by Dan Alatorre
Barry wiped his forehead with his sleeve, leaving a watery stain on his dirty t-shirt. “Can you wait two hours?”
“I’m not sure why I’m giving you anything.”
“Because you want to see the truth prevail, maybe?”
Harper rolled his eyes and plopped down in his chair. “God, the bullshit around this place never stops.” His hand came down on the desk like an auctioneer’s gavel. “Fine. Two hours—but the clock starts right now.”
“What?” Barry sat up. “No way. I could spend two hours waiting for the x-ray.”
“You’re right. It’s a really bad deal compared to me calling the cops right now, isn’t it? What an asshole I’m being.” Harper stood up. “Come on. The clock’s running. I’ll take you down to x-ray myself. You’ll have a cast and a pair of crutches and be on your way in under an hour. Deal?”
Dr. Harper held out his hand, then yanked it back. “What am I offering a deal for? I’m not the one in trouble.” He grabbed the wheelchair from the hall “Let’s go. I want you out of my hospital.”
As the doctor lowered Barry into the wheelchair, Barry smiled. “I know you don’t mean that, Doc. You’re one of the good guys.”
“Pipe down. I have a reputation to protect.” Harper pushed the wheelchair down the hallway. “Gina! Call x-ray and tell them to open a spot. I’m on my way down.”
* * * * *
Findlay slithered his way around the campus police duty desk, addressing Officer Bolton. “Jim, how do you think it is that Peeky here knew enough to create a folder in his computer called ‘Time Machine’ long before his friend Barry ever told him there even was a time machine?”
The big man chuckled. “He must be a pretty good guesser.”
“Yes! Good point. Maybe Peeky is a good guesser.” He turned to me and extended his nasty grin. “Is that it, Peeky? Are you a good guesser?”
I squirmed on the cot.
“Hmm, cat got your tongue, huh? Do they have that saying in India, Mr. Pequant?”
Findlay’s teasing was too much. My heart was pounding, ready to explode. I swallowed, trying to remember to breathe.
He sat on a corner of the desk, a sick grin plastered on his pasty white face. “So, Jim, let me tell you about our little friend from India—by way of France. Do I have that right, Tomàs? It was your great-grandfather who moved the family to India from le grand Paree?” He rubbed his hands together. “There was a lot of personal shit on those computers. For example, Roger weighs himself every day. How vain is that? Barry has a big date Friday. Melissa – oh, Melissa. She’s the one I showed you those pictures of. Missy had last Tuesday circled on her calendar in red and then +1, +2, +3 each day since. Do you think she’s late for something, Peeky?”
His finger tapped the desk and he grinned. “But what’s really interesting is a file Peeky had, or several files, I should say. There was one called Barry, one called Roger, and one called Melissa. I guess his friend Riff didn’t make the cut. Interesting stuff in those.” He turned to Officer Bolton and wagged a finger. “You learn a lot about people when you can see inside their computers, Jim. Peeky here Skypes a lot. Or he used to. There’s some guys named Anil, and Dhaval, and Ankit. Some girls, too – but oddly no wife or child – you’d expect a shared account for that, like he has with his sister. But no, I didn’t see that kind of account. There were some other folks he Skyped with, but never with a wife or child.” Findlay turned to Officer Bolton. “Wouldn’t you say that’s odd? A married guy never Skyping with his wife? I mean, if she lives halfway around the world?”
“That does sound strange.”
I swallowed hard and stared at the floor.
“Yeah, I thought so, too.” Findlay’s eyes returned to me. “Oh, and there were notes about a certain local politician’s wife being killed by a drunk driver when their daughter was young. You could almost see the ideas about fabricating a story coming together, about pretending to be married and having a child who would never know her grandmother—indicating the writer had lost his own mother. That must have been useful. I couldn’t figure out why that would be important until I read about Melissa. See, Jim, they’d kind of have that in common, Peeky and Melissa, so he could manipulate her with it when the time came.” Findlay chuckled. “But your mom’s fine, isn’t she Peeky? I saw her in your Skype history. On your shared account. You should really call her. It’s been more than a week. What kind of son are you?”
