Authors: Jason Austin
“
We
were paired up on a number of projects here because of our mutual
credentials. I’m not sure I could say how well I knew him. He
kept so much to himself in the way of personal stuff and it’s
not like we ever had drinks after work or anything.”
“
You
said he told you he was going to quit. Certainly, he felt comfortable
enough to confide that information to you.”
“
Yes,
but he was sort of ranting. When I asked him if he was serious, he
just looked at me funny and told me to never mind.”
“
What
do you suppose made him tell you he wanted to quit?”
“
Well,
honestly, I don’t think he was ever very comfortable here. I
guess it just took this long to get to him. Mr. Wallace had to
practically pry him away from his professorship at Case Western. He
was pretty popular on campus; he loved teaching, loved the kids.”
“
If
that was the case, did he say why he came to work for Millenitech?”
“
Money.
He was offered funding for some work of his own—funding he
couldn't get from the university. In exchange, he had to agree to
adopt Millenitech's charter and prioritize its research.”
“
And
he was okay with that?”
“
Actually,
I think he felt kind of cheated when he was forced to sideline so
much of his own work. I don't think he realized just how much Mr.
Wallace would demand from him. There were a couple of times Wallace
even chewed him out in front of other staff because he was neglecting
vital Millenitech projects that he'd been specifically assigned.”
“
Which
projects?”
“
Our
main focus is on anti-aging and perfecting the replication of limbs
and extremities, complete tissue regeneration. The same stuff he left
me here to wrangle on my own. Millenitech has a primary focus on
those two areas. It draws a lot of investors.”
“
I
thought you were already doing the regeneration stuff.”
“
No.
We can successfully clone most human organs...kidneys, livers, lungs,
hearts and even filter out defects and replace them for a person
without fear of rejection. Skin grafts are a snap. Limbs, however,
have a more complex and layered structure than the single cell makeup
of most organs. Codifying the factors that are directly responsible
for the growth of even a toe is considerably more difficult. We’d
get a lot further a lot faster if our methods weren’t so
restricted by law. The government’s done a damn good job of
convincing the public we’d be cloning whole people just so we
could lop off an arm or a leg and ditch the rest.”
“
That
sounds like admirable work.”
“
It
is. Richard thought so, too. Or, so I believed.”
Roberts
nodded. “
Did Dr. Kelmer
ever mention a woman named Glenda Jameson to you?”
“
No.
Like I said, he almost never talked about his personal life. I
sincerely doubt he had one to speak of.”
“
You
never asked?”
“
Oh,
God, no. I always thought him to be the central processor of
repression. There’s no way I would’ve risked opening
those floodgates.” The little lady gave Roberts a once-over.
“Contrary to him, scientists generally aren’t what the
culture makes us out to be—defective, sexless geeks, knowing
only the square root of this or that and nothing to go home to but a
house full of dusty books and pet hamsters. People as smart as us,
know enough to either get busy living or get busy rotting.” She
paused then said, “I don't rot.”
Roberts
sighed, gazing at the floor. He couldn't decide if this new
information on Kelmer was a promising sign or not. With Glenda
Jameson now among the missing, the whole case was up in the air as
far as discovering a single motive behind the madness. In fact,
Roberts realized now that all he
ever
had was Glenda Jameson's
word
of a connection with Kelmer to
the situation. If he did have some sort of unrequited infatuation
with her, he certainly hadn’t told anyone. And if he was
convinced she was in some sort of danger, there was even less of a
chance he’d shared
that
information. What Roberts wouldn't give to hear that message she
talked about. Or find
anyone
other than a busboy with ADHD, who was in that damn alley. He stroked
his graying facial stubble, and then looked back at Ruiz.
“
It
was a pleasure talking to you, doctor,” Roberts said. “I’m
sorry I took up your time.” He shook the little flower of a
doctor's hand, feeling a subtle discharge of heat through the thin
film.
“
You
didn’t take anything I wasn’t willing to give,” she
said glowingly.
Roberts
simpered like an idiot.
The
twos hands slid apart and he headed for the exit, removing the
cellophane gloves and coverall. A few feet shy of the exit, Roberts
stopped and turned on his heels. The doctor’s nose was already
buried in her workstation. The detective drummed a finger on his lip,
looking like he had something stuck in his teeth.
“
Doctor?”
he inquired, raising his chin.
Ruiz
looked up from her computer. She'd actually heard the handsome
detective's pause and looked like she knew what he was about to ask.
Roberts
apologized again for his disturbing her. “You said that Richard
Kelmer was upset about not being able to work on his own projects.
Was there any project in particular?”
Ruiz
blinked in disappointment. “He spent most of his time on some
sort of brain implant. He wanted to use it to help brain injured
patients regain mobility. Mr. Wallace wasn’t very interested.
He’d acquired Richard from Case Western primarily for his
tissue cloning research. When Richard wanted to change his focus
toward the implant is when things kind of went sour between them.”
Roberts
gave her another grin. “Thank you, doctor.”
At just after 1 am, the little
blue Civic had motored into the driveway of a splendid French
colonial nestled in the embrace of smooth, grassy hills and
parenting, elegant pines. It sat on the plateau of an incline,
skirting a wooded reservation in Shaker Heights. The property was
well lit. Built mostly of bright gray brick and garnished with white
shudders and detailed moldings, it settled gracefully in its
encompassment of fervent multicolored foliage. As she got out of the
car, Glenda was instantly enchanted by the explicit beauty of the
genetically enhanced rose bushes garnishing one whole side of the
yard. Beds of gardenias and marigolds underlined two big bay windows
and smaller outlines of tulips marked the walkway leading to the
front door. “Ooh pretty,” she said, seeming as though the
mere sight of the flowers was an instant cure-all for her worries.
