He pointed down to his steel-toed work boots. Derry gave him a grudging nod of approval. “We got ‘em by the short hairs, and they don’t even know it.”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope.” Junior didn’t look convinced.
Derry tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Hope ain’t got nothing to do with it. We got us a plan, bub, and the plan is what’s gonna get this particular job done.” He gave Junior a look. “You wait here.”
He got up and left the room. The demon watched Junior fidget on the couch, playing with his beer, taking a cold piece of sausage off the top of the pizza and popping it in his mouth, staring at the ancient window fan as if he’d never seen anything like it.
Derry came back carrying a metal lunch box with clips and a handle. He passed it to Junior, who took it gingerly and held it at arm’s length.
“Relax,” Deny sneered, reseating himself, taking another pull on his Bud. “Ain’t nothing gonna happen until you set the switch: You can drop it, kick it around, do almost anything, it’s safe until you set it. See the metal slide on the back, underneath the hinge? That’s the switch. Move it off the green button and over the red and you got five minutes-plenty of time. Take it in with you, leave it in your locker when you start your shift, carry it out on your break like you’re having a snack, then slip it under the main gear housing and walk away. When it goes off, it’ll look like the roller motors overheated and blew. Got it?”
Junior nodded. “Got it.”
“Just remember. Five minutes. It’s preprogrammed.”
Junior set the lunch box back on the coffee table next to the pizza. “Where’s yours?”
Derry shrugged. “Back in the bedroom. Want to see it?”
They got up and went through the bedroom door, finishing off their beers, relaxed now, joking about what it was going to be like come tomorrow. The demon watched them leave ,the room, then rose from the rocker, walked over to the coffee table, and opened the lid to the lunch box. Sandwiches, a chip bag, a cookie pack, and a thermos hid what was underneath. The demon lifted them away. Derry was exactly right; he had set the clock to trigger the explosives five minutes after the slide was pushed.
The demon shook his head in disapproval and reset it from five minutes to five seconds.
Derry and Junior came back out, sat on the couch, drank another beer, and went over the plan one more time, Derry making sure his buddy had it all down straight. Then Junior picked up the lunch box and left, heading for the steel mill. When he was gone, Derry massaged his temples, then went into the bathroom to get a couple more Excedrin, which he washed down with a fresh beer.
Better go easy on this stuff, he admonished himself, and set the can aside. Want to be sharp for tonight. Want to be cool.
He dumped the pizza in the trash and brought out the second device, this one fashioned a little differently than the other to accomplish its intended purpose, and finished wiring it. When he was done, he placed it inside a plastic picnic cooler, fastened it in place, and closed the lid. He leaned back and studied it with pride. This baby will do the job and then some, he thought.
The demon came over and sat down next to him. Derry couldn’t see him, didn’t know he was there. “Better take your gun,” the demon whispered, a voice inside Derry’s head.
Derry looked at the rattling old window fan, matching its tired cadence to the buzzing in his head. “Better take my gun,” he repeated absently.
“In case anyone tries to stop you.”
“Ain’t no one gonna stop me.”
The demon laughed softly. “Robert Freemark might.”
Derry Howe stared off into space. “Might try, anyway.” His jaw was slack. “Be too bad for him if he did.”
When he got up to go into his bedroom to collect his forty-five from the back of his closet, the demon opened the picnic cooler and reset that clock, too.