Blood is Pretty

by Steven Paul Leiva

  “As long as they are beautiful. ”

  “Very beautiful. Andy has high standards. ”

  “Then why does he use high-priced whores?”

  “Because high-priced whores tend to be very beautiful. And he can afford to. Which places him well above middle class morality. And because he didn’t have to put up the pretense of caring. ”

  “He’s never married. ”

  “He was married to NewVue. ”

  “Until this divorce. ”

  “Yes. Until this divorce. ”

  “Did he ever talk about marriage?”

  “No. But he once confessed to me that if he ever thought a woman truly loved him—the inner him, as he called it—he would grab her in an instant and forsake all others. ”

  “He felt un-loved then?”

  “Yes. But he worked pretty hard not to let it bother him. ”

  “I’ll bet. Well, thank you Mr. Engstrand. I have to go now. ” I stood up and started to leave.

  “Uh… . ”

  “Yes?”

  “What we talked about earlier—the information you have, how did you get it?”

  “Mr. Engstrand, think of me as a reporter on the soul’s condition. I never reveal my sources. ”

  “What are you going to do with the information?”

  “Keep it to myself. ”

  “Is there anyway I can assure that? Can I pay you something?”

  “That, Mr. Engstrand, would make me a blackmailer. ”

  “But—but I volunteer this payment. ”

  “No, Mr. Engstrand, the information is more valuable to me unsullied by a financial transaction. I will keep it safe. As long as you remember I have it.

  I may need your help in the future. ”

  “Yes, yes, of course, anything. ”

  “As you may need mine someday. If that day comes, if you find yourself to have a problem, business or personal, that you can’t easily fix, call Norton Macbeth. Tell him you want to talk to me. My prices are not reasonable. But my work is guaranteed. ”

  “And who—and who do I tell Mr. Macbeth I wish to speak with?”

  “Ask to speak with the Fixxer. Good-bye. ”

  Chapter 12

  One Sick Puppy

  On the drive back from Santa Clarita I opened the 911 up and had some fun, slowing down only once when my long-range radar detector, which I have given the pet name of McGee, indicated a public servant was lurking nearby.

  We really are stupid at times, we humans. Not getting caught is our greatest joy. For most people this entails nothing more than sneaking smokes as kids, at least one brush with shoplifting in our teen years, and, as adults, flouting traffic laws in ways often inconvenient to our fellow citizens and dangerous to ourselves. But in aberrant others—individuals and institutions alike without “better angels” in their natures—this propensity extends into darker territories, and that’s when it can be really dangerous. Not that the aberrant care. If they did, they wouldn’t be aberrant. If we—the normal or the aberrant—get caught, then the next best thing is getting away with it, thus the high living standards of defense attorneys. But that is our system and few would trade it. One wonders, though, if the incentives were enough, whether certain individuals or institutions would sell it?

  As I had to slow down in any case, I put in a call to Norton.

  “How was Engstrand?” Norton asked when he came on the line.

  “A competent tour guide. ”

  “You got him to talk then?”

  “Yes, he seemed please to. ”

  “Good, good, he, he, he. ”

  “How’s the Hinckley family vacation going?”

  “Going well. He was not happy and the family was confused, but they went, he, he, he. ”

  “Good. Keep them amused. ”

  “How long?”

  “Can’t predict. ”

  “Well, I’ll do my best, he, he, he. ”

  *

  I begged off dinner when I got home and asked Roee instead to prepare a cold pack for my arm. He also insisted on redressing my neck.

  “How’s it looking?”

  “Not bad. They’ll be no scars. ”

  “Good. I’m getting sick of turtlenecks. ”

  “But you look so good in them. ”

  “Roee, I looked good in leisure suits, but doesn’t mean I would wear one now. ”

  “Turtlenecks are timeless. ”

  “Yes, well, be that as it may, please fix me a very stiff vodka tonic and bring it into the library? I’ve got some reading to do. ”

  *

  When I got to the library I opened up the top right hand drawer and pulled out the envelope Craig York had mailed to himself. Once I was settled with the vodka I opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. York had not lied. It was the V treatment. I read what I now knew to be a stern warning from Skinner to York about what “rapists” might do with Veritas adapted into a highly fanciful and melodramatic film scenario with a “high concept” at its core—exactly what would appeal to a studio executive. Unfortunately I had firsthand knowledge that it was also possible, especially now that a studio executive had read it who may have gotten the idea to step beyond the fanciful and into reality, or, possibly better stated, a new reality—a very malleable new reality.

