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CH054

B
rad Gordon
had a bad feeling as he walked into the Border Café on Ventura Boulevard and looked at the booths. The place was a greasy spoon, filled with actors. A guy waved from a rear booth. Brad walked back to him.

The guy was wearing a light gray suit. He was short and balding and looked unsure of himself. His handshake was weak. “Willy Johnson,” he said, “I’m your new attorney for the upcoming trial.”

“I thought my uncle, Jack Watson, was providing the attorney.”

“He is,” Johnson said. “I’m he. Pederasty is my specialty.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Sex with a boy. But I have experience with any underage partner.”

“I didn’t have sex with anybody,” Brad said. “Underage or not.”

“I’ve reviewed your file and the police reports,” Johnson said, pulling out a legal pad. “I think we have several avenues for your defense.”

“What about the girl?”

“She is not available; she left the country. Her mother is ill in the Philippines. But I am told she will return for the trial.”

“I thought there wasn’t going to be a trial,” Brad said. The waitress came over. He waved her away. “Why are we meeting here?”

“I have to be in court in Van Nuys at ten. I thought this would be convenient.”

Brad looked around uneasily. “Place is full of people. Actors. They talk a lot.”

“We won’t discuss the details of the case,” Johnson said. “But I want
to lay out the structure of your defense. In your case, I am proposing a genetic defense.”

“Genetic defense? What’s that mean?”

“People with various genetic abnormalities find themselves helpless to suppress certain impulses,” Johnson said. “That makes them, in technical terms, not guilty. We will be proposing that as the explanation in your case.”

“What genetic disorder? I don’t have any genetic disorder.”

“Hey, it’s not a bad thing,” Johnson said. “Think of it as a type of diabetes. You’re not responsible for it. You were born that way. In your case, you have an irresistible impulse to engage in sex with attractive young women.” He smiled. “It’s an impulse that’s shared by about ninety percent of the adult male population.”

“What kind of a fucking defense is that?” Brad Gordon said.

“A very effective one.” Johnson shuffled through papers in a folder. “There have been several recent newspaper reports—”

“You mean to tell me,” Brad said, “that there’s a gene for sex with young girls?”

Johnson sighed. “I wish it were that simple. Unfortunately, no.”

“Then what’s the defense?”

“
D
4
DR
.”

“Which is?”

“It’s called the novelty gene. It’s the gene that drives us to take risks, engage in thrill-seeking behavior. We will argue that the novelty gene inside your body drove you to risky behavior.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me.”

“Is it? Let’s see. Ever jump out of an airplane?”

“Yeah, in the army. Hated it.”

“Scuba diving?”

“Couple of times. Had a hot girlfriend who liked it.”

“Mountain climbing?”

“Nope.”

“Really? Didn’t your high school class climb Mount Rainer?”

“Yeah, but that was—”

“You climbed a major American peak,” Johnson said, nodding. “Driving sports cars fast?”

“Not really, no.”

“You have five tickets for speeding in your Porsche in the last three years. Under California law, you have been at risk for losing your license all that time.”

“Just normal speeding…”

“I think not. How about sex with the boss’s girlfriend?”

“Well…”

“And sex with the boss’s wife?”

“Just once, a couple of jobs back. But she was the one who came on to—”

“Those are risky sex partners, Mr. Gordon. Any jury would agree. How about unprotected sex? Venereal diseases?”

“Just a minute, here,” Brad said, “I don’t want to get into—”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Johnson said, “and that’s not surprising, considering three cases of
pediculosis pubis—
crabs. Two episodes of gonorrhea, one of chlamydia, two episodes of condyloma—or genital warts—including…hmm, one near the anus. And that’s just the last five years, according to the records of your doctor in Southern California.”

“How’d you get those?”

Johnson shrugged. “Sky diving, scuba diving, mountain climbing, reckless driving, high-risk sex partners, unprotected sex. If that doesn’t comprise a pattern of high-risk, thrill-seeking behavior, I don’t know what does.”

Brad Gordon
was silent. He had to admit the little guy knew how to make a case. He’d never thought of his life that way before. Like when he was screwing the boss’s wife, his uncle just gave him hell about it. Why, his uncle had said, did you make that kind of fucked-up decision? Keep it in your pants, jerkoff! Brad had had no answer at the time. Under his uncle’s glare, his actions did seem pretty stupid. The broad wasn’t even that good-looking. But now it seemed Brad had an answer
to his uncle’s question: He couldn’t help it. It was his genetic inheritance that was controlling his behavior.

