Timeline

Chapter 1

Downtown New York City. This used to be the East Village where talents like Springsteen and the Ramones started out a long time ago. Dylan got his start here. Started changing the world with his music.

Tonight we don’t want to change the world, we just want to have a good time. Maybe meet a nice girl.

A quick glance in the smoky bar back mirror between the bottles of cheap liquor and I’m thinking I look pretty good with my head shiny smooth and a face full of stubble.

We’re meeting at O’Malley’s as usual for a few drinks and a few puffs. Other than a couple of old timers at the bar the place is empty. We have a small wager on a tennis match. We watch on the big screen as our man blows a two set lead and two hours take-home each.

“We lose again, Abe.”

My name’s Lincoln, Link to most people. Fred likes to call me Abe, especially when he’s blaming me for us losing money.

I’m usually Thinkin’ Lincoln when we win.

“That was your boy, Freddy. I told you his best days were long gone. I could’ve beaten him in that last set. Get the new lines up and we’ll pick us a winner for later.”

As Fred pulls up the later matches, I check my screen for messages. I see I missed one from my dad. And one from Rita. She wants to know what I’m doing tonight.

As I’m leaning back on the bar up front and looking out the large storefront window onto 7th Ave, I see people enjoying the fine dining peddled at the local restaurants. The early dinner crowd walking out, passing the late dinner crowd on the way in. People from all over the country, the world really, who’ve come to New York for what it promises. Mostly what it used to promise if you ask me. They’re living in a New York that’s full of Broadway shows and Central Park. The Freedom Tower and the World Peace Center. Tall buildings and fancy high tech autos.

And in the spaces between all that, filling the cracks and voids, is the reality of a city they don’t see. Nothing pretty. A population trying to keep its head above water.

These people drive right over the grime, cruise right by the homeless reality, never see the pain on the faces.

There was a time not too long ago when the quality of life for the majority of people was at a level that allowed for a dignified day to day existence.

There were good jobs. A government and a citizenry that had a heart. I was just a kid then, in awe of the whole thing.

Manhattan was just over the bridge, but might as well have been a million miles away. All bright lights and big city in the distance. The verve and energy flowed across the river to a warm reception in Brooklyn Heights and Williamsburg, then collided with a different energy vibrating from Flatbush Avenue and Canarsie where I grew up.

Running the streets at a young age with my friends I knew there were things lacking in my life, things wealthier people enjoyed. But I never begrudged them any of it. I was too busy enjoying my youth, the wealth of freedom and time.

I was maybe ten years old when the experts first pronounced the supply of fossil fuels were at much lower levels than previously estimated. With most financial indexes having a relationship to the suddenly skyrocketing energy costs the result was an immediate global economic depression. Slowly all the facts came out and it was worse than we all feared, until finally the experts had to admit the gauge would hit E in our lifetime. Devastation was around the corner and the inevitable breakdown of humanity began.

Today, however, improvements in electrical generation and distribution systems have resulted in substantial cost savings and the economy here has been recovering. The collapse has slowed to a stop, although at a very low level, with over half the population still unemployed and the vast majority living below the poverty line. From what I hear we’re doing a bit better than the rest of the country, and much better than anywhere else.

Now, I know something about these electrical generation and distribution system upgrades, and take some pride in helping stem the tide in our own small way. The company we all work for, CoEn, spent a lot of money upgrading the existing electrical grid and continues to develop alternate energy sources.

The recovery will be slow but there is a general feeling that the energy industry specifically, and world economy in general, is heading in the right direction.

From my spot at the bar, which is just to the right as you walk in the door, I’m watching the out-of-towners and the tourists. They have no clue what this place is really all about. What makes it tick.

I know what makes it tick. I’m one of the guys that lights up the night. It’s my job to keep all the juice flowing. At its final destination it looks pretty. Large elaborate screens flashing, fast transit, high tech. None of it works without the juice we keep flowing.

