The Select

by F. Paul Wilson

  "Never mind your feelings," Verran said. "Just don't miss anything."

  There had to be something wrong with the unit, something mechanical, something electronic, something that could be fixed. But if the problem wasn't with the unit; if the SLI wasn't on the fritz, then it had to be Cleary. A malfunctioning unit was one thing, but a malfunctioning student...?

  They'd had one of those two years ago. Please, God, never again.

  He looked at his watch again.

  "Don't rush, Elliot. Just do it right. Still plenty of time."

  *

  Tim sensed rather than saw Quinn lean over his shoulder.

  "I've got to get back to the dorm," she whispered.

  "Now?"

  The clock on the auditorium wall said 9:30. Still ten minutes to go in Dr. Hager's pathology lecture on inflammation.

  "I forgot my histo notes. I want to have them for the review."

  Staying low, she edged out of the row of seats and started up the steps to the exit. Tim hesitated a moment, then got up and trailed after her.

  "Wait up," he said in the hallway.

  She turned, surprise in her eyes. "Tim? Where are you going?"

  "With you."

  "You forget something too?"

  "No. I just..." How did he say this? He didn't want to tell her of his misgivings about Louis Verran. He was sure they'd sound pretty lame if he said them out loud. But he did not like the idea of her entering the empty dorm alone, even if it was a bright fall morning. "I don't think you should go alone."

  She stopped and stared at him. "What? You've got to be kidding."

  "No, I'm not kidding. They've got a bunch of outsiders wandering the halls."

  "Campus security is there."

  Tim was tempted to say that might be the problem, but resisted.

  "Yeah, but even The Ingraham's crack SWAT team can't be everywhere. One of the bug men could be a nut case. All the rooms are unlocked. He could catch you when you step into yours and...well, who knows."

  "My hero," she said. Then she touched his arm. "Thanks for the thought, but I—"

  "No arguments," he said. "I'm going with you and we haven't got much time. Besides, I'm not letting some creep who's been sniffing too much bug spray ruin my weekend in AC."

  "Some hero!" she said and laughed.

  Tim loved the sound.

  It took them less than five minutes to make it back to Women's Country. As Quinn pushed through the stairwell door ahead of him, she stopped and pointed down the hall.

  "See? Nothing to worry about. You could have saved yourself the trip. There's the Chief of Security himself standing in my doorway."

  I knew it!

  Tim squeezed past her into the hall. He saw Verran, but the security man was no longer in the doorway to Quinn's room. He had just pulled it closed and was bustling toward them, his jowls jiggling, an anxious look straining his features.

  "What are you two doing here?" he said. "You're supposed to be in class now."

  "We're going right back," Quinn said.

  "Didn't you read the notice? Rooms are to be vacated between eight and twelve."

  "I'll only be a second," Quinn said, starting toward her room. "I just have to pick up some—"

  Verran stepped in front of her, blocking her way.

  "You can't go in there right now. He's right in the middle of spraying."

  "Bullshit," Tim said.

  He stepped around Verran and headed for Quinn's door. He'd had enough. Too many screwy coincidences here: Fifty-two rooms on the floor and they just happen to be spraying 252 when he and Quinn arrive unannounced, Verran obviously upset at their surprise return, and the unsettling fact that Verran didn't have to ask Quinn who she was and which room was hers.

  Something was going on.

  "Hey! Come back here!"

  Tim heard Verran hurrying after him but didn't slow. He had a good lead. He'd be in Quinn's room well ahead of him. But as he was reaching for the knob, the door opened.

  A tall, dark-haired man in his early thirties stood there. He wore gray coveralls with an oval patch on the left breast that said A-Jacks Exterminating. He carried a toolbox in one hand and a two-gallon spray canister in the other.

  He smiled easily at Tim. "Hey. How's it going?" then looked past him. "All set in here, Mr. Verran. Where to next?"

  Verran hauled up next to Tim, puffing. "What? Oh, yeah. Good. We'll go to 251 next." He glared at Tim. "What's the idea of taking off like that? You got a problem or something?"

