Killer of Killers

by Mark M. DeRobertis

  With this development, Trent saw an opportunity to cross another name off his list. It also presented a good reason to keep his promise to Susie Quinn. He felt compelled to relive the love she had to offer and decided it would happen. He wanted to let her know he’d be in town, but he had no telephone. The call would have to wait until tomorrow.

  * * * *

  Inside Susie Quinn’s apartment, Connie Perez sat on Susie’s bed, peeling an orange with her personalized, green-handled pocketknife. Susie was in the shower, singing a favorite tune, and Connie smiled. She loved listening to Susie’s melodies. But then the phone began to ring. It was Susie’s landline. Connie was quite aware that the shower’s running water and Susie’s own singing prevented Susie from hearing it.

  On the fourth ring, the automatic greeting responded, and a man’s voice sounded over the speaker: “Hi Susie, this is Trent, and I just wanted you to know that I’ll be returning to New York on Monday. I need to take care of some business, but I’ll drop by to see you after that, okay? See you then.”

  The recording stopped, and the memo light flashed. Connie was very displeased. Instinctively, she raised her knife, and for several seconds held it over the message machine. But Susie’s singing diverted her rage. Instead of stabbing the message away, she pressed the button to erase it.

  Connie put the knife aside and mouthed the last of her citrus. Focused on Susie’s singing, she ambled toward it, dropping her robe on the way. She opened the shower door and stepped inside, embracing Susie as the water flowed over their bodies.

  Connie was shorter than Susie, but she held the masculine role in their partnership. She was a tomboy throughout childhood, and past adolescence her sexual preference was never in doubt. Her friends called her ‘Butch’ in her years as a youth, and as an adult her role stayed the same. With her arms around Susie’s waist, she looked up and asked, “Susie, do you still love me?”

  “Of course I do,” Susie replied.

  “What about that white guy?”

  “His name is Trent.”

  Connie tensed her mouth. “Okay, Trent.”

  “So what about him?”

  “Do you want to see him again?”

  “Who knows if I’ll ever see him again,” Susie answered, nonchalantly. “You know how mens are.”

  Actually, Connie didn’t know, having never been involved with one. She rested her head on Susie’s breast because she didn’t want Susie to see the tears in her eyes. Her machismo was not always natural. Each year seemed more of an effort to front the swagger needed to carry her image. She asked, “Do you have to go back to work tonight?”

  “Tonight’s the big night, girlfriend. I got to be there. We all have so much to talk about. It will be exciting to be up on the stage again.”

  The reply was no comfort to Connie. “Why don’t you quit that job? You know how much I hate that place.”

  Susie answered as always, “So who’s gonna pay the bills? You with your building job?” Susie’s tips alone dwarfed Connie’s income as a construction worker, and it was a fact that Connie could never live down.

  “I just hate it when all those perverts are staring at you,” Connie argued.

  “You complain about the perverts, but you don’t complain when I’m bringing home their money,” Susie countered.

  Connie shook her head. It was an argument she could never win. “You can bring home their money,” she conceded, “but if you bring home that alley cat again, I’ll kill him.”

  Susie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you and TT, baby.”

  The words hurt. Connie heard how the invincible Topu Tacau had fared against that alley cat, and clearly Susie knew she posed him no threat.

  As Connie brooded, Susie turned around and lifted her hair. “Wash my back, will you?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Wipe Out

  Standing in the doorframe of Shoji Wada’s tea room inside the Tokyo Dojo, Trent was younger and clean-shaven, but he was also distraught. “They deserve to be wiped out!” The words were Japanese, and he spoke them in anger. It wasn’t typical. Trent had been a fixture of twenty plus years at the academy, and never before had he lost his cool.

  Shoji was kneeling on the tea room’s mat, and his wrinkled face remained calm. “Please, come in,” he said.

  Trent entered and knelt opposite him. A low wooden table separated them as distant repetitions echoed through the paper-thin walls of the dojo. Teen girls in kimonos served tea and then scuttled away.

