In the waking smell of alcohol and smoke, he knew he was home. His home was always this way, stinking of sin he committed with a dreadful ease. The feel of his mattress begged him to stay: to lay in this comfortable musk of regret. His neck craned as he stared into his ceiling; he was attempting to use willpower alone to move his body. With the inevitable result of him giving into his lack of Hal Jordan-esque powers, he finally sat up. A stiff breeze forced its icy presence on his bare thighs. The window was open from last night’s “escapades”. Moving an arm to the side of the bed, he pushed his body into the direction of the window. His legs hit the floor and propelled the freezing man towards his open window. His eyes drifted to the ground below his window; he still saw the orange tint of yesterday’s dinner. He moved back and shut the window. His throat rose and fell at the reminder of that experience. The exhausted man then turned around and cracked nearly every bone in his body as he moved towards his kitchen. Or his bathroom with a table in it. Either way, it was where he consumed and released. As he approached the doorway, he made a pit stop at the mini fridge at the entrance to the room. There, he grabbed the nearly empty carton of orange juice and a brutally bruised apple.
He dropped them both on the table across from his toilet and took a seat on the decades old diner chair that lay near it. His slid his hands around the remote that was still laying near him from previous mornings of the same and pointed it at the television at the end of the table. The dim light behind the screen illuminated the newswoman. Her face spelt a tired and forced smile as she went over the daily crawl of boring stories. He moved the apple to his lips and bit into its red skin as he watched the woman talk. “Two residents saw a blinding light near the old oil refinery. The cause is still unknown, but the police are currently trying their best to…”
He put down the remote again and threw the core of the apple and the empty carton in the trash. Back on his feet, he looked at himself in the mirror as he flashed a smile. It turned back into a frown pretty quickly as he picked up his toothbrush and applied the nearly empty tube (though it always felt endless to him) of paste. 30 seconds and a spit later, he moved back into his room and put on his usual clothes: a dress shirt with a vest and dress pants. While putting his dress shoes onto his feet, he started reciting the usual greeting in a mocking tone. “Oh hello Greg, nice to see you today. And a lovely day to you too, Todd!” He could feel his middle finger start to extend in response to his thoughts of work, but retracted it so he could finish lacing. His body raised then fell with a sigh and he stood up. With one last glance around his poor excuse for a living space, he made his way towards the door.
His agency was located next door. When he had started it by himself, he figured it should be close to where he lived so it was an easy commute. Admittedly it was true, but he found himself leaving home after work less and less. Such was the woe of convenience. The sign outside the place hadn’t changed, a poker hand with only aces and a magnifying glass inspecting them. Or so, it was supposed to be. It only had 3 cards and someone had inserted the words “Deck of Cards” underneath it. The design wasn’t too bad, but the man he hired to complete the design was fired as soon as he figured out who did it. It was quickly decided that the money invested and the time it took to make the sign was far too exhaustive to make again, so he and the few other employees he hired just left it. The familiar sight of the old logo filled him with a regret. Words from his father bounced in his head, “Another day on the grind isn’t hard when you have something to look forward to.” Of course: his father had a wife and son. His son, however, only had booze and sleep to look forward to.
Of course, lack of eye contact can’t stop the raging sun behind her smile. “Lynny! Good to see you this morning, you look killer as always!” Her words made him want to hurl his orange juice back up. He forced a smile in her direction.
“Hello Nich.” Only two words left his mouth but that was enough for her to attempt further conversation as he tried to continue into his building.
“Didya have a fun time at Robert’s?” He moved past her disk shaped desk into the open door next to it. “Lyndon-” She was cut off by the general bustle of the office. The office space was endless rows of desks and telephones with the occasional office for the seniour detectives. The workers were almost worse than the extremely boring office. These people were either detectives under him or expendable young workers doing paperwork. His steps were laced with incredible speed, as he wanted to get to his office as quickly as possible without tipping anyone off that he was there. He dashed through printers and desks of interns until finally… he spotted it! The office, his salvation!
“Lyndon, where are you going in a hurry buddy?” All speed was gone and the effort was waste. Defeated he turned to face Doug who was a newer hire. He had become quick friends with him due to his great ability to know which beer got you drunk faster. Lyndon dropped his shoulders and exhaled.
“To my office. To work. Like you should be doing.” The words didn’t seem to make Doug go away. He smiled at Lyndon.
