Loch Ness

by Donovan Galway

  Shaking his head in defeat, Kyle picked up the cash. “You were right. I can’t do it. I don’t know what happened.”

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” Frank said. “You just got stuck with eighty quid.”

  The confounded crowd pondered the word play as Kyle triumphantly counted the cash. Aisling looked on with a minor degree of disgust.

  “So this is your team. A bunch of con artists. Nice. Very nice.”

  “Watch,” John said confidently.

  Mac came up behind Kyle and batted him with the balloons. “Better say something soon, P.T. Barnum. These good people think you’re planning to keep their money.”

  Kyle looked up at the room with a broad smile. “You fellas come get your money! We were just getting acquainted with you!”

  Mike MacKenzie came right into Kyle’s face with a stern look. “You call that funny, college man?”

  “A little.”

  MacKenzie let the smile come through. “Well, if it had been me left leg there’d be trouble but as it is, so do I! Damn funny!” He laughed loud enough to set the tone for the room and the pub erupted in laughter and good cheer. Kyle held back enough to buy a round and returned the wagered cash to its owners, each of them too embarrassed at having been so easily taken in to openly complain.

  John managed to get the bartender’s attention and pointed to the tap to order a lager. “Can I get you a drink?” he said into Aisling’s ear.

  She looked up from the debacle to ensure he was serious. “All right, doctor. I’ll have a pint.”

  John held up two fingers to the bartender, cautious to hold his hand palm side toward the innkeeper instead of the other way. He learned the hard way years ago that this way the UK equivalent to giving the bird when he and Louisa both nearly got pummeled for trying to order a beer.

  The afternoon passed comfortably. The team spent their time getting to know the locals while John was focused on just one of them. Aisling didn’t mind the attention and took full advantage of the opportunity to express viewpoints which conflicted with local politics without worrying about inciting a witch-hunt.

  At a table near them, Mac and Frank listened intently as a woman told them about the troubles she and her new husband were having. When the young blonde mentioned that they had been trying for over a year to get pregnant, a tall man laughed.

  “If you need any help, give me a call.” He and his friends laughed.

  Frank noticed the girl was not amused. “How many times have you heard that one?”

  “Every time I mention it. I wish just once someone could come up with a different comment. Just once.”

  “Here’s one,” Frank said, setting his drink down and leaning forward. “I notice your arms and legs are kind of short.”

  “So’s your willy, you smart arse Yank.”

  “No, no! I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just wondering. You’re a twin. Aren’t you?”

  The girl was genuinely surprised. “Yes. I have a twin sister. How’d you guess that?”

  “Is she taller than you? Maybe … more developed in some areas.”

  “Well, that’s a polite way to say it. She’s nearly perfect. Thicker hair. Perfect figure. Long, slender fingers. I hate her.”

  “Your arms and legs seem a little short, especially compared to hers?”

  “I hope you’re going somewhere with this.”

  Aisling whispered, “So do I,” to John as she joined several others in listening to Frank’s blunt analysis.

  “I’m willing to bet he is,” John assured her.

  “I am,” Frank assured her. “I did a study on crying and came up with this. See the first part of an embryo to form is the glandular development. The glands are what control the rest of the growth. They’re like the construction foremen. They see that everything gets done right and all the equipment and materials are right. But if the egg separation occurs during this critical stage, sometimes one side gets a short stick. You only get one shot at it. So one of the twins gets less productive glands. This shows in the overall development. Short extremities. Stunted growth. Frozen joints and the like.”

  “So I’m a mutant.”

  “No, you’re fine,” Mac said. “Your foremen were just sleeping on the job here and there. Did you see that movie with Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwartscoft?”

  “It’s just that some of your glands didn’t secrete the proper dosages of growth hormones. They still struggle from time to time.”

  “So why can’t she get pregnant?” asked the girl’s friend.

  “Because my sister is taller than I am?”