  Shoji spoke again. “Please, share with me this burden you bear.”

  Trent, hands on knees, resolved himself to reveal his double life. “Master Wada,” he began, “I know you will not be pleased to hear what I am about to say, but it is better you hear it from me. You have never approved of using our skill in a ring of sport. I have learned that what we do here is for the betterment of our physical and mental existence. But ever since Jiro left...”

  Shoji nodded. “We each follow our own path, my son.”

  “And if that path is not one to which you would agree?”

  Shoji smiled. “I would never presume to dictate another’s road to self-fulfillment. I merely avail to each the paper on which a destiny may be drawn. You are your own artist, and you will sketch your own future.”

  Trent eyed the table between them. He searched for the right words. “Then you would not deny me the right to express myself in the circuits of Japan?”

  “Certainly not. You will choose your own path, just as Jiro has. We never begrudged him. Nor shall anyone begrudge you.”

  Trent lifted his head. “But that’s just it. People do begrudge me. Not for who I am, but for where I’m from. The news from America has tainted me. I have become a walking time bomb. The gaijin who cannot be trusted.”

  Shoji’s eyes closed and then reopened. “Do not think you can manage the thoughts of others or the actions of others. Be true to yourself, and no one here will question the steps you take.”

  “The steps I take will be steps that make a difference. I must do the honorable thing by you, by Jiro, and by the land of my birth.”

  “I am troubled by your choice of words, Tora. Let me remind you of the Mon we share. Translate into English, please, and tell me what you see.”

  Trent looked to the wall-mounted coat-of-arms and answered, “I see Ryu, which means school. Ko, which means old. And Sho, which means pine tree.”

  “Yes,” Shoji said. “And this was a very special pine tree. It was old, but it was also strong and majestic, cherished above all other trees that grew in the forest behind our school. It symbolized great strength and well-being. With a fit body and a strong soul, a man can be of prodigious service to God, Buddha, and the community in which he lives. But I fear your soul is succumbing to a sickness I cannot cure. The path you choose, I pray, is one to make it well.”

  “Then you know I must return to America. I must administer the justice that so many killers have avoided.”

  Again, Shoji closed his eyes, and during the pause, Trent examined the lines on his aged face. They seemed to map a destiny known only to the gods of which he spoke. But if the destiny was his, Trent was determined to live it.

  Shoji’s eyes opened. “What else do you see in the Mon above?”

  “I see Ken, which means fist, and Po, which means law.”

  “Yes,” Shoji confirmed. “The law of the fist. Law is and has always been the preeminent commandment. It is the earthly manifestation of God’s will. Kenpo must be practiced with that in mind, and no one should at any time take the law into his own hands.”

  Trent shook his head. “It is the law that sees these murderers acquitted and released. It is the law that makes me ostracized amongst my Japanese brethren.”

  “To that I say this: if proper authority fails to settle a transgression, only then should the Kenpo arts be used, and only then in defense of human rights.”

  Trent nodded. “Then you understand why I must act.”

  Yet again, Shoj
i closed his eyes, and they remained closed as he placed the open palms of his hands together. “I will conclude our discussion with this advice: should you find yourself forced, even in self-defense, to hurt someone, you must act in the best interest of humanity. And in this event, you must notify the proper authorities. I understand that you hate the evil deeds of a criminal, but do not hate the man himself. No matter what path a man travels, he is still a creation of God. And the taking of a life is contrary to God’s law. Never forget, Tora, that the actions of those trained at the dojo represent me. All that you learned here is a reflection of who and what I am.”

  * * * *

  The dream ended, and Trent opened his eyes only to find himself staring at the ceiling in his Oakland condominium. Shoji’s words often returned to him in dreams. It was all he had left from his years in Japan. But there was something else. He pulled out the drawer on his nightstand and viewed its hollow interior. Sitting on the edge of his coverless bed, he wondered as to the whereabouts of what used to be in there. He wondered if his heart was now just as empty. He wondered if his soul was now just as bare. Wondering why he had no answer, he slammed the drawer shut and planned his next kill.

