by Gale Borger
Ian pointed to a stainless steel sink so Sam could wash up, and said to us, "Ready to see my space?"
Sam turned, "Not really, but I guess I can visit my new friend later."
We reluctantly left Kitty to his own devices and followed Ian out of the science center.
Ian headed back to his mysterious locked building, leaving the rest of us to help Mag close up the nature center Five minutes later, the heavy door cycled and we passed into a glass-enclosed vestibule. Here we donned paper coveralls, hairnets, gloves, and booties because Ian ran a clean-room which was as sterile as he could make it. I thought about getting him going by threatening to bring the dogs for a visit.
I strolled up to where he looked into a microscope and patted him on the shoulder. "Hey, Plant Boy, how's it photosynthesizing?"
Ian looked up and blinked. "It's photosynthesizing just fine in here, Buzz. How'd you like Maggie's project?"
"Awesome."
"Fantastic."
"Like another world."
Ian smiled with pride. "Mag's got the donations rolling in and can't wait to open. Do you think the old ladies are going to be very disappointed to find out they have been protesting a nature lab and not a den of iniquity?"
I laughed out loud. "They'll find something else to bitch about, rest assured, but Mary is going to awful disappointed that she can't audition on a real pole."
Ian looked startled. "What? N-never mind." He turned to J.J. "How's the bad guy business in town? All quiet down at Sal's?"
I piped up. "Crime has to stay on hold for a while because we stole the Sheriff."
Ian shook hands with J.J. "Good to know. I feel safer already."
Sam looked at the slides Ian had made from the dead Endlers. Ian had extracted the contents of the fish's bellies. He pulled one slide out of the lineup and placed it under a microscope.
Sam did the same and asked, "Ian, what exactly are you looking for over here?"
"I thought if I could identify plant matter in their digestive systems, I could test for any toxins in that plant matter. Very interesting things I'm finding. First, I'm finding heavy metal toxins such as mercury and cyanide–enough to kill a much larger animal."
He pointed to a white board listing the contents of the water as well as the plant molecules in the fish bellies. He had the toxins figured out by parts per million. The math made me dizzy, but the words cyanide and mercury were enough to convince me of cause of death.
"Are you talking enough poison to kill something such as a chicken or goat?" I remembered Evo's tale of the village.
"Or human." Ian continued, "The fish did not ingest this over a long period of time, as I did not find concentrations in the tissues. In this case, toxins would have killed off the first generation and the lake would have been completely void of fish. The toxins were most likely introduced into the lagoon by a recent run off or dumping of toxic materials."
Evo cut in. "Do you mean a runoff from a garbage dump or mining slag, or a source of natural toxins?" He looked at the floor in deep concentration.
"Cyanide and mercury, are definitely introduced from outside sources. These types of poisons do not occur in these amounts naturally. By introduction from an outside entity, the fish in that lagoon would have had no immunity built up to tolerate the poisons, even in low levels."
Sam held a hand over her heart. "That is why you said the F-Zero generation would have perished. They would not have lived long enough to produce first generation offspring."
Staring at the whiteboard, Evo muttered to himself, "But there aren't any garbage dumps or mines in that area, only Number 151, and that stuff doesn't leach from oil wells. Nunez owns all that land, and has only the oil operation in that area. Where the hell did it come from?"
He thought about the graves in the churchyard and asked Ian, "Are you talking about enough cyanide in the water source to kill even larger beings such as children and the elderly?"
"Larger. This is no small concentration I'm talking about. This could wipe out an entire village including their cattle."
Evo covered his eyes and muttered, "Oh, my God, I need to go back and find the source. The village, the people; good Lord, the children!"
Ian changed slides again. "But I found a very curious thing to make this case even more confusing. Some of the plant materials in their stomachs are not indigenous to that region of Venezuela."
We all stared dumbly at each other.
Ian continued. "Some of the plant material these guys ingested came from only one place known in the world. Peru."
"Peru?" we echoed.
