"The Transgenic Falcon"
Chapter Three

I sat in the leather covered luxury of Belinda’s car. We were slicing through downtown Houston in the computer drive lanes, leaving those who were too stubbornly independent to let a car drive for them struggling along in the manual lanes.

After a brief argument about whether I owned a suit and would I wear it on this job, (yes and no; I have a suit, but I only wear it when someone dies; by wedding or otherwise) and enough time to gather up a few packs of gum, we had slipped into the low-slung, streamlined status symbol and headed to Gen-Tech.

I had my face turned forward, but I wasn’t really watching the scenery. I was turning things over in my mind, trying to get my head in the right space for this job. This whole thing was going to blow by late Friday afternoon. Seventy-two hours and a bit until the municipality of Gen-Tech had to inform Houston PD they had a murder and needed help. It was insane. Sure, there are murder investigations that take that little time, but they usually start with someone standing over a body, with blood everywhere, shouting “Take that you bastard!” This one was nothing like that. I could have peppered Belinda with questions; I had a freight-car load of them. But I really needed the time to organize them, and there were some she wouldn’t have the answers to anyway.

Motive, means, opportunity, that’s how the cops decide who a killer is. It’s a cliché because it works. Well, it works as long as you can take prejudice and ignorance out of the equation, which is to say humans. I’d look for those factors, because I’d need them to convince the police they didn’t have to cover old ground if (say when, you’ve got to think positive) I solved this thing.

Who would want to kill Constantine Cho? It might be a long list. Cho was brilliant, but had a reputation for stepping on people. There had been a few lawsuits claiming he stole research but I couldn’t remember them coming to anything. Money and fame have always been big motivators for murder.

Then there were all those fine upstanding Christian folks, the followers of the Prince of Peace, who were ready to kill in the cause of stopping someone playing god. Religion and hate, also very popular motives. Ask any abortion provider who has to wear body-armor just to get to work alive. There were too many choices at this point. Better to just start making a list and then eliminating them as fast as I could.

Means was just as big a fur-ball. Belinda had told me they were doing autopsies and all kinds of tests on the bodies, but all we could rule out for now was physical violence. Normally that would be great, but the crime took place inside a building where people used all kinds of chemicals and processes to make new life. If there was ever a better playground for a poisonner, I’ve never heard about it.

As for opportunity, Hell, until I knew what exactly what killed Cho I had a less than zero chance of figuring out how it was done. Oh yeah, this was going to be peach of a case. Why the hell did I take it on in the first place? I glanced sideways to see Belinda’s profile, yeah that was why. Though the big bag of money that came with the job would be nice too, assuming I solved this thing before the deadline. If I didn’t, the hundred grand would vanish and I’d only get my daily rates plus expenses. Ah, the joys of being a business owner!

Belinda had been silent the whole trip. Say what you like about her (and I have) she could read my moods and knew when I needed some quiet time to let the mental hamsters spin the exercise wheels. Damn, she was gorgeous! I hadn’t realized the size of the torch I was still carrying for her until she walked in and it went off like a Space-X heavy booster launch.

I was about to say something I’d almost certainly regret when the exec-mobile let out a perfect chiming tone; a voice low and smoky like fifty-year-old Scotch said, “Exiting auto-express lanes in fifty seconds, Ms. Morris.”

I looked up to see the Gen-Tech city in a building before us. It was huge, overwhelmingly so, like those old buildings out in Florida where they assembled early rockets. It was built on a scale for giants, not mere humans, and it brutally put you in your place from the sheer volume of cream colored masonry. It’s one thing to know the building has a footprint of tens of square hectares, it’s quite another to measure your personal scale against the harsh reality.

A twelve-foot-tall wall surrounded the whole thing; maybe they’d had leftover bricks, since the wall was the same cream as the building. There was a huge block C shaped divot keeping the wall from being completely square. The space was two hundred or so yards wide and three times that deep. The main road to Gen-Tech ran straight down the middle. Long sidewalks ran along either side of the road under a canopy of Tipu trees. The trees were tall and shaggy, with five pointed bright yellow flowers massed all over them.