  Tim saw Quinn come up behind Verran. She was giving him a funny look. What could he say? Something wasn't right but he hadn't the vaguest idea what.

  He turned back to the exterminator and saw that he, too, was staring at him. Not at him, exactly—at his lapel.

  "That's a neat-looking pin you got there," the bug man said. "Where'd you get it?"

  "Found it," Tim said.

  Tim wasn't in the mood for small talk, but the bug man seemed completely taken by the pin.

  "Take a look at this, Mr. Verran," he said, pointing to Tim's lapel. "You ever seen anything like that?"

  Verran came around and looked. Tim thought he saw him stiffen, but couldn't be sure. What was so fascinating about a little black hockey puck?

  "No," Verran said slowly. "Never." His voice sounded strained. "You want to sell that?"

  "No."

  Tim was irritated with the attention. He didn't want to buy or sell anything. He just wanted Quinn to get her notes and get out of here.

  "You sure?" Verran said.

  "Very sure. Is it okay if she gets her notes now?"

  The bug man seemed surprised by the question. "Hmmm? Oh, uh, yeah. Sure."

  Tim waved Quinn into the room, followed her in, then closed the door behind them.

  "How's the room look?" he said.

  Quinn glanced around. "Fine."

  "Just as you left it?"

  "I think so. The bedspread looks a little wrinkled, but otherwise—"

  "Nothing missing?

  "Not that I can see." She looked at him closely. "Tim, are you all right?"

  "I'm fine. Why?"

  "Because you're acting—"

  "Weird? Yeah, I know." He searched for a plausible explanation. "Maybe I've been cooped up on this campus too long. Maybe I'm getting Ingraham fever. I need a break, need to get away for awhile."

  "Well, you're getting away tonight, aren't you? We both are."

  "Right. To AC. And not a moment too soon."

  "Okay. So hang on."

  He gave her a smile. "I will." Then he sniffed the air. "You smell anything?"

  "No. Should I?"

  "They just sprayed in here, didn't they? Shouldn't we be smelling something?"

  "The stuff they're using is supposed to be colorless and odorless."

  So's water, Tim thought.

  "Can I use your phone a sec?"

  "Sure."

  As Quinn dug her notes out of a drawer, Tim dialed 411. He turned his back to her and he asked in a low voice for the number of A-Jacks Exterminating. He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed when the operator came up with a number. When he hung up, Quinn was ready to go.

  "All set?" she said.

  "Yeah. Let's get out of here."

  Before he closed the door behind them he took one last look. Something had been done to this room, something more than bug spraying. But damned if he could figure what.

  MONITORING

  Kurt was laughing.

  "What's so goddamn funny?" Verran said.

  "This whole thing! Here we spend weeks combing the whole fucking campus for this bug you lost and all the time this jerk's been wearing it like a stick pin on his coat!"

  "At least it explains why we could never track it down," Verran said.

  "Oh, God, I wish I'd a-been there...just to see the look on your face when you saw..." Kurt dissolved into helpless laughter again.

  Even Elliot was grinning like an idiot.

>   Verran ground his teeth. Nothing funny about this, dammit. That Brown kid had been wearing the bug around campus for all to see. What if somebody had recognized it for what it was? Christ, what if Alston had spotted it?

  Verran didn't want to think about it.

  "Better get a grip on yourself," he told Kurt, "because it's going to be your job to get it back."

  Kurt stopped laughing. "Why me? I didn't—"

  "Tonight."

  "Brown's taking off for Atlantic City tonight, chief," Elliot said.

  "How do you know that?"

  "Heard him talking with the Cleary girl about it. They're going together."

  "Awright!" Kurt said. "Boffing the blonde! Wouldn't mind a piece of that action myself."

  Verran motioned him to shut up. "Maybe our luck is starting to change. We can grab the bug back while he's out of town."

  "What if he's got it with him when he leaves?" Elliot said.

  Kurt snorted. "The way our luck's been running, that's the way it'll go down."

  Verran couldn't argue with that. But maybe that could be worked to their advantage. What was the old saying? When somebody hands you a lemon...

