Chapter One - Only Time Will Tell

It was an interesting afternoon. I won a six-million-dollar lottery, drove down to the capital to get the check, stopped at the bank to deposit it, and upon my return home had yet another argument, a really bad one, with my live-in girlfriend of eight months. She didn’t know why I went to Jefferson City, and I had no intention of telling her at this point.

Things had been deteriorating for months and naturally I had been researching options. I pondered my situation, and after realizing I wasn’t really happy there anymore, I sent a million dollars to Tunnel to Towers and another million to Wounded Warriors, then went back out to the garage, sat in my “invention”, thought about my options for a minute, and then left.

Yes, I left. In my “invention”.

Out of sheer boredom, I had researched some possible uses of reverse serial diacronization in conjunction with a laser powered matter inverter and ‘voila!’, I was able to traverse distance and, to a much lesser degree, time. Minutes, later possibly hours, and maybe at some point days, but that was yet to be proven. With distance, however, it was a much more effective contraption. Experiments had already shown the capability for moves of as much as fourteen hundred miles.

So, in as much as I could, I did. Leave, that is. I left the nagging, the haranguing, the constant bitching, and the ever so present reminders that someone’s biological clock was ticking. Under the circumstances, especially the last several months of it, I wanted nothing to do with setting the nine-month alarm on it or even winding it for her.

She might not even miss me until she needs someone to complain to, or about, or at. The little bungalow I grew up in was paid for, the taxes were minuscule, and they and the small insurance premiums came out of an escrow account I had set aside which would take care of both for several years. Yeah, she might just be happier without me. I could only hope.

She used to be fun. She used to be interesting. She used to not know how much money I had. Being the girlfriend of a successful entrepreneur and inventor, once she realized that’s what she was, changed her. She needed more of everything, including me. She became demanding, uppity, all the things she wasn’t before, when I fell in love with her. Money changes people. It hurts relationships. It ruins families. Let’s be honest here, it creates monsters. Usually. Not always. I’d like to think I’m an exception to the rule, but I’ll leave that up to others to judge.

Enough about her. I left her. I abandoned her, for the time being, at the very least. Don’t think too poorly of me, please. I was just trying to survive.

I started to set the dials, laughing to myself about being in a real live way back machine, similar in some ways to what Mr. Peabody had when he and Sherman ran around fixing the world’s problems. I wasn’t going to do that. I decided, very earnestly, I might add, while I was successfully completing experiments, not to do much time travel. Distance only, as much as possible.

Theorists, physicists, philosophers, and even sci-fi fans the world over feel time travel is rife with problems. Relational paradoxes and ‘set sequence alteration’ related quandaries were not something I wanted to be involved with. Although I knew of no peers in this technology, I don’t think any of us wanted to be the guy that kept Ben from flying his kite, or George from chopping down that tree.

Think of what could have happened, or not happened, if major changes had occurred due to a decision in 1618 to go a different route. The possible outcomes are endless. None of us would be here, though, so, it wouldn’t really matter. The downside? No Booker T. and the MGs, no Supremes, no Bob Woodson, no Ben Carson, George Washington Carver, Booker T. Washington, Thomas Sowell, or Herman Cain. None of them. Obama? Sure. His mom was white and his dad from Kenya, so yeah, he might still be around. He damn sure wouldn’t have been president, though. Everyone else in the country, mostly, would have been the same, lily white, except for the natives of the land and migrant workers coming across the southern border at harvest time. The government handout system could have been different, so there might not be all the freebies drawing people across the border permanently. Again, endless possibilities and options, yet I digress.

The dials were set for an empty lot in the Catalina Foothills between Mount Lemmon and Tucson. I had the latitude and longitude set with an elevation set so I wouldn’t fall far when I arrived. Hopefully not at all, actually. I had some money, a bag with a change of clothes, a couple of guns, and a tent tucked in behind the seat. The tent was to put over the machine until I could get a shed built and then have a house built on the lot.

