The Body Scout: A Novel

by Lincoln Michel

  “It’s a shame the way the CLB ended. It was awful what they did to you oilers.”

  “They?” I said. “Weren’t you one of the owners of the Manhattan Mechs?”

  “He was just a minority partner,” Natasha offered. She was sitting on my side, her wide shoulders knocking into mine.

  “I meant the larger forces. Universe. Fate. Progress. Those bastards,” the Mouth said.

  Dolores looked at me and rolled her eyes so hard I could see it through the opaque glass of her goggles. She turned back to the Mouth, put some syrup in her voice. “Tell me, Mr. Mouth, how did you end up running the Monsanto Mets?”

  “You know that story. Everyone knows that story. It’s the most famous story in sports.”

  “I’d prefer to hear the insider’s view.”

  “I got it with nothing. Just my hard work. I started with jack shit, only a couple hundred million from my father and a snack company as an inheritance.”

  “Mr. Meat Chews, right?”

  The Mouth scuttled his chair toward her, frowning. “Mr. Meat Squirts. Squirts. Like money squirting into my family’s mouth, which is what it was. Liquid meat in plastic tubes. Synthetic and genius. Revolutionized gym workouts. You had the brown tubes for beef, pink for chicken, purple for tuna. We had chewable bars for decades, but you can’t chew on the treadmill.” He started tapping on the side of his golden head. “The point is I didn’t have anything except these brains. I’m a little bit brilliant. Maybe smarter than the scientists we have on staff. Sometimes I go into the lab and tell those eggheads and they look at me like I’m Einstein. You ever heard of Einstein? He was a big deal, back in the day. If he was alive, he’d be working for me. If I let him.”

  The stream of words flowed out of his mouth like sewage through a drainage pipe.

  Dolores and I had only been here for half an hour and I was already feeling uneasy. We were up high, but I felt claustrophobic. Boxed in between the ranting Mouth and the watchful Natasha.

  I looked out at the glittering green field. Breathed.

  The whole stadium was below us. The players spitting wads of adrenaline gum in the dugouts, the half-nude fans with bodies dyed in team colors, the falcon-headed drones swooping through the rows to hawk beer and hot dogs. The start of the game was still a few minutes away and you could feel the excitement starting to buzz through the crowd.

  I had seen Dolores’s logic. Whatever game was being played, we weren’t going to win if we stayed in the dugout. Still, I was nervous sitting beside the people who might have been responsible for Zunz’s death.

  Lila had been surprisingly receptive to being left home. Dolores pulled her aside and whispered something. I could only see the girls giggle. They’d only known each other a few hours and already understood each other better than I understood either one. When they came back, Lila promised she’d stay put for the game—“Not like I have anywhere to go anyway”—and Dolores set her security system to go off if anyone even approached the door. “If you hear it, there’s a getaway pod under the balcony.” Dolores spun a dial under the table, and a hatch popped open. The pod would have been cramped for Dolores but was roomy enough for Lila. “It’ll lev down to the sidewalk. Then you’ll have to run.”

  “If I’m stuck here alone all night, you two better figure out who killed my father.” She was leaning against the doorframe as we left, like she owned the place. She had a cup of soda in one hand and a massage stick in the other. In the background, the speaker played songs that to my old ears sounded less like music and more like the shrieks of metal being ground to scrap.

  “We’re on it,” I’d said.

  While Dolores humored the Mouth, Natasha was mimicking her boss, although with more delicacy. Her hand glided around my knee like a water spider across a pond. “How’s our investigation investment?”

  “I’ve got the clues, just need to figure out how they stick together.”

  Our luxury box was floating above center field. Elmer Tuscan’s larger owner’s box was levitating around home plate. I could see the Mouth keep looking at it with little angry eyes.

  “Do you think you’ll find out who killed Zunz soon?”

  “I do.”

  Natasha chuckled, her bone jewelry jangling. She was dressed in a stylish business suit in cutting-edge fabric yet dyed to look like a caveman’s pelt. If cavemen wore designer power suits at least. She was clearly playing it up. I wondered if the Mouth liked it that way or if she was mocking the half-dozen executives and investors who were in the box with us. I hadn’t seen any of them talk to Natasha, or even acknowledge her existence. Whatever they thought about a Neanderthal woman being the CEO’s right-hand man, I bet they thought it a lot.

