Chapter 17

Bishop Dane Merrick had set our appointment for one o'clock, and I arrived at the Senesco Institute parking lot fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.Now before I left the cruiser, I made a quick glance in my compact mirror, just to make sure I didn't have part of my lunchtime barbecue "spork" sandwich wedged between my teeth or a dollop of sauce on my chin.When I checked out okay, I proceeded to get out and lock the car, and then stroll towards the building.As befitting a non-profit organization, the powers that be at the Senesco Institute hadn't designed their building with an artistic or ostentatious plan in mind.In fact the building looked quite utilitarian and functional in white slate with no visible windows.A metal sculpture of what appeared to be the world sat in the middle of a simple rock garden in front of the entrance.

This part of the county around Glendale had been nothing more than a burned-out hunk of land about ten years ago, thanks to the metro gang wars that had broken out and gripped Los Angeles in a state of civil disaster for almost two and a half years.The surrounding suburbs as well as parts of downtown LA had been decimated by fire, looting and general mayhem.At the time I had been a student in Simi Valley, a region thankfully untouched by the violence.

But once the newly-elected mayor of Los Angeles and his regime of reformers took over, the city began to resurrect itself, returning to its former glory as a movie mecca and tourist attraction.The gang members responsible for the riots, beatings and killings had since become wards of the state's penal system or had died in the ensuing backlash.Now the new breed of industrial and real estate developers vied to see who could build the most aesthetic, Nuevo-chic, and culturally-significant buildings and landscapes."Eco-People friendly" they called it.

The title of the institute had been etched in small letters above the double smoked-glass doors with chrome pillars doing sentry duty on each side.As soon as I walked into the lobby, a wonderful cool breeze greeted me.Of course, I had to pass through a screening tunnel before I went any further, but thankfully I came out the other end without setting off the alarms. Thinking that I wouldn't need backup for such a benign and non-threatening meeting, I had stashed my department-issue gun and holster in the glove compartment of the cruiser.That way I could also shed my jacket in this miserable heat and not freak out anyone with my very-visible weapon lodged in my shoulder holster.Now I could savor the cold air along my bare arms and enjoy the way it dried my sweaty back and front--both covered by my fuchsia tank of course.

Once I proceeded to the interior of the building I noticed the hallways came in sterile white with recessed lighting along the edges of the pristine tiled flooring.No artwork of any kind graced the walls, no picturesque prints or even portraits of the founding fathers or mothers here.Only the front lobby area to the right offered a bit of color, the reception desk of highly polished teak wood, the receptionist sitting behind it of the highly-polished blonde variety with artistically arranged assets.When she spied me walking her way, Ms. Gatekeeper gave me a subtle perusal with her cool-blue gaze and asked if she could help me.

"Mr. Bishop Dane Merrick, please," I said simply."We have an appointment."

"I'll call him to the front."As she consulted her cubic phone unit, the only item on her desk besides a small bouquet of white day lilies in a silver vase, I glanced at the back wall, also paneled in teak wood.A holograph scroll with the institute's name in gold cursive lettering hovered between the wall and the receptionist.Most companies offered a big marquee listing the names of the main players, the upper echelon of management, but not this organization apparently.In here, you either knew the big wigs or you didn't, and if you didn't you had to start at the bottom--the Average Joe or Jane off the street--and work your way up to the top brass; although I hoped to by-pass all those steps and go to the top of the class by the sheer weight of my authority to investigate the murder of one of the institute's own people.

Now as I waited for Mr. Merrick, I leaned against the desk and idly watched a few employees walk back and forth along the main hall.They all wore silver Xylon suits, straight-legged pants, fitted jackets with clergy collars, and nondescript crepe-soled shoes.I could barely distinguish the males from the females, most of the men had shaved heads while the women sported close-cropped hair styles or just bristles. Some of the employees also wore pastel-blue hoods, face masks and gloves like medical professionals ready for surgery.

I turned to the receptionist, also clad in silver, but her outfit looked much more appealing and comfortable, a dress with short sleeves and a dipped neckline.Her name tag over a rather voluptuous left breast proclaimed her to be Tiffin Hillary, an appropriate name I thought and one that went with those artificially-enhanced breasts."You don't perform surgery here, do you?I mean, several of the employees look like surgeons ready to operate."

Ms. Hillary smiled sweetly and produced a visitor's badge of plain white plastic with my name printed in deep blue."Oh, no.Those people are laboratory technicians.They must keep a sterile environment at all times.You'll see when Dane-Mr. Merrick takes you for a tour.Before you enter some of the areas, you must go through a sterilization compartment.Again, Mr. Merrick will explain."

With a shrug, I took the proffered pass, peeled the tape off the strip of sticky backing, and then stuck the thing over my small but very real right breast.