  “In a way. The growth difference suggests a malfunctioning pituitary gland. Yours is secreting too much of a hormone called prolactin. It’s a protein derivative. It’s a good thing but when produced to excess it causes a decrease in the production of estrogen and progesterone, both of which are needed to become pregnant.”

  “So why didn’t my doctor spot this?”

  “He has to look for it. Have him test your protein levels.”

  “Is it treatable? I mean can I still…?”

  “Probably. Hyperprolactinemia is about eighty-five percent reversible with a simple enzyme inhibitor drug. But there may be an even easier way.” Frank looked the young blonde in the eye. “Do you cry often?”

  She grinned as though she had him. “Actually, I almost never cry.”

  “I thought as much. See a woman’s tears contain about four times as much protein as a man’s. This is because they make so much and need so little. They have to blow it off. Your problem is that you don’t.”

  “Are you saying that all I have to do is cry and I can have a baby?”

  “It couldn’t hurt. And we all need a good cry once in a while.”

  “Like when Bambi’s mom got shot,” Mac suggests.

  “Or when Ol’ Yeller got shot,” Kyle added.

  “Or when Charles Bronson got shot in The Magnificent Seven,” Frank said. All the men in the pub agreed vocally with the tragedy.

  Aisling looked at John. “Okay. So maybe the Barnacle Brothers aren’t complete idiots.”

  John took another sip and savored the dark lager as it went down slowly. “They have their moments … and their uses. Actually, they kind of grow on you.”

  “Like…?”

  “Barnacles.”

  John politely held the door for Aisling as they stepped out into the street. It was still light but they had spent the better part of two hours getting to know each other. Most of the sharing was notably one-sided, as Aisling had talked almost continually. John didn’t mind in the least as it was exactly what he needed and he truly found her fascinating. The more lager that went down her neck, the more information came back.

  Little of it was of a personal nature but it was nonetheless enlightening as to the depth of her character. John merely smiled as he strolled along with her making mental notes.

  “See, they want to appear open-minded and progressive so long as no one asks them to actually change anything. They love to complain about the state of the educational system but just suggest changing one tiny thing and all you hear is how they didn’t teach kids that back in their day and if it was good enough for them…”

  “Really?”

  “Oh sure.” She puffed out her chest and lowered her voice like a pompous man. “In my day, they gave me a book and a boot in the arse and I was thankful. Nowadays they have to be teaching kids about sex and China and all that.”

  John laughed. “So what would you change if they let you?”

  “Me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Anything?”

  “Yeah. What would you change in your school?”

  “Well. I’d like to see more creative classes for one thing. And more emphasis on careers at a primary age. Don’t call it work or jobs. That sounds like something somebody’s going to make them do. Like a punishment. Give them something to look forward to. Something worth working toward. The most common goal for ki
ds nowadays is to do nothing. They think working is a sign of failure. We need to implant the message early. Make careers a positive before they decide that nicking cars might be a cool way to earn a living.”

  “So you’d use education to combat crime?”

  “I would. And why not?”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more. In America, the higher the quality of education in any given area, the lower the crime rate. Thus income increases and taxes follow and it snowballs to the good instead of the other way around. The correlation between education and crime is undeniable. I always wanted to—”

  “Speaking of crime,” Aisling interrupted, looking ahead to a car in a roadside parking space. She quickened her pace and came up to the rear of the car where a large paper flier had been placed under the rear windscreen wiper. Her friend Averill had just started the car when Aisling pulled the paper off the window and came around to the driver’s side.

  Averill had seen the paper in her mirror as she drove off and was about to get out and remove it. Aisling put a hand on her door to stop her.

  “I got it, Averill. Just sit at peace there.” She handed Averill the poorly printed advertisement.

  Averill took the crumpled paper and settled back into her car. “Thank you, love. I wish they wouldn’t do that. Don’t they know you can’t see a thing around it?”

  She buckled up and gave Aisling a quick wave as she drove off. Aisling waved back and then turned to look a nearby hooded teenage boy sternly in the eye. “That disappoint you, darling? Have big plans for that car did ye?”

