by Ethan Cross
Andrew added, “Like maybe he hates his own face. Maybe he has a deformity.”
They all stared at the boards without speaking for a few moments. Checking his watch and remembering they had flights to catch, Marcus smiled over at Emily Morgan, the newest addition to the team. He said, “Agent Morgan, or should I say Dr. Morgan?”
“Agent is fine,” she said with a bow of her head.
“You’re going to have to step up, Agent Morgan, since Andrew is going to be off on urgent shadow government bullshit.”
Andrew chuckled. “You sound upset. Are you going to miss me? Don’t worry, little buddy. As long as you don’t drink anything at least two hours before bed and then—”
“Okay.”
“—you go potty right before you go sleepy night, then you should be fine.”
“Thanks for that,” Marcus said with a small smile.
A little chuckle interrupted every few words as Maggie said, “Being his partner is liking raising a baby goat, isn’t it, Drew?”
Andrew said, “I think he’s more like a baby rhinoceros.”
Ackerman said, “You are aware that bedwetting is an early warning sign for serial murderers. Do you experience night-time bathroom malfunctions, brother? Or is it night terrors?”
Everyone fell silent.
Marcus said, “I’m fine. He was just kidding. Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re joking or being serious.”
“I’m always serious. And bedwetting is also very serious to someone who suffers from it. I never had to worry about the delicacies of childhood development like that, since I never had a bed or possessions as a child.”
“Thank you, Frank. Anyway,” Marcus said, raising his coffee cup, “I just wanted to take a moment to officially welcome you to the field team, Agent Morgan. But I also wanted to let you know that we’re going to need you more than ever while Andrew is off dissecting aliens at Area 51, or wherever the Director’s super-secret mission takes him.”
“Area 51 would be my dream job,” Andrew said. “If that’s what he has me doing, I’m staying there. I’d abandon you guys in less than a second to study alien biology.”
Marcus said, “Would you stop interrupting me. As I was saying, welcome to the team, Emily, and while Maggie and I are back east, you’ll be in charge of feeding Kong over there.” He gestured toward Ackerman, who feigned offense. “So good luck and God’s speed.”
20
Baxter Kincaid stepped into the hall and closed the door to his apartment, a space once rented by Jimi Hendrix himself. When he turned away from his door, he came face to face with a man in dark sunglasses and a gray hoodie pulled down over his face. Baxter jerked back from shock and leaned a hand on the doorframe. The man didn’t move at all, except for the occasional muscle twitch. Once he’d regained his composure, Baxter said, “Good morning, Kevin.”
“I need your latest blog post.”
“Now, Kevarino, we’ve talked about this. When someone says ‘good morning,’ you say …”
“It’s two in the afternoon.”
“I was referring to my personal morning,” Baxter said in his South Texas drawl. “Some refer to morning in regard to the rising and setting of the sun. I think morning is more a state of mind.”
Kevin’s shoulders and neck twitched, sending ripples across the fabric of his hoodie. The kid smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in a couple of weeks. “I consider whether it’s morning or not by the time of day.”
“You need to open your mind a bit, Kevster. What do you say to this? You and I can get together later, take our shirts off, and play some bongos.”
Kevin said nothing.
Baxter lightly punched him on the shoulder and said, “I’m just messing with you, buddy. Don’t burn out a microchip. I’m glad I caught you. I was wondering if you found out anything about Corin Campbell for me.”
“Wait here,” Kevin said and then unlocked the three deadbolts on his own apartment door, cracked open the door, and slipped inside, the door shutting behind him. Kevin had been Baxter’s neighbor for many moons now, and he still had yet to catch a glimpse of the youngster’s domicile.
A moment later, Kevin returned with a manila folder, which he handed to Baxter. “Corin Campbell, inside and out.”
“Excellent, my man. Put yourself down for a raise.”
“You don’t pay me.”
“I know. That’s what makes it a funny comment.”
Kevin said, “I need to ask you something.”
“What’s on your mind, big guy?”
“You know a lot of lawyers and stuff. So I thought you could ask one of them. I was wondering about the legal precedent for how close a drone can get to a person’s residence before you are considered to have violated their air space. And also, if it’s actually illegal for the police to shoot down your drone. I was thinking that, since they’re classified as aircraft by the FAA, it could be considered an act of terrorism on the part of the cop.”
Baxter thought about that a moment and finally said, “I think it’s around fifty-eight feet. It has to do with some precedent set by airplanes taking off and coming too close to some old man’s farm. And you’re actually correct that, to the letter of the law, said officer’s actions could be construed to be shooting down an aircraft, since drones and passenger jets are classified the same under FAA guidelines. But in reality, Kevaramadingadong, no judge in his right mind would prosecute that case.”
“So I need a judge who’s not in his right mind?”
“That’s one way to go.”
“Thanks, Mr. Kincaid. Send me that file for the blog post as soon as you can. I mean, you know, at you’re earliest convenience.”
Baxter tapped his temple, tipped his trilby, and said, “It’s on my list, Mr. Unabomber.”
Kevin’s gaze shot around the hallway, and he whispered, “Don’t say things like that. There could be surveillance.”
