"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 b.u.t.ton, 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.

Prime'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."

She whispered into Prime's ear, "Don't say a d.a.m.n word. Do you hear me?"

One officer pulled her away, while the other pushed Prime into the car.

"Do you hear me, John?" Casey yelled.

He looked at her, nodded slowly.

In his mind, he gave himself over to her completely and utterly.

CHAPTER 27

The second time John noticed the tall blond man, he was talking with Grace at the all-university tournament. John couldn't remember the first time exactly, but the man definitely stood out. He was tall, over two meters tall, with nearly albino features. His close-cropped hair was almost white. His eyes were sled dog blue. He was so distinctive, John knew he had seen him elsewhere but wasn't sure exactly where.

Grace turned toward John and gestured as she explained something. She couldn't stop talking with her arms and hands. The tall man stared at John, and a feeling of being examined under a magnifying gla.s.s pa.s.sed through him.

The ball slammed against the gla.s.s, and John turned his eyes back to the game. Henry was beating the c.r.a.p out of a freshman English major who'd bet him twenty dollars. The back room of Adam's All-Star Cavalcade had four pinball machines arranged back-to-back, and it was nearly impossible to move in the room with all the people. A lot of students were going to fail their finals, John thought.

John glanced up from the game. The man was on his way over. It bugged John that he couldn't remember where else he'd seen the man. He worked his way through the crowd, pushing between people who gave him dark looks that he didn't seem to care about.

He reached John's side and said into his ear, "This pinball was your idea?"

"What?"

"This pinball," the man repeated, waving his hand at the machine. "It is your idea."

John shrugged. The name was the same, but no one from his Earth would confuse it for the pinball that he knew. It had ended up more like foosball, with its head-to-head action. "It was a team effort."

"The name is your idea?"

John didn't like the man's demeanor.

"I don't remember," John said.

"What was the source of the name?"

"I told you, I don't remember. It was a brainstorming session," John said.

"It is quite important for me to know." The man had an odd accent, almost Germanic but not quite.

"Listen, people are waiting to play," John said. "If you're not here to play, move on."

The man gave him a dark look, then reached into his front pocket and handed John a card. It read: "Ermanaric Visgrath, Investments." There was a Columbus address and phone number. "Perhaps another time then, and we can discuss your invention in detail. My firm is always interested in financing exciting and innovative ideas."

He turned then and disappeared out the door. John filed the card away in his pocket and thought no more of it.

They filed the patent application on the day after they freed the machine from Ray's bar with the help of a young law student, studying patent law. Kyle Thompson had come out to Adam's All-Star Cavalcade, played and lost three games to John, and then agreed to work on their patent with them.

"I can't charge for my work, which may delight you or worry you," he said.

"Delight," Grace chimed in.

"Worry," added Henry.

"But all my work will be looked at by one of my professors. And I will do good work."

John liked his serious, polished manner. He'd played his games without so much as a smile but with intensity. His finger had been white on the flipper b.u.t.tons.

"How long before we have the patent?" John asked.

"It varies, six to ten weeks."

"How much will it cost in fees?" Henry asked.

"To file the application with the Patent and Trademark Office, it costs two hundred and forty dollars. If they accept the patent, it costs an additional four hundred and twenty-five."

"That'll about wipe out our profit so far," Henry grumbled.

"I'll need access to the machine. It helps that you built a working prototype. I'll also need your time to fill in the details. It won't take long. Part of the problem in patent applications is visualizing the item." He pointed to the pinball machine. "We'll have no problem visualizing."

They heard no more from Ray but saw Lou once at Adam's All-Star Cavalcade. He said that Ray was mad and wouldn't talk about it. Lou grinned. "Serves him right."

After cleaning out the lab bay, they decided to keep using it to work in. John wanted to do the stand-alone model that he'd talked about at the start. He also wanted to build a phase two prototype. There were a lot of improvements that six weeks of play had caused them to consider.

Steve, the high school student who'd won the first tournament, came and worked in the lab after school every day, testing and making suggestions for playability. He also had a knack for soldering, as he'd said. He became Grace's arms and legs. They had the two new machines built in three weeks. Grace almost failed her finals, but then they had all of Christmas break. The lab was deserted.

They had no problem finding a home for as many machines as they could build. When the students had discovered it at Adam's All-Star Cavalcade, they'd managed to keep the place packed day and night.

"Maybe we should offer one of the new ones to Ray," Henry said.

"No way," Grace said. "I say we put one on campus, next to the bowling alley."

"In front of the Electrux game," Henry added.

"That's a great idea," John said.

They stood in the student lab, a week before Christmas. They had taken over three more lab tables during break. Their parts inventory was strewn across the floor. John's apartment was filled with boxes and electronics. Grace had had to move everything out of her dorm when her roommate complained to the RA.

"We need a better place to build," John said. "We need a factory or a warehouse."

"How do we pay for that?" Henry said.

John shrugged.

"We form a corporation, we make a business plan, and we get a loan," Grace said.

"What?" John said. "Where did you get that?"

"I was in Teen Professional," Grace said. "In high school. I designed and built a kickstand for your bike that was also a bike lock."

"A kickstand lock?"