The Protocol: A Prescription to Die (9 page)

Chapter 17

It was late.

Barbara should have been home, relishing a glass of wine, and listening to the soothing sound of the waves. Several problems prevented her from doing this, though. The waves she longed to hear were two thousand miles away. She couldn’t find a decent French wine here. It was past dinnertime, and she was still at the office. And finally, no matter how hard she tried to say it wasn’t so, she was still in Minnesota. But she had work to do, and she hoped that her punishment would soon be over.

Barbara had seen the behemoth of a security guard before. She just never paid much attention to him. He usually sat at the podium at the building’s entrance, and was due here in her office in less than one hour. Until now, she’d ignored him every time she came into the office even though he always greeted her with a jovial, Midwestern good morning greeting. He was big, close to seven feet, and towered over her five-five frame. He always looked at her with tired eyes. Dopey-looking, as a matter of fact. He needed his ears taped back. Surely he was Scandinavian like everyone else here. He probably ate that lutefisk shit like it was Swiss chocolate. When all was said and done, he reminded Barbara of a basset hound. Based on first impressions, and the short phone conversation she’d just had with him, he had the testicular fortitude of Gumby. Evidently just the type of compliant personality she needed.

After a few commands, usernames, and passwords, his profile displayed on her laptop’s display. It told her everything she needed to know. And where his vulnerabilities were.

Butch Rheumy, single, 33, moonlights at a nightclub as a security guard, parents both alive but not well. She examined their Aequalis profiles. Mother: Nancy, 67, diabetic with high blood pressure, and even higher cholesterol. Father: Richard, 69, cardiac problems, triple bypass three years ago, prognosis inconclusive, pacemaker installed, not doing well.

Both were perfect Protocol U candidates, as both no longer provided any societal benefit. They were
takers
. Barbara wondered why they hadn’t made the list yet as their overall cost valuation and telomere scores were very high. Both of their telomere values exceeded Aequalis guidelines based on their current age and condition. Their anticipated costs were exorbitant. Their combined societal benefit was rated lower than that of a ten year old with leprosy.

She entered a few numbers next to their Aequalis-assigned identification numbers, and pressed the enter key. Within seconds both profiles were updated. Security guard Butch Rheumy’s parents, Richard and Nancy, were both new inductees to the Protocol U academy.

It was an honor to die for.

“Perfect,” she said with her downturned, arowana-like smile.

Chapter 18

By the time Andy came to join Eat in the living room, the Assistant District Attorney was no longer making Eat laugh. Now he was watching a documentary about the Civil War.

Andy plopped on the couch next to him. Not on the opposite side, but right next to him. Eat could smell her perfume.

She gave him a kiss.

Eat reached for the pen he kept on the table next to the couch. This wasn’t going to be good.

The pen twirled and clicked in his hand.

Twirl, twirl, click click.

Twirl, twirl, click click.

Andy was holding a folder with a red biohazard logo on it. She put her hand on his and temporarily stopped the pen’s acrobatics.

“So, Eat. We have some things to talk about.”

She opened the folder. There were pages of what appeared to be medical reports: charts, graphs, and numbers.

Lots of numbers.

She took out several sheets, and laid them on the coffee table in front of them. Then she opened her duffle bag and pulled out two small plastic bags, and the wooden box containing his father’s ashes. She put her hand on his leg.

“Ready?”

Eat was looking at the small bag with what seemed to contain the bone fragment that he had found buried in the ashes. He took in a deep, deep breath and exhaled loudly.

“Yes.”

“First. You were right. The sock did have the embroidered number that you said it would. The sock was probably your father’s.”

“Told you so.”

Andy raised her eyebrows at him. Eat closed his mouth and restarted twirling and clicking the pen.

“Next, I had the DNA samples sequenced. That’s why I had you swab your cheek before you left. Remember? I needed your DNA to compare it to the specimen’s,” she saw Eat wince at her choice of words. “Sorry. That’s work talking. I mean the foot. Basically I did a paternity test. The problem was that I didn’t have a sample from your mother.”

Andy pulled two pieces of paper forward. Each had a series of small, fuzzy black horizontal lines. Some were thick, some thin, some were closer together than the others. At the top of one page, she had written “Eat.” At the top of the other, she had written “Anderson.” She put both pieces of paper close together so the tops were straight across. The sets of fuzzy black lines were next to one another.