  The teenager looked at her with annoyance and stomped away. John watched the overall incident with passive curiosity. “What was that all about?” he asked as she returned to his side.

  “It’s just what we were talking about. Yobs up to no damn good.”

  “So putting paper on cars is a big deal here? Is it the litter? Or the trees they kill?”

  “It’s the cars they steal, doctor. The way it works is Averill gets in her car and starts it up to drive home to her ugly husband and stupid kids. She checks her mirror and sees this big piece of visual impairment stuck to the window. She gets out to remove it and that’s when the hoody jumps in and drives off with her car, her purse, her house keys and God knows what all else. She even opened the bloody door for him. Little bastard.”

  John finally raised his eyebrows. “So that was an attempted carjacking? You thwarted a crime in progress? Don’t you think that was a bit dangerous? I mean after all…”

  “It’s all right, doctor. I had you to protect me. Right?”

  “Well… I was…”

  Aisling scoffed. “Relax, Dr. Doom. We’ve already determined you’re not the type to come charging to the rescue. If I ever need a knight in shining armor, I’ll be sure to send you to get me one.”

  “Ouch. Got me right in the masculinity. I mean I may not be Batman or anything but I’m hardly Don Knotts.”

  “Who?”

  “Don Knotts. American television star. Famous chicken.”

  Aisling looked at him with a clear expression of skepticism. “Uh huh. I see your point.”

  The mood lightened and John walked Aisling back to the school parking lot and her car. They were aware only of each other and truly enjoying the company but several locals in the small town took notice of the couple. Something about the teacher and teller of tales and the scientist added up to a negative conclusion in this town.

  * * * * *

  It was just dusk as two teenagers struggled to set an overturned rowboat in the water off the shore of the lake. The boy draped an old canvas tarpaulin over the wooden hull and shoved it out into the gently undulating water.

  Bradley watched the boat drift for a few seconds, bending his knees to adjust his line of sight as though looking for something in the dark gray hump floating away from him.

  “How’s that look, Sinead?”

  His girlfriend, Sinead, stood back and watched him through the viewfinder of a small, digital camera. “It looks all right from here, I guess. Doesn’t look like a monster, though. Come see.”

  Bradley switched places with her and checked out the image in the camera from just off the bank. “Get in the picture, Sinead. Over there. To the right. Your right. Okay. Right there.”

  Sinead went where he directed and stood where he said with little more than a giggle. Bradley seemed to be taking the excursion a bit more seriously. “You might want to strike a pose for me. Remember. You’re going to be famous soon so make it count.”

  Sinead stood rigid as if making way for the image behind her. Bradley could see that the photo looked like they were up to something. “Look. Can you relax a bit?”

  “I don’t think I’d be relaxing with a monster behind me. You want this to look real?”

  “Yeah. That’s why I want you to relax. You’re not supposed to know it’s out there. It’s supposed to look like we were out here taking pictures and we only later spotted this thing behind you. So act like you’re the only thing I want to take a picture of. Look natural. Try to look…I don’t know… sexy.”

  That was all the encouragement she needed as Sinead grinned and pulled her shirt open in the front. Then she dropped her jeans and kicked them off as well. Standing before Bradley’s camera wearing only a pair of black thong panties and a wide open shirt concealing only half of her breasts, she struck a sensual pose.

  “How’s this?”

  “You know, your mother’s going to see this.”

  “She better. How does it look?”

  The boy looked into the viewfinder to line up the shot. “Barely legal. Hold still a minute.” The overturned boat had drifted out into the lake but was clearly visible behind her. Bradley studied the frame to see if the boat looked at all like Nessie. Deciding that it sort of did, he prepared to snap the photo.

  “What about the neck?” she asked.

  “I’ll Photoshop it in.”

  “Why don’t you just Photoshop the whole thing?”

  He dropped the camera long enough to explain. “The ripples need to look authentic. That’s too hard to fake. The head is just a vague add-on but the part that touches the water is critical. Now get ready.”

