“My word,” breathed Nedland. “And that was what The Big Frown was going to be, in some way?”
“I believe I know in what way. It would have been his long-distance maiming on a mass scale…”
“The ‘friendly flesh’ mix-up,” Monty cut in, as it came to him. “Two thousand bottles of vitamins with ‘friendly flesh’ instead…and only five hundred have been recalled.”
“It’s obvious Dwork switched the drugs on purpose,” said Nedland.
“The Big Frown,” Olive said. “A thousand, fifteen hundred people maimed with two brief strokes. Instantly slashed open, wherever they are, so long as they’re in the transmission range, which must obviously be very wide…slashed open as if by an invisible person.” Olive seemed to appreciate the depraved awesomeness of the image, but Monty was shaking his head.
“Impossible,” he argued. “All those people don’t have their individual molecular codes on file in Dwork’s computer—how could they? It was a random contamination; he didn’t have personal contact…”
“Access to medical files?” said Beak.
“No—this.” Olive indicated the slashed face on the monitor. “Dwork has this labeled his Skeleton Key. Apparently he’d need your code to put you back the way you were before, as a surgeon would, but why should a maimer need to know your body’s particulars? All he had to do was slash his one ‘skeleton key’ model to wound all those people simultaneously.”
“One sick fuck,” Giddry commented.
“And when was this to have been done—The Big Frown’s opening date?” Nedland asked her.
“None given. Maybe waiting for the right time, playing it by ear. Otherwise a date probably would have been given on the poster Montgomery mentions.”
Nedland turned to him. “Congratulations, Monty. Not only did you take down a tremendous mass murderer, but you inadvertently stopped this from happening.”
“A lot of those people might have died from shock or blood loss before they could get patched up,” Giddry noted. “That sick, sick fuck. Man, if only they’d let us clone him to stand trial.”
“He’s dead,” Nedland said. “His dog-stretching days are over.”
He suffered a few agonizing minutes, Monty thought. But he had suffered, too. Opal had suffered worse, before her death. Thousands. Even to clone Dwork and execute him again wouldn’t be enough. Killing those two punks who’d murdered Beak’s wife wasn’t good enough. Nothing could be.
“At least he died,” Beak told Giddry. “If he’d still been alive when we came in we’d have to save his life, right?”
“I wouldn’t have. I’d have kicked that keyboard right out of his hands and told him to wait for his ambulance. See how friendly his flesh was then.”
“This is all over my head,” the police lieutenant confessed bitterly to Captain Nedland. “I expect a full report.”
“Just go see the movie in six months,” Giddry told him.
Nedland worked his way to Monty in the milling confusion. “You did good, Black. We did the wisest thing we could do when we let you come home. You sure didn’t waste any time, did you? Of course, I would have liked to have him alive for questioning, but dead is the next best thing.”
“I’d have liked to have him alive for questioning, too. Very much so. This isn’t over. The Big Frown, maybe. Probably. But there’ll come something else.”
“Something else like what?”
“Toll Loveland is still alive.”
“Oh, Monty, I really doubt that now. Dwork was just carrying on with Loveland’s type of thing, probably following through with an old plan of Loveland’s…”
“Why would he do that? He’s not an artist. They didn’t go to any art courses together at Polytech; Loveland went on to P.U. for his liberal arts study, and Dwork didn’t.”
“But they were friends.”
“You think Dwork did this out of loyalty to his friend’s memory—as a tribute? Threw away a chance at raking in a fortune? Threw away his life?”
“He was a psycho, like Loveland—that’s why they were friends.”
“Yes, I know—I’m sure the thrill was a lot of it. But Dwork wouldn’t do this alone…he’d just focus on making money. Just like he didn’t invent ‘friendly flesh’ alone. That was the bond. They developed it and perfected it together, as friends, but had to accommodate the other’s needs. Dwork’s need to make money from it here at Cugok, and Loveland’s need to use it in his art. If Loveland is dead, why is Dwork still accommodating him?”
“Why not out of friendship? Why not just for the thrill? Look at his role in Meathearts, personally carving up your girlfriend. And that thing with Matt Cotton. Loveland didn’t have anything to do with that. You still want Loveland so bad you refuse to see that regardless of all he did, the more dangerous of the two turned out to be Pilter De Vard.”
“Loveland is the more dangerous. Dwork had the skills, but Loveland has the vision. How do we know that he and Loveland didn’t come up with M-670 for Matt Cotton together?”
“Oh, Christ, Monty—come on, now. That was Matt Cotton’s vision and De Vard just executed it. You don’t think Matt Cotton was friends with Toll Loveland, too, I hope.”
“No, I don’t. But I still think you’re underestimating Toll Loveland.”
“And I think Toll Loveland has become blown out of proportion in your mind. I can’t fault you for that, Monty, but I’d hate to see you not make use of this new opportunity we’ve given you, beyond this case. Your work so far makes you look good, but this excess of speculation doesn’t.”
“I’ve been right so far, haven’t I? You can’t think this case is over.”
