D. MacHale - The Pilgrims of Rayne

“What kind of name is Dodger, anyway? That’s a dog name.”

“It’s a nickname is all,” he stammered. “I like baseball.”

“Baseball? I’ll bet you’ve never even been to Los Angeles!”

“Los Angeles?” Dodger said, confused. “Who said anything about-“

I quickly stepped between them and glared at Courtney. “Dodger’s real name is Douglas. He calls himself Dodger because he likes the Dodgers. The Brooklyn Dodgers.”

That stopped Courtney. She had forgotten about the whole time-travel thing. The Brooklyn Dodgers wouldn’t move to Los Angeles for another twenty years. I looked to Dodger and said, “This is my sister. Dodge. Her name’s Courtney. We’re going to stay in Gunny’s apartment for a while. Okay?”

I figured it would be better to tell everybody Courtney was my sister so nobody would get freaked out about us being together.

“Hey, fine with me,” Dodger said. “You’re lucky Caplesmith didn’t clean the place out. He thinks Gunny’s coming back. Is he?”

I didn’t know how to answer that. Of course I couldn’t tell him that Gunny and Spader were trapped on a territory called Eelong that was full of talking cats and carnivorous dinosaurs. I was just happy to hear that the hotel manager, Mr. Caplesmith, had kept the apartment. Gunny was the bell captain at the hotel. He’d worked there most of his life and pretty much ran the place. I’d bet that Mr. Caplesmith would hold his apartment forever on the remote chance that Gunny would be back. That’s how great a guy Gunny was. It was lucky for us. It meant we had a place to stay

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I hope he’s coming back.”

Man, I missed Gunny. Spader too. But I couldn’t let myself go there. Self-pity didn’t help things.

“No luggage?” Dodger asked. He kept stealing nervous looks at Courtney, as if waiting for her to tee off on him again. Courtney just glared.

“We’re traveling light,” I said.

“Is that a problem?” Courtney asked aggressively.

“Not for me,” Dodger said. “If you don’t need a change of undies, that’s your business, sister.”

“I’m not your sister,” Courtney shot back, then looked at me and smiled. “I guess I’m his sister.”

“Let’s just go inside,” I suggested, trying to diffuse the situation.

Dodger went ahead of us, leading us up the wide front stairs into the hotel.

“Be cool,” I said softly to Courtney. “Dodger’s okay.”

“He’s overcompensating because he’s short,” Courtney sniffed.

“Whatever. We need him.”

“Okay, I’ll be good… little bro.” She smiled as she said this. It was weird pretending that we were brother and sister.

The hotel was just as I remembered. It was the height of luxury, 1937-style. The lobby had a high, stained-glass ceiling. There were huge, dark oriental carpets everywhere and lots of soft, leather furniture. It was a place that catered to the highfalutin, so all the guests were dressed impeccably. The bellhops looked neat and crisp in their burgundy uniforms with gold trim. They were the same uniforms that Spader and I had worn when we lived and worked there. I actually had lots of happy memories of the place.

Some lousy ones too.

“You hear the big news?” Dodger asked as he strutted through the lobby.

Courtney said, “Heard it? We were there!”

Dodger frowned. “You were in Hollywood last night?”

Courtney and I shared a look.

“You’re not talking about the subway wreck?” I asked.

“Nah, I’m talking about Dewey Todd.”

“The elevator operator?” I asked in surprise.

“Yeah,” Dodger said. “He went out to Hollywood to work in his old man’s new hotel. Last night there was some kind of strange accident. He was running the elevator and it got hit by lightning.”

“Is he okay?” I asked, horrified.

“That’s the strange part. Nobody knows. Everybody on the elevator disappeared. Halloween night. Spooky, aye? Poor sap. I liked the little guy.”

“Littler than you?” Courtney asked.

Dodger gave her a quick look, but let it go.

Poor Dewey. He was clueless, but a nice guy. I hated to hear that something might have happened to him. It seemed like a real mystery, but I couldn’t worry about it. I had enough mysteries of my own to deal with.

Dodger led us to the elevator.

“We’ll take the stairs,” I told him.

“What’sa matter? Afraid lightning might hit?” he asked, snickering.

Neither of us laughed. Dodger stopped chuckling quickly. “Okay, bad joke. You got a key?” “I know where Gunny keeps it.”

“Okay, if you need anything, you know where to find me.” He started to leave, then turned back to me, as if wanting to say something.

“What?” I asked.

“Don’t take this wrong, Pendragon. But you look different. I mean, you’ve been gone for what? Four months?”

It was true. By my clock I had left First Earth a couple of years before. But the flume put us back there not much later than when I had left. It was just another example of how the flumes were guided by some knowing force.

“How come you look so different?” Dodger asked.

“Growth spurt,” Courtney said flatly.

“It’s been a rough four months” was all I could think of saying.

Dodger looked at me quizzically, then shrugged, and walked off. “If you say so.”

“I’ll get you the cash for the cab ride,” I called after him.

“It’s on me,” he said. “Consider it an apology for getting off on the wrong foot with your sister.”

He looked at Courtney, and gave her a genuine, apologetic smile.

“Thanks, pee wee,” she said.

Dodger winked at her and took off. We watched him as he strutted back into the lobby.

“He winked at me,” Courtney said, disgusted. “What is up with that?”

“He can’t help it if he was born in a different era.”

“I’ll let him get away with the skirt comment, but if he calls me a dame, he’s done.”

I laughed and said, “Let it go, all right?”

“And I don’t care where they play, Dodger is still a dog name.”

Gunny had a small apartment on the first basement level of the hotel. It sounds worse than it was. I led Courtney down the stairs and along the corridor, passing the hotel laundry, the vault, and the baggage checkroom. Gunny’s apartment was at the very end.

I reached up to an exposed, overhead pipe where, sure enough, Gunny’s key was waiting.

“Not exactly high-tech security,” Courtney scoffed.

“Not needed.” I reached for the door and turned the knob. The door was already unlocked. “Half the time Gunny never even locked it.”

The apartment was dark, as you might imagine a basement apartment would be. There were a few narrow windows near the ceiling that were just above ground level. They didn’t let in much light, but it was enough to make the place a little less claustrophobic. I flicked on a lamp to see that the apartment was exactly as Gunny had left it. There was a small living room with a sofa and two easy chairs positioned around a big-old radio in a wooden cabinet made by some company called Philco. There were no TVs in 1937. The radio was the center of home entertainment. One wall of the living room was actually the kitchen, with a small sink and stove next to a tiny refrigerator. Beyond the living room was Gunny’s bedroom. Off that room was his bathroom. That was it. Gunny didn’t need much to be comfortable.

There weren’t a lot of knickknacks or personal touches, other than one painting that hung on the wall above the radio. It was an oil painting of a U.S. Civil War battle where the union soldiers were all members of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry Regiment, one of the first black army units in the Civil War. Gunny was really proud of that.