Johnson explained further, giving a lot of detail. According to him, Brad was at the mercy of this
D
4
DR
gene, which controlled the chemical levels in the brain. Something called dopamine was driving Brad to take risks, and to enjoy the experience, to crave it. Brain scans and other tests proved that people like Brad could not control the desire to take risks.

“It’s the novelty gene,” Johnson said, “and it has been named by the most important geneticist in America, Dr. Robert Bellarmino. Dr. Bellarmino is the biggest genetics researcher at the National Institutes of Health. He has a huge lab. He publishes fifty papers a year. No jury can ignore his research.”

“Okay, so I have the gene. You really think this will work?”

“Yes, but I want to see some frosting on the cake, before we go to trial.”

“Meaning what?”

“Before your trial, you’re naturally worried, stressed.”

“Yeah…”

“So I want you to take a trip, to take your mind off things. I want you to travel around the country, and I want you to take risks wherever you go.”

Johnson laid it out: Speeding tickets, amusement parks, getting into fights, roller coasters, climbing expeditions in national parks—always making sure to get into an argument, a dispute about safety, a claim that equipment was faulty. Anything that would get his name recorded in a document that could later be used in trial.

“That’s it,” Johnson said. “Get going. I’ll see you in a few weeks.” He gave him a sheet of paper.

“What’s this?”

“A list of the biggest roller coasters in the U.S. Make sure you visit the top three.”

“Christ. Ohio…Indiana…Texas…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Johnson said. “You’re facing twenty years
in prison, my friend, with some big guy with tattoos who’s going to be giving you lots worse than anal warts. So do as I tell you. And leave town today.”

Back in his
apartment, in Sherman Oaks, he packed a bag. The thought of a big guy with tattoos preoccupied him for a moment. He wondered if he should take his pistol. Going cross-country, to crazy places like Ohio—who knew what he might come across. He put a box of ammo in his bag, and his pistol with the leg holster.

Heading for his car, Brad found that he felt better about everything. It was a sunny day, his Porsche was sparkling clean, and he had a plan.

Road trip!

CH055

L
ynn Kendall
ran into the La Jolla school, arriving out of breath at the principal’s office. “I got here as soon as I could,” she said. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s David,” the principal said. She was a woman of forty. “The child you are home-schooling. Your son Jamie brought him to school for the day.”

“Yes, to see how he did…”

“And I am afraid he did not do well. On the playground, he bit another child.”

“Oh dear.”

“He very nearly drew blood.”

“That’s terrible.”

“We see this in home-schooled children, Mrs. Kendall. They severely lack socialization skills and inner controls. There is no substitute for daily school environment with peers.”

“I’m sorry this has happened…”

“You need to speak to him,” the principal said. “He is in detention, in the next room.”

Lynn went into a small room. It was filled with green metal filing cabinets, stacked high. Dave was on a wooden chair, looking very small and brown curled up in the seat.

“Dave. What happened?”

“He hurted Jamie,” Dave said.

“Who did?”

“I don’t know his name. He bees in six grade.”

Lynn thought, sixth grade? Then it would have been a much bigger child.

“And what happened, Dave?”

“He push-ed Jamie on the ground. Hurted him.”

“And what did you do?”

“I jump-ed on his back.”

“Because you wanted to protect Jamie?”

Dave nodded.

“But you shouldn’t bite, Dave.”

“He bited me first.”

“Did he? Where did he bite you?”

“Here.” Dave held up a stubby, muscular finger. The skin was pale and thick. There might be bite marks, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Did you tell the principal?”

“She’s not with my mother.” That, Lynn knew, was Dave’s way of saying the principal didn’t like him. Young chimps inhabited a matriarchal society where the allegiances of females were very important and constantly tracked.

“Did you show her the finger?”

Dave shook his head. No.

“I’ll speak to her,” Lynn said.

“That’s his story,
is it?” the principal said. “Well, I’m not surprised. He jumped on the child’s back. What did he expect would happen?”

“Then the other child did bite first?”

“Biting is not allowed, Mrs. Kendall.”

“Did the other child bite him?”

“He says no.”

“Is the child in sixth grade?”

“Yes. In Miss Fromkin’s class.”

“I’d like to speak to him,” Lynn said.

“We can’t permit that,” the principal said. “He’s not your child.”

“But he’s accused Dave. And the situation is very serious. If I am
going to deal correctly with Dave, I need to know what happened between them.”

“I’ve told you what happened.”

“You saw it happen?”

“No, but it was reported by Mr. Arthur, the playground supervisor. He is very accurate in the matter of disputes, I can assure you. The point is, we don’t allow biting, Mrs. Kendall.”

