Incredible Hulk | For I Believe in Harbors at the End | Chapter Five: Part A
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Chapter Five
“The shadow of his death lay over their lives.”
Look Homeward, Angel
* * *
It was a month later when David called him at home. Jack had gotten back from a story in New York on the Reverend Michael William Peterson the Third, the televangelist who was in the middle of a sex and tax fraud scandal that had caught the nation's attention.
He'd poured himself a healthy drink, feeling the need to wipe out the memory of the sanctimonious prick's professions of guilt and repentance. Give him an honest sinner any day over a hypocrite like Peterson.
He answered the phone when it rang and almost dropped his drink when he heard David's voice.
“David? Are you all right? Jesus, I just about spilled my scotch on the floor.”
“I'm okay. I didn't mean to startle you. I, well, it's been a month and you haven't run the story on me. I just wanted to know why.”
“I told you I wasn't going to do that. Do you believe me now?” He sat down on the bed, kicked off his shoes.
“I, I... No. I can't let myself believe that you'll drop the story you've been after for so many years. It's better if I keep expecting it. To have hope and then lose it, it's worse than not having any hope.”
“David. You know, I've thought of you as John Doe for so long, I have to keep reminding myself that your name is David. Did they call you Davy when you were little, like they do your nephew?”
“Yes. My mother did. My father always called me David. Funny, hardly anybody ever calls me Dave. Guess I don't look like a Dave.”
“You're right. You don't seem like a Dave.”
“Laura called me Davy a lot. A few other people have, too, while I've been traveling. They called me Davy in the prison camp.”
“Do you remember that my real name is John?”
“Yes, we talked about it when we were freezing on the mountain. You told me your mother was the only one who called you that, though.”
“Just when she had something important to tell me. Or if I was in big trouble. You called me John one night, by the campfire.”
“Well, we were in big trouble and I wanted you to not give up,” David said, that wry note in his voice again.
“Thanks for that. And for everything you did. I would have died if it hadn't been for you.”
“You're welcome. Um, someday I'll pay you back for the money you put in my bag.”
“Forget it.”
David sighed. “Jack, what are you waiting for, with the story? It's driving me crazy. I look almost every day at the Register, to see if you named me as the Hulk.”
“Well, I'm sure Steinhauer - the owner of the Register -- appreciates the business, but I'm not going to break the story. I know you think I'm pretty disgraceful, working for a tabloid like I do, but I've got lines I won't cross. I'm going to keep your secret, Doctor Banner.”
“But why?”
“Maybe from guilt?” Jack swallowed a healthy slug of his drink.
“Jack.”
“Well, if I hadn't accused the Hulk of killing you and Elaina Marks, maybe you would have stayed at Culver, not taken off as a fugitive. You wouldn't have had to pretend to be dead. I still think that you need other people to help you, but I've done some checking around, and I don't like what I've caught a whiff of when it comes to finding mutants like the Hulk.”
“You have?”
“Yes. Now you said you know how scientists and the government think, and that they'd want to capture you and experiment on you, not try to cure you.”
“You're not the only one who's done some investigating about that,” David said.
“So, okay, I'm starting to think you're right, from what little I've been able to suss out. I'm on semi-good terms with one of the scientists from the Prometheus project and I've been talking to her. The government is definitely interested in studying mutants like the one they inadvertently captured near the meteor from space. They know that hunk of space junk affected you somehow.”
“That was horrible for me. To be caught half way between the transformation like that.”
“I wish I could have talked to you more. We might have learned a lot about how the Hulk thinks, because you were still able to use language.”
“I remember being confused and not being able to say what I wanted most of the time. Katie, she really helped me.”
“She told me when I tracked her down to talk to her, that you'd saved her life. She said she was glad she was there to keep you from turning yourself over to the Army.”
“I almost did. Because you asked me to do it. But then those men attacked me, shot me with darts--”
“I hope you know I didn't set you up. I was mad as hell that they did that. But, maybe, it was for the best, considering what I've learned since then about the search for mutants.”
“I'm glad you weren't trying to just trap me.”
“No, David. I've wanted to help you ever since I learned my John Doe turned into the Hulk.”
“You must have been so shocked.”
“It was amazing to watch. But listen to me, okay? I'm not going to go over your head about the story. I won't turn you in. Someday, I hope you decide you can trust me on this.”
“Jack, I just don't know what to think. But thank you, at least for this much of a reprieve. And you were good to me, at the cemetery and at the motel, and I, well, it was kind of you. If there's one thing I've learned to appreciate over the last six years, it's kindness.”
“David, do you know where I live?”
“Chicago. Why?”
“Always with the why's. I guess that's the scientist in you, right? Listen, I live in Wicker Park, third floor apartment on North Ashland. Write down my address and I'll also leave word at the office if ah, David... Butler? calls, to give him my home address. If you ever need a place to stay, you've got one with me. It's not a palace, in fact, it's pretty crappy. But you're welcome at anytime.”
“Jack, that's, well, thank you. Umm, I don't think I'm ready to stick my head in the lion's den just yet, though.”
