by Dan Alatorre
“He wasn’t in Jonesy’s apartment with you? Who was, then?”
“Freaking Jonesy.” Barry laughed. “She came home this morning and brought her sister to tour the campus. I asked if we could park the machine at her place for a few hours until I could get a truck to move it.”
“What did she say?”
“What could she say? Riff and I had already stuck it in her living room. Then we got her apartment burned down around them.”
“Oh, no!”
“‘Welcome to USF, sis.’”
“Oh, God. That poor thing.”
“She asked for her key back. It seemed reasonable, since I almost got them killed. I’m guessing she and I aren’t friends anymore.”
“I’m guessing she doesn’t need a key anymore. That place was burning pretty good when we left.” Melissa glanced over her shoulder to change lanes. “You know, on the news Findlay was saying he had pictures.” She eyed Barry. “What do you think? Could he?”
Barry rubbed his chin. “Maybe. I left him alone with the time machine a couple of times for a few minutes. Took a shower, made coffee.” He peered out the window, hiding his embarrassment. “There were opportunities for him to take pictures, I guess. Maybe to do more than that.”
“Okay, well don’t beat yourself up over it. We’ve all trusted people we shouldn’t.”
“It’s not just that. Getting Findlay involved was a mistake. Roger’s in the hospital because I let him try the machine. Riff nearly got killed at the mine because I got distracted.”
“Why, Barry Helm. It’s not like you to second guess yourself.”
He brushed at the soot covering his lap. “Yeah. I’ve been second guessing myself a lot the last day or two. About a lot of things.” Barry studied her face for a moment. He noticed a slight smile, and enjoyed the restful silence.
Sensing his gaze, Melissa nervously fiddled with her hair. “What, uh, what distracted you at the mine?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Melissa stopped the truck in front of University Community Hospital. Barry looked out the window to the Emergency Room doors. “Do you think our favorite ER doctor will be on duty?”
“Dr. Harper?” Melissa sighed. “God, probably. That would just be our luck, wouldn’t it?” She glanced at the emergency room doors and then back to Barry. “You want me to help you go in?”
“We can’t risk it. Harper’s probably gonna call the cops the minute he sees me. He thinks we’re hurting ourselves on purpose or something.”
“What?”
“He’s starting to think we’re a group of psychosexual thrill seekers who get banged up for the rush. He probably thinks we check somebody in and then come out and grope each other in the parking lot.”
She turned to the window, blushing. “Grope? I… here? It’s…”
Barry placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s crazy stuff, I know.”
“Ha. Yeah, that’s… crazy. Right?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with Harper. There is one thing, though.” He took a breath and looked down. “When I go in there, things could get a little intense.” His eyes came up to meet hers. “It might be a while before we see each other again, you know?” A crooked smile tugged at his lips. “The place might be full of cops.”
His hand still lingered on her shoulder.
“Yes?” she said, placing her hand on his.
Her warm fingers and soft skin took him away from the current situation. He gazed at her face, taking in her delicate features. The high cheek bones and big eyes. He swallowed and took her hand in his. It was all wrong, the timing, the setting, everything. Wrong to try to say something—anything—of substance. But he couldn’t stop smiling, and he didn’t want to put her hand down. It might be a long time before he’d get another chance to say anything to her.
A car horn honked. Somebody had pulled up behind them and gotten tired of waiting.
The moment was gone – if it had ever existed.
He turned back to Melissa. “Uh, go… go get Peeky, then see about Riff. My phone’s dead and I couldn’t charge it at Jonesy’s. Riff’s phone is probably dead now, too, but we’ll hear from him eventually.” He popped open the truck door. “As soon as I’m finished here, I’ll call you.”
“Okay.”
“You better take off before I go in so you aren’t followed if they identify me.”
Her gaze lingered on him. Even with a broken foot and people hunting for him, he still put her safety above his own.
“What?” His face broke into another grin. “What are you smiling at?”
“Nothing,” Melissa turned away, putting her hand to her cheek. “Get going.”
He slid out, careful not to place too much weight onto the injured leg, and shut the truck door. Balancing on one foot, he hopped toward the ER. As he neared the automatic doors, he glanced back.
The yellow truck was already gone.
* * * * *
“Captain Ferguson, it's Dean Anderson. How are you this afternoon?”
“I was kind of expecting your call, Herb. Saw you and that Findlay kid there on the news earlier. How’s everything holding up?”
Nervous, Anderson tried his best not to sound that way. “Well, captain, as you probably saw, things are getting messy. A little bit of trouble that gets into the news becomes a lot of trouble.” He fiddled with a pen on his desk. “I hope our campus police might be able to help out.”
“What would you like us to do?”
Anderson cleared his throat. “You know, we want to avoid any further embarrassment to the University.”
“Of course.”
“What I'd like to do—if it's legal and possible—is to get a handful of your campus police and hire them as, shall we say, private security for a day or two.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Just while we get this mess wrapped up.”
“That’s certainly possible. We help out with local events all the time in that capacity.”
“Well, this would be a little different.”
“I bet. What all would you want?”
