O l i v e r B e n j a m i n
“The creep appears to have dropped off the face of the earth,”
Barth howled. “He won’t answer his phone, and every time we send a
car around to his house, no one’s home. Looks like he skipped town.
Or he may be up to something.”
“Did you try forcible entry?” Schlechtmann asked, lighting up a
Dunhill. His fumes twisted around the fumes coming from
Johanness’ cigar, producing a neat double-helix that disappeared
into the vent overhead. Had he been paying attention, he might have
enjoyed the metaphor: a DNA strand that robbed life instead of
recording it. Both were important elements of his new project.
“Every time we meant to, there were always too many nosy kids
around. That block is teeming with them. Your man Cain was
accosted by a gang of them when he tried to jimmy the back door
lock. They swiped his wallet, too. One of the neighbors said he hoped
Futterman would get it over with and do himself in. Said the man had
become a shameful wreck. Screaming and breaking things. Passing
out in his driveway.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Gareth said, blowing a huge smoke
ring, watching it expand and finally break. The fragile circle of life.
“Nor I,” the big V.P. agreed.
“Well, why don’t you put Cain on his trail. It’s the best we can do
for now. He’s got to realize that he squeals, he goes down with us.”
“Right. I’m on it,” he said. As suddenly as he came, he
disappeared.
Gareth sat for a moment and contemplated the situation. He was
right on the cusp of releasing a breakthrough in modern media: an
interactive version of his network, featuring the amazing new
immersive technology Futterman pioneered. With the amount of
capital invested, he couldn’t afford to have anything get out to the
press or the police or anybody. Dr. Futterman was the only person
alive who could possibly sabotage his plans, but he wasn’t even sure
how much the flaky scientist actually knew. Sure, he was smart, but
savvy? Those types rarely were. Schlechtmann had done everything
he could to shield him from what was really going on, but in the end
that proved impossible. Futterman was such a cocky, insensitive
bastard that he figured he’d be cool about the whole thing. He was
wrong. Still, some intuition told him that the scientist would be
found by the authorities in a few days, the victim of an apparent
suicide. Who knows? Maybe Futterman would even do it himself,
and Cain wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty. Cain had been working
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