My chest grew tight. The room closed in on me as Findlay continued his interrogation.
“I also saw the file you made on your great-grandfather. Hey, Jim, guess what? Peeky’s ol’ grandpa was a disgraced scientist. You know, family name means a lot in some cultures. I checked, and I was right. That’s why you came here in the first place, to steal a bunch of money and restore the family name. It’s all in your notes. Buy your way back into high society. How noble. Virtue by way of theft. You know, my roots are Irish, not French or Indian, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I never stole anything.”
“Oh, he speaks!” Findlay threw his head back, laughing. “My goodness, of all the things to protest, that’s the one you choose? Don’t be stupid. It worked.” He shook his head, smiling. “You must have been very proud, your whole scheme worked out just fine. You got buddy-buddy with Melissa, which got you in good with Roger and Barry, and that put you on the rock digger team with the best paleontology students. You already had a good idea where to look for your great-grandfather’s discovery, from all his notes. They just needed a little prodding. ‘Let’s go dig up a mine site, guys. That’s where the good stuff is.’” Findlay scratched the side of his head. “It was probably that easy, wasn’t it? You came here with a plan to recruit and network until you were part of a group that could find it – and they did! In just a few semesters, great grand-dad’s machine was in your hot little hands.”
He leaned in, sneering, his voice a whisper. “But you didn’t have it all to yourself. And when you guys did try to work it, bad things happened. So you laid low and waited for your chance to make your money. But time ran out on you.” Findlay smiled. “How odd, for a guy with a time machine. That’s pretty poetic, don’t you think?”
I couldn’t move. I was too ashamed. I just stared at the floor.
“Jim, his plan was beautiful in its simplicity. Peeky’s big plan was to go back to – well, do you want to tell him or should I?”
I stared at him, red faced, a lump in my throat.
“Okay, I’ll tell him. Coca-Cola. That’s it. Do you love it?”
“I’m a Pepsi man, myself,” Officer Bolton said.
“No, no, not as a drink. As an investment. Check it out. A single share of Coca-Cola stock when it was originally issued in the early 1900s was about forty five dollars. Wanna know what it’s worth today?”
Bolton nodded.
“Nine million dollars, Jim. Peeky had one heck of a payday up his sleeve.” He smiled at me. “Honestly, Peeky, my hat’s off to you. It was a beautiful plan.”
Bolton sat down at the desk. “Hell, I’d fuck all my friends over too, for that kind of money.” He grabbed the keyboard and punched the keys. “Hey, this says Coke stock’s trading around forty bucks right now. What gives?”
“A hundred years’ worth of dividends and stock splits and all sorts of financial shit. Today it’s worth nine million big ones. And he had it all set to go, didn’t you, Peeky?”
Findlay wasn’t finished. “So, how exactly did great grand-dad get so disgraced, anyway? That part wasn’t in your notes.”
I stared at my hands, beaten. Whether I said anything now or not, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the story came out. I wanted out of the holding cell and away from Findlay. “The family history was always well known to me, even as a child. He was recruited to lead a mapping expedition through parts of Florida in the early 1900s. They found a machine.”
Findlay was practically drooling. “Go on
.”
“There were… some accidents. When they went to use it. Some of his men were killed.”
“They were all killed, weren’t they? All but great grand-dad?”
My cheeks burned and my eyes never left the floor. “There was a trial. Nobody believed any of what came out of the madman’s mouth. The sole survivor out of forty men, they… they said he was crazy, rambling on about a strange machine, how it killed his men, and how the rest of his crew killed each other fighting over it. When it all ended, he was the only one left.”
“I know. I looked him up on the internet.” Findlay chuckled. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”
I glared at him. “You’re a real piece of work, Findlay.”
