IV
The helicopter didn't need an airstrip for landing, but Patterson had
recommended it because it was an open space that was easy to get to but wouldn't
be busy after sunset. The three police cars were parked next to the tarmac, on a
concrete pad in front of the Jeff's Air Service hangar.
The cops themselves were standing, waiting. Two of them held SG upright.
She still seemed shaky.
They had dressed her in some of the finery left by hookers who joined
the cops for occasional weekend festivities: hot pink shorts cut so low that the
top barely covered her pubes and a white bikini top that did a similarly
inadequate job of covering her nipples. They had used some makeup left by the
hookers to tart her up. Her lips were brilliant red and they had turned her eyes
into something out of a vampire movie.
"Wait'll Superman gets a load of this," Patterson had chuckled.
Now they smoked and talked and waited.
Finally, the sergeant said, "I think I see them."
A light was approaching from the north, moving just above the horizon. A
few seconds later they heard the motors.
When it was about 100 yards away, Patterson recognized it as a CH-47. It
bore no markings.
They had left their car lights on for guidance, and the chopper set down
barely 50 feet away. They prop wash blew off the chief's cap.
He retrieved it, and when he looked up six men and a woman had exited
the chopper: two MPs with sidearms, two soldiers with M-16s, an older soldier
with two stars on his fatigues, a big guy in a suit, and a black woman captain
with a medical bag.
Patterson rushed up and introduced himself.
"I'm the police chief here. These are some of my men. And this, of
course, is the young lady you're interested in."
The general snapped an order, and a member of the chopper crew turned on
an adjustable searchlight and aimed it at SG.
The general looked at her and snorted. Clearly, she wasn't what he
expected. "Is this her?" he asked the big man in the suit.
The big man stepped close to SG and lifted her chin.
"Yes," he said quietly. "That's Kara."
SG opened her eyes and her body stiffened. "Kal-El," she whispered. "Is
it you?"
The man in the suit turned away. "Get her in the chopper and let's get
the hell out of here."
The woman captain and one of the MPs helped SG up the steps into the
helicopter. The general, the man in the suit and the other MP followed. As the
big civilian ducked to enter, the captain whispered something to him. He turned
and looked at the cops, then quickly descended the steps.
"Climb aboard," he told the soldiers with the M-16s.
He had to speak loudly. The engines were revving for take-off.
"Captain Stevens says my cousin has been raped," he yelled into
Patterson's face. "There's cum dripping down her thighs."
"Hey, I don't know nothing . . . ." Patterson started his denial but
never finished. The punch almost knocked his head off. The man in the suit
dispatched the other officers with equal efficiency. Within seconds, six bodies
lay sprawled on the tarmac.
The general, looking down from the helicopter, muttered, "He never used
to be like this."
The captain said softly, "That's because he's never had a cousin raped
before."
The general sighed. If Superman got this upset because some small-town
cops had a little fun with his blonde bimbo of a cousin, how was he going to
handle the really rough stuff that was in store for her?
# # #
The Chinook landed at an army base during the night and refueled. SG
slept through it. She didn't awaken until the sky was turning light in the east.
They were flying north; she could tell that much. But she didn't really care
where they were headed. All that mattered was that she was safe. Kal-El was a
stuffy pain in the ass, but he would protect her.
At the moment, though, he was up front, talking with the general. She
was sitting next to the woman captain, who had been kind and solicitous through
the night. Twice she had taken SG's blood pressure, and one she had given her a
couple of small white tablets that she said would help her sleep.
"Okay, folks, buckle up," said the pilot. "We're almost there."
SG looked out of a small window. Below was a collection of low white
buildings scattered on nicely landscaped grounds. An illuminated sign said
"DRI." They landed on the roof of one of the buildings.
"Okay, listen," Capt. Stevens told her. "You're still pretty shaky, so I
want you to lean on me and Harry here. We're going to get you down nice and
slow."
Stevens was right. SG's knees buckled twice as she tried to make it down
the steps. They held her tight.
