Super Born: Seduction of Being (25 page)

The biker looked at the bag and saw the pipes,
“Holy Shit,” he said under his breath. But before he could look up,
I had moved down the alley, away from the crowd as quickly as I
dared, and turned a corner.

“
Hey, lady!” called the
biker.

* * *

The events of the previous night were a gold
mine for my website. I was like a friggin’ six-year-old on
Christmas morning again. There were dozens and dozens of sightings,
reports, comments, and even some pictures. It sounded like the
B.I.B. had been everywhere that night—in so many places I had to
assume most of them were fake reports. There was so much content
posted that I had to call Rebecca and ask her to reorganize and
expand it. Despite the fact that the B.I.B. had dished out her own
sense of justice this time, the comments on the site were
overwhelmingly positive.

The newspaper had the same problem, as I did,
with the sheer volume of content. Eventually, they chose to run all
of the news reports in the same section of the paper under the
headline, “The B.I.B.?” When I saw those four pages of short
articles on alleged this and possible that, it brought a smile to
my face. I was no closer to finding the B.I.B., but I had to marvel
at what she had done…again. Imagining her dealing out all this
justice, like some kind of karma machine, filled me with pride.
Then my thoughts drifted to the image of her inches away from me at
O’Malley’s…damn, there was that pining again.

For the first time since the Searchlight Event,
the network news made mention of the B.I.B., calling her the
“Scranton vigilante.” The network news and news magazine shows
picked up on her for the first time, running spots that were
somewhat tongue-in-cheek. It was pretty much like, “Those nuts in
Scranton, here they go again…” but with somewhat more serious
tones. I could tell many of the photos used were pimped from my
site, despite the fact that I had paid good money for the rights,
and included my copyright in the captions. (I really needed to find
an attorney.)

There was a short cell phone video of some big
guy in the street trying to mess with her—that ended rather
abruptly when the big guy didn’t take the B.I.B. seriously, and she
dropped him as easily as if she was brushing her hair. Then it
ended with a blowup of the Skelly’s photo; still my favorite and
still my copyright, thank you very much.

* * *

I stood in what was left of my office at Camino
Waste Management and watched as the riggers attached lift cables
and chains to the Miner’s truck. Its rear end was still sticking up
though my once-beautiful Italian marble floor, the truck itself
lodged between floors after having fallen headfirst through the
roof, through my office, and partially into the floor below. I
could hear the sounds of hammering and cutting torches from below
as workers tried to clear the scraps of steel that held the truck
in place.

I found the remains of my desk and computer in
shards beside the back bumper of the truck, picked up the twisted
keyboard, then shook my head and threw it to the ground. It
occurred to me that if I had been at that desk when the truck hit,
they would still be trying to collect all of my pieces.

The riggers asked me to leave as they lowered a
cable down through the expanded hole they had cut in the ceiling.
The cable snaked down from a massive crane parked outside that
would take the weight of the truck once the final bits supporting
it were cut away.

I reluctantly left my office and stepped into
my reception area. When I closed the door, it was like moving into
a different world—one where everything was still in its place, not
having been turned upside down by some flying bitch. I would have
to work out of the same space as my assistant, Larry, until my
office was put back together.

So I stepped in there and sat down in his
squeaky, uncomfortable chair behind his plain metal desk. I spun
around and took in the dump—tiny, compared to mine. His computer
was old compared to mine. Hell, there wasn’t even a window. I
sighed and noticed Larry had left his coffee cup on “my” desk. It
was a B.I.B. mug bearing the picture of her at Skelly’s, just like
the friggin’ T-shirts! I threw it through the open doorway and
heard it smash against the wall.

Larry ducked, saying, “Jesus!”. The mug had
flown just past his head as he came down the hall.

I couldn’t help but remember
observing Gambrelli feeling the same frustration at dealing with
the B.I.B.
That bitch is gonna pay for
this! She is going to pay!
I thought,
slamming my fist on the desk.

When I touched the keyboard on Larry’s desk,
his computer blinked to life—on the screen was an unfinished game
of B.I.B. Rescue. My first thought was, “Wow, he’s got 27,500
points.” Then the anger exploded in me. Even my own people idolized
her!

I yelled for everyone to hear, “Son of a bitch,
is everyone around here crazy?”

Chapter 20

Jones and I Regroup at
O’Malley’s

That entire day, I could not lose a nervous
little feeling that someone was about to drop the hammer on poor,
innocent Logan. I felt antsy, and had a feeling of foreboding about
who knew what. After all, the media attention was making my website
ring like a cash register. While I sat, advertisers were paying for
hit after hit. What did I have to worry about? Yet I paced in my
apartment like a caged cat; actually, it was more like a kinda
slow, meandering cat; okay, a large lap cat—a real nasty one after
a full meal—but you get the picture.

I decided that the publicity, the money, and
the sense of what’s-gonna-happen-next had sidetracked my little
voyage of discovery. Somewhere along the line, I had forgotten
those blue/green-flashing eyes, the way she could drain a full beer
bottle, and the fact that she left twenties as tips. Just the
remembrance of which had suddenly created a feeling in my pants
that hadn’t been there for what…weeks now.

Holy shit! Weeks? What had I become, a friggin’
nun? No, nuns were women, so I took solace in that. At least I
wasn’t becoming a nun, just somebody that wasn’t getting any very
often. (But no one needs to know that, okay?)

There was only one thing to do, and that was to
get back to where I had been, my humble origins, (keeping the money
and celebrity of course. I wasn’t crazy.) So I called Dr. Jones
.

“
Yes, my friend, this has certainly
been a crazy time, but I am glad that you are calling.”

“
Man, did you see the pictures of
what happened?”

“
Yes,” said Jones, a bit
dreamy.