This
is incredibly stupid
, Xavier thought and shook his head.
The dumbest idea he'd had since making out with that flight attendant
with the big hands and baritone voice after, one too many beers. He
sat in the car and cracked his knuckles. He thought again of their
alternatives. There was one that came to mind, but it qualified more
as a last resort. Plus, he didn't know the address offhand and wanted
to stay off the street. During the drive, he and Glenda's physical
descriptions along with those of Glenda's car and its license plate
had scrolled before their eyes on the Civic's media dashboard. If
they didn't get out of sight before sunrise, they would be dog food.
“
They
think I'm a murderer,” Glenda had said.
“
It
didn't say that,” Xavier had replied. He'd noticed that no
names were given in the report. Not even of the victims. It only
mentioned that on-duty officers had been killed and that the persons
of interest or their vehicle were not to be approached.
“
What
else could it possibly mean?”
“
Well,
not mentioning you by name could mean they're holding off until they
have a clearer picture of what happened. It acts as a message to
their own not to jump to conclusions and take justice into their own
hands.”
“
I
was thinking of going back to the police, anyway, of telling them
what happened, but if I do that now they'll probably arrest me.”
“
How
much money do you have?” Xavier thought it better to
act
than to try and
talk
Glenda out of her anxiety. “We'll
have to ditch this car and find a spot to lay low. Maybe we can make
some calls, off the grid, find your friend.”
“
Six
or seven bucks and my cards.”
“
That's
it?”
“
Yeah,
but it's okay. I can get some...”
“
No,
you can't. You get within five feet of a card reader and they'll
track you right to it.” Xavier glanced at Glenda's dufflebag
sitting between them on the front seat. “You don't have
anything in there they can use to track us, do you? Phone, com
equips?”
“
No.
It was all turned off weeks ago.”
“
And
there's not enough to get anything prepaid that will last us and
public vids could be risky if you're trying to keep a low profile.”
Glenda
gripped her forehead. She fought the urge to cry so vehemently it
turned painful. “My head hurts.”
Xavier
took a gander at the bandage taped to Glenda's skull. He wasn't a
doctor, but he feared she could have aggravated the injury in last
night’s mayhem.
Doctor,
he thought.
Xavier
exited the Civic and started up the walkway a step or two ahead of
Glenda. Last he had heard—by way of Momma’s bragging—the
boy-genius had just skated through his final year in medical
school...as if graduating early from Central State wasn’t
already a bald eagle’s feather in his cap. And what he'd been
up to since then had been even more impressive: performing a stint
with Doctors Without Borders for example. Benny was generous to a
fault...much like Glenda. And you'd better believe it was that very
“fault” that Xavier intended to exploit.
“
Are
you sure this is the right place?” Glenda asked.
“
No,”
Xavier answered. He was struck by the stringently manicured lawn that
shone with a vivid, almost pastel green under the glow of artificial
light. A towering maple championed each of its corners like giant
chess pieces. “I’ve never been here before.”
“
What?
I thought you said you knew who lived here?”
Xavier
halted. At his left, he spied the outcropping of a wooden sign hinged
to an antique style lamppost. It read: Dr. Bennet Hawkins MD, PCP. “I
do,” he said.
“
But
you’ve never been here before!”
“
I
thought I already said that.”
Glenda
cautiously conceded. She didn’t want to offend Xavier again,
but she was developing an acute dislike for unfamiliar surroundings
where she didn’t know who or what waited inside. “So
you’re not sure if they’ll let us lay low here or
whatever?”
“
Trust
me; just looking at this place makes
me
feel low.”
Glenda
ignored the wise-assing. “You can’t know anybody who
lives here.”
Xavier
leveled a frown at her. “Why, because I’m a bum; a
worthless vagrant, a lowlife who’s amounted to nothing but
being a mole on the ass of society?”
“
I’m
sorry. That’s not what I meant,” Glenda said embarrassed.
“
I
know. It’s what
I
meant.”
Glenda
stood back a few paces, remaining skeptical as Xavier trudged up to
the door. He put his finger to the bell which had some funny little
animal face etched in it. A lion, he decided. He let his finger hover
above the little black button that was its nose.
Shit
.
Xavier's
courage was suddenly on a high speed solemn to nonexistence. The last
resort was beginning to look almost preferable. Hard to believe
anyone
could be
more terrifying to face than Benny. A fist formed in Xavier's right
hand.
He's got to let us in
,
he thought. Benny absolutely
had
to help them. Ela...
Glenda
was counting on it.
Xavier
regarded the barred steel storm door, reminiscent of the stockades
from his MP days. It was backed by a length of fiberglass that looked
thick enough to stop a bullet.
To
his left was the house's outer security camera that would capture his
full portrait for his brother's amusement.
He took one last
look at Glenda, and then mashed his quivering digit onto the lion’s
nose.
After
less than a minute, the door was answered by a woman so pleasantly
attractive, as to trigger a reflexive slick of Xavier's hair. She'd
opened only the interior door so that the barred storm door still
separated her from her unexpected visitor. Her warm green eyes burst
wide with a motherly combination of both dismay and concern.
“
Hello,”
Xavier said, clearing his throat. He'd not expected anyone besides
Benny. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I'm looking for...”