At the foot of the steps were two men with a stretcher. "I don't need
that," SG protested, but she let them help her get into it. It was strange,
looking up at the early morning sky, then at the soft overhead lighting inside
the building. The men carrying her, Capt. Stevens at her side, the others
walking briskly in the corridor - everyone seemed busy but quiet.
"What a nice place to work," she thought, then she dozed off again.
# # #
When she awakened again, she was in a sunny room with big, open windows
and a pleasant breeze filling the gauzy white curtains. A nurse and a doctor
stood at the foot of her bed. The nurse was watching her intently, while the
doctor read a chart.
"Our girl is awake, doctor," said the nurse.
He looked up. He had a kind, intelligent face.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
SG thought about it. "I think I feel fine," she said. "In fact, I feel
wonderful."
"Amazing what two days of sleep will do for you," the nurse said with a
grin.
"Two days?" SG was stunned.
"Fifty-two hours and twenty minutes, to be exact," said the doctor. "Are
you hungry?"
"Famished."
"Good, we'll bring you breakfast."
The food was plentiful and delicious. She had never been in a hospital
before, but she had heard all the usual complaints about hospital food. Maybe
this isn't a hospital, she thought.
It wasn't. After breakfast, she was brought into a small meeting room
where the general she had seen on the helicopter introduced himself and several
other high-ranking officers and three scientists. Their names meant nothing to
her, and she instantly forgot them - except the general's. His was Piric Zafer.
She wondered if his friends called him Prick.
"You're at the December Research Institute. Important work is done here,
work that is essential to preserving America's survival."
"You mean national security stuff?" SG asked.
"Yes," the general said, with a tight little smile. "National security
stuff. Your uncle - excuse me, your cousin - is a valued member of the board of
directors of this institute. His ideas and suggestions have opened exciting new
areas of research."
"And he's pretty good at watching over our expenses," added one of the
scientists. There was quiet laughter. SG noticed that the general didn't join
in. He seemed to resent the interruption.
"Where is Kal . . . . where is Superman?" asked SG.
"He will be here shortly," said Gen. Zafer. "He said he wanted to meet
alone with you after this briefing. I'm sure you two have a lot of catching up
to do."
The general began talking about something called the Close-In Assault
Option and how important it was for the Army to have a way to fight an enemy at
close quarters, such as in the Viet Cong tunnels, without suffering heavy
casualties. CIAO could dramatically reduce the need for our young soldiers to
fight, and die, in such situations.
He droned on and even brought out charts. What did all this have to do
with her, she wondered. Then he turned the briefing over to the scientist who
had interrupted him, Dr. Melton Hand. He certainly looked the part of a
scientist, SG thought - frizzy hair that was thinning on top, thick glasses, a
bow tie, even a pen holder in his shirt pocket. But his intensity more than
compensated for his nerdy appearance.
"This is the most exciting project I've ever worked on," he said. "CIAO
started out as just a concept. No one had any idea how to proceed. Robots were
considered and rejected. We just don't have the kind of miniaturization yet to
create the brains for a fighting robot. Then Dr. Erbaccia here" - he nodded
toward another scientist, who smiled shyly - "made an amazing discovery.
Melinda, let's have the slides."
Oh God, thought SG, when will this ever end?
The first slide showed a man standing next to what looked like a patch
of tall weeds.
"Dr. Erbaccia was doing agricultural research at Iowa State at the time,
and he's shown here next to a patch of normal hemp plants. As you can see, they
are taller than he is, but not by much. Then he found a way, through genetic
manipulation, to create this."
At this point the slide changed, and Erbaccia is shown standing next to
a tree, or at least what SG assumed was a tree.
"This is a genetically modified hemp plant that at maturity reached 47
feet in height. Its fibers were so tough, the plant couldn't be cut down, even
with chain saws. It took a small explosive charge . . . ."
"Not so small," Erbaccia interrupted, to general laughter.
"Okay, a not-so-small explosive charge to bring it down," said Dr. Hand.
One of the officers noticed that SG was nodding off and caught Dr. Hand's
attention.