“Not fully. Of course I’ll let you tie up all the loose ends; take all the time you realistically need. This will be big with the public, anyway, and it’s in our best interest to keep it up front. I’ll leave you free of other commitments until you’re ready. You can keep Beak.”
“You can keep Giddry.”
“Well, Monty, he’s been on the Cugok mix-up and he knows it well. You’ll need him to help you figure out how Dwork…De Vard, rather…got the mislabeled drugs past Cugok’s Q.C.. At least finish that up first, and then maybe I’ll pull him. Also, you need to figure out how involved Cangue was in all this…hopefully the forcers will find him. And find out how Dwork managed to have the two Stems and those two punks working for him like that…whether he brought them with him to Cugok, or if they already worked here and he bought them.”
“I’ll interview Cugok myself. Tanabe and Giddry never were able to speak with him directly and I don’t like that.”
“Monty, enough paranoia for now, huh? Is Cugok a psycho out for thrills, too—is that why he developed this multi-million-munit business?”
“Maybe not, but Dwork just happened to get a major position in a building once owned by the Greenberg Company, where Toll Loveland presented Pandora’s Box?”
Nedland didn’t know what to say to that. He sighed and glanced at Beak. “He’s taking it all well. A good man. He got his boys, and within proper context. I’ll put his name out there…the media will want some front man from our team, and I’d rather it not be you.”
“Good.”
“They’ll like the angle about his wife and all. They’d like the angle about you and Mauve but I won’t feed ‘em that. Sound good?”
“Good.”
“Looks like your lady is out a job.”
“Good,” said Monty.
EIGHTEEN
Captain Nedland had been right about the media explosion, but not about Mauve. The next showing of Meathearts went on without the direction of Ferule Cangue and the magic of Westy Dwork. A makeup effects artist was rushed in to handle the prologue, which it was decided by all to retain despite its absence from the original play. Actually the bloody attacks were no less horrifying looking, but everyone knew it wasn’t real this time. Box office hadn’t suffered, however—all those with tickets showed up. And phone reservations even increased. The
re was a new attraction to Meathearts now: backstage horror on a grander scale than the previous brief prologue violence. Mauve and Aurora Lehrman would surely become stars, though Aurora had to fend off many questions about her romantic involvement with Dwork, and suffer the truth scans and interrogations of health agents and forcers alike. She showed Monty no hostility, however, as he’d feared; she even seemed shyly embarrassed or ashamed of herself for having gone to bed with the greatest mass murderer in the history of Punktown.
Fredrick V. Cugok was on a vacation/business trip out in the far province of Kai-hany, but was at last reached by Monty on vidphone for an interview. He told Monty he had only just learned of the story and of Dwork’s death last night and had called the police himself this morning. Monty assured him that he needed to answer the Health Agency’s questions as well.
“I had no idea, of course, of Mr. Dwork’s activities…though I was very aware of his ‘friendly flesh’ experiments, and of his participation in Meathearts. I most certainly did not approve of his role in that, his being the top Cugok researcher, or his use of an experimental drug in a play…but he was persistent and I was frankly afraid that he’d leave us if I didn’t give in.” Cugok was white-haired and deeply tanned, quite seamed and wrinkled though his hoarse voice still carried an inner strength. Behind him was a window showing a rolling golf green and vivid blue sky, rivaling each other for artificiality. “He did have a great influence over me, I’m sorry to admit. Now, to the detriment of my company. This will be a hard blow to recover from. I have to dissociate myself from that bastard’s name as best I can. It would kill me to sell the company…but after this, and that Matt Cotton business, people may not want to touch my products. Of course, we could go into research exclusively, and I still own the rights to Dwork’s creations…”
“Getting back to his influence over you, sir—did you yourself hire the Stems for security? And the security guards Terrence Melendez and Viz Johnson?”
“Well…unfortunately, there I allowed Dwork to dominate me, as well. The Stems were his idea; he brought them in. Same with Melendez and Johnson.”
“Why, when you already had a contract with Airtite Security?”
“He had his reasons for them, obviously, and he simply used his leverage with me. Told me I needed tougher men to protect his work from industrial spies. That sounded fairly reasonable. I don’t know where he met them; he told me the humans came from Fog Security but the forcers told me this morning that Fog has never heard of them. Just some thugs he hired.”
“Have you ever met or seen this man?” Monty touched a key. He could still see Cugok, but Cugok’s screen would be running through various photos of the handsome Toll Loveland. Monty came back on.
“No, except on VT. He’s Toll Loveland, right?”
“Yes.”
“It’s your belief that Dwork and Loveland were partners?”
“Yes. Money and art aren’t always strange bedfellows, but in this case I can’t see Dwork going on with or inventing an ‘artwork’ like The Big Frown or even participating in Meathearts without Loveland’s influence.”
“Good God, you mean to suggest he’s still alive?”
“Please, Mr. Cugok—your utter confidentiality on this.”
“Of course, of course. God. This is all so strange.”
“When you come back here I’d like to interview you in person, sir.”
“Mm—as do the police. I understand. Of course, Mr. Black.”
“Did you ever see this man at Cugok?” Monty punched up a photo of the dwarf director Ferule Cangue for Fredrick Cugok, then returned.