“These are DNA bands. Every band that you have,” she pointed to the page with his name on it, “has to have a corresponding band that matches either your mother or father.” She then took a red pen and drew lines between the matching bands. There were four that matched. “The ones here, with the red line, are shared with your father. These though,” she pointed to the ones without the line, “are unresolved.”

“So it’s not my father’s foot?”

“No. I didn’t say that. I only had two thirds of the samples to completely prove paternity.”

“I’ll go swab his mother’s cheek if I need to.”

She then pulled out a third sheet. This one had a series of numbers in two columns. They were identical.

“Have you ever heard of Y-Chromosomal DNA?”

Eat shook his head. He was a computer geek, not a biology gnome.

“Well, the Y chromosome is what makes a guy a guy. You received your Y chromosome from your father. He received it from his and on and on. Y-Chromosomal DNA analysis is used to verify paternal heritage.”

Eat could hear the twenty-five pound bowling ball being released, and rolling down the alley. He was the pin in its path.

He looked at Andy.

His eyes pleaded.

“Andy. Please. This is too much. I know you are trying to protect me. You know I live and breathe data. This is different. I trust everything you did, and everything you say.”

“You were right. It’s your father’s foot.”

“But,” was all Eat could say.

“There’s more. It won’t be easy.”

The ball hit the pin and shattered into a million pieces.

Chapter 19

It was late, Butch knew, but luckily it was his day off from his bouncer duties. Before he left for the day, Barbara Nordstrom had called him, and requested a meeting for 8:30 that evening. Although she had apologized for making it so late, and told him that if it was inconvenient it was alright, he could tell from the tone of her voice that he really didn’t have a choice.

Her request wasn’t a suggestion, but an expectation.

The job with Aequalis was his primary employment, and without it and the benefits it offered, life would not be pretty. The income from both jobs supported his meager lifestyle, and also allowed him to support his parents. They raised him to be a man: to be honest and independent. Now they needed his help.

The office door opened, and Barbara stood within its frame. It was an eight-foot door, and she barely made it a foot more than half way.

“Butch. Thanks for stopping by. Come on in.”

Butch stretched his legs, and stood up. Watching him go from sitting to standing was like watching a 747 take off; it took a long time and required a lot of empty airspace. When he walked through the door, he habitually ducked his head even though he had at least thirteen inches to spare. He’d hit his head too many times in the past, and ducking had just become second nature.

“Please sit. Thanks for meeting me so late,” she said as she pointed to one of the large, leather chairs next to the meeting table.

Butch noticed a closed folder laying flat on the glass covered table. He picked the chair opposite to where the folder was. He was certain it was a termination notice. He’d kicked himself all day for not answering the phone as fast as he normally did.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer the phone right away. There was a vendor waiting to get a badge. It won’t happen again.”

“Pshhht,” she said as she dismissively waved her hand. “Forgotten.”

She was wearing spiked heels that clicked with each step as she walked across the tile floor to the table.

She perched her bird-like body across from Butch.

And then the knife was thrown and he didn’t have time to duck.

Barbara opened the folder, and picked out the code of ethics document that he signed when Aequalis became his employer. Using two fingers, she spun the sheet of paper around so that it was facing Butch.

“This is your signature, right?”

Butch recognized the document and his signature.

“Yes, mam.”

“Take a look at that last sentence. The one I highlighted.”

Butch pulled the paper closer and read what Barbara had highlighted:

It is a felony punishable by fines up to three hundred and fifty thousand dollars and not less than twenty-five years of imprisonment to discuss or write (whether on paper or electronically) about any activities associated with Aequalis, your employment with Aequalis, tasks conducted as an employee of Aequalis, or tasks conducted by other employees, associates, and/or vendors of Aequalis Health Services.

“I haven’t said anything, Ms. Nordstrom.”

“I know. And believe me, I’d know if you had. No. This is to make sure you understand the implications of the what-if scenario. Do you understand what this highlighted paragraph means? Really means?”

Butch nodded.

“I would never say anything about Natalie or the people who were fired today.”

