Stiff Arm Steal

by A. J. Stewart

  "Yes," came a voice from behind me.

  I didn't need to turn around. I knew the voice. And I knew why the desk guy had taken so long telling the Walrus we were here.

  "That so?" I said to the Walrus.

  “No,” he said, glancing over my shoulder. "But when the Athletic Department says there's troublemakers on campus on game day, I gotta listen. Like you said, smart boy. Protect the school."

  "Troublemakers?" said Danielle. "Sir, I am a law enforcement officer trying to share information."

  The body behind Danielle and I pushed between us.

  I hadn't seen Rollie Spenser in years. The time had been kind to his face but not his hair. He was lean and long, but I still looked down on him by two inches. He looked about eighteen-years-old, but his jet-black hair was beating a hasty retreat from the crown of his head. He’d compensated for the hair loss by growing a Burt Reynolds mustache thirty years too late. He stepped into the room and clapped his hands together, like he was ordering attention at a school assembly.

  "When we need help from South Florida, we'll call Don Johnson." He smiled like he'd landed a killer gag.

  “What?” said Danielle.

  "Don Johnson, Miami Vice," he said.

  She looked at me. “What is this guy talking about?"

  "His fashion god," I said.

  Rollie stood tall to me. "We don't need deadbeat private eyes on our campus." He turned to the Walrus. "Lieutenant, please escort this man off the campus."

  "What about me?" said Danielle.

  Rollie looked her up and down. "You are welcome to stay, Deputy. Unless you feel compelled to leave with this gumshoe.”

  The Walrus unplugged himself from his chair and stood.

  I shrugged. "No good deed goes unpunished," I said. I extended my hand to Rollie. "No hard feelings."

  He responded by curling his lip. "Nothing but hard feelings," he said.

  "Grow a pair, will you," said Danielle.

  Rollie’s face flushed. He wiped his hands on his trousers, then took my hand, and with a minimum of effort he shook it.

  I smiled. "I see you still got those little baby hands."

  Rollie snapped his hand back like I'd given him a taser shot. "Get out," he said.

  "What did the Times-Picayune say when the Saints let you go? Hands better suited to light opera than pro football. That was it, wasn't it?”

  "I said get out!" His pencil thin neck pushed at the seams of his shirt. He was going an unnatural purple color.

  I ushered Danielle out of the office. As we walked back through the empty office space, Rollie stormed by and grabbed at the door to the small foyer. He pulled at it with an effort that might have yanked it off its hinges had it opened. But it didn't. It didn't even move in the frame. It was a good door. Instead Rollie ripped his hand off the knob. He growled at the knob and tried again. No dice. Then his brain clicked into gear and he glared at the desk guy. The desk guy blinked slowly, then moved his arm even slower until he hit the door release button. The door gave the same electronic buzz it had when we came in. Rollie turned the knob, lurched through the door and stormed out. We waited at the same door for the Walrus to make his way out. He bounced off desks like a dodge 'em car. I held the door open with my foot. The Walrus squeezed by, then stepped out the glass door to the small forecourt out front. He let the door close behind him. I opened it for Danielle then stepped out myself.

  "Where's your car?" said the Walrus.

  "Other side of campus," I said.

  "We'll take mine," he said. He wasn't walking across campus for all the sunshine in Florida.

  We got in a blue Ford Taurus marked Campus Police. It had a blue and red bar of lights across the roof. The inside looked like a base model Taurus. Lots of gray plastic. The only addition was a radio handset mounted to the dash. He drove about the same speed he walked, like putting his foot down on the pedal could use a few extra calories that he might need later.

  "Lot of students about today," I said as we drove around the perimeter of the campus.

  "Yep," said the Walrus. The hair from his mustache curled around his lip and went in his mouth. I guessed if you tried hard enough you could get used to anything.

  "Busy for a Saturday.”

  "Georgia game."

  "Isn't that in Jacksonville?"

  "Yep," he said, watching a group of five young men in Gator colors and no shirts congregated on the sidewalk. "Not everyone goes, but everyone watches."

