A few things about my neighbor

Hazen Clingsworth sat in the swivel chair in front of his desk, a floor-to-ceiling window behind him showing the thick fog that had rolled in from the ocean through the Presidio. He crossed one of his bony legs over the opposite knee and stared at Aaron, tapping an index finger to his cheek, looking at the bookcase stacked with Raymond Chandler mysteries, then over to the liquor cabinet.

“You’re only fourteen, too young for whiskey,” he said to Aaron. “But what they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em, right?”

Clingsworth laughed in a sharp, staccato and went over to the cabinet. He poured two whiskeys with ice into tumblers.

“Here, drink this. It’ll put hair on your chest,” he said, giving Aaron one of the tumblers and sitting back down. Clingsworth rested his elbows on his knees, hunched over, and looked at Aaron.

“Didn’t know your parents all that much. But I always liked Austin and Penelope. Good neighbors, always. You Aardvarks got back luck, is what I say. Too bad about the crash, so you deserve a special gift.” Clingsworth leaned back in his chair and spread his legs.

Aaron knew what that meant, and he looked at the door for a quick escape. He downed the tumbler of whisky in one gulp that burned his esophagus.

Clingsworth laughed again, this time echoing off the walls. “You’re a real man, I tell you. So this is what I’m givin’ you. Old, but it works right if you learn how to use it. Come with me, young man.”

He finished his own whiskey, got up, went out the door. Aaron didn’t know whether to run away or follow him –

“Come with me, into the garage. Be quick about it.”

He rose and followed him on unsteady feet. The room began to sway – was it the liquor or was it fear? Clingsworth opened the garage door.

“There it is,” Clingsworth said, pointing at something that looked like a dune buggy, but more square and upright, and with a boxy center console that rose above the dash.

“My time machine. Can’t tell anyone, or it’ll lose its power. You take it to the past and tell someone, you stay there until you die. You take it into the future and tell someone, you did immediately. Go on, take a look. It’s yours.”

Where would he put it, Aaron asked himself – but then he remembered. He’d be living with Aunt Wilhelmina now. She had a 6-car garage and a chauffeur.

“I need to tell Boggs, nowhere to put it otherwise.”

“Your aunt’s chauffeur? Can he be trusted?”

Aaron thought – yes, he could be. Boggs had pilfered thousands from Aunt Wilhelmina’s petty cash account over the years. If Boggs squealed on him, then he’d just turn Boggs into the police and tell Auntie. He was safe.

“Absolutely.”

“So fire up the machine and go wherever you want. Be creative. Always.”