“No.” Reggie said, her concentration on the television.
“But you like to dance?”
“Yes.”
“You like being close?”
Reggie cringed, Big and Hot took an elbow shot that knocked him off his feet. “No.”
“You don’t?” Herbie asked, ready to pull back from Reggie.
Big and Hot flipped his opponent. Reggie grinned. “Yes.”
“You do, then?”
“Yes.” Big and Hot tossed the other guy from the ring. “Go for it.”
“You got it.” Herbie pulled her closer and nuzzled his cheek against the top of Reggie’s hair.
Reggie began to feel smothered. When she snapped out of her wrestling world, she cleared her throat and nudged Herbie back. “Sorry,” she said, her eyes moving back to the television. “I can’t dance that close. I have a full frontal rash. Highly contagious. I have to be careful.”
Herbie eased back.
Everyone said Bud Harland was ninety-eight years old. In fact, Bud was just a ripe seventy-four. He was the first business owner in Seville to have cable television in his establishment, and later the first one with flat screens. Rumor had it, 3D was next. But Bud Harland ran his business his way and cared little what his customers thought about it. So when his wife suggested that he turn on the news, he did. Reggie seemed to be the only patron pissed off that the wrestling match took a back seat.
“Hey!” Reggie yelled. “Bud! Come on! This is for the title!”
“Hush,” said Bud. “They’re talking about our local heathen boy.”
Reggie pushed Herbie further away, and moved closer to the set, ears perked...
...with security tightened, especially surrounding Dr. Marcus Leon who is set to orchestrate the experiment.
The first in-vitro fertilization-slash-cloning of the shelled-out ovum with the new DNA nucleus is scheduled to take place Tuesday at the Westing Biogenetic Institute in Chicago. Chicago authorities are gearing up for what they suspect may be one of the heaviest days of protesting and violence in the city’s long and storied history.
Archbishop Ronald Oswald of the Chicago Archdiocese is emphatically opposed to the alleged cloning of Christ in his city. Yesterday, in a news conference, he also criticized the timing of the experiment, calling it a slap in the face to all Christians and questioning its proximity to the Christmas holiday. Westing’s Dr. Marcus Leon, responded that the timing is purely coincidental.
In other news, Israel is gearing up...
Bud flipped the televisions back to their primary all-sports function. “Didn’t you used to date that guy?”
“No, I didn’t,” she replied, briefly dazed, until wrestling snapped her back to reality. Then she stomped her foot as she realized that Big and Hot had lost his match. “Damn it!”
She swung out her hand in frustration, turned and came face-to-face with Buzz, her verbal adversary from the diner.
“Excuse me,” she said sarcastically, and stepped to her right. So did Buzz. “I thought they had special bars for your kind,” she said, eyeing Buzz’s rough looking crowd about ten feet away.
“We come here all the time. If you left your closet more often, you’d know that.”
“Ain’t I lucky that the closet door was left open?” Reggie tried to get past him.
“I think your date is real cute.” Buzz winked, blocking her way again.
“Better looking than you,” Reggie snapped back.
“You know what I think.” Buzz snickered and lowered his eyes to Reggie’s. “I think now that your boy Marcus is the world’s most hated person, Herbie over there is the best you can do.”
“Oh, yeah, well Herbie can pound the hell out of a dent. Can you? No. “
Nervously, Herbie stepped forward. “Hey-hey. Please don’t fight about me.”
Reggie smiled and looked around Buzz, speaking softly. “It’s okay, Herbie. Buzz and I are actually friends. It’s this fake fighting thing we do.”
“When we were young,” Buzz said. “She used to flip me over her shoulder. I’d challenge her every single time. But, hey we’re older and I’m bigger. Or I’d challenge her again.” He winked.
“You don’t think I can?”
“Reg, come on.” Buzz laughed. “Weren’t you at the hip doctor the other day? You might break it this time.”
“Oh my God, you just implied I’m old and fragile.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Ha!” Reggie took a step toward Buzz, turned her hips, grabbed hold of his shirt, bent her knees and flipped the huge man over her shoulder and onto the floor. He landed with a thud.