"Miss Gale," he said. Then more loudly, "Miss Gale, if I could have your
attention just a few minutes longer."
SG awoke, blinked and said, "Okay. I'm back. Sorry."
"Dr. Erbaccia's work was brought to our attention at DRI, and he kindly
agreed to join our efforts to develop . . . ." Here he looked to Gen. Zafer for
guidance.
"To develop a bioweapon that won't conflict with the administration's
commitment to end germ warfare research," said the general. "We're not talking
about microbes here. We're talking mega fauna - living creatures big enough to
fight hand-to-hand with any man in the world, and win. And at an affordable
price - less than a million bucks a unit."
With that, a new image appeared on the screen. At first, it reminded SG
of a big, hairless ground sloth, minus the tail. Its head was round and too
small for its body. Its skin was pinkish grey.
"It looks like it's made of Silly Putty," SG said.
"Well, in a sense it is," said Dr. Hand. "The wonderful thing about
Silly Putty is that you can made almost any shape with it. And we've been able,
thanks to Dr. Erbaccia, to shape a number of new plants and animals, creatures
that never before existed."
The door to the briefing room opened and Kal-El looked in. When SG saw
him, she said, "Excuse me, I've got to go," and rushed to the door. She hugged
him, and he clumsily patted her back.
"That's okay, sir," Dr. Hand said. "We all need a break. Why don't you
bring her back around two o'clock?"
Kal-El nodded, and he and SG walked down a long corridor.
"You want to go out and get some fresh air?" he asked.
"Sure," she said. "That'd be great."
They walked outside for a while, then found a quiet spot with benches
and a fountain.
"Are you doing okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, I guess do. I've missed you terribly. I hated being at Marston,
and then . . . ."
"Then you disappeared," he said.
"Yeah, then I disappeared."
They were silent for a while.
"Why didn't you look for me?" she asked at last. "Why didn't you rescue
me?"
"I didn't know where you were," he said. She could tell he was lying. He
never had been a very good liar.
"Why am I here?"
"To help with our research," he said. When she started to protest, he
added quickly, "Oh, I know you're not a scientist. You never did well in
chemistry and math. I know, I know."
He looked at her. She was so beautiful. And so vulnerable.
"We've created something that could save thousands of American lives in
wartime. A picture of it was on the screen when I walked in."
"Oh," she said distractedly, "you mean the big toy."
"Koko isn't a toy," he said.
"Koko! You've got to be kidding. You all named it Koko? Then it has to
be a toy!"
"Okay," he said, with a hint of irritation in his voice. "He's a toy.
But he's an eight-foot-tall, 450-pound toy that can flip over an M-60 tank or
tear down a reinforced concrete building. He's unbelievably strong. And tough.
He's nearly indestructible."
SG had been watching his face carefully. Now she understood. She had
been brought here to fight this thing, this . . . Koko. Or to be sacrificed to
him, like some virgin in a pagan ceremony.
Right, she thought. Some virgin.
"Why are you grimacing?" he asked.
"Nothing," she said. "So when do Koko and I meet?"
"In about a week. They want to do a lot tests on you. To make sure
you're fit and at full strength."
"Why don't you fight Koko?" she asked.
"You know why," he said wearily. "I'd destroy him. It would be a total
mismatch. I've already destroyed several earlier prototypes."
"But I'm fair game," she said. "With me it would be no mismatch. In
fact, cute little Koko might even be the betting favorite."
"I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't think you would prevail - or
at least survive."
"Right," she said grimly. "Just like I survived my college years."
"You got into trouble at Marston because of your own weakness and poor
judgment," he said angrily. "You were in a bad crowd. You seemed to want to be
degraded. I read the report. You were a little tramp."
The words stung, and her eyes filled with tears. But she wasn't going to
let him off easily. "I seem to remember when you wanted me to be a little
tramp," she said. "I remember you pulling me onto your lap and . . . ."
"You misunderstood," he yelled, jumping to his feet. "You've twisted and
distorted what was just . . . ."
