The Navigators (15 page)

Who’s Howard Jones, Barry? Let’s find out.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

Findlay heard the purring of the phone in his ear. He also heard a land line phone ringing somewhere else. He pulled the cell phone away and listened. The phone next door was ringing. Jones; Jonesy. Howard Jones must be Denise Jones’s father. He walked a few feet to the wall separating the two apartments and leaned into it.

A voice came through Findlay’s cell phone. “Hi, this is Denise…”

He held his breath and leaned against the wall. The ringing had stopped. He thought he could hear a woman’s recorded voice asking him to leave a message at the beep.

And through the wall, he heard a faint beep.

Good God. I called the apartment next door. The machine – and Barry – might be right on the other side of this wall.

Careful Findlay. Think about your next move. Don’t scare them. Do they know I’m over here? Maybe. Do they know I’m calling next door? They might, if they have caller ID.

Holy shit, what do I do?

Flush them out. Get them to leave that apartment. They’ll either leave with the time machine or leave without it.

How do I make them do that?

He quietly paced Barry’s living room and stopped at the sliding door, gazing out to the building across the lawn. It was the same layout as this one. One staircase up, small windows, a balcony.

Then his eyes rested on the grill on Barry’s balcony.

And the charcoal. And the lighter fluid.

They’ll definitely leave if they think the building is on fire.

He went to the front door. Outside, mounted on the wall between the apartments, was the red pull handle box for the fire alarm.

Findlay nearly jumped up and down at the sight. He tiptoed back to the desk and gathered his things to retreat to his car.

I need some backup. I don’t need to confront Barry by myself. Couldn’t hurt to have the cops take him into custody for stealing the university’s property, though.

He pulled out his cell phone again.

“Herb, it’s Findlay. I’m at Barry’s apartment.” He walked over to the pull station by the downstairs apartment doors. “You’ll want to get over here, and bring some campus security with you—some big guys Barry won’t want to fuck with.”

“Is the time machine there?” Dean Anderson asked.

“We’re about to find out. What’s the penalty for pulling one of these fire alarm things when there’s not a fire?”

“$25,000 and expulsion if you get caught.”

Findlay glanced at the apartment building. “Then I’d better not get caught. You’ll need to cover me for that.”

Then he yanked the little box open and pulled down the handle, causing the fire alarm siren to blare.

It was louder than he expected. He rubbed his fingers together. They were covered in a sticky yellow goo that would show the fire fighters whoever had pulled the alarm. The handle had been painted with fluorescent grease on the back side to not tip off drunken partygoers. Findlay calmly walked back to his car for a napkin.

One by one, the apartment doors opened. Curious student residents meandered out, checking to see if anything was really on fire. They were used to false alarms—pranks, usually, by partying residents.

Findlay watched. Nobody came out of Jones’ unit.

Crap
.

He hadn’t thought about false alarms. Maybe they’d just sit inside and ride it out. But if they weren’t there, surely the machine still would be. He wiped off the paint he could remove, seeing his fingers stained bright yellow. A quick hand check of the crowd would identify him as the culprit. He shoved his hand in his pocket.

A few other doors opened. Residents gathered near Findlay and stared at the building.

Findlay trained his eyes on Jones’ door. In a few minutes, fire trucks would be showing up. He began to get nervous. They were off campus. If the firefighters arrived before Dean Anderson, Findlay might get arrested by Tampa police, not university cops. Anderson might not have the clout to help him then.

On the other hand, if it wasn’t a false alarm, anybody holed up in there would come out.

The whine of distant fire truck sirens grew louder as they approached. The apartment alarm continued to blare.

“Findlay!”

He turned. Dean Anderson ran up to him. “What the hell’s going on? Where’s the time machine?”

“It’s still inside. They’re not coming out with it.”

“Are you sure it’s in there?”

“Pretty fucking sure.”

“
Pretty
sure?”

Findlay nodded. “Herb, I need a favor.”

“Haven’t I done enough? This is getting serious now.”

“Oh, Herb—we’re just getting started.” Findlay put his hand on Anderson’s shoulder. “When the fire department gets here in a minute, tell them that a brave hero named Chris Findlay went into the burning building to rescue people from the flames.”

Dean Anderson eyed the building. “I don’t see any flames.”

