THE WEATHER MAN
Paul Andrews
Copyright 2014 Paul Andrews
All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
License Notes
This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced or redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes without the express permission of the author.
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Contents
The Weather Man
About the Author
Other Books by this Author
“A great deal has been said about the weather,
but very little has ever been done about it.”
- Mark Twain
A yellow cab materialized out of nowhere, swerved to the curb and drenched Geoff with gutter water.
"Hey MacLeod!” the cabby shouted, “you couldn't predict sunrise!"
The splash soaked him from head to toe, adding to the buckets already dumped by the storm. Geoff MacLeod was about to shout a few choice words back, but what’s the use? The jerk was right. Just yesterday he told everyone in the city to put away their umbrellas because today was going to be ‘gorgeous folks, just gorgeous.’ And what happens next? A freak storm churns up from nowhere and makes him eat crow on live TV.
Brian Reynolds, the smug news anchor, relished rubbing his nose in it. ‘So Geoff, I see your five day forecast turned out to be a five minute one instead.’ Then he laughed all the way to his fancy dressing room - the asshole.
Geoff dashed from WRLA’s building to the parking lot next door. He’d listened to his own advice and left his umbrella in the car. Now he paid the price. Shivering from the cold rain, he dodged puddles on the way to his Mustang. Once inside, he moaned in disgust. His blond hair was plastered to his head and his feet floated in his new loafers.
Why did he bother trying? He had satellite photos, high resolution radar, computer predictions - the best modern hardware that meteorology had to offer. And a lot of good it did him today. He might as well have consulted the freaking Farmer's Almanac. Why didn’t any of it predict this crazy-ass storm? Why didn’t he predict this crazy-ass storm?
In his apartment’s lobby, Geoff pressed the button for the top floor and leaned against the wall. Water puddled at his feet as it dripped off his soaked clothes. He squeezed his eyes shut and rapped his head against the wall. He just couldn't figure it out. It should not have rained today. The high pressure system and jet stream clearly dictated a fair weather pattern. The front now dumping over an inch of rain on the city had materialized from thin air and literally parked itself over downtown. From the looks of things it was in no hurry to move on either. Some days the weather broke every rule of meteorology and just seemed to do what it damn well pleased. Sometimes it was like trying to predict earthquakes.
The elevator toned at the twelfth floor and the doors slid open. As he fumbled with his keys, the door across the hall suddenly opened. An older man wearing a long raincoat stepped into the hallway. So, Geoff thought, someone finally rented the empty apartment. And he looked nothing like the last resident, his ex-girlfriend. Normally, he ignored the other renters. Getting to know your neighbors in an apartment was a waste of time since everyone was so transient. But this man's appearance demanded attention.
He was an intelligent looking gentleman, perhaps early seventies. His hair was stone grey, yet extremely wavy. It touched his shoulders, giving him the appearance of an aging hippie. His eyes were blue-green and cornered by deep crow's feet. Under a broad nose sat a thick, bushy mustache, an identical grey color as his hair. He was slightly stocky, yet appeared robust.
His clothes however struck Geoff as the most odd. He was dressed in a dark green suit and matching sweater vest that looked like something from the 1940’s. Good God, he thought, who the hell still wears sweater vests? On his feet sat a pair of high black boots that rose to the top of his ankles. Encircling it all was a long raincoat hanging down to his knees. It was the strangest color - a dark mixture of blue, green and grey. Topping it all off was a matching, wide brimmed hat.
Eccentric, Geoff concluded, maybe a retired professor or something. The old man smiled at him congenially and tapped his hat. "Evenin’ neighbor."
This caught Geoff off guard. He wasn't used to friendly renters. Most people either ignored you, glared back suspiciously, or dashed away in fear. Unfortunately, Geoff had just experienced the most humiliating day of his life and was in no mood to socialize. He entered his apartment, slamming the door without a word. As soon as he turned the deadbolt, he regretted his actions. Just because everyone else in this damn city was anti-social didn't mean he had to be. He could hear his mom’s voice echoing in his head, quoting the golden rule. He decided he should at least introduce himself and reopened the door.
Unfortunately, the old man was not by the elevators. He heard footsteps in the opposite direction and turned. There was the old man, not headed for the elevators, but the stairwell. A long leather case was thrown over his shoulder and the man was humming a slow tune. Geoff recognized the melody from somewhere, but couldn’t quite place it.
He had to give the old guy credit, walking down twelve flights was good exercise. Not bad at his age. Geoff promised himself he'd be more polite next time. Right now he desperately needed a beer, and then a few more after that.
He got a steamy shower first, letting the hot water seep into his clammy skin. After drying off, he popped some Chinese takeout in the microwave and went to work on his first beer. If he’d gone to his current girlfriend’s place, Jenn would make a hot cooked meal for them. But after how today went, he just wanted to sulk alone. Besides, when things didn’t go his way, he tended to act like an ass - best to avoid human contact, especially with the new girlfriend. She was definitely a keeper, not like typical women he picked up at clubs. Jennifer was smart, easy to talk to and a real looker.
Five minutes later, he plopped on the couch in front of the flatscreen, food and beer in hand. He checked his cell phone. No messages from Jennifer, just one from his Mom, reminding him he hasn’t called in forever. Geoff scanned the channels till he hit the news for their competitor, Channel 6. A ridiculously handsome guy with perfect hair, a $500 suit, and brilliant white teeth strolled casually across the screen, grinning from ear to ear. His map was covered with little frowning clouds with lighting bolts shooting out of them.
“Come on, come on,” Geoff groaned. “Stop chatting with the sports guy and just get to your freaking forecast.”
"And so," the man concluded, "today's nasty storms should end sometime tonight and for tomorrow we can expect partly cloudy skies with a chance of showers."
"Seriously?" Geoff shouted. "You call that meteorology? Anyone can freaking say ‘partly cloudy, chance of showers’ every day and be right 50% of the time."
He crushed his empty beer can in disgust. The clown was not even a meteorologist but the former host of some reality show. Channel 6 got their forecasts from a national weather service and the man simply stood in front of a green screen and read a teleprompter. As distasteful as that was to him, he knew his own management was thinking of going that route as well. It would mean firing Geoff. At twenty-nine, he was the youngest of three meteorologists working at the station so did not have seniority in his favor. He tossed the box of Chinese food on the coffee table and sighed. Given his performance today, he couldn't blame them if they laid him off. He could try again with The Weather Network, but they’d already turned him down once as ‘lacking sufficient experience.’ He’d love to be one of those guys standing on the beach, reporting in the middle of a hurri
cane. What a rush that would be!
Geoff had just settled back on the couch when the noises began. It sounded like gravel crunching under someone's feet. He had trouble locating its source at first. Was it coming from the bedroom or his neighbor’s place? He stood up and walked the length of his apartment. Then he realized it was coming from the ceiling. He lived on the top floor so someone must be on the building’s roof! Now who the hell would be up there in the rain?
Then a crazy thought struck him. The old man? Maybe he didn't go down twelve flights, but up one. But what the hell would he be doing on the roof? He looked out the window and the storm was still raging as hard as ever. Curiosity got the best of Geoff. He grabbed a jacket and umbrella and headed for the stairwell.
He found the door to the roof ajar. That alone was odd since the super always kept it locked. Now the padlock hung open on the door. He shoved the thick door open and stepped out onto the roof. The rain was carried by a near horizontal wind and immediately pushed him sideways. He took two steps and the small umbrella blew inside out. “Crap,” he mumbled. Geoff fumbled with it for a second but it was hopeless. He tossed it to the ground and folded up the collar on his jacket. He'd never been up here and the view was even better than his