It was mid-summer, well outside of the normal flowering time for the trees. A fair bet was they were yet another product of Gen-Tech’s. Rather than ask and be annoyed by the answer, I focused on the other things along the sidewalks; surging, waving lines of protestors.

Though there were groups on both sides of the road, they couldn’t be more different. On my left, past Belinda’s all too distracting silhouette, were lines of hard faced women, and beefy looking men. Their clothes were plain, jeans and shirts, for the most part, and they all sported a hat of some kind. With the brutal sun and heat, only mad-dogs and Englishmen went without a hat in the mid-day sun.

Cheap white Stetson style cowboy hats were sprinkled here and there through the crowd; we do live in Texas after all. More had mesh-back billed caps, with enough in camouflage patterns to suggest there had been a sale recently.

Many of the protesters held hand lettered, often misspelled, signs decrying Gen-Tech and its products. The quote from Exodus 22:18, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” was a popular sentiment. Nice. As Belinda steered her car slowly down the road, the crowd rippled into action. Signs were waved, and fists. The sound proofing kept me from hearing what they yelled, but some of the hand gestures gave a good clue. None were making the sign of the cross, but I spotted several single digit signs of the very cross.

As rambunctious and angry as most of the protestors were, there were a few, here and there in the crowd who stood stock still and stared with eyes as cold as a pimp’s heart. All of these were dressed the same, men and women. Dark gray-green shirts and caps; the caps had a cross in black, superimposed with a purple lightning bolt. Warriors of Christ; they were bad news in anyone’s book.

These were Fundamentalist Christian shock troops. They showed up when it was time to trash a liquor store or when a dirty book store needed to be burnt down. They were as cold bloodedly fanatical as any of the murderous fuckwits from the Levant. Who says the US of A can’t compete anymore?

The protesters on the other side were, not to put too fine a point on it, nerds. Sub-type geeky. Every group of people can be plotted on a curve, and they will fall in place depending on what you are measuring and how. On the nerd scale these folks (the vast majority of them men), would be to the left side of the bell curve. Their signs were all digital, with plenty of holo-projected placards to be seen. One read, “Fortes Fortuna Juvat”, Fortune Favors the Bold. A nice sentiment, but only if you knew your Latin, there was no translation.

The hat most represented here was a bush hat, snapped up on one side, and in a truly god-awful bright green and orange tartan. It was the same hat sported by Ian Grewdon, the 25th Doctor Who.

What? So I know who the current Doctor is, so what? The show has been running off and on for the last eighty years, and it’s still wildly popular. Being a Whovian does not make you a nerd, or at least not much of one. Really.

“I get why the god-botherers are here, but what did you do to piss off the friends of Spock?” I asked Belinda.

“Oh, they think we are going too slow with our human genome engineering projects. It seems like each of them has a pet change they’d like to have for themselves and don’t want to wait.”

Huh, at least that makes a little sense. Who among us hasn’t wanted to take a pill and change the thing we think is keeping us down? Too bad greasy skin and narrow shoulders are not the problem. Some things are only fixable on the inside, but who wants to admit that? Too much like self-betrayal, and the less one has, the less likely we are to risk it.

“So they come out in the heat to agitate for faster work?”

“Well, there is the added benefit of getting the taunt the Christians, too.” Belinda said with a little smile gracing those fabulous lips.

“Doesn’t that lead to a lot of fights? The fundy’s are notoriously lacking in the humor department.”

“Fewer than you’d think. If there is a scuffle security clears the whole area, everyone out, and no one gets to have their voice heard.”

“Why let them camp out here in the first place?”

“It’s part of being a city. We are part of the United States, so there are Constitutional issues. Cities have to have some public space, and you can’t pass ordinances limiting access to residents. There’s plenty of precedents in the law about that. So, what you see here is the public space of Gen-Tech city. We can limit access to the acrology itself as a private business, but this area is open to anyone.”

We pulled up into a circle drive in front of the lobby doors. The ultra-cool and annoying car doors gull-winged open with a hiss, letting the heat and humidity in, along with the low growl of the competing crowds.

