Weed

  Chapter 49

  When Charles dropped the morning paper on the kitchen table, I was sipping hot coffee and nibbling toasted Danish. I had made a feeble attempt to get into Boone's bed last night, but the sniffling and sneezing had hampered any sexual overtures.

  Charles was waiting, hovering. I looked up, sneezed, then looked down at the headlines:

  gorilLa robs grocery store

  "It would appear that our hairy friend has discovered a source of edibles," Charles said.

  The article described the broken windows, the loss of several boxes of assorted fruits and vegetables, the ape dung scattered throughout the store and the eyewitness report by two teenagers making out in their car in the parking lot.

  "Well" I grunted, "at least we know that poor Hans isn't starving … and presumably where we can find him in the future. That store is just a few blocks away. I suspect that Hans stays near at hand, maybe even somewhere on our property."

  "That was the third time that store, Harmon's, was robbed, Miss Fleetsmith," Charles said. "It is certainly appropriate to assume that Mr. Von Oerschott stays in the area. Perhaps—"

  "I was thinking," I hummed, staring at the ceiling. Charles went quiet, waiting. "What good is catching Hans?" I said. "Shit! He seems tame enough to live in the neighbourhood without harming anyone, shopping at Harmon's, defecating at will and screwing Josey. No one is in any danger and finding him won't solve the problem of reversing the genetic alterations that Dermafix generates." I looked around. "Where the hell is Boone?"

  "He left early this morning," Charles said simply. "He said something about fixin' to see Fuzz Clements, who, I assume, is his immediate superior."

  "Okay Charlie my boy, do you remember those others who were affected by Dermafix?"

  "As I recall, Miss Fleetsmith, there was a Miss Betty Hansen, a legal secretary, and a Mr. Gary Felman, a contractor from Whitby. They were both found dead in Flanagan's Motel, presumably the result of an attack by Mr. von Oerschott. Then there was a Mr. Roy McIvar, a computer whiz who, I assume, helped von Oerschott with breaking into the computer of a competitor. Then, of course, there is Mr. Von Oerschott and his brother … uh … Mr. Werner von Oerschott and, of course—"

  "No von," I grunted.

  "Quite so," Charles said. "Mr. Werner Ohshit … no von."

  I looked up from what was left of my Danish. Charles was grinning. "Sorry, Miss Fleetsmith. I couldn't resist enunciating as Miss Josey would. I find her quite fascinating with a delightful vocabulary and—"

  "Yes, fascinating," I said. I was still a little annoyed at Josey's behaviour in the cellar. "I guess there's nothing to add concerning the other fatalities, Hansen, Felman, etcetera. I need to talk to Boone. Surely there's something we can do to reverse the process."

  "I rather doubt if Mr. Boone has the biological knowledge necessary to suggest a remedy," Charles said. "Rather, I wouldn't suggest Professor Unger, but Dr. Douglas Henderson. Indeed, it would be wise to keep in intimate contact with Dr. Henderson so that—"

  "I tried intimate contact," I said. "But I guess I could e-mail him or maybe run down to Atlanta for a short stay." I looked at Charles. What did he say? "I wouldn't suggest Unger? Charles, is that what you said?"

  "Why yes, Miss Fleetsmith. I suspect he's in no condition to—"

  "Charles!" I shouted. "He's in no condition? Is that what you said?"

  "I declare, Miss Fleetsmith, you seem to have suffered an acute deterioration in audio cognition. Perhaps your condition, the flu—"

  "Charles Clayton Curran! What in God's name are you talking about? Unger is in no condition to be consulted? Why the shit not?"

  Charles looked visibly upset. "I am terribly sorry, Miss Fleetsmith. I assumed you had read the report in the paper."

  "What report?"

  "Professor Unger seems to have suffered a Dermafix alteration and is currently on the list of missing persons."

  "Shit! Why didn't you tell me?"

  "In truth, Miss Fleetsmith, I earlier attempted to list the beneficiaries of the weed: Miss Betty Hansen, a legal secretary, and a Mr. Gary—"

  "Damn you! And Unger? Did you include Unger in that list?"

  "No, I did not." Charles seemed somewhat peeved. "Your propensity to interrupt prevented my—"

  "Interrupt? Me? Interrupt? Shit!"

  I stopped in mid-rage. Interrupt? Mmm. Perhaps I was so inclined.

  "Charles, I'm sorry," I said. "Please tell me about Unger."

  "It was reported that Professor Unger suffered from an ailment which generated excessive hair, facial hair in particular, and was taken to Toronto General where he somehow vanished and has not been seen—"

  "When? When did all this happen?" Shit! I had interrupted, again. "Uh, sorry Charles. I'm concerned, that's all, and my—"

  "It was reported last Thursday," Charles said, seemingly intent upon interrupting me. "The newspaper details were unclear, but he seems to have been missing for …" Charles looked at the ceiling, thinking. I was perfectly silent. Charles glanced in my direction, to confirm that I was listening, quietly. "…perhaps a week," he said.

  "Damn," I said, more calmly than was my habit. "Then we've got four apes, loose."

  "Four?" Charles asked.

  "Two Ohshits, Josey and now Unger."

  "I would not regard Miss Cowley as loose," he said. "Perhaps free, but certainly not loose."

  A soft voice said, "Quite loose, Charlie … and ready for the next ape."

  Josey was standing at the door, smiling, eager.

  PART FOURTEEN