Locomotive to the Past by George Schultz (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Hmmm! The “New Jason!” Where did that come from? Where did he come from? Clearly this was not the same young man! Certainly not the person—who’d “transferred in”, from the next century!

What, on earth, could have effected such a radical change? Such an enormous—such a monumental—difference, in his attitude? Not only in this, fraught-with-seriousness, situation! Not simply “vying” like this, with the deep-in-thought Hurley Stackhouse! Obviously, there had been a dazzling change—in his entire being! He had changed! Had, as mentioned, dazzlingly changed! In “thought, word, and deed”! In every concept! In the entire concept!

What, on earth, could have produced such a top-to-bottom alteration? In every facet—of his very being? Or—maybe more importantly (probably more importantly)—who, on earth, could’ve pulled off such an amazing transformation, for him? Such a sea-change in him? Could it have been Susan? Valerie? Eric? All of the above? Some magical combination? An entirely unthinkable formula—consisting, of those personalities?

The answer seemed to come back—that it must have been some kind of, difficult-to-formulate, combination! Some blending—of all three, of these dearly-loved people! Plus there was that—very prominent, ever-present—fiscal factor! The continual, always-overwhelming, presence—of those inescapable monetary difficulties! Always having to cope—so frustratingly—with “immovable” finances! Primary stuff, that had been “with him”—dictating his very existence—for all his life!

For the first time in his entire being, Our Boy was knowing a certain amount of financial success! At least, a most-satisfying dimension, of financial independence! A situation—in which he’d never found himself before! Nothing close! Possibly (maybe probably) most importantly—he was no longer, under the dictatorial thumb (or anything else) of one Sheila Rutkowski!

Back in his “other eon”, the most influential person, in his life, had been his maternal grandfather! By far! Suddenly, it was at that very moment—when this inescapable truth had occurred to him! The realization had come crashing down—that Grandpa Piepczyk had never (ever) expressed a special love (or even a borderline fondness) for his own daughter! Never! Ever! Imagine!

Without a doubt, the old man had—by far—exerted the most influence, on young Jason Rutkowski! And everything Grandpa had ever had to say to him—had, always, been firmly rooted, in the past! In the glorious past! Maybe the slightest bit of change, in the young man—had to do with the fact, that Jason seemed to know so much, about year 1942! More about the early-forties—than 2001! Not even close!

The only other person—outside of his own mother—who’d ever wielded the least bit of influence, on young Jason, in his “other” life, had been his gorgeous “Aunt Debbie”. And—ultimately—her influence had diminished!

Wonderful woman, that she was, he’d not gotten to see her—all that often! Not much—after that rift had developed! The regrettable estrangement—between his beautiful “aunt”, and his mother! Still, though this great lady had not, in total, cast a whole lot of influence, over the young man’s life, she had, always, made him feel good! Feel really good! (Always!)

The only other person, to have approached that lofty standard—to the best, of his memory—had been the loyal Lorna! His fellow employee—on the coffee shop’s wait staff! But, her “good offices”—as they used to say—were more than offset, by (who else?) one Manny Foster!

Jason had always wondered—where the fiendish life, of his former boss, would ever lead? Of course, he’d never heard—of Ella Mahoney! The likelihood of their paths ever crossing were, at best, infinitesimal!

So wrapped up—in this, deeply-moving, all-of-a-sudden, analysis—was Our Hero, that Hurley Stackhouse wound up having to practically shout (for the third time) his critical question:

“Rutkowski? Are you listening? Do you fucking hear me? How does twenty-to-one sound? I’ll give you twenty-to-one odds!”

“Make it twenty-five-to-one!” Our Boy had snapped back, to attention. “And you’ve got a deal!”

A, frighteningly-serious, answer—which had come so quick, as to have made even the issuer’s head spin! He was afraid—that he’d just stepped into a quicksand bog!

“Twenty-five-to-one? Jeez! I dunno!”

“Well, okay. That’s fine! Do you just simply want to go ahead… and do the ‘regulation’ ten-dollar deal? Like always?”

That was also very un-Jason-like! A frightening departure! Was his “personality” splitting? Was this to be—yet, another worry?

“Oh… okay, dammit,” groused the bookmaker. “All right! I’ll go ahead… and take the fuckin’ thing!”

Jason—still surprisingly—showed almost no emotion! He reached into his back pocket—and pulled out his “billfold” (as it was more commonly called)! All the emotion—in the entire encounter—was to be shown, by Stackhouse! Calmly, Jason pulled out—five twenties!

“A… a hundred bucks?” the visitor gasped. “You want to bet . . . you wanna bet a hundred? A… a goddam hundred? A hundred goddam dollars? You wanna bet that?”

“That’s about the size of it!” The young man had to take strenuous care—so as to not come across, as too “uppity”!

The offer sent the sainted Mr. Stackhouse through—what would become known, in the 1970s, as—“a lot of changes”! He was exasperated—to the point that the offerer, of the five twenties, could have involved himself, into an additional interlude—vis-a-vis the past and present! But, he knew that he’d have to remain “in the here-and-now”—while the, almost-dazed, bookie, was grappling, with the “astounding” offer!

“All fucking right!” came the inspired reply. “I’ll fuckin’ take it! Give me the goddam money!”

He snatched the five bills, from the younger man’s hands! It was a, ridiculously-adept, move! Then, he stomped off! The visitor lost no time—in rushing, directly, to his celebrated automobile!

Jason was doing his best to quell—or, at least, attempt to hide—the happy eruption! The celebration—of pure and utter joy! The exuberance—that continued, welling up, down deep inside! This festive mindset held, until he’d glanced over—and watched, as Eric uttered an unprintable oath! And then, stalked away!

That night, Valerie and Jason decided to try out a different restaurant—Elliason’s—which was about two-and-a-half blocks, from the latter’s Ohio Street Apartment. Banks, in those days, had been very—distinctive-looking buildings. Most distinguishable. Made, usually, of almost-colorless-but-grey-looking cement. Most of them, looked like mini-cathedrals.

The edifice, in which this newly-discovered restaurant was located, had been—in another life—a real bank. And Jason had “discovered” it,