There were low fences, backed by stern-faced guards, keeping the two groups apart and away from a narrow corridor to the entrance. As I walked with Belinda we were treated to various pleas and insults. It was when a base voice cut through the hubbub shouting “Whore!” that I really took notice.

“The Whore of Babylon will be laid low!” shouted a bearded man near the small fence. I gave him a hard look, but the woman behind him was much more interesting. She was holding an old-style video camera to one eye and very pointedly filming the two of us. It was an intimidation tactic, probably. Cameras are now so small and ubiquitous it’s just common sense to assume you’re being filmed, if you are in public. A couple of decades of bad cops exposed by this should be plenty of proof. By holding up that relic, she was making sure everyone knew they’d been captured for later investigation. The fact she was dressed in the garb of the Warriors of Christ did make it a little more effective.

Belinda must have been used to this; she neither looked nor hesitated as she walked up to the wide sliding glass doors and into the building.

I followed her through into a temperate rain forest. Well, a Disney version of a rain forest. The welcome hall was huge, easily a hundred yards on a side. The walls soared a hundred feet or more to a green-glass ceiling which tamed the Houston sun and turned its blazing output into a golden-green wash.

Full sized trees stood here and there in the lobby, interspersed with verdant green circles of grass and ponds, mostly fed by waterfalls over rocks. Looking closer at one of the trees overhanging a pond, I spotted some kind of small monkey, holding an orange nearly as big as its body. The little simian was peeling the fruit, industriously but neatly. After tearing a section of rind off, it daintily dropped it into the pool below. I saw several Koi like fish rise to the surface and rip the rind apart. It was gone in seconds. Ah, now I knew what this was.

Belinda noticed me looking and said, “Nice isn’t it? I love coming down here to eat lunch, and all of the animals and plants are,”

“Gen-Tech products,” I said cutting her off. “This is a show room, right?”

It earned me a very sour look. What the hell is it about being around Belinda that turns me into a three-year-old? Big badass detective and I can’t even let her finish a sentence? Belinda turned away and started across the amazing lobby.

I had all kinds of questions about the animals and plants, how the systems worked together and what the limits were. I’d have asked them if I hadn’t just managed to piss off my tour guide. Figuring any answer, I’d get from her now would be two words ending with “you!”, I kept my silence and followed her.

We were headed to what had to be the main reception desk. It was a huge ark of living wood, with the desk surface cut across the grain and then sealed with a thick polymer, letting everyone see into the inner processes of this plant turned furniture.

On the upper surface was a metal stand, in the shape of T. Behind the desk was the receptionist. If Belinda looked like an angel, the woman behind the counter must have been a fallen one. Black eyes matched the coal color of her hair. It was long and thick, hanging down one side of her ample chest in a braid. The braid was so long I’d have given odds that it had never known the touch of a stylist’s blades.

“Ms. Morris, I am so glad you are back. Chairman Johnson has been calling down every fifteen minutes. He would like you to call him right away, on an internal phone line,” said the receptionist as we stopped at the desk. Her looks might have been pure barrio-chica, but her voice and choice of words were pure Ivy League.

Belinda rolled her eyes, just a little, sighed and said under her breath, “I have a phone, he has the number, if he wanted an update he could have called me.” She looked at me and then back the receptionist. “This is Eamon Hunt, Virginia, if you would keep him from wandering while I make the call, I’d be eternally grateful.”

“Of course, Ms. Morris,” Virginia agreed.

Belinda walked quickly to a bank of phones. I have to say if I was going to be pawned off on someone for a while, this sultry beauty was better than average. I opened my mouth to speak, when a gravely voice cut me off from behind.

“Don’t believe anything he says, and make sure you can see his hands at all times, Virginia”

“Oh?” said Virginia, arching a perfect eyebrow, “Is he a bad man?”

“The worst, especially around nice young things, you probably should be armed.”

“Don’t believe him, Virginia!” I protested, “Do I look like a bad man?” I asked spreading my arms wide.

The receptionist considered me for a second, then said, “Well, I believe only a criminal would wear a shirt like that, so maybe you do.”

Everyone is a comic some days.

