Mom, I'm Bulletproof

Chapter 6: Murder in London, part 1

Sam Woodstock had been in London for only a few months, but it already felt more like home than anywhere else he'd ever lived.

After sleeping in until noon, Sam spent the first part of the day merely strolling around the city. From his flat in Bloomington, it wasn't that far of a walk to Piccadilly Circus, a major shopping and tourist destination. Taking a seat outside the Criterion Theater opposite the famous statue of Eros, Sam sipped his coffee and people-watched for a while, before heading farther into the West End for lunch and a pint or two of Guinness at the Porcupine pub. Although the area was a heavily tourism-based, Sam still felt it had that old-fashioned London charm.

After lunch, it was time for some window shopping, including some of the nicer bookstores. By this point, Sam had become something of a fixture there, and waved a friendly hello to the staff.

At around 5 p.m., Sam bought a sandwich and a soda, and ate it on a bench in Leicester Square. The statue of a bored-looking Shakespeare stood at the center of the square, with a plaque that read, "There is no darkness but ignorance."

Sam saw the buildings grow dark around him as the sky turned pink with the sunset.

It was time to go to work.

* * * *

The London Coliseum was well known first as the home of the London Ballet and second as one of the most architecturally interesting buildings in the West End, thanks to the giant spinning globe on its roof. Few people knew the building's third claim to fame.

Sam went inside the theater, showed his work I.D. to the ticket takers, who let him inside, into an employees-only area. Once there, he walked over to an old service elevator, known around the building as the A-lift, to what was somehow known as the A-floor.

The "A" stood for astronomy.

At the top floor of the building, adjacent to the roof's famous spinning globe and other sculptures, was a telescope the size of a motor home, looking out through a hole in the ceiling, and a wall lined with computers.

"Good morning, young man," Dr. Friday said, greeting Sam as he did every evening at the start of their nocturnal workday.

"Morning," Sam said, keeping up the joke.

"How was your weekend?"

"Went to a few pubs, hit some nightclubs," Sam said. "Not bad."

"I keep telling you," Friday said, not taking his eyes off his computer screen, "you should take the Jack the Ripper tour one of these nights."

"And I told you," Sam said, sitting next to Friday. "I don't want to be a tourist. I live here now. I want to be a real Londoner."

"Pub hopping and window shopping in the West End isn't being a tourist?" Friday asked, turning to face Sam. Despite his age – well into his 70s – Friday never lost his mischievous sense of humor. Sam always thought of him as, for lack of a better word, contemporary.

"You figured me out again," Sam said. "You're always one step ahead."

"But of course," Friday said.

"I've hung out in Brixton. That's not touristy."

"It is for tourists who want to brag about not being touristy," Friday said. "Or for the old ladies who want to get their nails done in one of the millions of nail salons in bloody Brixton."

Sam chuckled, knowing that Friday didn't mean anything offensive, but was just grousing for the sake of grousing.

"I really do love London," Sam said.

"Your so-called love is nothing more than the excitement of the new," Friday said. "You'd have similar love for any new environment, filled with opportunities for a young man to explore."

"Not true," Sam said. "I thought Paris was disgusting, remember?"

Friday waved his hand through the air. "That's just Paris."

Sam nodded. "I suppose now you're going to tell me how you've lived in London all your..."

"I know every crack in every sidewalk in this Godforsaken town," Friday said. "When you can say the same, then we'll see if you still love London. But first, we turn to the stars."

"Now you're talking."

Sam didn't know the exact details, but the gist of it was that a few ears earlier, Friday received a combined grant from N.A.S.A. and the Chinese government, establishing his own observatory in the heart of the city. It was an astronomer's dream, spending all day studying space while getting paid to do so.

When Sam heard of an opening for an astronomer's assistant in London, and, just after graduating from MIT with his astronomy degree, he figured he didn't stand a chance, and that he'd end up teaching science classes to kids, which is where most of his fellow graduates ended up.

Instead, Friday paid to fly Sam to London for an interview and offered him the job only a few days later. Everything since had been one big adventure – explore London by day, explore the stars by night.

"We'll pick up where we left off," Friday said, standing up and walking over to the telescope. "The Oort cloud."

Sam knew he shouldn't ask the next question, but he did.

"And what are we looking for, exactly?"

"Never mind that," Friday said. "I'll know it when I see it. I'm certain you will, too."

Sam nodded. It was the usual answer. He spent the night examining a comet circling the solar system as part of the large-beyond-belief Oort cloud, following Friday's instructions. Sam didn't mind, because the Oort cloud was fascinating. It confirmed Sam's belief that space was not necessarily a lifeless void, but something that was constantly active and exciting.

The work "day" ended at 2 a.m. for the pair. Friday said goodnight and waddled off into his office. Sam assumed Friday had a bed in there, but didn't know for sure. Friday was insistent that Sam stay out of the office.

* * * *

London was quiet at 2 a.m. on a weeknight. The streets were wet with a light drizzle, which, thankfully, had just started. Too many nights of stargazing had been ruined by London's rain.

With not another soul to be seen, Sam walked to his flat, enjoying he cool air, and the sounds of his own footsteps, all the way home, from Piccadilly to Hyde Park to Bloomington to his flat. It was like two old friends, Sam and the city of London, hanging out together.

Back inside his one-room flat, Sam changed and crawled into bed, with his Bela Lugosi Return of Chandu poster on the wall across from him.

"You're the king of cool, Bela," he said before switching off the light.

That night, he dreamt he was a musician. He woke up the next day with anunfamiliar tune he couldn't get out of his head.

# # # # 

Next: Secrecy.