Lynn was feeling an invisible hand pressing on her. The conversation had a distinct uphill quality. “Perhaps I should talk with my son Jamie,” Lynn said.

“Jamie’s story will agree with David’s, I’m sure. The point is, Mr. Arthur says that it didn’t happen that way.”

“The bigger boy didn’t attack Jamie first?”

The principal stiffened. “Mrs. Kendall,” she said, “in cases of disciplinary disputes, we can refer to a security camera on the playground. We can go to that if we need to—now or later. But I would encourage you to stay with the issue of the biting. Which is David. However uncomfortable that may be.”

“I see,” Lynn said. The situation was clear. “All right, I will deal with Dave, when he comes home from school.”

“I think you should take him with you.”

“I would prefer he finish the day,” she said, “and walk home with Jamie.”

“I don’t think—”

“Dave has a problem integrating in the classroom, as you explained,” Lynn said. “I don’t think we help his integration if we pull him out of class now. I will deal with him when he comes home.”

The principal nodded reluctantly. “Well…”

“I will speak to him now,” Lynn said, “and tell him he’ll stay here for the rest of the day.”

CH056

A
lex Burnet
jumped out of the cab and ran toward the school. When she saw the ambulance, her heart began to pound.

A few minutes before, she had been with a client—who was sobbing—when the receptionist buzzed to say that Jamie’s teacher had called. Something about a doctor’s visit for her son. The story was garbled, but Alex didn’t wait. She handed the client a box of Kleenex and ran. She’d jumped in a cab downstairs and told the guy to run stoplights.

The ambulance was at the curb, doors open, a white-coated doctor waiting in the back—she wanted to scream. She had never felt like this before. The world was greenish-white; she was sick with fear. She ran past the ambulance and into the school courtyard. The mother at the front desk said, “Can I help—” but Alex knew where Jamie’s classroom was, on the ground floor, at the rear courtyard. She headed straight toward it.

Her cell phone rang. It was Jamie’s teacher, Miss Holloway. “That woman is waiting outside the class,” she whispered. “She gave me a letter with your phone number on it, but I didn’t trust that. I used the number we had on your school file and called that…”

“Good work,” Alex said. “I’m almost there.”

“She’s outside.”

Alex came around the corner and saw a woman in a blue suit, standing outside the classroom. Alex went right up to her. “And who the hell are you?”

The woman smiled calmly, held out her hand. “Hi, Ms. Burnet. Casey Rogers, I’m sorry you had to come all this way.”

She was so easy, so relaxed, Alex was disarmed. She put her hands on her hips, breathing deeply, catching her breath. “What seems to be the problem, Casey?”

“There isn’t any problem, Ms. Burnet.”

“You work in my office?”

“Gosh no. I work in Dr. Hughes’s office. Dr. Hughes wanted me to pick up Jamie and bring him in for his tetanus shot. It’s not an emergency, but it does need to be done. He cut his ankle a week ago, isn’t that right?”

“No…”

“No? Well, I can’t imagine…Do you suppose I was sent for the wrong child? Let me call Dr. Hughes…” She took out her cell phone.

“Yes, do that.”

Inside the classroom, the kids were looking at them through the glass. She waved to Jamie, who smiled back.

“Perhaps we should move away,” Casey Rogers said. “Not disrupt them.” Then into the phone: “Dr. Hughes, please. Yes. It’s Casey.”

Together, they walked back toward the school entrance. Through the entry arch, Alex saw the ambulance. Alex said, “Did you bring an ambulance?”

“Gosh, no. I have no idea why it’s here.” She pointed to the windshield. “Looks like the driver is eating lunch.”

Through the windshield, Alex saw a burly man with a black goatee munching on a submarine sandwich. Had he stopped by the school just to eat lunch? Something about that didn’t seem right. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Dr. Hughes? It’s Casey. Yes, I’m with Ms. Burnet right now, and she says her son Jamie did not cut his foot.”

“He did not,” Alex repeated. They walked through the arch and outside, moving closer to the ambulance. The driver put his sandwich on the dashboard and opened the door on the driver’s side. He was getting out.

“Yes, Dr. Hughes,” Casey said, “we’re leaving the school right now.” She held the phone out to Alex. “Would you like to speak to Dr. Hughes?”

“Yes,” Alex said. As she put the phone to her ear, she heard a piercing electronic shriek—it disoriented her—she dropped the phone as Casey Rogers grabbed her elbows and yanked her arms back. The driver was coming around the front of the ambulance toward her.