"Just some avuncular affection?" she cried. "Just Kal-El looking for a
little love? Poor, pitiful, uptight Kal-El."
He slapped her so hard she fell to the ground.
"I'm sorry," he said, kneeling to help her up.
"Keep your dirty hands off me," she hissed.
From a second-story window looking down on this scene, Gen. Zafer smiled
a tight little smile. Maybe this was going to all work out, after all. Maybe the
test would be allowed to go to its full conclusion. Maybe Koko would be able to
do what he was created to do - to kill, ruthlessly and efficiently, whether the
foe was a battalion of men with guns, or a lone, lovely blonde superheroine.
# # #
SG was assigned a trainer, a large, easy-going woman named Maggie. "I'm
here to get you in shape," she said at their first meeting. "After looking at
you, I don't know how you could be in much better shape, but we're gonna try."
Maggie insisted in being kept in the dark about what SG was training
for. "They pay me to train, not to pry into their deep dark secrets. I don't
want know. You just keep working those triceps and those abs and those lovely
glutes of yours."
Maggie didn't seem especially surprised when SG bench-pressed 385
pounds. This was a strange place, and strange things went on. If this gal could
bench-press 385 without too much strain, then let's just try 420.
The physical training sessions were in the morning. In the afternoons,
SG was instructed in combat techniques. The aim was to make her as effective a
foe as possible when she went against Koko.
The instructor, a lithe lieutenant colonel named Mason, explained to her
that Koko didn't have much in the way of vulnerabilities.
"He's over eight feet tall, he's incredibly strong, and you can't kick
him in the balls because they're inside his body. He's designed that way for
protection."
"I thought testicles had to be outside so the sperm could avoid
overheating," SG said.
"Correct. That's why every man worth calling a man has a scrotum. But
there's no Miss Monster for Koko to mate with and make little Kokos, so we don't
give a damn about his sperm."
SG thought this over. "Then why does he have balls at all?"
"Because it's the most efficient way for him to produce testosterone.
And we need him to be high on testosterone so he will be as mean and ornery and
aggressive as possible."
SG smiled wryly. "So he won't necessarily be glad to see me?"
"No, he won't," said Mason. "He's got a terrible disposition - sort of
permanent PMS, if you don't mind the allusion. And even if he found you
attractive, he doesn't have the equipment to do anything about it."
"Oh, no scrotum and no prick."
"Well, he has a prick, but it's only about an inch long. It's basically
there so he can pee without squatting."
Sounds like the date from hell, SG thought.
# # #
It was not, however, to be a completely blind date. Before she would see
Koko in the flesh, SG was shown videotapes of him dispatching a variety of
opponents: three different kinds of combat robots, a pack of hyenas, and a
creature that looked a lot like him, only smaller and covered with reddish hair.
Mason had told SG that Koko's biggest weakness was that he was slow, and
it showed in the videos. But in close quarters, that wasn't much of a
disadvantage. There was no place for his opponents to run to, and he eventually
caught up with all of them. She also got the impression that he got better as
the bouts went on.
She knew she couldn't defeat him. He would do what so many others had
tried and failed to do: Koko would kill her.
She wasn't afraid, just disappointed that Kal-El had set her up like
this. He really had turned out to be a bastard.
###
The test chamber was a circular room 42 feet in diameter, with
15-foot-high walls and a Plexiglas ceiling that formed a shallow dome. The walls
and floor were made of steel, covered by a synthetic material with the
consistency of cork. This padding was intended to keep Koko from hurting
himself. Only the ceiling was unpadded.
The observers stood in a circle, looking down through this ceiling. Koko
had just entered, through a movable section of wall. He was full of enthusiasm,
running around, sniffing the air, waiting for whatever games his keepers had in
mind for him today.
SG stood at the apex of the ceiling. At this point, there was a device
that opened and closed like the aperture of a camera. It was closed at the
moment. She wore shiny black shorts and no top. A knife was in a sheath strapped
to her right leg. In one hand she held an electric stun gun. It was attached by
a cable to a compact battery pack on her back. In her other hand, she had a
nine-millimeter automatic pistol.