“Am I?” He sat up, putting a finger to his chest. “Well, I have news for you, pal. You are twice the snake I ever dreamed of being. You lied to everybody, all your friends, from day one. You knew the time machine was dangerous, but you let them test it out anyway. I notice you didn’t get in and go for a ride, did you, Peeky? You needed to try it out on a few Guinea pigs first to figure out how the thing worked so you didn’t end up like one of great-grandpappy’s men.” He narrowed his eyes and pointed his finger at me. “You set them up. All of them, even Melissa. Shit, you’re worse than me by a long shot. And…”
Findlay danced. “And, and, and…” He stopped and looked at me. “And I’m going to tell all of them what you did.”
It was like a gunshot to my belly. My heart sank. Such… humiliation. I couldn’t bear it.
“It’s all over, pal. No more time machine, no more Barry or Melissa – although they aren’t ever going to want to talk to you again after they hear all this. No more Roger – that’s no loss, except he’ll probably beat the shit out of you when he finds out what you did, so there’s that. No more USF–you’re sure to be expelled. Dean Anderson has that at the top of his list for all of you.”
I clenched my fists and glared at him. Fear and rage loomed inside me.
“Oh, yes, all of your so-called friends—expelled. All because they trusted you. Then there’s Melissa’s dad. His campaign goes up in flames.”
“What?” My rage vanished. “How?”
“Are you kidding me? Maybe India’s politics are full of corruption, pal, but here in the good ol’ U S of A, we like to pretend our politicians are squeaky clean–and that goes for their families, too. Why, when word gets out about the mayor’s daughter stealing university property and getting expelled, not to mention being a little slut with her naked pictures all over the internet -”
“Stop!” I jumped up and put my hands on the door. “Why do you have to do this?”
He cocked his head. “Peekeeey… you poor stupid schmuck. You don’t get it, do you? I don't have to do any of this.”
“What?”
“I don't want to do any of it. I don't have to ruin your friends’ lives or your life, or get you expelled—and let's face it, you're a felon. You’ll probably get deported. But none of that has to happen. Don't you see?”
“I . . . I guess I don't.”
“You're the golden ticket, buddy. The other rock busters, they still trust you. They don't know about all this yet. You're still part of the team.”
My head was buzzing. Findlay folded his hands in his lap and waited, watching me.
“I know Barry. He's not gonna let that machine sit over there at the Sun Dome without trying to go steal it back. I'd even help them do it if I could, but when it's over I don't need my fingerprints on it, so to speak. Instead, you do it. Help them steal it back. Then you give the machine to me, and I disappear. I'll go back in time. I'll go buy the Coke stock.” He chuckled. “How far did you think a brown-skinned man was going to get in New York City—in the most elite club in the world, the stock exchange—in early 1920’s anyway, buddy? Come on. But me, I'm Irish. My people practically ran that town in the 1900s.” Holding his hands out at his sides, he shrugged. “Me, I look the part. I can talk the part. But with your funny Middle Eastern accent and strange black hair? No way. It's simple. You just help me. We’ll split the cash.”
He looked me in the eye. “Four and a half million dollars each, just to get started. I figure you already have your seed money, too. If it was in a bank account somewhere, I’d already have it by now. I’m thinking precious metals. I’m thinking, maybe an ounce of gold. That, anybody would trade. Even with a foreigner.”
I nodded. I had saved for many years, borrowed from everyone I knew, to amass $1500—enough to buy one ounce of gold. That would be roughly the equivalent of $45 in the 1900s, and that would be enough.
“You give me your gold, I put it with some of the cash from Jim and his friends, and I go back and buy a few shares of the Coca-Cola stock. I come back and we cash out in a private exchange. Everybody wins, Peeky. Think about it: you return to India as the conquering hero. I get to spend the rest of my life banging fashion models on South Beach in the back of my Porsche. Everybody’s happy.”
I glared at him. “Except my friends.”
He shrugged. “They were gonna lose anyway, right? Your plan didn’t include cutting them in on your nine million, did it? At least, that wasn’t in your notes – a curious oversight. You were planning on screwing them over anyway. Let me in as a partner. I can help.”