“We don’t need the kid,” the driver said. “She’ll do fine.”

It took a moment before she put it together: they were kidnapping her. What happened next was instinct. She slammed her head straight back, hitting Casey in the nose. Casey screamed and let go. Blood gushed down from her nose. Alex grabbed Casey’s arm and swung her forward, throwing her at the big man. He sidestepped gracefully as Casey hit the concrete and rolled, howling in pain.

Alex fumbled in her pocket. “Get back,” she warned him.

“We’re not going to hurt you, Ms. Burnet,” the man said. He was a good head and a half taller than she, and big, muscular. Just as he reached for her, she got her finger on the button and sprayed pepper in his face.

“Shit! Goddamn it!” He threw his arm up to protect his eyes, and half turned away from her. She knew that was her one chance—she kicked up, fast and hard, hitting him in the throat with her high heel. He yelled in agony, and she fell backward on the sidewalk, unable to keep her balance. She scrambled back to her feet immediately. The woman was getting to her feet, her blood pouring onto the sidewalk. She ignored Alex and went to comfort the big man, who was leaning against the ambulance, bent over, clutching his throat, moaning in pain.

Alex heard distant sirens—someone had called the police—and now the woman was helping the big man into the ambulance, putting him in the passenger seat. It was happening fast. Alex started to worry that these two would get away before the cops showed up. But there wasn’t much she could do. As the woman climbed into the ambulance she screamed at Alex, “We’ll arrest you yet!”

“You’ll what?” Alex said. The unreality of this whole incident was starting to hit her.
“You’ll what?”

“We’ll be back, bitch!” the woman screamed, starting the engine. “You won’t get away!” The red flasher came on with the siren. She put the ambulance in gear.

“For what?” Alex yelled again. All she could think was that this entire business had been some dreadful mistake. But Vern Hughes
was
her doctor. They had used her correct name. They had come for Jamie…

No. It was not a mistake.

“We’ll arrest you yet!”

What could that mean? She turned, and hurried back into the school. Her one thought now was Jamie.

It was snack time.
The kids were all sitting at their tables, eating pieces of cut fruit. Some had yogurt. They were quite noisy. Miss Holloway gave her the paper the woman had brought. It appeared to be a Xerox of stationery from Alex’s law firm, signed by her. It wasn’t a note from the doctor’s office.

That meant that the woman in the blue suit was a cool operator. When caught, she instantly changed her story. Smiling, shaking hands with Alex. Smoothly finding an excuse for the two of them to walk back outside…Offering her the phone so that when she took it…

We don’t need the kid, she’ll do fine.

They had come to kidnap Jamie. But they were ready to kidnap her, instead. Why? Ransom? She had no money to speak of. Was it some lawsuit she was involved in? She’d had dangerous lawsuits in the past, but there wasn’t anything pending at the moment.

She’ll do fine.

Either her son or her.

Miss Holloway said, “Is there anything I should know? Or the school should know?”

“No,” Alex said. “But I’m going to take Jamie home.”

“They’ve almost finished their snack.”

Alex nodded to Jamie, waved for him to come over. He came reluctantly.

“What is it, Mom?” he said.

“We need to go.”

“I want to stay here.”

Alex sighed. Contrary as ever. “Jamie…” she began.

“I missed a lot ’cause I was sick. Ask Miss Holloway. And I didn’t get to see my friends. I want to stay. And we have hot dogs for lunch.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Go to your cubby and get your stuff. We have to leave.”

In front of
the school, two police cars and four police officers were examining the pavement. One of them said, “Are you Ms. Burnet?”

“Yes, I am.”

“We have a report from a woman in the principal’s office who saw the whole thing,” the policeman said, pointing to a nearby window. “But there’s a lot of blood here, Ms. Burnet.”

“Yes, the woman hurt her nose when she fell.”

“Are you divorced, Ms. Burnet?”

“Yes, I am.”

“For how long?”

“Five years.”

“So it is not recent.”

“Not at all.”

“Your relations with your ex…”

“Very cordial.”

She talked to the police for a few minutes more, while Jamie waited impatiently. The police seemed to Alex to be oddly reluctant to become involved; they were detached, and seemed to feel they had come upon a private matter, like a domestic dispute.

“Are you filing a complaint?”

“I would,” Alex said, “but I have to take my son home now.”

“We can give you the paperwork to take home.”

“That will be fine,” she said.

One of the cops gave her a business card and said to call if there was anything further she needed. She said she would. Then she and Jamie started home.

