Catch & Neutralize (2 page)

A required badge swipe allowed entry into the building, passing through hallways, going up floor levels, and into private offices. Mark ran his third and final swipe to get into the laboratory.

The first lab hummed with computers and cooling equipment. Bright lights wrapped around him like a woolly jacket. The white room smelled of antiseptic and sterilized equipment.

Mark passed through without seeing anyone, a rarity for employees to come in on weekends and a welcoming change from the usual weekday hustle. It meant more work, less interruption.

The second lab contained Mark’s private office, hidden in the back. Mark liked keeping to himself, and the facility director wanted to keep him happy. It was nice being able to get what he needed when he needed it. But, avoiding high profile attention came with the territory.

Those damn pestering news reporters.

The reason for this uncomfortable glory came from Mark’s discovery of a certain human gene, handpicked and stabilized. It made his one of the most recognizable names in the scientific world and brought in enough investment funds and donations for him to continue his passion.

Determined to mix genes of Rhesus Monkeys with Humans, Mark wanted to use the best of both for fixing what he called Broken Genes. Such genes caused many illnesses from poor eyesight to diabetes, Alzheimer’s to schizophrenia, scoliosis to muscular dystrophy.

If he could find and manipulate the correct Broken Genes, then he could wipe out genetic sickness. There’d never be a totally perfect society, but what if he found a way to fix the genetically unfixable?

Genetically unfixable? Mark thought of Angie.

Wouldn’t it be cool if I could eliminate the cheating gene? Ha!

Mark chuckled to himself.

He could eliminate that gene in Angie with a simple procedure called a lobotomy. The thought of shoving an ice pick through a tear duct into her brain made him feel queasy. Mark shook the idea away.

It’d be good to teach her a lesson, but he didn’t want to take care of Veggie Angie or waste money on someone else doing it. What would she learn from being turned into a brainless bimbo anyway? Plus, it’d be considerably difficult hurting the one person he’d ever truly loved.

There were other, more fitting ways to teach Angie a lesson.

Mark’s mind whirled with possibilities, each worse than its predecessor. Trying to get past hurt and anger, he reminded himself that he didn’t have any proof of Angie being unfaithful. He hadn’t caught her being inappropriate, hadn’t found any lewd messages, hadn’t seen any romantic gifts.

Mark decided to save it for later. Right now, he needed to work on Broken Genes. His broken marriage couldn’t be fixed like these genes. He could only seek justice from the one that broke it when, and if, he established proof.

Fourteen hours later, Mark woke up to his cell phone buzzing against his thigh. He lifted his head, noticing a puddle of drool next to his computer. The lab beyond his office windows had gone dark, lights on an automatic timer. Phone in hand, it buzzed again. No Caller ID displayed on the screen.

“Dr. Mark Cater,” he answered.

Static crunched over the signal just like he knew it would.

“I…” Mark took a deep breath shifting his thought chain. “Who is this and what do you want?”

Static faded to gibberish chanting. Mark listened, unable to make himself pull away. The only words he understood: “Catch and neutralize; kill them. Catch and neutralize; kill them. Catch and neutralize; kill them.”

The call disconnected.

Checking the time, he’d been on the phone twenty minutes. How was that possible?

Mark wiped up the drool mess, collected his things, and headed out.

Nothing had been tested today, no reports written. The crick in his neck told the truth.

He’d done nothing but sleep.

Something had to be done about Angie. She needed to know messing around would not be tolerated. What she really needed was a good beat-down to knock her back into place.

Settle down
, Mark told himself. The corridor inched along, making the elevator seem like a better choice.
You’ve never hit a woman before, and you’re not going to start now.

But still... Angie was a cheater, a money sponger, a user.

He rubbed the crick separating his neck from shoulder, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

The cell phone voice tickled his eardrums: “Catch and neutralize; kill them.”

Mark nodded, his answer pouring without thought. “Doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “I’m going to fix this problem.”

A short walk from elevator to car and the drive home seemed even shorter with his mind on autopilot. Thoughts of Angie raced by like a sadistic horror flick, making Mark dizzy and nauseated.

After pulling into the garage, he adjusted the rearview mirror and spoke to his reflected eyes. “Step number one: find out who she’s sneaking around with
if
she’s sneaking around. Is it someone I know? It is a stranger, someone that has no idea she’s married? These things make a difference.” His eyes lifted in a half-grin. “Na. There are no differences when cheating. Lovers of cheating wives beware. Know the territory before skinny dipping in an unknown pool.”

Mark lifted his head and smiled into the mirror. It looked genuine enough. Satisfied, he readjusted the mirror.

