By Hunter Perez

Once we were inside the prison, I calmed down. Charleson and Patterson put me back on my feet, and I apologized to them for creating a commotion. Patterson ordered Charleson to return to Holmgren, then he unlocked my handcuffs and walked me back to my cell.

“Sorry we had to be rough on you, son,” Patterson said softly. “I don’t like hurting good people.”

“It was my fault, Sir, and I deserved it,” I said. “You and Private Charleson would be justified in submitting a conduct demerit over how I behaved.”

“I doubt the private will do anything of the sort,” Patterson replied. “And if he did, you have to remember that I am the one who approves and rejects those reports. I don’t see any conduct demerits in your future.”

When we reached the cell, Patterson assured me that Holmgren will able to solve whatever situation was taking place, and he thanked me for being concerned about the lieutenant’s safety. The opening and closing of the cell door awakened Zeb, who was sleeping naked in the middle of our bed. He blinked at me through half-asleep eyes and rolled himself to the edge of the bed, freeing up space for me to join him. While I wasn’t the least bit sleepy, I nonetheless rested next to Zeb.

“What’s wrong, Jesse James?” Zeb asked. “You look unhappy.”

“I think the lieutenant is in big trouble,” I said. “I wanted to help him, but he didn’t want me to help him.”

Zeb took my hand and interlaced his fingers with mine. “The lieutenant is a big man. I’m sure he can take care of himself. You know, before you came in, I had a dream about you.”

I looked over to Zeb with surprise. “What was I doing in your dream?”

“It was very strange,” he said. “We were in a meadow somewhere. You had a picnic basket, then a bear came over and tried to steal the food. You hid the basket behind the back, but the bear grabbed it with his jaws and ran off with it.”

“I guess he was smarter than the average bear,” I answered. “Just give me a chance to rest, Zeb. I know I shouldn’t be worried about the lieutenant.”

Zeb leaned over me and kissed my lips, then smiled and released my hand. He rolled over and within two minutes was snoring. I didn’t sleep – I just stared at the ceiling and tried to meditate myself into a sense of calm.

Time dragged by, and Zeb eventually woke up. After yawning, stretching and engaging in a few minutes of shadow boxing, he looked out of the cell down the corridor. “That’s strange, but Private Charleson usually comes by around the time I wake up from my nap. He always says that he can set his clock by me. He’s late today.”

“He’s supposed to be helping the lieutenant,” I said. I sat up quickly and felt cold. “Something went wrong – I know it. I wish we could bust out of this cell and find out what’s happening.”

“Did Mr. O’Dwyer speak to you, too?” Zeb asked.

I didn’t understand what Zeb was referring to, and he came over whispered, “Mr. O’Dwyer is planning a breakout from the prison.”

“Yeah, he mentioned something about that to me when we were breaking rocks,” I said. “But he’s not serious about that, is he?”

Zeb nodded to affirm O’Dwyer’s intentions. I couldn’t imagine how O’Dwyer could pull it off, but I wasn’t eager to speculate on his shenanigans – my concern focused on the characters from the 21st century looking for Holmgren and Harry. “Zeb, if you and I both started to pull at the cell door, do you think we could pull it down?”

“We can’t do that, Jesse James,” he said. “We’d get in trouble.”

“Zeb, we’re in prison – how much more trouble could we possibly get into?” I said.

Zeb went back to shadow boxing while I watched him duck and weave around his imaginary opponents. After a few minutes, I heard heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor. Zeb looked through the cell bars and announced Patterson was creating the noise.

When the sergeant arrived at our cell, he was huffing and puffing wildly, nearly on the verge of collapse. He also sported a purplish-black ring around his right eye. He unlocked the cell door, staggered in and dropped violently face down on the bed. Zeb and I rolled him over and sat him up.

“Sarge, what happened?” Zeb asked. “Who punched you in the face?”

Patterson breathed heavily for a minute before looking sadly at me. “They want you, son. They told me to bring you.”

“Who’s they?” Zeb demanded of Patterson. “Who did this to you?”

Patterson shook his head, as if to exorcise bad thoughts. “I’ve never seen men like these before. Large, oversized men. They have strange clothes and they have tattoos on their arms and necks. And they had guns like I’ve never seen before.”

“Where are the lieutenant and Private Charleson?” I asked.

Patterson took out a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped his face. “They overpowered them. And that photographer. And Merrifield, too – you would think he would be strong, but they overpowered him. They had the Jones boys when we came in – they were in a corner on the floor with some sort of silvery paper over their mouths and their wrists tied up with a hard white string.”

From Patterson’s description, I realized the intruders brought zip-ties and adhesive tape with them.

