The Walls of the Universe

by Paul Melko

  Duderstadt slapped a pile of papers down onto the table.

  “What is this shit?” Duderstadt said.

  “What?” Prime asked.

  “Even your wife didn’t have the combination,” Duderstadt said. “We had to get a cracker in from Detroit to open it.”

  Prime stared at the pile of paper. He saw the newspaper clippings; one from the Findlay Bee was on top. In this universe the Findlay newspaper was called the Gazette.

  “Articles on the mayor, on the council members, plans for crap, bric-a-brac, toys.” Duderstadt spread the material across the table. “And here’s the file I care about, one on Ted Carson. Clippings of him being arrested for killing a cat. Only this never happened.” Duderstadt shook the paper in Prime’s face. “What is this shit?”

  Prime couldn’t help it. He started laughing. “You broke into my safe for some old fake newspaper clippings? What a bunch of idiots.”

  “Fake? These look real.”

  “Real? Whoever heard of the Findlay Sentinel?”

  “What are these for?” Duderstadt cried. He was a deep shade of purple.

  Prime grinned. “A book,” he said. “I’m also a writer. A science fiction murder mystery.”

  “A book.”

  “There’ll be a police detective character, but I think he’ll die early in the narrative.”

  Duderstadt glared at Prime. Then he swept up the materials into his arms and pulled open the door. Eckart stood there.

  “Send him to the pit,” Duderstadt said. “Let him rot there until his lawyer comes and gets him tomorrow.”

  “You got it, hoss,” Eckart said.

  Prime relaxed. Now he could get some more sleep.

  “Hey, Duderstadt,” Prime said.

  The detective turned.

  “Just throw all that junk away,” Prime said. “I don’t need it anymore.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Kyle set up interviews with three lawyers before Christmas, but though all were sympathetic and believed the cases were winnable, none had time to work on them. Though John was depressed, Kyle assured him that someone would take the case.

  “There’s a requirement for pro bono work,” Kyle said. “We just have to find the right lawyer who has the right time to work on this.”

  “Sure,” John said.

  “And even if we don’t find someone before the January fifth meeting, I’ll be there,” Kyle said. “Though I can’t say anything. Or be your lawyer. I can at least be there to make suggestions.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  On Christmas, John drove down to Bill and Janet’s farm. He had small gifts for them, and though they welcomed him warmly and it looked like home, it wasn’t. John left early and drove over to Casey’s street. She had told him to pick her up at three thirty, but it was only one. He parked next to the curb in the slush one block up and sat in his car. He was afraid he was in love with Casey.

  She’d been impressed with the factory, looking it over, commenting on the paint job. She’d played the stand-alone version and said it was fun. But when he’d gone to kiss her, she’d deflected his face with a hand and asked him to take her to the dorms.

  “I have to pick something up,” she said.

  He’d driven her back to Findlay after that.

  “Can I see you again? I’ll be down on Christmas Day to see Bill and Janet,” he’d said.

  She’d looked at him with an odd look that John hoped wasn’t pity. He felt so desperate asking, but looking at her, he couldn’t help himself.

  “Sure, my parents are having an open house. Come by after three thirty,” she’d said. Then she’d pecked him on the cheek and disappeared into the house.

  Colored lights adorned the eaves of the house. The huge pine out front was covered in flashing bulbs, at least as high as Mr. Nicholson’s ladder could reach. Electric candles flickered in each window. There was even a small menorah in an upper-story window. Cars were packed in the driveway, and someone had built a snowman. The rising temperature had exposed swatches of brown grass and forced the snowman to a thirty-degree angle.

  “What am I doing here?” John muttered. He should have been back at the factory. He should have been working on what he would say at the hearing with the Department of Gambling Control. Instead he was here waiting outside Casey’s house.

  He almost drove away. He almost got out and knocked early. Just as he pulled the handle on his door, the front door swung open. There was Casey, in a white fur-trimmed red dress that came halfway up her thighs. Then someone followed her out the door, his arm around her waist.

  John’s heart jerked.

  Jack leaned forward and kissed her. She reached around his neck and held him tightly as she kissed him back. His hand reached around her and under the dress.

  John looked away.

  Then he looked back, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, leaning forward to see through the fogging windshield. He felt sick.

  Jack finally let Casey go and sauntered down the path. He waved once from the end of the walk, then climbed into his car and drove away. Casey watched him the whole way. Finally, she turned and went back inside.

  John, his hands shaking, started his own car and began the solitary, vivid drive back to Toledo.

  The day before the Las Vegas team was to arrive, Grace and Henry returned. The weather had turned suddenly dark and windy. Drifts of snow covered the alley and the Trans Am got stuck. Henry and John spent three hours shoveling the brickwork, only to have it fill in again later that day. Grace spent the same time sweeping the empty factory, throwing cardboard boxes and pallets into the incinerator, and scrubbing the new rust from the old rust. The gas company had agreed to service on credit, and they had the furnace in the basement cranked up to at least ten degrees Celsius.

  “I hope they don’t have to use the bathroom,” she said. “It’s still frozen.”