  “Where?”

  "Bars, houses, dorms. There's a big screen in the band shell on Flavet Field.”

  "But you're shorthanded."

  "Yep. Lots of guys gone to Jacksonville. Extra hands." We drove around the southern edge of the campus. “How’d you know we was shorthanded?"

  "We walked across campus and didn't see a single cop. Then we got to your station and the place was completely empty. So I gotta ask, where is everyone?"

  He nodded.

  "Plus, they left you in charge. Gotta be pretty short of men to do that."

  He didn't look at me, but he sucked his mustache. "You got a smart mouth, you know that."

  "Yep," I said. I pointed to a Porsche Carrera that was parked in the same lot as my Mustang. It was one of the old models, classical lines, mustard yellow. It spoke of someone who didn't make a lot of money but carried the pretensions of someone who did.

  "That's me," I said.

  The Walrus gave a that figures grunt, and pulled over. He looked back at me. He couldn't turn far enough to see Danielle.

  "Look, you might think we’re all hayseeds up here, but I meant what I said. I got a campus to protect. But I also got to look after me. Pissing off the Athletic Department, the Boosters? That's a fast track to ending up a rent-a-cop in the local mall."

  I looked at the kids walking around us, all dressed like advertisements for The Gap or Abercrombie, and I wondered how he would notice the difference.

  "That's your choice," I said.

  "You don't know it here. Ain’t no choice."

  I opened the door. "Thanks for the ride."

  "Wait," he said.

  I looked back at him.

  "This burglary. Where do you think they'll hit?"

  I looked at Danielle then at the Walrus. "Word was Diamond Village Apartments. You know it?"

  "I do."

  I climbed out onto the street and offered a hand to Danielle. She slammed the door and the Taurus pulled away. I ambled over to the Porsche and looked back to the Taurus and watched it turn left onto Museum Road.

  “Diamond Village?" said Danielle. “What was that about?"

  "We just drove past a sign for it. I figure it must be on the opposite side of the campus from the football stadium."

  "Why do you want him on the opposite side of the campus from the football stadium? What are you up to?"

  "Culling the deadwood. I know Ferguson’s going to be here. And today, with the game in Jacksonville and every cop and his K-9 looking that way? Today just feels right."

  "I agree," she said. "But what about Lieutenant beanbag there? You don't want them looking after the crown jewels?"

  “No, I did. I wanted to warn Rollie. And if the Director was here, I bet we’d be setting up a perimeter right now around the football complex. But anyone with any brains is in Jacksonville. That leaves Rollie and the Keystone Kops. All they'll do is scare Ferguson off."

  "True. But if they're all looking the other way, and we're off campus, who's watching for Ferguson."

  "Who says we're going off campus?"

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  WE HEADED FOR the Reitz Student Union Building to get some breakfast. The Union was like a mini version of Florida itself. Chain restaurants as far as the eye cared to look. We chose the Orange and Brew cafe and grabbed a panini and coffee. The panini was roasted vegetable and tasted bland, but the coffee was excellent. I took a second cup. There was a lot of foot traffic in the Union. Students were getting food and running errands an
d finishing off study before the kickoff at three-thirty. Everyone was wearing something in the Gator colors of orange and blue. When I noticed that, I finally got the name of the cafe we were in.

  "So if Ferguson is going to strike here, when do you think he'll do it?" asked Danielle, sipping her coffee.

  "If it were me, two options. During the game today, when every eye on campus is looking at a television screen."

  "And option two?"

  "Tonight after the game."

  "When half the campus is drunk and celebrating."

  "Exactly. But that's the negative about that option. What if Georgia wins?"

  "They're students. They'll commiserate and get drunk."

  "Probably."

  "Plus, it'll be dark."

  "Yeah, I like dark. That fits with his past MO."

  "Of course, it's the only thing that fits with his past MO."

  I swished my coffee in its paper cup. It sloshed around in a circle. Everything was a circle.