“When we came into the office, their leader – or I think he was their leader – demanded that the lieutenant and the photographer go with them,” Patterson continued. “The lieutenant spoke with him, but to be honest I couldn’t make heads or tails of what they were saying – they were using words and phrases that I never heard before. They didn’t resolve anything, and the lieutenant ordered them to leave or they would be arrested and imprisoned. Merrifield moved toward them and one of them fired a gun at him – but it didn’t shoot bullets. It shot darts with wires and Merrifield shook like he was hit with lightning and collapsed.”

That was obviously a taser – Patterson was getting a crash course in the worst of modern technology.

“They overpowered Charleson and the lieutenant, and the two of them with Merrifield had that paper stuck on their mouths and their hands tied with that hard string. I got punched in the face and they took my gun. They were going to do the same thing to me when that fat photographer put his hands up and said he would go with them. And then he said something that made no sense at all.”

“What was it?” I asked.

Patterson wiped his face again with the handkerchief. “I think this is what he said, and I may not have the quote completely correct. But I thought he said: ‘What about the third man from the 21st century? He’s here as a prisoner – I took his picture today.’ Their leader pulled something from his pocket – I have no idea what it was, it was black and shiny and it looked like a cigarette case – and he started to tap his fingers over it. A minute later, there was a beep from this object and he looked at it, and then ordered me to get you. I knew it was you because you were the only prisoner with him today. Son, what’s going on? Who are these men and why do they want you along with the lieutenant and the photographer? And what do they mean about the 21st century?”

Could I possibly tell Patterson and Zeb the truth? Would they believe me, or would I be packed up for on a one-way trip to the insane asylum? I hate telling lies, but I realized that being honest with them would create more problems than solutions.

“Guys,” I said to them. “Those men are my enemies from a rival gang. They are out to get me because I took over their territory with my gang. The lieutenant has some of their gang members in here, which is why they want revenge on him. And that photographer was part of their gang but he ratted them out and got a reward for it, which is why they want him.”

“And what about those strange weapons and clothing?” said Patterson.

He had me stumped for a second, but I figured out an excuse. “They’re Canadians. You know, they’re clever up there – far ahead of what we have.”

“But what about the 21st century?” wondered Zeb.

“Oh, well…it’s a Freemasonry reference,” I lied. “I can’t tell you what it means, because it’s a Freemason secret.”

“So, what do we do?” asked Zeb. “We can’t let these guys take you and the lieutenant away.”

I banged my fist on my forehead, as if to force an idea from my head. Incredibly, something popped out. “Sergeant Patterson, take a page from my notebook and draw us a sketch of how everyone is positioned in the lieutenant’s office.”

Patterson followed my request and illustrated a crude diagram of Holmgren’s office. He drew stick figures Charleson, Merrifield and the Jones boys at one corner of the room with one of the intruders guarding them while Holmgren and Harry were directly opposite them in another corner, with a second intruder as their captor – Holmgren’s desk separated the pairings. The third intruder was positioned between them.

“Zeb, tell me something,” I said to my cellmate. “When you are in a fight with a guy much larger than you, how do you bring them down?”

“That’s easy, Jesse James,” he said, beaming. “I give the bang-bang-bang-bang – a bang to the right side of the head, a bang to the left side, a bang to the stomach that brings their head down and a bang to their chin that knocks them out. Bang-bang-bang-bang.”

“Do you think I can take someone down like that? I asked Zeb.

Zeb nodded and beamed. “You’re a strong man, Jesse James. Between me showing you how to box and you swinging that hammer with the rocks, you’ve got power to knock down giants.”

Patterson bolted up from the bed and looked at Zeb and myself with astonishment. “Do you boys think that you can just walk in there and punch out those three giants with their weapons? They took down the lieutenant and four guards. You have nothing to go in there with except your fists.”

Zeb stood in front of Patterson and folded his muscular arms across his chest. “Sarge, it’s not about the size of the fighter, it’s about the fight in the fighter. Remember you told me that Bible story about David and Gomorrah?”

I broke out laughing, then caught myself when Zeb looked at me strangely. “I know what you’re talking about, Zeb. We can take down giants. Sergeant Patterson, just please take us to these guys. We’ll figure out what to do when we get there.”

Patterson led us out of the cell and down the corridors. As we began our journey, I tried to convince myself that I could take down these thugs. But I realized that we couldn’t just go in and start punching. And while Zeb conflated his Bible stories, his idea was correct – big ol’ Goliath was too cocky when little David showed up and he let down his guard to the point that David could knock him out.

“Here’s what we can do,” I said to Zeb. “Let me do the talking – I know their secret lingo and how to manipulate them. Don’t say anything, Zeb, even if they ask you a question. Just stand there quietly without giving any hint of what you can do.”

“I got you, Jesse James,” he said.

