Time Jacker, Aaron Crash [most important books of all time txt] 📗

Jack had the windup soldier in his pocket. Weird, but the lady in red had said something about him not needing it. Well, what the fuck did she know? She said what he could do was impossible, and she hadn’t stuck around to help him.

What was she anyway? Some kind of demon? That brought up bad memories of Tuesday nights and Catholic catechism. His old man insisted that you didn’t need to be Catholic to be a cop, but it certainly helped. His old man had gone to work every day with his St. Christopher medal around his neck and the policeman’s prayer to St. Michael in his wallet. Neither had stopped the bullet that had ended him.

That had been the first death, back when Charlie, David, and Eli had all been alive, all policemen in either Plum Creek or Denver.

Jack shook all those bad thoughts away.

At the counter, some rich asshole in a suit, no tie, shook his watch in the face of the chubby girl running the register. She was young, probably under twenty, and flustered. “See that?” the rich douche spat. “It’s a fucking Rolex. I could buy and sell you and your shitty little restaurant. I want my kung-pao shrimp burrito. I ordered before them.” He pointed vaguely at a goth couple who had piercings and tattoos and were looking really uncomfortable. They’d be posting to Instagram later about rich assholes and how their spinach enchiladas had been hard to swallow after the confrontation. The goth couple’s order was ready. Mr. Rolex just had to step aside to let them get it.

“Hey, pal,” Jack called out. “Leave her alone. Your fucking kung-pao shrimp burrito will be ready when it’s ready.”

The rich asshole, who had a little smudge of coke under one nostril, smiled like a shark eyeing chum. Some people liked to fight. This fuck was one of them. “Excuse me?”

“Let them get their food.” Jack nodded at the goths. Or emos. Or whatever their deal was. He lost track of all that online culture shit because he was just trying to stay afloat and didn’t have the time to follow trends.

“And if I don’t?” The rich asshole came forward.

And Jack took out the soldier. He turned the windup key to the left. Everything came to a stop, and Jack had a minute to take a look around and ponder the situation.

Freezing all of creation had a variety of benefits.

Chapter Five

JACK STOOD IN THE RESTAURANT surrounded by frozen patrons amid brightly colored tropical bird decorations and fake plastic palm trees. In front of him, the rich douche in the suit, sans tie, stood like an asshole statue. His face was a mask of hate.

Jack grinned. “Oh, so much better. I’ll deal with you, asshole, in a minute. Or are you more of a prick?” He recalled what Aunt Sue had said about stealing from rich pricks. It was something to consider. He thought the headache would hit him right away. Nope, he felt fine. Yes, there was a tickle behind his left eye, but at this point, it was only a tickle.

It was eerily quiet. No sounds of grease frying. No people murmuring, or in the case of the four blondes in the booth, no laughing and yelling. He turned his back on the Rolex-wearing douchebag and took a closer look at the girls.

The short one in the corner, laughing, was obviously the jokester in the group. Then there was the taller one, who was laughing but was still a little standoffish. The one at the corner had a bit too much makeup on and a bit too much cleavage showing. She was trying too hard, which was fine. Jack didn’t mind that. Lastly, the one at the corner was hometown pretty, and she was thicker and had a belly but obviously didn’t care. That was his type. He liked women who were comfortable with themselves. Confidence was fucking sexy. She had hazel eyes and freckles.

Normally, when Jack wanted to check out a woman, he had to be subtle because he knew most women didn’t want to be gawked at. The prettier a woman was, the more she had to deal with men always checking out her tits and ass. Being pretty was a burden. He’d learned that from his friend in the cadet program. Jennifer. He would’ve liked to talk with her. That wouldn’t be possible...not after what had happened.

Jack turned away from the four women. He checked himself. Did he feel sleazy for staring? He didn’t. If he’d groped them? No, that wouldn’t be right. So that was good. He still had a moral compass. He walked back behind the counter, noticed the taco shells being slid into the grease, the bubbles frozen. He went through the ranks of the workers and into the back office. The manager was there, a Hispanic guy in a dirty shirt, sweating. He was counting receipts and money, and, yes, Jack could’ve taken that money out of his hand and walked away.

No one would ever be the wiser. But Jack would know. The owner of the restaurant would just assume the manager had stolen the money because the manager would say it had simply disappeared.

No, Jack didn’t want to do that to the manager. It wasn’t right, and Jack wasn’t a complete fucking idiot. If you thought out the consequences of your actions, and how they fucked other people over, then doing the right thing became fairly easy ninety-nine percent of the time. When that morally gray one percent showed up? You did what you had to do and moved on.

Jack did grab a paper cup, which was like ten cents, and poured himself a Coke, with ice, which was about another ten cents. He’d throw the restaurant an extra couple of bucks for the drink.

So he could interact with the world without fucking things up, or so it seemed. He sipped the Coke and crunched on