Anderson knew what he wanted; he just didn’t know how to ask. “I probably want maybe five or six officers, two or three squad cars…” He cleared his throat again. “We’re looking for a handful of students with a big machine, that they've, you know—it belongs to the university—and they stole it. And, well, we . . . we'd like to find them as quickly as possible. And to keep a lid on this as much as possible.”
“Avoid any further embarrassment.”
Anderson sighed with relief. “Exactly.”
“You can hire my guys. Basically, they go for $50 per hour plus vehicles and overtime. It’s going to run about twelve hundred dollars a day.”
Jesus.
“Good grief, captain. Twelve hundred dollars a day plus cars?”
“And overtime. Then there will need to be shifts coordinated – a single cop can’t work 24 hours straight for two or three days. That’s a hundred bucks an hour. So… you’re staring right at $16,800 a day for however many days. Gratuity not included. Dean, this is usually the place where I ask if your problem is worth spending more than $50,000 over three days to solve.”
Remember: millions of dollars in finder’s fees and consulting contracts.
Anderson swallowed hard. “That's not a problem.” He took a moment to calm himself, trying to balance the millions of possible dollars against a very real bill he wouldn’t normally be able to pay. “Now, they’re going to be working for me directly, right? So there's not a direct link to the university?”
“No link.”
“Privately, so I can kind of protect the department—you know, everybody's looking at me now, about embarrassing us.”
“That's not a problem.”
“Will they still be able to carry their guns and everything?”
“Absolutely. That’s why you hire us and not security guards. But you’re not planning on having us kill anybody, are
you?”
“No, no, no! But the students we’re looking for, I don't want them to know that.” He gripped the pen, his hand shaking as he squeezed. “I want them to be scared shitless. I want them to feel like the foot of God Almighty is coming down to crush them like a grape. But don't actually harm them.” Anderson set the broken pen down. “Unless it's absolutely necessary.”
“Got it: scared shitless, foot of God. Check.”
“Captain, I'll trust your discretion to tell your officers whatever you need to tell them, but rest assured there's going to be a nice bonus coming your way for making this happen quickly and quietly.” Anderson rubbed his sweaty brow. He hadn’t expected that. “Once we get the machine back and get everything under control, well, it's worth a lot of money to the university. And containing the embarrassment is worth a lot to me personally.”
“Not a problem. I'm on it. What all can you tell me about these students, so we can get started?”
“I'm going to have my associate, Chris Findlay, call you with that. He'll be able to give you all the information you need.”
“Okay. I’ll expect his call.”
“Uh, there’s just one more thing.” Anderson lowered his voice to a whisper. “If the shit hits the fan, I don't want the University connected too directly. But let's face it, captain, I don't really want to be connected directly myself, either. If we can avoid that…”
“That's gonna cost extra, Herb. But I can make it happen. You just sit back and relax. Prepare to watch the foot of the Almighty quietly and quickly start kicking some pesky grad student ass.”
* * * * *
“I don’t believe it. You’re back.”
The voice of Dr. Harper rang out like a gunshot over the din of the emergency room lobby. He folded his arms over his metal clipboard and smiled.
Barry closed his eyes. Of all the fucking luck. “Hello, sir.”
“It’s Barry, right?” Harper wagged his finger. “What is it this time? A dead body?” He approached, smiling. “Here to finish off your friend upstairs? Because you’re too late.”
Barry’s jaw dropped. Roger’s dead?
“We already moved him to Tampa General.”
The panic went away and the relief and the leg pain returned. Barry groaned and sat down.
“And what happened to you?” Harper squatted down to inspect.
Barry sucked in and winced. “I think I broke it. I have a constant stabbing pain right here.” He pointed.
The doctor placed his hands gently around it. “I’d ask how you did it, but I’m sure I don’t want to know.”
Barry decided to set Harper straight when he realized the doctor was right. Barry didn’t want Harper to know, either. Not the real truth about what was happening. That would get the cops called.
Harper tested the leg. “Does this hurt?”
“Yep.”
“And this?”
Barry flinched. “Yes! Damn, are you enjoying yourself?”
Harper grinned. “A little.” He stood up. “Okay, hot shot. Looks like you cracked your leg bone. How about we schedule for an x-ray and see how bad it is?” He pointed his pen at a candy bowl on the admitting desk. “Then we’ll get you a cast and a lollipop and get you out of here before you hurt anybody else.” He scanned the lobby. “By the way, where’s that girlfriend of yours?”
“She’s not -”
“Hold on, there’s my training intern. Gina!” The doctor waved to a young Asian woman across the lobby. “Gina. Over here, please.”
“– she’s not my girlfriend.”
“No?” Harper squatted down again. “Why not?”
“Can you just fix my leg, please?”
The intern appeared.
“Gina, this young man has some lower leg pain concentrated around the upper ankle. Sharp pain when he applies pressure. And no girlfriend.”
Barry’s mouth hung open. The intern just smiled and shook her head, making notes on her clipboard.
“Note the swelling and bruising.” Harper stood up. “Let’s get him into x-ray.” He handed her a note and walked off.
That was quick.
Gina retrieved a nearby wheelchair as Dr. Harper headed down the hallway. A nurse came over to start Barry’s paperwork.