“Just remember this is a standing offer.”
He gave David his address and directions to his neighborhood and then Jack changed the subject. He asked David if he could call him back and David agreed, gave Jack his phone number. They talked for another hour, about books, about growing up, and Jack told him how little Davy had chewed on Jack's finger.
David had laughed at that. It was good to hear him chuckle.
“Keep calling me, okay, David? You're a friend.”
“We're a strange pair, aren't we? I, maybe. Goodnight, Jack.” David ended the call, and Jack went to bed smiling that night.
* * *
David started calling him more often, at first once a month, then twice and finally, by the time summer was over, they usually talked twice a week. Jack would call him back so David wouldn't have to keep feeding money into the pay phones. David confessed, sounding rather shamefaced, that he'd once changed into the Hulk because he got so mad at the stupid payphone for not working correctly. Jack had laughed at him, and when David got indignant, he laughed even harder.
Jack snickered, and said,“You know, the Hulk could be the country's poster boy for busting up that pay phone. Everybody gets ticked off at them at some time. He could join the revolution against the tyranny of AT&T.”
“You're not funny, Jack. I could have hurt somebody, you know.”
“Lighten up, Doctor Banner. The image in my head of the Hulk ripping the phone apart is pretty damn funny. Just priceless, really.”
David had grumbled at him, but Jack coaxed him into a better mood by telling him stories about some of the National Register's less than stellar moments. He also told him about the time Patty and the rest of the crew had thought he was going to jump off the top of the building because she had told him he couldn't chase after the Hulk anymore. He made sure David knew there was no chance that he'd actually been thinking about throwing himself off the roof, remembering what the psychic girl had told him about David almost doing that exact same thing; he'd just gone up there for some privacy to go through his Hulk file, and also, to think about whether he should quit. But once Patty was willing to throw him a bone about getting to keep his Hulk story ongoing, he'd played it up.
“Jack, you're a conniver.”
“I am in a good cause.”
“So, I haven't changed into the Hulk for months now. Is that reward still listed for information leading to my capture?”
“Nope, I let Mark talk me out of doing any more Hulk stories and there's no more reward.”
“Thank you. Thank you, Jack.”
“You're welcome, Doctor Banner.”
They'd talked about a lot of things over the months and Jack learned that years ago David had remarried, but that his wife, Carolyn, had died shortly afterwards of a terminal illness. That had answered his curiosity about why David had called her name in his sleep when he'd had amnesia, lost with him on that mountain.
David admitted that it had been him in the slum apartment, not Mike Cassidy, and he apologized for slamming Jack into the wall. David hadn't really been angry, or he'd have turned into the Hulk, Jack reasoned. He'd been acting, trying to throw Jack off the scent.
Jack remembered David's shocked face when he'd opened the door and had seen Jack. He kicked himself for accepting the police detective's theory that the man he'd seen had been Mike Cassidy, career criminal, and not Doctor Banner, who had died years earlier in a lab fire. He knew now that he'd been fooling himself, one of the many clues that he should have put together years earlier that the Hulk was David Banner. He hadn't really wanted to know the truth; he hadn't wanted to accept his own guilt.
He told David about growing up in St. Louis, and fighting in Korea. David talked about being a medic in Vietnam after college, then going to med school and getting a Ph.D in biology. David told him about Cal, the sweet-natured biker he'd traveled with for a while. He'd been the second and last man he'd had sex with; like the sex he'd had with Jack, they'd just given each other hand jobs. Jack told him about dating Patty, his boss's daughter. That had lasted only a week before they got on each other's nerves for the last time and had decided to be friends instead. His last serious relationship with a girlfriend had been years ago. He told David he barely even noticed when they broke up, because he was so focused on finding the Hulk.
David didn't give him details, and Jack knew it was because he still hadn't earned all of David's trust, but David was working at a place where the research he was doing could cure him. He said it might take another year before the project was to the point that he could try to reverse the damage he'd done to himself.
The one thing that Jack didn't tell David about was his series of books that he'd based on the Hulk. At first, it hadn't occurred to him, and then he was afraid David would be mad about it and would cut off contact with him again. He told himself that he would tell him someday. When the time was right, he'd explain how he'd been driven to write his John Doe's story in fiction format.
* * *
“McGee.” Jack cradled the phone into his shoulder and highlighted a sentence in the data he was reading. He looked at the clock on the office wall; it was almost seven o'clock on a Friday night and he still had an hour or two to put in on this story tonight, if he wanted it to run for the next day's edition.
“Jack, still staying away from the cancer sticks these days?” He knew that voice with its perpetual smirk. Emerson Fletcher. He hadn't talked to him in years. He'd heard the gossip, though. Fletcher never had made that comeback he'd wanted. His wife had left him, and mostly these days it was rumored the guy lived inside a bottle of Jim Beam.
“Hello Fletcher. And yes, I'm still a non-smoker these days. You?”
“Smoke like a chimney. I never did try hypnosis, like you did.”