  "If he escalates to doing a big job like this, all bets are off for MOs," I said.

  "I agree."

  "So we need to be ready for anything."

  "Helpful." She smiled.

  "Okay, how? How does he get into where the Heisman's are?" I said.

  “He walks in. They’re on display, aren't they?"

  "They are." I swallowed the last of my coffee. "We need to see it."

  We walked through the campus. There was a large grass area with a band shell at one end. In the band shell a giant video screen had been erected. Banks of black speakers, the height of two men, stood either side. There was video on screen. Anchors for what looked like ESPN. I wondered if I'd see Beccy Williams. There was no sound accompanying the video. Groups of students had staked claims on the grass with picnic blankets and bed sheets. We wandered up towards the stadium. Danielle drew looks from more than a few of the guys we passed. A woman among girls.

  We skipped across Stadium Road. There were a surprising number of people around given that the stadium wasn't hosting an event. We got to the plaza in front of the Heavener Football Complex. It was more than a training facility. It was a temple to Gator football. The plaza out front was protected by a life-size statue of a bull alligator. It was an impressive piece of work. The beast looked ready to charge anyone wearing the wrong colors. People gathered around the statue, taking photographs. Granite pavers in the walkway featured the University's All-American players.

  A two-story atrium of glass let the Florida sun shine on the trophies in the foyer. The national championship trophies had pride of place. The cathedralesque space was quiet. People spoke in hushed tones as they viewed the history of the University of Florida Gators. High definition televisions showed highlights of great players and great games. The school's collection of SEC championship trophies stood proudly. I wandered over to the right side of the atrium. I stood back from the line of people passing by the trophies housed there. The distinctive stiff arm fend of the Heisman. In triplicate.

  "That's them?" whispered Danielle.

  I nodded.

  "They've had three winners?"

  I nodded again. "Steve Spurrier, ’66. Danny Wuerffel, ’96. Tim Tebow, ’06.”

  I waited while Danielle ambled up and looked at the trophies. I could see she was looking at the cases as much as the Heisman's themselves. She wandered around like she was a tourist for a while, then came back to me.

  "Angry looking guy, this Heisman." She grinned.

  "Actually the trophy itself isn't John Heisman. It was named in his honor after his death, but the model for the statuette was a NYU player called Ed Smith."

  "Why do you know that?"

  "Why do you know how to crochet?"

  "I don't know how to crochet."

  I smiled and shrugged.

  She jabbed me in the ribs. "You are so going to pay for that later."

  We surveyed the space as we walked out, then we did a slow lap around the football stadium itself. There were only two logical approaches to the football complex, both alongside the Ben Hill Griffin stadium. Gale Lemerand Drive to the west, Stadium Road to the south. The atrium holding the trophies was on the southwest corner. The Bull Gator stood guard over the intersection.

  I wanted to stand by the Gator statue and watch over the atrium, but I didn't want to do what I figured the Walrus would do, and spook Ferguson. We wandered away, through Graham Woods, past a swimming pool. Sound was now coming from the turrets of speakers on Flavet Field. We skirted some tennis courts and came in behind the band shell. Flimsy security fencing kept the path separated from the band shell and the video and audio equipment inside.

  We came out onto the field. The crowd had grown. People dotted the park on blankets, picnicking and sneaking beers and harder stuff. Everyone was facing the band shell. The big screen showed the heaving masses in Jacksonville. The announcers were screaming over the noise, pumping up an audience that needed no pumping. We wandered counterclockwise around the field. I was watching the crowd and the screen, then bouncing my eyes to the perimeter. If I were Ferguson I would be loving this crowd. A big group like this was attracting a lot of attention away from the stadium and the trophies in the atrium.

  Danielle was glancing at her phone. She had a photograph of Ferguson on the screen. I wasn't looking at it. I'd taken a good look on the drive to Gainesville, and I figured I was looking for a posture more than a face. I doubted he'd walk around campus in the cowboy get up, but I had the costume in the back of my mind.