With an uncontainable little chuckle, Baxter said, “I do say a lot of interesting shiznit, don’t I? Hey, whoever’s listening, I would love a copy of the recordings or transcripts, ‘cause I speak so much awesomeness that it’s impossible to write it all down.” He couldn’t contain his laughter any longer, cracking himself up as he spouted the last line.
Kevin didn’t say a word. He simply stood there, his head cocked slightly, his face barely visible beneath the shadows of the hood. He really did look like the Unabomber, only lacking a bit of facial hair. Like a cross between the sketches of Unabomber and Timothy McVeigh. The whole thing made Baxter laugh even harder. The longer Kevin remained frozen, the more it made Baxter laugh. Until he was hunched over, fighting for breath, holding himself up with one hand on Kevin’s shoulder.
After a moment, he was able to regain his composure. Kevin still hadn’t moved. Baxter slapped the young man on the shoulder and said, “Good times, Kevmeister. Good times.”
21
Derrick Gladstone wheeled out onto San Francisco Hospital’s third floor and expertly guided his utilitarian but functional wheelchair over to the nurse’s station. He had requisitioned the chair’s creation for his specific needs. The first of which was to make the chair as visually unobtrusive as possible. He had heard the term “murdered out” in reference to a car being painted all black, the chrome powdercoated, and the windows tinted. He liked to think of his chair as also being “murdered out.” It was a flat black that reflected no light and blended with nearly any environment.
His second condition regarding the chair was that it appear modern and elegant. He wasn’t about to push himself around in the same wheelchair that someone of a lower station could also afford.
As he approached the nurse on duty, LuAnn smiled and said, “Dr. Gladstone, good to see you. I didn’t know that one of these babies was yours.”
He returned the smile and made some small talk, although he had no affinity for the fifty-year-old obstetrics nurse. She was a single mother and poor. She smelled of cigarettes and halitosis. He hated that the chi
ldren would have to smell her as she swaddled them.
Derrick rotated his chair toward the viewing window, which was thankfully handicap accessible. LuAnn walked up beside him and asked, “Which one is yours?”
“The Jefferson child. A boy. I don’t know the name yet.”
She pointed at the glass. “He’s the third one back.” Peaking over the edge of the window, Derrick observed the newborn squirming in the hospital bassinet. The baby was healthy and strong, wide awake and alert.
LuAnn said, “Would you like to hold him, Doctor?”
“I would love to,” Derrick replied as he wheeled over to the door for the nursery. He knew the drill here well. He had visited numerous children at this hospital. Every child born under his care deserved at least a visit.
LuAnn retrieved the baby and laid him in Derrick’s arms. The child blinked up at him, and Derrick rubbed the child’s tiny hand with his own. No matter how many times he had done this very thing, he was always a little surprised and overwhelmed at how tiny and fragile human beings were when they entered the world. Many animals could walk from the moment of their birth, but homo sapien offspring were little more than balls of flesh, utterly helpless and dependent. Somehow, humankind had topped the food chain despite that inherent setback.
Referring to the chart, LuAnn said, “And, by the way, his name is Leonardo.”
Derrick winced and whispered to the child, “Sorry, kid. You were probably named after the ninja turtle, not the painter or actor. But I’m afraid what they name you is out of my control.”
“What did you say, Doctor?”
“I was just speaking with little Leo,” he said with a large grin.
She laughed. “I think it’s great that you care so much about your patients. It’s a shame you don’t have children of your own. You would have been a great dad.”
Derrick maintained his smile, but his mind turned to the scalpel in the pocket of his white lab coat. He imagined himself standing up from the chair and jamming the scalpel into one of the cigarette-stained nurse’s eyeballs. He pictured the shock on her face when he rose from the chair and the confusion when she noticed the scalpel in his hand. The blood spurted from her wounds as he sliced her neck and face to pieces. It rained a red mist over the top of the squalling and squirming children.
Pulling him back to reality, LuAnn said, “I’m assuming you want a picture with your new patient, as usual?”
“I never miss a visit or a photo op, LuAnn.”
He handed over his phone and posed with the baby. She snapped a few photos for him and then asked, “Do you want me to put him back for you?”
He wanted to scream at her that he was much stronger and more capable than she was, but instead, he held the fake smile and said, “I’d like a few minutes with him, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. I need to take him back to his parents soon, but you can wait with him until then.”
“Thanks, LuAnn. You’re the best.”
She winked at him and said, “Anything for you, Dr. Gladstone. I wish we had more like you here. That young couple was truly blessed to find you as a doctor.”
He shrugged in deference. “Thank you. That’s very nice of you to say.”
When she was gone, he stared into the boy’s eyes. The child already showed thin strands of blonde hair, very close to his own color. But the newborn’s build reminded Derrick more of his youngest brother, Simon.
He thought of the first time he had laid eyes on Simon in a hospital nursery much like the one he was sitting in now. The twins, Derrick and Dennis, had been five years old when his mother had told them that she was pregnant. It had been at the kitchen table in their old two-story colonial. His father, learning of the surprise pregnancy at the same time as his two sons, had been quiet at first.