“It's not too late. I tried to quit a few times before hypnosis did the trick. I can give you the name of the woman who helped me. She's good; she and her husband own a bookstore in Old Town. Molly Morning Star, and just go with the hippie stuff, okay? She knows what she's doing.” Jack glanced again at the clock. He was on a deadline here, but Fletcher was another one in the David Banner protection club. He got some consideration because of that.
“I'm going to keep what comforts I have. I noticed you've dropped the Hulk story. Why?”
“The Hulk hasn't been seen for over a year. He's not exactly headline news these days.”
“Who are you kidding, Jack? Finding the Hulk was never about selling papers. You know what? I think you figured out who your John Doe really is, and you don't want to bring any grief down on him any more than I do.”
“Maybe. But I can't show you my cards and you can't show me yours, now can we? So, why did you call me, Fletcher?”
“I might show you my cards, Jack. Come over tonight and we'll talk about it.”
“Fletcher, I've got a deadline on a story. And really, what's the point? So you know who John is, and maybe I do, too. Let's just agree he's a swell guy and we're not going to give away his secret to John Q. Public, okay?”
“Just finish your story and come over tonight. If I decide you're on his side, then I've got something for you. I could destroy the tapes from the interview I did of him, sure. Maybe that's the safer thing to do, but someday, I still hope that John's story can be told safely. Those tapes, in his own words, his own... pain, they're important documentation.”
“And you want me to have them? Why?”
“Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, McGee. Just come. I live in Edison Park. 7239 West Greenleaf, near Brooks Park. I'll be up, come when you're done with the deadline. But come tonight.”
He hung up, leaving Jack feeling like he'd been played. But he'd always wanted to hear what David had said to Fletcher; he guessed he'd do what Fletcher wanted, and go see the man.
* * *
A car pulled away from the front of Fletcher's house as Jack climbed out of his vehicle. Jack watched it slow down to a crawl as he walked up to the front door, then it sped away.
Fletcher was a ruined mountain of a man. His muscles and skin seemed to just sag on his big frame, and when he ushered Jack into his modest house, the alcohol smell from the man's pores just about bowled Jack over. What was left of his hair was stringy and greasy, and his scalp looked red and irritated.
He wasn't drunk right now, though. The living room was heaped with pizza boxes, and Jack spied a few empty bottles of Jim Beam half rolled under chairs and sitting on end tables. Guess the rumor mill got Fletcher's preferred poison right.
“Like a drink, Jack? I know I'm going to have one.”
“No thanks. Fletcher, it's late. Why do you want me to have John's tapes? Why don't you keep them?”
“I have my reasons, and I'm not going to explain them to you. I'm going to sit here and judge if you're worthy to guard those tapes.”
“If I'm worthy or not, right.” Jack didn't know what he was doing here, really.
Fletcher said, “I blackmailed your John Doe into telling me his story.”
“I know. He told me.”
“At first it was like pulling teeth to get him to talk, but then the words started to pour from him. The poor bastard didn't have many opportunities to vent, to put his feelings into words and explain what had happened to him. He wouldn't have if he known I worked for the National Register.” He waved a hand at the furniture and collapsed heavily on the couch where a dirty glass and a half full bottle of Jim Beam perched on the wooden arms.
Jack moved a pile of clothes from a chair and sat down. “No, he wouldn't have. You told him that his story, with his identity protected, would be published in scientific journals where professionals might read it and have some insights into how to help him. “
“I did say that.”
“You lied through your teeth, but then you told him the truth. Honestly, he's been just as surprised that you didn't run with the story to the tabloids as he's been that I've kept a lid on what I know about him.”
Fletcher poured himself a stiff drink and knocked back half of it; he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “He tell you how he got into this mess?”
“Some of it. I had figured out he was a scientist, and that he'd done some kind of experiment on himself that had backfired. He hasn't told me the exact details. I don't think he will.”
“Why not?”
“You know, we talk to each other pretty often, but he's still guarded about a lot of things. He doesn't trust me one hundred percent, but he trusted me enough to let me help him one night, one very bad night. He knows if he needs help again, he can come to me.”
“I told him the same thing. He never contacted me, though. Interesting that he talks to you so much.” Fletcher polished off the rest of his drink and refilled the glass.
Jack looked at his watch, and said, “I think this is a waste of time, Fletcher. I don't know what you want to hear from me. I'm not going to risk telling you his name. Just in case you hadn't figured it out.”
“You're in love with him.” Fletcher dropped that little bomb and raised his glass in a parody of a toast to Jack.
“Still not going to tell you his name.” Fletcher could say what he wanted. Jack didn't care much anymore if people found out he swung both ways. Well, in theory he was attracted to both sexes. He wasn't in a relationship of any sort, and he took care of himself these days, usually after he'd talked with David.
“You're not denying that you're in love with a man?” Fletcher tried to smirk, but he couldn't pull it off.
“Fletcher, why do you care who I love or don't love? Are you thinking you can blackmail me?”
“Could I?”
“No. That only works if I care about who you tell. For the record, I don't. Once, maybe, yeah, I would have. I'm older now, and I don't give a damn.”
