Weed

  Chapter 13

  Mah name is Willum Boone, transferred from San Antonio, after chasin' a Mexican to New Yawk. He'd come acrosst the Rio Grande with a pack o' cocaine and headed north. Worked with the NYPD, reckon Ah impressed 'em, got me a job there, so Ah headed north, worked mah way to special assistant to the Chief in jest five years. Proud o' that. Guess Ah'm a sorta jack o' all trades. Special assistant means go here, do thet, check this and thet.

  The big apple is nothin like San Antonio; more like a big prune. Too many people, keep to thesselves, don't take kindly to strangers. Ah'm six foot four, lanky, wear a stetson. Ah surely do look like a stranger. Then Ah take me a vacation in Canada, Muskoka, fishin', visit TO and get me a job with the Toronto police, special assistant ag'in. The Chief is Fred "Fuzz" Clements. Good cop.

  Ah never git the Chief mad by disagreein' with 'im, but Ah'm no yes-man. Let Fuzz know what Ah'm thinkin, make a suggestion er two, let the Chief make the decisions, support 'im. That's kinda like mah modus operandi.

  "I don't give a fuck what the Mayor says! If he doesn't like the way I'm handling this, let him find another Chief."

  Fuzz Clements drops the phone onto the hook from about two feet, stares at me, spins about on his chair, stares out the winda, grunts. He's bin Chief of Police fer more than ten year, afore the Mayor was even appointed. He knows his job: keep a low profile, keep the details outta the papers, keep his people happy ... and scared. Ah wasn't scared. Hell no. Ah understood the man.

  Besides, this case was mighty different. It'd bin almost impossible to keep the details outta the papers. Not yer regular homycides: four bodies covered in some milky kinda membrane. The people who'd found the bodies were keen to describe their appearance, to the press, in great and gory detail ... 'specially the coroner, Barney Bernside. He was eager as a calf to tit, talkin', talkin'. Gazette reporters swarmin like bees on honey, reporters from 'round the state … uh, province. Funny country; they ain't got no states here. Anyway, it'd become some kinda national news item, rampant speculation as to the cause of death.

  Aliens attacK.

  Spider creatures spin humans in web of silk.

  Humans suffocate in death shell.

  Police Chief mystified by robe of doom.

  "What in God's name could have destroyed von Oerschott's body-drawer like that?" Fuzz was kinda angry, no doubt 'bout that. "Torn from the wall. And an inside door bashed down. Window smashed, with glass on the outside. Looked like the break-in was a break-out. No sign of entry from outside the morgue. But, no matter, it's the other bodies. That bloody skin. The press is howling."

  Ah coughs lightly indicatin' Ah was 'bout to interrupt the Chief's daydreamin. "Fred?" Ah says quiet-like. The Chief don't like nobody callin' him Fuzz. "Y'all might consider inventin' a story thet sounds plausible," Ah says, "explainin' the ... uh, death shell, with a story thet ain't supernatural. Then the papers'd lose interest." Ah waited fer a response from the Chief. None, so Ah continues. "Y'all could say, fer example, thet the bodies have been preserved, fer purposes of the autopsy, usin' some new-type skin and—"

  Fuzz Clements turns to face me. "William, you gotta be kiddin'" he says, with jest a hint o' disgust in his voice. "You don't really think anybody would buy that." Fuzz grunts once, then: "Yet, it's not a bad idea to remove the mystery from this skin. If it's not mysterious then it's not news." He spins ag'in to look out the winda, at the clouds goin' by. "Get Barney Bernside in here. He has the expertise to be believed, and can help devise some cover story to make this case too boring to report."

  Ah notes with some pleasure thet Fuzz has accepted mah tack. Ah says, "Y'all suggestin thet we lie to the press?"

  "That's what I'm suggesting." Fuzz is lookin out the winda ag'in. He ain't lookin' at me.

  "The story has to be believable, yuh know," Ah says. "If it's discovered that we lied, we need some way to—"

  "Yes, yes. Just get Barney in here. It'll be good and believable and leave us room to maneuver if the press starts screamin' that we lied. Unnerstand?"

  Ah turn to leave, Fuzz swivels in his chair, says: "And if the Mayor calls, tell him I'm tied up with the case and can't come to the phone ... the asshole."

  Ah brings Barney Bernside to the Chief's office, right quick. Ah was less than informative 'bout the reason fer the visit, but Barney was sure it was 'bout the bodies, the death shell. The coroner's office ain't but rarely newsworthy. Ah guess ol' Barney actually enjoys the publicity. Ah knew he'd be eager to tell Fuzz all he knew, 'bout as much as to fill a spitoon. Nevertheless, Ah felt Bernside'd build it up so's to excite the 'magination of the Chief. Thet's what Ah'd do.

  When we gits to the Fuzz’s office, Ms. Cornelia Halstead, Chief's secretary, she's doin' her nails. Barney moans in admiration. Ms. Halstead's got the biggest lungs y'all ever seen. We calls her Holstein. She says the Chief is free so Ah knocks gently on his door, hears Fuzz grunt once, then ushers Barney into the office, points at a chair. Barney grins, sits down, crosses his legs. Ah stands in the corner. They ain't but two chairs in the Chief's office.