"Peru," Ian continued. "And this might give us a great clue as to what is going on. Platycerium andinum is an almost extinct fern. I have one over there." He pointed to a palm-type tree which looked like it had a lion's mane growing around a large branch. "The only places it is found in the world are on the eastern slopes of the Andes Mountains in Peru. Get this. Its closest relative resides in Madagascar."
"Madagascar?"
"Western Madagascar."
There was silence in the room. Fred let out a big sigh which blew the bangs off her forehead. "Boy, does that lend credence to the Big Bang Theory or what?"
Ian looked up at us. "Yep, but what's more curious is the fact that both of those regions are dry tropical forests. Therefore, my question is this, what would that particular plant material be doing inside a little fish in a tropical rainforest literally hundreds of miles away?"
Evo stopped his mumblings with that bit of information. "What you're saying is–"
Sam jumped in. "When we first found out Evo discovered the Endlers in the far northeastern region of Venezuela, I thought it odd they would turn up in a previously unknown and remote location. The only lake in the world where they were found was fouled by a garbage dump, so Endlers are practically extinct in the wild." She gathered her thoughts. "So you are saying that this plant is not found in the same region as these fish, let alone found in Venezuela at all."
"You win the kewpie doll. This leads me to believe–"
"Someone moved the fish there," we all intoned.
"Man, you guys are quick," Ian said.
Evo spoke up. "I know of this fern--this andinum. It is rare enough, but it is not listed as a 'salvageable' rare species. There's a group trying to protect a forest where these ferns grow in abundance. They grow on Quinilla trees in places like the Donut Hole Forest near San Martin. Presently, the Quinilla trees are being clear cut for fence posts and the vegetation burned off, including the andinum."
Sam lifted a brow and sneered. "Aren't we the conservationist all of a sudden? This from Mr. Corporate Oil Man? Isn't your only job the conservation of your huge take-home pay? How do you know so much about it, and why would you care?"
Evo drew up to his full height and looked down his nose at Sam. He said very quietly, "Because I initiated the project to establish the Donut Hole as a Zone of Ecological Protection to save it. Look it up, Dr. Fernandini. I even got shot by the opposition while putting up signs for D.S. 011-96-AG." He pulled up his sleeve and she looked in horror at the angry red slash that still marred his bicep. He yanked down his sleeve, turned, and walked. When he stopped, he stood perfectly still, hands on hips and studied the plants Ian had in the corner atrium.
Stunned, Sam looked at Fred. She bit her lip. "Oh, my God, I didn't know. I didn't think. Now I vaguely remember Tony mentioning it, but not in conjunction with his brother. Why didn't he say something?" She looked over to where Evo gently turned over a leaf to study the backside, and took a step in that direction.
Tony caught up to her and touched her arm. "Stay here, I'll talk to him. He has strong feelings, but rarely shows this much emotion. You've obviously hurt him deeply."
Sam drew herself up. "No, Tony, I blew it, I'll fix it." She brushed by him and started toward Evo.
Tony grabbed her arm again. "Later, Sam, I mean it. He won't listen now. Approach him later. Let him stew for a while by himself."
Sam yanked her arm away, and Tony grabbed her again. Sam said, "I can admit that I've been an ass when the situation calls for it." She flipped her satin mane of hair over her shoulder. "I'll make him listen to me." She pulled free and stomped after Evo.
Tony looked stunned and said under his breath, "Man, you two are so much alike…"
I squeezed his shoulder. "Come on, kiddo. You can't fight their battles for them. If there's blood to be shed, J.J. and I know first aid. Let them go for now."
"It's not that, Buzz. She really is just like him." He suddenly grinned. "I gotta see this." He grabbed Fred's hand and slunk off along the tree line, trying for a better view of the inevitable confrontation.
I watched as he inched closer to the quiet war going on between Evo and Sam. I saw a lot of head bobbing and large gestures. I looked over to where Tony crouched and he gave me the two-thumbs up sign–whatever that meant.
I sighed and turned back to Ian. "So, when will we be able to examine the not-so-dead fish? Can we use your place here?"
"Sure! Bring 'em on. I'd be happy to help."
