“Knock, knock,” said a nasal voice, in conjunction with knocking on the already opened door. “Time police.”
Jackson looked up with a sigh, his eyes barely open. He shut his laptop and gave the cop his full attention. “What now, Abe?”
“Weeelll,” Agent Abraham Clint began in that obnoxious twang of his, “It looks like we’ve had three violations of causality on this floor. We’ve narrowed them down to the market trading office.”
“So you need to pull my laptop records again? Isn’t this, like, the third time this month? You know it’s not me.”
“Still, Jack, have to be thorough. Mustn’t have day traders mucking about with super-instantaneous communications. Bad for business. Bad for temporal stability.”
“Yeah, whatever. Heard it before.” Jackson held his laptop up with a resigned look. “Can you just try to get it back before tomorrow this time? I’m still catching up from last time.”
“No promises, Jack,” Abe said as he walked out the door. “Have to be thorough, you know.”
Jackson spun around in his chair and stared out the plate glass window at the bustling skyline. Wasn’t time travel supposed to have made things more efficient?