by Dan Alatorre
Harper snorted, folding his arms over his belly.
“You're stalling.” Barry narrowed his eyes. “You're buying time while the cops come, right? That’s what the phone call was.”
Dr. Harper drummed his fingers on the desk. “It definitely seems like you're running out of time, son. Looks like you're running out of choices, too.” He leaned back in the chair. “Why are you here?”
Barry shifted his weight and pointed at his foot, wincing. “Broken leg, remember?”
“No, why are you here, in this office? Why aren’t you sitting over at x-ray?”
“Your intern was sticking me in a holding tank while you called the cops. That’s why.”
“And now that's probably what I will do. Come on.” Harper motioned to the chair. “Sit down.”
Barry lowered himself onto a chair, keeping his leg stretched out. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.
“The pain is making you sweat. That’s your body’s reaction to the stress.” Harper tapped the desk again. “So, like I asked you, what do you want to try to accomplish here today?”
Barry sighed. “I don't know anymore. I need to get my leg fixed. Then we figure out something from there.”
“Not much of a plan.”
“None of this was planned.” He waved his hand, searching the floor for answers. “It just all kind of exploded on us.”
“Hmm. Welcome to my world.” Harper grinned. “That's what I do here in the ER. Seven or eight hours of complete boredom followed by three or four hours of sheer panic and terror.” He wagged a finger. “But during that time we might save some lives.”
“Well, you can save one right now.”
“How's that?”
Keeping the leg stretched, Barry adjusted on his seat. Nothing helped alleviate the pressure building in his ankle. He glanced at the doctor. “How about ‘First do no harm’?”
Harper frowned. “Don’t play games with me, son. I take my job seriously.”
“I know you do, sir. Anybody can see that. I just need some help. I need my leg fixed so I can get out of here.”
“You need a little more than that. You might need a lawyer.”
“I shouldn't. We didn't really do anything wrong.”
“That's not what the news reports are saying.” Harper dropped his hands onto the leather armrests. “With each update they're making you and your classmates out to be a psychotic band of thieves and arsonists.”
Barry slouched, biting his fingernail. “I bet they are.”
“I was going let you get your leg fixed. Then the police would have taken you into custody. That’s how we do that.”
“That's the whole problem, sir.”
“Why? If you didn't do anything wrong, what do you have to fear from the police?”
“To be honest with you, it's not the police I'm worried about. It's whoever is pulling the strings behind the police.”
Harper narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Barry pushed himself up straight in the chair, glancing around. “Are the police on the way?”
“You need to calm down.”
“Are they? Were you calling them when I came in here?”
Harper raised his hands, spreading his fingers. “I ordered some lunch. Chinese food from the carryout across the street, okay? You need to relax. Trust somebody for a minute. Tell me what happened.”
Barry sighed, shaking his head. “All we did was find this machine on the mining site. You saw us that night—when we brought Riff in. That's it. That’s all we did. We wanted to try it out, and then suddenly there's a press conference and the police are after us and buildings are being burned down.” He rubbed the back of his neck, staring down at his outstretched leg.
“That's… not entirely true.”
Barry thought about it. Rules were broken. Big rules. “I'd say, in the grand scheme of things, we-”
“In the grand scheme of things you feel like you did the least wrong of everyone? Is that about right?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“The grand scheme of things, indeed. Funny how that scheme looks a little less grand, depending on who’s doing the looking. So what would you like from me?”
“Some help.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because…” Barry looked Dr. Harper in the eyes. “Because even when I first met you, I knew you were a little different from the average bear. A cut above. Because you didn’t call the police on us even when you said we were psychos. You knew better.” Gambling, Barry went all in on a long shot. “It’s your training. Your time being an ER doctor told you there was a ring of truth to my story. And if you were going to call the police on me, you’d have done it by now. Or given the code word to the nurse. You didn’t.”
Barry watched Dr. Harper. Harper watched him right back.
“You know I’m telling you the truth.” Barry swallowed. “Help me, please.”
Observing the dirty, tired young man in front of him, Dr. Harper drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. What do you need?”
Barry smiled. “How about a cast for my ankle and a three hour head start before you call the cops?”
* * * * *
“Peeky, Peeky, Peeky, you have been just as busy as a beaver, haven’t you?”
The holding cell at the campus police station was hardly like a jail. It was mostly used for drunken college students that overdid it at a basketball game. It was meant to let kids sleep it off or get a dose of reality before turning them loose or handing them over to the City of Tampa police. There were no iron bars, just the thick wire screen over the windows and doors like the kind on an indoor high school gymnasium. That, and the presence of a lot of uniformed cops was usually enough to sober up a rowdy college kid. Nobody wants to go to real jail.
Findlay sat at the duty desk and chuckled at his good luck. “Peeky, it’s so good to see you. I can’t believe we found you first.”
“What’s going on, Findlay? You can’t just keep me here.” I was scared, but I didn’t expect to see him here. That was unnerving.
“Oh, but I can!” He cackled. “All these nice police officers work for me. Well, Dean Anderson hired them, but I get to call the shots. Can you believe it?”
