If Angels Fight by Richard Bowes

and wind up there.
    “Most of them want to go back to the seventies, the sixties, the fifties. They figure things would be comfortable enough. I.D. requirements were still loose back then. Sliders know enough about those times that they could make a nice living betting on the World Series and buying Xerox stock. One said that if he could get back to 1950 he’d have almost sixty years before stuff got really screwy.”
    “You’ve heard them talk all this out? Ever help any of them do it?”
    “None of my clients and no one else I’ve ever known has actually managed the Slide. They’ve all heard about someone going back in time. They know someone who found a message from someone who disappeared saying he’s living like a king in 1946. Psychiatrists say it’s delusional. People can’t deal with bad times.”
    “You believe the shrinks know what they’re talking about?”
    “They diagnosed me as a sociopath back when I was in high school. It sounded good and I went with it. If you’re looking for a guide to the Slide you’re out of luck. If you want a job leading 1950s nostalgia tours I’d be happy to hire you.”
    “Thanks, but I have other plans.” Quinlan rose and put a ten down on the table. “Nice talking to you Rollo.”
    For a moment Rollins looked hurt. Then he said, “Sorry to break your heart, Quinlan. It’s nice that you figured if anyone in New York knew how to Slide it would be me. You’ve been in and out of the city over the years without ever trying to get in contact so I wondered what you wanted. Somehow I didn’t think of this. Either you got stupid out in California or you got very desperate.”

    In the early morning light, stepping carefully along a tenement fire escape just off Tenth Avenue in Hell’s Kitchen, Detective Roark edges forward revolver in hand. Up ahead is Figs Figueroa’s window. In another moment his partner will knock on the door of the apartment and Figueroa will be on the move. Roark curses the stupidity that led him into this. Backup is on its way and they could have waited. But the Lieutenant is not happy with the way they’d bobbled Jimmy Nails’ arrest the other morning or the way they’d then made him too dead to talk. McDevitt thinks the two of them need some redemption.
    As Roark inches forward, the window right behind him opens. He drops to a crouch, revolver at the ready, turns and sees the terrified face of an old woman about to hang a basket of wet laundry on her wash line. When Roark turns back, Figueroa stands on the fire escape with an automatic leveled on him.
    “Cut.”
    On the roof just above Quinlan were the assistant director, the script girl, the camera man, and the director himself. “We need this one more time,” said Graham. “Just do what you’ve done before.” He looked closely at Quinlan and said, “Get this man some coffee.”
    It was late in the morning and Quinlan had already gone up this fire escape six times. He guessed this particular building got cast for the part because of this fire escape, which was as black and labyrinthine as the stairways of a Piranesi prison. People fussed with his clothes and his makeup. He’d lain awake all night next to Adie, who slept soundly. Somebody brought him coffee.
    This scene was his best moment in Like ’60 . By coincidence, it and the one they’d shoot immediately afterwards were his last ones in the film. His work in New York was over.
    If someone asked him what Like ’60 was about, Quinlan would have said it was the story of a cop who was an ordinary guy wanting the ordinary things and living in a simpler and not very enlightened time. This man is pulled by circumstance and human weakness into a situation where his life is on the line.
    Again he climbs the stairs and inches forward. Again the window opens and, revolver at the ready, he stares into the terrified face and looks up too late to see his killer.
    This morning, it seemed as if Rollins was right about the Slide being a