  "Here's what we'll do," he said. "We'll watch him leave. If he's wearing the same jacket he had on this morning, we'll assume he's got the bug on him. You two will tail him to Atlantic City—"

  "And whack him!"

  Verran glared at Kurt for the interruption and started when he saw the .38 in his hand.

  "Put that away!"

  Kurt grinned. "Just kidding, Lou."

  He watched Kurt replace the pistol in the bottom drawer of the center console, then continued. "As I was saying, tail him to A.C. and look for a chance to rough him up a little. Make it look like a mugging."

  Elliot frowned "What if we see a chance to get it without any rough stuff?"

  "Do it anyway."

  Kurt ground a fist into his palm. "Awright!"

  "I don't know about this, Chief," Elliot said. "We could get pinched."

  "Not if we do it right," Kurt said.

  "I don't know," Elliot muttered. "I don't know."

  Verran knew how twitchy Elliot got at the thought of winding up in a jail cell again.

  "It'll be all right, Elliot," Verran said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I promise you."

  Kurt grinned. "Don't worry, little buddy. I'll take care of you."

  Verran swung on Kurt. This was almost like being a goddam football coach—push one, restrain the other. "No permanent damage, Kurt. Just enough to get the cops involved. And make sure they get involved—even if you have to call them yourselves."

  Elliot's expression was baffled. "How come?"

  "I've got my reasons."

  FIFTEEN

  "I hope I'm not making a mistake," Quinn said as she dropped her overnight bag into Griffin's trunk.

  She watched as Tim settled her bag next to his own, then slammed the trunk top.

  "What do you mean?" he said.

  "I mean that we're traveling as friends and there isn't going to be any hanky panky."

  He laughed. "'Hanky panky'?"

  She felt her cheeks reddening. "One of my mother's expressions. But you know what I mean. I just don't want any... misunderstandings. Understand?"

  He hung his head. "You mean we're not going to have the night of wild, Dionysian sexual abandon that will finally give meaning to my miserable life?" He sniffed.

  "Open the trunk," she said. "I'm out of here."

  He grinned. "Only kidding!"

  "You'd better be, otherwise you're going to be one very disappointed medical student."

  "Let's go."

  As Quinn moved toward the passenger door, she heard a car behind her. A black Celica GT-S pulled into the neighboring spot on her side. With all the empty slots around, she wondered idly why it had to park so close to them. A big blond fellow got out and gave them a friendly nod. He looked vaguely familiar, then Quinn recognized him as someone she'd seen around the security desk in the Science Center. Why was he parking in the student lot? She noticed him looking past her, directly at Tim, almost staring. Then he slammed his door and strode up the incline toward the Administration building.

  I wonder if he knows we're going away overnight? she thought. Probably. Everyone else seemed to. You couldn't keep too many secrets at a place as small as The Ingraham.

  And everybody seemed to think they were indeed going to AC for the wild night Tim had kidded about before. Judy Trachtenberg had caught her in the hall just a few moments ago, winking and nudging, speaking in a very bad Cockney accent: "Gettin' away for a bit o' the ol' in an' out, are we?"

  Quinn supposed it was a natural assumption. She and Tim were seen together a lot, and now here they were going off with overnight bags.

  She settled into the front seat, belted herself in, and looked at Tim as he started the engine. She liked Tim, liked him a lot. She had a sense that his occasional sexist remarks and bluff attitude were a male thing, a front to hide the sensitivity perking below the surface. She was sure it was there; he'd let the facade slip a couple of times and she'd caught glimpses of it. Why did he feel he had to hide it?

  Romance with Tim, a little sexual cuddling, or even sex...would that be so bad? There was an empty spot in her life, a void that she'd never managed to fill, a subtle, aching loneliness that she kept submerged in the torrent of activity that consumed her daily life. But in quiet moments, sometimes in those early morning hours when she'd awaken before her alarm clock, she'd feel the pang of that hollow spot.