Jack wasn't bluffing; he really didn't give a damn anymore. Other men and women had been coming out of the closet the last few years and he'd admired them for their honesty. He didn't have any family who might be hurt if he let it be known he liked men as well as women. Mark wouldn't mind, and he was the only person at the Register who he considered a friend.
“I bet you fell for him during that time when John Doe lost his memories and you two were stranded on a mountain. Weren't there wolves and a forest fire? He told me about it.”
Jack narrowed his eyes at Fletcher. “He didn't tell you everything about it. He's a private person, he doesn't like being exposed. Hell, he hates it when he changes into the Hulk and comes back to himself with his clothes half gone. He didn't tell you about him and me, not the things that count.”
“No, and I didn't pry. But I've got a lot to sort out tonight, and this interview is done. If I give you the tapes what will you do with them? If he tells you to destroy them, will you do it?”
“I'd ask him if I could listen to them first, but if he said no, well, I owe him. I owe him his life. I'll respect his wishes.”
“I apologized once to him, but you can tell Doctor Banner for me again that I'm sorry for deceiving him. There's my cards, Jack. Let's see your hand.” Fletcher cocked his head at him and refilled his glass.
“My hand? Well, okay, how about this? It's my fault David Banner pretended to be dead and went on the run. I thought the Hulk was a killer, but he's not. I got it wrong, and a good man is paying the price.”
“So, it isn't just because you like him, or love him. You've got guilt driving you. That's good enough for me. I'm giving you the tapes. Sure you don't want that drink now, Jack?”
Jack shrugged. “Yeah, sure, why not. We can drink to Doctor David Banner, the unluckiest son-of-a-bitch who ever botched an experiment, and the best man I know.”
“I'll drink to that toast. It'll make a change from what I usually drink about. I'll get the tapes, glasses are in the kitchen.”
Fletcher heaved himself up from the couch and Jack went into the kitchen to see if he could find a clean glass.
* * *
When he finally got home, it was almost midnight. He took the tapes and relabeled them as interviews with astrologers. He put them in his file cabinet and took a shower, wanting to wash off the stink of Fletcher's house. Fletcher had actually been courteous enough to not smoke while Jack was there, but his house reeked of stale cigarettes and garbage. Jack had put an arm up to his nose when he'd gotten into his Comet GT, and choking, had driven home with the windows down.
The phone rang and he dashed out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel around himself. He smiled when he heard David's voice.
David said, “I didn't wake you up, did I? I called earlier, but you weren't home. Jack, I found something out today and you've got some 'splaining' to do.” There was an odd note to David's tone, but Jack ignored it. He wanted to tell him about the tapes.
“Sure, but first, do you remember Emerson Fletcher? Big guy, pretended to be me and stole my lead on the Hulk being in Atlanta and blackmailed you into giving him an interview?”
“Oh, yes. What about him?”
“He asked me to come over tonight and after some poking and prodding, he decided to give me the interview tapes. He's a wreck, David. Drinking like a fish, wife's out of the picture, no real job anymore. He sent his apology again, for tricking you.”
David made a sympathetic sound. “Ah, he lost his little girl to Cystic Fibrous. He wasn't doing that well when he cornered me, sounds like he never really recovered from her death. He talked about her. So sad, to lose your child.”
“Think you're right about him.”
“You know, I actually felt better after that interview, until I found out he was really working for the National Register. I'm grateful that he didn't write my story. What are you going to do with the tapes, Jack?”
“What do you think?”
David was making a face, he just knew it. “You want me to say that I know you won't listen to them without my say so, or write the story on those tapes. That I trust you with them because we're friends. Well, I do trust you about them. God knows why, since I read something else very interesting today.” There was that odd tone in his voice again, Jack noted.
“Did you? Do I have permission to listen to the tapes, and what do you want me to do with them? Burn them, hide them, what? Fletcher kept them because he thought that they were important documentation about your condition.”
“Fletcher thinks like a scientist. It's what made him such a good spokesperson for the scientific world. He was really adept at explaining complex concepts for a lay audience. It goes against his inclination and mine to destroy anything related to a scientific discovery. But I don't want them released now.”
“So can I listen to them? Do you want me to send them to you?”
“Yes, you can listen to them. Mmm, I don't think I can keep them safeguarded. You keep them and put them somewhere safe, Jack.”
“Okay. Hey, let me call you back. You're going to run out of change soon, and we don't want you to tear up anymore phone booths, do we? What's the number this time?”
“You bet you're going to call me back, Jack. We've got some new literature to discuss. It's in a genre I don't often read in, but I found these three books to be fascinating. I really liked the heroine, Elaina Banner and the man she's desperately in love with, David, who changes into a giant and smashes things up.”
Jack swallowed. David, easy-going David, had sounded peeved. “Oh. Well, you remember what we've talked about before, how a writer scavenges characters for their stories?” Jack said, nervously. He really, really should have told David about his books a long time ago.
“Jack.” David's voice had a tinge of a growl to it.
“Hey, now, David, just stay calm. Deep breaths, okay? What's that number?”
