Chapter 29

We met with several publications over the next day and a half. The physics related magazines wanted a lot of details about the bottle. How many trials had we done? Where were they done? How long had the bottle lasted before implosion? What were the exact strengths of the lasers? Were the crystals arranged in any particular directions before they were exposed to the lasers? And on and on.

The newspapers, and Scientific American, wanted only a brief discussion of the experiment itself. They were MUCH more interested in Chas’s background. They loved the whole ‘untutored boy genius’ part of the story.

My phone rang in the middle of one. It was Linc. I answered it, but asked if it was crucial that I interrupt what I was doing. It wasn’t, and I promised to call him back.

At lunch, I called Linc. He’d been doing a lot of background – and foreground, too – checking on Shioban’s doings.

“Lexi,” Linc started with, “as you know, I’ve done a lot of checking on our friend in Phoenix. I’ve told you years ago, that she wasn’t a practicing lawyer. It turns out that she didn’t get past the first year of law school. She dropped out. She’s been seeing a bunch of johns and building her bank account.

“As you also know, she hit you up for an increase in her ‘stipend’ some time ago. And you agreed to pay her $5,000 per month. Lately, she’s been hinting that should be more. I’ve been in touch with her about every other month. It’s good that you let me handle the payments, so there’s nothing to connect the payments to you. For your information, I simply slipped the cash in an envelope and dropped it in her mailbox, once a month.

“Last night, there was a fire at her ‘special’ apartment, where she met her clients – including Thomas Sussex. She was killed. I don’t have the details, yet. But she’s out of the picture. I hope that your little friend wasn’t involved. That could be a mess for you.”

It took me a little while to process that news. “Wow. That’s ... I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing I can do about it. And I don’t know that I WANT to do anything about it ... Thanks for letting me know ... A mess? How?”

“Well, he was panting after you ... But that was several years ago. Have you had any personal meetings with the TomCat?”

“Who ME? Nothing in years. Less than nothing.”

“Okay. We’re in the clear, I guess,” Linc admitted.

“Say ... what are you doing two weeks from yesterday?”

“Just planning a little dinner. Why?”

“Yeah, dummy. I want to invite the two of you to a big birthday bash. You’re turning 50, you know. That’s a big day.” I was going to try and arrange it to be a surprise party, but one does not try to surprise Linc.

“Oh. Well, I won’t wear a tuxedo. Let me know where it will be.”

“I didn’t plan anything yet, but it’s probably gonna be at Mamma’s in Burnside North.”

We chatted a little longer, and disconnected.

We trooped down to the restaurant for lunch and I mentally tapped into Tommy Sussex, again. He played back the last time the ‘gang’ had a trip to Mexico. Down to Mexico to pick up some drugs with his motorcycle buddies. They were planning on ‘sharing’ Dolores, again. This was getting to be a regular thing. Forty-five minutes with Do through the desert. Strip her down and then all the guys would take her, while they were all filling up on drugs. Then ride back to south Phoenix, where he’d drop her off at her trailer. Then a session with the torturer.

That’s how he thought of Mistress Angel. Only there wasn’t a Mistress Angel anymore, was there? He flashed back on tying the Angel bitch to the bed. Boy! Was she surprised when her electric cock cage didn’t work. He’d fiddled with the battery powered connection. He’d overpowered her and tied her to the bed. Then he’d rigged an electrical connection from the plug-in dildo to the blanket. Her fuckin’ eyes popped out when it started to smoke, and she began to struggle against the bonds on her hands and feet, and the ball gag. He smiled when he thought about it – the High and Mighty Mistress Angel couldn’t do a fuckin’ thing, could she?

He was really getting sexually excited at remembering it all. He’d gone out, sat on her fukin’ throne and flicked on her favorite porn movie. That bitch had watched it every time while she zapped his Big Tim. That’s what he called his cock.

I was horrified at the thought of how he masturbated into his sock while the smoke came out of her bedroom, and eventually the flames caught the carpeting. That’s when he left, not even going back to look at her again.

I couldn’t break away from the images that were running through his brain, while he rode through the desert on his Harley. And I couldn’t STAY in his brain, as he exulted in her gruesome torture and murder.

I felt like I should terminate him. Right now. A heart attack would do it. He’d crash the bike and that would be that.

Except I needed him for the project in D.C. I’d taken a rough kid who was fifteen, and in the span of seven years, turned him in a psychotic killer who was also a drug dealer.

What did that make ME? Okay, it wasn’t exactly me who did all that. Shioban had done an awful lot of it. And maybe he was twisted inside to start, since that was why we picked him originally. I only set him up for her. Did that make me an accessory before the fact, when he blew a circuit? Or was I an accessory after the fact when I didn’t take him out?

Who can I talk to about this? Red? He’d just say that you need Sussex later, and it is a small thing in the scope of the project. Maritsuki? Maybe, but that would be many days away. Linc? He knows nothing about our use – or planned future use – of Sussex at all. To tell him now would reveal too much.