“I’m about to head off on a case. Some woman was mugged at the speedway that’s uhh…”, he thought for a second before following, “The one near Miguel’s old house, you know the one?” Lyndon nodded and Doug continued. “Yeah, they stole her purse and her leg.”
“Amputee. Got one of those fake legs. Sicko probably thought it’d be funny to just snatch it off.” His tone kept a comedic undertone but masked it with a serious topic. Lyndon always hated that about Doug. It was often that his dad told him, “Never trust a man who hides his emotions through jokes.” A normal man would probably use some sort of conversation evader or something to end the conversation. However, Lyndon wasn’t in the business to impress anybody. He just walked away from his coworker mid-conversation. His back felt the burn of Doug’s eyes as he walked towards his office and closed the door. He finally let himself relax. He always needed to seem bigger than his coworkers, for appearances sake. His shoulders slumped and his eyes drooped. His pace was much slower as he finally dropped into his chair behind his desk. Tired eyes scanned his desk as he put down the newspaper he had grabbed from a machine on the way. Tons of papers about cases that his colleagues thought would be worth his time. Of course, the best detective in Minneapolis can’t solve every case thrown at him. He told his colleagues to only give him the hardest of cases. He would look through them and hand off the easier ones to the next best detectives.
After an hour of seemingly endless boring paper flipping, he had about 3 cases left. He stretched his arms upwards and let out a groan as his muscles ached in response. His body felt like it was ancient, despite him only being in his young twenties. He put the 3 good cases to his left and moved the other cases on the right side of the desk. He got started on the news.
“LARGE FLASH SPOTTED AT REFINERY”, “3 PEOPLE INJURED IN MINING ACCIDENT”, “WHERE WOULD WE BE WITHOUT OUR LEADER: ROBERT VAUGHN”, and “TOP 10 REASONS WHY YOUR SPOUSE MIGHT BE CHEATING ON YOU” News wasn’t exactly interesting lately. Or ever. Lack of conflict was common, but he didn’t think it would be this boring. His parents and grandparents would talk of how tumultuous the time during the civil war was; the complete lack of wars afterwards made the news practically useless. His open hand idle-mindedly took a cigarette from its pouch. He put the newspaper down for a second to light it, then picked it back up with one hand. Smoke trailed from his mouth as he took a drag and continued reading.
“I suppose this one draws my attention the most.” He said to no one in particular. The case was an older one: young girl, murdered, no evidence, leads, or witnesses in the slightest, was almost like she had a seizure but there wasn’t any damage to her brain. Her body was in a locked room with no way in or out except the door. But why would he do something common like wait in his office for his answer. He put the case notes down and stood up. His legs pushed the desk chair backwards. He never moved his eyes away from the door as he pushed his chair in and rounded his desk to approach it. Back into the sea of piranhas. These people would do anything to get noticed by the boss. A cold shiver passed over him as he put his hand on the knob and opened the door.
“Lynny!” The screeching, familiar voice came from behind him as he tried to rush the door. Against his better judgement, however, he turned around to face her. She beamed at him. He thought of how her pearly teeth and dark hair were a nice contrast. “You actually turned around! Do you wish for me to tell the..” Her voice dropped a little. “others that you’ve left for the day?” Lyndon figured out pretty quickly that he was the only detective that Nich had fascination with. That banshee screech only happened when he entered the door, while his coworkers only got a brief hello or nothing at all. She almost seemed to hate his coworkers, which admittedly, he found her most attractive trait.
“That’s unnecessary.” He waved her off, from which she reprocipricated with a wave that was way too hard. Dropping his hand, he turned around and finally opened the bronze handle to heaven.
Welcome to the playing field, Lyndon.
He didn’t exactly hit the ground running, but his pace was close to that of a speedwalker. He loved throwing himself into his work with no one getting in the way. The feel of the cars passing by him, the bustle of the city, and the smell of the various greasy vendors were all generating ecstasy within his mind. Tired feet had turned into a busy turbine of endless energy with his mind guiding him towards the site of his case. He had reached his destination after a short amount of time. People probably thought he was a professional runner with the speed he reached. It was an older apartment building fitted with: around 20-25 doors, no windows, and a shady owner. Possibly the perfect location for a murder. Easy.