* * *
Almost a week from the night he and David had spent hours discussing why Jack had needed to write David's story disguised as science fiction, and as David had pointed out, Jack's story, too, there was a loud knock on his apartment door.
It was late. Jack certainly wasn't expecting any company. It wasn't like he'd been playing loud music or had the TV turned up too loud, so he didn't think it was an irritated neighbor.
He didn't expect it to be the police, either, but two of Chicago's finest were standing there, badges held out in their hands. They looked like detectives.
“Jack McGee?” The larger man, shoulders like a linebacker's, looked Jack up and down, taking in his untucked shirt and rumpled dockers. He'd been reading on his bed, and had kicked his shoes off.
Jack nodded. “How can I help you, ah, Detective?” He shoved his hands down deep into his pockets.
“Sir, you're going to need to come down with us to the 16th. We've got a few questions for you in regards to Emerson Fletcher's death.” The big guy looked around, taking in his room with the bed on one side, the small kitchen against a wall and his desk.
“I heard about that on Monday. My paper, the National Register, ran a story on his death. Sad. I knew the man, a little. I was at his house on Friday night, he asked me to come over. I heard his ex-wife found him on Saturday morning. What was it, a heart attack? He didn't look in good health at all when I saw him.”
“Get your shoes, Mr. McGee, but don't try anything funny, understand? You can clear up a few things for us when we get to the station,” said the red-haired detective in a slight Polish accent.
Jack did not have a good feeling about this at all. He shrugged and slipped his shoes on, grabbed his wallet. The detectives escorted him to a police car. He'd probably have to get a taxi back to his place or maybe he could talk the officers into dropping him back off, after he'd satisfied them that he had nothing to do with Fletcher's death.
* * *
Two more weeks until Jack's preliminary hearing. He'd spent four days in jail, before the arraignment and Mark bonding him out. He still couldn't believe how the cops had built a case against him.
He'd been told that he'd had the means, the motive, and the opportunity to murder Fletcher. He'd been encouraged to confess about his resentment and hatred of the man. They'd brought up how Fletcher had pretended to be Jack and had stolen a lead on a story.
He tried to set them straight. He didn't hate Fletcher, even when he'd been annoyed and angry at how he'd run off with Jack's Hulk file. He hadn't thought about him much for years, not until Fletcher had given him the tapes. The police wanted the tapes, but Jack had stashed them in a safe place. He wasn't going to turn them over, but he stipulated that he was in current possession of the tapes Fletcher and an informant had recorded for a story years ago.
The police knew he'd been in Fletcher's house that Friday evening. Fletcher's ex-wife had been in the car that had pulled away when Jack had showed up at Fletcher's house.
She'd recognized him; Fletcher had pointed him out a time or two to her, and Jack's damn picture was always printed with his column. His fingerprints had been found on a glass, from when he'd shared a drink with Fletcher. Jack didn't deny any of that. He'd explained that Fletcher had called him and asked him to come over and had passed along some tapes that related to a story they'd both worked on. The police seemed to think that was significant, that Jack now had custody of tapes that Fletcher's ex-wife had said he'd been very much against Jack ever getting his hands on.
Fletcher had changed his mind, Jack had told them. Fletcher had been drunk, but alive, when Jack had left the house a little after eleven o'clock. The deceased been seen at 12:30am, Saturday morning by an irate neighbor when Fletcher had thrown an empty Jim Beam bottle at the neighbor's barking dog and ordered the mutt to shut up.
Jack told them to get the phone records. They'd show that Fletcher had called him, and also that Jack had been home later Friday night, talking on the phone into the early morning hours of Saturday. Despite David's initial disbelief and sputtering over Jack's spinning parts of the Hulk saga into three novels, he'd come around to Jack's way of looking at the situation. It had only taken half the night for Jack to talk himself out of the doghouse with David.
The autopsy had a few surprises. Fletcher had died from an overdose of sleeping pills and alcohol and one other poison. He'd had curare in his body, and the police asked Jack about his dart gun. They'd interviewed a number of people who were willing to testify that Jack owned a dart gun and darts dipped in curare.
Jack didn't deny that either. The police got a warrant to search his apartment and confiscated the dart gun and darts for comparison. None of his recent darts were missing, but Jack remembered that he never had been able to find the dart he'd shot in John's apartment in Atlanta.
He guessed Fletcher had picked it up and had declined to give it back to Jack.
Fletcher had committed suicide, that was the conclusion Jack had arrived at. Fletcher's ex-wife admitted that she had come over to get Fletcher to sign divorce papers. He'd refused to do it. She'd left; Jack had shown up. When Jack went home Fletcher probably had swallowed the pills after drinking enough booze to give himself the courage and then stabbed himself with the dart so that he would be immobile and unable to change his mind and phone 911.
There was no suicide note. No clear fingerprints on the dart either. The cops, the District Attorney, they all liked Jack for Fletcher's murder. Since Jack wouldn't name who he'd been talking to on the phone, citing the Illinois Shield laws for journalists, the red-haired detective told him that anybody could have been in Jack's apartment making that phone call, setting up an alibi for Jack. Time of death had been set between 1:00am and 2:00am, based on rigor, temperature of the body, and lividity. Jack had talked to David from 12:10am until 2:37am, according to the phone records.
