It soon became like a business to JG, it was a business he knew would never, ever, ever die. That was if the timeboard could be kept safely. The beauty was that no one, absolutely NO ONE had the faintest idea what he was up to. There was a hairy moment the other week though.
He had been planning the teleport back a decade or so to play some Superpots. The day had started the usual way. He had gone into the car port and stood on the time board. He had tipped to the left and began rewinding. The train like montage began, it'd start off slowly, he'd see himself reverse through the side door, board in tow, then the images would get faster and faster, like an obsessive compulsive playing with a light switch until it became stroboscopic. Day, night, day, night, day, night. He was aware of various things happenning, but it was on a very subliminal level. He'd catch a glimpse of his girlfriend at the fridge, or himself playing the Flashback machine he had recently bought second hand. It seemed ironic at a time such as this to have a machine called Flashback in his kitchen. That was another one for the list he noted. There had been one at Coventry Megabowl and there was one at Sixfields according to Pyney, so there were two locations off the bat. He was aware of his Flashback disappearing, which meant that for the next few seconds it'd be in the hallway, defective main board and PSU, blocking the way and causing bad feeling with the other half. As time sped by, he knew he was flying through Summer 2008 and that soon it would be Spring.
Another subliminal. It was himself getting the extension lead out for the lawnmower. The carport door flipping up and down weekly as he took the bins out, or extra times when friends needed space to park their cars. He had to be careful, materialising into a car is not good. He had done research on the timeboards and materialising into a chassis or an engine block, be it a Fiat 500 or an articulated lorry was all bad. Materialising into a windscreen wasn't too clever either. The glass would tend to splinter and crack and impale the time traveller in a horrific and spectacular fashion causing rapid death. Just keep leaning, just keep leaning JG he told himself.
He relaxed again, sure he was cruising at top speed now through winter 2007. Not long now until the last of the p1 dials were around, something he'd go back and do one day. Ah the dials. He bet he'd empty the p1s so much quicker next time around. It'd be sweet. Target one hour per unit. Easy.
Then he heard a voice.
"George, George you there?"
Too instinctively he moved toward the voice, that of his neighbour. Tripping violently off the skateboard, a black Vectra driven by his mate Dave nearly, nearly, nearly kneecapped him. As he tripped away, luckily not trapped, the new time state failed to materialise and in a flash it was December 2008 once more and the Vectra vapourised.
The voice continued.
"George, I meant to have a word with you about this privet hedge. It's just getting a bit unkempt, it's protruding through the trellis and interfering with my hooblahoobla tree. Do you think you could trim it back?"
"Flamin' neighbours", a voice said in his head.
"Yes I'll err trim it back, just a bit busy now though."
"Of course, tidying up the carport by the sounds of it?"
"Yes, chores eh? Who needs 'em?"
"Well yes, has to be done though doesn't it? Very mild for this time of year, well if you could trim up the hedge, it'll be very helpful, I mean it'll be taking up your driveway if you're not careful. Anyway take care, I'm off to drive my mother into town, get a few last minute presents for Christmas. Bye now."
If only he knew, thought JG, if only he knew the truth. He could go back in time and uproot the baby privet, nah, too much to keep on top of...
Alan had suspected that fiddling was going on the moment the machine had been delivered. It was a Sunday and that George next door had gone out to talk to a man in a van. They had talked a bit and then the machine had appeared. So he was a machinist, a fruitologist an AWPer. Then the skateboard had appeared. It was one of those old black models with mysterious writing on. Probably a TimeWAP 71112 non GPS variable model. Then just now all suspicions had been confirmed. He had to make the call. He picked up the interstellar broadphone and made the call.
"Yes, Coventry agent 00cherry here Sir. Fiddler located. <Pause> Yep he's a definite fiddler alright. Been fiddling for a few days now. He's a newbie, but he needs snuffing out. Just caught him in the carport. Smallest privet hedge in the world. Told him to trim it a bit, looked over and saw a vapourised Vectra disappear. Near killed him straight off. Windscreen job would have been nice, blood splat, uuuurgh and new neighbours, just like that. Missed it by a microsecond Sir. We can't all be perfect. Still we have him in sight and on site. I don't know when he was heading. He's taken out all the low battery Rat Races, I bet he'd be going more forwards than that. Ace lines perhaps?"
"Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha." A slow menacing guffaw, "Alan you beauty. Kind of convenient living next door to the time fiddler. How do you reckon we play this then? Send a time probe to track him? An articulated time crash to solidify him in concrete? Or my favourite send the little fecker spinning off to Madagascar in the year 1764. Yep, my signature time crash. A GPS redirection articulation into nowhere."