  * * * *

  Dr. Jason Benson started Sunday morning expounding on the formulas he had calculated the previous day. Hunched over, inches from his monitor, his only moving body parts were past his elbows. With his boss in the house, Jason dared not allow the slightest notion he wasn’t giving full attention to their shared priority.

  Fortunately, there was good news. Dr. Wong extended the drug’s shelf life, and Dr. Lee completed his first successful pheromone equation. But Jason took it upon himself to solve the riddle of nature’s reversal. The answer was near, and he wanted no input from anyone else. This time he sought a solitary breakthrough.

  Again, Soriah’s men came to fetch him, and again, Jason followed them to the executive suite. There sat Soriah, no longer pricked and poked, but fully dressed in a royal blue suit behind his elegant desk. He was focused on the computer screen, apparently reading a string of reports written by his slew of researchers. Charles Morgan worked the computer nearby.

  Within the doorframe, Jason waited to be recognized.

  Soriah turned his head. “Yes, yes, Dr. Benson, do come in. Have a seat, and be comfortable. I’ll be only a moment.”

  Jason lowered himself into the closest chair while Soriah returned his attention to his computer screen. Again, Jason wasted precious minutes on the whims of the man who employed him. It was near intolerable. Jason was a world-famous biochemist, but at the moment he felt more like a troubled teen awaiting the dean of men.

  With his eyes fixed on his monitor, Soriah said, “According to your latest entry, we have reason for optimism.”

  “That’s correct, sir,” Jason replied. “Calculations indicate the current run may be the first series to remain potent beyond the established norm of six months. And theoretical returns show a significant decrease in pheromone malfunction. We believe the twenty-eight hundred series holds the key to solving the crisis.”

  Looking only slightly pleased, Soriah responded, “Very well, our first real progress over the last three years. You know what to do then. All extractions of Eternity must be a variant of those formulas.”

  “We’re on it,” Jason said.

  “Very good, Dr. Benson, you may proceed.”

  Jason stood up to exit, but after a single step, Soriah called out, “Oh, and Dr. Benson...”

  Jason halted.

  “There is still the matter of East Coast distribution.” Soriah’s voice turned cold. “I told you how important that was.”

  Jason frowned. “I haven’t had time yet to account for the New York disbursement. I’ve been preoccupied here in the lab.”

  “Then it’s out of your hands,” Soriah snapped. “Beginning tomorrow, my Specials will take the assignment.”

  Jason wanted to respond, but he had nothing more to say.

  Finally, Soriah uttered, “Very well, then. Charles and I are leaving now, but next week, I’ll be looking forward to your report. Until then.”

  After nodding in compliance, Jason watched Soriah and Charles abandon the suite for their return to New York. But with the top man gone, he felt no less ill at ease. Soriah resorted to using his ‘Specials’ when he wanted immediate results—and by any means necessary.

  Regardless, Jason was eager to get back to work, and he pondered which of his orders to follow first. He wandered back to the master lab and saw Dr. Lee typing and reading, typing and reading, as if the man was an automated extension to his computer. On the other side of the room sat Dr. Wong. He was a mirror image of Dr. Lee.

  In between them, Jason studied his own computer. The monitor showed only his desktop, which featured a peaceful country scene of green grass and blue sky. “What’s the current status of Eternity’s twenty-eight hundred run?” he asked without specifying either of his associates.

  “We have submitted the latest figures to the master computers,” Dr. Lee answered. “We’re waiting on the returns now.”

  “Make sure you verify the preliminary feedback on our in-house subjects,” Jason advised. “I don’t want to wait for Eternals. Most of them never care to report, anyway.”

  “We can send reminders,” Dr. Wong suggested.

