KILLER T

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘It was designed to affect the hormones that create hunger. It was tested successfully by a Danish university. Unfortunately, all the test subjects were Caucasian and it turned out that it triggers cancer in some racial groups.

  ‘I did it on a woman born in Peru and within weeks she started passing blood. She got rushed to hospital. The surgeon who cut her open said it was like she had thousands of tiny white teeth growing inside her digestive tract. There was nothing they could do.

  ‘I felt awful and considered quitting the business. The family weren’t wealthy and we offered to refund my fee to pay for the funeral. But the husband and daughter were very understanding. The woman was desperate to lose weight and my associate in California spoke with them before the treatment and carefully explained that gene therapy carries a chance of unexpected results.’

  ‘I didn’t realise a mod can affect different ethnicities differently,’ Charlie said.

  ‘When they first mapped the human genome back in the nineties, scientists thought genes were like rows of switches. A switch for blue eyes, or being short, or being autistic. There are a few genes that work like that, but most influence more than one thing.

  ‘For instance, twenty genes have been identified that influence how tall a person could be. Then there’s gene expression – which means different genes get switched on and off in the womb and early childhood. That’s why some identical twins look different, though their DNA matches perfectly. Then there’s the junk DNA every human carries. They named it that because it didn’t seem to do anything, like corrupted files on an old hard drive. But it turns out it does influence certain things.’

  Charlie’s science-geek brain was ticking happily. ‘So editing genes is easy, but you can’t be sure what it will do, and the same treatment might do different things to different people?’

  Mango nodded. ‘The more we play around with DNA, the less we seem to know for sure.’

  ‘So would you risk having gene therapy from an underground lab like this?’ Charlie asked.

  Mango liked the thoughtfulness behind this question and paused for a few seconds before answering.

  ‘The risk of severe complications of a well-understood gene-therapy procedure done with proper safety precautions is less than one per cent. That’s lower than the risk of a life-threatening infection after surgery in a hospital. So if I was like Patient Q and I suffered from depression, hated my body and was crippled by a lack of confidence I’d probably spend my twenty thousand dollars and take the risk.’

  ‘Not sure I would,’ Charlie said, shuddering. ‘But then I don’t even like going to the dentist.’

  ‘Getting back to Patient Q, I do every procedure twice and if the two samples match I know that no random errors have crept in during gene editing,’ Mango explained. ‘So my plan is I’ll do Patient Q’s first sample and explain as I go. Then you can take over and do the second sample while I look on.

  ‘Provided the two samples match, we’ll grab lunch and when we come back I’ll show you how we insert the altered DNA into an E. coli virus, and turn that into a stable solution that will infect the patient with his perma tan and manly physique.’

  35 ALL A BIT CRUMMY

  The plan had been for Charlie to ride a bus to the transit terminal. Harry would pick her up after his detention and they’d drive to a movie theatre, meet with Matt and Lana, catch an early showing then hang out at Harry’s place until Charlie had to get home for her 6 p.m. curfew. But Ken Kleinberg had to approve any trip Charlie made, and he either didn’t like the idea of her spending the day on the other side of town, or wanted to show who was boss.

  Either way, Harry had to go to North Vegas again. He wanted to make the most of the day, so he set a 7 a.m. alarm and sat up in bed doing updates to Vegas Local, then he sorted books for his schoolbag, hoping to get most of his weekend homework done during the detention.

  After a shower, Harry dressed in casual clothes, bagging his school uniform because Kirsten would realise he had detention if she saw him wearing it on a Saturday.

  Things ran smooth until Kirsten knocked on Harry’s door. He was on the end of his bed, battling a sock that had shrunk in the wash.

  ‘Are you decent?’

  ‘Yeah, come on in.’

  Kirsten often came knocking to ask what food Harry fancied, or just for a chat. But her face wasn’t friendly as she crashed the door and stormed in.

  ‘I got an email from Mrs Scott at Queensbridge,’ Kirsten said, shaking her tablet furiously. ‘What the hell, Harry?’

  Harry tried to play it cool, not sure if she’d found out about the detention, the D in math or both. ‘What?’ he asked dopily.

  Kirsten’s eyes bulged. ‘I asked about your grades yesterday. Now Mrs Scott’s saying that you’re getting Ds in maths, and Cs in four other subjects. They want us to go in for an urgent academic review, and she’s sent me a list of tutors.’

