CHAPTER 234

Lewis Dodgson continued to stare at Peter Ludlow without a word. Not a single muscle in his face moved. He didn't blink. He didn't even appear to be breathing.

Peter shifted. He wasn't sure what kind of game was being played here, but he knew he was loosing.

Dodgson's composure didn't break. The sun caught the corner of the metal briefcase in his hand and glistened at Peter's eye. Peter glanced down at it with a squint. His gaze traveled up Dodgson's black suit back to his face. He noted the rigidity with which he stood. Not one wrinkle blemished his apparel. The suit itself seemed supported around Dodgson by its own stiff armature.

Peter realized he was cultivating beads of sweat all over himself. He had reached his breaking point. "What in God's name are we going to do now?" he shouted.

The sweat poured over Peter's face like a dam had broken. He swiped it away.

Dodgson didn't budge. He was like a statue.

Peter swallowed. He was soaked beneath his suit jacket, and he tugged at his clinging shirt through the coat. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and he adjusted them with a shoving index finger. "For God's sake, say something!"

Peter saw a sun glare flash at the corner of his left eye, and he felt the thin edge of Dodgson's metal briefcase strike his brow like a dull battle ax. Peter toppled on his back and clutched his skull as he rolled to one side. "You bloody bastard!" he croaked.

Before he could get another word out Dodgson snatched him by the back of his collar using just his left arm. In his right hand he maintained a cool casual grip on the briefcase.

"No!" Peter protested. His palms extended in a helpless flail.

Dodgson's lean physique was deceptive as he hoisted Peter to his feet with an unexpected strength. He practically carried Peter over to the limo with just one hand as Peter's fancy leather shoes kicked and scuffed and dug their heels. Dodgson's arm did not struggle or falter. Its grace could've been compared to someone carrying a glass of wine. Dodgson threw Peter across the broad hood of the car like he was tossing a frisbee, but the force with which Peter struck the shiny polished paint appeared disproportionately greater.

Peter's body now sustained a visible tremor, and he curled against the limo's quarter panel like a scared child.

Dodgson slammed the briefcase on the hood in front of Peter and popped the latches. Cracking it open a few inches he uttered his first words. "Look in the case."

Peter's shaking eyes went up to Dodgson and saw that he was not even watching him. His attention was elsewhere, his gaze wandering around the amphitheater.

Peter peeked in the case. There appeared to be a folder inside, but it was dark. He glanced at the driver who was still staring at him behind his dark aviators.

Dodgson, who yet had his attention elsewhere repeated, "look in the god damned case, Peter."

Peter reached towards the ajar opening with his right hand. He was still very much trembling. As soon as his fingers faded into the shadows of the briefcase Dodgson dropped an elbow on the lid, crushing his knuckles. Peter retracted his hand with a wail and fell to the ground clutching his fingers.

"Get up." Dodgson grabbed his lapels and threw him over the hood again. "Come on. Come on. Get up." He steadied Peter like a wobbling kick bag, though he slumped like a half deflated hot air ballon.

Dodgson pinned him with a fist and growled, "do you know what's in that case? A whole shit load of calm the hell down!" Dodgson let him go and sighed, "Jesus Christ, Peter."

A spatter of blood had come off Peter's brow and splashed across the windshield. There was a trickling sound followed by rubber squealing across glass as the driver turned on the windshield wipers to clean the blood away. Peter watched him through a mist of washer fluid. He was still staring with an indifference on his face.

Dodgson was grumbling. "Peter. Peter. Peter." He snatched him by the jacket and straightened him up.

Peter couldn't help but flinch.

Dodgson crudely slapped some dirt away from Peter's shoulders and evened out his suit with a few rough tugs. "Relax. I'm just trying to clear your head."

Peter remained quiet. He was still cradling his fingers with a tight squeeze. Dodgson was blurry. Peter realized that somewhere along the way he had lost his spectacles.

Dodgson plucked a black silk handkerchief from his pocket and snapped it open. Without really looking he tossed it over Peter's blood trickling brow. "Clean that shit up." Dodgson began back tracking his steps away from the limousine and talking at the same time. "You need to keep your head on straight, Peter, now more than ever. For Christ's sake, you're practically a murderer." Dodgson bent a knee and collected Peter's glasses from the ground with a delicate pinch of his thumb and index finger.