  “The showroom looks good,” Henry said. And it did. A second coat of paint and two floor lamps had made it seem almost cozy. The bare bulbs were gone, as well as all the cobwebs, and the stove kept that room, if not the whole factory, at a toasty temperature.

  “I hope they can make it in tomorrow,” John said. Sleet pounded against the window. He rubbed the frost off the pane and looked out at the six more centimeters that had covered his car. The alley was empty; John hadn’t mentioned the break-in or the stalking duo to Henry or Grace. It didn’t seem to matter.

  “It’ll clear up-”

  “It’ll clear up-”

  Grace and Henry spoke on top of each other. They glanced at each other and giggled.

  “It’ll clear up by tonight,” Grace said. “They come in this afternoon.”

  Henry put a quarter in the stand-alone and started playing a game lackadaisically.

  “This is growing on me,” he said.

  “See?” John said.

  “With all that capital,” Grace said, “we can afford to heat this place.”

  “We can afford to pay some workers,” Henry said.

  “We could hire a lawyer,” John said.

  “We could buy a decent soldering gun,” Henry said. “And get a decent supply of Plexiglas.”

  “We could hire a salesman,” Grace said. “And a receptionist. And we could have a lunch for everyone’s birthday.”

  “We could countersue Ray,” John said. “We could pay Kyle.” I could buy something for Casey, he added silently. Something more than Jack could ever afford.

  “So the plan is to hang at my apartment,” John said. “They’ll call when they land and rent their car. And then we can go to the factory and meet them there.”

  The snow tapered off by sundown. John drove Steve home and Henry and Grace to the dorms. There was a message from Casey on his machine when he got home.

  “John, sorry you couldn’t make it on Christmas,” she said. “Something come up? Call me.”

  John deleted it and went to bed.

  The phone rang.

  John jump
ed. Grace dropped her book and grinned sheepishly. Henry nodded his head.

  “It’s them,” he said.

  It was ten minutes before the Typhoon Gold people’s plane was supposed to land.

  “They’re early,” John said. He picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hello, is this John Wilson?”

  “Yes, this is he.”

  “This is Brad Urbeniski, Typhoon Gold.”

  “You’ve landed then?” He grinned at Grace and Henry.

  “No, not exactly.”

  “Huh?” They couldn’t be calling from the plane. Weather? The airport was open. Maybe they’d been snowed in somewhere else.

  “We figured we’d give you a call,” Urbeniski said. “We’re not going to make it.”

  “What did they say?” Grace whispered.

  “What? Why not?”

  “We’ve heard that the game has been encumbered.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Someone else has a claim on the technology,” Urbeniski said. “There’s a suit in court. It makes your game less interesting to us.”

  “But that’s all a mistake,” John said. “No one else has a claim on this!”

  “Sure, but until the mistake is fixed, we can’t make an order. You understand.”

  “But-”

  “When the problem is fixed,” Urbeniski said, “we’ll consider another arrangement.” The line went dead.

  “What?!?” Grace cried.

  John placed the phone in its cradle, then sat down on the couch. “They heard about Paquelli’s suit. They won’t make a deal with that hanging over us.”

  “But it’s crap!” Henry cried.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “They can’t do that!” Grace cried. “That was a huge order! That would have made it all right!” She looked close to crying.

  John just shook his head.

  “We’re doomed,” Henry said.

  “We’ll win our case,” John said. “We’ll deal with the city of Toledo. We’ll get another big order.”

  Grace said, “I don’t think so. This was a stupid idea!” She stormed off to the bathroom.

  Henry looked on in surprise. John couldn’t blame her. This was all his fault for getting them into this. He remembered then the card he’d gotten from that guy at Woodman’s. What was his name? Visgrath? Ermanaric Visgrath? He’d been weird looking and he’d acted funny. But he’d wanted to invest. He’d probably be as leery as Typhoon Gold was. Where was that card?

  There was a bowl of crap on his kitchen counter, next to his keys and his wallet. He dug through it, tossing aside receipts and pieces of paper.

  “Here it is,” he said. The business card was crumbled and folded, but the name and number were still visible.

  “What?” Henry said.

  “What if we got an investor?” John said. “What if someone would fund us?”

  “You want to bring someone else in?”

  “They have money, and we don’t.”

  “Yeah, but…” Henry seemed to consider it.

  “We’re not only going to lose it all,” John said. “We’re going to lose it to Ray Paquelli.”

  Henry gritted his teeth, as if he found the idea abhorrent. “I dunno.” He glanced at the bathroom door.

  John picked up his phone, then put it back down.

  “Should I call?” he said. “Should I find out if they’re still interested?”

  Henry shrugged.

  John felt a moment’s anger at Henry’s ambivalence. He picked up the phone and dialed the number.

  “Mr. Visgrath’s office,” a male voice answered after the first ring.

  “This is John Wilson. Mr. Visgrath gave me his number…”

  “Ah, yes, the Pinball Wizards,” the voice said. “Just a moment.”

  “They remember us,” John answered.

  “Why would they remember us?” Henry asked.

  A deeper voice spoke into the phone. “Mr. Wilson, so good of you to call. What can I do for you?”

  “You-You said you’d be interested in financing our pinball machines.”