Buzz let out a low moan, rolled onto his stomach and banged his fist on the floor. ‘Damnit.”
Reggie gloated. Maybe a bit much. Jumping up and down with a few, “Yes. Yes. Yes.” Her hip didn’t hurt but her knee sure did. She wasn’t going to show it. She’d wait until she was outside and then she would limp.
As she held out her hand to Buzz to help him to his feet, one of Buzz’s casual comrades didn’t realize it was all in fun. He lunged at Reggie from behind, beer bottle held high. Just as his arm came down toward the back of her head, the bottle was knocked from his hand, his arms flew up and his body hunched forward. In the blink of an eye he was thrown ten feet backwards, where he landed hard on a table.
It happened so fast that no one really saw what happened. The guy was right there, ready to hit her. And then he was out cold ten feet away. Herbie was too far away to have done it and Buzz was still on the ground.
“Holy shit, Reg!” Buzz said, eyes wide. “That was the fastest thing I’ve ever seen. I didn’t even see you nail him.”
Reggie was confused, and still looking for her hero.
“Did you hurt your hand?” Herbie asked.
“Huh?” Reggie responded. “No. I’m fine. I didn’t do that,” she looked over at her assailant, lying groggy amidst the remains of the table.
“Yeah, ok.” Herbie responded, mocking her assertion.
“No, really.” Reggie shook her head. “Someone else did.” She turned to Buzz. “I didn’t hit your friend.”
“Hey, I’m cool with it,” Buzz laughed. “He’s an asshole anyway.” He reached out for Reggie’s hand, and Reggie helped him to his feet.
Still dazed, Reggie let herself be led across the dance floor, all the while muttering, ‘I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.’
Westing Biogenetic Institute, London, England
“Dr. Leon?” Rose called.
Marcus hung up the phone, stared at it for a moment and turned slowly around. “Yes?”
“Dr. Genevieve.” Rose escorted a taller, older gentleman to Marcus. “He was named yesterday as Dr. Bennet’s successor...”
“Nice to meet you.” Marcus shook his hand, and then turned again to peek at the phone.
“Important call?” Dr. Genevieve asked. “Must be,” he said, answering his own question, “it’s six in the morning.”
“Yes.” Marcus nodded. “Rose, it’s one in the morning, right? Back in the States?”
“Yes.” Rose spoke through clenched teeth, nodding her head toward Dr. Genevieve, trying to get Marcus to give the man his due attention.
Dr. Genevieve interrupted. “Depends on where you are, really. One in the east, ten out west... must be important.”
“It is. Would you excuse me, please?” Marcus moved to the phone again.
“Dr. Leon.” Dr. Genevieve remained pleasant. “If you’re concerned with trouble in the States, I believe we’ve taken a step to control that.”
“Really?” Marcus flashed a pacifying smile. “Thanks. Excuse me.” He picked up the phone and dialed.
“Actually, as we speak,” Dr. Genevieve continued. “Dr. Leon.”
“Yeah?” Marcus turned with the phone to his ear. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
“As we speak, our plan is underway. I think we’ve come up with a way to sway public opinion.”
“Good.�
� Marcus shook his head as he mumbled into the receiver. “Pick up the phone.” But no one answered. Perturbed, he ended the call. “Rose, it’s one o’clock in the morning over there, where the hell is Reg? She should be there. She’s not answering.”
“Send her a text. Maybe she’s somewhere she can’t talk.”
“She doesn’t have a cell phone.”
Dr. Genevieve gave Rose a puzzled look. “Someone nowadays doesn’t have a cell phone? Not even a flip phone, they’re cheap and pay as you go are…”
“No.” Marcus cut him off. “Not even one of those. But after tonight, I’ll make her break that cell silence rule.”
Dr. Genevieve asked. “How are you trying to call her if she doesn’t have a cell?”
“Landline.”
