plummer and Jason Howton are lawyers in the same law firm as my brother. Find out what you can about them. Did they start crooked, or were they coerced into being crooked? Can you do that?”

“That should be no problem, Tom.”

Tom walked back to the food cloner. “Cup of black coffee, Sumatran, fine grind.”

The cup appeared, and coffee filled the cup from a spout. Tom removed it. He sipped it on his way to a lounge chair. “Ahh, that’s good.”

“Excuse me,” Brain said, “I have some information for you.”

“Go ahead, Brain.”

“Walter Plummer and Jason Howton met at high school in Scarsdale, New York,” Brain began.  They graduated in the top ten percent of their class and went to Harvard.  Their tuition was paid for by Andrew Porcelli. He’s a mob lawyer. When they graduated, they didn’t go into his practice, but both were hired at the same firm, which your brother eventually got a job with. They defend a lot of mob associates. The firm looks the other way. Messages that I’ve opened between them indicate that your brother was unwittingly brought into a relationship with Frankie Grasso.”

“Thank you, Brain,” Tom said.

“By the way, did you happen to notice where they will be after work?” Tom asked.

“They are scheduled at the office until 6:00,” Brain said. “Receipts indicate that tonight they will go to a pizza restaurant. Receipts indicate that normally they will be at a bar on 53rd Street called Granville’s.”

“I’ll want you to transport me there later on,” Tom said. “What about Grasso’s itinerary?”

“He will go to his home and have a meal with his family,” Brain said. “After that, he normally goes to the back room of a bar in Brooklyn. Guys come in with money and leave with whatever their percentage is. It is about four guys a night. Then he goes to another bar. He sits at the second table on the right, entering the bar. A guard sits on each side of him, and there is an empty chair across the table in front of him. The seat is usually left open for new clients or business partners. On Saturdays, he arrives at 10:00 and leaves about 4:00. He is very predictable.”

“Can I just walk in and sit down?? Tom asked.

“Normally, all contacts are made by appointment,” Brain said.

“How do you get all of this information?” Tom grinned, “Or is it all based on probability?”

“I was able to access law enforcement files,” Brain said. “They take very detailed notes.”

“How long did it take you?”

“I can be in their system, access and collect what I need, and be out in three to five minutes,” Brain said. 

“What takes you so long?” Tom quipped.

“Oh,” Brain assured, “it is not me. Their systems are antiques. Their equipment to me is like stone age utensils are to you.”

“What time does he get to the bar?” Tom asked.

“Between 7:15 and 7:25,” Brain said.

“That’s all I need to know,” Tom said.

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 16, Getting Some Cash

This is episode sixteen 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.

Getting Some Cash    

Tom slung on his coat and slipped into his work boots. He jogged to the location of the invisible pod. He entered.

Tom sat in the captain’s chair. He looked at the various digital instruments. He mentally asked how to operate the pod. His brain quivered gently, and for an instant, he felt as though he lost consciousness. Then he knew all about the pod. 

“Brain,” Tom said, “How soon can I get to New York City?”

“We can get there in minutes,” Brain said.

“How many minutes?” Tom said.

“Depends on how many minutes you want to take,” Brain said.

“Fifteen minutes?” Brain asked.

“Yeah,” Tom said. 

“Any particular part of New York City?” Brain asked.

“Here’s what I have in mind,” Tom said, “I want to use the Instaport to place me inside Frankie Grasso’s safety deposit box room of the Manhattan Fidelity Trust Bank on Broad Street. Do we have the technology to open his box?”

“A device can be provided to disable any type of lock,” Brain said.

“Good,” Brain said. “How soon can we get underway?”

“Just give the command,” Brain said.

“Brain,” Tom said, “you’re in control. Take us about one hundred thousand feet over Frank Grasso’s bank. Go!”

Tom felt a slight movement. It was his first flight in the pod. There was no sensation of movement or flight. He glanced out the forward windshield. It looked like a cloudy blur with speckles of tiny flashing white light. 

A plan rolled around in his mind. He reworded and honed the plan to fit different possibilities. 

“Brain,” Tom said. “Give me the dossier on Frankie Grasso.” 

A hologram white screen appeared in front of Tom. Information about Frankie Grasso appeared on the screen. Tom asked a series of questions, and the answers appeared on the screen. He read over them as they travelled.

“We have arrived,” Brain announced.

“Check the room where Grasso’s safe deposit box is located,” Ton said. “Is it empty?”

There was a pause.

“If you are Instaported now, you will have thirty minutes before it is open for depositors,” Brain said. “In fact, no one can enter; its lock is set on a timing device.”

“But we can?” Tom asked.

“With no difficulty,” Brain said.

“That’s perfect,” Tom said.

Tom stood and walked back to the Instaport dock. 

The Instaport docking area was the portal where objects could be invisibly transported from one location to another. It could be activated from anywhere on the pod, but it was like using the door to walk in, even though the garage door was already open. Tom stepped into a doorless room about the size of an elevator. 

“Brain, you have my location?”

“Yes.”

Tom waved his hand over an activation scanner on the wall. In a blink, he was gone and suddenly in a room full of safe deposit boxes. 

He looked around the room until he found box 252. That box belonged to Frankie Grasso. He held the unlocking device over the keyhole. He heard and felt a click. Grabbing the handle, he pulled open a drawer about the size of a desk top.

It was full of strapped one-hundred-dollar bills.

Tom counted twelve straps and placed them in a leather briefcase. The safety deposit box was closed and locked.

Tom stepped back. “Brain, retrieve me.”

In an instant, Tom was back aboard the pod.

He stepped out of the room. “Cloner, I’d like breakfast. Two eggs, over easy, two strips of bacon, hashed brown potatoes, and Sumatran coffee—strong.”

Tom dropped the bag of money next to the Instaport dock's doorway. Next to it was a small opening in the wall with a tray containing the breakfast. He removed it and walked forward to where a chair and a dining table waited for him.

Tom sat and began eating breakfast. 

“Brain,” Tom said. “I don’t know how it’s done, but this is the best breakfast I’ve ever had. Especially better than the ones I prepare. That Cloner is incredible. I think everyone should have one. However, it doesn’t match my mother’s love.”

“And it never will,” Brain said.

“Brain, you really know how to make a guy feel better, don’t you?”

“It’s what I do.”

“I have a question,” Tom said. “We here on earth, for as long as I can figure, have, at times, named inanimate things. For example, we name things we use: The Queen Mary, The Spirit of St Louis, Gemini, and so on. My dad had a hammer he called Brutus. Does this pod have a name?”

“No.” Brain said. “It has been called Pod Two.”

“I don’t know,” Tom said, “A number is so impersonal. I’d just like to give it a name.”

“That is your decision,” Brain said. 

“And I don’t want any help,” Tom said. “I don’t want you manipulating me and outsmarting me into a perfect name.”

“Only if I’m asked,” Brain said.

“I got a name,” Tom said. “I want to call this pod, The North Forty.”

 “A wise choice,” Brain said. “A rugged Midwestern bucolic sound to it. It matches who you are.”

“I knew you would agree,” Tom smiled and continued eating breakfast.