The lot, or lot of lots actually, was listed on the web as being for sale. Four contiguous acres in a new development at the very edge of civilization. Eight large lots of prime residential real estate. They wanted a hundred grand each. I was offering an even million for all eight of them, with only one or two of them going to be developed. I could only hope they bit on my offer. Naturally, I had wiggle room. Lots of it, but I didn’t want to pay gold prices for silver.

This was going to be fun. I’m only being slightly sarcastic. Starting over rarely is, but I was looking forward to it. I had a plan to work with a couple of military industrial complex bigwigs and make some seriously heavy-duty jingle while I began my new life. I had a few ideas up my sleeve that should keep me going and keep beer in the fridge. I had no intention of being single for very long either, but I was going to be a bit more careful this time.

The trip took all of about 7 seconds, and once the dust cleared, in a manner of speaking, since there wasn’t really any, and the tent was set up, I called for an Uber. The look on the driver’s face when he arrived was, to say the least, hilarious. Evening in a desolate part of suburban Tucson, a lone man standing on the curb, that cement curb of the yet to be paved street being the only sign of civilization, with a little bag in his hand and a family sized tent a hundred feet behind him. Yeah, the guy was surprised, but he took it well and delivered me to the Hacienda Del Sol on the north side of town.

As I checked in, I checked my phone again, and for the life of me, couldn’t figure out why I had no messages, no missed calls, no emails, no anything. Then it came to me. This was happening so quickly she still had not figured out that I’d left. I needed to take care of that the next day, for sure. I’d let her know I was having my office moved and she could stay there as long as she liked, but I was not coming back. That should work. I would have Mayflower Movers, or someone similar, take care of moving me after the fact. I thought, ‘It’s still going to be ugly, but maybe, just maybe I can start over without the complications.’

The desk clerk got my attention, had me sign for the room, a week’s stay, at a minimum, then gave me key cards and sent me on my merry way.

The room was wonderful. Very southwestern in motif, but what else could a person expect in Tucson at a resort made to impress that exact atmosphere upon its guests. It was going to be home for a bit, at least until I could make a deal and find something suitable for the period between then and until my new home was built.

Some background might be in order. I am Charlie, Charles Chapman, a retired Air Force Lieutenant Colonel, and sometimes fighter pilot. Sometimes, I say, because I had several other flying assignments, flying everything from 757s and 737s, to little commuter prop jobs. I’d literally flown just about everything Uncle Sam owned, save the big 747 presidential planes and the big bombers.

I had fun. I liked flying, but I also liked inventing things. I have been referred to as a genius with no leadership qualities. My highest position as a military leader was as deputy commander of a squadron of misfits flying government people from the Washington D.C. area to wherever their chores took them. It was a loosely knit bunch of guys, half in flight rehab of one sort or another and the other half just tired of the wars and deployments. They volunteered to fly shuttles and since shuttle pilots are needed just like fighter jocks, there were positions available. I avoided the appointment as squadron commander when ours left by putting in for my retirement. I had a little over twenty-one years in, and all as a rated officer, so it wasn’t much of a problem.

At about the same time I put in my papers to retire, I had a couple of ideas that I shared with a friend who worked for one of the big aerospace firms. With his help I was able to turn my ideas into some pretty novel adaptations and updates to our airborne war fighting and threat warning capabilities. To say the least, I made millions. Some in company stock, some in cash, some in bearer bonds, and some in gold. You would be surprised how some people, a.k.a. corporations, pay their bills.

Just after I retired, I had one little gem come to mind that really hit it big. Once I had made sure it was viable and got it to where I knew it would work, I made some calls to a couple of contacts in the Pentagon I had met while working on the earlier projects. They were pretty excited about it and set me up with some meetings with a couple of guys that had been trying to do something similar. I wound up selling my work to a small startup company, a subcontractor to one of the biggies, for twenty percent of their company and eight figures, the first of which was a three, in cash. My idea went into space and proved itself so useful, the startup wound up as a prime contractor and my twenty percent became a very substantial asset with quite a bit of long-term value. Let’s just call it financial security to last well into my golden years and provide for anyone I leave behind.

Before I was forty-three years old, I had amassed about a hundred million dollars in liquid assets and well more than half that amount in stock options and company partnerships.