At a nod from Gen. Zafer, Dr. Hand pressed a button on a console and the
aperture opened.
SG dropped almost soundlessly to the floor below.
It took Koko several seconds to realize he had company. He had been
sitting near the wall, inspecting the bottom of his left foot.
He looked up, blinked and slowly rose to his feet.
SG took a deep breath. He was huge.
He suddenly lurched forward. SG sidestepped him deftly and jabbed his
left leg with the stun gun. Koko gave a howl of pain, grabbed his leg and turned
to see what had hit him.
In an instant, SG was behind him. The second jolt was in his left
buttock. Another cry of pain. Another attempt to wheel and confront his
tormentor. Another failure, followed by another jab, this time in his right
side.
So far, so good, SG thought.
Above the contest, Zafer was grumbling. "Too slow. Too damn slow. He's
too easy to outmaneuver."
"Just be patient," said Dr. Hand. "We've seen all this before. He
learns. His reactions get quicker. He'll finally nail her."
Dr. Hand was right. After seven or eight successful jabs with the stun
gun, SG moved in for another attack. But instead of trying to turn to meet her,
Koko kicked out and swept his leg in an arc, from front to back. It knocked SG
off her feet, and she landed on her back. In an instant, a fist the size and
density of a cinder block came down hard in the middle of her belly.
The semiautomatic went flying as she curled up from the blow. What was
worse, she dropped the stun gun. Where was it?
She found out the hard way: by rolling onto it. The pain was searing.
She arched her back to escape it, but that just exposed her breasts and belly to
Koko's relentless fists.
Each punch pushed her back against the floor, and against the stun gun.
Each spasm of pain left her open to new punches.
"You've got to stop it," Superman said at last. "You've proved your
point. Koko's won. Now get her out of there."
"We can't," Dr. Hand said.
"And we won't," added Gen. Zafer. "Koko is a killing machine. We won't
know how effective he really is until he's killed her."
"Go to hell," Superman said, climbing out on the Plexiglas dome and
heading for the aperture.
The general gave a signal to someone in a booth above the dome. A second
later, a stream of greenish gas hit Superman square in the face. He went limp
and slid back down the dome. Two MPs carried him out of the observation room.
In the test chamber, Koko was growing bored. He had beaten this intruder
senseless, perhaps even lifeless. Yet still her body kept popping up each time
he punched it down. Finally, he gave SG a kick and she rolled off of the stun
gun and onto her belly.
Her shiny black backpack looked interesting, so Koko tried pulling it
off her. But it was strapped on, so he put a giant foot on the small of her back
and yanked. The back pack came off, and SG gave a cry of pain as her arms were
twisted backward.
That reminded Koko that he hadn't finished his most important business.
So he began pounding SG again. Then, for a change of pace, he grabbed her ankles
and swung her around his head, faster and faster. Finally, he let her go. She
crashed into the wall and landed in a heap on the floor.
"He's getting overexcited," Dr. Hand said. A dozen tiny monitors and
transmitters were imbedded under Koko's grey skin, to keep track of his vital
functions. Two of those functions - pulse rate and blood pressure - had climbed
to unsafe levels.
And now beast grew even more excited as SG twitched and uttered a soft
moan.
Programmed to kill, Koko couldn't rest until any being that came near
him was dead. And this soft creature refused to die.
He rushed at her, then stopped and studied her carefully. She was no
longer fighting or trying to escape. Even the rising and falling of her chest
had slowed. She was helpless, and experience told him that anything helpless
and motionless was either dead or well on the way to death.
He decided to wait.
"His pressure's going down," Dr. Hand said, with a sigh of relief.
"Pulse rate's still too high, but I think he's going to be okay."
"What about the girl?" asked Dr. Erbaccia.
"Fuck the girl," said Zafer.
It was almost as though Koko had overheard his suggestion. The beast
poked a big index finger into her belly, just below her ribs and drew it down
until it reached the top of her shorts. He gave a little tug at the shorts and
the zipper broke. Then he used both hands to tear the shorts off her.