  The question was, was it an evil new reality? Taken to the extremes the treatment predicted yes. Even if you believe the universe is amoral, which I do, and even if you subscribe to the concept of situational ethics—I have a lifetime subscription myself—the answer was an unavoidable yes.

  I laid the treatment aside and got up and put on the stereo some Telemann concertos for oboe. They help me think. It’s partly the sound of the oboe itself, which I have always found the perfect musical representation of the inner mind. But it is also the form of alternating slow movements with those more lively that gives a nice order to a train of thought. The slow movements—for example the second “Recitativo” movement of Telemann’s F minor—are contemplative in their deliberateness, as if one-step-at-a-time was the binding element of the universe. Then the following lively movements admit to the random, allowing your thoughts to strike more than just the fellow behind and the fellow ahead, causing the possibility of surprising sparks that truly illuminate. If not, then the next slow movement puts you right back into the process. A series of pieces can keep you nicely on track.

  Power was at the center of the affair. That’s a given in almost all evil. Power over people and events. Power to be hoarded, not to be shared, or shared only in a compromise that allows the power. What brand of power was under consideration in this particular case? Commercial power? Control of Veritas would certainly give Rand that. Money, power, prestige, influence beyond any ever before granted someone from the entertainment business. Was this a big enough prize to kill for? Yes, for someone like Batsarov, it certainly was. But it was obviously Rand who had gotten Batsarov involved. Why? He had an early version of Veritas from York, and wanted Skinner’s perfected one? Or was he even aware that York’s was last year’s model? Why would York tell him that? And wouldn’t he claim that he, with time, could work out the obvious faults in Veritas? If Rand wasn’t aware, then he would not need to negotiate with Skinner, which York would have told him was fruitless, in any case. But he did need to destroy what Skinner had, so York could claim the patent. That’s what Rand needed Finch for. Finch was still friendly with Skinner; was a computer correspondent. Maybe they were using him to introduce, perhaps through an e-mail delivered file, a virus into Skinner’s computer that would eventually make his system crash, wiping out his Veritas software and programs. But a person like Skinner would have backups. No, they needed Finch to get on site at Skinner’s lab. Finch, I’m sure, promised he could do it. Skinner wouldn’t have allowed it, though, not even for a childhood friend. Unless he was using Finch as a Guinea Pig, testing Veritas on him. But assuming not, assuming Finch had failed them, after eight months—eight months in which York had fai
led to improve the earlier version of Veritas, maybe now admitting Skinner had a better one—Rand may have had no choice but to pact with the devil to get the job done. The Caltech attack was made imperative when they lost York’s version of Veritas, but maybe it was already in the planning, maybe it would have happened several days before if York had not killed Finch. But all this was done for commercial power? Not that commercial power is to be sneered at, but it has been my experience that such measures are more likely to indicate a bid for political power.

  For so many years now political power has been gained by local appeals to nationalism, and then maintained by chest thumping abroad. In a flip of the good thoughts of René Dubos, most world leaders have thought locally and acted globally. Can any political power be gained by an appeal to internationalism? Communism tried, gained, but eventually failed. But now Rand had a bug up his butt about it. Why? Was it just an excuse to throw fancy fundraisers and be thought an incredibly good, peace-loving guy? Most likely, at first, this is all it was. It had networking and image payoffs in the Industry. But what came second? As Rand aged, as Hollywood became more and more courted by the world for the power and influence it had, what was Rand thinking? What, in the deep recesses of his recognition-loving mind (recognition in the sense Fukuyama has written about) did he really think whenever he stood in the shower and whistled “If I Ruled the World?”

