Fixer Redux

by Gene Doucette

  Unless there isn’t a bomb, she thought. Then maybe he was in a little trouble. It seemed weird to think of it that way, but it was true. Best-case scenario: there was no bomb, and nobody had just attempted to assassinate a roomful of FBI agents and the deputy mayor, and Corrigan gets arrested for…well, for something. It depended on how gung-ho they were. Worst-case, there was a bomb, and he was right, and then they had to explain to everybody how he knew there was a bomb. That could get awkward.

  David led her past the tent, extracting a pack of cigarettes from his pocket as he went. He took out two and handed one to her without asking or being asked.

  She’d worked with him a lot over the past eighteen months, because he was her primary liaison with BPD while working the local angle on the joint task force. They spent enough hours with one another that the shared act of a cigarette break was automatic. Maggie had ‘quit’, which mostly meant she only smoked when someone else was, and she stopped buying her own packs.

  He extended a flame to her first, and then lit his own.

  “Sorry you didn’t get your moment there, Mags,” he said. “I was watching the live broadcast. That sucked.”

  “There was a live broadcast?” she asked. She just assumed it wasn’t interesting enough for a live cut-in.

  “Local cable news, yeah. It dropped out as soon as you started shouting about a bomb. It’s weird, right? Shout bomb on television, and half the city races towards the scene, while everyone at the scene tried to race away from it. Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay.”

  He rubbed her shoulder when he said this, which was something he tended to do. Dave could get kind of handsy around her, something she noticed he didn’t do with most of the women he worked with. He hadn’t tried anything really hinky, and was harmless enough to get away with the occasional hug, so she’d never called him on it. It probably didn’t hurt that Maggie knew he was married with two kids, and a third on the way, and she’d met his wife more than once.

  “You know, I’m not sure if we can smoke here,” Maggie said. “Aren’t the Commons non-smoking these days?”

  “I’m a decorated police officer and you run the FBI in this town; we can get away with it.”

  “I don’t run the FBI.”

  “Not what I heard,” David said. “Anyway. I’m guessing that’s the boyfriend you told me about, and not some random guy you felt like inviting.”

  “That’s him.”

  “Good. Well, no, maybe not good. It looks like he’s in some trouble here, to be honest.”

  “He’ll be fine. I think I know why I’m not in there. They want his story without the risk that I coach him, I get that. Why aren’t you in there?”

  “For a similar reason. Do you know Detective White?’

  “I don’t think I do, no.”

  “Joe White?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Well there you go. That’s why he’s in there and I’m not.”

  “Because you know me?”

  “And he doesn’t.”

  “Jesus, Dave, what do you think Corrigan did?”

  “Hey, you say he’ll be fine; I’m sure he will be. Everyone just wants to keep this clean. I’m not happy about it either, for the record. They’ve got coffee and doughnuts in there.”

  She laughed.

  “There’s a Dunkin’s a hundred feet that way,” she said.

  “Aah. Doesn’t taste as good when you have to wait in line for it. But seriously.”

  He stepped between her and the tent. It put him in her line of sight and got her attention, because apparently, she’d been staring at the tent.

  “Oh, we’re being serious now?” she asked.

  “Yeah. So, what’s up with…what’s his name? Corrigan?”

  “Corrigan Bain, yes.”

  “Funny name.”

  “It’s his father’s last name and his mother’s last name.”

  “Why did he take his father’s last name?”

  “He didn’t take it, it was given to him. His mother didn’t know the man’s first name.”

  “Right. I bet there’s a great story behind that.”

  “I bet there is. David?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you questioning me? Right now, is that what you’re doing?”

  “Little bit. Sucks, huh?”

  “Kinda does, yeah.”

  “Come on, Mags, think this through. Only two outcomes, right? Either there isn’t a bomb and your boyfriend is a little unstable, or there is a bomb and he’s got something to do with the bomb being there. I don’t see any better explanations.”

  “There is one,” she said.

  “Cool. Do you know what it is?”

  She sighed.

  “Why don’t we see what the bomb squad comes up with first, and take it from there.”

  “Okay, sure. Look, I’m just asking. As a friend.”

  “Oh, good. I’m glad you’re not arresting me today.”

  He laughed.

  “Mags, it’s not like that. I want to help.”

  “I know you probably do, David,” she said. “But right now, you’re pissing me off, so I’m gonna go get a coffee. We can pick this up again later.”

  She dropped the cigarette on the ground and crushed it with her shoe, and then walked off before David could think of something pithy to say.

  They didn’t know exactly what to do with him.

  Corrigan sat in a corner of the tent as police officers of varying rank and significance discussed a number of issues regarding the current situation up the hill. Since it wasn’t a terribly large tent, he could mostly hear everything they discussed at their little card table, except when they were talking about him; then an effort was made to turn away and speak in whispers.