He lifted them to his nose and sniffed. He seemed to be considering the
meaning of what he had smelled. Finally, he bent over and sniffed her crotch.
"His pulse rate is going up again," Dr. Hand reported.
Koko pulled her legs wide apart and licked her pussy with his long black
tongue.
"Blood pressure's back up, too," said Dr. Hand. "I think this has gone
far enough."
Koko seemed driven but confused. There was something he desperately
wanted to do, but he didn't know what it was.
He made a noise they had never heard before, a long cry that was neither
a howl nor a sob but something of both. And he was thrusting his pelvis, as
though fucking an imaginary partner.
At last, he stretched out on top of SG, and the thrusting became more
rapid and forceful. Her body was almost completely hidden beneath him. Only her
lower legs and one forearm protruded.
"Get a team in there and tranquilize him," Dr. Hand shouted. "He's going
to stroke out."
"Wait," said Zafer. "We've never seen this behavior before. Let's find
out what's going on."
"You know what's going on," Dr. Hand shot back. "He's trying to fuck
her, and he doesn't have the equipment to do the job. It's putting an enormous
strain on his circulatory system."
A section of the wall below retracted, and four men with tranquilizer
guns entered the chamber.
They were too late. Koko had collapsed on top of SG. Up in the
observation room, Dr. Hand's monitors showed nothing but flat lines.
# # #
Zafer had wanted an autopsy on SG, as well as Koko. "We need to know
precisely what damage he did to her before he died."
But Dr. Hand pointed out that, while they were free to do whatever they
wanted with Koko, the girl was another matter. A contract signed by Zafer and
the chairman of the institute made it clear that Superman alone would decide on
the disposition of his cousin's body, in the event of her death in the
experiment.
"I signed that?" Zafer said angrily.
"You signed it."
"Then I was a goddam fool."
Dr. Hand decided not to second the motion, at least not out loud.
SG was placed in a black vinyl body bag. Dr. Hand himself zippered it
closed. His last glimpse of her upset him. Her lips were parted, and her eyes
were not quite shut. It was as though she had something to say and was thinking
over how best to say it.
# # #
Superman put the body bag in the trunk of the long blue Lincoln
Continental that was one of his perks for serving on DRI's board of directors.
Gen. Zafer tried to ask him a question, but Superman brushed past him and
climbed into the driver's seat.
He drove down the service road to the highway. Then he turned northeast.
He knew where he wanted to go, and he knew he couldn't get there by car. But for
the moment he just wanted to drive, to put some distance between himself and the
institute he had served so long.
Four hours later, he pulled into the parking lot of a motel on the edge
of a city he had never visited before. He didn't know anyone here, and no one
knew him. He was just a big man in a dark blue suit, with a face that was
starting to show middle age.
He took out a small case filled with toilet articles and swung the body
bag over his shoulder. His room was on the second floor.
That evening, he ate in a noisy family restaurant on the other side of
the highway, then wandered over to a nightclub nearby. It was called the
Pussycat Lounge. How original, he thought. Was there a town over 40,000 anywhere
in America that didn't have a Pussycat Lounge?
He ordered a double Bourbon and a pack of cigarettes. He had started
smoking a few years ago, and he was surprised how hard it was to quit.
There was a stage and a short runway, and a blonde with big tits was
grinding away to the notes of "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown."
A young woman approached him and asked if the seat next to him was
taken. He shook his head.
"You a salesman?" she asked.
He turned and looked at her. She was pretty. Big brown eyes, curly brown
hair, a trim, athletic figure. She wore a sequined cocktail dress that seemed a
bit too classy for the surroundings.
"No," he said quietly. "Not a salesman. Just a guy who's tired of
working and looking for a little fun."
She smiled shyly. "Maybe I can help."
"Sure," he said. "I'm sure you can. What are you drinking?"
"Scotch," she said.
Superman called out to the bartender, who was at the far end of the bar,
"A Scotch for the lady. Your best brand. And make it a double."