I had no idea what to say to that. Sitting on the metal cot in the holding cell, Findlay and I could talk, but he was definitely holding all the cards.
“Wanna know what I’ve been up to since you saw me last?” He couldn’t contain himself. “You’ll love this. I hacked Barry’s computer.”
“So? That’s hardly a challenge for a computer science graduate student.”
“I know, right? And he was dumb enough to show me this really cool machine you guys found, and then try to cut me out of the deal. What bullshit. You don’t think that was right, do you?”
I was too scared and confused to answer, but it didn’t matter. Findlay wasn’t listening.
“I really outdid myself this time. Even a bunch of rock busters like you guys can appreciate that.” He bounced up and down in the chair. “I got pictures of course, that first night, when Barry went to take a shower. The guys at MIT loved those.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Then, on my next visit – when all of you dust busters were there patting yourselves on the back—I planted a tracker on the machine and a recorder on Barry’s computer. Right under your noses.”
I tried to appear brave. “So you broke your word right from the get-go, then, didn’t you? Before we figured it out the next day.”
“So what?” Findlay stood up. “I was going to get pushed aside all along. You knew that.” He wagged a finger at me, walking up to the door. “Don’t tell me you wanted me as a partner. I know you guys too well.” His tone changed to anger. “I was in that room, Peeky! Getting punched in the gut.”
He leaned in and sneered, a little saliva hanging from his mouth as he yelled. “Remember? While you sat by and did nothing?”
The door h
eld him at bay. I tried not to show my fear, but my hands were shaking. Findlay was getting out of control and the officers had guns.
Bolton stepped in. “Hey, back it down a couple of notches.” He put his hands on Findlay’s shoulder and guided him away from the holding room door.
Findlay took a breath and collected himself, wiping his chin. “Actually, you didn’t exactly do nothing, did you, Tomàs? Busy little beaver?”
He sat back down at the desk. Officer Bolton positioned himself behind Findlay, maybe as much to be imposing as to intervene again if necessary.
“He dreamed about getting rich.” Findlay sneered. “Didn’t you, Peeky?”
I felt a hollowness shoot through my stomach, like a bolt of fear and lightning.
What did he know?
“I hacked Barry’s computer—that was easy using the recorder. But from there I was able to access all of your computers. Roger’s, Riff’s, Melissa’s and yours. There was almost no security.”
My stomach ached.
“Wanna know what I found?” He chuckled. “Well, a lot of porn on Roger’s computer. No surprise there. Not much of anything on Riff’s.” He turned to me. “You know, I’m not sure that boy’s completely right in the head. He plays a lot of video games and not much else.” Findlay laughed. “I’d say it’s a waste, but is it really? With a bozo like him?”
He stood up and started to pace. “Let’s see. Oh, and Melissa’s computer. That was nice. Hey, did you know a lot of girls take pictures of themselves to see how they look in a new outfit they’re trying on at the store?”
I stared at the floor. Poor Melissa.
“A whole folder of her trying on dresses and jeans. That Missy, she’s a knockout.” He looked at me. “Oh, don’t worry. Nothing explicit. The girl’s too smart for that. She kept it strictly rated G, even when she was trying on bathing suits.” Then he laughed. “Except for the pictures she took with Roger last summer!”
He fell down behind the desk, delirious with laughter. He was drunk on his own power and handling it badly. The wrong person was in the holding cell.
“Hey, I sent some of them to my cell phone. Wanna see?” He stood up, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Check it out.”
The first image was a topless Melissa in her dorm room, wearing only black panties. Her hands covered her breasts – but just barely.
I averted my eyes.
“Aw, what’s the matter? I thought you had a thing for her.” He shoved the phone at me through a slot in the door. It fell on the cot.
“You’re an animal, Findlay,” I said, pressing a button to take Melissa off the screen.
“Oh, Peeky, you have no idea.”
* * * * *
Melissa drove past the Chick-Fil-A. There was nobody in sight. The pre-arranged pickup spot at the pancake house proved fruitless—it was almost empty—so she doubled back to the last place Peeky had mentioned. This was nearly empty, too; unusual for a fast food restaurant near campus.
She drove into the parking lot and glanced around. On the far side was a City of Tampa police cruiser and an officer talking to somebody who appeared to be a manager. Inside, she could see employees but no customers.
Strange.
Melissa slipped on a pair of sunglasses from the truck’s glove box and proceeded to the parking lot of the bank next door. Her cell phone screen brought her the latest news update.
Missing USF Mystery Machine Found.
She already knew that. Did the story have any new information? She scrolled through, reading. The new stories still weren’t publicly naming the suspects.
Charges were now to include arson.
She glanced over her shoulder. The police cruiser was still at Chick-Fil-A.
Near the end of the news story, a mention that the machine would be taken into custody of the U.S. Military. Representatives from MacDill Air Force Base in south Tampa were being scheduled to take the machine into federal custody and move it to the base until further notice.
The air force base? We’ll never get it back once it goes there.
Military officials had not yet determined whether to store it at the old Tampa armory or on site at the base. It would be transferred to the USF Sun Dome for safekeeping and kept under armed guard until morning.