  Nobody told him he was under arrest, so he had no reason to think he couldn’t just get up and leave, except for the two large police officers that flanked him. They looked like the real deal: young, healthy, tall and muscular. Kids, both of them, but probably well-trained ones. They’d probably get in the way of him leaving, and then one of the guys at the card table would pick some charges out of a hat—they clearly didn’t know what crime to charge him with, or they would have by now—and there would be cuffs, and that was just going to be unpleasant for everyone. So, he stayed where he was.

  Corrigan could only guess about half of what was going on, but what he understood was this: the Boston P.D. was running the scene; the bomb squad had been called; they had confirmed that building was fully evacuated; in a few minutes, someone in a bomb suit—or whatever the heck they called it—was going to be entering the hall.

  Aside from the obvious problems he would create for himself if he tried to go home—which he really very much wanted to do—one reason he stuck around was to hear what the bomb squad found in that room.

  A bomb was in there. He was sure of it. But that was all he was sure of. Given everything that happened after he acted, there was clearly more to this story, and maybe that began with what kind of device it was. Hopefully, he’d be privy to the answer to that question.

  After the conclusion of a hushed conversation, one of the plain-clothed officers picked up a chair, dragged it across the ground, and put it down in front of Corrigan.

  “How you doing?” he said. “I’m Detective Joe White. Call me Joe.”

  He extended his hand, which Corrigan took.

  “Corrigan Bain.”

  “Pleasure.”

  Joe White sat. The chair was of the cheap plastic-metal hybrid folding variety, and Joe was a large enough man to threaten the tensile strength of said chair.

  “Can I call you Corrigan?” Joe asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Not one for a lot of talking, I take it.”

  “No. Not usually, no.”

  Corrigan wasn’t certain he had a good grip on where the present was, and that was the real reason he was keeping his responses short. There was also—probably, he couldn’t tell—an unusual pau
se between White’s questions and Corrigan’s responses. He didn’t want to step on what the detective had to say before he had a chance to say it.

  The bomb going off in his future had pretty much wrecked any chance Corrigan had of appearing fully sane and normal for the rest of the day. He knew it, and he knew the only solution was to go home and sit alone for a while, but that wasn’t likely to happen soon. Although the isolation of the tent was helping.

  “Right,” Joe said, rubbing his chin with his hand. “So, I don’t know if you know this, but you’ve caused a real mess.”

  “I didn’t cause it.”

  “Sorry, no, of course not. I misspoke. Look, you’re not under arrest right now, Corrigan, but we’d like it if you stuck around for at least the next half hour, is that okay?

  “What’s happening in the next half an hour?”

  “Well, we have a team heading into the auditorium now, but they’re gonna be out of radio communication. Once they check in, we’ll have more information to work with, and we’re figuring on that being about a half an hour.”

  “Okay,” Corrigan said. “I can stick around. Why are they out of radio communication?”

  “They have a jammer with them,” White said. “It keeps whoever put this hypothetical bomb of yours in the room from setting it off remotely. You know, if it’s that kind of device. Works great, except our guys can’t call out either. Don’t worry, they’ll get word out. Or, you know, kaboom, which is kind of an answer of its own, huh?”

  “That’s smart.”

  “Thank you, yeah, we’re all smart around here. What do you do, Corrigan?”

  “I’m retired.”

  “Is that right? That’s great. We could be the same age. I must not be making the right kind of investments. What’s the secret? Family money?”

  “You could say that.”

  He actually did inherit enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life, provided that life didn’t include purchasing multiple personal jets. But he inherited it from someone to whom he wasn’t a blood relative, so far as he knew. It was a long story, one he wasn’t about to tell Joe White.

  “Nice!” Joe said. “Looks like you’re keeping it humble, too, good for you. Most trust fund kids, right? Bunch of dicks. So, you were here today because your girlfriend was getting an award?”

  White was starting to annoy Corrigan, which he thought was probably intentional.

  “Yes,” Corrigan said. “We’ve known each other for over a decade, to answer your next question. I used to have a job that crossed paths with the FBI, and that’s how we met. That’s to answer the question you were going to follow up with.”

  Joe put his hands in the air.

  “Hey, hey, we’re just talking,” he said.

  “Sure.”

  “Maybe tell me about that job you had.”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  “I bet. Look, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Corrigan, but I’ve done a little digging, and your name turned up in a lot of really weird places. You have a talent for being around when shit happens.”

  “As I said, it’s hard to explain.”

  “My favorite story? A bank robbery where you and your girlfriend stopped a guy with a bomb. You probably think I’m nuts here, but that sounds kind of relevant to where we are right now.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Computers! I had someone downtown run a search on your name, and he sent everything to my phone. Sometimes I hate technology, but not today. Today, I love technology. And we’re computerizing all the files from fifteen years back and older, so maybe there’s more stories about you I haven’t gotten yet.”

  Corrigan remembered the case well enough. It was the first time he and Maggie worked together.

  “That was a different situation,” he said.

  “Maybe so. I’m also told you put up quite a fight with the deputy’s security detail. You have some combat experience, Corrigan?”

  “I know how to handle myself. But I think whoever told you that is probably exaggerating.”

  “Sure. But…”

  He was cut off by someone on the other side of the room. Corrigan was pretty sure that someone was the chief of police.