A year and a half later I found myself running away from a burned-out relationship in a machine that was worth thousands, or more probably millions, of times more than what I already had. I didn’t want to share it yet, though. I was afraid of what it could do and even more so what it could be used to do. Even though the country had stabilized a bit over the last ten years or so, I still didn’t want the technology abused.

So, there I was in Tucson, Arizona, in the year of our Lord 2032, trying to rebuild what I could of my personal life, hoping to meet someone pretty like Bethany, but more levelheaded and less demanding. I had no idea what my chances were of success, but… It was worth a try.

I fell in love with Tucson early in my career during a stint flying the A-10 Warthog. I loved the place, loved that plane, and had a ball both living there and flying around the area, as well as my deployments to a few not so quiet areas of the middle east.

I remembered a couple of women I dated back then, too. I was in my mid-twenties and a bit wild, but I never got so close to them that anyone felt like settling down.

Angela was a hoot. She was crazy to the bone and loved country music. We spent quite a few fun nights at a bar down on Golf Links. They had a couple of live bands that rotated through there and another place up north.

Sandy was a lot more laid back, and she’s the one that showed me the beauty of Mount Lemmon and the many places one could hike up in there to find peace, quiet, and more than one private swimming hole where clothing would be optional.

I fell asleep my first night back, thinking about them and my plans for the future. I couldn’t wait to get started on Charlie Chapman, version two point oh.

------

I woke early, despite the late bedtime, and ate a hearty breakfast. It was going to be a long day. I already knew that. Financial negotiations and transactions of that magnitude are heavyweight activities.

At eight o’clock, I called the developer’s office and after the receptionist heard my plan, she immediately forwarded my call to their vice president of sales. He introduced himself on the phone as Dick Pierce. We spoke and when I mentioned all eight of the lots and which lots they were, on the back edge of the development, nestled up against the foothills, where no one would build behind them, he hemmed and hawed and stammered a bit.

“Those lots sell for over a hundred thousand each, but we build houses on them, Mr. Chapman. Big houses. Those are half acre lots and the homes are going for just under a million and on up. There’s a lot more money coming in on that development.”

“I understand that, Mr. Pierce, but I’m offering an additional twenty-five grand for each lot to cover some of that. There is plenty of building going on around here, and it doesn’t all have to be done on Eagle Lane.”

“I’m thinking more like a million six to cover our loss of revenue.”

“I’m thinking of maybe buying one lot in the next development over and giving up on my plan for Eagle’s Run,” I told him.

“I’ll tell you what. Let’s split the difference at a million three. That will provide us needed capital to finish the development’s infrastructure, the backside will be less congested. No one will ever be able to build back behind there. Sorry for sharing. I shouldn’t have done that out loud.”

“No problem, and I’ll keep it quiet. I’ll consider that price on a couple of conditions, one being exclusion from any zoning and HOA rules in effect in the subdivision. I don’t want some idiot telling me I can’t fly a flag on my own property whether it be American or Gadsden. On top of that, I plan on having an office and a lab built next door. They’ll look like a house, so no one will be the wiser, but it’s a deal breaker.”

“We can make that happen, Mr. Chapman. What is the other condition?”

“We do it now. Closing and all, cash up front, and you find me a builder that will complete the property for me. I know you have two good ones. A custom builder would be best, and I’m going to assume you’ll recover some additional fiduciary benefit from the effort. I can’t imagine my construction project will run less than two and a half million, to be truthful. I have ideas that I want to run by an architect and a builder and get it on the way to being finished.”

“You have a deal, Mr. Chapman. Can you come down to the office and get the paperwork started?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Pierce. Thank you. I’ll be there shortly.”

So, in a matter of minutes, I had spent one point three million dollars on enough land to keep myself in enough privacy to enjoy my life for a while. Then all I had to do was find a lawyer and an architect. I had basic plans, but I needed them finished, approved, and lastly… Built.

Once that was all started, I needed to find an apartment with a double garage and get cracking on another of my lifelong desires. I hadn’t gotten around to it yet, but I really wanted my own plane, and Embraer was having another special on the Phenom 300 series. Buy a pretty one and get a Porsche 911 Turbo S to go with it. Limited edition package deal. Just my cup of tea. I planned on flying down to Melbourne to pick up the Porsche and having the Embraer folks deliver my plane to La Cholla field north of Tucson. The Melbourne in question was the one in Florida.