Jack's lawyer said it was fifty-fifty how it would go at the preliminary hearing. If the judge didn't think there was enough evidence to have a trial, the charges would be dismissed, although double jeopardy didn't apply. The police could bring charges in the future if they found more evidence.
There would be witnesses for the prosecution. All Jack had was basically the phone records. Without David to testify that he and Jack had been talking the entire time, it wasn't that good of a defense. He wasn't going to drag David into this mess, though. He'd hurt that man enough over the years; he wasn't going to be responsible for letting the world know that Doctor David Banner was still alive.
* * *
Jack hung up the phone, rolled off the bed, stood up and stretched. He'd had another long phone conversation with David about a lot of things, but they'd started off with the tapes.
David had been guarded on the first tape, but he'd thawed under Fletcher's gentle questions. David was not one to complain, and he downplayed a lot of what he'd endured. Still, the loneliness and sorrow, his desolation and fears, all of his emotions came through very clearly as he explained how he had come to experiment on himself with gamma radiation.
Jack knew what obsession felt like; he'd lived with it for six years. He recognized it in David's own words: that he'd failed his wife by not being strong enough to lift a car and save her from the explosion and fire from the car accident they'd had when a tire blew out.
He'd shut off all other lines of his considerable research into genetics and healing, focused on understanding why some people were able to do great feats of strength. He'd found the answer and let his obsession blur his judgment. Some people had the right genetic make-up that allowed gamma rays to increase their strength and endurance. David's own DNA, for example, had those genes. He'd had to stop on the tape until he'd regained his composure. He'd said that if only there'd been naturally occurring high gamma rays the day of his wife's death, he could have saved her.
In his doomed experiment, he'd calculated the gamma radiation to be comparable to what the sun could emit, but he didn't double-check the equipment and he didn't tell anyone what he planned to do. The gamma radiation machine he'd strapped himself into had not been calculated correctly, another scientist had re-calibrated it and knew it was off, but he'd left it for the next day to fix. David told Fletcher that it hadn't been his colleague's fault at all. He'd left a note about the machine's problem, but David hadn't seen it in time.
He'd told Fletcher what he remembered about turning into the Hulk for the first time, his vague memories of beginning to smash his own car, of the pain in his shoulder from being shot. He mentioned that he'd been shot and hurt a number of times, but if the metamorphosis took place, he healed at approximately six times the normal rate. He hoped that someday he would be able to research that aspect more thoroughly, after he found a cure.
He talked about Elaina helping him, the fire in the lab, her death. How Jack had misinterpreted what he'd seen, accusing the Hulk of being a killer. He sighed about how Jack kept chasing him, and the close calls he'd had with Jack almost finding him quite a few times. How he never knew what he'd done when he changed, but that he'd found ways to help control himself. He'd learned other ways to handle the anger he felt at times, to do meditation to calm himself and help him accept his life. He felt he'd made progress there, but controlling pain was a lot harder.
There had been several tapes, and Jack had listened to them four times. He'd asked David his own questions about what he'd heard; David told him his fear that if he couldn't cure himself that he would stay a rootless drifter. He'd put aside the scientist, the doctor, and having any sort of a real life. Friends, loved ones would become an impossible dream, and after a time, he was afraid he'd even forget how to dream.
“It could happen, Jack. Sometimes, hitchhiking, working in the fields, standing on street corners hoping to get picked for a day job, it feels like a doppelganger is trying to take my place. If everybody who looks at me sees me as trash, no good for anything, well, except for getting a blow job from me, it's as if I see me with their eyes. I feel like human garbage, then.”
Jack had felt his own anger rising then at the cretins who would look at David and see his poverty, think of him as just a no-account drifter and show contempt for him. “Let me tell you something. I've talked to a lot of people who've met you; you worked for them, you helped them, you said or did something to make their lives better. They didn't see garbage; they saw a decent man struggling with his own hard times. I know you're a good person, David. If you start to forget that you call me, and I'll remind you.”
He didn't tell David about being accused of murdering Fletcher. Luckily, since the Hulk stories had been dropped from the Register, David didn't read the rag much anymore. He hadn't seen the stories where he and Fletcher had been painted as being at each other's throats and all the speculation on how Jack had murdered him.
David had asked, “Jack, is everything okay with you? You sound, oh, I don't know, just not like yourself.”
Jack had brushed away his concern, but David had asked again If Jack was all right before they said goodbye. It had been tempting to tell him how Fletcher's death had landed Jack in trouble, but David needed to stay out of this. Jack didn't regret his lie of omission.
Jack had complained vigorously to Mark about the series of stories on the murder, with the finger being pointed at him, but to no avail. Steinhauer was throwing him to the wolves. Jack was so mad about it that he felt he could turn green.