  ‘The teacher’s a dick,’ Harry said. ‘I’m usually good at maths, or above average at least. But this term …’

  Kirsten riled up. ‘If he’s so bad, is every other kid in the class getting Ds?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Harry squirmed. ‘But …’

  ‘Everyone has ups and downs at school,’ Kirsten said, placing hands on hips. ‘It’s the lying that ticks me off.’

  ‘What lying?’

  ‘I asked yesterday morning, and you said your grades were fine.’

  ‘I was in a rush to meet Ellie,’ Harry said. ‘I didn’t have time to open this whole can of worms.’

  ‘You’re always in a rush,’ Kirsten said. ‘Charlie gets priority. Vegas Local gets priority. Hanging with Matt gets priority. But according to Mrs Scott your schoolwork is down the shitter.’

  ‘Was that her exact phrasing?’ Harry smirked, zipping his jeans and pushing his feet into sneakers.

  ‘Don’t get cute,’ Kirsten warned. ‘And don’t think you’re rushing off across the city to see Charlie before we talk about this.’

  Harry grabbed his bag, and the carrier with his uniform balled inside.

  ‘Did you buy her more gifts?’ Kirsten asked.

  ‘I’m not going to Charlie till later. And the gifts were a one-off, because she’s one of my best friends and she’d just got out of the joint.’

  Kirsten backed up, blocking the door. ‘You’re not leaving until we’ve talked this through.’

  ‘I have to,’ Harry said firmly.

  ‘No you don’t,’ Kirsten said.

  Harry cast a downward glance. ‘I have Saturday detention,’ he admitted. ‘Starts at eight thirty, so I need to leave now.’

  Harry stepped back as a vein pulsed in Kirsten’s temple. ‘What for?’

  ‘I was late for class,’ Harry said, deciding not to lie outright, but be economical with the truth. ‘I was in a side room doing stuff for the school newspaper and somehow I missed the bell.’

  ‘Mrs Scott will confirm that when we have your academic review?’

  ‘Don’t you believe anything I say?’ Harry moaned. ‘I’ve been at Queensbridge two years and this is my first Saturday detention. It’s not a huge deal.’

  ‘All right,’ Kirsten sighed. ‘Go to your detention, then come back here.’

  ‘That’s when I’m driving to Charlie’s.’

  ‘You think?’ Kirsten asked. ‘Call Charlie and tell her you’ll be an hour late. Then you’re gonna drive your ass back here, and we’re going to talk about this properly, before I go to work.’

  Harry hated how his Saturday with Charlie was getting more and more squeezed. ‘She’s got a 6 p.m. curfew. It’ll hardly be worth going.’

  Kirsten smirked. ‘Don’t go, then.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Harry said, looking hurt, as Kirsten let him out of the door.

  ‘It’s your own fault for lying to me,’ she yelled, as Harry ran downstairs and scooped his keys off the kitchen countertop.

  Since Kirsten now knew about the detention, Harry could have changed before leavin
g, but he wasn’t thinking straight so he wound up in the school parking lot, sitting with his legs out of the car, switching trousers and buttoning his shirt.

  Harry had forgotten his tie and gasped with relief as he sprinted to his locker and found a spare. It was 8.29 as he skidded through the door of a basketball court, settling behind a folding desk, as Mr Bowers locked the door to keep out latecomers.

  Harry’s hopes of catching up on homework were dashed. He had to spend the first twenty minutes in silence, filling a form with answers to questions like Explain why you received a Saturday detention, and What are three steps you can take to modify your behaviour to ensure that this does not happen again?

  Once that was done, the teens were split into two groups of six. One half was given black bags and grabbers and sent on litter patrol. Harry was in the second group, dispatched to Queensbridge’s theatre to sweep up the auditorium after the previous night’s performance of Cats.

  When Mr Bowers finally set Harry free, he jogged back to his locker, replaced the spare tie and squirted deodorant before hopping back into jeans and polo shirt in the deserted hallway. After the mad dash, Harry found himself buckled into the Mini’s driving seat, locked in thought.