  As he explained to her how important the ripples were to the shot, he failed to notice his boat abruptly sinking. The man-made hump went down just as a different, though comparable hump breached the surface. This hump turned and moved slightly toward the teens but stopped as if watching.

  Bradley had finished his explaining and stepped back to where the hump seemed accidentally inside the frame. He was clever enough to ensure the photo looked like it was intended to be just her. She was centered and lit just enough to suggest mood but not so much as to draw too much attention to her and away from the moneymaking hump behind her off her right shoulder. Sinead played up to the camera, knowing how much more popular the photo would be. She knew how many magazines, books and advertisements used the famous surgeon’s photo. Now they would use her. She took every modeling precaution. Her tummy was pulled in. Her shoulders were back and her breasts were as supported as she could make them. She gave Bradley the smile she had been rehearsing for days.

  Bradley clicked one photo, then another. They both knew he had to take enough to make the ones with the beast in the background seem incidental. He started to adjust his angle to enhance the shot and she saw him look up from the camera. She saw Bradley gaze past her and out to the water, with a look in his eyes that was something between shock and genuine terror. She turned to see the hump they had set adrift.

  To her horror, the hump seemed to be staring back at them. From just more than fifty feet from the shore, the greenish-gray hump seemed to have sprouted dull yellow eyes and looked at the youngsters as if curious, or hungry.

  Sinead backed away until she bumped into Bradley. Together they backed away under the watchful eye of the hump. Then, as they stared dumbstruck, the hump submerged. Nothing remained but the ripples. Bradley finally thought to rais
e the digital camera and snap a photo. The ripples were almost gone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Esperanza was John’s first major expenditure of University funding. He had been on the project for over a year and when the new funding came through with a request that he put it to some visible, high-profile use, he gave in to Louisa’s demands and spent a small fortune on a research vessel. He had a few requirements and honed the craft to be a specialized Sea Monster Chaser.

  Rather than a giant, cumbersome cruiser requiring a crew of at least eight to run, John bought a smaller, less versatile boat. The fifty-foot Fairlane Phantom was sleek and fast. She could sleep six close friends before he refitted her. The common area, formerly a lounge, was converted into a lab with a bank of computers and monitors and a wet lab for analyzing specimens.

  John refitted almost every inch of her interior with his specialized equipment. The hull was fitted with sonar receptacles, underwater scopes (working like reverse periscopes) and one unique feature. Though less than half the displacement of the Calypso, Esperanza had a built-in mini-sub launch pad. The aft deck was partially cut away and a two-man, sixteen-foot mini-sub was mounted on a slide ramp and was literally part of the boat. Extending seven feet from the rear of the cruiser, it pointed down to the rear and could be launched from the deck by a hand once the pilot was on board. John selected this sub for its specialized design. Few research teams used manned submersibles anymore and those in use were mostly slow, lumbering fist-shaped clunkers that two men could sit side-by-side in and look around. This one was barely wide enough for one and allowed another to straddle the pilot from behind to monitor the equipment. The reason for the slender hull was simple; it was fast. John wanted a sub which could run on instruments and outrun anything it came across. He wanted to be able to catch whatever ran and escape whatever didn’t. The only drawback to the unique design was that it required an external operator to launch. The mini was too unstable to get in once it was in the water so it was mounted and sealed, then the external person released the catches and sub was plunged into the sea. John used it once when he first got it, to test and just to take a joy ride, and one other time when the probe got wedged between some rocks. Realistically, he could rarely afford the fuel and maintenance of running the mini on a regular basis. Loch Ness was too dark for it so he could justify his frugality thus. Other than the extravagant sub feature, the vessel was swift and custom-designed to find the Loch Ness Monster. The manufacturer gave her an average top speed of thirty-three knots but John had already had her well over that without truly taxing the twin Volvo engines. They were tweaked by a friend of his two years earlier and he was assured they would “make this fish fly.”