“Say something,” his mother had said. “I just told you we’re going to be having another child.”
Finally, his father had smiled and said, “We’re adding a new lion to the pride, boys. And you’re going to have to teach him all that I’ve taught you.”
Derrick had taken those words to heart and had considered that duty as he first saw his baby brother. There had been something off about Simon even then. When a five-year-old Derrick Gladstone looked into his newborn brother’s eyes, he instantly noticed the boy’s strength. Simon’s body was strong and muscular compared to other newborns, but the thing that had struck Derrick was that Simon never cried. His brother had been born tough, and Derrick had loved the boy from the beginning, feeling a kinship with Simon that he had never experienced with his own fraternal twin, Dennis.
His mind turned then to the day when, out of kindness, he and Dennis decided to murder Simon. Looking back, Derrick wished they had killed their mother instead. His little brother didn’t deserve to be erased from existence, but the same couldn’t be said for the woman who wanted the boy gone. Still, there was little Derrick could do about that now, other than make the old witch pay for her sins, which he was already doing.
Leaning in close to little Leonardo’s face, he kissed the boy’s forehead and said, “Your parents certainly were blessed to have met me.”
22
Marcus fought the urge to roll his eyes when Emily Morgan, the SO’s resident counselor, asked for a few minutes alone with him. The others were preparing to leave, and so Marcus and Emily pulled out a couple of chairs from the conference room table and sat down facing one another.
“So what’s up, Doc? How do you feel my brother is assimilating, or whatever you want to call it?”
“I believe Mr. Ackerman is learning and growing by leaps and bounds. But I wanted a moment to talk about you.”
“I’m an open book. Ask away.”
“What if you don’t like the question?”
“That sounds like a loaded response. Did the Director order you to talk to me about Eddie Caruso?”
“He strongly suggested I discuss your old friend with you before you board the jet. But, as always, my primary concern is your health and well-being as a member of this team and someone whom I consider a friend. You helped me through my husband’s death more than anyone else, Marcus. You are my number one concern. And from the way the Director described it, this Eddie Caruso is not someone of whom you think highly.”
“I’m sure that’s not quite the way the Director tactfully phrased it.”
“He’s a colorful man. But we’re not here to talk about him either. How do you feel about going back to see your old friend Mr. Caruso?”
“I appreciate the concern, Doc, but it’s nothing to worry about. Eddie and I were best friends when we were practically babies. We had a falling out, and we ceased being friends, spent some time as adversaries, and ended up just trying to pretend the other person didn’t exist.”
“Does that situation sound healthy to you?”
“You always tell me not to live in the past. Not to overanalyze all my decisions and question whether I could’ve made different choices. It is what it is. I haven’t thought about Eddie Caruso in years. It’s not anything that still bothers me.”
“I think that may have been the most you’ve ever spoken during one of our counseling sessions. So I would say that it obviously is bothering you.”
“Bullshit! I’ve talked a lot more than that at least a few different times. You realize that when we go out there in the field I’m your boss, right?”
“Yes, but there’s one area of management where I’m the boss. And that is when it comes to the well-being of this team.”
“No worries. I’m all good.”
Emily raised her eyebrows.
“Okay, we were close. We had a falling out. After that he teased me a lot, really made life hard on me. And I can’t fault him for that. We were kids. That kind of thing happens. But the deal with Eddie is that after my parents were murdered he didn’t lighten up on me. In fact, he started in harder. Made my life a living hell. It was so bad that I took a year off from school. Which everybody thought was com
pletely understandable, considering that my parents had just died. No one really questioned it. But the real reason I needed to get away was because of Eddie Caruso.”
“But you eventually came back to the same school?”
“Yeah, after taking some time away and looking at the situation objectively, I remembered that I could beat the living hell out of Eddie Caruso. So, first day back, I cornered him, and under threat of violence and humiliation, I offered him a truce. Kind of a North and South Korea type of deal. The kind of agreement where we don’t want to work out our differences and so we’re just going to pretend that the other party doesn’t exist.”
“Again, very healthy. But I totally understand, and you’re right about one thing: we should learn from the past, but we should never worry over it. However, your unresolved history with this man could quite easily become a problem when you go to see him.”
“It’s not a big deal, Doc. Water under the bridge.”
“After your parents died, what was the worst thing that Eddie did to you?”
“He said that my mother was a whore. He called my dad a dirty cop. The same dad who had just fought and died for me. He told me that they were probably relieved when death came, because at least they didn’t have to put up with me anymore.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, but as you said, it was a long time ago. I’m sure both you and Mr. Caruso are very different people now.”
“I can’t help thinking that anybody who would say that kind of thing to another kid whose parents had just died … I don’t know, that just seems like an issue with a person’s heart and soul. A darkness that’s never going to change.”
“Perhaps, but one of the limitations of this mortal existence is that we can never truly see into another person’s heart and soul. We spend so much time trying to chart a roadmap of what’s in everyone else’s heart, but we forget that the most important thing is what’s in our own. We can’t worry about what’s in the hearts of others because our own soul is the only one over which we have any control.”