“
We really need to find her before
this thing gets out of hand. You know she didn’t make any friends
last night, beating up the whole town.”

“
I am certain she had good reason…”
He drifted for off a moment. “What is it that you have in mind?” he
said. finally returning to planet Earth.

Just like the first night I’d met Jones and
struggled to understand his theory, I was back to stroking my hand
through my hair (not a good sign). “I don’t really know Doc. I
thought maybe you and I could meet and hash something
out.”

“
Sound like a total non-plan to me;
not even the beginning of an idea for a plan someday…but it works
for me. Where and when, my friend?”

So we decided to meet that night at eight—where
else?—at O’Malley’s, where the whole thing had begun.

I arrived promptly at 8:27, and Dr. Jones
arrived promptly at 8:32. We sat in the same booth. Even though it
was already summer, everything around us seemed the same as it had
in January. The RFDs were pulling the restroom door in the wrong
direction repeatedly, sliding off bar stools, and of course, there
was the occasional sound of laughter and rifle shots from the back
room, though it was blank rifle shots these days. The only thing
missing was the luscious blond in the corner.

The same old barkeep was there. He came over to
take our order, but then, upon recognizing us, he hesitated and
began to turn around. I called to him and assured him that we would
order something more than just a beer this time, and he came
reluctantly.

“
What’s it to be this time, gents? A
wee bit of soda water? Cup of ice?” he asked.

“
No, my man, we will each have your
finest beer, shaken not stirred.”

The barkeep was not amused. “Will this be a
cash transaction?” he asked sarcastically.

I pulled out a wad of bills and laid them on
the table. “Yes, my dear man, it will be cash and there’s more
where that came from,” I said, gesturing toward a reluctant Dr.
Jones. “Does this fine establishment serve any varieties of food to
go with your outstanding liquors?”

The barkeep reached in his pocket and pulled
out a crumpled black and white photocopy, straightened it a little,
and then presented it over his forearm as if it were a menu from a
five-star restaurant. “We do, me lord, can I get you
anything?”

I quickly surveyed the four or five selections.
“Do you recommend the chili fries?”

“
With me whole bleedin’
heart.”

“
I believe we will try some,” I
said, looking at Jones for his agreement and instead finding him
baffled by every item on the short list.

“
Will that be one order, two plates,
and a doggie bag, or are we blowin’ the wad on two
orders?”

I looked at Jones and said, “That will be two
orders, my good man.”

The old man looked up at the ceiling for a
second, as if in thought, then grabbed at my pile of bills until he
had extracted full payment, plus a generous tip of his choosing.
That done, he turned to leave.

“
I see, my friend, that you come
here often,” said Jones, noticing the warmth the barkeep and I had
for each other.

A minute later, the barkeep delivered our beers
and the promise, “Your fries are on their way. I wanna make sure
they’re good an fresh for ya.” It made me wonder what fresh
ingredients or spit he might add to the potatoes.

I took a long pull on my beer and fell back in
the booth. Dr. Jones was uncharacteristically quiet, devoid of his
usual energy.

“
I feel like we’re messin’ this up,”
I said. “I thought we were so close to her and now…now, it’s just a
mess.”

Jones nodded without looking at me. “Yes, my
friend, I am feeling this way too. It used to be so fun, so
exciting. Not to mention that I was scoring like a pinball machine
while I searched for her…Ahhh Two-for-Tuesdays,” he said dreamily.
“But now, I think she does not want to be found. We were so close.
We were fools to get drawn into an alliance with the
mayor.”

“
Oh yeah, that’s right, you and the
mayor. I thought you had forgotten me totally there for a
while.”

“
Yes, I am sorry for that.. You
know, power can make you crazy sometimes…I liked the media coverage
and the limelights,” he said, a bit whimsically. “Did you know that
this is my best side?” He turned to show me his left profile. “I
never knew until the TV people told me.”

“
Didn’t you say something about
having a plan to contact the B.I.B. at that news
conference?”

Jones seemed a bit embarrassed to be reminded
of this. “Oh yes. Not a good day for me. No, I don’t remember
saying anything like that.”

“
Don’t fuck with a
fucker.”

“
I beg your pardon! I don’t play on
that team!” said Jones, totally taken aback.

I shook my head. “No, I mean don’t try to lie
to a liar. That’s BS and you know it. What was your stinking plan?
Maybe we can use it.”

“
My plan? Oh yes, now I remember
saying that. I believe I was referring to the Patagonian Algorithm,
which is based on the atomic decay of epsilon particles, very
complicated stuff. But it didn’t pan out, so I gave up on
it.”

“
Isn’t Patagonia in South America?
What does that have to do with mathematics?”

“
There was a famous mathematician,
Estevan De Numero, who was from Patagonia. He was the one who came
up with this algorithm.”

“
Doesn’t
numero
mean number?”

“
I wouldn’t know, my
friend.”

“
He was from there and had a theory
for atomic decay?”

“
Yes.”

“
In Patagonia?”

“
Yes,” said Jones.

I knew he was lying. I couldn’t figure out why,
but I was certain he was. Then I remembered the drawings for an
electronic device I had seen in his apartment. “Hey, what about
that thing you were building? You know, those drawings I saw at
your place?

“
Drawings?”

“
Yeah, they were on your desk,
remember? Like a rod with a bunch of tubes sticking out of
it.”

Jones acted as if he was trying to
remember, then finally smiled and nodded. “You mean the
high-definition anal stimulator! Yes, yes it worked out very well.
If you know what I mean,” he said, winking. “My research proved
that it was not just a matter of stroke magnitude but finding the
harmonic frequency that was the key…I could let you borrow it if
you’d like. I believe it’s not scheduled a week from Wednesday say
between eight and ten in the evening on the
25
^th
?”