Loud banging at the door stopped all noise in our building. Ian bounded toward the security camera. "May I help you, sir?" He spoke into the intercom. I looked at the monitor and saw a Grizzly Adams looking guy at the door.
"Open up here, I'm Hank MacRone." The voice boomed over the intercom.
Ian and I looked at each other. Ian recovered first. "Who the heck is Hank MacRone?"
At first I didn't connect the name. "Beats the hell out of me. Wait! I know who Hank MacRone is. Fred, Sam, come quick, you'll never guess–"
12
This is not the American dream, Tom thought as they waited in line for a rental car. If Mark didn't get them arrested before they could bump off the two morons and the scientists, Tom would be surprised. They arrived shortly after the scientist, his brother, and the two morons, but between Mark stuffing himself on Big Macs and marveling at the automatic soap dispenser in the bathroom, their targets were well on their way. They caught up with them near the car rental place, but some hassle about the car had Tom and Mark hiding behind a Ficus tree to avoid being seen.
By the time Tom and Mark followed them out the front door, the others were crammed into a small car and pulling away from the curb. Without thinking, Mark jumped into a Jeep at the curb which had its engine running. Tom hesitated then dove through the passenger window as Mark slammed it into gear and squealed the tires. They took off after the Suzuki and tried to blend in with the traffic. They followed them to a motel and waited for them to go in. They got lost on their way back to the airport, and ended up in a neighborhood much like the one they escaped. "Betcha the pizza delivery guy don't come here either, Mark."
"Betcha you're right. We gotta get out of here before someone shoots us or something."
They finally found the airport and parked the Jeep in a remote parking lot. They locked it and wiped it down. It wouldn't pay to be caught in a stolen car before they began their mission.
Tom was exhausted and really angry with the desk clerk from the car rental agency. Mark looked like he was just along for the ride. He wandered around, stared out the window, and left all the decision making to Tom. He seemed so laid back Tom almost throttled him when they were asking if they wanted luxury or fuel economy. Mark piped up for the first time all day and said, "Fuel economy," and Tom knew they would be brought a microscopic little car that would make that other car look like a freight train.
Tom wanted to give it back, but Mark convinced him that good gas economy and free miles was a good deal. The agent promised sporty, too, and when he drove up in the red hard top/convertible Cooper, Mark about flipped.
Tom said out of the side of his mouth, "We can't drive around in that thing; we'll stick out like a white guy in our old neighborhood."
The agent talked about the great the acceleration on the little Cooper, and how its maneuverability in traffic could spare them from an accident. Tom rolled his eyes.
Mark elbowed Tom. "See? It's a good get-away car too. You worry too much, little brother."
"I'm not your brother and according to my mother; you are only about five minutes older than me, so don't give me that fatherly advice crap."
Mark snatched the key from the rental agent and headed around to the driver's door. "Whatever, I'm drivin'."
Tom took off in pursuit. He dove into the driver's seat a split second before Mark got there. "No you ain't. I'm drivin'."
Mark grabbed Tom's T-shirt and tried to yank him out of the car. "Don't start with me, I'm the better driver, and I'm older. Besides, your mom likes me better, so move over or get out."
A scuffle ensued, but Mark succeeded in dragging Tom out of the driver's window. Tom calmly stood up. Brushing off his knees, he gathered himself up to his full height. "Okay, let's do this logically. You say you're the better driver?" Tom put his finger to his chin and rested on one hip. "Then let me see… It must have been someone else who knocked the mirror off the Jeep at the drive-up window at Burger King, stepped on the gas rather than the brake, jumped the curb, barely missing six pigeons and a little old lady, and ran over a garbage can?
"And it must have been someone else who drove into a ditch after we saw that girl wearing only a bra while jogging down the road."
"Yeah, good thing we stole a Jeep, huh? We would have been goners in that ditch, eh? I really thought she was Pamela Anderson; I only wanted an autograph."
"Pamela Anderson in po-dunk Wisconsin? You almost ran over your tongue."
"Yeah, well, uh…I–"
"And that poor cow in the road?"
