Variations on a Theme Read online

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  The next morning my conscience got the better of me. After two black coffees and three cigarettes I walked out to Kelvinbridge, heading for Laws’ house. As I stood on the doorstep I had little idea what I was going to say – especially if Laws himself answered.

  His wife opened the door and looked at me as if I was something she’d just stepped in. I struggled for an opening line and couldn’t find one, so I settled for the truth.

  “Apparently your husband and I will die if we don’t kill you on Saturday afternoon,” I said.

  Now she thought I was the nut-job, but I could live with that if it got her talking. Unfortunately she didn’t talk as much as rant, and I got the impression it came naturally to her. For the next two minutes she turned the air blue. She made it quite clear what she thought of me, her husband, and the world in general. She worked up quite the lather, and swore as impressively as anyone I’d heard. By the time she was done and slammed the door in my face I wanted to kill her.

  Mr. Laws was waiting in the street beyond. I found him staring intently at his watch. It was a nice watch. I’d seen them in the higher-end shops, and hoped to be able to afford one of my own someday.

  “She has to die,” he said to me. “You see that, don’t you? Meet me here on Saturday around two.”

  He didn’t give me a chance to reply. He looked at his watch again, fiddled with the winder, pushed it firmly in… and popped out of existence.

  My headache went up a notch, and even a walk along the riverside wouldn’t shift it. I trudged back to the office and made the strongest pot of coffee I could manage, topping it up with a couple of fingers of Scotch. I’d just got started on it when I heard footsteps on the stairs.

  Mr. Laws walked in. His hair was better combed than before, but he had the same air of intensity.

  “Derek Adams?” he asked. “That’s your name?”

  “You know it is,” I said. “Did you forget about the three hundred again?”

  “What three hundred?”

  I sighed. The headache was drumming full force again. I sent some coffee and whisky to chase it around.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “We need to kill your wife on Saturday?”

  He looked shocked.

  “Why would I want to do that? I just came to thank you. Your visit to the lab told me that the machine would actually work. You’ve no idea what an effect that has on research. All I had to do was…”

  I tuned him out. Two minutes of mathematical babble was ninety seconds too much for me. I stopped him with a question.

  “And where… or rather, when, have you come from this time?”

  He laughed.

  “Tomorrow. I just thought you should know that it works. But what do you mean, this time?”

  I wasn’t about to open that can of worms if I could help it. And he wasn’t in the mood to listen anyway. He looked at his watch.

  “Got to go. I’ve got an appointment with my future.”

  He twiddled the winder, pushed it in, and popped.

  That was it for me. I was done. I intended to drink the rest of the cash and let oblivion take me away for a while. But I wasn’t given the time. I finished the coffee and started making inroads on the whisky when he popped back into existence in the chair opposite me.

  “I’m going to come to you and tell you that we need to kill my wife,” he said without preamble. “Please ignore me. You can keep the cash.”

  “You mean your wife doesn’t need to die?”

  He smiled grimly.

  “Oh, she’ll still die… on Saturday. It’s just that I don’t need your help any more.”

  He turned the winder, pushed it in, and was gone.