one of the family of genes controlling aminocarboxymuconate paraldehyde decarboxylase. Within BioGen they called it the maturity gene. When activated, ACMPD3N7 seemed to modify responses of the amygdala and cingulate gyrus in the brain. The result was an acceleration of maturational behavior—at least in rats. Infant female rats, for example, would show precursors of maternal behavior, such as rolling feces in their cages, far earlier than usual. And BioGen had preliminary evidence for the maturational gene action in rhesus monkeys, as well.
Interest in the gene centered on a potential link to neurodegenerative disease. One school of thought argued that neurodegenerative illnesses were a result of disruptions of maturational pathways in the brain.
If that were true—if ACMPD3N7 were involved in, say, Alzheimer’s disease, or another form of senility—then the commercial value of the gene would be enormous.
Josh had moved on to the next cage and was holding the mask over the second rat when his cell phone went off. He gestured for Tom to pull it from his shirt pocket.
Weller looked at the screen. “It’s your mother,” he said.
“Ah hell,” Josh said. “Take over for a minute, would you?”
“Joshua, what are you doing?”
“I’m working, Mom.”
“Well, can you stop?”
“Not really—”
“Because we have an emergency.”
Josh sighed. “What did he do this time, Mom?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “but he’s in jail, downtown.”
“Well, let Charles get him out.” Charles Silverberg was the family lawyer.
“Charles is getting him out right now,” his mother said. “But Adam has to appear in court. Somebody has to drive him home after the hearing.”
“I can’t. I’m at work.”
“He’s your brother, Josh.”
“He’s also thirty years old,” Josh said. This had been going on for years. His brother Adam was an investment banker who had been in and out of rehab a dozen times. “Can’t he take a taxi?”
“I don’t think that’s wise, under the circumstances.”
Josh sighed. “What’d he do, Mom?”
“Apparently he bought cocaine from a woman who worked for the DEA.”
“Again?”
“Joshua. Are you going to go downtown and pick him up or not?”
Long sigh. “Yes, Mom. I’ll go.”
“Now? Will you go now?”
“Yes, Mom. I’ll go now.”
He flipped the phone shut and turned to Weller. “What do you say we finish this in a couple of hours?”
“No problem,” Tom said. “I have some notes to write up back in the office, anyway.”
Joshua turned, stripping off his gloves as he left the room. He stuck his cylinder, goggles, and paper mask into the pocket of his lab coat, unclipped his radiation tag, and hurried to his car.
Driving downtown, he glanced at the cylinder protruding from the lab coat, which he had tossed onto the passenger seat. To stay within the protocol, Josh had to return to the lab and expose the remaining rats before five p.m. That kind of schedule and the need to keep to it seemed to represent everything that separated Josh from his older brother.
Once, Adam had had everything—looks, popularity, athletic prowess. His high school days at the elite Westfield School had consisted of one triumph after another—editor of the newspaper, soccer team captain, president of the debating team, National Merit Scholar. Josh, in contrast, had been a nerd. He was chubby, short, ungainly. He walked with a kind of waddle; he couldn’t help it. The orthopedic shoes his mother insisted he wear did not help. Girls disdained him. He heard them giggle as he passed them in the hallways. High school was torture for Josh. He did not do well. Adam went to Yale. Josh barely got into Emerson State.
How times had changed.
A year ago, Adam had been fired from his job at Deutsche Bank. His drug troubles were endless. Meanwhile, Josh had started at BioGen as a lowly assistant, but had quickly moved up as the company began to recognize his hard work and his inventive approach. Josh had stock in the company, and if any of the current projects, including the maturity gene, proved out commercially, then he would be rich.
And Adam…
Josh pulled up in front of the courthouse. Adam was sitting on the steps, staring fixedly at the ground. His ratty suit was streaked with grime and he had a day’s growth of beard. Charles Silverberg was standing over him, talking on his cell phone.
Josh honked the horn. Charles waved, and headed off. Adam trudged over and got in the car.
“Thanks, bro.” He slammed the door shut. “Appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
Josh pulled into traffic, glancing at his watch. He had enough time to take Adam back to their mother’s house and get back to the lab by five.
“Did I interrupt something?” Adam asked.
That was the annoying thing about his brother. He liked to mess up everyone else’s life, too. He seemed to take pleasure in it.
“Yes, actually. You did.”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry? If you were sorry, you’d stop doing this shit.”
“Hey, man,” Adam said. “How the fuck was I supposed to know? It was entrapment, man. Even Charles said so. The bitch entrapped me. Charles said he would get me off easy.”
“There wouldn’t be any entrapment,” Josh said, “if you weren’t using.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself! Don’t lecture me.”
Josh said nothing. Why did he even bring it up? After all these years, he knew nothing he said mattered. Nothing made a difference. There was a long silence as he drove.
“I’m sorry,” Adam said.
“You’re not sorry.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Adam said. “You’re right.” He hung his head. He sighed theatrically. “I fucked up again.”
The repentant Adam.
Josh had seen it dozens of times before. The belligerent Adam, the repentant Adam, the logical Adam, the denying Adam. Meanwhile his brother always tested positive. Every time.
An orange light came on on the dashboard. Gas was low. He saw a station up ahead. “I need gas.”
“Good. I got to take a leak.”
“You stay in the car.”
“I got to take a leak, man.”
“Stay in the fucking car.” Josh pulled up alongside the pump and got out. “Stay where I can fucking see you.”
“I don’t want to pee in your car, man…”
“You better not.”
“But—”
“Just hold it, Adam!”
Josh put a credit card in the slot and started pumping gas. He glanced at his brother through the rear windshield, then looked back at the spinning numbers. Gas was so damn expensive now. He probably should buy a car that was cheaper to run.
He finished and got back in the car. He glanced at Adam. His brother had a funny look on his face. There was a faint odor in the car.
“Adam?”