He started by approaching the owner. He was a mix between super old and super young, from which Lyndon assumed he was around his early fifties. He barely kept his small lobby clean and it was the same for his being. The man was a wreck: clothes torn from years of use, beard unshaven with a mix of grey and brown, and he smelled of unwashed mistakes and tobacco. As soon as Lyndon stepped through the doors located furthest from the rest of the doors, he sneezed. While this was probably unrelated, he took this as an omen as he continued on.
“Bless ya’, Stranger.” He heard the raspy voice across the front desk say. “Ya’ lookin’ for a room? We ain’t got much rooms open for ya’, but what we got should fit ya’ needs.” The voice was nearly a hundred times more annoying than he would have imagined. His right hand immediately upon instinct groped his forehead as the man continued. “Mista’ looks like ya’ ran a mile.”
“I did. Sorry, not looking for a room right now. I need to see the room of which…” He put his thoughts in line as he continued. “Ms. Land died.”
Ironically, the air around them seemed to die as the name left his mouth. The owner frowned and laid his arms on the desk. “Room twenty, here’re the keys.” He reached under the desk and grabbed a single key. He held his arm out to Lyndon who took the key from his open hand. “I assume you’re a detective?”
“The best.” Lyndon responded, his back already turned to the disgusting man.
And so, the case begun. When on the job, he was like an entirely different person: quick, decisive, smart, and kind if there were witnesses. He considered being kind to the owner, but decided that it was completely unnecessary as he didn’t know anything. It wasn’t entirely unlikely that he committed the crime though, so Lyndon made sure to keep his hand on the colt strapped to his thigh. He learned early on that you can never be too careful. There were 20 rooms total. Ten on the first floor and ten on the second. He dreaded stairs: too exhausting for a lazy man like him. Still, he bolted up them with ease and started to make his way towards the room. As his steps continued, he heard various noises from the different apartments. Fighting and yelling were the most common of the five rooms he had passed so far. Lyndon made sure to keep a mental note of this because he wondered what kind of people actually decide to stay here. He reached the door with a man in a blue uniform. Lyndon was easily able to discern that he was police. The stick-up-his-butt stance and the glaringly obvious blue outfit were common signs of the pathetic police force. The man turned to face him. Before the man could say anything, Lyndon announced who he was. “I’m a detective working on the case. I work at Deck of Cards. Call them if you wish to stop me.” The words left his mouth like they had to around sixty other police officers. He slid past the man and grabbed the knob. He heard the officer protest with a small movement. “I promise you if you touch me, you’ll end up with only a penny in your pocket.” The threats were always empty but these men always bowed down. The officer groaned but retracted and let Lyndon enter. A snide smile creeped on Lyndon’s face as he opened the door and took a step inside.
The eyes of a professional sleuth were put into work immediately. He closed the door behind him with a slam and saw the signs of a struggle. Wasn’t a suicide then. Onto the next idea: the locked door. He turned back towards the door and banged his fist on it. “Hey! I’m going to lock the door, try to force it open without breaking the door down!” There was a muffled sound of confirmation behind the door. He turned the lock and banged again. The doorknob jiggled intensely, but the door didn’t budge. “Hey, the lock holds! You can stop!” The door was thick so he didn’t think a normal person could break it down, and now he knows the lock holds. Hmm. There were plenty more thoughts in his head but one was major. He approached the phone that was installed in the room. He had an idea to call the operator to see if there were any calls recently.
“Hey, this is the operator, how may I assist you today?”
“I am a detective working the case behind a recent murder, can you tell me the last number this phone called?”
“I sure can, please give me a moment.”
Lyndon grabbed a pen from his vest pocket.
“The last number recorded was… 612-657-9093. Is that all you ne-”
He shut the receiver down on the base of the phone. The words were written down on the desk because there wasn't any paper, then laid the pen down next to the numbers. One finger traced the numbers on the table as the other starting flipping numbers on the phone to recall the number from the previous caller, who was hopefully our Ms. Land. The number rang and finally the unknown caller picked up. Lyndon made sure to note everything in the call.
At the beginning there was only silence, a slight buzz maybe? There came a voice though. Gruff, grizzled, full of smoke and nicotine like most others, and male. He assumed it was late thirties, maybe early forties? The sound of buzzing could indicate machinery or something else messing with the phone’s audio. Of course he based all of this on the first sentence he received.
“How are you still a-alive? You whore!”
