There was the world of children, and then there was the world of adults. While Wes had long tried to maintain some degree of blurred lines between the two, today he was again venturing purely into the often-mundane land of things typically only those over thirty had to get involved with. To help finalize his plans, he had to drive to a strip mall on the outskirts of the city, a block of small businesses with only desert beyond them. He parked in front of a unit that sat between two still looking for owners.

“Eddie L. Meeks, Financial Advisor,” Wes said out loud as he looked up at the sign and dangled his arms over his open car door. “I’m sure the name fits.”

Past the squeaky, dirty glass door with a pair of bells dangling down from its top, Wes entered into perhaps the tackiest room he had ever seen. The carpet was mustard yellow, the walls were covered in wood paneling and photographs of Elvis, Frank Sinatra, and other singers from the 50s and 60s, and the lone desk in the center of the small office looked like a cheap version of what Tony Montana snorted cocaine on in Scarface, complete with its industrial blocky legs and mirrored surface.

Eddie had no receptionist, and he was currently alone as he conducted business on his phone. Two empty red vinyl chairs from the age of disco stared up at him, with much of the short and stocky man’s face hidden behind a relic of an IBM computer monitor. As he jabbered, he frequently tapped cigarette ash into the marble tray under his brass and green banker lamp. Once Wes got in a little closer, he could see the brown and orange-tinted glasses on his middle-aged face, as well as his comb-over.

He stuck an index finger in the air to indicate that he was aware of Wes, and continued with his call, “David, would I lie to you? Would I? All the years we’ve known each other. I’m telling you, right now’s the time to invest in Apple. I know what you’re going to say—that the company hasn’t been the same since they kicked Steve Jobs out, that their days are numbered, yada yada. But the little organizer they made, the Newton? They’re getting their creative edge back. They’re telling the world that they can still innovate without him. The next model’s really going to take off. Believe me.

“What’s that? Uh, no, I don’t know if the next one will play music or not. Why would you need something like that? You got a Walkman, don’t you? What? Oh, man, that digital music won’t take off. You heard that crap? People want quality. Trust me. CDs are here to stay. And so is vinyl, for the true aficionados.

“All right. Think about it. Always a smart move. Whazzat? No, no, you want to keep your investment in pork futures. Well, sure it’s ‘boring as hell,’” he air-quoted with his one free hand, “but you always want some stability in your portfolio. All right, Dave. Say hi to the wife and kids for me. Of course I’ll send you some pears on Christmas, just like I always have. Why are you so concerned about that? It’s half a year away. Eh, yeah, you’re a funny guy, Davey. All right. Got a possible new client here. Yes. Take it easy.”

“Hi,” Wes initiated things and removed his sunglasses. “I want to get into the stock market. But I don’t really want to spend time navigating it and figuring it out.”

“Well. That’s, hm, that’s great. Got no experience, huh? That’s fine. I got some good suggestions on what to invest in. That’s what I excel at, ‘street’ knowledge, you know? I actually go out there, and I talk to people, and I listen to the trends. I’m not some broker on Wall Street who spends all day in their apartment staring at graphs, I tell ya. Of course, maybe I’m just a dinosaur now. They got these fast computers—robots, doing a million trades a second now or some nonsense. Takin’ the human element right out of it. But the market’s organic. It relies on hunches. People got that, not machines.”

Rarely on the receiving end of a lecture, Wes quickly interjected when Eddie took a moment to refuel his lungs, “Name’s Nick Deckard. I’m here to make us both happy.”

“Ah. That’s a good way to start things. Ya got confidence, kid. So, how much you thinking about putting in? If you want to roll some big dice, I’d look into Ford. Good old American power. I see good things coming to American cars in the next few years. You like cars, Nick? The roar of a V8?”

“Yeah, not in this decade,” he replied with a smile. “But I got a list in mind. Of companies I’d like to dip in and out of every week. Just a little in each, though—diverse, but shallow. Got some good feelings about them, but… don’t want to risk too much.”

“All right, all right. You got that on you, by any chance?”

“I came prepared, Eddie.” Wes took out a paper folder from his trusty case. “Take a look inside, tell me what you think. But don’t expect to change my mind.”

“Huh? You sound awful sure of yourself. Eh, let’s see here…” Eddie bit into his cigarette and skimmed through the stapled papers that were printed in the future. “This looks like it’s mostly toy and media companies… Both can be really unpredictable. You know something I don’t? You some Yale grad or something?”