  "Okay, here's the deal," Fuzz says, leanin' over his desk, starin' straight at the coroner. "You know about this ... this death shell." Fuzz looks at me like they was my words, but thet's what the papers called it. "We're gettin' bad press," the Chief says. "The whole world thinks we're doin' a lousy job. I need a story that'll defuse the situation. I want some highly theoretical, medical explanation of this skin that'll bore people to death, they'll lose interest, it's not so mysterious after all, the press will drop the whole thing ... and we can get on with solving the mystery. Unnerstand?" Fuzz pauses, Barney's quiet, frownin'. Ah jest waits, knowin' better than to add anythin' jest yet.

  Finally, Barney says, "And how can I help?" He was smilin'.

  "I want you to give me this highly theoretical, medical explanation," Fuzz says, raisin' his voice.

  "But I have no idea how it starts, how it progresses, what causes the eventual death of the individual, where—"

  "Tell me what you do know."

  "I can tell you that it's a pale-colored membrane that covers the entire body, that the body underneath is actually in excellent shape, medically. In fact, there seems to be some cellular regeneration taking place. Internal organs that, according to medical records, were defective or less than nominal, seem to have restored themselves. The skin, this membrane, it apparently has certain curative powers which, I admit, I don't fully understand."

  Barney pauses fer a bit. Chief Clements ain't pleased, so the coroner adds: "It's quite remarkable, really. The body is not only preserved, but restored to perfect health. If you want a story, for the press, then tell them that this death shell is more like a life shell. If we can determine it's origin then we'll have a miracle cure for all the ills of mankind. Just think of it!"

  Barney's gettin' excited as a bull in rut, red in the face, wavin' his hands. "Grow this shell about a sick individual," he says, "a cocoon within which healing takes place!" Cocoon? He said cocoon. A perfect description, Ah thinks. "The body within regenerates. A metamorphosis! A transmutation! A—"

  "No!" Fuzz is now outta his chair. "I don't want any crap about miracle cures. I want an explanation that will keep the press off my back. Something boring, something trivial, something that nobody wants to know about, something—"

  "But don't you see?" Barney goes on. "We've got something here that requires further research. I can do it! Get me the funds and I can set up a lab that will solve this puzzle, for the benefit of all mankind, for the—"

  "Screw mankind!" Fuzz is pacin' the room. "You don't unnerstand. These people are dead! They haven't been healed of anything. What in Christ's name would we do with a skin that kills people while it's curing them? What I need is an explanation of their death. I don't need some crap that says their liver is better than it ever was. The bastards are dead. Tell me why."

  Fuzz stops pacin' the room, faces Barney. "And von Oerschott ... how'd you l
ose the bloody body?" He points at the coroner. "You've given me more headaches, know that? Letting the goddamn corpse get out of your lab. So you owe me, unnerstand?"

  "But," Barney stutters, "the removal was violent. I mean, the drawer which held Hans' body was literally torn from the wall. How could that happen? How can I possibly explain that?"

  "Look, Barney," Fuzz goes on, quiet like. "forget about that. The press knows nothing of the damage to the body-drawer. What they know is that other bodies have been found, covered in some weird crap. Give me a story on the nature of the bodies. Lay on the medical jargon, cover the story with pharmaceutical shit a mile deep, so nobody unnerstands nothing—and they lose interest. Unnerstand?"

  Barney's as quiet as the fella 'neath the wife's bed when the husband comes home. Fuzz returns to his desk, sits. The room is quiet, then Ah coughs, gently.

  "Go ahead, William," Fuzz says, recognizin' the meanin o' the cough. "What's your idea?" He ain't even lookin' at me.

  "Chief, they's something to what Barney says, yuh know. If the restorin' powers of this here skin kin be identified, and the death of the recipient kin be avoided, then that'll get the department off'n the hook. Kin you see the headlines? Chief of Police musters financial forces in order to create the greatest medical breakthrough in the history—"

  "Bullshit!" Fuzz spins in his chair, stares outta the winda ag'in. He ain't lookin at nobody, jest them clouds goin' by. "Muster financial forces? Are you kiddin'? Medical breakthrough?" He turns, glares at me. "Get the press off my back. Get me a story they can believe, a boring story without any newsworthiness." He turns to the winda. Them clouds ag'in. The room is quiet. Ah patts Barney on the arm, we both leave, quiet like.

  Ah follows Barney to the door.

  "Y'all really believe this here skin has healin' powers?" Ah asks.

  "Yes, I do. It's as though the body had just been created. A baby. New organs. Just starting life. No blemishes, no discoloration, no signs of aging." Barney pauses.

  "Did yuh know," Ah says, "thet the research y'all suggested was actually bein' done, at Oerschott Medicals, in a basement lab? Hans von Oerschott thought it was some kinda youth-preservin' medication. Ah talked to his secretary, a Miss Josephine Cowley, and the gal said he was actually usin' the stuff to restore his youth. Von Oerschott ain't no fool. Ah figures he expected to get mighty rich."

  "Yes, that's how Oerschott got it—the cocoon," Barney says. "It doesn't explain the others, but at least we know how he got it. Killed him. Funny. Don't know why." Then he looks at me, eager like. "The secretary, did she notice any changes in Oerschott? That he was getting younger? Did she notice—"

  "We ain't finished interrogatin' the woman," Ah says. "We hadda stop."

  "You shouldn't have stopped! It's important. If I could, I'd like to talk to her myself. Is that possible? The next time you—"

  "She's gone, vanished. Her apartment ain't bin occupied fer almost two weeks. But they's one thing: there was signs of this here skin in her apartment, on the chairs, on her clothes, shreds of thet milky membrane."

  Barney shudders.

  "Guess she's next ... poor woman," he says.

  "Ah reckon."

  PART FOUR