D. MacHale - The Pilgrims of Rayne

It was late. Courtney didn’t finish feasting until nearly ten o’clock. She knew it wasn’t smart to go to bed on such a full stomach, but she was dog tired and the tryptophan was working its magic. She could barely keep her eyes open long enough to brush her teeth and pull off her clothes, before she fell into bed and dropped off to sleep. One of her last thoughts before nodding off was that Dodger’s thoughtful meal had an added bonus. She was going to get a good night’s sleep without all the tossing and turning she usually had to endure while her mind raced and worried. She was on her way out. That was good, because she knew the next day would be busy. She was going to begin her quest to find Mark in this alien world.

The next morning she was woken up by the jangling telephone. She leaped up, ready to grab her clothes and run out of the building to escape from the fire. It took her a second to realize it was only the annoying phone.

“What’s with these old-time people?” she asked herself. “Are they all deaf?”

She answered the phone and heard Dodger’s friendly voice. “Change your mind?”

Courtney glanced at the bedside clock. It was nine thirty. She had slept nearly twelve hours.

“Yikes, sorry. I’ll be right there.”

Courtney didn’t bother with a shower. She her woolen pants and white shirt. She threw on socks, tied up the leather shoes, and slipped into the green sweater. The finishing touch was the floppy hat that she tucked her hair into. She had no idea what she’d find on First Earth, but there was one thing she knew for sure. She didn’t want anybody treating her like a “skirt.” Satisfied, she left the apartment and headed upstairs.

The hotel lobby was bustling with people. Courtney saw Dodger leaning against a big, marble column near the lounge. She watched him for a moment. He looked innocent enough, she thought. He wore plain black pants and a short charcoal gray cloth jacket. Without his bellhop uniform, he looked even younger. Being short added to that impression. He stood watching the hotel guests as they passed by, waving and smiling to those he knew. One elderly woman was having trouble getting the attention of the busy bellhops, so Dodger jumped in and helped her carry her suitcase to the front desk, even though he wasn’t on duty. There was nothing about Dodger that made Courtney think he could be Saint Dane, other than the fact that she thought everybody could be Saint Dane. She wasn’t going to let her guard down, but she needed help finding Mark. She decided it was worth the risk. She left the doorway, stuck her hands in her pockets, and walked toward him. When Dodger saw her, he brightened up.

“There you are!” he said. “Good afternoon!”

“Yeah, very funny,” Courtney said, all business. “Let’s go talk.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dodger said obediently, then winced. “I mean, yes, Courtney.”

Courtney led him into the lobby lounge. It was loaded with people chatting and socializing.

“No good,” she said, putting on the brakes. “Is there some place private?” She thought a second and added, “But with other people around?”

“You want private but with other people?”

“Uh, yeah.” She realized how ridiculous that sounded.

“Still don’t trust me? Even after the turkey dinner?”

“Especially after the turkey dinner,” Courtney said. “But thanks anyway.”

“You’re welcome. Follow me.”

Dodger led Courtney through the opulent lobby. The short guy walked with a cocky strut, like he owned the place. He brought Courtney through the hotel restaurant and into the bustling kitchen.

“Hey, Dodger!” one of the cooks called out. “Ain’t this your day off?”

“Nah, I’m always workin’,” Dodger shot back quickly. Another cook whistled and yelled, “Dodger! Whose the Kewpie?”

“That’s ‘dame’ to you, pal!” Courtney shouted back.

The cooks laughed in mock fear. Dodger laughed too. Courtney could see that he was well liked. Would Saint Dane be well liked? She shook off the thought. It was making her nuts.

Dodger brought Courtney to the back of the kitchen, where the dishes were washed. It was hot and steamy, with only a few dishwashers at work.

“How’s this?” Dodger asked. “Quiet but not too quiet, nobody to bother us, and a couple of witnesses in case I do something you don’t like. All you gotta do is put up with a little steam and some dirty dishes.”

“This is fine.”

“Now, how can I help you?”

“If you are who you say you are, you won’t understand what I’m about to tell you. If you aren’t who you say you are, then you already know everything I’m going to say anyway, so it probably doesn’t matter if I tell you or not. Get it?”

Dodger gave her a sour look. “I lost you after This is fine.’” “Good. Here’s the deal. I’m trying to find somebody. He’s a friend of mine. And Bobby’s and Gunny’s.” “Is he on the lam too?”

“No! None of us are on the lam!” Courtney snapped.

One of the dishwashers turned from his work to see what the shouting was about.

Dodger yelled to him, “Relax, Tony. Everything’s peachy.”

Tony the dishwasher shrugged and went back to work.

Courtney continued, “It’s critically important that we find him. I’m not even going to begin to tell you why, because it’s too long of a story and you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“And I wouldn’t understand if I am who I am, but if I’m not who I am, then I should already know, but I have no idea what you’re talking about so what the heck does that make me?”

“It’s starting to make you annoying. This is serious.”

“Sorry. Tell me about this pal you’re looking for.”

“His name is Mark Dimond. He’s seventeen with dark curly hair and glasses.”

“Oh,” Dodger said. “Easy-peasy. Only about a million guys fit that description in New York.”

“He stutters when he gets nervous,” Courtney added.

“That narrows it down to a half million guys. We’re getting there.”

“Stop making fun!” Courtney barked.

They both looked at Tony. The dishwasher didn’t turn around this time.

“Sorry,” Dodger said. “Ain’t you got something a little more specific to go on?”

“There’s one thing,” Courtney admitted. “If I was home, I think I could use it to try and track him down, but I’m not. I don’t know how things work around here, and that’s why I’m talking to you in the first place.”

Courtney was getting worked up. Tony looked around again. Courtney yelled, “Hey! Tony! Mind your own business!”

Dodger led Courtney away from the dishwashers into a storage area that was surrounded by shelves loaded with clean plates.

“It’s okay,” Dodger said reassuringly. ‘Tell me about the thing.”

Courtney took a breath to calm herself and said, “On October sixth, Mark filed a patent application at the US Patent Office. I have to believe that when you do that, they ask for an address or something, where you can be contacted. I was hoping that if we look up that information, it might give me a lead as to where to find him.”

Dodger waited for Courtney to say more. She didn’t.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“That’s it.”

“That’s all we got to go on?” “Afraid so.”

“You’re telling me this mystery guy is some kind of inventor?”

Courtney was about to say no, but that’s exactly what Mark was. “Yeah,” she said. “He’s an inventor. If Gunny were here he’d tell you how important it is that we find him. But he’s not. It’s just me. Can you help?”

Courtney watched as Dodger frowned, deep in thought. He paced. He scratched his head. He paced some more. None of this looked good to Courtney. Her spirits sagged.