In the wee hours of the next morning, after a long and interesting night, Dr. Woody and the hippie girl from the bookstore had passed out in bed in his apartment, clothes strewn on floor, the sheet barely covering her naked body. While they slept, the apartment door opened and a large, hulking figure slipped in. They were not awakened by the intruder, nor did they sense his presence as he hovered above the bed. A large muscular arm reached slowly towards the sleeping scientist. Like a cobra seeking out a place to strike, the hand found its preferred target, snapping forward and grabbing a handful of Dr. Woody’s crotch through the sheets.
Woodrow shrieked in surprise, the girl ran from the room naked but for a sheet, and Daniel Sullivan laughed heartily.
“You giving the old cannon a work out there, professor?” Dan chided as Woodrow jumped up in shock, anger, and pain.
Dan Sullivan guffawed loudly when the girl ran back into the room to retrieve her clothes, cursing them both, and stormed out of the apartment.
“Hey, honey, where you going?” Dan shouted after her. “It’s time for a real man to step in!”
Woodrow jumped up and pulled on his pants.
“I see you are still working on growing meat, or should I say, tube steak!” Dan brayed.
“How the hell did you get here?” Woodrow snapped at his unwelcome guest.
“What, this dump?” Dan scoffed. “If a North Korean prison couldn’t keep me in, you think your bullshit Home Depot door lock is gonna keep me out?”
Woodrow rolled his eyes. “I mean how did you get back into the country? I thought they had you on some sort of watch list.”
“Nah, all’s forgiven between me and Uncle Sam. The military needs people with my skill set and I need their money. It’s a beautiful sympathetic relationship.”
“You mean symbiotic relationship. Sympathetic is the reason I tolerate your childish behavior.”
Dan picked up the hippie girl’s balled-up panties which had been left behind in her mad dash to the exit, stretched them out by the waistband for a second and then tossed them at Woodrow. “I believe these are yours,” he cracked. “Now get dressed, I’ll buy you breakfast, then I have some people that want to talk with you.”
* * *
Dan Sullivan and his brother Jerry had escaped what would have most certainly been a life consisting of serving one jail sentence after another by joining the Army right out of high school. It was during their time in the service that their true talents emerged, and soon they became legends, both within the ranks of the US Army as well as within the terrorist cells and groups of enemy combatants they were so effective at eliminating. With tours in Iraq, Afghanistan, Africa, and other less glamorous regions, their vicious and brutal tactics while engaging the enemy had earned them the nickname “The Mutants”.
Even Taliban and Al Qaida cells had heard tales of The Mutants; two pale skinned brothers of inhuman size and cruelty that left a wide swath of destruction in their wake. They obviously had connections on high, as their exploits were overlooked, hushed up, and ignored by military leadership for years.
Finally, dishonorable discharge proceedings could no longer be avoided, however, a court martial with hearings and testimony that could leak to the public was in no one’s best interest. The brothers were unceremoniously released from service where they immediately went to work for their older brother James Sullivan.
James Sullivan had worked for PCRC even during high school, sweeping floors, getting coffee, until he graduated and was encouraged by his employer to join the military where he was selected for -a career in Special Operations. He had long ago hung up his military uniform and accepted a position with New Jersey based defense contractor Post Conflict Restoration Corporation (PCRC), where he had risen through the ranks to become the right hand man of the rarely seen owner and CEO of PCRC, Mr. Maxwell Gold, or as he was referred to by many of those in his employ, The Old Man. Dan and Jerry now served under their older brother in the VIP Protection Division of PCRC.
After a quick breakfast at the Red Tree Greek diner, Dan and Woodrow were back in the car driving to PCRC headquarters. While Dan drove, Doctor Woody looked out the passenger side window at the strip malls, auto body shops, nudie bars, and chain restaurants that made up Central New Jersey’s Route 35.
Woodrow had given up trying to remember the name of the girl from last night and turned on the car radio to 1010 WINS. The deep voiced news reader with a slight robotic monotone to his voice was detailing the local headlines of the morning:
“…49 year old Hazlet, NJ policeman is dead, five others are ill and doctors are still puzzled by this mysterious illness that has affected them. All are suffering from flu-like symptoms, but the doctors do not know what exactly the cause could be. It could be a ‘degenerated virus, perhaps mutated’ a local health official is quoted as saying. All patients presented with the same clinical picture but there are no known connections between the afflicted. So far, nobody knows what we are dealing with.”
Dan reached over to turn off the radio and got down to business. It was time to explain to his passenger what this wakeup call was all about.
“One of our clients has a lot of interest in what you’re doing, Woody. He has asked us to make an introduction.”
“That’s Doctor Woody, and I’m not interested in making new friends right now.” Woodrow sniffed, not even glancing in Dan’s direction.
“Just listen to what they have to say,” Dan pressed.
Woodrow was quick to shut the discussion down. “I’ll pass.”
Dan slammed on the car brakes, stopping the car right in the middle of the highway. Other motorists screeched on their own brakes, skidding and swerving to miss the sudden obstacle. Many of them blasted their horns and flipped Dan the bird as they passed.
Dan stared intensely at Woodrow, not even acknowledging the dozen near miss wrecks as cars flew by.
Woodrow, on the other hand, was gripping the dashboard in fear that the car would soon be smashed off the road. He couldn’t decide if he should stay inside and bear the brunt of the collision, or open his door and attempt a Frogger-like move across the busy highway.
“Listen, this is serious,” Dan snapped loudly, pointing his finger at Woodrow. “This is coming direct from the old man. He told me to get you there right now! Don’t forget, PCRC paid the bills for your research and owns the patents. The old man pulls the plug, you’ll be hawking diet plans on infomercials again! All I am saying is, come and talk to this guy.”
Dr. Woody reluctantly agreed. Truthfully, he had no other choice and wanted to be out of the car before he puked up his egg white omelet.