He looked across the table. He’d thought he had said what she wanted to hear, but apparently not: Barbara’s face was pinched with a hot pretense of annoyance.

Butch didn’t say anything else.

Barbara pulled two more sheets of paper out from the folder and spun them so Butch could read them.

“These are the Aequalis profiles of your parents: Nancy and Richard. Recognize the data?”

Butch reviewed the information. It seemed very technical, but the basics were correct.

“This is the most important piece of information. The reason for our little meeting.” Barbara’s pen moved to each sheet and circled an item labeled, “Protocol.” Each of his parents was designated as “U.”

“You see this?” she tapped her pen next to each label. “This is the power I control at Aequalis. The power to extinguish life or confound death. Right now, your parents cost more than they are worth, or even contribute. They should be making end of life preparations instead of eating into the pocket books of others.”

“But they are fine. Mom’s diabetes is being managed. Dad’s on medication for his heart. He had a pacemaker installed about a year ago.”

“True. Maintaining their lives is expensive. That’s why you have two jobs, right? Your parents are no longer contributors to the tax base. Don’t you understand, Butch? They haven’t paid anything significant into the system in years,” she looked down at the profiles. “Five years to be precise. Instead of being producers, they’ve been drawing from Social Security, and incurring very high medical expenses. Expenses that are the responsibility of Aequalis. They have become a liability to the common good.”

She moved her pen further down and circled another item on the paper.

Chapter 20

Eat could do nothing but lift his palms in defeat and shrug his shoulders. He could see the pain in her eyes, and could tell she hated having to tell him everything she had discovered.

Eat looked directly into Andy’s eyes.

“Just tell me. Don’t worry about the numbers. The analysis. None of that.”

“Ok. The ashes and the bone fragment?”

He nodded and pulled the box onto his lap.

“Concrete mix and a chicken bone.”

He put the box back on the table and shook his head in complete, utter disbelief.

“What?”

What Eat had clung to for so many weeks now, had apparently been a farce. He had been talking to simple mortar and Colonel Sanders leftovers.

He tried not to cry, but tears formed and drizzled down his cheeks.

“What did your father die of?” asked Andy.

Eat knew she knew that his father died of a massive heart attack. She was with him the night they found him. She was with him when he had to sign all of the paperwork. But she had a reason for asking.

“A massive coronary. I think the paperwork said coronary thrombosis.”

“I know. That’s what the paperwork said. But Eat, I think your father was drugged. Murdered.”

“Andy, dad was an old man in his seventies. He had no money. No enemies. He was a retired mailman.”

Andy pulled out the final sheet of paper. This one had a chart with various chemical symbols along the bottom and spanned by vertical lines of varying heights. Even though high school chemistry was decades in the past, Eat recognized some of the symbols.

“This is the tox report, Eat.”

He couldn’t respond. He was still in shock and could feel his heart beating in his temples.

Andy took her pen and circled the area with the tallest vertical lines.

“I ran a gas chromograph on some of the tissue. This here means that there was succinic acid in your father’s system when he died.”

“Dad never took anything more than Motrin, Centrum vitamins, and an occasional shot of Canadian Club. It had to have been something the doctor prescribed.”

“I know that. He was a good man. A decent man, and I loved him too,” she nodded in affirmation. “But no. A doctor does not prescribe this. Succinyl choline metabolizes into succinic acid in the body. There is no medicinal purpose for it. When injected into the body, it paralyzes all muscles within seconds. It makes it seem as though the person has had a massive heart attack. A coronary thrombosis.” Andy took his hands, held them within hers, and took a long deep breath. “Eat there’s no reason this should be in your father’s system. I’m telling you. He did not die of natural causes.”

“This isn’t making sense. Where would something like that come from?”

“They use this in lethal injections, Eat.”

Andy kept talking. Eat saw her lips moving, but he really didn’t comprehend a word.

Like one of the computers he worked with each and every day, Eat was pushed into information overload.

There was too much noise. Too much to process.

“Mother,” he said interrupting Andy.

“Yes. Eat.”

“Turn off the television.

Instantly, the television was turned off. The only sounds were the dishwasher, the sound of his labored breathing, and Andy’s voice.

And his heartbeat.