“Now this is important,” I said. “Try to position yourself between two of these guys. When I say the word ‘Phoenix,’ that will be your cue to beat the shit out of them. Do you remember? I say ‘Phoenix’ and you come out swinging.”

“I’ll be waiting for you to say that,” he said. “I love you, Jesse James.”

I patted Zeb’s back and started to inhale and exhale with greater gusto and I said to myself, “You’re Jesse James, and no one messes with Jesse James.”

As I walked, I began to straighten my posture, throwing out my chest and tightening my stomach muscles. My walk started to turn into a strut, and each breath took on a greater level of intensity.

Patterson stopped as we came to a corridor intersection and leaned into us, whispering, “Are you ready to see them?”

I motioned Patterson to step back and said to him, “Sir, we’re going in their alone. Go get as many guards as you can, but please be quiet when you walk. Come back here in about five minutes but wait at this spot. When I call out for you from the office, then come running with the guards – we’ll have them down for you.”

Patterson cupped his hands on my cheeks. “Son, you’re either the bravest man or the craziest man in the world. God bless you and good luck.”

Patterson turned and quietly began to exit down the corridor. I took a very deep breath and equally extreme exhale, then threw my head back and pointed to Zeb to follow me. We turned the corner in the corridor and headed to Holmgren’s office as I cleared my throat and decided to announce myself in a way that the intruders would recognize.

“I do my hair toss, check my nails, baby how you feelin’?” I began to sing out in a voice five times of what I should be producing. I strutted down the corridor and Zeb followed a step behind me. “Feeling good as hell, hair toss, check my nails, baby how you feelin’?”

One of the 21st century intruders was standing outside the office. Patterson was right, he was a giant – inked-up oversized arms emphasized by a tight black t-shirt, with a shock of blond hair and camouflage pants and dark boots. He had a gun his hand and started to raise it, but stopped when I repeated the stanza from the Lizzo.

“Put your hands up,” he yelled.

I raised my right hand and finger snapped a “Z” in the air. “I do my hair toss, check my nails, baby how you feelin’?”

“I said put your hands up,” he repeated angrily.

“And I say shut the fuck up,” I answered back.

The intruder stared at me in total bafflement as we approach. I stood in front of him, looked up to him and sneered.

“Listen, big boy, don’t you go pointing that shit at me or I’ll bust a cap so far up your ass that you’ll be whistling out your pee-hole,” I bellowed. “Now, which one of you mental midgets wants to see me?”

The intruder quickly opened the office door. I strutted in with Zeb in tow and took a quick inventory of the scene. The bound and gagged Holmgren and Harry were in the far corner, and others were in a similar state of bondage in the corner closer to me. Another intruder – equally tall, oversized and tattooed, except he had close-cropped black hair – was positioned opposite Holmgren and Harry. Holmgren’s desk was between them, with an opened and half-empty bottle of whiskey resting next to a stack of papers. The third intruder was not as hulking as the others, but his considerable strength was also barely contained in a tight t-shirt and tight jeans. I took one look at his shaved head and uneven goatee and immediately recognized him – he was Nicky’s fiancé, whose photo was part of the box that Nicky sent back in time to Holmgren. I knew where to bring down his defenses.

“Well, well,” I said, flashing a death grin at the ringleader. “If it ain’t the one and only Joseph Johannsen Jr. What brings you to my humble home, Curly-Joe?”

Johannsen squinted, unsure if he knew me. “And who the hell are you?”

I sat on Holmgren’s desk and smirked at Johannsen while Zeb moved quietly past me and stood to my right. The third intruder came into the office and closed the door, then moved past Johannsen, who parked himself in front of the closed door.

“What do you mean?” I declared to Johannsen, speaking much too loud and putting inappropriate theatricality in my pronunciation. “You called for me – I didn’t ask to see you, Curly-Joe.”

I spied the whiskey bottle on the desk and wrapped my hand around it.

“I hope you don’t mind if I help myself to a little gut-rot,” I continued, examining the half-empty bottle as if it was a rare vintage. “The last time I had whiskey, I was back home streaming ‘Barbie’ – and if you haven’t seen it, believe it you’ll need a bottle of this to get through it.”

The blond intruder snorted a laugh and I raised the bottle in a toast to him. “You’ve seen it too, eh, Blondie? You would’ve been a better Ken than Ryan Gosling.”

“I didn’t think it was a bad film,” said the dark-haired intruder in a sad voice.

“Will you guys shut up?” Johannsen barked before turning to me. “Go ahead and drink if you want to poison yourself. It’s pretty bad stuff.”

I took a swig of the whiskey and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Damn right it’s pretty bad,” I announced. “But this is the kind of whiskey that puts hair on your chest. Maybe you ought to rub some of this on your scalp, Curly-Joe?”