When you’re in the hole with the fiber and cable that allows the electricity to flow, it’s not pretty at all. It’s dangerous and dirty. A system a hundred years old buried underneath the streets, held together with tape and tie wire. We spend most of our time patching up and putting out fires. The illusion needs guys like us to keep it alive. So we suit up every day and go down to put back together what fell apart last night.

Anyway, what these people are enjoying does nothing for me. Fine dining with a glass of wine seems like too much trouble for very little reward.

I walk back to the middle of the barroom where Fred just found another event, a Jai Lai match. There are six screens along the wall across from the bar, with small tables, chairs and card slots. The spot is poorly lit and the bright screens pop right out at you. Fred’s sitting at a table near the end.

He likes the name of the German guy, Schlitz. He knows nothing about Schlitz, or Jai Lai, but has a good feeling.

“I know a guy bets Jai Lai all the time. He says once you get a feel for it you can win on a regular basis,” Fred states confidently.

“Really? Who’s this guy?”

“A guy I know, from the Twenty Third street yard. I forget his name.”

“We know absolutely nothing about Jai Lai.” I shake my head. “We’d be pissin’ money away. Again.”

Fred’s not hearing me.

“It’s fifty-fifty. Either one can win the match. It’s not even about skill. The match is fixed, it’s even money either way,” he says, convinced. “And like I said, once you get a feel for it you can figure whose turn it is to win on a pretty regular basis.”

I sit down on a stool at the bar with my back to the bartender, facing Fred, and respond, “So you figure we need to start betting now, with a fifty-fifty chance, and our odds will improve the more we play?”

“Exactly.”

“Brilliant.”

He doesn’t even sense the sarcasm. Never does. I need to lay it on a little thicker I guess.

“I’m in, twenty times.” I finish my beer.

After he swipes the card, we have another drink. Tonight it’s rum. I like rum, gives the night a rebellious vibe, like we’re pirates. Shots of rum with cold beer chasers.

I walk back up to the front, sit down at the end of the bar with a view through the two doors wide open onto 7th Ave. It’s a cool November evening with a slight breeze blowing.

It doesn’t fit that New York City should have a natural, cool autumn breeze. Seems like it should be artificially generated and delivered, for so much per cubic feet per minute, by one of the extra-large utility corporations we have around here. I’m a little surprised nobody has thought up a way to charge for cool breezes yet. Watching the branches in the two small trees out front swaying, it feels real. Nice.

I watch the older couple leaving the small café across the street. As she buttons her coat, he hails an UbrLift and in a minute they’re gone.

Moving from point A to point B is what it’s all about.

In this city, you can finish dinner downtown and you’re having coffee with dessert uptown in a matter of minutes. Very accommodating. Helps you feel like you’re enjoying your evening, your life even.

Keep moving because where you’re going is probably better than where you are.

As I’m sitting there looking out through the doors, here come Steve and Joe. I’m ready to go and glad to see them.

I’ve known Steve since he first started at CoEn, our crews had worked together on a few projects and we became good friends. We’ve been working as a team for about a year now. He’s a good mechanic.

Almost as good as my last partner, Paulie.

But Paulie’s dead.

Going in a “hot” hole without making sure it’s down can do that.

So now I work with Steve. We do our job, no hero bullshit. Take our time, do it right and go home. Steve’s newly married and rarely gets a chance to enjoy hanging out with the boys.

“Gentlemen!” Steve grins ear to ear as he and Joe take off their jackets while looking around the bar. “Whoa! This place is dead. How long you been here?”

“Got here about eight. We’re way ahead of you boys.”

“Yea,” Steve says, “Joe had to stop off on the way over to drop off a pair of shoes. Don’t ask.”

Joe shrugs, orders a beer and says, “My brother had to have them back for a wedding tomorrow.”

“Hey Joe, I have an idea. Why don’t you buy your own pair of shoes you cheap bastard?” Fred laughs while getting up to go to the bathroom....