  Jason shook his head. “Forget it.” He stepped to the window and peered at the wilderness beyond the electrified fence. With his hands clasped behind his back, he explained, “No need interrupting their prodigal lifestyles for a trip to Nowheresville. Why should they bother? Cuts and scratches heal in front of their eyes. Annual viral afflictions have ceased. Their allergies have gone away. STDs are no longer a concern. They look bigger, stronger, and feel better than ever before in their charmed and carefree lives.” He turned to face his colleagues. “No, these people are used to instant gratification, and Eternity provides it. If anything goes wrong, they know we’ll contact them and rectify the problem, as always.” He returned to his computer and studied the monitor while handling the mouse. “If the returns are consistent, submit the formula to production upon confirmation.”

  “What about the outgoing shipments?” Dr. Wong inquired.

  “Let them go,” Jason said. “And proceed with processing in E Wing. It will be several weeks before the new version is ready, and the current supply will cover the lapse of recalibration. It’s better for everyone if we all stay busy. I’m sure Mr. Soriah will agree.”

  Doctors Wong and Lee sent the orders through their computers. Jason looked on and considered the lab’s computers. They calculated theoretical formulas. They predicted variant derivatives. They even managed processing in the production wing. And the computers in the main lab controlled all of the other computers. The facility would be crippled without them.

  With several clicks of his mouse, Jason accessed a personalized website he created for his eyes only. He clicked on the icon Solutions and then linked to Activate. He clicked on Standby and started the program. A new site emerged, and it was there he put the cursor on an icon that read Wipe Out.

  Several moments passed before Dr. Wong spoke up. “Dr. Benson? We’re ready. Dr. Benson?”

  Jason turned to his fellow scientists. He straightened his back and grasped his lapels. “Gentlemen,” he said, “let’s take our tour, shall we?”

  Jason walked side by side with Doctors Wong and Lee across the expansive hub and through the doors to A Wing. Being the administrative section, most personnel were off duty for the weekend, but the computer labs remained active with technicians minding scores of elaborate hardware. As Jason and his two Chinese assistants passed, skeleton crews corrected their postures. Among them, the American workers nodded a salute while their Asian counterparts stood up and bowed.

  Next, they crossed into Wing B, which contained the executive offices and temporary suites. Two huge security guards remained posted outside Soriah’s office. Not once had Jason seen it unguarded, whether Soriah was prese
nt or not. Past the sectional divide, a stylish patient ward contained volunteers—human guinea pigs—hooked up with wires and connected to monitors. Pharmacists, nurses, and lab personnel swarmed the corridors, passing each other like ants in underground hives.

  C Wing featured men wearing outfits that looked like spacesuits. They worked behind windows in airtight vaults. This was the production quarter, and the enclosed operators mixed sterilized solutions, guided by the computer network. Other similarly suited workers, assisted by intricate machinery, prepared syringes and filled them with serum.

  As Jason and Doctors Wong and Lee toured further, they viewed the packaging plants. It was there automatons filled hundreds of thin black cases with double rows of their tiny tubular product. The shipping department handled the final stages of the process. Laborers stacked black leather bags and sorted them for distribution.

  Wing D focused on animal research. Scientists and technicians examined animals confined in separate rooms sealed with timed locks. Peering through successive windows, Jason witnessed cats and dogs in small cages, and all with their craniums removed. Glass domes secured the animal brains into which wires and electrodes attached. Readings flashed on monitors, and technicians in pairs recorded the relevant data.

  Next were the Rhesus Monkeys, also in cages, similarly treated with brains encased in glass and connected to wires. Some were unrestrained, but sturdy straps confined most of them to medical gurneys. Their simian faces displayed a tranquilized acceptance to their fate.

  A section with chimpanzees exhibited the biting edge of the experiments. Some had their cranial skulls removed like the prior animals, but others had their chest walls replaced with surfaces of clear crystal. Wires and electrodes conglomerated into a network of monitoring devices. All of the chimps lay sprawled on their backs, and all of them were unconscious.

  In the lobby of E Wing, Jason hesitated. A Chinese guard wearing the Lab Security uniform sat at a desk beside a heavily fortified gateway. Jason asked, “Is that the new guy?”