“Here we go.” Gina pushed the wheelchair toward Barry. “Do you need help getting in?”
“No, I can do it.” Barry lifted himself and glanced at the intern’s clipboard.
Isolation, now. Dangerous.
Barry looked up to see that Dr. Harper was gone.
I’m not getting an x-ray, they’re putting me in some sort of holding area until Harper can call the cops.
Fuck.
He took a deep breath and lowered himself into the wheelchair. The intern began pushing him.
“Which way is x-ray?” Barry asked, spying the overhead signs. It was to the right.
“Just down this hallway straight ahead,” Gina replied. “We’ll get you in right away. Do you need assistance with your paperwork?”
“Pretty smooth.”
“Excuse me?”
As the intern wheeled Barry down the hallway, he noticed Dr. Harper in a side office dialing a phone.
Barry jumped up, hopping on his good leg.
“Sir, you need to sit down, please!”
Barry made his way to the office door. “Dr. Harper, stop!”
Harper looked up, shocked. Barry hobbled his way into the office.
“Sir, please get back in the wheelchair,” Gina said.
Barry pushed the office door shut behind him, his eyes never leaving Harper’s. He leaned on the back of a chair and eased his leg.
Harper held the phone in his hand, frozen. “I think you should listen to my intern. Get back in that wheelchair. You need an x-ray.”
Barry nodded. “I know.”
“But?”
“But I need you to put that phone down, sir. Please.”
Harper remained still.
“I can’t do anything to hurt you. I need your help. Please. Put the phone down.”
Harper lowered the phone into its cradle.
“You’re in a lot of trouble, son.”
“I know.”
“You’re all over the news.” Harper moved slowly, positioning the desk between himself and Barry. “Look at you. You’re hurt, you’re tired. How did you think this was going to play out?”
Barry leaned on the chair for support. “I thought I could get my leg in a cast and disappear.”
“You know I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not?”
“That’s not how it works.” Harper looked Barry over. “Sit down.”
“I think it’s better if I stand.”
Gina talked through the door. “Dr. Harper, is everything okay?”
“Suit yourself.” The doctor spoke to the closed door. “Everything’s okay, Gina. We’re just going to talk for a minute. Go get some coffee.”
Barry bristled. “Do you guys have a code word that you say when there’s a hostile situation going on but you don’t want people to know what’s up?”
“Yes,” Harper said. “But that’s not it.”
Gina spoke through the door. “Dr. Harper?”
“Yes, Gina?”
“Should I leave the wheelchair?”
Harper glared at Barry.
“Leave the wheelchair, Gina,” Barry shouted.
Harper smiled. “May I sit?”
“I’m not holding you hostage, sir. I’m asking for your help.”
“May I sit?”
“Sure.” Barry nodded. “Please.”
Harper lowered himself into the chair and arranged the papers on the desk. Clasping his hands, he looked at Barry. “Well, what shall we talk about?”
* * * * *
Officer Bolton was driving his cruiser when he got the update. Captain Ferguson was looking for some volunteers to pull some special security duty for a few days. The hours would be good and the pay would be grea
t.
“What do I have to do, captain?” Bolton asked.
“Not much, Jim. Round up a few stray cats and knock heads a little so they learn how to stay home from now on.”
“Hell, I can do that.” Bolton rounded a corner and sped up.
“Welcome to the team. I’ll send the information over to the cruiser’s computer.”
“How many cats are we looking at, sir?”
“There were four, but one’s in Tampa General Hospital now. That leaves three strays, a female and two males, all with brown hair. One of the guys is an exchange student from India.”
“Got it, chief. Any descriptions of clothes or anything? Vehicles?”
“They’ll be tired from lack of sleep. I’ll send over what they were last seen wearing, but they may have changed clothes by now. And you’ll get their student ID pictures with the other stuff I’m sending.”
“These are the ones on the news, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Then they’re probably still in what they were wearing when they attacked the news conference. We have those images already.”
“Then you’re good to go, Jim. You can start right after lunch.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, captain.”
As the on board computer started pinging with incoming messages, Officer Bolton pulled his cruiser into the Chick-Fil-A for an early lunch.
Chapter Nineteen
“Motherfucker.”
Officer Bolton was completely surprised. And delighted.
No sooner had he received the descriptions of the so-called campus felons than he spotted the first one right in front of him.
He put his hand on the butt of his gun and chuckled. “Everybody loves Chick-Fil-A.” Squaring himself, the big man pressed the button on his shoulder mic. "Bolton to base. I'm about to acquire Tomàs Pequant.”
* * * * *
Barry rubbed his sweaty hands on his thighs. Things needed to get resolved with Dr. Harper in a hurry. Right now he might be able to pass himself off as an overly excited college kid, but in a few minutes, he’d seem like a hostage taker. Then there wouldn’t be any options left.
Maybe I should just haul ass. The throbbing from Barry’s ankle increased. When he moved, pain shot up his leg. Leaving without medical attention was out of the question. “Uh, any chance I can just get a cast on my leg and sneak on out of here? Maybe with a few pain killers?”