by Dan Alatorre
“He talks in code, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s a lawyer thing.” Melissa sat in the cab, gazing up at him, not knowing what else to say, but not wanting the conversation to end with just the drab discussion of legal releases.
Barry said nothing, smiling back at her. It had been a long couple of days. There was still a lot that each of them wanted to say to the other. They had squandered too many opportunities.
“Where will I be taking you today, Miss Mills?”
She answered the cabbie but kept her gaze on Barry. “To my dad’s house, please.”
“Missy.” Barry leaned on the cab door, opening his mouth to speak, searching for the right words. None came. Exhaling, he patted the roof of the cab. “Catch up with me later, okay?” He pointed to his broken ankle. “You know where to find me.”
She smiled, nodding. “I will.”
He eased the door shut and watched the cab drive out of sight.
* * * * *
A second cab pulled up where the first one had been. Barry started for it, then stopped. He looked up at the big antebellum law office, then looked at me. “Hey, Peeky. Why don’t you take this one? I forgot something inside.”
Without waiting for my answer, he limped back up the steps and through the office’s ornate front door.
I walked up to the cab and let myself in, unable to focus my thoughts on anything but my own embarrassment and shame. The driver spoke to me, breaking my haze.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
He eyed me in the rear view mirror. “Where to?”
I sighed. “The freshman dorm at USF, please.”
“The university, eh? That’s quite a drive. You’re a long way from home.”
“Yes, I am.”
* * * * *
Barry rushed into the law office lobby. “Is Mr. Mills still here?”
Terry nodded. “He’s in his office right-”
Barry sped past her, hobbling as fast as he could.
“Sir, please wait!”
In his personal office, Mr. Mills was preparing to depart for his campaign rally. He picked up his keys and headed for the door, with Janice walking alongside him.
Barry opened it first.
“Mr. Mills, can I speak to you for a second?”
The lawyer bristled. “Barry, I’m on my way to an event and I’d kind of like to get there. Can we talk later?”
“It will only take a moment, sir.” He glanced at Janice. “It’s important.”
She nudged Mr. Mills. “Go ahead, Michael. We have a few minutes.”
He sighed, backing away from the doorway to let Barry enter. Janice slipped through. “I’ll be in the lobby.” She pulled the door closed behind her.
Mills stepped back to his desk. “What would you like to talk about?”
“Actually, I wanted to tell you something.”
“What’s that?”
Barry took a deep breath. “It was all me. There’s no reason to punish anybody else.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I did it all. Everything. The stolen time machine, the breaking into the Sun Dome, everything. It was all me. I’ll put it in writing right now.”
Mills put his hands on his hips. “It was you, eh. You did everything all by yourself?”
“No, I forced Melissa and Peeky to come along. And the others. They had to play ball or I’d throw them off my team.”
“That’s a big deal?” Mills shrugged. “Getting thrown off your ‘team’? What, your study group?”
Barry was practically standing at attention. “It’s a big deal. It was a guaranteed ‘A’ for them. I threatened them with that and with other things if they didn’t do exactly what I wanted. They didn’t want to. I made them. But I did all the major stuff that you were talking about.”
Mills folded his arms. “Like the time machine. You stole that?”
“I did. I made the others help me, but it was all my idea.”
“You broke into the Sun Dome?”
“That’s right.”
“You picked the locks on the Sun Dome gate and climbed up on the roof?”
“Yes sir.”
Mr. Mills pointed to Barry’s cast. “How’d you climb up that big gutter with a broken ankle?”
Barry looked him in the eye. “I pulled the truck up and stood on the roof. Then I climbed up. The officers guarding it probably told you they saw me driving it.”
Mills nodded. “They did. But they said other things, too.” He walked out from behind his desk, scratching his chin. “So you picked the locks on the security gate and drove the truck into the stadium?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why would you lie about that?”
“It’s no lie. You can have them expel me. There’s no reason to expel Melissa and no reason to expel the others. Peeky, either.”
Mr. Mills went to his desk and opened a drawer, rummaging through it. “Okay, you climbed on top the Sun Dome with a broken leg, then you climbed back down and picked the lock on the gate, right?” He pointed to a door on the far side of his office. “That's my private bathroom. It has a very sophisticated lock on it. Very difficult to break in to there, that bathroom. Not sure why the contractor put such a high tech lock on a bathroom, but he did. It’s always annoyed me, but I’ve always been too lazy to change it out.”
He stood up. “Have a look at this.” He dropped several devices onto the desk. “These are the tools of the trade for burglars. Lock picks.” He thumbed through them. “Different kinds. I’ve acquired these from some of my clients over the years. Kind of kept them as souvenirs, you know?”
Mr. Mills pointed to the bathroom. “I’ll make you a deal. If you can pick that lock on my bathroom door, I’ll have no choice but to believe your story about breaking into USF and the rest of it.” He smiled. “What do you say? Take any set of tools you want and go unlock that door.”
Barry stared at the odd-looking assortment of devices on the desk.
