Many thanks to PubliusNaso, editor supreme whose light handed touch has knocked off the rough edges and produced a story which I hope you agree is polished.
The funeral was sad, not only because of Gary's death, but also because I was the only person attending who wasn't employed by the undertaker.
Gary didn't have many (in fact any) friends but me. We were both nerds at college. We were called the 'Boys in the Lab'. I guess many thought we were gay, but it was just that sniffing out a root took more time than we were prepared to spend. The lab at that time was our mistress.
Gary was strange: his drive was enough for both of us. I sort of tagged along for the ride. Initially, I thought that his high IQ, measured by MENSA at an amazing 167, was the cause of his strangeness. But I later discovered that his whole family had been killed in a road accident which he blamed himself for: his parents and sister had decided to visit him on the night they were killed because he had refused to return home for his sister's birthday. This incident left Gary with a guilt-conscience you could drive a truck down, which manifested itself in his inability to tolerate fools. Of course relative to Gary's IQ he believed everyone was a fool (except, I like to think, maybe me with my IQ of 141).
His parents' death left him very wealthy. On leaving college Gary bought a factory on Main Street which he converted into a laboratory. He said he was working on a product which would make people seem less foolish.
Two weeks ago, he was found dead in his factory, surrounded by the under-garments of four different women. The police were unable to believe that his death was the result of an orgy involving four women, and I couldn't believe he was a fetishist.
I was pleasantly surprised at the reading of the will to learn that he had left his factory and contents solely to me. I had always envied the location thinking it would make a great place for my psychology practice with enough room for an apartment if I built a mezzanine. The rest of his family wealth he left to his mother's favourite charities.
Gary had hand written his will just before he died. It was perfect, like everything he did. It contained a strange reference to the contents of the factory: "PT80" As I was the only real person (charities don't count) to inherit it was clear that this was a message for me. I collected the deeds and the keys for the property to see if the factory gave me any clues to translating Gary's code.
Gary and I had done a chemistry major together. I completed the degree to ensure my scholarship conditions were met, then transferred to psychology: a much more entertaining field.
Gary often spoke chemistry shorthand to me. When I remembered this, the clue was solved: "PT" referred to the periodic table, and 80 is the position of the element mercury. Mercury was also the Roman messenger of the gods, so Gary was trying to tell me that the contents of the factory would give me a message.
He knew how tidy I was, his message was to stop me tidying up the lab and possibly lose some of the message he had meant me to find. Because Gary had gone to great pains to leave a message that would survive him I figured that Gary must have anticipated his death. This meant that either he did commit suicide through a chemically induced heart attack, or he knew that his life was threatened by someone else. I would have to tread cautiously.
I arrived at the factory and was surprised that some of the storage space had been converted into a studio and a small apartment. This had been done very recently (I had visited Gary two weeks earlier and had not noticed these alterations). The space seemed to me to be renovated to my tastes. It was painted blue, a colour Gary disliked, and I loved. There was a message painted in small neat letters on the back of the studio door: "KWS 1520"
KWS was the local radio station. I tuned in the next day at 3: 15pm, (the starting time for the daily quiz). I had heard the quiz before. The DJ was, as usual, happy to give clues to the answers for the first 15 questions. At 3:20 the DJ said 'you are now on your own -we are now entering the clue free zone'. I took this to mean that I could move into the apartment without interfering with the message which Gary had left me.
I decided that for the moment that I would not move into the apartment Gary had thoughtfully provided for me, until I had a handle on Gary's apparent knowledge of his death. If someone else was responsible for the death of my friend I would find and expose them, for sure!
Late on Saturday, when I had finished with my last patient, I was finally able to get to the factory and play Da Vinci code with Gary. I wondered what he was trying to say through code which he couldn't have told me directly? It was strange that I thought of the Da Vinci code: a book Gary would never have read, and yet I found a copy lying on a work bench.
I spent a bit of time wandering around the factory taking in the ambience. Nothing seemed to be talking to me. I returned to the book. In flicking through to see if any notations had been made I found a two playing cards: a king and a joker. An "X" was inscribed on the face of the king, and "11.4" on back next to the 'Jim Beam' logo. The joker was from a different pack: just a plain red pattern, with no inscriptions..
Gary clearly thought that I would be able to 'read' this message, he used beat me at almost everything. I was beginning to believe he would continue his winning streak even though he was dead. I retired to my studio to make a coffee and think.
I woke well into the night, surprised that I had fallen asleep. However, I now had a thought. In my earlier tour of the factory I had seen a Bible in a bookcase in the Lab. This was not like Gary either, but it helped me break the code: King - 'Jim Beam' (James) the King James' version of the bible, 'X': the tenth book, 11th chapter, fourth verse. I rushed out of the studio to Gary's office and over to the bookshelf. I opened the bible at Samuel 2, 11. Verse 4 started the story of how David seduced Bathsheba. That didn't leave me any the wiser, and a quick examination of the book yielded nothing out of the ordinary. Back to the bookshelf. I saw nothing obvious so I tried again but now with much greater care.
On the second search of the office I found a CD. Bingo! It was called 'Wild Card/A Word From the Wise' by Pennywise. Now I knew what the joker meant: a joker was a wild card in many card games, and "word from the wise" was clearly a reference to the wisdom of David in the bible story. I opened the case, and pulled out the CD, it was a little sticky and smelt somewhat like pine nuts. On turning it over I saw that Gary had written the simple word 'enjoy'.
I felt a little let down. Surely Gary hadn't gone to all this trouble to tell me to enjoy his gift of the factory? The message certainly wasn't referring to the CD! It was too sticky to play. I decided it was time to go home, so I locked up and left. The whole affair had left me quite tired, even though I'd had a nap, I was further frustrated at having to stop for petrol. I really should be better organised.
The service station was quite empty at 1 am. The attendant was a pretty brunette who looked disengaged. She displayed studied indifference as I walked up to pay. Clearly I was intruding into her boredom (this was the reaction I normally received from women).
She drawled '$20 please'.
As she looked up to take the proffered note, she seemed to sniff the air, and quite suddenly her lacklustre air was replaced by colour. She just lit up, like those old movies which start in black and white and then turn to colour after the credits.
She sat up straight, tidied her clothing and pulled her shoulders back enough to display her perky mannequin sized breasts.
She looked hungrily at me as she parted and wet her lips. Her lack of interest melted. She boldly took me in, 5' 10" lean and muscular (for a nerd). Blondie/brown hair. Her eyes drank my body. She nodded slowly as her look flowed smoothly from head to toe and back again.
Ignoring my attempt at payment, she turned off the service station lights, flicked on the electronic locks and said, "Please, you look so strong, could you please help me move some boxes in the back?"
"Sure" I said, a little puzzled at this turn of events.
I followed her into the storeroom. I liked the way her arse swung, not exaggerated like a catwalk model, but just enough so that her uniform miniskirt clung slightly on each buttock showing a glimpse of high thigh.
As I followed her through the storeroom door, I though I was being attacked, maybe mugged, but this thought was soon dispelled by her urgent cries of "fuck me, please fuck me NOW!"