My plan was starting to come together.

Pierce had lunch catered in, and the architect and lawyer I was able to find both made it just after lunch to get the deal done and the house and lab started. The developers were a little excited, or maybe I should say ‘apprehensive’, about me bringing a legal beagle, but when they digested the fact that theirs was sitting there at the same table, it made them realize it was just business as usual. We signed all the documents, I had a wire transfer completed to the account number they gave me, and the back end of Eagle’s Run was mine. The architect looked at my plans, made copies, spoke to Pierce’s custom home builder, then with substantial retainers in hand, the two of them went off together telling me they’d be in touch in a couple of days.

I was already feeling better about the future.

On a whim, I called Angela’s old number, finding it in my wallet, of all places. It was still active, but was the home of Angela’s daughter, Deborah. When I asked, I stirred up an old wound, because the young woman’s voice dropped as she told me her mother passed just several months ago after a bout with breast cancer. She explained to me that Angela felt fine up until the large lumps were noticed and it was too late. She was young enough, at thirty-nine, not to spend too much time worrying about it, but like a car wreck, things happen.

I left her my phone number, telling her, “Debbie, I’m so sorry to hear about your loss. You have no idea. I remember you when you were just a little toddler, and you seemed so happy, just like your mother was when she was around you. Please, if you need anything, call me, OK?”

“Thank you, Mr. Chapman. I have your number here on the caller ID and I’ll jot it down. I don’t remember you, but Mom did. She talked about you several times, that I remember, and the good times you all had when you were together. I found a picture of you in your flight suit in the bottom of her jewelry box. She wanted to look you up, and tried, but tracked you down to your parents’ place and the trail ended. I need to tell you I’m sincerely sorry for your loss, too. I suppose we share a similar fate, both being orphans and all.”

“That we do, although ‘tis best not to opine, but to look forward. Please, as I said, if you find yourself needing anything I can help with, give me a call.”

“I will, Mr. Chapman. I will. Thank you. Thank you for calling.” I thought I heard a smile as the phone went ‘Click’.

Well, that went terribly. I looked Sandy up on the web, but upon finding her, also found that she was living in Chula Vista, California, with her husband of fifteen years and their three children. Allrighty, then.

So, what do I do now, I thought, but hit a country bar. Not my favorite music anymore but I wanted to have a celebratory drink and The Maverick looked like it would fit the bill quite nicely.

I took a stool at the bar and waited for about two minutes before a gorgeous young little thing with her red hair all askew asked what she could do for me. What an opening!

“Stand there and let me look at you. You look like you’re running a marathon. Seriously, a couple fingers of Maker’s Mark with a big ice cube and a Coors Light should do the trick.”

“Tab or pay as you go?”

“How late are you working?”

“Are you being fresh?”

“Are you being evasive?”

“Two. I’ll start you a tab. Keep your ass on that bar stool, mister. This could be fun.” She set me up with my drinks and motioned for my credit card. Once she got me taken care of, she handed it back and smiled, then took off to take care of some of her other customers. The place was getting busy even though it was only around seven at the time.

I took in the scenery and decided if the music was any good, I might just hang out here now and again. I don’t remember it being here back in the day, but the majority of my time was spent on the south side, mostly down close to the base. I lived in the BOQ, the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters, and hung out close to keep the cab fares low. Drinking and driving back then was a death sentence. Drinking and cabbing back then was considered chic, if not just plain old good manners. That was before anyone in Tucson knew how to spell Uber or Lyft, and the only people who delivered were carrying pizza.

I once shared a cab with the deputy base commander, but we swore to keep what happened on the road, on the road, so to speak. His wife was giving him grief and he just needed to blow off a little steam. Nice guy. Damn, it seemed like 2014 was so, so long ago at that point.

I don’t dance, at least not well. I would if I had a partner I trusted to keep me from stepping on their toes the way Angela did. That woman could dance, and somehow made me look like I could. My main reason to be there that night was to ponder. That and to not stew and sit alone thinking about Bethany and Angela. Sandy was a given. Things happen. Good for her, but the Angela thing got me.