  Kirsten will ground me and take the Mini away if I don’t go home now, but she’s probably gonna do that anyway … If I go see Charlie, she’ll have gone to the restaurant before I get home, so I won’t have to deal with her tonight, and she might have calmed down by then … Or she might go bat shit crazy … But I need to hear Charlie’s voice. See her smile, catch her smell. And the way she sits with her head tilted and one eyebrow slightly raised …

  Thinking about Charlie gave him a warm tingle as he spoke to the car. ‘Autodrive, set destination Obama Independent Living.’

  He ignored a call from Kirsten as the Mini headed north and defiance felt worthwhile when he pulled into the little lot behind OIL. Charlie had seen him arrive and dashed out for a tight hug. She looked so sexy it blew Harry away: lacy white mini dress, a brand new pair of white Converse and her hair was cut in a bob with bangs.

  ‘Love the hair,’ Harry said, grinning as they hugged.

  ‘I got a hundred-dollar advance from Mango at the bakery,’ Charlie explained. ‘Juno took me to this place she knows and I got it done this morning.’

  But it wasn’t just hair and clothes. From the first day they’d met, Charlie always had a downtrodden wariness about her. Her smiles always cautious, her walk hunched. Now she was upright and bouncing in her dazzlingly white All Stars.

  ‘You seem happy,’ Harry noted, contrasting his own crummy day.

  ‘Getting a grip on life,’ Charlie said as she led the way in through OIL’s back door.

  They ignored the anti-virus gel dispenser and Charlie got a compliment on her new hair from one of the girls who lived upstairs.

  ‘The only thing is my support officer, Ken, rolled up. He says he wants a five-minute catch-up, so if you don’t mind waiting in my room?’

  ‘Sure,’ Harry said. ‘I need a pee anyway.’

  ‘It’s not locked,’ Charlie called, starting up the stairs.

  Charlie’s room looked more settled. The laptop he’d bought was on the desk alongside a neat stack of school books. He was surprised to see she’d got a tablet from somewhere and there was a bag with some just-purchased clothes at the end of the bed.

  Charlie’s bathroom was in a state, with balled-up underwear and the smell of lime shampoo. Harry kicked a soggy towel out of the way and imagined Charlie stepping from the shower as he saw little dried-up floor marks in the shape of her toes.

  He washed his hands after peeing, but the only towel was the soggy one on the floor. Harry pulled a Huddy’s napkin from his pocket and used it to dab them dry.

  ‘Ken just wanted to check my movements over the weekend,’ Charlie explained, stepping into the bedroom as Harry stepped on a bin pedal. ‘Don’t know why he was a pain about me coming to visit you. He’s been OK apart from that.’

  Harry felt like he’d been shot as he looked down to aim his soggy napkin into the tiny chromed bin. Amidst cotton balls, a toilet paper core and a pair of holed White Boulder-issue socks was a strip of golden foil Trojan wrappers and a used condom stuck to the can’s liner.

  36 SAMURAI COP II

  ‘You gotta try these muffins,’ Charlie said, taking a striped Radical Cake Collective box from the shelf above her desk. ‘They’re fifteen bucks a box in the shops. I’ll be a whale if I keep eating them.’

  ‘Had a big breakfast,’ Harry said, trying to act normal while a hot poker charred his soul.

  Brad? Who else could it be? Bet it was right there on the bed. Bet he had a big smile on his face. After everything I’ve done, she sleeps with someone else.

  How pathetic am I? Skinny, spotty. Crushing on her for two years. Telling myself I’m giving her space and doing the right thing, but really just scared to make a move in case the answer is no.

  ‘How was detention?’

  ‘Two hours of my life wasted,’ Harry said. ‘Nice sneakers.’

  Two years of my life wasted. How could Charlie do this? She must have known I have feelings … Or maybe she thinks I don’t because I dicked about for so long.

  ‘My hair feels so weird,’ Charlie said. ‘I catch myself in the mirror and I’m looking at someone else! Sit on my bed. Do you want a drink? I bought some of that English tea you like at Walgreens.’

  She bought me tea. She cares about me. Maybe it was a one-time deal …

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, but Brad said he’d like to see Samurai Cop II. He’s gonna come along, and Juno’s seeing her dad now, but she’s gonna meet us at the theatre. And Juno said there’s a great taco place we might go to after.’