  She wasn't a virgin. That had ended in high school with Bobby Roca. She'd been sure he was the love of her life. They'd made lifelong promises to each other, and had wound up in his bedroom one Saturday night when his parents were away for the weekend. Her next period had been late and she'd been scared to death. She'd seen her whole future in medicine swirling down into a black hole and she was desperate for some support, some comfort, someone to lean on, just a little. Bobby had offered all the warmth and comfort of a snake. Worse, he actually blamed her. When her period finally arrived, a week late, she'd told Bobby to take a hike.

  There'd been nobody since...nobody important, anyway. Not that there hadn't been opportunities, but she'd never let a relationship get off the ground. She wasn't sure why. Why did she take sex so seriously? So many of the girls at U. Conn had been so casual about it. They went out once or twice and sex just became part of the relationship. Male and female—what could be more natural? She knew it wasn't always so great for them, but neither was it the hardest thing in the world. Why wasn't it easy for her? Why did she attach so much importance to it?

  Hadn't most of them been raised the way she'd been—the right man, the right time and place and circumstances?

  Tim might be the right man, but this wasn't the right time in her life, and a freebie hotel room in Atlantic City after a night of watching Tim gamble would not be the right place and circumstances.

  And overriding all of it was the weight of her concern for her career. She couldn't afford any sort of distraction now. This was not the right time in her life for a serious relationship—the only kind of relationship she knew how to have. Later. There would be plenty of time later. For now she had to remember to keep pulling back from Tim and keeping her eyes—and the rest of her—focused on the future.

  No foreign entanglements.

  But snuggling close to him tonight, his arms around her...a nice thought, a warm thought. But it would remain just that: a thought.

  *

  "You're sure you saw it?" Verran said.

  He was standing with Elliot and Kurt on the rise overlooking the student parking lot.

  Kurt nodded. "It was there, right where Elliot said it was—same coat, same place. I could've reached out and grabbed it."

  "That you'll do later on. In AC. Follow them there. Watch them. Stay out of sight. Be patient. Wait for your chance and make it a good one. You got what you need?"

  Kurt nodded. "Reve
rsible jackets, gloves, ski masks, the works."

  "Isn't there another way we can do this?" Elliot said.

  He'd been quiet and edgy all day. Verran knew Elliot was picturing himself in a jail cell, but he didn't want to pussy out so he was hanging in there with Kurt.

  "This is no big deal, Elliot. And it's perfect if it happens up in Jersey. That way The Ingraham isn't involved in any way. And should there be any question, you were both here with me all night. Now get going. You don't want to lose them."

  Verran watched them get into their separate cars and roar off. By tomorrow morning he'd have the missing bug back and he could rest easy again.

  *

  "Mmmmmm," Tim said as they came off the Delaware Memorial Bridge and turned onto New Jersey Route 40. "The road to Atlantic City. I can smell the money already."

  Quinn looked around at the surrounding darkness as the four-lane blacktop quickly narrowed to two.

  "Pretty desolate."

  "This is mostly farmland. If you think it's dark here, my dear, wait till we get into the Jersey Pine Barrens. A million acres of nothing. Then you'll see dark. AC is still almost sixty miles off, so now's as good a time as any to plan our strategy."

  "Strategy?"

  "Sure. We're both going to play."

  "Oh, no. I don't know the first thing about gambling. And I can't afford—"

  "You'll be playing with my money. Here's how it works. In the casinos, blackjack is dealt—"

  "Blackjack? I've never played blackjack."

  "Sure you have. It's twenty-one. The guy who gets closest to a twenty-one value in the cards he's dealt, without going over, wins. Number cards are face value, picture cards are worth ten, and the ace can be worth one or eleven—your choice. You get dealt an ace and a picture card—say a queen—that's twenty-one. That's blackjack, and you win automatically."

  "Win what?"

  "Money. If you just plain beat the dealer, you double your money. So if you bet ten bucks, you get your ten back, plus another ten. A blackjack pays even more."

  "Who pays you?"

  "The house."

  "Whose house?"

  "The casino! Quinn, where've you been for the past 22 years?"

  "I've been lots of places." Why was Tim getting so worked up? "I just haven't been in casinos."