It made him wonder why this case was unsolved, but even if they knew the guy, they definitely couldn’t figure out how he got in. He sounded like a bigger guy, but with that stutter, there was no way he was headstrong enough to break down a door, or a vent or something. Lyndon couldn’t respond as to avoid breaking his cover, so he stayed quiet and let the cowardly lion speak. “If I see you again, it won’t end up with you l-living! You hear me?” Lyndon giggled a little bit at the end of his sentence. The man realized pretty quickly it was a man behind the line. He heard the line click as the man probably panicked. Oh well. Lyndon picked the pen back up and re-wrote the number on his hand to remember it. A tune blew through his lips as he opened the door to the awaiting police officer.
“What’re you whistling for shark? There’s no way you actually just solved it.” Realistically you would hope the police could solve easy cases like this, but I guess to everyone else, it would be hard.
“Ah, that nickname. So you have heard of me.” A cocky smile broke through his chapped lips.
“Everyone in our division does. You’re basically doing our jobs.” The man seemed angry which only made Lyndon more cocky. He put his hands on his hips and slumped his shoulders a bit.
“Hey, you get paid for sitting back and letting me work: where’s the harm?” He could tell another insult was heading his way when he held up a finger. “Can I please tell you the details so you can do your part?”
“One day, Shark. You’ll get your karma.”
“For what, being perfect?” The man sighed and gave up.
“Just tell me the details.” The officer opened up the notepad he kept on his waist and leaned closer to Lyndon.
“Great. The primary suspect is a man in his late thirties. Has a voice like he has been smoking twenty packs a day. Thinks he’s the cock of the walk around here. Yet acts with cowardice and will back down easy if he can’t win.” Lyndon paused for a second to let the cop catch up. He thought about the scene of the crime while he waited. The room was trashed and most objects had been broken in the scuffle. The woman was apparently beaten severely, but no broken bones. “He also probably has a decent amount of muscles but not enough to write home about. From the way he spoke on the phone - yes I used the phone, don’t interrupt me - he probably wears one of those shirts with no sleeves to show off his mediocre muscles.” He breathed for a second, for his sake and the policeman’s. The policeman finished writing and looked back up. Lyndon continued, “I suggest asking the sweaty owner about her “companion”. I really don’t want to speak to him again. And to finish, his phone number- ” He waited again for the cop. “- is 612.” Pause. “- 657.” Pause. “-9093. Got that.” The officer nodded. “Fantastic, I’m off. Tell Nancy the shark said, “Hi.”” He spun around and started to make his way back to the staircase.
The shark. The nickname that had been gifted by cops and civilians alike. He secretly loved the nickname, but simply underplayed his appreciation as to come off stronger. He descended the staircase with speed. When he reached the bottom, he looked back up at the cop. He was talking to someone using the phone strapped to his hip. He always thought about how bulky those things were and how annoying the wires would be, but he guessed that it was kinda mandatory to contact other cops. Moving his eyes to the road, he once again began his sprint. Or he would, but he made sure to stop in with the owner. He opened the doors once again. The man was sweatier than usual, but who wouldn’t be if someone was murdered in their building? Lyndon strolled over to him.
“You wouldn’t happen to know if anyone joined Ms. Land that night would you?” The idea was to get any use out of this man before the rest of the blues showed up. They would claw out too much information that was unnecessary. He could see the man trying to think about it. His brow furrowing, the sweat slowed on his forehead, and his hands were wringing.
“I don’t think so. She was rushin’ me for the key when she got da’ room though, if that means anathing.” Lyndon was outside the doors by the time the owner said “room”. That voice was almost unbearable. On the way back to Deck of Cards, he started to notice it getting darker. He thought about how time seems to move faster when he was on the job. Lyndon wasn’t running this time, rather walking and taking in the surrounding buildings and smog he had grown accustomed to. Sure he loved his job, but he loved his city even more. His fingers wrapped around the familiar bronze knob as he was greeted once again by Nich. She was much tamer. He assumed she was tired and that wore her down. She still did the screech though.
“Lynny!” He grimaced: her voice seemed to reach new octaves hour. “Did you get the information that you needed?” The voice reached normal human levels. He stretched his back out as he groaned out an answer.
“Solved the thingie. Gotta contact the woman who, at least I assumed, was her mom. She put a lot of money in this agreement.” He lowered his back and continued. “Those blues never do anything. The case looked hard but was the easiest thing I’ve done for a while.” He met her eyes and she shook a bit. There was a bit of stammering in her voice.