If Jack hadn't been afraid it would look bad for him to be unemployed at the prelim, then he'd have already quit. He planned on handing in his resignation if the case was dropped. He had some pride, after all, and the books were selling well enough to tide him over for a while. Maybe he could freelance as well as write more books. Move out of Chicago, go live on a beach somewhere. Maybe in Costa Rica or Ecuador. Cost of living was cheap there. He could switch to drinking rum instead of bourbon and talk David into coming with him, if David had to leave this latest research center.
In three days he would have to appear at Cook County Criminal Court. He'd been there before, of course, while doing various stories, but it was the first time he'd be there as a defendant. He refused to think about what would happen if the preliminary hearing went badly and he actually went to trial, or God forbid, prison. It wasn't going to come to that.
* * *
“All rise. Criminal Court in the state of Illinois, Cook County, is now in session, the Honorable Judge Marvin J. Sadowski presiding.”
Everyone stood, and the bailiff ordered them to sit once the judge, bald as an egg and as tall as Fletcher had been, had arranged himself behind the bench.
Jack watched, numb, as the prosecution had the arresting officers explain the evidence that had resulted in a noose being put around Jack's neck. Then they'd called their witnesses. Although Jack had admitted to being in Fletcher's house, they let his wife, Susan Fletcher, testify that she saw Jack entering the house that evening. They weren't taking a chance on Jack denying what he'd told the police.
Jack felt like rolling his eyes when he saw the other witness, brought to Chicago all the way from Atlanta. Her flowery perfume was so strong he was practically choking on it as Stella Verdugo took the stand, dressed in frills and lace that was really a little much for a woman who was in her sixties .
She was sworn in, her voice dripping with self-importance and satisfaction. She smiled at the D.A., turned and batted her lashes at Judge Sadowski, and gave Jack a little fluttery wave of her fingers.
He shook his head and imitated her wave back at her. Stella Verdugo. She tried so hard to be a southern belle, but she had something a little coarse at her center, no matter how much she tried to imitate Scarlett O'Hara. She'd been another National Register loyal reader, judging by the stacks of old newspapers in her tiny apartment. She'd called the office to claim the Hulk reward, and Fletcher had taken the call, immediately running down to Atlanta. She'd pointed out the man who she'd seen change into the Hulk, and Fletcher had recognized him as Doctor David Banner.
When Jack had met with her, she'd graciously given him lemonade and had identified Fletcher as the reporter who had told her he was Jack McGee.
She'd seen Jack break down the door to John's apartment and had watched Fletcher grapple with him to keep him from shooting John with the sedative dart. The fight had been pretty one-sided, since Fletcher had so many pounds and inches on him. Really, all he'd done was wrap his huge body around Jack and lift him off his feet, kept him from getting into the bathroom where John Doe was frantically trying to climb out a window.
She'd heard Jack demanding that Fletcher tell him what his John Doe had said on the interview tapes. He and Stella had shared a moment of appreciation for the wonder that was the Hulk, beautiful in his strength and sheer primalness.
He kind of liked Stella, actually. She was a survivor and she must have been a real handful as a young woman. He'd bet his final paycheck from the Register that she still had a couple of old codgers vying for her favors. She didn't get the reward since they hadn't captured the Hulk, and she'd been as persistent about bargaining for a share in it as Jack was about following the Hulk. He didn't know how she'd gotten involved in his current trouble.
It turned out, it was because she was such a fan of the National Register. Once she read the story about Fletcher's death, she'd called the police in Chicago to see if there was a reward for information if his death was ruled a murder.
She'd happily thrown Jack into the pit of suspicion. She'd told them all about their adventure in Atlanta and her testimony established bad blood between Fletcher and him. When the lab results showed curare in Fletcher's blood, it had been Stella's statements that had cinched it for the cops. After all, Jack had been with the man just hours before his time of death. Nobody had seen what time he'd gotten into his car and driven away.
Her testimony completed, Stella was escorted to a room to wait in case Jack's lawyer wanted to question her. The judge called for a twenty minute recess before it was the defense's turn, and retired to his chambers.
“Actually, this is Judge Sadowski's bathroom break time. Just be glad that he's called for a recess now, he'll be in a better frame of mind when he comes back and hears the defense,” his lawyer told him, in a low voice.
“Mick, Fletcher and I left Atlanta, well not friends, by any means, but we weren't at each others' throats. See if Stella will admit that Fletcher gave me a cigarette and I took it, after the Hulk had run off. That should show we weren't holding the scuffling against each other.”
“I will. If you can think of anything else that she saw that showed you weren't after the guy's head, well, speak up. I'll certainly bring up the time difference between the fight and now. It was years ago, after all.” Mick Gonzales ran a hand through his dark, thick hair and got up and stretched. “I'm going to follow the judge's example. Too much of mama's chile verde last night. Be back in a few minutes.”
Mick went out a side door for officers of the court. Jack stood up as well, deciding that hitting the bathroom wasn't a bad idea before his fate was decided.
He walked through the gallery to the back of the courtroom, not really paying attention to the throngs of people waiting for their own cases to be heard or whiling away the time listening to tales of other people's misery.
There was a hand on his arm, and a voice behind him saying, “Jack.”
