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Chapter 21: The Road Back
🕑 Added 2025-06-08 09:46:25 +0000 UTC
Henry slid the stack of cash across the desk again.
"If you think there are any other documents I might need," he said plainly, "go ahead and get them done. License too, obviously. I'll need to drive."
He wasn't pretending to know how things worked around here. Hell, even before waking up in this world, he hadn't known much about America beyond pop culture and what made the news. This wasn't the time to play smart best to trust the local fixer.
Tom scooped up the cash this time without hesitation. Ten grand in neatly wrapped hundreds he gave it a sniff, fanned the edges like a card dealer, and smiled in quiet satisfaction.
"Alright. I'll bundle your ID stuff in with the car's title transfer. Next time you're in town, swing by and pick it up. If you're in a rush, I'll need at least three days."
"No rush," Henry replied. "I won't be back for about a week. But are you sure that's enough money?"
"For now? More than enough, big boss," Tom said, then leaned forward with a serious look. "But now it's my turn to ask something. 'Henry'… what?"
"…What?"
"Last name. You can't just go by 'Henry' on a legal document. That's a red flag begging for a background check."
Fair point.
Henry paused. What name should he use? Kent? Wayne? Stark? Owen? Maybe just keep it simple—no need to borrow from comic book royalty or try too hard to be clever.
After a moment, he said, "Henry Brown."
It was old John's last name the first person in this world who'd shown him kindness. Borrowing it felt like a quiet nod of respect. He wasn't asking to be adopted or anything. And it wasn't like "Brown" came with some noble title or inheritance.
"Works for me," he added. "That okay?"
"Totally, big boss," Tom said with a smirk. "Hell, you could've said 'Charlie Brown' and told me you had a beagle named Snoopy, I wouldn't have blinked."
Henry stood and shouldered his backpack. "Then we're good. See you in a week."
Tom gave him a lazy wave, ready to let him walk out. But just as Henry reached the door, Tom stood up, grabbed an empty box, and followed.
Henry glanced back. "What now?"
"Just clearing out my personal stuff from the car," Tom said. "Didn't think you'd want to be cruising around with my trash. It's not a dealbreaker, right?"
"No complaints here."
Henry knew the universal law: free stuff often came with hidden garbage. He needed the car, not whatever random crap had been marinating in it for the last decade.
Tom went to work. He pulled out crushed soda cans, sticky bottle caps, a few rogue coins, and unsurprisingly a pack of questionable-looking condoms stuffed between the seat cushions. But the real eye-catcher was in the glovebox: a shiny snub-nose revolver, gleaming like it had been freshly oiled.
Tom casually holstered it in the box. "No gun permit needed in Alaska. Just proof of purchase so the cops can trace it, if needed. So don't blame me when your license shows no firearm record it's not my fault. State law."
Henry raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. "I'm good. Don't need it."
Tom tilted his head. "If you're driving through Alaska, I'd recommend a shotgun at least. Last thing you want is to meet a bear and have to wrestle it."
That made Henry pause.
"…Are bear encounters common?"
Tom shrugged. "Only when you're unlucky. Which is, y'know, the worst kind of luck—l because you never see it coming."
Henry considered it. Honestly, a bear didn't scare him. The idea of one? Sure. But physically? He had… resources.
He gave a nonchalant wave. "I'll manage."
Just as he climbed into the Cadillac and was about to turn the key, Tom flagged him down again. He jogged over and handed him an old, beat-up road atlas.
"Outdated, sure, but Alaska hasn't changed much in the past few decades. You'll want this."
Henry tossed it onto the passenger seat where he could grab it easily. "Appreciate it."
Then he rolled off.
The old Cadillac DeVille coughed a bit, but the engine turned over smooth enough. Manual transmission. Henry had practiced on one years ago but never owned a car of his own. Between that and his enhanced senses now, driving was second nature.
And out here in Alaska? With these wide-open roads? You'd have to try to hit something. There weren't even enough cars around to make traffic a concern.
Before heading back to Old John's, Henry made a quick stop at the general store to stock up.
The place was a family-run operation husband and wife team selling everything from winter coats to lawn mowers, soda to aspirin. Not a wide selection in any one category, but if you needed it, chances were they had it.
Only the older woman was behind the counter today, but she greeted him like an old friend.
"Well hey there, sweetheart! Back already? Was it a good haul?"
Henry grinned. "The captain's happy. Which means we all got paid decently."
He wasn't lying but he wasn't bragging either. Everyone in town knew he was still the greenhorn on the boat. The fact he came back in one piece already put him ahead of some.
"Go ahead and take what you need," she said warmly. "You get 20% off today. My gift to you. Old John's been talking your ear off these past few days. You should head back and let him see you."
Henry nodded, grabbed some fresh clothes and underwear, a few snacks, and wandered over to the freezer section to stock up on food. He didn't feel great about freeloading off Old John every night.
He briefly considered picking up a gift, something to say "thanks." But John wasn't the kind of guy who appreciated sentimental junk. His bar was fully stocked and well-maintained. Nothing needed replacing. No clutter. No junk.
Henry knew the type. Lived like that himself once.
For people like them, a poorly chosen gift just became another item to store, move, or trash.
Real sentiment wasn't in the stuff you gave it was in the small, absurd things that made someone smile. Like a stupid meme, a perfect stick, or maybe a pretty woman walking by on the street.
…Actually, considering Old John's history, if Henry could gift-wrap a Nazi or a Japanese officer for the guy to beat the hell out of, that might get a reaction.
Henry chuckled at the thought as he loaded his basket.
