Weed

  Chapter 11

  All three of us had eaten early, a simple meal since no one was very hungry—except for Josey who could eat like a horse. Charles had made a large salad of romaine lettuce with sliced ham, strips of brick cheese, feta and black olives and his secret almost-black dressing. Charles and Josey ate in silence. I guess I mumbled throughout the meal.

  "The weed heals," I was saying to no one in particular. "We saw that effect in the jungles of the Amazon. There were few women there, in the native village. I think that's important ... somehow. A secondary skin forms. Sometimes it sluffs off, sometimes it grows, foamy. It can cover the entire body. It did, with Hans, with Poo, with ..."

  "Poo?" Josey said with difficulty, strands of lettuce hanging from her mouth.

  "Dog," Charles said. "Poo ... a dog at the lab."

  I had been talking into my salad. I looked up at Josey who was intent upon listening, but unwilling to stop eating. "The salve, made of the juices of the weed, formed a skin which covered Josey's body." Josey grunted at the sound of her name, but continued eating. "It didn't kill her, but it might have. It didn't kill me." I gazed briefly at the scar on the back of my hand, then into my salad bowl. "It seems to have killed some people, according to the newspaper. How they got it is a mystery. It certainly killed Hans. No mystery how he got it. He stole the damn stuff from my lab!"

  I looked up from my salad. The others had finished and were staring at me. Josey wiped her mouth with her sleeve. A streak of Charles' dark dressing ran across her upper lip. It stayed, in spite of a second swipe of her sleeve.

  "Miss Fleetsmith," Charles said, "I really think that the juices of this weed have somehow found their way into the city water supply. I believe that the city officials should be informed. I also believe that you should attempt to discover an antidote so that the health department might—"

  I jumped up. It hit me like a Mack truck. "Shit! Why didn't I think of that before?"

  "My mention of an antidote," Charles said, thinking that his words had sparked my reaction, "is the consequence of much cogitation and a certain degree of mental anguish. You have been concerned with other things and have had little opportunity to think on these matters. I believe ..."

  "Cocoon!"

  "... that my responsibility is to analyze the situation and inform you—" Charles stopped. "Cocoon?"

  "Yes, yes, cocoon." I left the room immediately, heading for the front door.

  "She's a weirdo," I heard Josey mumble, still trying to wipe the dark stain from her lip. "A sweet gal, but a weirdo."

  I could see Charles staring out the window as my Porsche slid onto the street. I stopped. He could see my fussing beneath my blouse, pulling my bra out, tossing it on the back seat. I rarely wore a bra anyway. Now it was imperative that I discard the apparatus.

  I could almost hear Charles agreeing with Josey. "Weirdo."

  Barney Bernside wasn't even surprised when I barged into his office.

  "I figured you'd show up sooner or later," he said, grinning and straightening his shirt.

  "Where are the bodies," I said.

  "I have only two. The others have been cremated, at the request of the next of kin. And the two that I have are—"

  "Cocoons," I whispered.

  "What?"

  "They're cocoons," I said. "The bodies, the people reported in the Gazette, they're now cocoons. Right? Show me!"

  "Well, I wouldn't exactly call them cocoons, but they are covered in that epidermal sheath. The same covering I discovered on Hans von Oerschott."

  "You discovered? BB, sweetheart, your memory is as short as your penis."

  Barney blushed. "I assume you want to inspect the bodies," he said quickly. "It's highly irregular—"

  "Let's go angel. Lead the way."

  Barney walked slowly to an adjoining room. An assistant was unwrapping a body which lay on a long table.

  "Clancy, take a break. Go for a coffee. Don't hurry back."

  The young man seemed somewhat startled, but pulled the sheet over the body and immediately headed for the door. When he looked back, I had already thrown the sheet to the floor and was carefully inspecting the pale figure on the table. Barney stood at my side, frowning. Clancy shrugged and left.

