Page 2 of In the Nick of Time
Back behind the wheel, Nick checked his watch again on the off chance time had reversed itself. Nope. The first-day orientation was supposed to have started fifteen minutes ago. That wasn’t something he could easily fix. Three minutes, maybe. Nothing over five.
“Maybe,” he said to the turtle, “if I explain about spilling coffee on my lap first thing and having to go back home tochange my clothes, dealing with the traffic and lack of parking,andthen rescuing a turtle, they’ll be sympathetic. It could’ve happened to anyone.”
If he were being honest, Nick knew his particular types of mornings never happened to anyone but himself. He was a personal disaster magnet; Murphy’s Law was nothing compared to him.
“You’d be late to your funeral if you could, Nick,” had often been repeated by his Aunt Kat.
Well, yes, he would. Because if he missed his funeral, it meant he wasn’t dead.
“On the other hand, I rescued a turtle.”
Finally, after a fourth circle of the block and two times through the building’s attached parking lot, he spotted a car leaving two rows over. It was pulling out of a space between a white panel van and some kind of maintenance truck.
“There’smyspot,” Nick muttered.
Anyone who thought they were getting to that spot before he was? Delusional. He pressed on the gas. The engine stalled. Another car turned in, heading for the soon-to-be empty space.
What the fuck.
Nick turned the key in the ignition and pressed on the gas pedal again. Nothing.
“This is not the time to mess with me.” He was eyeing the entire universe now. “Knock it off.”
The second car was closing in. Surely, they could see that Nick was waiting to park? At least he would be, once the engine turned over. His 2001 Aztek hiccupped to life.
His heartily mocked Pontiac Aztek with a live turtle in the back seat.
Then it happened. The third thing. Seventy feet in front of Nick, the car he was waiting to move on exploded. Burst into flames. Disintegrated before his eyes.
Right in front of him.
One second the car was there, the next there were tiny shards of metal, plastic, and foam falling from the sky like some kind of bizarre snow.
“Why? Why today?”
“I’ll leavethe window down. You’ll be fine,” Nick told the tortoise later, eyeing it in the rearview mirror. “You need a name. How about Tim? Tim the Tortoise has cachet to it.”
Tim nodded. Not for real, of course, but it made Nick feel good to think he had.
Over by the Unlucky Parking Space, several oversized vans and what looked like an industrial-strength fire engine were cleaning up the mess from the unexpectedly exploding car. One of the first responders who wore a black and red uniform Nick hadn’t seen before—and who’d also been quite rude—had ordered Nick out of the way and informed him, “This is just routine.”
Just routine?
While waiting for Fire and Aid, Nick had chomped down the last of his stash of Hot Tamales candies and downloaded an app to find out what kind of turtle Tim was only to discover he—it?—wasn’t a turtle at all. Nick would need to have a female tortoise around for comparison to figure its gender out. His backseat guest was an African spurred tortoise, also known as a sulcata tortoise. They originated from the Sahara region and were an endangered species.
Huh. Also, their shells were apparently very strong, but Nick wasn’t going to test that bit of information. He wasn’t a monster.
“The inside of my car will not get hotter than the Sahara. Probably. And anyway, I’ll be right back—because, you know, getting fired and all—and then we’ll go find some hay and stuff for you to eat.”
Tim nodded again. Nick couldn’t decide if he was reassured by the assumed nodding or if it was creepy.
The lobbyof the unremarkable five-story office building was impressively shabby and dim. Taking in the worn burnt-orange carpet, the faded Frederick Remington prints, and the overhead canister lighting, Nick thought that even he could give the owner some tips on a refresh. A new coat of paint would go a long way—a person didn’t have to be gay to figure that out. Probably it was for the better that he wouldn’t actually be working there after all.
“May I help you?”
Nick glanced around, trying to locate the source of the disembodied voice, but didn’t find anyone.
“Um,” he said to the empty room. “Nick Sedgewick reporting for orientation?”
