Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [51]
DESPITE the driver’s assertion, the police station was quiet. You would not have believed there was anything unusual going on in Selma. Shel looked around and was relieved that Jay wasn’t there.
He needed somebody who was relatively unoccupied and settled on an officer with congenial eyes and a large bristly mustache. “Pardon me,” Shel told him, “my name’s Shelborne. I think you’ve arrested a friend of mine. I was wondering if I could see him?”
The officer frowned. Studied him closely. “You’re not one of them, are you?”
“No, no,” Shel said, reassuringly.
“Okay. Look, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re a little tied up. Why don’t you come back in the morning?”
Shel couldn’t see that anything much was going on. A couple of guys doing paperwork. That looked like about it. “Officer, I only need five minutes with him. I’ll make it worth your while if you can arrange something.” He showed him a fifty.
The cop looked at the bill. Then at Shel. “Empty your pockets, please.”
Shel complied. There wasn’t much. His wallet, a comb, and a handkerchief.
The cop did a quick patdown to make sure he wasn’t carrying any weapons. Then he shrugged and took the fifty. “Okay, Mr. Shelborne, who did you want to see?”
“David Dryden.”
“White guy?”
“Yes.”
“Arrested today?”
“Yes.”
“At the bridge.”
“Yes.”
He looked disgusted, but didn’t comment. “Over here, please.” He picked up a form and got Shel’s name, address, and phone number. Then he led him into a side room, divided down the middle by a screen. “Wait here.” He left, closing the door behind him.
Within moments he was back. “He’ll be here in a minute,” he said, taking a position off to one side.
“Thanks.”
The opposite wall had a door. It opened, and Dave came in. He smiled sheepishly when he saw Shel.
“You look terrible,” said Shel.
“Yeah. I guess I kind of screwed things up, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. You okay?”
“I think so. My ribs hurt.”
“And you’ve got a black eye.”
“It’s that noticeable, huh?”
They were both conscious of the police officer, who showed no sign of going anywhere. “You look as if you need a doctor,” Shel said.
“They’ve been telling me they’ll take care of it when they can.”
Shel mouthed the words Arrange it.
“How?”
“You know,” he said, “every time you do something dumb like this, I get palpitations.”
“They think I’m a communist, Shel. I’m going to be under guard for a while.”
“They call in the FBI yet?”
“That’s probably next.”
Shel pressed his index finger against his jaw and used it to signal one. Without saying anything aloud, he formed the words One hour.
Dave nodded. “I’d appreciate any help you can give.”
The cop gave them another minute or two. Then he broke in: “We’re done, guys. Dryden, you can go back now.”
THEY led Dave back to his cell. There was no clock anywhere, and they’d taken his watch, so he had no easy way to determine the passage of time. He eased himself back onto the cot, while the other prisoners laughed at him and told him what they’d do if they ever found him outside. It was a new experience. He’d never before attracted open hatred.
He closed his eyes, and after a while the threats stopped. They began talking about him, rather than to him. And gradually the conversation shifted in other directions, notably the quality and performance of the ladies at a local service organization.
He could hear occasional sounds from the booking area. Laughter. People talking. Doors banging. More laughter. They were in a good mood out there.
He tried counting but got bored with that when he hit about two hundred. Time travel had its downside. Not going to do this again, he thought. If I get back home, I’m going to stay there.
Nineteen sixty-five. The Vietnam War would be heating up. Lyndon Johnson was in the White House. John Wayne was still making movies. Neil Armstrong and the first moon landing were four years away. Computers were large pieces of hardware and came with punch cards.
His ribs ached. Hurt every time he inhaled. Something probably broken.
After a while, the jailer brought meals. Coffee, chicken, potatoes,