“Are you going home soon?” Perhaps he should stop looking her in the eyes. He looked away and moved into the door to the office.
“Yes.” He said in passing. The once bustling office was filled with those exhausted by their daily grind. This was truly the best time of day in his eyes. The walk to his personal office was easier and he wasn’t stopped by an annoying blockade. He noticed several of his employees were packing up for the day as he passed. As much as he really didn’t like communicating or even hiring them, they were all good workers and deserved their time at home. Godspeed to them. He opened the door to his office and sat at his desk. Taking a breath, he picked up the folder with the information in it. Ms. Land’s mother’s number was inside. Emotions were always the hardest. He wasn’t a robotic jerk born to only work; rather he was a simple man who didn’t have time for the petty emotions driven by everyone else. He considered this one of the reasons he was so good at his job. This, however, didn’t mean that he wasn’t emotional when it came to this part. He idly started pulling the rotary numbers down as he thought about what he was going to say. He picked up the receiver and waited for an answer.
“Hello?” The voice of several days of crying and mourning spoke. Lyndon could handle emotions like this, but he empathized with her more than he should have. “Who is this?”
“My name is Lyndon. I am the detective who took your case.” He heard her inhale and exhale, like she was trying to calm herself. Lyndon rubbed the back of his head with one hand and kept the receiver held to his left ear with his other hand. “I have given the police the exact details of who your daughter’s murderer was. The rest is up to them. And yes, before you say anything, I know you came to us to avoid the police. At this point though, it becomes ten times easier for them to do their job. They will be caught and brought to justice.” He had said this mini speech a thousand times but it never got easier. Lyndon heard the sniveling stop as she processed the information. It was about fifteen seconds before he heard her.
“So it’s over?” He heard the small voice behind the line say. His heart ached as he listened to her voice.
“Yes, it’s only a matter of time. As per our contract, I will personally track him down if the police do not locate him with the information-” He was caught off guard by weeping noises.
“Thank you… Thank you so much… Please, what’s your name?”
“Lyndon Sheehan.” He said quickly. He leaned his head against his arm that wasn’t holding the phone.
“I wanna give you extra money for this job…” She paused, and sniffled. “I’ll be there in a few days to personally thank you.” Her voice was quivering so much he could barely make the words out. The receiver dropped a little in his hands. He strengthened his hand to put the receiver back to his ear.
“It’s no problem. I have to go now.” He hung up before she could say anything further, and leaned back in his chair. No one deserves what that woman got. A hand that he could barely recognise as his own grabbed a cigarette and lit it. It was a few puffs before he was back to his normal self. He grabbed the file with Ms. Land’s information and tossed it into a filled metal letter tray he used for solved cases. The case fell onto the floor, but he was too lazy to pick it back up even when he was leaving the room.
He walked past the empty desks of those who had left already and arrived at the entrance. Even Nich had left for the day. It was easy to notice when he didn’t hear the welcoming screech. His hand grazed the bronze knob that led to the outside.
Before he knew it, he was home.
The home of years of self neglect, of nights spent alone, and of wishing for more purpose. The smell of wine wafted in the air as he uncorked his merlot, and sat at his bathroom table watching the television. He had removed his vest and undid the button on his pants. Lyndon was trying to relax. There wasn’t much on the TV, only reruns of “I love Lucy” were on, but he’d rather eat his own arm than watch that. So of course, he watched that. It wasn’t really watching though, it was more along the lines of watching the moving pictures without registering anything that's going on. He The noise from the TV faded in his head as he started to slowly doze off.
In the waking smell of alcohol and smoke, he knew he was home. His home was always this way, stinking of sin he committed with a dreadful ease. The feel of his mattress begged him to stay: to lay in this comfortable musk of regret. This may sound familiar, but to him, it was the familiarity that pushed him to wake up in the morning. He knew what was going to happen. And so, his day started. His same vest and pants were put on from the day before with a different t-shirt. The woman on the TV said the same things, he drank the same orange juice, and he ate another apple. He made note to pick up more apples when he left work. Lyndon left his apartment with haste as he wanted to get back to work. He went through the doors under that ruined logo and through the doors that were older than time.
“Lynny!” Her voice was his alarm clock in the mornings, if he were to enter any sort of lull. “You have a visitor! Says she’s got lots of dough!” Nich was always bad with explaining what was happening exactly. “She’s waiting in your office.”
