Chapter 11

Lewis wanted to give no warning to the guy who owned the Mustang that killed Toni Chapin, so he took a chance and hired a driver to take him to the guy’s home. His ringing of the doorbell and knocking on the door brought no response. Lewis noticed a three-car garage off to the side of the house. None of the doors had windows, but he saw a side door into the garage, and decided to take a peek through its windows to see if there was evidence that a 1997 Mustang was ever stored there, such as a damaged fender or headlight. It was a long shot, as was recognizing something if there was, but he was desperate.

As he made his way to the garage, halfway there he heard the crunch of stones on the driveway. Whoever it was was walking fast. A voice loudly asked,

“Hey pal, where you going?”

Lewis slowly turned around. He wanted to let whoever was behind him to get a good look at his face. When Willie Davids saw it, he had all he could do to not jump back in shock. He recovered quickly and demanded to know what the guy was doing on his property. In that instant of their eyes meeting, however, Lewis saw the look of recognition; he knew Davids saw his face before hitting him with the Mustang, then hitting and killing Toni, and badly hurting the little girl before driving off.

“Sorry, pal, I was told that you might own a 1997 Mustang, and nobody answered the door, so I wanted to take a look in your garage,” Lewis told him.

“So you decided to snoop around? You are trespassing. I want you off my property. Leave now before I call the police.”

“You’re right. I’ll leave. I mean no harm. I’ve been looking for a 97 for a long time, and when I heard you might have one, I had to find out. You know how it is when you see something you gotta have, right?”

“I don’t own a Mustang and I don’t want to see you on my property again.”

As Lewis headed for his car, he asked, “Mr. Davids, did you ever own a Mustang?”

Lewis was better at hiding his reactions, for Davids saw no sign that Lewis recognized him as the driver of the Mustang. But Davids didn’t want him hanging around asking more questions and maybe stumble on to something.

“Nope. Don’t come back,” he said. “Wait, how do you know my name?”

“It’s in the book. Thanks for being so helpful.”

Now what am I going to do? This is the guy I hit. His girlfriend is the one I killed. I can’t have him snooping around. Calm down. He knows nothing about my car.

“Look, I don’t like people snooping around my place. There’s no reason for me to be truthful or helpful to someone like that. Got it? Get lost.”

Lewis had read that someone was close to developing a tool that could read people’s thoughts. He set his mind on getting that tool and using it on Davids to get proof that caused the accident.

Confident that he would not be recognized being dressed in grungy clothes, old boots, a brown wig, special but nondescript glasses, and ear buds, Stone entered the mall. This public setting is where he selected to have his first test of the thought-reading software. In the side pocket of his pants was an object the size of a flip-top cellphone. Stone was not concerned that someone might intercept the wireless communication between the ear buds and the computer in his pocket. If someone did compromise it, all that would be heard would be the sounds of what seemed to be ordinary conversations.

Beginning the test, he sat on a bench outside one of the jewelry stores and stared briefly at the forehead of the middle-aged man he was about to sit next to. The special eyeglasses he wore had identified the man as the ‘subject’ for the benefit of the computer in his pants pocket. To an observer, Stone appeared to adjust the glasses, but by placing his hand on the frame near the left lens he hit the ‘start’ button on them instead. He hoped the computer would reach the goal of recognizing the man’s unspoken thoughts at a rate of 90%. Reaching the goal seemed like a dream when the project started.

The invention displayed the man’s thoughts:

I wonder if this guy smells as bad as she looks Wandering what he’s listening at Wow, girl there look good Wish I could smoke in this place What the hell this guy next to me doing? Looks like he’s sleeping; he don’t smell bad. There are no guards in the bank. Make that baby stop crying for chrissakes I hate it Why does my goddamn leg twitch like that? This guy next to me better say nothing about how bad I stink.. I’m getting hungry. What the hell he listening to? I need a smoke.

Stone had enough of this guy. Every thought of his was recorded and Stone was ecstatic with the results. He hit the 90% goal.

To clear the glasses and choose the next subject, he hit the same button on his glasses to turn them off.

Thankfully for Stone, the guy next to him got up and left. Stone’s next test was to try to capture someone’s thoughts while he and the subject were in motion. He noticed a young couple across the way coming out of the bank; he was incapable of capturing all the thoughts both of them had at the same time, so he chose the woman as the subject. He tapped his glasses as she glanced in his direction. Stone knew that he was going to hear not only what she thought and said out loud, but also what she thought and did not say. In addition, because she had to mentally process what she heard her boyfriend say, she had to convert the sounds he made into words, understand them, and respond to them. That is, she had to use a thought process in order to communicate with him. By doing so, Stone was going to hear his spoken thoughts as well. Stone stood up and followed them at a distance. The woman began.

One less thing to do. So what were you saying about the deejay your brother heard? He thought he was great?

Yeah, he thought he was one of the best he’s heard, the music selections were great, the segues were crisp and clever, you know, each song blended into the next even when he went from slow to fast and back and forth, and everyone enjoyed themselves. I think we should go with him.

Maybe we should find out where he is playing and find out for ourselves.

I suppose we can.

Do you have his number? I suppose? Doesn’t sound too thrilled. I want to hear him.

No, but I can get it.

Can you make the call?

Yeah, I guess I can.

Just like a man. I guess I can. For crying out loud, just get it done.

Okay, good, I’ll text it to you when I get it. Where do you want to get lunch?

Stone was pleased. Their back and forth made sense as he listened to it. He was going to be able to read thoughts of people in conversation. He knew that he was not going to be able to do that with thoughts regarding involuntary bodily functions such as respiration while asleep, and muscle contractions in the intestines and bladder. All he was concerned with was having the ability to translate into English what was being said during the firing of neurons in the human brain involving human thoughts and words.

Tapping his glasses again to end the session, Stone noticed a man wearing sunglasses across the way who appeared to have taken a picture of him. Before he could speculate on the importance of the picture being taken, he spied a woman window shopping, looking at a mannequin that was modeling an attractive powder blue dress. The way she stood presented Stone with a clear facial profile. In spite of her wearing a hat he had never seen on her before, it was the tiny bump on the bridge of her nose, her height and frame that convinced Stone that he was looking at Becky Murphy. He continued to walk. Five steps later, he tapped his glasses. He felt fortunate and happy to be able to read her thoughts without her knowledge. He had twice tested the old version of the system in the office; but this, catching her off guard with the new system, was a bonus. He could review the recording of her thoughts with the team tomorrow. This was going to be the clincher, the final proof of success; he could feel it.

Stone realized right away that she was talking to someone. Curious to see how well he could see her think in a crowd, he followed her.

Stone’s walk ended abruptly when the man who had taken his picture bumped into him, knocking him off balance.

“Sorry mister,” the guy said as he moved on quickly.

Deciding to continue to follow Murphy rather than go after him, Stone shrugged it off, visually following her into the store. Once he realized that she was no longer talking on the phone, he took the escalator to the second floor and wound his way through Bob Hull’s clothing store, exiting from the men’s department. In his car he carefully took off his special glasses and placed them in a specially designed case. Glancing in all directions and seeing nothing of concern, he removed his wig, put on sunglasses, and headed into work.