Johannsen seethed as his comrades betrayed snickering, but they quickly quieted themselves under their leader’s angry gaze. Johannsen squinted at me again and curled the edges of his mouth into a sardonic smile.

“Hold it, I’ve seen you before,” he said.

I leaned forward and pointed at him. “Photograph on a refrigerator in Nicky’s place? Phone booth in London?”

Johannsen released a huge laugh and nodded. “Yeah, I know who you are now.” Abruptly, his smile dropped and his eyes widened. “You’re the one he doesn’t stop talking about? You fucking clown. I was expected Brad Pitt or Tom Hardy, not you. I wish he was here to see you.”

Johannsen then took a curious glance at Zeb, who stood with his hands cupped before his waist while he stared at the ground. “Hey, funnyman, what’s with your quiet friend here?”

“Oh, he’s from the 21st century, too,” I said. “He came here after I came here.”

Johannsen looked to his comrades, then to Zeb, then to me. “Nicky didn’t say anything about a fourth man. I didn’t know anything about you until your fat friend said something.”

“I have a fat friend?” I said in mock surprise. I pivoted and waved at the bound and gagged Harry in the far corner of the room, then I turned back to Johannsen. “He’s not fat, he’s just big-boned.”

Again, Johannsen’s comrades began laughing, with the blond guy repeating “big-boned” as if he was making a note to himself to recall that punchline.

“Okay, let’s get something straight before we go back,” said Johannsen, showing a touch of impatience. “I know about Holmgren – everyone knows about his dealmaking with our friends in Asia. And our big-boned boy over there was supposed to report to prison in 2022. And Nicky messaged me that you needed to be picked up. So, tell me, funnyman, who is this guy?”

I looked to Zeb and let loose a sigh. “Oh, he’s someone that Nicky sent back in time when he was Arizona.”

“Arizona?” asked Johannsen. “The only place you can use the time machine is in New Mexico.”

“No,” I said, trying to sound sincere. “It was Arizona. To be precise, it was in Phoenix.”

Once I said ‘Phoenix,’ Zeb abruptly sprang into action. His right fist crashed into the dark-haired intruder and then traveled into the face of his blonde colleague. Zeb then pummeled the two men in their stomachs before delivering knockout blows that forced them to crash to the ground.

Johannsen looked to the mayhem, and in the split second he turned from me I threw the whiskey bottle into his forehead. The bottle didn’t break upon hitting him, but the force of the blow caused him stagger back into the wall. I jumped from the desk and I offered my version of Zeb’s bang-bang-bang-bang on him, flooring him within seconds.

I pulled open the office door and yelled out into the corridor, “Patterson, get in here. We’ve got them down.” From around the bend at the end of the corridor, Patterson came charging with a half-dozen guards. I pulled Zeb by his wrist, and we jumped into the corridor.

“Just pull that tape off their mouths and cut those white cuffs with a knife,” I yelled as Patterson led his guards into the office. Zeb patted my back and kissed my cheek.

“Jesse James, you’re almost as good as I am,” he beamed.

“What do you mean by ‘almost’?” I laughed.

After a minute, I could hear Holmgren directing Patterson to put the intruders into separate cells and to have their clothing removed. The three intruders emerged in restraints, shuffling with two guards on either side of them. Holmgren then came out of the office and looked at me with astonishment.

“You wild man,” he gasped. “You…you saved my life. I would have been a dead man…and you saved me.”

Holmgren rushed to me and wrapped his arms tightly around me. “I love you,” he exclaimed. “You can’t imagine how I feel.”

“Johnno, you’re crushing my ribs,” I coughed as his grasp became a tad too uncomfortable. “Besides, Zeb also saved you.”

Holmgren looked over to Zeb and let go of me, but then grabbed the two of us into a group hug. “You crazy, beautiful boys. I owe you my life.”

As Holmgren released us, Harry then waddled out of the office and gave his own overpowering hugs, first to me and then to Zeb. He then turned to Holmgren and said, “Mr. Holmgren, you can’t put these men back in prison. I’ll pay anything for their release.”

“Hey, that works for me,” I stated.

Holmgren shook an index finger at me. “That’s not how it works – we’ll talk about a reward later. Right now, I want to make sure no one else is showing up unannounced. Harry, we have a guest cottage on the grounds if you want to spend the night here. You’ll be safe, and I can have Zeb stay with you for protection.”

Charleson staggered out of the office and Holmgren directed him to take Harry and Zeb to the guest cottage. I tapped Holmgren on the shoulder and said, “Hey, what about me? How come I don’t get to go to the cottage?”

Holmgren tousled my hair and smiled gently. “Because you’re coming back with me to my quarters. My little hero, I love you.” He then put his arm around my shoulders and we walked down the corridor.

To be continued…