Margo poured another shot of bourbon. As long as she was paying for it…
Clearly, this would be a long, long day.
* * *
CHAPTER FOUR
The klaxon marking the re-opening of Primary sounded just as Kit settled down for breakfast in Frontier Town’s Bronco Billy Cafe. He smiled to himself, wishing a mental bon voyage to the redheaded Margo of No Last Name. The computerized register of incoming tourists had shown only “Margo Smith” who held a transfer ID stamp from New York. In New York City anyone could get any sort of credentials, could have any fake name tacked onto one’s mandatory medical records, which had to match a person’s retinal scans and fingerprints to get past ATF Security.
After the orbital blowup which had created the time strings that made temporal travel possible, so many records had been damaged and destroyed, New York’s underworld had cleaned up issuing new identities. Scuttlebutt had it that new ID’s were cheaper than downtime tickets to a temporal station.
If Smith were Margo’s real last name, Kit would eat his shoes.
He hadn’t seen her since her arrival-thank God although he’d heard from several people she was asking everywhere for a teacher. So far as he knew, everyone had turned her down flat. Now she’d be departing for home where she belonged. It was with a sense of profound relief that Kit banished all thought of Margo “Smith.” He smiled at the waitress, clad primly in a high collared dress with a striped, floor-length skirt.
”Morning, Kit,” she dimpled “The usual?”