Jimmy Martz was not the smartest guy in the world, but he ran
one of hottest companies in the Electronic trade. He didn't even
come up with the idea. He just read an article in a magazine he
couldn't remember on a flight headed to San Antonio to deal with a
divorce. Some guy in Atlanta had built a touch screen tablet that ran
both Apple components and Microsoft. That wasn't even the kicker. He
had a chip in it to make cell phone calls from any company for free.
Martz only had to pay a small fee to the cell phone companies.
Martz had met the Holland Wilkes in Atlanta at a hotel
room where Wilkes resided. It was there that Martz had his team of
lawyers work up a contract that virtually cut Wilkes out of any
royalties and the only money he was to receive was a one time amount
of five thousand dollars to be paid out over ten years. It turned out
Wilkes was bat-shit crazy and money was not a concern. He was worried
about little green men with their black gloves removing his soulwas
his testicles.
Martz
couldn't be happier as he boarded his plane back to Miami with the
plans to a new Tablet.
Gladys was extremely happy to have money again. His divorce from his
third wife was messy and expensive, working for a toy company
executive that made playdoh knockoffs did not keep them in good
company at the club.
Once STELLAR Tablets took off, Martz was on everyone's list to play
croquet. Money was not a problem. So he and Gladys invested in real
estate. Buying up several buildings along the Fourth and Hebasa
street to knock down for a mini mall.
There was a problem on the third building. This building had been an
apartment complex for low income. Then it was condemned. Nearly
abandoned. The Foreman tearing the buildings down had gotten rid of
almost all who was there.
Except one.
This old man was cunning. He'd somehow gotten past all the
construction crew to the bulldozers and stolen the keys from the
ignition. A thug the Foreman had hired to take the old man out anyway
he could had fallen out of the three story building window, breaking
both legs.
Martz decided to handle this himself.
Years ago on the streets of L.A. Martz had kept some tough
company. Even participated in some gang activity until an incident of
three dead rival gang members were executed before his eyes. Martz
felt it was good time to get out of town. So he felt as though he
could take on an old man, no problems.
“Hey, you have to get out of here! I own this place now,”
Martz banged on the door of the apartment with both fists. The door
fell the hinges, disturbing a vast amount of dirt on the floor. “What
the—and they couldn't get inside the place? Somebody was
bullshittin' me.”
Martz stepped inside, looked around. “Jesus...at least the
old man has decorated.” It looked like a junkyard. TVs scattered
throughout, toliets set up like furniture and old advertisements from
billboards were used for wallpaper.
In the middle of other junk and empty food containers were shopping
carts with missing wheels fastened together with a blades from
lawnmowers. An extension cord connected to ten computer towers, which
were linked together with hundreds of wires. The craziest thing was
all the lights on the computer towers were blinking blue lights. And
an old printer from the early nineties was printing out on teletype
paper.
Martz looked at the print and it was all nonsense. Symbols and
math equations. He followed the trail that led to a bedroom piled
with more junk. Busted microwaves and stereo parts. Books were
stacked above his head reminded him of the ruins in Rome.
Martz was ready to give up on talking to the old man when he
heard movement from a corner of the bedroom near chairs stacked on
top of each other. He walked over and discovered nothing was holding
them together. He touched the chairs, they wobbled, but stayed in
place. He heard heavy breathing, then saw a man laying on a bed made
of magazines.
“Hey..you know you can't stay here,” Martz said, shuffling to the
old man who barely moved except for his rolling around in a
powder-white head with several sores located at different points.
Martz kicked at the old man's leg and a hand took hold of his pants
leg. Martz shook the hand away, cursing loudly. “Listen you old
fucker! No tricks, get out now!” The hand grabbed Martz again by
the pants leg and brought him hard to the floor. There was a stream
of pain from his back to his neck.
Before Martz could say anything the old man pulled him closer to him
by his jacket lapel and placed both hands on his forehead.
In a
rush of visions, Martz saw the old man as a young man building the
contraption that was in the other room. He saw the young man reading
data from the printouts, stating a report that in fifty years time a
colossal explosion will end humanity. A threat from an alien species
millions of light years from earth called the Torgias. The old man
finally contacting the Torgias with the terms of forgoing the attack.
The old man explained he was from a distant planet in an alternate
wormhole that protected smaller planets from that viscous alien
species destroyed planets unless payment was received.
“Here,”
The old man handed Martz a gold coin the size of his palm. “Go to
54th street, where the Solar clock stands in the park. At
exactly noon today, place it in the upper right corner where it looks
like a crack, it isn't. It has always been there for that reason. A
beam of sunlight will send the message back to the Torgias. Your
planet will survive.”
“I-I
don't think I can--” Martz tried to tell the old man, but he ceased
to exist.
The old man's eyes were still, and now his hands fell from Martz
jacket. His mouth became slack. There was a low sounding gurgle.
Martz held the coin in his hand, swallowed hard. He had to do it. He
had no other option. He jumped to his feet and ran out of the
apartment, kicking empty containers out of his way. He looked at his
gold watch and saw it was eleven forty -five. 54th street
was across the street. He ran out of the building and down the
sidewalk. Across the street and avoided several cars from taking him
out of commission. He pushed open the gate to the park where a guard
screamed at him to pay up. He ran past barking dogs and their
concerned owners, past ducks trying find pieces bread in the grass.
He'd made it to the solar clock. It towered over him
by at least six feet and just as he was feeling the bricks that held
the contraption together, he heard voices behind him.
Ten men in gang related garb had surrounded him. Martz
swallowed, looked up at the solar clock. Two minutes to noon.
“We just want your wallet, asshole,” A smaller
gang member said and stepped forward. He showed Martz his nine
milometer.
“Look,” Martz held up his hands. The gold coin
caught their eyes. “You don't understand.”
The gun went off just as the clock struck twelve,
a bullet caught Martz in the chest and went right through. He fell to
the ground under the solar clock. The coin rolled to the one holding
the gun. He bent down and picked up the coin. They heard sirens and
scattered.
“You...don't understand....you don't
understand....” Martz said as he slipped into unconsciousness.
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