Chapter 20
Sam B was actually pretty impressed with how much cash his counterpart had come to town with. He didn’t really associate communes with wealth, but he supposed they weren’t really spending much of it, so maybe it had piled up… from wherever they were getting it.
With Al’s help, he’d managed to get most of what he needed, and was now rummaging through a junkyard, sweat dripping from his brow.
He had, at first, considered bicycle wheels for the turbine, but was reconsidering their utility in water; they would probably rust up pretty fast. But now, he’d come upon a pair of old wooden wagon wheels, which he thought was probably perfect.
Al was twiddling a cigar between his fingers, standing part way inside the hood of a car as he watched on intently.
Sam had felt the hologram’s eyes on him much more acutely than usual, and he was beginning to wonder if Sam A had asked him to do this.
It seemed clear that neither his twin nor Al had any trust in his ability to complete the leap. They weren’t exactly keeping it a secret—after all, Al was here with him, and not back at the house. It was hard not to feel resentful of the scrutiny.
“Sun’s getting low,” Al said, as Sam set about hauling the large wheels to the car, and loaded them into the trunk.
“I can see that,” he said flatly, grunting as he struggled to get the objects in. They didn’t fit well, and he ended up strapping down the lid. “I’m finished, okay?”
He let out a breath as he collapsed into the driver’s seat of the car. Al was already waiting for him inside, and casually blowing smoke from his lips.
“You’ve done well today, Sam,” he said cheerfully. “Real normal kinda afternoon, except the token complaints.”
Sam turned the ignition, shooting Al a look. “Gee, it’s good to know I’m capable of behaving within acceptable parameters while shopping. Makes me feel real good about myself.” As he drove away, he added with some vitriol: “Think I’ll become a real boy if I keep this up, Jiminy Cricket?”
“Aw, Sam,” Al said, scratching his head, “I’m sorry if I’ve seemed like I’m treatin’ you like you’re a kid or something. It’s just Verbena told me I had to make sure you didn’t follow your worst instincts, that’s all.”
Sam snorted. “Having my morals kept in check by the world’s foremost philanderer, huh? That sounds like a recipe for disaster if you ask me.”
“Well, I’m pleased to report you haven’t yet done the horizontal tango with anybody,” Al said with a shrug. “Though it might help you unwind.” He tilted his head, looking into the distance. “But you know, it doesn’t have to be horizontal. You’d be surprised just how many angles you can—”
“Al, cut it out.” Sam shook his head in exasperation. “I’m split in half, not merged with you again. Just because Verbena thinks I got the ‘id’ doesn’t mean I’m going to turn into Sam Calavicci all of a sudden.”
Al let out a laugh. “Well, you know, you do have a sex drive, don’t you? It had to go somewhere, right? But you won’t even entertain the idea of sleeping with your own wife.”
“She’s not my wife! Anyway, maybe Mister Perfect got my libido.” Sam screwed up his nose. “I hope he hasn’t got the hots for Brenda…”
“Well, even if he does, I don’t think he’d act on it.”
“Why? Because he got all my morals?” Sam slammed a hand onto the steering wheel. “He didn’t, you know. I know right from wrong and I’m perfectly capable of doing good.”
“I never said you weren’t, Sam.” Al had a look of concern etched into his face as he watched Sam drive.
“And yet, here you are, keeping tabs on me. You haven’t checked on Sam A since I left the house. Admit it, Al—you don’t trust me.”
“I trust you, kid. Believe me, there’s nobody I trust more! Even with half of your personality out to lunch.” Al dragged a hand down his face. “Look Sam, here’s the truth: I’m worried about you. Not because I think you’re gonna screw up, but because you’ve clearly been having a hard time this leap. You’ve been angry, frustrated, scared. I just wish I knew how to make you feel better, you know?”
Sam pressed his lips together as he turned a corner.
“I wish I did, too,” he said finally. “I got the short end of the short end of the stick, didn’t I? Not only am I trapped leaping until I die, but I’ve been robbed of my optimism, which was the only thing making it bearable. What a great big, cosmic joke this must be.”
He met Al’s eye. “Go tell Sam A to get a cab into town. I’ll meet him at Broadway and 15th.”
Al hesitated. “You sure you don’t wanna go back to the house first?”
“You said it yourself; sun’s setting. Mister Perfect is supposed to be back at the bus real soon, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Al conceded, and punched a few buttons on the handlink, before disappearing.
Sam let out a deep, relieved breath. Finally, a moment without feeling watched. He pulled the car up to the kerb, a block away from the bus that he figured definitely belonged to the hippies. It stuck out like a sore thumb, with its garish paint job.
He grabbed at the box of electrical components in the back seat, and stepped out of the car, pulling the rope from the trunk and hoisting the pair of wheels onto each of his shoulders.
Maybe, if he was quick enough, he’d be able to get on that bus and leave before the other him got there.
It was best for the both of them, he had convinced himself. Sam A had made more headway with Brenda in a single conversation than he had in days, and the commune seemed to have an actual possibility of the people actually listening to him, which was more than he could say about Bobby’s wife.
Sam A belonged here, and he belonged at the commune.
Sorry, Richie. Guess you’re going to ’Nam after all. But don’t worry, Mister Perfect will take care of you, I’m sure.
He’d have a thing or two to explain to Al when he came back, but it wasn’t like Al didn’t expect this sort of underhanded behaviour, was it?
He shifted the wheel on his right shoulder before stepping onto the sidewalk and making his way in the direction of the bus, eyes fixed downward at his feet.
But those feet stopped dead when he caught sight of Al’s shiny red shoes just ahead. He flicked his eyes up to see that Al wasn’t alone.
“Thanks for doing that for me, buddy,” Sam A said, unburdening Sam B of his wagon wheels with a grin.
“Hey,” Al said, “turns out he already got a cab. Lucky, huh?”
Sam B frowned as he handed over the box. “Yeah. Lucky.”
“Something told me I needed to be here,” Sam A said, eyes narrow as he looked at his duplicate. After a hot second, he diverted his attention to the box of supplies, and his face brightened. “You did a great job! And these wheels will work nicely. Thanks a bunch.” He turned his head, glancing at the bus. “Well, you can go. I’ll take it from here.”
Sam B frowned. “Yeah, okay,” he said with resignation. “See you next leap, I guess.”
“If that’s the way things pan out,” his cheerful twin said. “Bye!”
He took a few steps towards the bus, but paused and turned back, reaching out to Sam B and raiding his pockets for the remaining cash. “Can’t forget the bread,” he said, winking as he placed Bobby’s wedding band into Sam B’s palm. “Or this.” He promptly strode away, leaving Sam B with Al once more.
So much for that bright idea. He took a deep breath, and turned back towards the car, beginning to wonder if he’d been ordained to die with Bobby, making Mister Perfect the sole Sam Beckett. Like he was the corn husk being discarded from the cob.
It was a warm, sunny day, but Sam B just felt cold as he climbed back into the Chevy.