had been killed, and now he had sixty-two days to find out who had killed him, and why.
8.
W hen he got to the office, Andrew decided not to make any changes to his routine. He needed to take a step back from the situation and consider it before deciding anything. Besides, he’d read a few science fiction books about going back in time when he was a boy, and he remembered that changing the course of events could have unfortunate consequences.
He spent the day organizing his second trip to Argentina—a trip he’d already organized in his previous life. He figured he could allow himself to change his hotel in Buenos Aires; he kept a very bad memory of the one he’d stayed in last time.
He had a brief argument with Freddy Olson, who had the cubicle next to his. Olson kept shooting him down at editorial meetings and trying to steal his story ideas, the jealous bastard.
Andrew clearly recalled the reason for their spat. Never mind how he had reacted last time; he took the initiative to put an end to his meddling and sent Olson packing. This way he avoided getting their editor involved, who would make him go through the humiliation of apologizing to that moron in front of all his colleagues.
It wasn’t as if he could follow in his exact footsteps, after all, he reasoned as he returned to his desk. He would probably squash a few insects that had survived his morning runs in Hudson River Park over the past two months . . .
the next two months
, he corrected himself silently.
He quite liked the idea of shaking up the natural order of things. He hadn’t asked Valerie to marry him yet—he would only do it in three days’ time, after she had brought up the subject of his trip to Buenos Aires again. He hadn’t broken her heart, and so there was nothing for which he needed to ask forgiveness. All in all, if it wasn’t for the probability that he’d end up in a pool of his own blood in around sixty days’ time, this return to the past was all for the better.
When Valerie phoned at half past six, he made the mistake of promising her he’d join her at the movie theater right away, even before she could ask.
“How’d you I know I was about to suggest going to the movies?” she asked in surprise.
“I don’t know,” he stammered, fingers clenching his pencil. “But it’s a good idea, isn’t it? Um, unless you want to eat out?”
Valerie thought for a second, and opted for dinner.
“I’ll get us a table at Omen.”
“Wow. It’s like you’ve got ESP this evening. That’s exactly the place I was thinking of.”
Andrew’s pencil snapped in the palm of his hand.
“Oh, you know, I just get lucky sometimes,” he said. “Let’s meet in an hour.” Then he asked her how the health inspector’s visit had gone, though he already knew the answer.
“It didn’t happen,” Valerie said. “The inspector was in a car crash on the way over. I’ll tell you about it over dinner.”
Andrew hung up.
“You’re going to have to play it smart over the next two months if you don’t want anyone getting suspicious,” he told himself out loud.
“Suspicious about what?” Freddy Olson’s head popped up above the cubicle wall.
“Olson, didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s bad manners to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations?”
“I don’t see any conversation here, Stilman; you’re just talking to yourself. And since you’re such an observant guy, haven’t you noticed we happen to work in an open space? You need to tone down that voice of yours. Think I enjoy having to listen to you?”
“I bet you do.”
“So? What was all that about, Mr. Soon-to-be-promoted?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on, Stilman. We all know you’re Stern’s protégé. I guess you can’t help being a brownnoser.”
“I know you’re so short on journalistic talent you can’t quite believe you’ve made it into the profession. I’m not casting stones,
8.
W hen he got to the office, Andrew decided not to make any changes to his routine. He needed to take a step back from the situation and consider it before deciding anything. Besides, he’d read a few science fiction books about going back in time when he was a boy, and he remembered that changing the course of events could have unfortunate consequences.
He spent the day organizing his second trip to Argentina—a trip he’d already organized in his previous life. He figured he could allow himself to change his hotel in Buenos Aires; he kept a very bad memory of the one he’d stayed in last time.
He had a brief argument with Freddy Olson, who had the cubicle next to his. Olson kept shooting him down at editorial meetings and trying to steal his story ideas, the jealous bastard.
Andrew clearly recalled the reason for their spat. Never mind how he had reacted last time; he took the initiative to put an end to his meddling and sent Olson packing. This way he avoided getting their editor involved, who would make him go through the humiliation of apologizing to that moron in front of all his colleagues.
It wasn’t as if he could follow in his exact footsteps, after all, he reasoned as he returned to his desk. He would probably squash a few insects that had survived his morning runs in Hudson River Park over the past two months . . .
the next two months
, he corrected himself silently.
He quite liked the idea of shaking up the natural order of things. He hadn’t asked Valerie to marry him yet—he would only do it in three days’ time, after she had brought up the subject of his trip to Buenos Aires again. He hadn’t broken her heart, and so there was nothing for which he needed to ask forgiveness. All in all, if it wasn’t for the probability that he’d end up in a pool of his own blood in around sixty days’ time, this return to the past was all for the better.
When Valerie phoned at half past six, he made the mistake of promising her he’d join her at the movie theater right away, even before she could ask.
“How’d you I know I was about to suggest going to the movies?” she asked in surprise.
“I don’t know,” he stammered, fingers clenching his pencil. “But it’s a good idea, isn’t it? Um, unless you want to eat out?”
Valerie thought for a second, and opted for dinner.
“I’ll get us a table at Omen.”
“Wow. It’s like you’ve got ESP this evening. That’s exactly the place I was thinking of.”
Andrew’s pencil snapped in the palm of his hand.
“Oh, you know, I just get lucky sometimes,” he said. “Let’s meet in an hour.” Then he asked her how the health inspector’s visit had gone, though he already knew the answer.
“It didn’t happen,” Valerie said. “The inspector was in a car crash on the way over. I’ll tell you about it over dinner.”
Andrew hung up.
“You’re going to have to play it smart over the next two months if you don’t want anyone getting suspicious,” he told himself out loud.
“Suspicious about what?” Freddy Olson’s head popped up above the cubicle wall.
“Olson, didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s bad manners to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations?”
“I don’t see any conversation here, Stilman; you’re just talking to yourself. And since you’re such an observant guy, haven’t you noticed we happen to work in an open space? You need to tone down that voice of yours. Think I enjoy having to listen to you?”
“I bet you do.”
“So? What was all that about, Mr. Soon-to-be-promoted?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on, Stilman. We all know you’re Stern’s protégé. I guess you can’t help being a brownnoser.”
“I know you’re so short on journalistic talent you can’t quite believe you’ve made it into the profession. I’m not casting stones,
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