Death of a Cure

by Steven H Jackson

  Marilena stepped in before I could say anything in response.

  “April, what had Ron done for you?”

  April looked down for a moment and then raised her eyes, not to Marilena, but to me.

  “He was my friend when I needed one. It’s a little embarrassing. Ron met me where I worked, where I still work but not as much.”

  “And dear, where was that?”

  “Playoffs,” she said quietly.

  “Playoffs? What is Playoffs?”

  I let April answer, “It’s a sports bar.”

  I wanted to hear more about this, so I tried a softer approach. “It’s a little more than that.”

  “I don’t understand?” Marilena, for once, was behind the curve.

  April looked at me, so I continued, “Well, it does have a large screen TV, and they sometimes have it tuned to a game. But that is not the principal attraction. Is it April?”

  She didn’t respond, so I answered for her, “It’s a strip joint in midtown. I believe that our new friend is a stripper.”

  “It’s a gentlemen’s club. I — am a dancer.”

  In an effort to deflect my insensitivity, to keep April comfortable enough to continue, my experimental, softer approach having come and gone, Marilena looked at me and said, “Exotic dance can be quite lovely, Thomas.”

  “Ron met you there? I can’t see it,” I said, not sure if I believed this or not. I was trying not to laugh at the image of my brother, Ron, in a strip joint, and at Marilena’s characterization of it as performance art.

  April smiled for the first time. “It was his first, and I think, his only time in a men’s club, and it definitely wasn’t his idea to be there. He had been dragged along by some rich guys who were supposed to give a lot of money to the place where he worked. You know, the CID charity people. He told me about it.”

  “And you were the lucky lady who singled him out?” I asked with what turned out to be not enough sincerity for April. She gathered some inner resolve and defended herself and Ron, with some occasional contempt for me sprinkled in along the way.

  “Lucky in more ways than you know, mister. OK, I did a couple of lap dances for him. His friends put me up to it. He figured the only way out of more of them was to pull me off of his lap and into the seat next to him. Said he wanted to talk and that he would gladly pay me each dance not to dance anymore! It was kinda cute, but at least his buddies left us alone. We talked for the next two hours, mostly me talking. He just asked questions. I told him stuff that I usually wouldn’t say to a stranger. It’s not easy for any of the girls who work there to trust any guy, especially right away, but it was easy to trust him, and I wasn’t wrong about that. After awhile, he told me that I was wasting my life at the club. I’d heard that before, usually right before I got an offer to go home with some guy who just wanted to make my life better by marrying me, but just for the night. To make a long story short, he talked me into meeting him after work — something I could have gotten fired for. We had breakfast at three in the morning. He told me to meet him the next week at the same time in the same place. I still can’t believe it, but I gave him my cell and agreed. He gave me his number, too. I mean, he was, what, thirty years older than me, maybe more, and he wasn’t hitting on me and I didn’t know it, but I needed a friend, and he turned out to be the best. He made me apply to get back into college — I had two years left at the time, and now I have enough credits to graduate after this semester. He paid my tuition and went with me to register. Helped me get an apartment of my own, put up the security deposit. He never wanted anything back. Never any funny stuff.”

  She looked at me, her teeth clenched for a moment, and then she continued, “I kind of fell in love with your brother. I would have said yes to anything, but he never made a move on me. Now, he’s gone.” She started to cry. Marilena put her arm around April’s shoulders and began to talk quietly to her. I moved away to give them some space. I believed April. I could see Ron doing this. He didn’t tell me because he was worried that I might tease him. He didn’t tell me or anyone else because he didn’t want to cheapen what he was doing, that anyone might think he was bragging about it.

  Leaving them alone, I went back to the table and the helicopter. It looked normal, nothing special about this particular bird. But there had to be something different. What message was he trying to send me? This one had the fire suppression tank with working bomb-bay doors and a hook for an external fire water-bucket. You filled the tank with some colored water that foamed for simulated fire drops. I remembered flying it and thought back to how the flight characteristics changed when you dumped the weight of the water by radio control. I went to the den and found the controller for the model. Turning the transmitter on, I moved the lever that opened the tank belly door. An object fell out onto the table and was partially hidden by the landing skids. A USB memory stick. The girls were having a quiet conversation and had not seen this happen. I palmed the little plastic and metal rectangle and slipped it into my pocket.

  BITS AND BITES

  After returning the model helicopter to its shelf and listening to the conversation in the living room, I thought I wouldn’t be missed if only gone for few minutes. Ron’s computer was still turned on and the familiar Windows desktop was displayed on the screen. I slipped quietly into the seat, removed the USB stick from my pocket, and inserted it into one of the two available slots in the front of the computer.

  I kept an ear out for approaching female voices or footsteps. The computer speaker made a bong-like sound as the operating system discovered the new hardware device. On an intellectual level, the volume of the alert was too small to be heard from the living room, yet it had surprised me when it played. To me it seemed like you could have heard it in Vermont. The USB icon appeared, and after some expected Windows sluggishness, a directory was displayed with the drive’s contents.