Dodgson was not one to miss a detail. He knew exactly when they had left his face and where they had landed. He held them up to the sunlight and peered through the lenses. They were dusty and the frame was bent. As he manipulated the twisted wire of Peter's spectacles and buffed the round glass lenses with spit moistened thumbs he continued to speak. "You've got blood on your hands, Peter. If you cant' keep a god damned poker face of pure perfection where do you think they'll start pointing fingers?" Dodgson paced back to Peter and loomed over him.

Peter swallowed. It took an immense amount of effort for him to conjure any words at all. "Dennis Nedry-"

"Dennis Nedry is nowhere to be found. I just hope that sloppy son of a bitch didn't double cross us and sell the embryos to another buyer. My guy says he never made the drop. It would seem he never made it off the island at all. But if he does turn up I'll cut his belly from end to end and stuff him with rock salt."

"What about Site-B?"

Dodgson slammed his palm on the hood of the limo so hard that when Peter flinched his knees buckled. "Peter. Peter. Peter! You're such a god damned-" Dodgson broke off. He was squeezing his fist in the air like he was trying to juice the answer out of it. "Coward! You're a god damned coward. I didn't spend the past few months playing yes man to that cake shoveling oaf so you could back out on everything we've done!"

Dodgson grabbed Peter by the shoulder and patted his coat until he found the flask. "Ah." He reached within Peter's jacket and retrieved it. With a little shake he realized its total lack of contents and laid a grim look upon Peter. "You have a problem." Dodgson chucked it down the dirt road where it landed with a clang.

He started to pace. "You came to me." His stiff pointer finger jabbed. "Out of a lack of faith in your dear uncle you wanted to cheat your way to the top. With a little bit of harmless corporate espionage and perhaps a merger or buyout or two you and I were going to be on top." In another moment Dodgson's demeanor shifted. He was more relaxed. "You're not seeing the potential here, Peter. Our situation is better than ever. INGEN is never going to recover from this. They'll be bankrupt in no time."

"What about my uncle?" Peter became a little more collected.

"What about him? He's so god damned devastated he doesn't have a clue. Go to you're uncle. Be with him in his time of need. Be the god damned hero. Tell him you'll manage everything while he takes some time to emotionally recover. Let a month go by, maybe two, then make some shit up."

"Like what?"

"Anything! For Christ's sake, Peter, use your imagination. Tell him a typhoon plowed the whole shit over. Just be convincing. That's your job, Peter. Don't disappoint me." Dodgson realized that he was still holding onto Peter's spectacles, and he shoved them back on his face. "And for God's sake don't contact me again. I'll get in touch with you. I mean it, Peter." Dodgson licked his thumbs and squeegeed his specs once more. "If my phone rings and you're on the other end you'll find yourself being fed into a wood chipper feet first." Dodgson smiled warmly, but it came off like some bizarre combination of Jack Nicholson as The Joker and The Grinch. "Hey, relax. It's all coming together." Dodgson slapped Peter on the cheek and his glasses slid down his nose. "You handle your shit, and I'll recover our lost assets."

"What does that mean?"

"Just focus on you, Peter. Keep your head on straight, and don't you dare call me." Dodgson walked to the back door of the limo from where he had emerged. His arm snapped the door open, and for a moment he paused as though he had something more to say. Then he simply ducked in.

Peter had shuffled behind him in his wake, and for a moment he had a glimpse of the limo's dark interior. There was another man sitting beyond Dodgson, and Peter had begun to make out the details of his figure as the car door slammed in his face. "Henry?"

The limousine peeled its tires on the dirt road as it circled Peter. As dust swirled around him and drifted off he saw that the metal case had slid from the hood and was resting half open upon a mess of fresh laid tread marks. Peter limped over to it and painfully reached down to retrieve the folder from within. As he pulled it into the sunlight he revealed a plain, unmarked, manilla file holder. Cracking it open there lay a single sheet of paper with three things typed in the center of it in bold capital lettering: CALM THE HELL DOWN. KEEP YOUR HEAD ON STRAIGHT. DON'T CONTACT ME.

Peter looked up from the folder and watched the limo exit the amphitheater over the crooked specs that rested upon the tip of his nose.