The usual beeps from the house alarm didn’t sound, no entry code needed. Mark slunk into the kitchen, ears perked. What if Angie was with someone right now? Further inside, he heard her in the den.

Ice clinking into a glass, a laugh, liquid pouring. She was at the wet bar.

Angie spoke in a soft, flirty voice into the phone. Mark stood in the dark kitchen away from her line of vision, eavesdropping.

“Yeah, I can’t wait. It’s going to be a blast!” Angie laughed again with practiced Marilyn Monroe breathlessness. “Anytime now, I should go… Me too. Talk soon, big boy.”

A pause, more ice clinking, a sip and a sigh.

Big boy?
Mark’s face scrunched in anger. Taking a deep breath, he tapped the light switch signifying his arrival. With the kitchen lit, he grabbed a handful of cashews and went into the den.

Angie moved about the room in a silky tank top nightgown, peach colored and short. She wore backless high heels with fluffy puffs hiding the tops of her feet. Golden hair cascaded over slim shoulders and down her back. She turned towards Mark looking like a Victoria’s Secret advertisement.

Gorgeous on the outside, cheating heart on the inside. Typical.

Mark popped the cashews in his mouth and smiled, hoping the attempt at hiding his revulsion was successful.

Lip gloss coated Angie’s perfect pout. Its imprint shimmered on the side of her glass. Her pupils were dilated, face flushed, and obviously excited by whoever had been on the phone.

“Welcome home, my sweet. You look tired.” Her nipples poked at the thin fabric.

“Yeah. I’m going to work a bit before hitting the sack.”

“Why not have a drink with me first? It’ll help you relax.” She picked up a glass half-filled with dark liquid.

“Not tonight. I need to be clear-headed while working. I’ll be in my office.” Mark didn’t want to be in Angie’s presence, didn’t want to look at her.

“All right, honey.” She held the drink out. “Take it with you. You might change your mind.”

He took it and started upstairs, calling over his shoulder: “And, you’re right. I am tired. Going to sleep after finishing this report. Thanks for the drink.”

Mark had no intentions of writing a report.

His plan: find out whose sails Angie’s been hoisting.

Chapter 2

His home office contained a wall of windows giving way to views of mountains covered in autumn hued trees. Mark closed the slatted blinds against the fading sunshine. His most important scientific accomplishments hung framed along the walls. Oversized mahogany furniture gave the space a studious man-cave feel.

Mark thought about taking a gulp of the bourbon that Angie had given him, but set it down and leaned back into his leather chair. No cocktails tonight. He wasn’t sure he trusted Angie or her damn drink. He ran a hand over his forehead and closed his eyes to think.

Rubix jumped on his lap, nudging his hand with a sandpapery tongue.

“It’s just us guys tonight, little buddy.” Mark pulled a bag of kitty treats from his desk and watched Rubix gobble up the mini-pyramid of soft morsels.

Mark pulled up Angie’s cell phone records online. Since he took care of paying bills, he had easy access to that information. Finding the name of Angie’s lover wasn’t so easy. Mark’s only clue was a phone number with a southern Colorado area code. She was either doing the deed with someone from out-of-town or whoever this
Big Boy
is moved to New Mexico without changing numbers.

According to the carrier’s website, Angie’s been talking to someone at this Colorado number for the past month and a half. The shortest call lasted just under three minutes, the longest a little over thirty.

And, text messages? There were more listed than Mark felt inspired to count. Another disturbing fact: Angie always contacted Mark before making long calls to
Big Boy
.

A reverse phone number search on Google turned up a surprising number of companies providing this service. Most of the listings catered to catching cheaters.

How appropriate.

Mark tested several free sites by inputting his own number. Most gave wrong information. He would need to pay if he wanted accurate service, but he preferred not having that kind of information show up on his credit card statement.

First thing tomorrow, he planned to buy a Visa gift card with cash. Until then, nothing more could be done. Mark pulled a blanket from the hall closet and lay on the leather sofa in his office. He could not sleep next to Angie tonight. That deceptive creature lying so close with him being this pissed off… she might not make it to morning.

Mark snuggled against a pillow and slid headfirst into reckless dreams. Some caused him to cry out. Others brought devious chuckles.

Eight hours later, sun reflecting off the snowy mountains shot through a crack in the blinds. It had been nice sleeping in his office with Rubix above his head, soft and warm like a furry turban, purring a soothing lullaby.

He reached up and petted the cat.

“All right, buddy. Time to get up and eat.”