  This sucks so hard. I can’t breathe.

  ‘Can I just get some water?’ Harry said.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Charlie asked. ‘You look hot.’

  ‘Stressy day,’ Harry said. ‘Kirsten’s not happy about the detention.’

  And I blew Kirsten off, to come here for this …

  ‘Harry,’ Brad said cheerfully, coming in the half-opened door without knocking. ‘How’s life?’

  You could have any girl you want, so why muscle in on mine? You’re laughing at me, aren’t you? I bet you’ve had a hundred other girls too. Charlie probably doesn’t even mean that much to you, but you’ve stomped my life.

  ‘Could be worse,’ Harry said, wondering if Brad was going to kiss her or something. But there was just a glance between them, so clearly they were keeping it under the radar.

  ‘I figured we’d take Betsy,’ Brad said. ‘Harry’s Mini only has two doors, and there’ll be four on the ride back.’

  Harry felt like the walls were swaying as he stumbled into the hallway and placed a cup under the water cooler. He felt like running. If I make an excuse now, I might get back home before Kirsten goes to work and I can beg for forgiveness. But imagine what she’ll say if she finds out. The I told you so she’s been waiting to dish out since the day I met Charlie.

  Harry ploughed on. He rode in Betsy’s back seat, while Charlie sat next to Brad. He got introduced to Juno and her cousin in the lobby of a grotty fifteen-screen multiplex, bought his ticket and a stupidly large Coke. He sat next to Charlie, with Brad on her other side and when Charlie reached across to offer her bag of Hershey Drops, Harry caught her shampoo smell again and felt his eyes go blurry.

  And, to cap it off, the movie sucked for two hours and forty minutes.

  ‘We should get a ton of booze tonight,’ Brad told everyone as they headed out. ‘It’s been a while since I got properly wasted.’

  ‘You got a fake ID?’ Juno asked.

  ‘Confiscated when I was out with Mel,’ Brad said. ‘But the homeless chick behind Walmart is platinum. Give her ten bucks and she’ll grab all the booze you can buy.’

  ‘She ain’t always there, though,’ Juno warned as they exited the multiplex into a haze of rain.

  ‘My curfe
w’s six,’ Charlie said, checking her phone and seeing that it was already almost four. ‘And Harry needs to get back to Summerlin before sunset.’

  ‘It’s dark by six thirty this time of year,’ Harry said. ‘With Saturday traffic, I need to leave by ten past five.’

  Brad gave Harry a patronising calm down gesture as they neared Betsy.

  Die with a big spike up your rectum, you handsome dick hole …

  ‘Snacks,’ Juno said, adding a clap. ‘We need snack-a-dee-doodles.’

  ‘You can buy snacks anywhere,’ Brad said impatiently. ‘There’s a 7-Eleven next door to where we live.’

  ‘Walmart’s way cheaper,’ Juno said.

  ‘All right, we’ll get snacks,’ Brad said, tutting. ‘As long as Betsy’s a good girl, we’ve got plenty of time to get the hobo chick to buy us booze, beat Charlie’s curfew and get Harry home before he turns into a pumpkin.’

  It took less than ten minutes for the old Subaru to reach a small lot. It had a doughnut shop and an Italian restaurant that had both gone bust after the SNor outbreak. The restaurant’s covered dining deck now housed four tents and a couple of scrap-built shelters. Electricity had been pirated from the nearest pole and the parking bays closest to the tents had scorch marks where residents had lit bonfires.

  ‘Gimme money,’ Brad said, turning to the three passengers in the back as he pulled Betsy’s handbrake. ‘Tell me what you want and keep it simple.’

  Charlie handed Brad ten dollars and asked for some beers. Harry was in the middle seat, squashed between Juno’s bulk and her ample cousin. As the cousins asked for the biggest, cheapest bottle of Vodka they could get, Harry pulled out seventy dollars.

  ‘You’re going home,’ Charlie said.

  ‘Might as well get booze in while I have the chance,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll have some beer, plus a bottle of whatever vodka and a bottle of Jack Daniels.’

  Brad laughed as he snatched the money from the driver’s seat. ‘Charlie said your auntie was rich!’

  ‘Well, he drives a forty-grand Mini Cooper,’ Juno pointed out as Harry flushed red.