I was still pissed at Bethany, sure, but it was ebbing. Done is done, and I was sure we were just that. Done with each other. I’d call her the next day and let her know the score. I didn’t think she had the resources or the fortitude to track me down, so I’d lay it out, and she could take care of herself. She was a senior loan officer at a prominent bank. It wasn’t like she was hurting for money or anything.

The bartender came back by a bit later and stood there smiling at me. It took me a minute to realize I was looking right through her thinking about my life, and the lives of others, of course.

“You doin’ okay, cowboy?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. No. No, I’m not. I lied. My whiskey is getting lonely.”

She laughed. “Coors light, coming up.” She turned and bent down, putting her arm deep into the ice water of the beer cooler. Nice rear. Really nice rear. Long legs in very short jean shorts. Red hair. Long gorgeous red hair. Small bust. Not too small, but she was definitely not overburdened with mammary assets. Petite. Maybe five foot two bare footed. Pretty. Cute. Pixie nose. Freckles. Really, a beautiful young lady.

“Here. That stuff is too good to keep it lonely for long. You new around here?”

“New and old. I just arrived back and I’m staying, but sixteen, eighteen years ago, I ran around town here. Don’t remember this place, though. Stayed south mostly.”

“The Maverick is only about three years old. I’m a part owner. Charlie. Charlene Swanson.” She reached out to take my hand for a friendly shake.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie. You might as well call me Chuck. No one else does. Charles Chapman. Used to be Charlie. I’ll give up my name while we’re both here at the same time. I plan on losing my moniker often now that I’ve met you.”

Her laughter was a sound I wanted to hear more. I told her so and got a smile and a pat on my hand. “We’ll see. I don’t work weekends. You?”

“I’m retired. No schedule and no one to impress.”

“You are kidding me.”

“No. Really. I’m retired. I tinker, but I don’t work. I might just come in during the week and see Charlie, the woman that took my name.”

“We’re closed Mondays.”

“Maybe I’ll see you at the movies.” I raised an eyebrow. I had noticed no rings. No other indicators that she was a significant other in a committed relationship, either, but things like that don’t mean much anymore. “Or out at a nice restaurant around here somewhere.”

Her grin was contagious. Mine followed. “Maybe. We’ll see.” She threw her towel over her shoulder and went off to help the other forty people, mostly guys half my age, at that bar who probably wouldn’t mind getting to know her, either.

She looked my way from the cash register and smiled. I nodded and pointed to indicate both, so she brought me a refill. “Busy for a Thursday, but I have a minute. What’s your story, Chuck? I’ll share if you will.”

“Retired pilot, entrepreneur, and inventor. Tired of the Midwest and its trappings. I was stationed here for a few years a long time ago and wanted to come back. I always liked it here.”

“Married?” I shook my head. “Ever?” I shook it again. “Anything close?” I shrugged. “Got it. You left someone back east. I’m a widow and own part of this bar. I left L.A. and a good job investing other people’s money to come here. I had to leave that place. It was driving me nuts. I hated it. The first year was all right, then it sucked for ten years. Friends found out and asked me to bail and come out here. I spent a few weeks in bartending school and here we are. I was married to a wonderful man who wound up being killed by the police during a drug raid. He was the king pin. I never knew. That was my breaking point, I guess, then when Bob and Marci called, I couldn’t leave fast enough. I’m probably still under investigation, but the State of Arizona has cleared me, so I’m on the liquor license as well.”

“I’m not trying to be fresh, Charlie, but you don’t look like you’ve had enough time on God’s green earth to have spent eleven years there and three years here.”

“No offense taken and thank you. You’re a good listener. I’m thirty-five. Not exactly a spring chicken. Stop that.” She saw my eyes wide open in astonishment. “Thank you. Now, spill.”

“Forty-three.”

She smiled and smirked. “I was close. I was thinking thirty-eight, thirty-nine.”