It was overwhelming, what he was suggesting.
“Besides, if you don’t take me as a partner… I’ll tell them anyway. Do you think they’ll trust you when they know about all this?”
He let the words hang on me like the death sentence they were.
“It’s over, Peeky.”
I dropped to the cot, the air going out of me. I had worked too long, spent too many years fixing bicycles for pennies and doing odd jobs, borrowing from everyone I knew, including members of my family who couldn’t afford to loan me anything. I couldn’t allow it all to go to waste.
It was crushing me just thinking about it. There were no other options. Not now.
I looked up at Findlay. “Will you wait until I can take at least one trip for myself?”
“Hell, yes! All I want is the machine,” he said. “I’ll make my cash run, then I give the machine to the school. They’re going to turn it over to the highest bidder and I’ll ride off into the sunset with a huge finder’s fee. You, too, maybe. The thing is worth billions to the electric companies and the oil consortiums, and I can cut you in for a piece. I should clear $2 million on the handover deal alone, plus consulting fees worth about $2 million a year over the next ten years. I’m sure I can get you a similar deal if you help me.”
He got up and went around to the chair, plopping down. A big smile stretched across his face as he crossed his feet on a corner of the desk and folded his hands in his lap. If he’d had a cigar, he’d have been smoking it.
“It’s everything you came here for, Peeky.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“This is for the swelling.”
Gina handed Barry a small bottle of pills. “Your ankle pain will only get worse if you move around a lot, so stay off it. Which I know you won’t.”
He balanced on his new crutches and shoved the pills into a pocket. “Thanks.”
“Hold them like this.” She repositioned his hands on the crutch handles. “Try to put more weight on your hands, and not let the top of the crutch rest in your armpits—you’ll get chafed in no time, and then you’ll start bleeding. You don’t want that. Armpits are tender. Sore ones are worse.”
Barry tried to rebalance as she’d instructed him. She shook her head. “Just do your best.” His attempt at movement was labored at best. Hopping, basically. She scrawled a few notes on her clipboard. “Do you know where you’re headed?”
“I’m . . . not sure.” He smiled. “But I probably shouldn’t tell you anyway.”
“No, that’s true.” She nodded, pointing at the lobby TV. Another update on the movement of the time machine crawled across the bottom of the screen, with images of the morning’s melee. “The poli
ce might figure out you were here and start asking me things. I’d hate to tell them the wrong information and send them off on a wild goose chase.”
Barry stopped trying to maneuver on the crutches and looked at her.
“I can only tell them what I know, or what I heard you say.” Gina lowered her voice. “Even if it’s not true. How would I know?”
“You’d help me? Why would you do that?”
She shrugged. “Dr. Harper’s not the only one you convinced back there.”
“You were listening at the door?”
“I wouldn’t have heard anything good if I had listened at the water cooler.”
He balanced again, finding his new center on the crutches. “Gina, you’re all right.”
“Look,” she said. “The news says they’re moving the machine to the Sun Dome, right? That’s right here on campus. But the prior update said they were thinking about taking it to the armory – that’s close to downtown.”
“So if I was, say, hitting on a pretty intern, she might get me to admit that I only knew about taking it to the armory.”
“She might.”
Barry grinned. “Would she lend me her cell phone, too?”
* * * * *
“Can I drop you somewhere?”
Officer Bolton had a squad car and a sudden burst of generosity. I can’t say I had the same for him—but it was a long walk to the pancake house.
I didn’t know where else to go.
It was where I told Melissa I’d meet her, before all my worst paranoid fantasies started coming true. Now, with all of Findlay’s accusations and wild theories, my head was humming. I couldn’t figure out if it was safe for me to go back to my apartment or not. The campus cops had already grabbed me, and now they were letting me go. Maybe somebody else was looking for me, too.
Bolton must have sensed my detachment.
“Come on, buddy, it’s not so bad. You’re gonna make a fortune. In a few days, none of that other stuff will matter. You’ll see.”