Dr. Genevieve cocked back and spoke with a laughing tone. “Oh God, she still has a landline? She must live in Ohio.”
Marcus grumbled a, ‘Hmm’ and turned his back, lifting his phone again.
“What did I say?” Dr. Genevieve asked Rose.
“She lives in Ohio,” Rose replied. Then exhaled while watching Marcus, again, attempt to call Reggie.
Los Angeles, CA
Reverend Richard Bailey’s house was far larger than he needed, thirty-eight rooms, not including bathrooms. His children used to live with him, until he bought them their own houses. Now he, his wife, their servants and security guards dwelt alone in the mansion.
It seemed empty at times, but he loved it because it represented a lifetime of hard work. Twenty-three years in the Ministry, sold out Road Service shows and his always-stellar Nielsen ratings had earned him the position of Chief Minister of Christian Central Network, not to mention two homes, a large bank account and a fleet of fine automobiles.
Summoned from what he referred to as his ‘weekly spiritual embrace’ with his wife, he was not bothered by the interruption. In fact, he’d been waiting for it for several hours, and would have remained downstairs had his wife not had the four gin and tonics.
Rev. Bailey descended the staircase in his tailored silk robe, escorted by Alexander, his devoted bodyguard and all-around personal assistant. The robe hung nicely over his body. Although not perfect, he took pride in his appearance; after all, the body was the temple. And just like the main temple of the Christian Central Network, Rev. Bailey saw no reason why he shouldn’t “maintain” his temple from time to time. Visually, he was television perfect, a flamboyant orator and maturely handsome. He was a minister that women loved, and everyone paid attention to.
He snapped his fingers and Alexander closed the door, leaving them alone inside the Reverend’s study. Rev. Bailey reached across his desk, flicked on the desk lamp and gazed intently at the messenger’s envelope. “Alexander,” he called, in a heavy southern accent. “This just arrived?”
“Yes, Reverend,” Alexander said, standing like a soldier at ease, arms behind his back.
“Finally.” With a childlike grin, Rev. Bailey ripped open the perforated edge and dumped the envelope’s contents on the desk. A single letter fell out. Attached to it, a check. His smile grew larger.
“Alexander? Get Mr. Westing on the line.”
“Right now, Reverend?” Alexander asked. “It’s one-fifteen in New York.”
“Trust me. He won’t mind.” Rev. Bailey’s eyes gleamed as he stared at the check. “Get him on the phone… and tell him that we have a deal.”
Seville, Ohio
“I have to go in now.” Reggie said, stepping away from Herbie and toward her front door. She reached for the doorknob with keys in hand.
“You can invite me in,” Herbie suggested.
“No, I can’t.” She hurriedly unlocked the door.
“The rash?”
“Yeah,” Reggie said, struggling to suppress her grin. “Plus it just wouldn’t look good.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “What would the neighbors think if they saw me bringing you in?”
“Can I at least have a kiss?” Herbie puckered his lips and drew closer to Reggie.
“Maybe some other time,” she said.
“Tomorrow then?”
“No.” She pushed open the door.
“I had a great time.”
Reggie was cordial. “I did, too. Thanks.”
Her insincere grin became a bright smile when the phone rang inside her home. “Whoops, got to go. Phone’s ringing.” With haste, she stepped inside and locked the door behind her. Letting out a breath, she hurried across the room and swept up the receiver. “Hello.”
“Where the hell have you been?” Marcus asked.
“Well good evening to you too.” Reggie untangled the 1980’s style, spiral cord that had been stretched to the max and she walked to the living room. “I told you I had a date.”
“A date, Reg? It’s nearly two in the morning. Who was it?”
“Don’t worry who. And gees, look at you keeping track of me.” She plopped on the sofa.
“I was worried. Really, really worried,” Marcus pouted. “I had a bad dream about you. Someone was chasing you and all I kept thinking was...”
“Oh my God. It’s so weird you said that.” Reggie kicked her feet up on the coffee table. “I almost got killed tonight. I mean, I would’ve been killed… or at least knocked out.”
Marcus went silent.