“No, never.”
Ferule Cangue was captured by the forcers the next day. He was sincerely shocked to be arrested. A hospital had called the police to inform them that Cangue had come there in a state of alarm—suffering amnesia. He had no recollections of directing Meathearts. No recollections of Westy Dwork. No recollections of the entire past year.
Naturally the forcers extensively truth scanned him, with Monty, Beak and Giddry present. He had recollections of Pandora’s Box, and the truth scan revealed that he found Toll Loveland and his work to be thrilling, but he did not know Toll Loveland. And now, of course, Monty could be certain that Ferule Cangue was not himself Toll Loveland in radical disguise.
It was evident from the scans and interrogation that Cangue believed he could be responsible for collaboration with Dwork and Loveland, though he had no memories of it. The possibility of it agitated him greatly.
Reluctantly, they had to let him go free until such time as they had witnesses or evidence to prove that he had intended anyone harm from his association with Dwork. Giddry vocalized the frustration Monty felt. His having had a year’s worth of memories erased from him indicated either that he was guilty or knew too much about those who were.
He was advised to remain within Punktown, and informed that he would be prosecuted and imprisoned, if proven sufficiently guilty, whether his memories were wiped out or not.
Despite his nervousness, before he was allowed to leave Cangue expressed an anxiousness to attend the next presentation of Meathearts.
“That little piece of sludge,” Giddry hissed to his partners. “Let me follow him for a few days, Black.”
“All right.” Monty didn’t think anyone would contact Cangue—the point of the memory erasure was to clear him from associations. His surviving partners, if any, must have cared for him enough not to kill him, which indicated the extent of the knowledge he’d possessed before erased, his intimacy with them. Nedland, though, would probably say that no partners survived to contact or pose a threat to Cangue, and that he’d simply had his memories deleted to protect himself and no one else. Still, it couldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him and it would keep Giddry out of Monty’s way until he needed him.
“Maybe Loveland wasn’t part of The Big Frown,” Beak hypothesized now. “Maybe it was Cangue the artist, obsessed with Loveland, and Dwork the scientist in a new partnership.”
“Cangue was just invited in to stage Meathearts, an echo of The Big Frown—and Loveland loves echoes, the intricate relationship of one thing to another, to weave all his patterns and symmetries. Games upon games. I’m sure Cangue became a friend, but he wasn’t in it like Dwork and Loveland.”
“So who wiped out his memories and left him at his apartment? Loveland?”
“Most likely.”
“Well, still, the Teeb Family will clean memories for a price. Remember when Michael Suzerain was indicted for polluting, and he had his memory wiped? He was still proved guilty and his company fined…”
“Not hardly enough.”
“…but he tried it, and I heard Neptune Teeb’s people wiped him. Remember when Selectman Leone ‘hit his head on his dashboard’ in a minor accident and forgot all about receiving illegal funds? Teeb’s people wiped him, too.”
“Well, we can look at it, I guess.”
“Vern works for them, is what I’m thinking. Why not make use of it?”
“You’re the one who didn’t want me to look up Vern and endanger him. If the Teebs find out he’s talking to us they could kill him.”
“Let’s just talk to him and see what he thinks.”
“You know where to contact him?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. Let’s dump Giddry on Cangue’s ass and go have a look.”
*
It took an hour of calling attempts, between which Beak and Monty ate their lunch in a cheap family restaurant, before Beak finally got an answer on Vern Woodmere’s hand phone. Beak came back to the table to tell Monty that Vern had anxiously agreed to meet them in an hour at a restaurant/pub for a beer.
It wasn’t a good part of town, but then most of Punktown wasn’t a good part of town; at least it wasn’t downright awful. The Bone Club boasted a decor obvious from its name: animal skulls ranked row after row, more rows below that, entirely covering certain walls, human skulls on shelves within the transparent bar counter
like museum pieces, dinosaur-like leg bones framing doors, whale-like rib bones lining the length of the arched ceiling over the restaurant section. The background for this profusion of specimens was black to set them off, for more of that museum feel. The bar was too crowded; Monty and Beak took a table behind a thick support column made from glassy-surfaced, stacked giant vertebrae from a creature unknown to Monty, black but with an oil-slick-like red iridescent quality in certain light. He touched it, envisioned having a pillar like this in his dream apartment some day.
Smoky air, a jukebox booming loudly: “I’m a Kama Sutra for your love, darlin’…wanna Kama in your Sutra all night long…”
Beak returned with two golden meads. “Thanks much,” said Monty. He was eyeing a woman at the bar, generally Asian in appearance, in a black silk dress slit to showcase her crossed legs. He thought about Mauve. They’d barely seen each other since the night of their argument. And so the knot of tension hadn’t been untied yet. He felt a little frightened about it now; maybe it was all going to slip away.
“Said I’m a Kama Sutra for your love, darlin’, gonna Kama in your Sutra all night long…”
Monty diverted his thoughts to Beak, regarded him a moment over the rim of his mug. “How you feeling now, man? Is the burden off?”
“The burden off? No. The mission is accomplished. The hunt is over. The burden’s never off.”
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