Mark zipped his trousers and headed down to the kitchen for coffee. He felt better and more clearheaded than he had in months. All he needed now was that anonymous credit card.

With cream cheese slopped on a bagel and a steaming cup of coffee, Mark was ready to go. There were more important things to do today than shower.

The trip to the store and back took longer than expected with snow mounds and icy roads. This year, fall’s creeping into winter turned more into a sprint. Even still, the timing wasn’t too bad with his 4-Wheel drive. Mark’s taste in vehicles didn’t match Angie’s. She required a sports car year round. She probably shook her tits and wiggled her ass to get wherever she needed to go anyway, maybe even threw in a little you-know-what on occasion.

Mark felt anger ringing in his ears as he headed upstairs to his office. He could hardly wait to find out
Big Boy’s
real name, pay him a man-to-man visit and maybe pack a lead pipe.

Mark click-clacked on the laptop, inputting required information, and using the untraceable gift card as payment. A bubble-line at the bottom of the screen showed transaction progress. Seconds later, a cartoon man popped up wearing a blue suit, red bow tie, and a smile bigger than his head. The cartoon’s open hand pointed to a flashing box labeled RESULTS.

Mark immediately clicked on it. The cartoon man’s head spun in circles slowly fading into darkness. A scroll appeared in the screen’s center. Mark clicked again. The scroll unrolled showing a bounty of personal information, including a photo.

“Ha!” Mark slammed a hand down on his desk. “This guy looks like a total scumbag.” He shook his head. “Unbelievable!”

Heading back out, he stuffed the printed information inside a pocket. Angie’s escapades needed to be proven. He needed be sure.
Totally
sure.

Mark programmed his GPS to the address given by the Catch-A-Cheater website. Local, all right, and close to Hollite Coffee. He pictured himself sitting in his SUV, dark skin turning red, smoke shooting from his ears, head about to explode like one of those Looney Tunes cartoon characters. He pressed a hand to his forehead and rubbed as though that would make it all go away. Starting the vehicle, Mark sucked in a deep breath and blew it out noisily.

Time to get this over with.

He hoped with all his being there was nothing to find, hoped his gut feeling was nothing more than a bellyache from that spicy chili, cheese, bean burrito he had two days ago.

The house location proved to be more on the outskirts than previously thought, the roads meandering dirt trails. It took an extra twenty-five minutes to actually find.

Pulling into the neighborhood, Mark noticed similarities in all the houses. Mountain Towne Hills looked like a neighborhood for those needing to feel like part of a group or those too unimaginative to create their own style. Every house consisted of either brown or tan stucco and all sported the same russet colored roof tiles. The main difference, which wasn’t much at all, some were two story while the rest were singles.

Mark found the residence, glad he didn’t live there. 1226 Mountain Towne Hills Rd NE, a ridiculously long address that didn’t properly describe the road or the surrounding vicinity. The land here, completely flat with more rust colored snow than he cared to be around. Rust colored snow in the winter meant rust colored dust the rest of the year. No mountains or hills unless you counted one in the far distance. A few small bushes, no trees.

Angie’s car didn’t sit in the driveway, but there was the garage to consider. Mark parked curbside facing the way he’d come, thinking ahead in case things didn’t go smoothly. He pocketed the switchblade he kept in the ashtray.

Knocking on the front door seemed a reasonable first step. Mark pounded several times before spotting a doorbell. He gave it a push and waited. The sound echoed through the two-story house in that standard dingdong fashion. No surprise there as the rest of neighborhood lacked just as much individualism and creativity.

He pushed the bell again, and still no one came to the door. No barking dogs or other noises emitted from inside. Mark slipped between a row of snow coated bushes and the house to peek through the front window. Snow crunched under his shoes. That sound always made him smile, but not this day. This day, Mark hardly noticed it.

The window gave sight into a living room, minimal and neat. Nothing out of the ordinary: sofa, chairs, and tables situated around a wall mounted TV. No sign of a fireplace, which Mark thought a crazy oversight in this area of the country. Although flaming hot in the summer, winter temperatures often dipped below freezing.

Back at the door, Mark tried his luck ringing the bell one last time without answer. He took a look over each shoulder and turned around, sliding hands into pockets.

No one in the area. In fact, most of these houses seemed unoccupied. Possibly the result of a housing developer gone mad with house building lust. Maybe the idea had been: Build it and they will come. Mark wondered how much money had been wasted and chuckled without humor at the general idiocy of the housing market.

He placed his hand on the icy knob and gave it a turn, heard the click of admittance. The skin between Mark’s brows furrowed. Doors should
always
be locked for safety, whether someone’s home or not.

He slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside, cautious and listening. He cleared his throat and called out: “Mr. Pilfer? Are you home?”

No answer except for a ticking clock and the hum of appliances.

Mark made his way through the living room and into the kitchen. Nothing spectacular there either. Clean, not a single dish in the sink.

He pulled a sleeve over his hand as protection against leaving prints and opened the refrigerator. A simple case of curiosity, nothing more. He believed one could tell a lot about a man by the type of consumables he buys in addition to those items kept past expiration dates. Mark felt fairly certain Mr. James Dean Pilfer was a neat freak that kept everything in order and with nothing expired laying around.

Mark’s breath caught as he peered into the fridge. He was wrong. Mr. Pilfer definitely had at least one expired thing. He repressed a gag, letting the door thud shut.

Hard to tell if male or female, it could go either way with short black hair, sunken cheeks, eyes swollen, and crooked teeth with some broken. The human head wrapped in plastic did not belong to Angie. The photo Mark downloaded from the cheater’s website showed Mr. Pilfer with short black hair.

Could it be his?

Question after question fired inside Mark’s head.

Who is James Dean Pilfer? Is he a murderer, a hitman? What’s Angie’s involvement? Why is she in constant contact with this person? Is Angie having an affair? Is she planning to hire Mr. Pilfer to kill me?

Mark burst from the house. He’d had enough weirdness for one weekend… and now the fear. The fear circled around his wife, a cavernous, hardcore paranoia for his beautiful beloved.

What is she planning? When is she planning to do it?

Uncertainty ran the length of Mark, sticking and coagulating, turning his thoughts to gravy. He found himself driving on autopilot towards ALGS. Even with genetic testing being so unpredictable, work seemed the only constant in his life.

Driving to the lab gave him time to calm down, especially after stopping and downing a couple of miniatures. Nothing special, just a quick stop at Allsup’s Convenience Store and two shots straight from tiny plastic containers behind a dumpster. It would’ve been comical if not for the situation. He considered buying a pack of cigarettes to go with the alcohol but thought better of it. After the drinks, he took it easy in the SUV, trying not to think until the shakes dissipated.

En route to ALGS, the liquor fully kicked-in. Certainly not drunk and definitely not a buzz, something more along the lines of normalcy wrapped its fuzzy arms around Mark. His wits loosely returned, making him feel well enough to function as a human.

Mark had never seen an ALGS security person on a weekend or holiday, although the building was supposedly 24/7 guarded and monitored. He suspected security roaming the halls could only be for busy weekdays when the building zoomed with people. Sitting comfy in the security office, possibly napping, would be much easier to pull off when saved for slow days like today. But, one could never be sure.

The whiskey shots reached full speed in Mark’s bloodstream. He stopped in front of a security camera to smile and wave.

A tiny speaker came to life with a deep male voice. “Good afternoon, Dr. Carter. Dr. Roger Bale is working in your lab today.”

Mark gave the camera two thumbs up. “Great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, doctor. Have a genetically perfect day.”

Mark chuckled at the security guard’s sense of humor. “Same to you.”

Next time he’d bring Hollite Coffee and a box of donuts for the guard on weekend duty. During this uncertainty with Angie, it might be good having someone keep a close eye on him while here.

Mark swiped his badge and entered the laboratory. The sound of buzzing machines filled the area. Dr. Bale appeared totally focused while hunched over one of the larger ones.

“Hi, Roger. How’s it going?”

“It’s going.” He looked up. A mask covered his mouth and nose, but Mark saw a smile playing over his eyes. “I try to avoid this place on weekends like prostitutes with VDs but woke up with this crazy idea. Thought I’d come test it.”

“It happens,” Mark said returning the smile. “Hope it works out.”

“Thanks.”

“I also hope all of your future prostitutes are VD free.” Mark shook his head with a chuckle. “Maybe you should start canvassing for a wife, Roger.”

Roger pulled his mask down and blew a kiss Mark’s way. “Why? You available?”

“No. Don’t wait on me.” Mark flashed a knowing smile. “That new guy in tech support asked about you last week. Why don’t you try sending him a work ticket?”

Roger’s hand flew to his chest. “Oh, honey, don’t tease me. I’ve been eyeballing those muscles for a week.”

“Not teasing, Roger. Call him.”

Roger’s eyes went dreamy, the left side of his lips rose into a half smile. He looked to Mark like a gay mad scientist: crooked smile, eyes love struck and distant, mask dangling, curly hair askew, and white coat pulled tighter than skinny jeans on a corpse.

“I’ve got some data to log. I’ll be in my office.”