“No, sir. I just, uh, I have a formula. All original. And some hunches. You said you respect gut feelings, right? The ones I’ve had all my life have never let me down.”

Eddie dropped the folder onto the desk and flicked his used cig into the tray. “I don’t know a thing about you, kid. We haven’t talked about where you’re from or what you’re trying to gain. You’re not talking about insider trading here now, are you? Do you even know what that is? Because I’m not going to any prisons for you. Doesn’t matter how nice the tennis courts are. People think that just because I run things all the way on the edge of town and grew up in Vegas, that I’m all up for some shady business.”

“First of all, Mr. Meeks, I’m thirty-five. Not really a kid,” Wes said flatly.

“You’re kiddin’. You don’t look a day over twenty. Geez, you one of those health guru types or something?”

“Are you normally this suspicious of all your new clients?”

“When they barge in here with a folder full of their own prospects from God knows what sources, yeah, I kind of have to be. I’ve severed ties with a few guys that I’m almost positive were trying to make a patsy out of me, think they could do whatever they wanted and have me take the fall, just because I have the visage of a scoundrel.”

“Aw, you don’t need to call yourself that. You look like a hard-working honest American trying to make a buck in a world that looks down on your… ah, our type.”

“Okay, okay. Now you’re just trying to butter me up. Come over here and sit down. Tell me about yourself. Let’s get to be friends, and then we’ll talk about your list here. You smoke? I got four different brands in the file cabinets under my desk.”

“Never,” Wes declined and took a seat.

“Ah, well, that’s an option, too. So, where do you call home, Mr. Deckard?”

“Right here. Born in Royal Valley, in 19… uh, 60.”

“So, the same year they closed the big military base here. One of your parents an officer? Seems like every other native your age grew up an army brat.”

“Um, no. I was free from all of that.” Realizing that he might need his knowledge of local history to impress Eddie, Wes took a moment to dive into his databanks before adding, “Heck, I remember passing by the base every day on the school bus home. They took so long to tear it down that it practically rotted away by itself.”

“So I’ve heard. Then they put an amusement park on the grounds of all things.”

“Heh, yeah. Crazy, right? Think there’s some unexploded ordnance under the roller coasters? Shoot, they’re opening this weekend, too. Maybe I should’ve invested.”

“Its parent company isn’t public. Believe me, I looked into it. I think it’s opening at the right time, though. It’ll probably make a lot of dough.”

“On that… I think we can agree.”

“Anyway, you said your hunches have never let you down. So, you got any great accomplishments you’re proud of? Maybe that came from a good gut feeling?”

Wes, always eager to start spouting off his favorite moments, quickly responded, “Back when I was a kid, I won a shopping spree at Toy—er…” He paused, and then continued by picking the first store to come to mind that was open in 1970. “At Sears. Yeah. I picked out a bunch of… appliances for the house. Washers, dryers…”

“Wait, really? When you were just a sprout, you did that for your family? That shows some real maturity, making investments like that, when you could’ve just grabbed a bunch of frivolous stuff a kid would be interested in. Never heard of a Sears shopping spree, though… Was that the one in the mall? Heck, let’s just move on.”

“Any… other accomplishments you want to hear about?”

“That’s all right, I think the one you told me about kinda says enough about you. I just have one last question. Where do you see yourself in five years?”

“Uh, well, I haven’t really…”

Eddie laughed, stood from his chair, and extended a hand. “I’m kidding! This isn’t some job interview. I can tell you’re a standup guy, you’re serious about this, you want to make money as much as I do. I just need you to sign some papers.”

“Oh. Good, good…” Wes breathed a sigh of relief and shook Eddie’s pudgy fingers, noticing a class ring from 1963 as he did so. “I hate job interviews.”

“Heheh. If you make enough money off all these hunches, you won’t need one.”

“That’s the point. Hey, there’s a movie coming out this year, called Casino. It’s… um, it looks like Goodfellas in Vegas. Might be right up your alley.”

“That some of that ‘insider’ knowledge of yours?” Eddie joked.

Unconcerned with breaking or getting around any laws with his unique wisdom, Wes started signing the papers eagerly. After all, should attention be attracted, he could grab Jace and return to the present. Of course… doing so might require some force.