# # #
He had pulled off his shoes and his tie even before she opened the door
with the key he had given her. They rushed inside, and he slammed the door
behind him.
She smiled a tipsy smile and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his
shirt. Then she kissed his chest.
"Big muscles," she said, sliding her hands across his pectorals.
"Yeah," he said, as he finished unbuttoning his shirt. "I guess I'm
pretty big all over."
She reached behind her and unzipped her dress. Then she wiggled
deliciously, and it fell to the floor. She was wearing a low-cut bra, bikini
panties and a heart-shaped pendant on a silver chain.
"You've got some nice muscles yourself," he said softly. "Especially
these." He reached out and stroked her breasts.
She giggled and removed her bra.
He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and pushed them down to his
ankles. Then he dropped his jockey shorts.
She whistled softly. "You really are big all over."
"And getting bigger," he said. It was no idle boast. His prick was
rising majestically, like some great warrior preparing for combat and glory.
She knelt and kissed it.
"Get in bed, on your belly," he said.
He pulled down her panties and mounted her from behind. Her eyes
widened, and she gasped, "Jesus Christ."
"Are you okay?" he asked. "Am I hurting you?"
"God, no," she moaned. "I should be paying you."
They made love for half an hour, in a variety of positions, and ended up
with her lying on top of him, dangling her pendant against his lips.
"So what's your name?" she asked.
"Superman. What's yours?"
"Superman, huh? Well, I guess I'll be Wonder Woman." She kissed his neck
lovingly.
"No," she said, pulling back to look at him. "I'm Tiffany. I'm at the
club every night except Mondays and Tuesdays. And I really, really hope you come
by again. I've never had lovin' like tonight."
"I bet you say that to all the boys," Superman said, sitting up and
lighting a cigarette.
"Yeah, I do," she admitted. "But this time I really mean it. Now I gotta
freshen up."
She gathered her clothes and tiptoed into the bathroom. When she emerged
a few minutes later, Superman was watching television. She hesitated, wondering
how long he'd be in town and whether she should ask him to pick her up tomorrow
night.
He traveled light. Just a bag of toilet articles. Well, maybe not so
light. A garment bag hanging in the closet was so heavy the pole was sagging.
Men were so mysterious, she thought. What could be so heavy? She slid
down the zipper. The impressions came in a flood: blonde hair, a pallid face,
vacant eyes.
Her shriek startled Superman, and he dropped his cigarette into the bed.
"What the hell ," he cried.
She rushed past him, opened the door and diappeared. He could hear her
high-heel shoes clicking on the steps down to the ground floor.
"Shit!" he hissed. He ran to the closet, saw the partially open bag and
tried to think. He could run after her - fly after her, if necessary - and try
to explain.
Yeah, right, explain.
Option two: He could kill her before she went to the police.
Or he could wait, and hope that he'd have better luck with the police
than he was likely to have with her.
Three options. Killing her looked like the easiest course.
He pulled on his pants, went out on the balcony and looked around the
parking lot. There was no sign of her, no sign of anyone. He rose slowly, on a
curving trajectory that took him about 100 feet above the roofs of the motel and
other buildings. He flew across the highway and spotted her approaching the
Pussycat Lounge. Two customers had just come out, and she yelled at them. They
rushed up to her, then they began yelling, too, and more customers emerged.
Silencing her was out. What was the fallback plan?
He glided back to the motel balcony. Below, a man was opening the trunk
of his car, but he didn't notice Superman until he had landed. The man looked
up, scowled, then pulled a briefcase out of his trunk and disappeared under the
balcony.
Superman went into the room and closed the door. It smelled smoky. He
put on his shirt and suit jacket. He couldn't find his shoes. The hell with
them. The only thing he really needed was Kara's body. He wouldn't be able to
drive anymore. He'd fly - all the way to his secret hideout. And he'd find a way
to revive her. He had saved himself from near-death several times. He could save
her. He had to save her.
He heard voices outside - loud voices, getting closer.