  “That’s the spirit.” She patted my forearm.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, sit back and enjoy the game, Kobo. You’ll find out.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that and said so.

  “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Your species finds surprise to be a pleasing emotion, yes?”

  “Depends on the surprise.”

  The luxury boxes floated back to dock in the upper stands, away from home runs and pop fouls. We locked in place.

  People in the stadium were beginning to wind their way to the seats, and the music was increasing in beats per minute as the stadium lights became a subtle red and yellow. Subliminal push to order food before opening pitch. It was working on me. Or maybe I was nervous.

  “Hey, I’m starved. I’m going to go get a hot dog. Anyone want one?”

  The Mouth reached across Dolores and grabbed my arm with his golden fingers. “Sit down, Kobo, you gearhead. This is a luxury box. You think we walk around like bottom-feeders? We get our food delivered. I’ll get a round of Mouth burgers. Or whatever pitiful excuse for a burger they serve here at the Pyramid. You want mustard? Mayo? Mayo is great on a burger. Mayo for everyone.”

  A chorus of mumbling yeses and sounds-good-bosses filled the box.

  “I guess I’ll just stretch my legs a bit, then.”

  “Be back before opening pitch,” Natasha said, her finger wagging like a metronome.

  Dolores took my hand, pulled me in for what I thought was a kiss but turned into an angry whisper. “Afterwards, we’re going out for a drink. This date is one I’ll need to recover from.”

  The hallway stank, but in a sweet way from the sodas and ketchup pumps. The announcers rattled on in the hallway speakers, expounding like experts on a game that hadn’t even started yet. I smiled. It was comforting how America’s pastime was frozen in time.

  “I bet the Mets will be just dying to win this one for JJ Zunz,” one of the announcers said. “No pun intended.”

  “The Sphinxes will be looking to put a curse on the Monsanto batters though. Entomb them in strikeouts as quick as possible.”

  “And look here! It’s the presidential blimp arriving at the stadium. President Newman will be throwing out the first pitch today, as he does each game of the World Series.”

  I stepped behind a pair of surrogates piloted by distant rich people who were too lazy or too scared to come all the way down to the stadium yet still wanted to use their tickets. A lot of the wealthy barely left their cloud condos anymore. Too afraid of whatever new diseases were circulating in the masses. The league had banned drone surrogates a couple seasons ago with the No Heartbeat No Seat policy, so these were people. They had earphones and a full-face visor screen that displayed a live feed of ticket holders watching from the comfort of their condos.

  The people behind them couldn’t see too well through the semiopaque screen. They bumped into me and then each other. One of them dropped a commemorative cup on the floor and I heard the ticket holder shout in their ear. “That’s coming out of your fee!”

  I pushed my way through the crowds of drunk teenagers, face-painted uncles, and old men grumbling about the old days. I loved the anonymizing crowds of a baseball game. A place where I was watching everyone, an
d no one was watching me.

  I found a sausage cart with a server painted the colors of an Italian flag. “I made-a the sausages so a-spicy today,” the cart’s anthropomorphic sausage said. I ordered a spicy Italian with onions and peppers, the staple of our diet when Zunz and I were kids. Nostalgia in a greasy bun.

  As I drizzled mustard, I saw a short girl in a hoodie heading toward the back lift. She was keeping her head down and sticking close to the wall. She had a small square purse she was holding with an outstretched arm. I couldn’t quite see her face.

  She stopped, leaned into the wall, and started coughing. A crowd of screaming teenagers walked by. When they’d passed, I saw the bright red dots spattered on the wall.

  I left the sausage beneath the nozzle. Ran.

  “We’re five minutes away from game four,” the announcer said over the speakers. “Sphinxes up two games to one. If the Mets can pull out a win, it could turn the whole series around. Don’t you think, Boomer?”

