The Walls of the Universe

by Paul Melko

  “We should do this every weekend,” Grace said, her voice slurred from alcohol. She leaned heavily against John. “I love organizing these things.”

  “You did a good job.” The music blared from the jukebox, and he felt her hopping to the beat. It reminded him of the dance he’d gone to with Casey. It seemed a long time ago. He hadn’t seen her since the Burger Chef, and that was fine with him.

  Grace must have been thinking about Casey too, because she said, “John, I didn’t bring it up ’cause of Casey and that.”

  John looked at her. “Bring what up?”

  She looked away. “I wanted to let you get over it.”

  “Grace, what do you mean? It was last week.”

  “I love you, John.” She finally looked him in the eye.

  He recoiled from her, and her face fell.

  “I’m sorry,” she cried, and fled, running back toward the bar.

  John stood stunned for a moment, then followed her, jumping down the three steps to the sidewalk, but she had disappeared into the street.

  “Damn it all.” He sat at the bar, which was relatively quiet compared to the back room.

  “Hey, John,” Lou said.

  “Hey, Lou. Give me a Coke.”

  “Sure.” He poured it and then leaned close. “I want to let you know something.”

  “Twice in ten minutes,” John sighed.

  “Ray had a few people in to look at the pinball machine. Arcade people. I didn’t eavesdrop or anything, but he was talking about selling it out from under you.”

  “What?” John stood up.

  “Calm down,” Lou said. “Sit. You didn’t hear it from me, but you need to protect your interests.” He slid John’s money back at him. “This one’s on the house.”

  John drank the Coke, struggling to sort his thoughts. Grace… loved him. Ray was trying to steal the pinball machine. John’s mind couldn’t get around either problem.

  Henry came out of the back, his arm around the guy who had beaten him in the tournament.

  “Hey, John!” Henry called. “Did you meet Steve? This guy is good.”

  “Yeah, I met him.” Both of them were drunk, and John realized that Steve was underage, even for this universe. “Steve, you better crash at my place tonight. That okay with your parents?”

  He nodded, looking a bit nauseated.

  “Henry, we need to meet tomorrow. Tell Grace.”

  Henry mock-saluted him. Drunk, Henry wasn’t so dour.

  “Come on, Steve. You should have celebrated in moderation.”

  “I know,” he gasped, his face white.

  Grace wasn’t at the meeting, but Steve had tagged along. They met in the empty lab bay.

  “Where’s Grace?” Henry asked.

  John shrugged, but he assumed she was avoiding him. He hadn’t given the question of her feelings much thought. He liked Grace, but he couldn’t say he felt any sexual attraction for her. She was a friend, with many bizarre qualities. And frankly, he now had no interest in another relationship with any woman in this universe. Not after Casey.

  “So, here’s what I know. Ray is trying to sell the machine to an arcade company.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Henry said. “Let’s go get it right now.”

  “Hold on,” John said. “He doesn’t know we know.”

  “You can’t let him steal it,” Steve said. “That game is the greatest thing since… since… I don’t know what. It may be the greatest thing ever.”

  “Here’s the thing,” John said. “The machine is just so much equipment. Losing it would be bad. But what we really need to protect is the technology.”

  “We need to patent it,” Henry said.

  “Right.”

  “How much does that cost?” Henry asked.

  “Does it matter?” John asked.

  “I guess not.”

  “And I think we need to form a corporation,” John said. “For our own protection. Like you said.”

  “Can I work for you guys?” Steve said. “I have some ideas. I can help too. I’m good with a soldering gun.”

  “The corporation is not yet ready to hire employees, Steve,” John said. “But we’ll keep your résumé on file.”

  “Thanks!”

  “Should we pull the pinball machine out?” Henry asked. “It would hurt us to lose it. The stuff we did could be reverse engineered. Any electrical engineer could figure it out.”