Findlay smiled. “Give me a minute.”

He ran up the steps to Barry’s apartment, walked to the balcony, and inspected the charcoal and lighter fluid for the grill. “Simple grill fire gone wrong,” he said. “Happens all the time.” Then he opened the sliding door.

The fire trucks rolled up, honking at students to clear a path. As they surveyed the scene, they couldn’t help but notice a lack of smoke and flames.

“Where’s the fire?” A firefighter asked the gathered students. He was met by a lot of shrugs.

Findlay grabbed the lighter fluid and stepped inside, squirting it everywhere. On the grill, on the carpet, and on Barry’s computer. He casually knocked over the bag of charcoal and doused it with lighter fluid, too. The chemical solvent smell hit his nostrils and woke him up to the reality of what he was doing. He glanced around for a match.

* * * * *

“Professor, do you know what’s going on?”

Dean Anderson turned to address the fire captain. “I don’t know that I do, no.”

“Have you seen any flames or smoke, sir?”

“Give it a minute.”

“Excuse me?”

The Dean caught himself. “I think one of these upstairs units had something coming out of it. That’s why they pulled the alarm.”

“You saw who pulled the alarm?”

“Ah, no. He called me.”

The fire captain leaned in to Dean Anderson. “Sir, are you saying that somebody went back inside a burning unit?”

Anderson watched the building. “I think so, yes.”

Aggravated, the captain placed his hand on his hips. “Would you mind telling me which unit that was?”

* * * * *

Upstairs, Findlay stared at the long nose of the grill lighter. With a snap, a blue butane flame appeared out the end. He squatted and lowered it to the fuel-soaked carpet. With a loud whoosh, bright yellow flames leaped from the floor, forcing him to close his eyes and back away. The fire raced from the sliding door to the desk, engulfing everything in its path: the grill, the charcoal, and the computer.

He blinked in the sudden heat, squinting as he admired his handiwork. The apartment was burning nicely. Not at all like on TV. No smoke, really; just nice clean flames.

That changed soon enough. The plastic in the carpet melted as the lighter fluid burned off. Thick reams of black smoke surged into the air. The burning curtains sent flames sprawling across the ceiling where they danced. Smoke worked its way from the walls to the center and then downward.

I guess I should be going.

He crouched, glancing at the front door. Smoke poured out of it.
That should be enough for the fire department to see it wasn’t a false alarm.
He was excited, not scared. A small line of burning carpet barred his way to the door. He stepped over it and turned to survey the room. Patches of carpet burned. The two side walls were completely engulfed and the ceiling was smoking nicely. The couch was starting to smolder.

Mission accomplished. The adjoining apartment should be filling with smoke soon, and then he’d have the time machine.

Dean Anderson pointed over the Fire Captain’s shoulder. “There’s our hero now.” Findlay emerged from the smoking apartment and came down the stairs. The fire fighters had arranged their equipment, spraying the building with water.

Anderson beamed. “Mr. Findlay, thank God you’re safe.” Then under his breath he whispered, “Arson? Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Findlay ignored the comment. “Do you have a hanky?”

Anderson pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. Findlay held it to his nose and blew, leaving two black snot smudges in it. He stared at it for a moment. “Herb, this machine is worth millions. Keep your eyes on the prize.” He handed back the handkerchief. “Thanks.”

Then he walked to the steps and waited.

Steam rose from the places the firemen sprayed, but black smoke still poured from the apartment. Next door, nothing was happening. Maybe it hadn’t worked. Still, anybody inside wouldn’t know that. They’d smell the smoke and maybe see the fire trucks. They wouldn’t likely risk their lives.

On the other hand, a little prompting couldn’t hurt.

“Barry!” Findlay stepped toward the building. “It’s all over! The place is on fire! Come on out.”

Some smoke began to seep from the roof over Jonesy’s apartment. Things had to be heating up inside.

“Barry, I know you can hear me! Open the door and come out. It’s getting dangerous.”

Findlay watched as the door opened. A small cloud of smoke was sucked inside. Then a stream of smoke poured out the top of the door. There was coughing. One person ran out, then another. They were met on the stairs by fire fighters.

Neither looked like Barry.

“Findlay, you idiot!” Anderson hissed. “He’s not even in there.”