There was a sound like rocks going around in a garbage disposal behind me. Hanging my head a little I turned around with a smile. The geological mirth was coming from a medium height black man. He wore a very expensively tailored suit, so well tailored in fact that I couldn’t actually spot any of the weapons I was sure he was carrying. The suit looked good on him, making the most of his wiry frame.

“Johnny Round, what are you doing here?” I asked and offered my hand.

“Good to see you Eamon,” Round said, giving my hand a playful crush. I was never going to have his grip, but I gave back what I could. It’s a guy thing, like two dogs showing each other their teeth so they don’t actually have to fight.

“Don’t you know?” Round continued, “I’m the Chief of Police for Gen-Tech.”

I hadn’t known, but it made a certain amount of sense. Johnny had been an up and coming detective when I was cutting my teeth as a PI. Unlike his compatriots on the force, he had been willing to talk things through with a novice, in exchange for some expert tech advice that didn’t come from inside the PD.

Like I said, he had been a young man on his way, until the case that ended it all. He’d been working vice, on the trail of a bunch of scum who were abducting and raping early teens. Round found the group and brought them in, appropriately bloody. Who could have known the ringleaders were the sons of the Mayor and a local big wig in the Republican Party? Word was, Round had been told he could back off, just let this slip through the cracks then all would be forgotten, and his promotion to detective sergeant would be a stone-cold lock. It was no dice. Round had grown up in the outskirts of Houston and had seen his share of the fat cats getting away with anything because of their wealth and connections.

He filed the charges and the reports, gave the DA a slam dunk case. Then things started to fall apart. The perps claimed he’d beaten their confessions out of them, that he’d been a mad man when he found them, beating them even though they had surrendered. A complete fur-ball from start to finish. The kids were convicted, but on lesser charges. They still had sex offender hung on them for life, but they never served a day in prison. Round was promoted sideways, and while no one said it explicitly, his career was over in Houston, maybe everywhere in Texas.

“Congratulations, Chief” I told him and shook his hand again. Yeah, my hand was crushed again, guy thing, remember?

“Thanks Eamon,” he told me after giving my maimed hand back. “What took you and Morris so long? The Jefe expected the two of you back much sooner than this”

“I think Belinda went to a few other PI’s before checking in on me.”

“I don’t get why Morris is so stubborn about using you. I told her you were the only one who’d be any help on this. I even gave her directions to your office.”

“Oh, I think I know. We used to be an item back in college, it ended badly.”

Round nodded, “Yeah, that would do it. The Roller is not exactly the most forgiving person.”

“Roller?”

“It’s an unofficial nickname, and God and all the Saints help you if you call Morris it to her face. She’s the CEO’s fixer, you see. She rolls into a problem and when she rolls out, it’s gone. As in crushed out of existence.”

That didn’t sound like the Belinda I’d known, but ten years is a long time, people can make a lot of choices during it. I’d known Belinda had found the wealth she was looking for when she showed up at my office but what price had she paid?

“So, Johnny, what’s the scoop on this case?” I asked eager to turn the subject to something else. I got the barest shake of the head from my old contact.

He leaned in and said under his breath, “Not here, not yet” then leaned back.

The Chief of Police, Security, whatever, for this city didn’t feel free to talk about the case inside the building? That was a red flag that was going to have to be picked up. I gave Round a long look, wondering if he’d changed like Belinda had inside this hothouse of wealth and scientific power. The detective I’d known before wouldn’t have been nervous about talking and letting the chips fall where they may. Was it only the caution that comes from more age, or something else?

Before I could get too far down this uncomfortable line of thought, Belinda joined us.

“Mr. Johnson wants to meet you right away Eamon,” I had no clue what was said on the phone, but in the ninety seconds since she had left, Belinda had changed, subtly but tellingly. It was the difference between the Alpha in a wolf pack and the lead sled dog. Both were at the top of all the other dogs, but one had a collar, and someone who held the leash. That leash had been pulled, and pulled hard. I decided I didn’t have to be impressed.

“Good, we might as well start at the top on this. I have a few questions for the top dog.”

Belinda gave me a look as if she expected nothing less (See? She does know me), and then looked over to Round.

“You coming along?” she asked.

Johnny gave one glance at my shirt then grinned, his teeth brilliant white in his dark face. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world”.

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