“Nich, why would you let a stranger into my office.” The sentence was rhetorical but she answered anyway.
“You don’t understand, she had the money with her.” Lyndon cocked his head at her, then went through the door leading to his office. This had piqued his interest; no customer had ever brought a large amount of money directly to him. He noticed several of his coworkers peeking into his office. He was upset that the workers that he’s pumped so much money into were slacking.
“If you do not get back to work in 30 seconds, I dock everyone’s pay by a random percentage every 3 seconds after.” The group of people jumped in their skins as they all scrambled back to their desks and either picked up phones or looked through case files. Lyndon sighed and opened his door.
He saw a woman whose height was to his chest, and holding a briefcase. Her hair was a brown, but spoke of previous attempts to change hues. Her outfit was strange, one of a long vest with extending pockets. Her demeanor spoke of years of labour, but on a young body. It was similar to his own. She didn’t speak when he entered and met her eyes, just stared at him. She continued as he moved past her while pulling out his cigarettes from his vest pocket. He plopped down in his chair and lit a cigarette. After placing it in his mouth, he held the pack towards her.
“No thanks.” Her voice was smooth, as if she had trained it to speak to those lower than herself. “I’m not really a smoker.”
“I could tell from your voice.” Lyndon admitted. He wasn’t the type for compliments.
“Ah, thanks!” She smiled at him, she really needed a compliment he guessed. She was fidgeting, as if this were her first time in public for a while.
“... so your case?” He asked finally, after many seconds of waiting for her to speak up. Her eyes widened as she explained her reasoning.
“Oh! Sorry… I have an extremely important case for you that will require you to travel. It will be uh…” She giggled for some reason. “... pretty far.” He frowned at her. Why did she laugh? It was pretty sketchy to say the least.
“You should know my fees get expensive if I have to leave Minneapolis.” He said, eyeing the briefcase in her quivering hands. Why was she so nervous?
“First and foremost: I have one hundred thousand in this briefcase.” He had to put his cigarette in the tray in his desk to prevent slamming his teeth into it.
“Excuse me?” Lyndon managed to choke out of his astonished mouth.
“Yes, one hundred thousand. Technically you won’t leave Minneapolis, nor Minneiowa either.” She spoke with the pride of a newscaster, even though she was still quivering.
“Your confidence is admirable but I can see you shaking, doll.” He leaned back in that old office chair of his. “That’s a lot of dough, but why so much if I’m not leaving… wait what did you say? Minneiowa?” He cocked his head to the side; his cigarette hung out of his mouth precariously.
“Uhh…” She suddenly looked scared. “S-sorry, I’m a bit of a foreigner to these parts. What state are we in?”
Lyndon wasn’t exactly an idiot, but he wasn’t exactly wise either when it came to social situations. He didn’t trust this woman in the slightest. He pulled out his colt and laid it on his desk. She wasn’t a huge fan of that, but didn’t move. “Minnesota. I’ve never heard someone mess up the name that bad.”
“Yeah… I’m a bit new to this area. That’s my bad.” She started shaking so badly that he started to feel bad.
“Fine. What exactly do you want me to do?” He asked gently, putting the gun back into the holster. Lyndon still didn’t trust her, but even if she was shady she couldn’t do much on her own. A slight sigh followed his inquiry.
She perked up. “You will be transported into the future! Where we, which is me and the people I work for, will track a notorious criminal!”
There was around thirty seconds of silence before Lyndon put his cigarette out on his ashtray and lit another one. It was the most intense staredown that Lyndon had ever had. They both figured one of them should speak up soon. They both started sweating; this was the most awkward case Lyndon had ever seen. “Are you bent? Should I call the police?”
“No! No! I promise, I’m telling you the truth. Look!” She dropped the case on his desk with a thud. Her trembling fingers undid the locks carefully and lifted the top of the case open. There was indeed a ton of green in the case, so it makes sense for her to not be lying. However, the words that left her mouth seemed to be the contrary.
“Assuming I choose to believe this, what exactly would that entail exactly?” He decided to go along with it, just to satisfy his curiosity.
“Does that mean you’ll take the case?!”
“Ok.” She breathed in. “I would transport us to 2023, in the exact same place that we left from. We would serve as partners for my organization: the Problem Solvers. We would investigate sites where the criminal has been or will be. The Problem Solvers will provide us with living arrangements as we focus on the case until we solve it.”