  And what did those thoughts coalesce into when Rand read York’s treatment during a pleasant fishing trip; said, “This is cool,” then had the actual, for real cool demonstrated for him? Yes, what did Rand suddenly realize about a possible destiny he had only contemplated before as a way of—entertaining himself?

  *

  I made a series of phone calls.

  “Anne?”

  “Fixxer?”

  “I think we can get together earlier than I thought. ”

  “Wonderful!”

  “How about tomorrow night for dinner at my place?”

  “Should I bring some bubble bath?”

  “A nice thought, but not this time. Actually it’s going to be a dinner party. ”

  “Oh. ”

  “I guarantee you will find it interesting. A car will pick you up at six. ”

  *

  “Petey?”

  “Fixxer! How’d 12-72 do?”

  “Just fine, Petey, just fine. Listen, how much vacation time do you have built up?”

  “Oh, well, let’s see? Two weeks a year for the last, uh, 22 years, that would be… ”

  “Forty-four weeks. ”

  “Yeah, forty-four weeks. Guess I’ll add them onto my retirement. ”

  “Well, sacrifice some of it and get out here. I need you. ”

  “When?”

  “Catch the next flight. ”

  “Well, I’ll have to talk to—”

  “I’ll deal with your immediate superior. Is it still Duckmeyer?”

  “No, Fucky-Ducky’s gone. It’s Heartburn. ”

  “Really? Hillburn? Even better. Got any new, undetectable body homing devices?”

  “Have you been circumcised?”

  “Circumcised?”

  “Yes, circumcised. ”

  “Isn’t that a matter between a man and his god?”

  “Come on, stop kidding with me. Have you been circumcised?”

  “Yes, Petey, the good doctor who brought me into the world took my foreskin out of it. ”

  “Good, then I have just the thing. ”

  “Dare we go into the details now?”

  “No. It’ll just disturb your sleep. See you soon. ”

  *

  “Captain. ”

  “Fixxer, damn it! I’m off duty and trying to have conjugal bliss with my wife. ”

  “Dinner. Tomorrow night. My place. A car will pick you up at six. ”

  “Fixxer, damn it, I resent—”

  “Don’t keep Mrs. Captain waiting. ”

  *

  “Roee. ”

  “Yes. ”

  “A little dinner party tomorrow night for five. Anne Eisley, Petey, the Captain, you and I. Six-thirty drink, seven o’clock dinner. ”

  “Salmon steaks suit your palate?”

  “Yes, that’ll be fine. ”

  “Good. I’ve had a taste for salmon ever since our last swim. ”

  *

  The next day Petey arrived in time for breakfast. He came bursting through the door like a tattered tornado, his small frame carrying a proportionally oversized head that he kept unkempt from his deep black hair to his gray spotted beard that seemed to have been trimmed with a hacksaw. His cavernous mouth was the perfect amplifier and he rarely talked below a shout.

  “Roee, what the hell? Turkey in Eggs Benedict?” Petey said upon his first bite.

  Roee gave Petey the look of a stern old family doctor. “It’s healthier for you. ”

  “Healthy? The fucking sauce will kill me! What do you want to do? Kill the market for Canadian bacon? Hell, you’ll be the cause of a border war. How about a Bloody Mary?”

  “No,” I said. “I need you in the laboratory with a clear head. ”

  “Laboratory? I thought I was on vacation. ”

  “Twenty-five thousand for the week. ”

  “Plus costs?”

  “Plus costs. ”

  “Vacations are for the vacuous. But would a nap be out of the question?”

  “Didn’t you sleep on the plane?”

  “I can’t sleep on airplanes. Can you?”

  “Petey, I can sleep anywhere, because I sleep the sleep of the innocent. ”

  “Yeah, sure!” Petey snorted.

  “All right. Roee will lead you in some deep relaxation exercises that will give you two hours sleep that will seem like eight. Then it’s to the laboratory until six. ”

  “Fine. What am I doing? Dissecting earthworms and frogs?”