"Sir with all respect a time probe will just give us loads of useless information. Who cares if it's Ace Lines, Money Laundry's, Donkey Kongs or Fairgrounds? We need to stop this and stop it now. This guy is a dangerous loon. Already he has fiddled with himself."
"Pardon?" said the mysterious timemachineguard boss, spluterring out his quark filtered toffee au coffee au latte over the keyblobport.
"He's fiddling with himself. Basic probe stats show that he acquired this time board from the Flying Standard. He travelled back ten minutes to boast to himself that he was going to/had ripped a mega streak from a dead/about to be dead/not yet dead dial."
"The worst sort of fiddler. Maybe we should concrete block him. I have a spare articulated time crash that will send him spinning to a tower block in Chelmsley Wood no bother. It's a GPS maxcrash OS fuckatron maxi-blappa cappa."
"We have no time to lose, he's on the board now, I'm guessing he's a few years back, we just need to beam into his timestream and find out what he's hitting. Fit the GPS relocator to the buttons on the appropriate machine and he hits start and bang, so much timethrusting inertia, he'll be concreted before he can so much as nail that boxed blue 7. Boxed blue 7. Boxed blue 7. Yeah, where did that come from? Yeah, he was mutterring about Superpots, it has come back to me now, very faint mutterring, but I think, I think he is on his was on his, will be on his way to The Cross. The mind training is kicking in Sir, I have a clear read now."
"The Cross?"
"Yep. The Cross. I have him basic statted and ip 4D up Sir. We're probing him. He's definitely in 1998. He can open the carport door from inside without a key. As remember when he materialises, he'll no longer live, sorry, not yet live at his house. From there he walks or buses timeboard in hand to the destination."
"Great work Alan. Great work. I will put you forward for promotion. Fiddling is rife and the time police will recognise your work in bringing to justice one more fiddler. I'll be sending a file to the inter-chronologic-police shortly with a strong recommendation for you to be promoted to senior investigator."
"Thanks Sir, now beam me to 1998"
"Roger that....good luck agent 00cherry, the GPS maxcrash OS fuckatron maxi-blappa cappa will arrive via Parcelforce."
"PARCELFORCE?"
It was too late. Alan had been directed to 1998 and there was a knock at his front door. It was Parcelforce.
"Signature please mate. Yep just there. Cheers."
The GPS maxcrash looked like a car key fob. Apparently it used complicated IR and microwave technology to redirect non chrono protected time fiddlers to deadly or hostile destinations. It was time to send one time fiddler to bed. Alan hopped into the '98 plate Escort and booted it over to The Cross, passing JG sitting on the X17 bus with timeboard in hand. A simple question of popping it under the start button and then popping the other half onto JGs hand. It was quite easy. the programming had been done. Alan would park up, enter The Cross, buy a drink, plant the device, then walk back to the bus stop, past the bus stop, out of view and follow JG into the pub. As JG started playing the machine, he'd fire via a peashooter device the other half of the GPS maxcrash into JG's leg. As JG pressed start, this would cause an time shifting GPS shifting current to send JG to an early grave. It was that easy.
The X17 bus came to a stop nearby The Cross. JG hopped off, wondering a few things. Was Ady keeping on top of this one? He knew that a few years later, The Thunderbird would be done on a regular basis. He wondered who that would be or who it was. Maybe the tubes would be empty. No worries, he'd go onto another pub. He walked into The Cross. No sign of the grumpy landlord. Some girls played pool in the small room by the far side of the bar. They giggled and laughed. Ah!!! The smell of smoke. Smoke! The smoking ban hadn't been in force for that long back in 2008, but it felt like aeons. This was a luxury, he didn't even smoke, but there was a man near the dartboard smoking a fat cigar. Bless you Sir, sweet passive nicotine fix. The burning eyes, the fuggy atmosphere. He could see why the pub trade had sufferred. A Guinness in tow (no Guirphys this time!) and he walked over to The Superpots. A quick peek up the tubes. They were full, full up! A pound in and chunk! clunk! He was on. Ready for some Maygay emptying action. He pressed start and the reels span....Frrrrr DUFF DUFF DUFF....dallalalalala (bonus)......he was on the board.
The door creaked open and Alan walked in. He whispered into a mic.
"Sir. The mark is in target. Preparing the GPS maxcrash dart as we speak. Awaiting clearance."
"GO ahead agent 00cherry. Clearance granted. Send time fiddler JG to his time destiny of death. Over to you."
Alan clicked the safety into the refibrillatory position. The maxcrash two piece GPS dart in place. The rebound semi-automatic pistol trigged in position. The quatum mesh locked down. Targets aim........SET.......
To be continued.....
what a fucked up film that was , 