  “But it doesn’t matter if we have a patent, I think,” John said. “If we pull it, we lose the revenue. We may need to pay an attorney.”

  “We could put it somewhere else,” Henry said. “At seventy-thirty like we should have in the first place.”

  “Ray will not be a happy man,” John said.

  “He can’t stop us,” Henry said. “We didn’t sign a contract. We own the machine. By word of mouth we can fill up any place we put the device around campus.”

  “You guys should open your own arcade,” Steve said. “Right next to the high school.”

  John said, “Here’s the plan. Tomorrow, I’ll find a lawyer who can help us. Henry, you scout out some of the other bars around campus and see if we can get another place to put the machine. Steve, can you watch the bar to see if anyone tries to mess with the machine?”

  “Sure. I’ve got a fake ID.”

  “Steve, you’re five foot one,” John said.

  “Lou’ll let me in. And I won’t drink.” He looked suddenly queasy. “Never again.”

  John called Grace’s dorm room, but no one picked up. He would have gone over to see her, but Casey’s room was on the same floor and he didn’t want to chance running into her. Grace wasn’t in the lab, since he had just come from there. He tried the library, and found her reading a paperback at a study desk.

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  “Hey.” She didn’t look up from the book. John pulled a chair over and sat beside her.

  “Grace, you’ve turned into my best friend,” he said.

  “Don’t say it,” she said. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Grace, you’re my best friend,” he said again, taking her hand. “There was a reason I should never have gotten involved with Casey, and that same reason applies to you.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “I’ll tell you why someday, but till then we’ve got to stay just friends.”

  Grace wiped a tear from behind her glasses. “I was just drunk, John. It didn’t mean anything.”

  John let the lie slide.

  “We’ve got a crisis, by the way.”

  She sat up, her eyes bright and wet. “Oh, I love a good crisis. Do tell.”

  Henry found a bar on Secor Avenue called Adam’s All-Star Cavalcade that would take the pinball machine for seventy-thirty. The manager had heard about it and one of his bartenders had played in the last tournament, losing to Steve in the first round.

  They met on the next Monday in the lab bay to plan the extraction.

  “Ray leaves by ten each night. Lou or someone else closes up. We can be there late, then take it out the door,” Grace said.

  “Will Lou help us?” Grace asked.

  “What do we do with the machine then?” Henry asked.

  “Bring it back here,” John said.

  “Take it to Adam’s right away,” Grace said.

  “All the bars close at the same time,” John pointed out.

  “So we leave it in a pickup truck until the next day.”

  “In the open?” Grace said. “No way.”

  “Here,” Henry said. “No one will bother it.”

  “Sounds good,” John said. “So here’s the revised plan: Tonight we close Woodman’s and we take the machine with us. We drive it to the lab. Then tomorrow we drop it off at Adam’s All-Star Cavalcade.”

  “It’s a plan,” said Grace.

  They were yawning by twelve but managed to stay awake until closing time, drinking Cokes and eating tortilla chips. Lou wasn’t working that night; another bartender,
Chip, was closing the place. But Ray left by ten as usual.

  “Cha-ching!” he cried as he passed them on the way out.

  “Yeah,” Henry said. “You said it.”

  At ten to one, the bartender yelled, “Last call.” But the place was empty except for a couple career drunks. No one was playing pinball.

  “Let’s go,” John said.

  They went in back, unplugged the machine, and lifted it.

  “God, it’s heavy.”

  They maneuvered it down the steps and past the bar.

  “What the fuck you doing?” Chip yelled. “Put that back.”

  “We need to make some repairs,” John gasped. “We’ll have it back tomorrow.”

  “No way!” Chip stepped around the bar to block their way. Grace, on a front corner, set her side down and kicked him in the shin. As he bounced away holding his leg, they pushed the machine through the door.

  It took them five minutes to load it, but it took Ray four to run down the block from his house, dressed in a robe that flapped behind him.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he yelled.

  “Taking our machine,” Henry said.