“Thank you, as well,” I looked down the bar at a few rowdy young men holding their glasses up and hollering. “You might want to go appease the natives. They are getting a little restless. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” I got another smile as she walked away, shaking her head.

I left at midnight with a promise she’d be back to work Tuesday around six or so.

Sleep came easy. Things were coming together. My plan for the next day was to call Bethany and find an apartment with a two-car garage. Yep, little by little, things were coming together. I checked my phone one last time just to make sure, but my little “invention” hadn’t been molested, or even touched. I did note the camera view that showed the sold sign on the top of the development company’s real estate sign, and a quick pan showed the other signs were gone. I closed my eyes, a bit of Charlie flashing through my mind, and yes, sleep came easy.

Up at six, I checked the lots, then headed for breakfast. It was seven back home, so I thought a bit about what I was going to do. Hitting Bethany with a phone call before lunch might be a bit rude. Thinking more about it, I decided to do it just before she got off at five there, three here. I was hoping to catch her without a client at her desk. Fingers crossed.

I called a realtor that advertised handling rentals as well as selling and buying homes and had them find what came out to be a townhouse close to where I was building. It had one huge garage but separate one car garage doors, each ten feet wide and eight feet high. Not that common, but not out of the ordinary, either. It was an end unit, custom ordered by and built for a gentleman that wound up being transferred to Seattle. He didn’t want to sell it, hoping he could return one day to his dream home.

It was almost inexpensive, comparatively, in addition to being located in a gated community, and the big hitch was that the owner didn’t want it rented to a family. An older couple or mature singles only. I was the ticket he was looking for. They wanted a one-year lease then month to month. I signed it and handed them a check for the security deposit and twelve months rent. With everyone happy, I went to the Ashley Furniture store, picked out everything I needed, then arranged to have it delivered on Monday. While I was there, I asked if they did furniture moving after the sale, say a year from now, and surprisingly they said ‘yes, for a fee’ they would move their own furniture from one house to another.

Yes, the stars were lining up for me.

My last stop was a shed dealer north of town. The Uber driver dropped me off after a nice discussion about the best restaurant he knew for tamales. Thankfully he had a suggestion.

The sheds came in all shapes and sizes, naturally, but I asked about a ten by sixteen shed I could have them deliver and place quickly. It was two thirty in the afternoon, so when I quickly picked out a model with a personnel door on one side, windows on each side, and a rollup door on one end, letting the salesman know I would like it and if it could be delivered this afternoon I’d pay extra, he bit. So, for $3,500 I had a shed to park my “invention” in.

I asked them to place the shed right next to the tent that was already on the property. The told me it wouldn’t be a problem and that was to be done right at four o’clock. The sale was final at 2:55pm, Arizona Mountain time. They don’t celebrate artificial, I mean Daylight Savings Time, down there. It was 4:55pm in Missouri.

I called. “Hello, Charlie,” she answered.

“Hi, Bethany. I’m not coming back. You can stay in the house as long as you want. No problem. Just let me know if and when you move.”

“I guess this means you can’t handle responsibility?” she asked. I could hear, and almost feel, the venom in her voice.

“If that’s your take, so be it, but be sure, because at that rate, you won’t find anyone who can. I don’t want to argue. We’ve talked. It never changed anything. This is goodbye. Take care.”

“Fine. I’ll let you know.” The phone clicking off was the strangest noise I’d ever heard. Or felt. It was like the weight of a hundred bad dates had just been lifted from my shoulders. It was freeing, if that makes sense.

As soon as the line went dead, I called for an Uber to take me by La Cholla Airport, so I’d know exactly where it was and how it was laid out. Then I needed a hardware store and wanted to head to my new homestead on the way to the hotel. I got a couple of padlocks for the inside of the garage door, then at the property, I had him wait for me for a few minutes while I checked out the new shed, locked it up, mounted the camera to the top of the shed, tested it, and walked to the curb on 2254 Eagle Lane and the waiting car. Back at the Hacienda Del Sol, I inquired about the tamale tip and was told there was no mistake. Bennie made the best tamales in Tucson.

A change of clothing and another Uber ride reminded me I needed to get a move on, pull the trigger, and buy a truck. Car dealerships were sometimes open on Saturdays and Sundays. I’d check and spend the day doing that if possible. If not, I could still look and go back Monday morning.