  The door to the bathroom opened and Grace came out looking perplexed.

  “Who’s he talking to?” she whispered.

  “Investors.”

  “Yes, we’re interested, though your circumstances have changed, have they not?”

  “How so?” John asked.

  “The lawsuit, of course, by Raymond Paquelli,” Visgrath said. “And the problems with the city of Toledo.”

  How could everyone know their business so easily? John wondered. How had Typhoon Gold and Ermanaric Visgrath both learned of it?

  “Those things will go away in no time.”

  “So you say.”

  “They will,” John said. “Paquelli is grasping at straws and the city thing will be cleared up next week.”

  “But orders are down,” Visgrath said. “And time is short for you.”

  “Are you interested or not?” John asked.

  “We are.”

  “On what terms?”

  “For fifty-five percent of the stock of the company, we will give you capital of two million dollars,” Visgrath said.

  Two million!

  “Hold on,” John said. He set the phone down on the back of the couch and motioned Grace and Henry over. “He’s offering two million for fifty-five percent of the company.”

  “That’s a majority,” Henry said loudly.

  John shushed him. “But two million is huge!”

  “We could do everything we wanted,” Grace said.

  “But we’re giving up ownership.”

  John realized Henry was right. He picked up the phone.

  “We don’t want to give up ownership,” John said.

  “That’s not negotiable,” Visgrath said.

  “Why not?”

  “Look at it from our perspective,” he said. “We are investing a huge amount of cash in a company run by three teens without college degrees. We must maintain control of the company in case the situation deteriorates.”

  It made sense, but John was reluctant.

  “I don’t know.”

  “We have no interest in running the day-to-day aspects of the corporation,” Visgrath said. “You have shown remarkable capability so far, but we must have assurances, and a minority share for us is not any assurance.”

  “We’ll want more cash,” John said.

  “We’re willing to raise our offer to four million, but no more.”

  John raised his eyebrows. “We’ll have to think about it.”

  “Of course. I’d expect no less.” Visgrath cleared his throat. He seemed suddenly distracted. “You have my number. Of course, the sooner the better, for you as well as me. Money makes a lot of problems disappear. Good-bye.”

  John hung up the phone.

  “Who was that?” Grace demanded.

  “You spoke with him,” John said. “Visgrath. Ermanaric Visgrath. He was at one of the tournaments. You sent him my way, and he gave me his card.”

  “Yeah, just to get rid of him,” Grace said.

  “What kind of name is that?” Henry muttered. “Visgrath.”

  “We’re not taking any offer!” John shouted. “We’re just looking at options. We can walk away, we can fight city hall on a shoestring budget, or we can take their four million and hire the big guns.”

  “Four million!”

  “It was just two million,” Grace said.

  “The fifty-five percent is nonnegotiable,” John said. “But the cash part wasn’t.”

  Grace sat down on the couch heavily. Her shoulders sagged. “This is all too much in one day. Too much.” Her eyes were still bloodshot. John almost went over to her, but he recalled suddenly the drunken revelation of her feelings. And before he did, Henry took a step, stopped, then stepped toward her to place a hand on her shoulder. Grace suddenly sobbed and grabbed his hand.

  “What should we do?” she said, her voice breaking.


  John shrugged heavy shoulders. “I dunno.”

  Henry just shook his head.

  “I don’t-,” John started to say. He stopped, swallowing. “I don’t want to lose it all. And if that means asking for help from, from… professionals, so be it. We’re just kids. We don’t know how to run a company. Ermanaric Visgrath does. So they want something in return. So be it. But we’ve gone from nothing to four million dollars in four months.”

  “So you want to do it,” Grace said.

  “I don’t want to lose it.”

  “I don’t either!” Grace cried. “But… but…”

  They were silent for a while. Finally, Henry said, “Let’s do it.”

  “What?” Grace said.

  “How often does a chance like this come along?” he said. Grace shook off his hand. A stricken look passed across Henry’s face, but he continued, “Four million dollars to build a company. We can do… everything we want to do.”

  Grace grabbed her coat.

  “Fine,” she said.

  “I’ll drive you home,” Henry said.

  “No, I want to walk,” she said. The door slammed behind her.

  John shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll call him tomorrow and arrange it.”

  …

  “It’s like this,” Kyle said. “You have three people on the board, and they have four. They can fire Grace as CEO any time they want and elect one of themselves to the position. But the day-to-day stuff they aren’t involved in.”

  John and Henry were in the basement of the law building again, where Kyle was examining the investment agreement Ermanaric Visgrath had sent over. Again the Bench was filled with law students. John wasn’t sure if they ever took a break.

  “So they ultimately control it all,” Henry said.

  “No, they control fifty-five percent,” Kyle said. “All that means is that if they wanted to they could force a new chairman of the board and a new CEO. You see, investment companies like this don’t want to run your company if it’s doing well. They want to make money. But they want the reassurance that if you screw it up, they can step in and take over.”

  “That’s why they won’t budge on fifty-five percent,” John said.

  “Exactly.”

  “So,” John said. He glanced at Henry, who shrugged. “So, what do we do?” John finally said.