“He’s in there.” Findlay was resilient. He stared at the door, willing Barry to emerge.

A small yellow pickup truck pulled up and stopped behind the trees just past the apartment building.

“It’s now or never, Barry. Give up or lose everything.”

There was more coughing from inside the apartment.

Here we go.

After a few thumps, the time machine slid into the doorway. Then the sliding door opened onto the side balcony. A stream of smoke billowed out.

Barry walked out onto the balcony. His face was marred with soot and his hair was disheveled. “Findlay! You can have me or the machine. Not both.” He gestured to the front door. “It’s right there. Don’t let it burn.”

As Findlay and Dean Anderson sprinted up the staircase after the time machine, Barry put one leg over the balcony then the other. He squatted a little, then he jumped.

He landed with an awkward thud. Glancing around, Barry limped off toward the nearby tree line.

In Jonesy’s doorway, Findlay and Anderson looked at the machine. Smoke was coming out fast. “Grab a rail and pull,” Findlay said.

With one or two tugs, they had it out. “Just slide it down the stairs, Herb. On its rails.” Findlay walked in front, guiding the machine backwards as Dean Anderson lowered it from behind.

“We’re on you,” called a fireman. He turned a cooling spray onto the steps.

At the bottom of the staircase, Findlay checked around. Barry was gone.

Chapter Eighteen

M
elissa turned the yellow pickup sharply around a corner, squealing its wheels and sending up a spray of dust. “Sheila, meet Barry. Barry, this is my friend Sheila.”

The two occupants acknowledged each other while holding on for dear life. The three of them were crowded into the front seat.

“Can you tell me why I’m not driving my own car?” Sheila asked, grabbing the dashboard. Barry fumbled for a seat belt.

Melissa smiled. “Simple, hon. If we get caught, you can say you were kidnapped. No federal charges.”

“Oh, fuck. That sounds serious.”

Barry coughed. “I’d say it is.”

Sheila glanced at him. “You know, you’re cute but you stink.”

He nodded. “I need to quit smoking.”

“You can say that again.”

“No, I mean literally. I just escaped a burning building. I may be on fire. Can you check?”

“Good God, the boy
is
on fire.” She slapped at some of the smoking parts of Barry’s shirt. “What the hell have you gotten me into, Melissa?”

“That’s a good point.” Melissa hit the brakes. “Get out.”

“What!” Sheila’s jaw dropped as she glared at her friend. “You’re gonna throw me out of my own car? I don’t even know where we are.”

Melissa pointed to a nearby street sign. “This is an access road that runs near the interstate. It’ll dump you onto Fowler Avenue by the pancake house. By the new hotel they built.”

“So? I’m not getting out! You borrowed my car, you can’t throw me out.”

“Sheila, we’ve been friends since sophomore year. You know you can trust me. Barry and I are in big trouble. You’ll be happy later if you aren’t seen with us.”

“Fine, bitch. Then take me back to my apartment. I’m not walking.”

Melissa reached over and hugged her. “Oh, sweetie, I would. I hate to do this to you. But the less you know, the better. It’s not safe. Our lives may be in danger.”

Sheila returned the hug. “Melissa, you’re scaring me. What kind of trouble are you in?”

“The kind where they burn down your apartment to get you out,” Barry said. “That kind.”

“So I’m supposed to just stroll on home? In this heat?”

A moment later Melissa had pushed Sheila over Barry’s lap and out the door.

“This isn’t right!” She stomped her foot on the hot pavement. “You can’t throw somebody out of their own car after you ask to borrow it!” As the pickup sped away, Sheila placed her hands on her hips. “And you better leave me some gas money, bitch!”

Barry glanced at Melissa. “Will she turn us in?”

“No. Besides, she doesn’t know where we’re going.”

He grimaced as he adjusted his weight in the seat. “Where
are
we going?”

“Well, I was going to pick up Peeky until you called me. He and I were gonna go somewhere and lay low until we hatched a plan—but now, what’s up with your foot?”

“I hurt it pretty good when I jumped off the balcony.” Barry took a deep breath and lifted his leg with his hands. “It may be broken.”

“Broken?” Melissa glanced in the rear view mirror. “Well, that changes things. How bad is it? Can you put any weight on it?”