  “Joe,” was all he had to say, and then Detective White was back at the table, talking quietly. The chief had a phone in his hand.

  When Joe White returned, he had a different demeanor entirely.

  “They found the bomb,” Corrigan said.

  “They did, yeah. How about if you tell me how you knew it was there?”

  “What kind of device was it?”

  “It isn’t on a timer, I can tell you that. They’re saying it’s hooked up to a cell phone.”

  Joe sat back down in the chair. The chair protested.

  “Look,” he said. “Give me something. Tell me you saw a wire sticking out of the podium or saw someone suspicious in the crowd. Give me an idea of what we’re working with here, because buddy, right now I have one suspect and one hero, and they’re the same guy. I don’t like that.”

  “Someone in the crowd?” Corrigan repeated. “Why would you say that?”

  “Did you see someone?”

  Corrigan tried to think back to the moments before the bomb, but his sense memory was stuck on the experience of having his entire body pulverized. He couldn’t recall anything about the crowd at all.

  “I didn’t. I don’t think I did. It doesn’t matter; that isn’t how I knew there was a bomb.”

  “So, tell me.”

  “You’re not going to believe me.”

  “Probably not,” Joe said, “but give it a try.”

  Corrigan sighed.

  “I saw it before it happened,” he said.

  “Saw what before it happened?”

  “The bomb. No, that isn’t right. I felt it go off. I experienced it. Before it happened.”

  “You experienced the bomb go off, before the bomb went off, except the bomb didn’t go off. You’re, what? A dysfunctional psychic?”

  “I don’t understand it either.”

  “Really. Which part.”

  “The part where it went off but it didn’t,” Corrigan said. “It was different somehow.”

  Joe shook his head.

  “This entire conversation’s making my head hurt.”

  “I need to get out of here. Am I free to go?”

  “You have any place to be?” Joe asked.

  “You said a half an hour, or whenever the bomb squad called. They called, and I’m here voluntarily. Are you charging me with something, or can I go?”

  Joe eyeballed the chief on the other side of the tent. Something unspoken passed between them.

  “You can go,” the detective said. “But be easy to get in touch with for a little while. We don’t want to have to call the FBI to get a hold of you. You want an escort home? There could be media.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  White waved to the two strapping young police officers, who stepped aside to let him pass.

  Corrigan walked out into the sunlight, blinked a few times until his eyes adjusted, and took in the scene.

  The day hadn’t gotten any less crowded since he disappeared in to the tent. If anything, it had gotten worse, as people who hadn’t been in the State House had begun to turn up, to bear witness to the slow resolution of the bomb scare. The number of police officers had doubled or tripled, and it looked like if there was a fire in another part of the city, it was going to be a problem, because every firetruck in Boston was at the scene.

  It was so enormously busy, Corrigan felt like he’d stepped out of a sensory deprivation tank into the middle of a rock concert.

  He’d hoped that Maggie would be waiting, so she could help him get home. He desperately needed a few hours in a dark room, alone, to get his head back on straight. Then he could work out precisely what was going on with this bomb thing. Bu
t she wasn’t there.

  He took out his cell phone. Surely, she was nearby; he’d just call her. That was, assuming the frequency jammers White was talking about didn’t reach as far as the tent.

  He was about to hit autodial for her number, when he realized he was staring at someone who didn’t belong there at all. It was a bald man in orange coveralls, looking sort of like a painter who was missing his equipment. What made him-0r it, really—stand out, was that his future wasn’t visible to Corrigan because, unlike everyone else in the Commons, this being actually lived in the future.

  They called themselves Kilroys. And the last time Corrigan saw one, it was trying to kill him.

  The creature locked eyes with Corrigan from a hundred paces away, opened its enormous, shark-like mouth, and began to scream.

  Then, the ground shook.

  What the hell? Corrigan thought. A Kilroy’s shriek was terrifyingly loud, if one happened to be sharing the future with one. It didn’t cause the ground to shake, though, in the present or not.

  There was a lightning flash next—or what looked like one—from inside the State House. It was followed by a loud BOOM, as a dozen windows exploded outward. Corrigan turned to look, and in doing so, lost track of the shrieking Kilroy.

  Car alarms began sounding off all over the place. For about three seconds, nobody in the vicinity moved, as everyone tried to come to grips with what had just happened.

  Then a woman screamed, a siren shrieked, men in uniform began sprinting for the building. Everyone, suddenly had a place to go and a thing to do, and the pandemonium of activity almost brought Corrigan to his knees.

  He hadn’t seen the bomb go off in the future. He hadn’t seen any of this.

  What the hell is going on?

  “CORRIGAN BAIN!”

  Corrigan turned around. Detective White had his gun out.

  “Put the phone down,” Joe shouted, “and get on the ground, NOW!”

  3

  We’re getting a report…that the man last seen in this video, attacking the deputy mayor and an FBI agent, has been taken into custody. We’re trying to confirm this, folks. There’s a lot of chaos right now, as you can imagine…