  “I agree, Joe. This game will determine the momentum heading into game five. And we all know the team with momentum has the hunger. If you have the hunger, you get clutch when it comes down to the wire and everything is on the line.”

  “The Sphinxes are thirsty for a title. They’re like a dying animal that found an oasis.”

  “They better not let the Mets come in and slurp.”

  Everyone was moving back toward their seats, smacking against each other like salmon desperate to spawn. I swam against the crowd trying to look as calm as I could. When I caught up with Lila, I dragged her into the nearest accessible bathroom.

  “Let go of me,” Lila said. She kicked backward, catching me in the shin. Then she saw who’d grabbed her. “What is with you and my shit luck?”

  “We told you to stay at the apartment,” I said, shouting as quietly as I could. I could feel the anger burning in my belly. Then it was doused with fear. “Did something happen? Why are you here? Did someone come to the apartment?”

  I grabbed her, looked her over to see if she was injured. She pushed me away.

  “I got bored.”

  “Bored? You could get killed.”

  She sat on the sink, legs hanging over the edge. “Look, I didn’t have my father’s murderer to keep me company.” She wore a foul smile. “How is the Mouth lately, hmm? In good health?”

  “Are you all right? I saw you spitting up blood out there.”

  She smiled, a little red still on her lips. “I’m fine. No worse than usual. What are you, my new dad?”

  I yanked the chrome purse out of her hand. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Don’t open that.”

  I did. A red newt jumped out. The same zootech Okafor had shown me at the police station. It crawled up the wall and onto the stained bathroom mirror. Its neon skin changed to a silver that attempted to mimic the mirror. It left a gray blotch in our reflections.

  I reached out to grab it.

  “Don’t touch it!”

  My hand was only an inch from the newform when she yelled. I looked closer and saw the dark wires running under the skin.

  “It’ll kill you,” Lila said in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “How did you get a poison newt? And what the hell were you doing with it here?”

  But I knew. She’d slipped it out of the Diseased Eden somehow. Or Gerald had given it to her when I wasn’t looking, letting a child be an assassin for the cause. I felt like heading back down into the subway and defiling his face with my metal fist.

  The newt watched us. Its eyes flicking around while its body stayed still. Then it decided it was time to leave us alone and ran into the sink. Disappeared in the drain.

  “Damn it,” Lila said.

  “Who was this meant for?”

  She didn’t answer. Just looked down at her feet kicking the empty air.

  “The Mouth? You were going to kill the Mouth?”

  “Someone has to.”

  “This was a dumb plan. You’d never get close to him. And if you did, they’d lock you away for the rest of your life. You’re lucky you didn’t get snatched on the way in.”

  “You said the Mets killed my father, but you won’t stop him. The cops won’t stop him.” She wiped her eyes with the cuff of her shirt. “He may have been a piece of crap, but he was still my dad.”

  “Okay, okay.” I looked down the sink hole where the zootech newt had vanished. It wasn’t coming back. But I flushed a little water down so it wouldn’t bite some unsuspecting fan’s finger when they were washing up. “I said they might have killed him. Accidentally. I don’t know yet.”

  Someone banged on the door. “What the hell’s going on in there? I need to piss.”

  “I’m taking a poop!” Lila shouted back. “You get off on girls pooping? You pervert.”

  “Well, fuck you then.”

  The man kicked the door and walked off.

  I knelt in front of her. “If the Mouth did it, we’ll get him. I promise. But you need to go back. And so do I, before he gets suspicious. Anyway, your weapon ran down the sink.”

  She just sat there with her head hung and her fists balled.

  “Let’s get you back to Dolores’s. We’ll figure out how to kill the CEO of a major biopharm another day.”

  I took Lila’s bony hand. She didn’t squeeze back, but didn’t resist. I guided her down the hall. The opening anthem was being sung by a pop diva wearing an aquarium suit. Silver fish swam around her as she belted out the words. The last stragglers headed to their seats, arms carrying hot dogs, popcorn, and nacho reeds. The players lined up in front of their dugouts, waiting to be announced.