He winced again. “No. In fact, it’s getting pretty sore just sitting here. It’s like somebody’s stabbing me with a knife, right above my ankle.”

“You broke a shin bone.”

“It’s the back side. The tibia.”

“The tibia’s the shin bone. You mean the fibula.”

“What-fucking-ever, Missy! It’s fucking broken.”

“Okay, okay. You need to rest it, ice it, elevate it. And get something for the pain until we can get to a doctor.” She patted the seat. “Can you put it up here? Would that get the weight off it?”

He lifted his foot slightly. “Oh, Christ, that hurts. That’s not gonna work. There’s not enough room, anyway.”

“What about the other way? You need to elevate it. What if you put your head down here and your foot…” She pointed to the passenger window. “Up there?”

“God, that sounds terrible just thinking about it.”

“Well, we have to do something. Should we go to UC?”

“University Community hospital? I’m starting to become a little too well known over there. I don’t know if we can risk that.” He thought for a moment. “Look, I can probably get around on it with some crutches if we can knock the damn pain down a few bars.”

Melissa stopped at a light and tapped the steering wheel. “Let’s think. The cops don’t know where we are yet, and if they pick Sheila up she can only tell them we dropped her off near the interstate. They’ll probably think we high tailed it north or south on I-75. They won’t be looking at hospitals. Nobody knows you’re hurt – do they?”

“I wasn’t watching the crowd that had gathered. I was preoccupied with jumping out of the burning apartment building.”

“Well, if they don’t know you’re hurt, they won’t be looking for us at hospitals. Not right away. We have at least a few hours. We can probably get you in and out before they think of it.”

Barry sighed. “I hope you’re right. Somehow Findlay managed to put together resources that made him able to burn down my apartment and get away with it. That’s pretty formidable. He should be in jail right now. And Dean Anderson stood right there while it happened. That’s not by chance.”

“Somebody’s helping them?”

“Somebody has to be. Things have gone to a new level. There’s no way they’d do all this on their own.”

“Well, it can’t just be the university.” Melissa’s fingers drummed the steering wheel. “It’s gotta be someone else, someone big enough to have the cops on their side—and to call off the fire department. That’s a big deal by itself. I don’t know who we trust at this point, so I think we lay low.

“Then what?”

The light turned green.

“I don’t know.” She stepped on the accelerator. “I’m working on it.” She made her way down Fowler Avenue. “Besides, what was your big plan, smart guy? Holing up in Jonesy’s apartment?”

“For a while, until I could come up with a better idea. I needed to buy some time. I just didn’t buy enough.”

“Yeah, well, that little stunt Peeky and I pulled at Findlay’s news conference didn’t do much except piss everybody off. Now we have a whole hive of bees after us.”

“I saw that on the news.” Barry chuckled. “Pretty funny. Let me ask you something. What was your plan if dropping your pants didn’t work?”

She blushed a little. “I don’t know.” She made the next turn toward the hospital.

Barry smiled. “God, what a couple of criminals we make. Where’s the rest of the gang?”

“Peeky’s supposed to be waiting for me at the pancake house. I don’t know where Riff is.”

“The pancake house we just passed? Why don’t we get him?”

“Priorities. I can go back and get him in a few minutes. Your leg gets attention first so we know how bad it is. Hopefully we get that taken care of before anybody thinks to start sniffing around the hospitals. I’ll get Peeky after I drop you off. Meanwhile, what about Riff?”

“Riff helped me move the time machine to Jonesy’s. He’s probably hiding now, too.”

“He wasn’t in Jonesy’s apartment with you? Who was, then?”

“Freaking Jonesy.” Barry laughed. “She came home this morning and brought her sister to tour the campus. I asked if we could park the machine at her place for a few hours until I could get a truck to move it.”

“What did she say?”

“What
could
she say? Riff and I had already stuck it in her living room. Then we got her apartment burned down around them.”

“Oh, no!”

“‘Welcome to USF, sis.’”

“Oh, God. That poor thing.”

“She asked for her key back. It seemed reasonable, since I almost got them killed. I’m guessing she and I aren’t friends anymore.”

“I’m guessing she doesn’t need a key anymore. That place was burning pretty good when we left.” Melissa glanced over her shoulder to change lanes. “You know, on the news Findlay was saying he had pictures.” She eyed Barry. “What do you think? Could he?”