  “Put it back, now.”

  “No,” John said.

  “I’ve called the police.”

  “Why? It’s our machine.”

  “Listen, we had a deal, you stupid fucks,” he said, trying to climb up onto the truck bed.

  John grabbed his shoulder and set him back down on the sidewalk gently. “We know you tried to sell us out, Ray.”

  His mouth slapped shut. “I was trying to make you guys a deal. Do you know how much money this thing is worth?”

  “Make us a deal?” Henry cried. “That’s a load of bull.”

  “Sorry, Ray. Our deal is finished,” John said.

  Grace climbed into the front, while John steadied himself and the machine in back. Henry started the truck and drove away.

  CHAPTER 26

  John Prime watched the late November snow fall from his corner office in the McClintock Building in downtown Toledo. The production reports were on his desk, above the sales projections, and he needed to review them before he went home to Casey. To their new house in Sandburr. In his new Unic XK.

  Prime grinned at the partial reflection in the mirror. Everything he’d ever wanted he had now. Not exactly according to plan, but here he was, president of a corporation, marketing one of his “inventions.” In just two months, he’d gone from murder suspect to corporate wheeler-dealer.

  He should have been going over the reports, but he was still flying from the marketing meeting. They’d managed to get the kid on Late Night with Garofalo. That’s all they’d need. Just sixty seconds of the kid solving the Cube, a “wow” from Garofalo and her sidekick, Nealon, and every kid in the world would want a Cube. It was selling, sure, but it wasn’t the sure-fire hit he’d hoped. There were a dozen other toys kids in America were asking for instead of the Cube. But with a month until Christmas, they could still have the stores stocked nationwide. He hoped.

  He turned back to the production reports.

  Prime opened the first folder and his phone buzzed.

  “Mr. Rayburn, a Mr. Ismail Corrundrum on line one,” Julie said.

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Corrundrum, sir. Says he knew you when you were a kid. Says it’s important.”

  Prime rolled the name around on his tongue. It didn’t ring any bells, but who knew who Johnny Farm Boy had in his past? Prime glanced from the reports to the blinking light. He didn’t really want to go over the reports.

  “Hello?” he said. “This is John Rayburn.”

  “It’s not 1980,” a voice said.

  “What?”

  “It’s not 1980. The Cube is usually out by 1980. You are late by twenty-five years.”

  “Who is this?”

  “A fellow traveler,” the voice said. “Apparently.”

  “What are you talking about?” Prime said, pretending to be as confused as possible. But inside he was cold. The man on the line was implying he knew the Cube was the result of cross-universe movement. He knew about traveling across universes.

  “You’re going to attract a lot of attention,” the voice said. “Good thing I found you first.”

  “I’m hanging up, you crackpot,” Prime said. He slammed down the phone. “Julie!” His assistant stuck her head in. “No more calls from Corrundrum!”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  He glanced at the reports again. Now he was definitely in no mood for them. He pulled on his coat and gloves. It was late enough that the roads would be clear. The snow wasn’t sticking; it was still too warm, but Prime guessed that the thought of snow alone was enough to snarl all of rush hour.

  He took the elevator down to the parking garage. The Unic beeped to life, its engine starting from afar as he stepped off the elevator.

  A man leaned against the car. He hadn’t even bothered to move when Prime had unlocked it with the remote. For a moment Prime thought it was Corrundrum, but then he realized who it was: Vic Carson.

  “I have a restraining order against you,” Prime said. He reached for his cell phone. “I’m calling security.”

  “Sure, if you can get a signal down here.”

  Carson pushed off heavily from the car with his buttocks. Prime saw he carried a crowbar in his left hand. It swung loosely from his ham fist.

  “But I doubt you’ll get a signal, and if you do, I bet the call won’t go through.”

  He whipped the crowbar through the air.

  Behind Prime five meters, the elevator door slammed shut. Prime turned and lunged at the call button, but the elevator was already gone.