  "Look BB," I said. "This stuff is heaviest, thicker, around the neck and head. It's thinner at the extremities, but it's continuous. One continuous, unbroken wrapping covering everything, even a thin transparent layer over the eyes." Barney leaned forward to gain a better view. I continued.

  "In places it doesn't look like there's anything there, but it's there just the same. A thin, almost invisible skin." I turned to Barney. "Don't you see? It's like a cocoon. The body is inside, protected ... somehow."

  "Protected?" Barney grinned. "From what? It killed them, didn't it? Hardly a protective cover, I'd say."

  "So what did they die of?"

  "I'm not yet certain," BB said. "After we finish the autopsy, then—"

  "How did Hans die? What killed him? You've had ample time to do the autopsy on Hans. What killed Hans von Oerschott?"

  Barney straightened up, turned slowly and walked to the wall. I watched him. He leaned heavily against the door frame and gazed at the floor. He pulled out a package of cigarettes and slowly withdrew one. It made a great scene and he was playng it for all it was worth.

  "C'mon, BB. Give it to me straight," I said in my sexiest voice, emphasizing the last word.

  Barney looked up, the cigarette still in his hand. "I don't know. I really don't know what killed Hans."

  I walked to his side, knocked the cigarette from his hand, put my hand into his, pulled him gently into his office. He slumped into a chair. I waited. This was important.

  "There were apparently no bruises, no degeneration of organs, no nonfunctional body parts ... in fact, the body of Hans von Oerschott was perfect. I mean, it was without blemish. Unusual for a man of his age." Barney looked up at me. I was sitting on his desk. "There was no reason for him to die," Barney concluded.

  "But he did die, so he must have died of something and if the city coroner can't determine the cause of death then perhaps we need a new coroner." That was mean and I leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "Look BB. Do it again. Look at Hans' body again, but this time—"

  "I can't" he muttered.

  "Sure you can. Just—"

  "It's gone."

  I slid off the desk. "What's gone?"

  "The body. The body of Hans von Oerschott has gone, vanished."

  "Gone, as in cremated?" I asked.

  "Stolen," BB said.

  "Shit! Who in hell would want to steal Hans' body?" I paced about the room, then turned and pointed at Barney. No more nice guy for me. "You asshole! You brain dead shithead! What kind of security do you have here, anyway. How in Christ's name can somebody walk in and steal a bloody body, already cut to pieces?"

  "Uh, well, I hadn't really finished the autopsy. Just a single midtorso incision—"

  "But you inspected the organs. You just said that."

  "Yes, but a cursory inspection only. I didn't remove any parts."

  "But somebody removed parts. All the parts." I was disgusted. "Shit!"

  "But we have these other two bodies," Barney said weakly. "The symptoms seem the same. Whatever it is you're looking for, surely—"

  I softened my approach. This really was important and I had to do it right. "BB, don't let anybody near those bodies. You do the autopsies yourself. I want to know everything. I want pictures, diagrams, a detailed report, color descriptions, the degrees of thickness of the Dermafix sheath, the—"

  Barney stood, defiantly.

  "I'm not your lackey! You're not my boss! What is this? Orders from a sleazy broad who thinks that—"

  I slid my body next to his, running my hand to his neck, caressing.

  " ... thinks that I'll just ... just ..."

  I began to unbutton my blouse, then his shirt, pul
ling each to the side, stroking his chest, pressing my breasts to his. Anticipating this, I was, of course, devoid of bra. I unbuckled his belt, sliding my hand into his trousers, fondling.

  "Oh God," he moaned. "Oh God, Fran, stop it."

  "Please?" I whined. "Pretty please, BB darling? A detailed report?"

  He pulled me to him, eagerly. I whispered the request again, into his ear. "Yes, yes," he groaned, "tomorrow, it'll be ready by noon."

  I spun on my heel and marched out of the office, buttoning my blouse. Barney fell forward onto the desk, panting. Clancy was standing, mesmerized, at the door.