“Marcus? You still there?”
“What happened?” he spoke in a calm tone.
“You know me and Buzz, right. We were going back and forth. Well, one of his buddies took it serious, and he came after me with a beer bottle. If he hit me,” Reggie whistled, “I hate to think…”
“So who stopped him from hitting you? Your date?”
“I really don’t know.” Reggie shrugged. “Someone did. But no one was willing to own up to it. It was strange.”
“I knew it. I knew it. I always know when something is wrong. First you go shooting at Seville’s KKK wannabes, and then you get into a bar fight. Not a good time for this stuff, Reg.”
Reggie snickered. “Why’s that?”
“You know why.”
“What does that have to do with this?”
“Reg, if something happened to you, do you think I could pull this off? I woke up this morning thinking of how best to get to the States if you needed me.”
Reggie laughed. “Yeah, right Marcus. Like you’re going to drop everything for me.”
Marcus answered matter-of-factly. “Yes. Yes, I would.”
“Oh. Wow…” Reggie said. “Um... thanks.” She stood and walked toward the kitchen. “Then I guess it’s a good thing for you that someone stopped that guy? The experiment would have been on hold, huh?”
“I would have taken it as a sign to reconsider, that’s for sure. Especially with all the bad stuff that’s been going on. Not just with me, but check out the world. Things are bad, real bad. The new terror group that makes the last group look like Boy Scouts. The stock market is taking a plunge again...”
“Marcus?” Reggie snickered as she pulled a soda from the fridge. “Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too far?”
“I don’t think so, Reg. You’re the only one who can stop this. The biggest experiment in history, the moment I’ve been working for since I was a kid, and I don’t have you to call for support? I need you. I need you more than you know.”
“Then you should take what happened as a sign.”
“What’s that?”
“Would you really have stopped the experiment if I got hurt?”
“Yes,” Marcus said.
“Then fate stepped in and stopped me from stopping you. By a miracle, I’m standing when I shouldn’t be. That’s your sign.”
Marcus digested what she’d said. “Thanks,” he responded.
“You’re welcome. I’m behind you all the way, even if everyone around here is calling you ‘the local heathen boy.’” She paused. “Marcus?”
“You ruined it. You made me feel good and then you ruined it. I have to go.”
&
nbsp; “Marcus, will you come home?”
“Probably not....”
Reggie’s smile fell from her face.
“Or at least… not without a disguise... I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Yes!” Reggie shrieked. “Marcus?” she said. “I love you.”
A long exhale came across the phone line. “I love you, too. And thanks.”
Reggie hung up, her hand tapping the phone like a galloping horse. “Sunday,” she said. “Sunday.”
CHAPTER FIVE
London, England
One hundred and twenty-two newly formed nuclei lay housed in vials inside a silver case that Marcus had handcuffed to his wrist. At first he thought the handcuffs were a good idea, but, considering recent events, he wasn’t so sure.
He sat in the limo on the airport runway, surrounded by security, drumming his hands nervously on the case. It was pushing seven a.m. He was supposed to have been in the air an hour and a half earlier. That would have made the nuclei’s twelve-hour coolant pack sufficient for the eight-hour trip to Chicago. Now he might have to replace it mid-flight.
His thoughts drifted to the siege that had taken place the night before. A terrorist group had taken over the Institute’s phlebotomy research lab in a misdirected, dim-witted attempt to destroy or steal the Shroud DNA. Marcus was surrounded by armed guards until things were back under control.
But that was innocent foreplay compared to his ride to the airport. Scotland Yard’s bomb squad division found devices rigged to the car sent to carry him to the airport. One of those explosives was a high-grade, government-issue C4 concoction available to only the most industrialized nations. Marcus began to see for the first time the depths of power he was up against. And he was terrified.
Now the bomb squad was rechecking the plane. Why? Marcus thought. It was a small, private plane. How hard was it to find one little bomb?
Marcus jerked as a security guard opened the car door. “All done?” Marcus asked instinctively.
Last Days Trilogy Page 4