  I got us in a lift, and we shuttled down to the ground floor. The screen was showing the field, fans cheering. The crowd was coming alive. At the top of the stadium, the sphinx began to glow bright red.

  “Let’s! Go! Sphinxes!”

  The lift stopped.

  An alarm went off. The mag lift’s walls turned from silver to blinking red.

  I cursed. They must have noticed Lila’s face on one of the security feeds. Was Coppelius here? The sirens were blaring, and the mag lift was frozen in place.

  I was waiting for the doors to open and for a team of guards to drag us both across the stadium, toss us at the Mouth’s golden feet. Maybe they’d torture us right there in the box. He seemed like the type who’d like to watch.

  I pressed each of the buttons. Hit them. Mashed them with my dented fist.

  We stayed in place.

  The wall was now a video feed. The Mouth filled the screen. He stood up, holding a microphone in one hand and a burger in the other. Grease dripped down his fingers in shiny rivulets.

  “I want to thank Mr. Tuscan for letting me make a little announcement. The Sphinxes are good hosts,” he said, and the stadium cheered. “Although Mets brand upgrades are the best on the market.”

  The crowd booed playfully.

  Natasha leaned over and whispered in his ear. He nodded.

  “I didn’t get out of my chair to talk to you about upgrades. I want to tell you something tragic. Recently, something horrible happened on a field just like this one. A sacred baseball field. A Monsanto player was attacked by vicious terrorists. Godless, anti-American terrorists. If I have my way, we’ll bat their heads all the way to kingdom come.”

  The crowd roared in approval. Fans in the Mets section waved signs that read Win it for Zunz! and Payback for JJ.

  I thought maybe I could jimmy off the metal cover in the lift. Figure out something to do with the wires. I started to pry off the covering.

  “What the hell is he talking about?” Lila said.

  “But the Monsanto Mets are the best team,” the Mouth went on. “We have the best doctors. The best products. We can do anything. I mean anything. I’m here to tell you the rumors are false. Lies. Yes, JJ Zunz was murdered. Yet JJ Zunz is not dead. Not anymore.”

  I stopped pulling on the panel. My guts felt cold and heavy, like an anvil dropped into a
winter lake.

  Lila’s fingernails dug into my palm.

  I looked back and forth between Lila and the screen in confusion.

  The crowd was silent. Then started roaring in bewildered waves. The Mouth smiled wide enough to let everyone see all his teeth.

  “We’ve healed him with our brilliant, best-of-the-market medicine. A round of applause for our genius scientist. No one else could do this, believe me. JJ Zunz, our captain. He’s back! Like a zombie. But a strong, Mets zombie. I’m announcing we have a change to the starting lineup tonight!”

  The cameras panned to a tunnel by the dugout. A man walked out, alone. Then a hologram projection blew his image up in the middle of the field. Zunz’s head was level with the top row. He flashed his goofy grin, and then swung his bat in a mock home run, the hologram bat plowing through the crowd.

  It didn’t matter if you were a Pyramid or Monsanto fan. Everyone in the stadium was screaming as if their lungs were the size of blimps. The roar got louder and louder.

  It was hard to tell on the screen, but the man looked like Zunz. And he seemed perfectly healthy. Strong and sculpted. He could have just trotted off an assembly line.

  A noise escaped Lila’s lips that could have been a groan or a gasp. I could feel my palm bleeding from her fingernails.

  She looked up at me, her expression had drained away. She was pale and shivering.

  The alarm was off. It had been off for a moment, but I hadn’t noticed with the constant roar of the crowd. They were drowning out everything.

  We started to move.

  On-screen, the other Mets players ran toward Zunz with their arms flung wide.

  The mag lift reached the ground floor. The doors slid open. Lila and I stepped out into the empty lot.

  35

  THE SACRIFICE FLY

  I walked up the redbrick stairwell of the Sphinxes stadium, shaking with inertia and disbelief.

  Dolores had taken Lila home and given me her Sphinxes pass to get back inside. I’d called her immediately and she came running. We had to assume if Coppelius had been looking for Lila, then Natasha and the Mouth were too. The fact that Zunz had been apparently revived didn’t mean they’d stop.