  Unlike the cryptic stuff on Ron’s office computer, the names of these files were more descriptive. Included in the list were file references indicating health science research and associated notes. There were word processing files, image files, and databases that were many megabytes in size. The file titles all began with a date. The date format was one that I recognized as one that Ron had used before. It was comprised of eight digits representing YYYYMMDD. Ron had explained that if you used this format, the files would automatically sort in ascending order. One interesting file about midway down the list was titled, “CID Genesis: Out of Africa — Executive Presentation, version 3.3.” That would make interesting reading. To my knowledge no one had determined how CID had gotten started.

  Study of all of these in detail would come later, but for now I had to be satisfied that these data would tell me what caused Ron’s fears. Fears that had made him hide these data with instructions to turn them over only to me, fears that had prompted a forecast that something bad might happen to him. Working quickly, an email with all of the files on the memory stick was forwarded to my personal email account. Given the condo’s high-speed connection to the Internet, this took less than four minutes after which I shut the computer down. It would be a mistake to leave the machine running given the still unseen list of people having access to the condo. I was going to take care of that as soon as I could. After removing the USB drive and putting it back in my pocket, I returned to the living room.

  Both ladies looked up at me as I approached. I didn’t want to talk about the helicopter or if I had discovered anything about it, so before April could speak, I asked, “How are you feeling? How’s the head?”

  She reached back and felt her head. “Ouch! There’s a lump. I didn’t know until I felt it just now.”

  “Let me look at it,” I said trying to use my best doctor-patient, bedside voice. Unfortunately, my bedside voice is usually directed at subordinates in the military, and I have very little practice with the more genteel portions of society.

  She looked up sharply at me, still not sure if I were on the side of the angels. Knowin
g me better wouldn’t necessarily help with that. Marilena interceded on my behalf.

  “April, Thomas is a doctor, a surgeon. Let him look at you.” Her words were spoken with the right mixture of urgency and sincerity. April’s anxiety level decreased but only slightly.

  “You’re a surgeon?” she asked, incredulous that the Gorilla that had tackled her could be a doctor. “I thought you were in the military.”

  “Yes and yes.”

  Producing my ever-trusty 9-volt LED light, I turned it to its highest setting. April started to turn away from me so I could look at the back of her head — I’d get there, but not yet.

  “Let me see your eyes first,” I instructed.

  She turned back, and I shone the light into her eyes. Her pupils were an interesting shade of green, but more importantly, they were responsive and of equal size. “Does your head hurt anywhere other than the spot where it hit the floor?”

  “No, and it only hurts if I touch it.”

  Placing my hand on the back of her head, I gently felt the contusion. I applied a small amount of pressure, and she flinched only a little. “I think you will be OK. It will ache for a while and might hurt a little more tomorrow, along with a couple of other places where you hit the floor — sorry again. If you start to have vision problems or feel nauseous, we need to get to an emergency room. I don’t think that will happen, but just to be on the safe side, why don’t you stay here tonight? Marilena can check in on you from time to time,” I said, offering Marilena up for night nurse duty given that April certainly trusted her more than me.

  “Thomas, that is an excellent idea,” Marilena added. “April, we have an ample number of guest rooms. I have not slept in mine. You can stay there.”

  “All right. If you think it’s a good idea. I don’t want to put anyone out. Thanks. I don’t have to work or go to school for three days, so I can take it easy.”

  “What is your work schedule at Playoffs?” I asked.

  “Fridays and Saturdays. The rest of the week I get to be a full-time student.”

  Marilena led April off to her room. I could hear their conversation although it was a little muted. Marilena was doing her best to help April feel comfortable, and I could even make out some conversation about me in an effort to improve my standing.

  My cell phone rang. The number had a 617 area code indicating a Boston call. Although I did not recognize the number, our home was in Boston, so I answered in violation of my personal telephone protocol.

  “Briggs,” I spoke into the device.

  “Are you Dr. Thomas Briggs? Ron Briggs’s brother?” an abrupt, female voice asked.

  “Yeah. Who wants to know?” I replied a little gruffly. After all, she had called me and had matched the number dialed to my name.

  “This is Dr. Caroline Little at the Marklin Institute in Cambridge.” She was not in the least put off by my blunt inquiry. Whoever she was, she didn’t care how I felt about her.

  “What do you want, Dr. Little?” I asked. I said it without attitude. At this point, why waste the energy?

  “Dr. Briggs, I understand that you are Ron’s brother? Is this correct? I got your number from that airhead Suzie at your brother’s office.”

  “I am his brother. And, I know Suzie well enough to know that she is quite capable and doesn’t deserve the name-calling. I’m getting the feeling that even though I don’t know you, Little, I don’t care much for you.”

  She continued, ignoring my remarks, “Dr. Briggs, I was your late brother’s research colleague. He would have mentioned me. I am calling because of a tremendous problem that he left me with. I am hoping that you can help.”

  No message of condolence, just an assertion about her own importance and an accusation that Ron was the source of some problem. If I hadn’t been trying to find out who killed Ron, I would have hung up on this witch. As it was, I was having difficulty keeping my tongue in check, “I don’t know if I can or can’t. What’s the issue?” I asked using an apathetic tone.