Bennie’s was a small hole in the wall in an obscure strip mall in a seedy part of town. Thankfully I wasn’t dressed well. I didn’t stand out too badly. I was seated, ordered a couple of pork tamales, a Dos XXs, and a small salad. Bennie’s daughter came out to check on me.

“Are you the gringo from the Hacienda Del Sol who has been asking about us?”

“I think so,” I told her. “That could be me, but then again…” I may have looked frightened.

The cute little Hispanic cherub giggled. “Word of mouth advertising is the best in the world. A business degree from UCSD taught me that. Thank you for stopping in. Please don’t worry. You are safe in and around Momma’s taqueria. Her little restaurant, if you will.”

I asked, “Have you all ever considered sharing your gift with more of the public? Tamales for the masses? Serving the greater good, pun intended?”

“Now that you mention it, we’re working on expanding but need to do so without changing. A normally impossible task. My parents sent me to school to figure out how to do it. Eat. I will be back for your money.”

She walked away leaving me stunned. A beautiful girl and one of, if not the, best tamales in the world had just graced my existence. The little salad with the dollops of guacamole, pico de gallo, and sour cream wasn’t too shabby, either.

The young lady returned, and I asked for another cervesa and a minute of her time. “Are you looking for investors, and what might I call you, missy?”

“Maybe, and Angelina is my given name. Angelina Trujillo. Bennie, Benita, is my mother. My father, Tomas, passed away with a heart disorder years ago, from too many of Mama’s tamales maybe, so now it is just us. We want to grow, but Momma wants to be careful. When we grow, nothing of the food can change. Are you an investor?”

“Yes, I am. I don’t invest in anything I don’t believe in and understand. I love your tamales, and also understand your mother’s fears. Growth without guidance is called an explosion and can’t be trusted to come out right.”

“Very true.” She went to the counter, grabbed a takeout menu, handed it to me, and told me not to be a stranger. “Can I get you a couple to take home?” She giggled. “Or back to your hotel?”

“Yes. Angelina, how much are you looking for? To expand. What would your plan look like, money wise?”

“About three or four hundred thousand, but I’m not ready yet. I need a few more weeks to work out some kinks. Another location here and two in Phoenix is the current plan, but I’m not too sure about moving out of town. That adds to the already fearsome logistics and supervision issues. Maybe just four locations here. I don’t know yet. Come back for a combination plate and I’ll talk to you about it if you want.”

“You’re on. Honey, I have the kind of money you’re looking for. I also think you might just deserve the help. Keep me in mind and I’ll be back soon. Very soon.” She smiled at me and watched as I finished my beer. She walked back to the kitchen then returned just as I was finishing up ordering an Uber back to the hotel.

She handed me a small bag stuffed with food. “Twenty-six dollars, sir,” she said, smiling again.

I handed her two twenties and told her I’d be back very soon. I liked her. I liked her a lot. I liked her mom’s tamales, too.

Life was good.

Chapter Two - Only Time Will Tell

Saturday morning, I took my “invention” for a spin. First, I figured out the coordinates for the shed, fifteen feet away, one foot up, and made the trip, successfully. Then I worked on a trip to Melbourne, Florida. I thought the best thing to do was to rent a storage shed down there, then thought about the locks on the door and a few other things. I could maybe get good coordinates… Then I’d need to stop once on the way… The chances of that going well without a site visit were slim, so I went truck shopping instead. I didn’t plan on going back there after I picked up the car and the plane was delivered, so I passed on the whole trip.

Pay dirt! I found a wonderful truck to replace my old one. Hard to believe you could still buy a gas-powered vehicle, but since the government went back to the right on the pendulum swing, things got a bit less insane and restrictive. It wouldn’t last long, but for now, everything was peachy.