“If you can get yourself out of that bathroom, I’ll convince everybody this whole thing was all your doing. You can take the rap all by yourself. The other students will walk.”
Barry reached over and grabbed one of the tools off the desk. He limped to the bathroom.
Mr. Mills followed. “How about a fifteen minute time limit?”
Nodding, Barry stepped into the bathroom. Mr. Mills locked the door and pushed it shut.
From inside the private restroom, Barry stared at the lock. He knelt down and held the tool to the keyhole, sliding it into the opening. It didn’t fit. He slumped his shoulders. He jiggled the knob a few times for good measure, sat back on his heels and sighed.
Mr. Mills opened the door. “You didn’t even pick up the right tool. This is a set of lock picks.” He dangled a ring of lock picks on one finger. “That is some kind of bizarre Chinese wrench set that came with my treadmill.” He pointed at the bathroom door. “And that was a cheap seven dollar lock from Home Depot. A rusty nail would have opened it.”
Chuckling, Mr. Mills moved back to his desk. “So we know you’re not a locksmith. Which means you didn’t break into the Sun Dome. But I think I know who did. I just want to know why you’re covering for her.”
Barry sighed. “I… it seems pretty unfair to let everybody get expelled, that’s all.”
“I can appreciate you feeling that way.”
“This whole thing just sort of spun out of control.”
“I can see that, too. Doesn’t change things.” He got up from his desk and went to the office door, opened it, and stood next to it silently.
Barry took the hint. He walked out without a word.
Janice passed him in the lobby. She entered Mr. Mills’ office. “What was that all about?”
Mr. Mills pulled his car keys from a pocket. “Oh, he was trying to be a hero or something. He volunteered that everything was his fault and offered to take all the blame for everybody.”
“Did you let him?”
>
“Why should I have? He’s obviously lying.”
“Why? Because he has eyes for your daughter, Michael. He’s trying to protect her.”
* * * * *
Findlay walked down the stairs at the front of Mills law office.
“It didn’t go like you thought, huh?” It was the news producer from the other day.
“Nope.” He stared up at the big law office building, then he looked at her. “How’d you guys find out about the meeting?”
“We got a tip. Some cop friend of yours. Officer Bolton?”
“Hah.” Findlay’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, that figures.”
“He said we’d find a really explosive story here when the big meeting was all over. Guess not, huh?”
“It was explosive all right. But not the way you mean.” Findlay kicked at the ground, rubbing his neck. “Hey, would you wanna get a cup of coffee with me?”
“Are you asking me on a date?”
He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I kind of thought we hit it off the other day.” He sighed. “I could use a friend right now.”
“They say, ‘In politics, if you need a friend, get a dog.’”
“I'm not in politics.”
“What would you call it? You took a shot at the next mayor of Tampa. If you shoot at the king, you better kill the king—otherwise you're the one who gets killed. It doesn’t get much more political than that.”
“Yeah, well…” Findlay gazed at the ground. “I feel like I got killed pretty good up there just now.” He raised his eyes to meet hers. “How about it?”
She put her hands on her hips. “What’s a pasty white boy want with a girl like me, huh?”
He shrugged. “I’m of Irish descent. Some of my people were pretty adventurous, you know?”
“Look where that got you.”
He nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
She winked. “You'll be all right, Findlay. Not today, but maybe when you're feeling better, call me sometime. When you’re not licking your wounds. And we’ll talk.” She climbed into the news van. “You can get me through the TV station.”
He managed a smile. “Okay.”
She started the engine and drove off.
It might be a few years before I can call, though.
* * * * *
Mr. Mills snorted. “He has eyes for my daughter? So has every other young man in Tampa over the years.”
Janice shook her head. “Oh, Michael, how can you be so smart and so dumb at the same time? That Findlay guy must be rubbing off on you.” She leaned in front of him to look into his eyes. “Weren’t you ever young and stupid?”
“I was, sure. I don't usually like to talk about that in front of my daughter, lest she get the wrong impression of her prim, proper and successful old dad, but once upon a time I was pretty young and foolish.” He chuckled. “Me and Carl Baker ran naked through a sorority house and stood on the retention pond wall singing Christmas carols. Nothing like this.”
“And why did you do that?”
“Oh, we were drunk, probably. Come on, let’s go.”
She put her hand on his arm. “Wait a minute. You can be drunk anywhere. Why run through a sorority house or sing a serenade from a pond wall?”
“What, to impress some girl?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Ya think? Michael, that boy has known your daughter for years. He’s not trying to be seen at the right restaurants around town with her.”
“He can’t,” Mills huffed. “He doesn’t have any money to take her out. His parents are probably still paying his bills.”
Janice sighed. “The point is, he’s not after your money.”
“He’s just after my daughter.”
“He’s being noble.”
“He’s being stupid.”
Janice reached over and adjusted his tie, purring at him. “He’s impetuous. Not unlike a certain naked singer I’ve only recently heard about.” She smiled. “He’s willing to sacrifice himself just to protect her. That sounds like the kind of guy you’d want dating your daughter. Besides, I think Melissa has eyes for him, too. Now, do you believe in second chances or what?”