"Okay, okay, you win. I forgot about the cow." Mark tossed the keys to Tom and stalked to the passenger's door. The rental agent staggered back into his office. He felt dizzy and plopped down into a chair. Putting his head between his knees to prevent himself from hyperventilating, he only prayed those two characters were kidding around.
Mark watched the rental agent through the window and raised a brow. He jerked his thumb toward the heaving man. "What's wrong with him, do you suppose?"
Tom slid behind the wheel and grinned. "Probably got a good look at your face, amigo."
Mark pointed to his chin. "This is your mother's face, Amigo." He jumped in the passenger's side and slid his ball cap around backward. "And I'll amigo your ass, bitch, get us out of here."
Tom spun the tires as he left the parking lot. The rental agent quietly passed out behind his desk.
As they sped down the expressway, Mark pressed buttons and pulled levers. He opened the glove compartment and put his window down and up several times. He fiddled with the radio. When booming bass blasted from the speakers, Mark crossed his arms over his chest and nodded his head in time with the music. "Now that's what I'm talking 'bout. All I need is a little blink and I'll be irresistible."
Tom hit the off button. "That's bling, you moron. You are such a waste of skin."
Mark lifted his hands away from his body, hands hanging, fingers pointed downward, and said, "What? What?" He put his fingers under his armpits and cocked his head. "You dissin' me dawg?"
"Knock it off, Marco, you ain't nobody's dog. Hell, you aren't even an American. You watch too much television. Americans aren't really like that anyway, so just shut up, will you?"
Mark slumped in his seat and pouted. Tom drove toward White Bass Lake as they'd been instructed and stopped at a small motel for the night. They found a local tavern and still felt the effects the next morning.
Mark sucked his coffee down and shook his head. Tom was in a little better shape and began to pack. "What a disguise we have. Most of those people thought we were Mexicans. Hey, did you dig that bar last night? 'Polka Music' they called it."
"I thought the Chicken Dance was fun."
"Those people are insane, but they got good food. What the hell was in that giant cauldron outside? You ate it and you're still alive."
Mark smiled and leaned his head back. "Fish boil, my brother. Fish boil
, and everyone ate it but you. They have one every Wednesday. They cook it over a fire, man. I am not going to miss another one! They invited us back Friday for what they call a fish fry. An all-you-can-eat fish fry. Boy will they be sorry after I eat."
"Hey, stupido! We can't be regulars at a bar. When people start dropping like flies, they'll look at the two new guys. We have to remain in the background. Blend in. Chameleons, remember?"
"Not me, I'm family. I had fish boil and The Beer that Made Milwaukee Famous, and I danced the Chicken Dance." Mark smiled and closed his eyes, flapping his arms like some demented chicken. "They want to adopt me."
Tom fumbled with his cell phone. "Well they can have you, but first we work. We need to get settled in White Bass Lake and find our marks."
Mark just smiled and flapped. "Bawk, Bawk."
About forty-five minutes later, sporting a mustache and a Milwaukee Brewers ball cap, Tom check into a chain motel near the Interstate under the name of Jose Gonzalez from Mexico City. He gave them cash in advance and the girl behind the counter didn't blink an eye. He took his key and she picked up her cell phone and began pushing buttons at the speed of light. Good, just perfect.
They drove around the building and parked. They brought all their supplies they picked up at the airport locker into the room. Mark spent the afternoon putting together a car bomb, and Tom logged the laptop they'd retrieved onto the motel Internet.
He clicked on My Documents and revealed a few files. One had names, pictures, and descriptions of their targets, where they were staying, background on their friends, and information about the town.
Deciding they were starving, Mark drove them down to the local diner in White Bass Lake so they could scope out the locals. Tom brought the laptop along and went over the other files while they ate. Mark made a choking sound and Tom jerked up his head in time to see the two morons they were suppose to hit, heading their direction.
Tom tried not to panic and looked at Mark. He had sweat pouring down his face and began reciting the Rosary. Tom kicked him hard and he almost had to peel Mark off the ceiling. As it was, Mark's chair flew backward into the path of the two morons.