Barry rubbed his chin. “Maybe. I left him alone with the time machine a couple of times for a few minutes. Took a shower, made coffee.” He peered out the window, hiding his embarrassment. “There were opportunities for him to take pictures, I guess. Maybe to do more than that.”

“Okay, well don’t beat yourself up over it. We’ve all trusted people we shouldn’t.”

“It’s not just that. Getting Findlay involved was a mistake. Roger’s in the hospital because I let him try the machine. Riff nearly got killed at the mine because I got distracted.”

“Why, Barry Helm. It’s not like you to second guess yourself.”

He brushed at the soot covering his lap. “Yeah. I’ve been second guessing myself a lot the last day or two. About a lot of things.” Barry studied her face for a moment. He noticed a slight smile, and enjoyed the restful silence.

Sensing his gaze, Melissa nervously fiddled with her hair. “What, uh, what distracted you at the mine?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Melissa stopped the truck in front of University Community Hospital. Barry looked out the window to the Emergency Room doors. “Do you think our favorite ER doctor will be on duty?”

“Dr. Harper?” Melissa sighed. “God, probably. That would just be our luck, wouldn’t it?” She glanced at the emergency room doors and then back to Barry. “You want me to help you go in?”

“We can’t risk it. Harper’s probably gonna call the cops the minute he sees me. He thinks we’re hurting ourselves on purpose or something.”

“What?”

“He’s starting to think we’re a group of psychosexual thrill seekers who get banged up for the rush. He probably thinks we check somebody in and then come out and grope each other in the parking lot.”

She turned to the window, blushing. “Grope? I…
here
? It’s…”

Barry placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s crazy stuff, I know.”

“Ha. Yeah, that’s… crazy. Right?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with Harper. There is one thing, though.” He took a breath and looked down. “When I go in there, things could get a little intense.” His eyes came up to meet hers. “It might be a while before we see each other again, you know?” A crooked smile tugged at his lips. “The place might be full of cops.”

His hand still lingered on her shoulder.

“Yes?” she said, placing her hand on his.

Her warm fingers and soft skin took him away from the current situation. He gazed at her face, taking in her delicate features. The high cheek bones and big eyes. He swallowed and took her hand in his. It was all wrong, the timing, the setting, everything. Wrong to try to say something—anything—of substance. But he couldn’t stop smiling, and he didn’t want to put her hand down. It might be a long time before he’d get another chance to say anything to her.

A car horn honked. Somebody had pulled up behind them and gotten tired of waiting.

The moment was gone – if it had ever existed.

He turned back to Melissa. “Uh, go… go get Peeky, then see about Riff. My phone’s dead and I couldn’t charge it at Jonesy’s. Riff’s phone is probably dead now, too, but we’ll hear from him eventually.” He popped open the truck door. “As soon as I’m finished here, I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

“You better take off before I go in so you aren’t followed if they identify me.”

Her gaze lingered on him. Even with a broken foot and people hunting for him, he still put her safety above his own.

“What?” His face broke into another grin. “What are you smiling at?”

“Nothing,” Melissa turned away, putting her hand to her cheek. “Get going.”

He slid out, careful not to place too much weight onto the injured leg, and shut the truck door. Balancing on one foot, he hopped toward the ER. As he neared the automatic doors, he glanced back.

The yellow truck was already gone.

* * * * *

“Captain Ferguson, it's Dean Anderson. How are you this afternoon?”

“I was kind of expecting your call, Herb. Saw you and that Findlay kid there on the news earlier. How’s everything holding up?”

Nervous, Anderson tried his best not to sound that way. “Well, captain, as you probably saw, things are getting messy. A little bit of trouble that gets into the news becomes a lot of trouble.” He fiddled with a pen on his desk. “I hope our campus police might be able to help out.”

“What would you like us to do?”

Anderson cleared his throat. “You know, we want to avoid any further embarrassment to the University.”

“Of course.”

“What I'd like to do—if it's legal and
possible
—is to get a handful of your campus police and hire them as, shall we say, private security for a day or two.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Just while we get this mess wrapped up.”

“That’s certainly possible. We help out with local events all the time in that capacity.”