  We did the lap and stood in the corner of the field. The screen showed the University of Georgia team running onto the field in Jacksonville. The assembled crowd in front of us booed and jeered with a passion that surprised me. The boos died away and the screen cut to the University of Florida team and the crowd erupted into cheers and screams. It was like a wall of sound that went on and on. I tapped Danielle’s shoulder and we jogged away from the field and back towards the stadium. I had a bad feeling. Like we'd just seen a perfect time to break into the atrium.

  Once I could see the entrance to the football complex in the distance I slowed to a brisk walk. The plaza was sparsely populated. People were making their way to a television screen to watch the big game. There certainly wasn't any kind of mayhem. I settled onto a small brick wall that surrounded an oak tree outside the Gator corner dining facility. We were kitty corner from the entrance to the football complex. We sat in the shade and waited.

  "I thought something might've happened then," said Danielle.

  "Me too."

  "We can't sit here all afternoon."

  "No."

  "Bit obvious."

  "Yeah."

  On any given day we might have passed for students wasting away the afternoon, or tourists resting our weary feet from viewing all that was Gator athletics. But today we looked out of place. The only people in the whole town who weren’t watching the game. If Ferguson were on the lookout for trouble, he’d be looking for us. So I kissed Danielle. Cupped her chin in my hand, turned her head and kissed her. She was hard to faze. She didn't recoil at all. Just leaned into it and gave as good as she got. We stayed like that for longer than was necessary. When we parted, Danielle gave me that half grin.

  "Nice diversion," she said.

  "Nice wasn't the word I was thinking of."

  “Bought us an extra two minutes sitting here."

  "That was the plan."

  "And then what?"

  "I'll do it again."

  "Can you keep your mind on the job if you do it again?"

  "What job?"

  She smiled and stood. We heard a roar from the crowd on the field. Danielle turned in that direction. She was looking at the building that was behind us.

  "Florida score?" she said.

  "Sounds that way."

  The roar was subsiding when I heard a whistle and a bang behind me.

  "Fireworks," said Danielle.

  I turned and looked. The late afternoon light was f
ading fast but it wasn't close to dark. But I saw an orange shower of fireworks falling. Two more whistles and two more bangs and starbursts of green and blue. Then a rapid fire of bursts, somewhere between an Uzi and paintball. Then a deep boom and a fireball exploded into the sky over Flavet Field and all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  DANIELLE REACTED FAST and got to the field ahead of me. She stopped on a dime and I almost ran into her. The field was in chaos. People were running in all directions. It was like a human pinball. A blond girl in an orange tank top slapped into my shoulder. She spun but caught herself before she fell. Like an ice dancer.

  "Are you okay?” I asked.

  "Terrorists!" she yelled, and she spun again and ran off.

  I turned back to the field. The band shell was indeed a shell. It had been blasted apart. The screen had disappeared and an acrid smelling bonfire had taken its place. The central fire was still spitting fireworks in all directions at random intervals.

  "Fireworks gone wrong," Danielle said.

  "Not terrorists."

  We looked at each other at the same time, as the same realization hit home in each of our heads. We sprinted back in the direction we'd come from. Emergency services sirens were ringing out across the twilight. Everyone with a uniform and a badge was running to the open field. They were like salmon against the stream of people running away from the blast. We got to the corner where we had been sitting. Where we had kissed. It wasn't so tranquil. People fled down both sides of the stadium. Danielle and I buffeted our way across the intersection to the statue of the Bull Gator. Up the stairs and into the atrium. The space was empty. A security guard was locking doors on the outside, but was on his knees playing with a lock as we dashed by, into the room full of trophies.

  Everything was as it should be. The high definition screens were still showing Gator highlights. The national championship crystal trophies shone in the spotlights. We ran to the Heismans. Three cabinets. Three crude holes in the glass. Three empty spaces. My mouth may have made an audible noise as it hit the floor. Each of the cabinets was missing the front plate of glass. Large chunks of glass lay inside the cabinets.