He started toward the closet, then he saw the body bag had fallen to the
floor. It was unzipped. Empty.
His first instinct was to look under the bed, as though he were dealing
with a recalcitrant child.
"Tiffany says he's up there," someone yelled outside.
"Wait for the police," yelled another.
Superman sat on the bed. Had she somehow revived and fled? Or had
Zafer's agents entered the room during the few minutes he was gone and stolen
her body?
Either way, he had lost her.
Footsteps approached, then there was a crash at the door. Someone was
trying to kick it in, the way the cops did in the movies. Whoever it was was
going to hurt himself. It took an awfully big, strong man to kick in a door.
Superman rolled up the body bag and tucked it under his arm. He decided
to leave vertically, so no one on the balcony would get hurt.
He smashed through the ceiling and burst through the cheap roof just as
the motel clerk opened the door, with a key. The bed was smoldering.
# # #
The police didn't buy Tiffany's story. Superman's image had slipped in
recent years, but the cops weren't ready to believe he had stuffed a dead girl
in a body bag. Or that he was consorting with hookers, for that matter.
Still, the hole in the roof was hard to explain.
Over drinks at the lounge the next night, Tiffany told two of the
dancers about her amorous adventure before she discovered the blonde in the bag.
"He was fabulous," she said. "I mean, at first I wasn't all that
attracted. He smelled like an ashtray, and he needed a bath. But you should have
seen the schlong on him. And it just kept working and working."
She sipped her ginger ale thoughtfully and said, "It just shows, you
can't tell about men. You get one who's great in bed, and he turns out to be
some kind of sex murderer."
# # #
At DRI, Zafer was rereading the final report on Koko's fateful and fatal
encounter with Superman's alleged cousin.
"So we've lost him," he said to Dr. Hand.
"Yes, but we can recreate him."
"No, not Koko. I'm talking about Superman."
"Yeah, I guess so," said Dr. Hand. "I'm not sure it's a great loss. His
best work was behind him. He didn't seem to have the crusading spirit anymore.
And his science was lousy."
"What about the girl?"
"What about her?"
"We never found her body. It wasn't at the motel."
Dr. Hand shrugged. "I guess he took it with him. Maybe he's into
necrophilia."
"Maybe so," said Zafer. "I just have a feeling we're missing something."
"We don't need her. We know what Koko was capable of. And we'll make a
bigger and better Koko that kills even more efficiently, and can take a lot of
excitement. That's what you want, isn't it?"
"I thought it was what we all wanted."
"Yes and no," said Dr. Hand. "I'm in it for the science. I mean it.
Sure, the money is great, better than I could get anywhere else. And I guess
there's a chance we'll stumble on something that makes the country a little more
secure, but I'm not even sure that would be a good thing."
"Ah, you researchers. You don't believe in anything."
"I believe in the scientific method. I believe in the human mind."
"Let me tell you about the human mind," snapped the general. "It evolved
in struggle - against the elements, against predators, against other hominids.
And when homo sapiens ended up at the top of the food chain, we began using that
wonderful mind to fight each other. My father came here from Turkey because
America was a land of opportunity and freedom, and my job is to see to it that
homo sapiens americanus survives and prevails."
Dr. Hand laughed. "Oh quit shitting me, Piric. You just love mayhem. I
wish I had had time during Koko's last bout to watch your face. I bet you were
never happier in your life. Your creation, your killing machine - beating the
shit out of a beautiful blonde, then trying to hump her corpse. What the hell
did that have to do with 'national security'?"
Zafer's eyes flashed, then he suddenly broke into a smile.
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I did enjoy watching her struggle and die.
But how about you, Dr. Strangelove? Was 'science' your only concern? Was it just
Koko's heartbeat you were worrying about? How about your own? Was a hard-on
forming, perhaps, amid the pandemonium?"
"Touche ," said the scientist.
Zafer closed the file, stood and stretched.
"Man does not live by carnage and committee reports alone," he said.
"Come on. It's almost five. I'll buy you a drink."
THE END
