Middle Falls Time Travel Series (Book 12): The Many Short Lives of Charles Waters by Inmon Shawn

Author:Inmon, Shawn [Inmon, Shawn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Time Travel
Publisher: Shawn Inmon
Published: 2019-09-26T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-One

CHARLES PAID FOR HIS breakfast and wandered into the lobby. He had no plan beyond trying to find a cab and asking them to take him to jail. In a city of this size, he wasn’t sure he would end up where he wanted to be.

A sharply-dressed man stood behind a lectern in one corner of the lobby. He watched Charles with a practiced eye and when Charles passed near enough to him, he said, “Are you trying to find something in particular, sir? Perhaps I can help.”

“Do you know what jail someone would have been taken to if they were arrested at the airport?”

“JFK? Yes, I do. Do you need to get there?”

“Yes. I need to try to get my friend out of jail.”

“Certainly, sir.” There was no judgment in his tone, as though he ran into this situation every day. He turned and flagged a young man in a bellhop uniform. “Andre, would you escort this man to the cab line and tell Max he needs to get to the 75th Precinct.”

Andre didn’t reply, but nodded and led Charles outside.

Two minutes later, he was in a cab, heading for the precinct.

The cabbie dropped him off in front of a two-story brick building with a set of double doors.

Charles tentatively walked inside, unsure of where to begin.

A long desk ran parallel to the doors on the left. On the right, there were old wooden benches half-filled with an array of people. Most looked like blue collar workers who would rather be anywhere else. There were two older women who sat prim and erect, each kneading a handkerchief. One man carried a briefcase and wore a dark suit that might have been in fashion during the Eisenhower presidency.

That man’s sharp, shark eyes took in Charles. He leaped to his feet, sidled up to Charles and said, “Need a lawyer?”

Charles had never so much as tasted coffee, but the man’s breath nearly rectified that. His hair was slicked to one side and Charles could see that the collar of his white shirt was stained yellow.

Charles looked around the precinct to see if any other, more attractive options were available. None appeared immediately.

“Look,” the man said, producing a business card that identified him as ‘Bernard J. Cornish, esq.’

“I’m in here a lot. I can tell you’re new, so you must have some specific business. Do you have a lawyer already?” The man’s Brooklyn accent was so broad that Charles thought he might be making fun of him.

“No,” Charles said, shaking his head.

“Here’s the thing to do, then. I know my way around here. Ask anybody about Bernie Cornish, and they’ll tell you about me. So. You let me know what you need, I’ll see what I can see, and if I can help you out, I have a retainer agreement right here,” he said, patting his battered briefcase. “I take cash, checks, or traveler’s checks.”

“My friend was arrested last night. I want to see if I can arrange to pay his bail.

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