  “Your brother and I shared access to a research database that was hosted by the CID Society. He told me earlier on the day that he died that he had updated his work with key components to a CID cure based on our joint research. I have been trying to gain access to his data since then. There’s nothing there. There’s no update. In fact, the entire database has been deleted and all of the archives. I still have my work here, but all of his data are gone!”

  “I don’t see how I can help you with that. Have you spoken with the society computer people?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course I have,” she answered indignantly. “That’s the first thing I did. Those people are morons! They say that there are no data in the directory and never have been because there is no archive from the automatic system. But I know that there was. I looked at it all the time during the last three years. I hope that he had a copy somewhere else. I need you to find it.”

  “Dr. Little, I can’t imagine that a body of work as important as you describe was stored in only one location. If you had access to it, don’t tell me that you never backed up the database at your facility?”

  “Well, of course I did. I’d have been an idiot not to, given that funny farm Ron worked for.”

  “Then, what’s the problem?”

  “Dr. Briggs, you are not listening to me, and I don’t need another exasperating conversation today.” For someone who needed my help, she had a funny way of asking for it. “I just told you that your brother had important information to document in AN UPDATE THAT HE SAID HE MADE. Your brother could be tiresome and difficult, but he was precise. He said he made an update, an update to what I already have. But there’s nothing there.”

  “Listen up, Little. I’m not sure what I can do for you that my tiresome and difficult, recently deceased only brother could have done,” I said with a little more volume.

  “Don’t be so touchy, Briggs. I’m sorry he’s dead, and I’m sorry for your loss. OK? But this work is more important than your feelings. I believe that he made a real breakthrough, and I can’t afford to lose what he discovered.”

  “I tell you what. I’m headed over to his office in the morning. If I get a moment, I’ll ask. I’ll look around his office and here in his apartment.”

  “Do that. When can you call me back?”

  “I’m coming to Boston tomorrow afternoon. If I find anything of interest, would you like to meet?”

  “Yes, if it’s a good use of my time — if you have found anything.” She was a real gem.

  “I’ll call you from the train. Do you answer this number?” I asked.

  “Yes. It’s my cell. I’ll expect your call. I certainly hope you understand how important this is.” Her last sentence lacked any discernible degree of confidence. Not that it mattered, for she hung up, and I didn’t get a chance to reply. My brother sure had a talent for surrounding himself with headstrong women. Then again, it just might be a family trait. There’s a frightening thought.

  Eventually, Marilena emerged from the guest room, and I was very happy to see that she had her suitcase. If she hadn’t brought it out, I would have sent her back to get it. I keep track of firearm locations and had not forgotten that her Glock was in her bag. April seemed like the real deal, at least her story was believable, but I did not know her well enough yet to have her in the same condo with me while having ready access to a gun — at least not if I wanted to get any sleep. If she were something other than what she said she was, a suitcase lock would not be a deterrent.

  “Is she settled in?” I asked Marilena.

  “Yes. I gave her a set of my pajamas to wear and helped her into bed. She was falling asleep as I was leaving.”

  Thinking of my appropriated T-shirt, I said, “You had a set of pajamas?”

  “Of course. Thomas, were you hoping that I did not bring something to sleep in?” Her look was pseudo-serious while failing at containing a smile. She turned and walked into my room with the suitcase. I heard it slide under the bed.
Although the door didn’t close, I could hear Marilena changing out of her evening gown. I got a couple of brief looks at her in various states of undress as she moved back and forth to my closet. She walked back into the living room, once again wearing my Marine Corps T-shirt, Chesty in motion with every step. It was useless to comment, so I didn’t.

  “Thomas,” she continued in a quiet voice while steering us toward the kitchen counter stools. “I asked April some more about her relationship with your brother.”

  “And.”

  “He had been paying her rent and utilities. She had been paying her tuition and expenses. She said that Ron had offered to pay for everything but that she felt her education would mean more to her if she worked for it. I think we should stay in touch with her, make sure she is going to complete her studies and not have to work more than two nights a week.”

  “OK by me. Ron was a good judge of character. If he believed that our calendar girl was worth it, then she was, or rather is. Anyway, with her graduation around the corner, this particular people improvement project is about complete and might as well get finished.”

  She lifted an eyebrow and asked, “So, Thomas, when are you going to tell me how you know of this Playoffs nightclub and what it is like?”

  “I think I should tell you about what I found in the helicopter and about a phone call I just received,” I said, dodging the question.

  “You found something already? Someone called?” her interest in our case temporarily displacing her desire to needle me. What is it with women and their curiosity about strip joints and what goes on inside them? Maybe I was getting better at this, and that would be the end of her asking about Playoffs. Even as this thought came to me, I was already dismissing it. She might be diverted for a little while, but eventually, the topic was sure to come up again.

  I produced the memory stick and told Marilena where it had been hiding. She took it from me for a closer look and asked, “Have you looked at what it contains?” recognizing it for what it was.