Old Poison Read Free Page A

last four years in the
service developing advanced robotics technology but had decided he
didn’t want this technology put to the uses the military had
planned for it. With my own brand of deception, I’d helped Sam
leave the service and take his robotics knowledge with him. But
that’s another story, one I don’t tell.
    Sam now lives quietly in San Pedro. He has
no wife, no children, few friends, and no hobbies other than his
computer and robotics skills, which he can never use openly. I’m
lucky to be his friend and recipient of his genius. However, it is
painful to watch such genius and decency wasted and see a dear man
grow old in boredom and disappointment.
    “I’m going out, Yeabot. You have the
security watch.”
    “Yes, Mother. Security on.”
    This old building I live in was once an
office building. When Bluff Beach slipped into decay a couple
decades ago, the office suites were haphazardly converted to
low-rent apartments. When crazy Merle goes home at five p.m., the
elevator is left on the first floor and there is no auto-call
button for the old relic, so tonight I walked down eight flights.
It’s a toss up as to which is worse, getting in the elevator with
Merle or walking the stairs.
    Despite its drawbacks, I am enjoying my
funky little place, and nowhere else in Los Angeles or Orange
County could I find a place so close to the water and so cheap.
With the town now redeveloping rapidly, it probably won’t stay
cheap for long.
    The six blocks between my apartment and the
grill used to be an area one did not venture into without an armed
guard. Now it is a lively, exuberant mix of shiny urban renewal
buildings and upscale supper clubs set among the pawn shops, used
bookstores, antique shops, tattoo parlors, and seamy bars. The
sidewalks are filled with yuppies in evening dress, city kids on
their way to the sixteen-screen theater, and panhandlers. As I
walked to the restaurant, Dixieland and progressive jazz emanated
from two of the clubs, while three street entertainers tried vainly
to compete.
    I sat at the bar, nursed a Grant’s scotch,
and waited for Sam to drive over from San Pedro. As soon as he
arrived and we were seated at our regular table, I began the tale
of my new client, our strange meetings, and the seriously protected
CD. Through cocktails and salads, Sam listened silently to my whole
story and then looked briefly at the CD.
    “Well, Diana, if Yeabot says he can’t break
this thing, I sure can’t do any better.”
    “Oh, no, I didn’t want you to try. I just
want you to help me figure out who the heck I’m dealing with here
and if I should be. At first I put Borson down as just a curiosity,
then as a nut, and then as a crusader with both money and a cause.
But this CD puts a new icon on his head. I mean, what writer would
go to this length to protect a sci fi manuscript? And, who the heck
could do this stuff?”
    Sam picked up the CD again and turned it
over in his hands as he considered his answer. I noticed how much
puffier and softer his hands looked, and noticed the liver spots
that had formed on his skin.. He had put on at least twenty pounds.
His once handsome face had become round and double chinned, and his
bright blue eyes looked tired and dull. I looked back down at my
salad plate, hating myself for noticing how much he had aged in the
last year. It somehow seemed disloyal.
    “Well, you see, just about any able
programmer could booby-trap the thing with a virus. To do it so
well that Yeabot couldn’t find his way around it, that took someone
special. Could be someone from the community, all right.”
    “You mean intelligence community? Maybe I
should decline the assignment.”
    “I don’t see why, unless researching this
Red 19 leads you to classified information.”
    “Yeah, but in his assignment letter Borson
said to check up on all the latest developments in experimental
fuels. What if this is some sort of industrial espionage?”
    Sam shrugged. “That’s