The basketball stadium? Why there?
Why indeed. The Sun Dome was one of the few solid concrete buildings on campus, but since it was a stadium, it had been built to allow trucks to drive in and set up for concerts or monster truck rallies. It had solid walls eighty feet high and a parking lot a quarter mile long in every direction.
It looked like a big fortress, and that’s exactly what the USF officials wanted to portray.
Invulnerability.
Melissa set her phone down and pondered the possible options. If they hadn’t already moved the machine to the Sun Dome, maybe Barry could help her steal it back. Once it got to the Sun Dome, all bets were off.
She glanced over her shoulder. The police cruiser was gone.
There was a rap on her window. Melissa jumped, whipping around to see who was there.
A uniformed police officer stood outside her door, peering in.
* * * * *
“So it turns out, Peeky, that each of your computers was of varying usefulness.”
Findlay began to pace again, a sinister look on his face.
“I don’t think you can just hold me like this,” I said. “You should let me out.”
Findlay grinned like a circus clown. “And we will. You can get out right now if you want.” He turned to Officer Bolton. “Right, Jim?”
“You’re not under arrest, sir.” Officer Bolton motioned to the exit door. “You’re free to leave at any time.”
Nervous energy shot through me again. “I am?” I stood up. “I can go?”
“Peeky, you can go whenever you want. But… don’t you wanna know what I found on the other computers?”
Findlay grinned from ear to ear, pacing. My knees quivered.
“Yeah, it turns out that Barry had a lot of boring stuff on his computer. Well, nothing I cared about anyway. You wanna know where the really interesting stuff was?” He leaned on the edge of the desk like a vulture waiting for a dying animal to stop moving.
I sat back down.
“There was one folder named ‘Paleontology Team.’ I thought that was pretty interesting.” He turned to the officer. “Wanna know whose computer that folder was on, Jim?”
Sweat formed on the palms of my hands.
His sinister gaze returned to me. “At first I thought it was just some run of the mill garbage about collecting rocks—and the other bits of junk these goofballs dig for. But it was a pretty fat file! And the scanning software was specifically looking for references to the time machine.” He waved a hand. “I figured, what the heck. Maybe you wrote down a few notes after talking with Barry. Right? Innocent enough. So I checked. And you know what I found?” He curled his lip into a sneer. “There was a sub folder in there called ‘Time Machine’.”
He walked up to the holding room door. “The thing is, that sub file was dated before your trip to the mine, Peeky. Before Barry ever told you about a time machine.”
I shifted on the cot.
“Now, Tomàs, I had to ask myself a question. How does a guy know to make a file about a time machine before he even knows there is a time machine?”
* * * * *
“Yes, officer?” Her heart in her throat, Melissa cracked the window enough to address the officer without giving him enough space to put his hand through and turn off the engine. The truck was still running so she could speed away if she needed to.
She flashed a brilliant grin and moved her hand to the gear shift.
“Ma’am, are you here for bank business?”
Melissa swallowed, forcing her smile to stay intact. “Excuse me?”
“The lot’s pretty full and the bank manager has asked me to only allow vehicles here on bank business to park today.”
>
She glanced at his uniform. Campus police, not a security guard. She squinted, pretending the sky was too bright, and slipped the sunglasses back on. “No, I’m just checking my messages. I can move.” She dropped the truck into gear. “What’s all the ruckus about, anyway?”
The officer backed up and pointed. “Oh, they’re moving that machine they recovered over to the Sun Dome in a few minutes, and I guess the bank manager thought everybody’d want to try to see it.”
He didn’t seem to know who she was—a good sign. Maybe he knew something, though. “Is it coming by here?”
“I really don’t know, ma’am. Doesn’t seem like it.”
She glanced left and right. “No, it doesn’t, does it?”
“The manager’s a little ramped up if you ask me, but he’s always calling us because people park here when they go eat at Chick-Fil-A and the bank customers can’t get a spot. Just about anything gets a call these days.”
“Okay, well thanks, I’ll be on my way.” Melissa backed the truck up a few feet, then stopped, making it appear as though she had just thought of something.
“You know, officer,” she said, smiling. “It does sound kind of fun to get a look at the big mysterious machine. Can you check to see if it’s been taken to the Sun Dome yet?”
Chapter Twenty
“One hour,” Dr. Harper said. “After we put a cast on your leg.”
Barry kneaded his hands in his lap. “I need at least three.”
“One. And I should remind you, this isn’t a negotiation. You don’t have anything to bargain with.”
Eyeing his swollen ankle, Barry again shifted his weight. The pain was growing worse. “Does the cast dry pretty fast?”
“It’s almost instantaneous. They’re fiberglass. Dry to the touch as soon as we’re done wrapping it and completely hard in a few hours.”
“What about meds?”
Harper opened the office door. “Standard pain killers for a minor fracture. You’ll leave here with some. And a pair of crutches.”
The noise from the ER filled the hallway: phones, conversations, equipment carts being rolled to their destinations. No signs of panic, no sirens, no cops, just business as usual for the bustling hospital.