  “Nothing so mundane. You’ll be dissecting the future of evil. ”

  “Ooooh! I don’t know if that was portentous or pretentious, but it sure was entertaining. ”

  *

  The Captain, Petey and I were having drinks in the library when Roee ushered Anne Eisley in. I had told them that one more guest would be joining us, but I had not indicated that the guest would be a woman, nor a woman as fully attention-grabbing as Anne. They were furiously talking at each other when Anne appeared—debating some fine point in regards to the effective interrogation of a sociopath—and simultaneously stopped in mid-sentences, leaving a sweet silence somewhat reminiscent of early morning, or the sound of the world just after a thunderstorm.

  Anne smiled—the sun breaking through the clouds. She was wearing a mid-calf length black evening dress held up by small straps over each shoulder. The neckline of the bodice was cut to reveal enough to convince that nature could, indeed, produce art. The skirt was made of sheer cotton overlaid by a mad pattern of heavy silk swirls, allowing hints of the radiance of her legs. I walked over to her. I could see that she was nervous. “Welcome to my home, Anne. What a lovely dress—Mizrahi?”

  “Thank you,” she said in a quiet voice. “Yes it is. I wore it to the Emmys. I hope no one here remembers. ”

  “I’m sure that will not be a problem. Let me introduce you to the others. ” I led her by the arm over to the Captain and Petey. Roee accompanied us. “Gentlemen I would like you to meet Anne Eisley. Anne, this is Petey to your right. He is the developer of Formula 12-72. ”

  Anne took his hand. “Oh, really? How in the world did you ever think up that particular concoction?”

  Petey smiled big. He loved talking about his work. And so rarely can. “Oh, it was easy! I just drew on my natural vindictiveness and jealously over all the men out there getting laid while I wasn’t!”

  “Oh. ”

  “I mean, would you want to have sex with me?!”

  It was a question with an easy answer, but one not easy to answer. Nevertheless,

  Anne caught the stream of Petey’s consciousness and answered well
. “Only, I suppose, if I was blinded by love. ”

  “Oh, well that couldn’t happen! I’m about as lovable as a dried slug on a window pane!”

  “Oh, I’m sure somewhere deep inside you is something to love. ”

  “Oh, yeah! Pure, raw, pathetically pompous intelligence, but few people find that lovable. But if you ever think you might, Fixxer’s got my phone number. ”

  It seemed best to move on at this point. “And this is the Captain. ”

  Anne turned her attention to the tall Midwesterner in the well-worn suit. “Captain… ?”

  “In our association, ‘Captain’ is enough,” the Captain said.

  “Then Captain it will be. ”

  “And do forgive me if you catch me starring at you all evening. But you are a beautiful woman. ”

  “Thank you, Captain. I’ll try not to let it unnerve me. ”

  “And, of course, my friend Roee must have introduced himself at the entrance. ”

  “Yes, he did. ”

  “What would you like to drink Miss Eisley,” Roee offered, “I have an absolutely wonderful Chenin Blanc, or, of course, various imported bottled waters, both gassata and nongassta, as the Italians like to say. ”

  Anne looked at each of the four men she had been invited to have dinner with. I think she knew that she was “safe” in our care, but it was also quite apparent that something out of the ordinary was soon to present itself. “No, thank you. They sound lovely, but I think Scotch—neat. ”

  *

  The dinner Roee prepared was, of course, excellent, the salmon especially, which had been caught that morning in Alaska and flown down in the afternoon.

  I thought Petey would appreciate having Anne report the details of exactly how Fred Crane had reacted to Formula 12-72. She did so without embarrassment. Which was good. For it had actually been a test of her courage.

  After the Captain fully understood exactly what Formula 12-72 did, he turned to Petey in amazement and said, “Petey, you are one sick puppy. ” Petey loved the designation. Then the Captain got us off the subject to pontificate against the gun lobby. He took the standard police line. Anne nodded vigorously in agreement.

  Roee brought out and explained exactly how he had created the dessert, which was far too technical for me. The coffee was good. But for our second cup, I suggested that it was time to move back to the library to discuss the matter I had brought them together for.