Mr. Mills sighed. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
There is a certain feeling a person’s childhood home has when they visit as an adult. It is the same house, but it is different somehow. Smaller. Quieter. It belongs to them less, or they belong somewhere else more.
Melissa walked from room to room, looking at the changes her father had made since her last visit a few weeks ago. Mostly it was campaign stuff. Boxes of posters and buttons. The garage was brimming with signs.
She went to her room to get some of her own clothes to wear—Mandy’s had been fine, but there was no reason to stay in them. She had plenty of clothes at home.
Funny, it wasn’t that anymore. Home. Her apartment was home now. It had been for some time. This was now her old house. Dad’s house. She drifted from room to room. It felt different from how it used to feel. Just as warm, just as inviting–but different.
Of course, the house is the same. I’m what’s different.
She checked the clock over the fireplace. It was time for the campaign rally to begin.
The remote for the TV was on the coffee table. So was one of the cordless phone handsets. Its little red light flashed.
Messages. Better check it, in case there’s an emergency.
“Michael, it’s Troy. Listen, I’m begging you, don’t make that speech today at the campaign rally. Let’s just cancel and run some polls to see how the public is taking the story first.”
The second message was the same – Troy, the diligent campaign manager, hoping to persuade the eager politician from career suicide. Melissa shook her head.
Uncle Troy, you still haven’t learned after all these years.
There were several more messages, all from Troy, all begging Mr. Mills not to give the speech. She sighed.
I guess I’d better watch it, then.
She clicked on the TV and found the one of the local news channels.
The TV announcer was doing a live shot. “We’ll be covering mayoral hopeful Michael Mills’ speech today, his first public appearance since the shocking revelations in today’s online edition of the Tampa Tribute.”
Melissa wandered into the kitchen. The TV had always been visible from there, even though nobody ever cooked. Certainly not her father.
“And here comes candidate Mills to the podium now.”
The kitchen was a spectacular array of high-end appliances. The never-used stove, the stainless steel pots and pans in the chef’s chandelier. If not for the cleaners, it would all be covered in dust from lack of use.
They were pretty, though.
Polite applause greeted Mr. Mills. “Thank you, my friends.”
Grabbing a Diet Coke from the fridge, Melissa settled in on the counter, placing her elbows on the cold granite surface. She leaned in to watch her father’s speech.
“You may have been disturbed about some of the things happening on and around the campus of the University of South Florida. I know I have been.”
Some ripples of laughter went up from the crowd.
“It’s fair to say that the stories I’ve read have been troubling to me, not only as a political candidate, but also as a father.”
Melissa winced, not realizing she’d be addressed so directly in the speech.
“I was supposed to give a political speech today, but I’d like to just talk to you for a moment.” He set aside some papers. “I know that many of you would be troubled if you read about a loved one in the paper, or if you got the kind of bad news I’ve been receiving over the last few days.”
The crowd grew quiet.
“And it would strike many of you to use all your power, to reach out with any means necessary, to help those you love. In this regard, I am the same as you.” He scanned the forum, taking in the crowd, taking in their faces. Th
e expression on his face was one of pain. “I’m sure I felt the same way any of you would have felt under the circumstances.”
The speech didn’t have his usual cheeriness. It lacked the warmth he was known for.
Maybe Uncle Troy was right. Maybe this wasn’t the time to go out and give a big speech.
“As a parent, we would do anything for our children. We have but one life. We… would gladly trade it—to protect our offspring.”
He looked out over the crowd again. The camera zoomed in on him. A tear rolled down his face.
“I will never apologize for sacrificing everything to protect my family.”
A few people in the crowd called out comments, but they were too far away to be understood.
“…and neither would you. We don’t have to reach for the stars but we can certainly acknowledge what’s right in front of us.”
A few more comments were shouted from the crowd. Melissa shifted uncomfortably on her feet.
“My friends, I believe in second chances. Today, I have done what I believe in my heart is good and right and proper, and the best thing for all involved, including my family, and the city I love.” He looked down. “But… I leave the decision to you. If you read the story, you know the facts.”
Then, the brilliant smile. “Can you stand for an honest man to be your next mayor?”
The crowd erupted in applause.
“It would be a nice change in this country, wouldn’t it? Because there is only one version of the truth. You know it when you see it.”
There was cheering. People rose to their feet.
“We all love our families. You do, and I do.”
The applause grew louder.
“And we love our city. We want the best for both.”
The television cameras pulled back to show people cheering and applauding. Putting the truth in the paper first had worked. The city still loved her father.
His speech now seemed to be directed at her.
“Life is full of difficult choices and wasted opportunities. Fight for what you believe in. Fight for what you want. Demand it.”
There was more, but she was no longer listening. The crowd had seen fit to rally behind her father, and the city would, too. Uncle Troy’s polls would show it soon, but she had been around politics long enough to see it in front of her. She knew it instinctively.