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Monday morning, I called the Embraer factory representative in Melbourne and placed an order for the set, the Duet, they called it. They had done this ten years ago or so and decided after its success to do it again. A matching set, a Phenom 330e and a brand-new Porsche 911 Turbo S, similarly painted and outfitted. Even the dash and upholstery of both were made to look similar. I didn’t need the car, I just thought it would be fun. I transferred a one-million-dollar, non-refundable deposit, and after doing so, was advised that another customer had cancelled their order, and if I wanted a Duet, Metallic Charcoal exteriors, with a tan and blue trimmed interior, I could have it whenever I wanted. The Duet was sitting in Melbourne waiting for a good home.

“Can I get some pictures, ma’am, just so the blue doesn’t surprise me?”

“Of course, sir. I just sent a couple of them. Can you take a look while we’re on the line?”

My phone dinged. “Yes. Sure. Oh, my, that’s a dark, conservative blue, and the tan is dark, too. That’s nice. How much for this set?”

“Well good news, and bad. Twelve point five, which is the cost of the units, minus the one point five the individual put down on the plane. It has been on one trip, a test flight, if you will, but was piloted by our people. It has two hours on it. There is one other issue, that is a breaking point for most corporate buyers. It has been modified, and only seats six at a maximum. There are additional fuel tanks in the belly of the aircraft that hold an extra six hundred pounds of fuel. We removed four seats, added a fully functioning galley, and left the small empty area behind the extended club seating arrangement trimmed nicely. All four seats in the club arrangement fold out to full length sleeping cots. They are quite comfortable.”

“Sold. I’ll be down shortly. Possibly even this weekend. Can your people fly it up to La Cholla in Tucson and I’ll drive the car home?”

“We can arrange that, but we charge seven thousand for delivery to that area. It covers the cost of time, fuel, and lodging for our personnel. Three of them.”

“That is totally acceptable. I’ll try to be there on Wednesday, if that’s OK with you all.”

“Yes, sir. If you are paying in full with a bank to bank funds transfer, we can send your own plane to come get you and keep that expense within your delivery fee if you like.”

“Sounds good. La Cholla, north of Tucson, would be best for me so I can get used to it out there. What time do you think they could be here?”

“Up to you, sir, but I’m sure a nine o’clock am pick up time would be satisfactory for us, then we can deliver the plane to you after you get home and can accept it.”

“Would Sunday be possible? It’ll take me two and a half days to drive back, I have an important date on Saturday, and would love to impress her with them on Sunday.”

“Yes, sir. It’s not impossible. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. Please let me know as soon as you can so I can get ready.”

“I will, sir. Have a wonderful day.”

“I will. Thank you.” I heard the phone click on the other end. I have no idea why that plane wasn’t already taken, but I’d ask about it when I got down there. Surely someone with eleven million bucks that wanted a new plane wouldn’t mind the modifications. Surely. It didn’t matter. The plane was under warranty, it was absolutely beautiful, as was the car, and I wanted it. I doubted I’d ever need to seat more than six people in it.

Insurance. I needed to call about insurance for the plane, but I thought maybe I should go to La Cholla and talk to someone out there. I jumped in my new truck and took off for my new airdrome.

I was surprised to see the condition of the airpark at La Cholla. It was still a residential airdrome, houses and such all around it. What was concerning was that it was a bit… I’ll say sketchy, but it just needed some TLC, so I spoke to the airpark manager and got the lowdown skinny. Higher taxes and such had hit the residents pretty hard, but that issue was being leveled out since the change in the local governments as well. I asked about membership and was told that unless I was a resident, it wouldn’t be possible without a meeting of the board, and their approval.

I told him what my plan was and asked him how soon he could get them together.

“I can get a quorum for you now. What exactly are you trying to do, Mr. Chapman?”

“I’m looking for a friendly place to put my plane when it shows up on Sunday, and I don’t want it all the way out at Ryan or south at the Airport. I’d really like it to be here, since I just bought a chunk of the foothill over there,” I pointed to the foothills, “and like it around here.”

“Let me make some calls. There are five board members. Three of them I know will want to be here to make sure you fail, and one is in the air. The fifth, may just side with you if you are willing to pay a king’s ransom.”

“Get them together and I’ll see what I can do.” I looked around the park while people were coming and going from the operations building, and saw two planes, both single engine props, piston engines, taxi from their homes and take off into the wild blue yonder.