Out on the street,
the world around her suddenly seemed entirely different. Nothing could be more cheerfully bland than the sunlight of Beverly Hills. But now, Alex saw only menace.

She didn’t know where that menace was coming from, or why. She held Jamie’s hand. “Are we
walking
home?” he said, sighing.

“Yes, we’re walking.” But even as he asked, she started to wonder. They lived only a few blocks from the school. But was it safe to go home? Would those people with the ambulance be waiting? Or would they hide themselves better the next time?

“It’s too far to walk.” Jamie trudged along. “And too hot.”

“We’re walking. And that’s all there is to it.” As they walked, she flipped open her cell and dialed the office. Her assistant, Amy, answered.

“Listen, I want you to check recent county filings. Find out if my name comes up as a defendant anywhere.”

“Is there something I need to know?” Amy asked, laughing. But it was a nervous laugh. Wrongdoing by an attorney might land their assistants in jail. It had happened a couple of times recently.

“No,” Alex said. “But I think I have bounty hunters chasing me.”

“You jump bail anywhere?”

“No,” Alex said. “That’s the point. I don’t know what these people think they are doing.”

The assistant said she would check. Jamie, walking alongside Alex, said, “What’s a bowie hunter? Why is she chasing you, Mom?”

“I’m trying to find out, Jamie. I think it’s a mistake.”

“Were they trying to
hurt
you?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” There was no reason to make him worry.

The assistant called back.

“Okay, you do have a complaint, all right. In Superior Court, Ventura County.”

That was a good hour from Los Angeles, up past Oxnard. “What’s the complaint?”

“It was filed by BioGen Research Incorporated of Westview Village. I can’t read the complaint online. But you’re showing up as a failure to appear.”

“Appear when?”

“Yesterday.”

“Was I served?”

“Indicates you were.”

“I wasn’t,” Alex said.

“Shows you were.”

“So, is there a contempt citation? A warrant for my arrest?”

“Nothing’s showing. But the online lags up to a day, so there might be.”

Alex flipped the phone shut.

Jamie said, “Are you going to be arrested?”

“No, honey. I’m not.”

“Then can I go back to school after lunch?”

“We’ll see.”

Her apartment building,
on the north side of Roxbury Park, looked quiet in the midday sun. Alex stood on the other side of the park and watched for a while.

“Why are we waiting?” Jamie said.

“Just for a minute.”

“It’s been a minute already.”

“No, it hasn’t.”

She was watching the man in coveralls, going around the side of the house. He looked like the meter reader for the utility company. Except that he was big, with a bad wig and a trimmed black goatee that she had seen somewhere before. And the meter readers never came to the front. They always entered from the back alley.

She was thinking that if this guy was a bounty hunter, he had the right to enter her property without warning and without a warrant.
He could break down the door, if he wanted to. He had the right to search her apartment, to go through her things, to take her computer and inspect the hard drive. He could do whatever he wanted to do to apprehend a fugitive. But she wasn’t a—

“Can we go in, Mom?” Jamie whined. “Please?”

Her son was right about one thing. They couldn’t just stand there. There was a sandbox in the middle of the park, several kids, maids, and mothers sitting around.

“Let’s go play in the sandbox.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Yes.”

“It’s for babies.”

“Just for a while, James.”

He stamped his foot, and sat down on the edge of the sandbox. He kicked sand irritably while Alex dialed her assistant.

“Amy, I am wondering about BioGen, the company that bought my father’s cell line. We don’t have any motions pending, do we?”

“No. California Supreme Court is a year from now.”

So what’s going on?
she wondered. What kind of suit was BioGen bringing now? “Call the judge’s clerk up in Ventura. Find out what this is about.”

“Okay.”

“Have we heard from my father?”

“Not for a while.”

“Okay.” It actually wasn’t okay, because she was now having the strong feeling that all this had to do with her father. Or at least with her father’s cells. The bounty hunters had brought an ambulance—with a doctor in the back—because they were going to take a sample, or do some surgical procedure. Long needles. She’d seen sunlight glint on long needles wrapped in plastic, as the doctor at the back of the ambulance shuffled things about.

Then it hit her:
They wanted to take their cells
.

They wanted cells from her, or from her son. She couldn’t imagine why. But they clearly felt entitled to take them. Should she call the
police? Not yet, she decided. If there were a warrant for her failure to appear, they’d simply take her into custody. And then what would she do about Jamie? She shook her head.

Right now, she needed time to figure out what was going on. Time to get everything straightened out. What was she supposed to do? She wanted to call her father, but he hadn’t been answering for days. If these guys knew where she lived, they would know what kind of car she had, and—