Jack closed his eyes for a long moment. He knew that voice. Damn it.
He turned around and grabbed David Banner by his biceps. “What the hell are you doing here?”
David's eyes grew larger, and his expression changed. “What am I doing here? Jack, you're in trouble. I read about the charges in your paper. Why didn't you tell me?”
“For a damn good reason. David, you--”
“I'm your alibi. We were talking on the phone, according to the time of death that the paper had listed, unless the Register was making it up.”
Jack tightened his hands and just barely kept himself from shaking David. He hissed, trying to keep his voice down, “I don't want you involved in this! You can't testify, you know that! Here, I'll give you the key to my place, just go there and wait for me. David, what were you thinking?”
David shook off Jack's hands. He'd dressed neatly; a button down dark blue shirt was tucked into his belted khakis, and his cheap imitation leather traveling bag was slung over one shoulder. He scowled at Jack, and that wasn't an expression he'd ever seen on David's face before. He nodded towards the courtroom doors and marched past Jack, walking rapidly to the doors and stepping out into the lobby, Jack right behind him.
They found a relatively private area against a wall and David dropped his bag and crossed his arms, the scowl still on his face.
David said, “I'm thinking that I need to testify that you were on the phone with me that night, or you're looking at a trial and maybe the death penalty. How does the state of Illinois do it, Jack? It's lethal injection, right? That means you'll be restrained and you'll have sodium pentothal, pancuronium bromide and potassium chloride injected into your body by IVs. Is that what you want, Jack?”
Jack stared at him, “No. Of course not. But David, for you to testify, you'll have to prove who you are. The prosecutor could say you were just somebody I paid to say that we talked together that night. You have to be a creditable witness.”
“I know that.”
“You can't tell me your ID is going to hold up if the cops look into it, and they will. I'll just be brought back on charges again and you'll have committed perjury. It won't work.”
David put one hand on a hip. “It will work. I'm not going to lie, and I already thought about the identification problem. I don't have any ID in my name, of course. My file could be sent for from California, and I think there's some people at the IIT Research Center here in Chicago that could identify me. But then I'd have to admit to letting people think I'm dead. Or, Jack, surely you've got pictures of me in your research files. Somebody from your office could send it over, or, do they have one of those new fax machines here?”
Jack shoved his hands into his pockets. “It's irrelevant. I'm not letting you testify, David.”
“Jack, either we do this my way, quietly, and maybe my name won't trigger the cops into looking into me, or I stand up in court and announce that I'm a witness. That will draw a lot of attention and make me much more noticeable. I'm doing this, Jack.” He pushed a hand roughly through his hair and glared defiantly.
Jack grabbed him and pushed him into the wall, putting David on his tiptoes, facing him. “Listen, you, you, self-sacrificing bastard! I've done enough damage to you, I'm not going to be responsible for putting you in jail or in a government research center!”
David licked his lips and Jack realized that his knee had gotten between David's legs, and David's pupils were dilating. He'd grabbed for Jack's shoulders when Jack had unbalanced him and now his left hand snaked under Jack's suit coat, tightening on the strong muscle between his shoulder and neck.
He was close enough to David to kiss him. David must have read that thought on his face, because David moved his other hand to the back of Jack's head and kissed him.
David's lips on his started out tentative, but Jack took possession and put all of the years of hungering for just this into kissing the fire out of this beautiful, infuriating man.
When he finally gentled the kiss, David was breathing hard, and he was, too. He was acutely aware that he and David were in a public place, and he doubted that David had ever kissed a man where other people might watch. And this didn't change anything.
“Look, Banner, I could kiss you all day long, but it doesn't change anything. You can't sacrifice yourself for me.”
He loosened his hold and David slid down a little till his feet were flat on the ground again, but David didn't let him go. “You're a liar, Jack McGee. I should have stopped paying attention a long time ago to what you say and instead look at what you do.”
Jack just gaped at him.
David's fingers on Jack's neck felt so warm. David said, “You've always told me that you'd chose yourself over the other guy, but you know what? When we were on that mountain, you kept telling me to leave you and save myself. You would have died there, Jack, in the fire or the wolves would have got you. You put yourself at risk for your friends in Las Vegas, to help them with their story on the mob. You almost died because of that. You've kept my secret when you told me you'd let me be exploited by your paper. You put yourself into a sociopath's cross hairs in order to find and warn me that he was going to kill me.”
He kissed Jack again, and then once more. “Liar,” he whispered.
“David...”
He smiled at Jack, warm and knowing. “You're your father's son after all, Jack.”
“Jack, what the hell are you doing? They're going to call court back into session any minute!” His lawyer was looking at him like he was a juvenile delinquent who just got caught shoplifting or vandalizing a school.
Mick gave him a little shove. “Who's this?”
Jack let his forehead fall against David's. “This is David Banner. He's the man I was on the phone with the night Fletcher died. I can't seem to talk him out of testifying, but we've got a little problem. Can you ask for ten more minutes of recess? I'll tell you what you need to know.”
* * *
Continued in Chapter Five, Part B