Memories of a Ghost Ramp Up

Kingfisher removed an elegant silver pocket watch from his jacket; it was just a few minutes before midnight. Normally he abhorred technology, but the watch was old enough that it didn’t really bother him. He set it nightly against the monstrosity Mr. Quarry kept attached to his wrist, the wristwatch that connected every twelve hours with the atomic clock out of Boulder, Colorado. But that was good. Being off by even a millisecond could spell disaster. And so while he tolerated the simple technology inherent in his timepiece, he recognized his partner’s for what it was—a necessary evil that the smaller man endured so that they could keep to their schedule.