  Carson slammed the crowbar against a concrete beam. It rang out.

  “If the police aren’t going to do something, I will,” Carson said. He staggered, then took a step toward Prime. Carson was drunk, but even so, Prime was half his weight and unarmed. If the crowbar touched him, it would break a bone.

  “Your son just ran off,” Prime cried. It was the story he’d been telling himself for so long, he almost believed it.

  “He wouldn’t a done that.”

  Carson lunged, and Prime jumped back.

  “You’re a fool. If the police had evidence, they’d arrest me.”

  “Police are the fools. They been bought off, with your fancy money.”

  “That’s just your sorrow talking,” Prime said. “I know you feel like you lost a son. But don’t take your anger out on me.”

  Carson stumbled to a stop, his shoulders stooped. He seemed to consider this. Then he grunted. “Ain’t coming back. Neither are you.”

  Prime leaped back from the horizontal swing. He dropped his briefcase and the papers spilled out. Carson swung again, and the blow glanced off Prime’s forearm. He grunted and stumbled back. Carson was on him, trying to beat him down with the crowbar.

  Prime kept going backward, away from the elevator and away from his car.

  Prime ran up against something, a car. He tried to dodge to the left, toward his own car, but Carson blocked the way. Prime was forced right, deeper into the maze of cars and empty spots, away from the elevator.

  Prime turned and ran, circling a car, putting it between him and Carson.

  Carson leaped over the hood of the car, and Prime was again face-to-face with the man.

  The blow caught Prime in his temple, and he staggered back, almost falling. The next swing caught his thigh. He cried out. His stomach erupted bile and acid. His thigh was jelly. Dizzily his body shuddered toward the wall. There was nowhere to go.

  The elevator dinged.

  Carson stared, expecting someone to come off the car, but it was empty.

  Prime realized it was the car he’d called.

  He took a step toward the elevator and Carson ran to intercept.

  But Prime was feinting. He ran toward his car instead, to the opposite side.

  Carson swung, but too late.

  P
rime’s dress shoes skidded on the concrete as he reached the Unic. Falling, he slammed his head against the car door. The concrete was icy cold; he clawed at the door handle, but his angle was off.

  Prime pulled himself up, his shoulder blades itching. He yanked the door open and slid into the seat, slamming the door shut behind him.

  The crowbar smashed into the car window. It starred, obscuring the image of Carson.

  Prime dropped the car into gear and pulled through his spot, leaving Carson to swing wildly at his taillights. He ran over his own briefcase as he accelerated toward the gate. Curse words formed on Carson’s lips, but Prime couldn’t hear anything.

  Shaking, exhilarated, he drove up the ramp, through the gate, and onto the downtown streets of Toledo.

  He didn’t even remember his drive home, whether the streets were full of early evening commuters or clear. He didn’t remember if the snow was falling or not. He hadn’t bothered calling the police, so he was confused when he saw the cop prowler in his driveway.

  Someone must have found my briefcase, Prime thought. The police were there to check up on him.

  He pulled into the garage, sliding past the patrol car. As he stood up from his car, a hand grabbed his arm.

  “Mr. Rayburn, step out of the car.”

  “It was just Vic Carson, violating the restraining-”

  “Put your hands on the top of the car, please.”

  Prime twisted around to look at the officer. His partner stood behind him with a hand on his gun.

  “What’s going on?”

  The officer used his hip to push Prime against the car. Prime splayed his hands on the roof. Snow slid between his fingers. The cop cuffed his right hand, brought it behind him, and cuffed the left.

  “John Rayburn, you are under arrest for the murder of Theodore Carson. You have the right-” Prime tuned out as he was Mirandized, thinking to himself, They’ve found the body. I’m doomed. I can’t let them drag Casey into this.

  An officer on each arm, they guided him to the car. Casey shot out of the door and grabbed Prime’s head.

  “Mrs. Rayburn, please.”