As the door closed behind the rudest man Dr Walt Bannerman ever met, he reached for the phone. He’d memorized the number. He was good with numbers. Excellent. But he’d never had the recognition he deserved. Never been lucky. But with more money invested in his research, he had complete and entire confidence he would win prizes, and that the name of Bannerman would be one to reckon with. He’d shown such early promise and it would all be his again.
“He was here.”
It was all he needed to say.
That his visitor was an animal. Abrupt. Ignorant. That despite himself he had been frightened if only by the man’s size, by the lurking violence in the deep-set eyes.
But he played it beautifully.
The money would arrive via an international respected scientific grants trust. The first indication of glory yet to come. The Vice Chancellor would be astonished.
Bannerman put down his hands, and rubbed them together palm against palm, a blizzard of white swirling around him, the new skin rubbed raw and red as he opened them up like the book he’d wanted to keep–tiny pinpricks of blood rising everywhere. It was a shame the thug hadn’t handed over the notebook, but it might yet come his way, though it really didn’t seem to be anything he hadn’t seen already. Peggy. He’d always known she would flame out.
Yes, the glorious future that would be his, was surely worth a small betrayal and a little work on the side. Sacrifices were always necessary in the name of scientific progress, and frankly he never did like Peggy Boland.