Meanie Mouse Versus the Orlando Operators: The Adventure Begins

By Frederick Malphurs

An in-vitro fertilization accident results in the birth of a very special, unique person, our heroine, Melanie Moody. She transforms herself into a beautiful, brilliant, hard working and slightly demented justice-for-all superhero. As she strives to create a better world, she helps those she finds in need and vows to protect the underdog.

The setting for this story is Orlando in Central Florida. The world capital of family entertainment, fun, magic, imagination and thrills, Orlando is enjoyed by millions of people who visit every year. But, just out of their sight, hidden behind the subtropical beauty lies another playground where real people work, live, and die.

When the cold, dead body of a beautiful Russian migr is found naked in Orlando's finest hospital, the pressures of that alternate reality begin to burst into the carefully fabricated fantasy world that the powers that be and the tourists love. Pro football attracts the attention of our heroine. From the naked dead woman to the professional football field, Melanie leaves no stone unturned as she begins to unravel the clues that point her to the killer. She emerges from the shadows to become Orlando's heroine, Meanie Mouse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 7, 2009
• ISBN: 9780595630660

Frederick Malphurs

Frederick Malphurs retired from the Veterans Healthcare Administration after thirty-seven years, with over twenty years as a senior executive. He is a graduate of the University of Florida and lives in Gainesville, Florida with his wife Robin, two cats and a Chihuahua. He and his wife have six adult children. Fred's extensive work background includes eight years in Washington, several years in Miami and Gainesville, Florida. As a chilid growing up in Miami, his 'cracker' ancestry was often spoken of. Hearing numerous different versions of how the word came to be, Fred vowed to research the origin on the term as soon as he had time. He has combined this with his extensive knowledge of heatlh care and created a new kind of super hero to protect the abused and downtrodden in her own unique way. Fred is a proud fan of the sports teams of the University of Florida. His turn to writing has allowed him to express his knowledge and insights gained in the health care industry. The stories of individuals, both professional and patients, have given him an extensive volume of stories to write about.

Book preview

Chapter 1.1

The Mouse Is Missing

BB-254 was gone and simply had to be found. The discovery of her empty cage had caused an immediate tumult among the entire research staff. This news created a furor in the research labs that slowly tapered down as the hours passed. The yelling, name-calling, and blaming diminished ever so slightly in the first hours of her absence. BB-254 was a mouse from a long-running intelligence study funded by the National Institute of Mental Health. Research regulations required complete accounting for every animal in every study. After the first minutes of active panic from the research administration, it began to fade, and the panic was replaced by an aggressive, intrusive search for that mouse.

The missing mouse was the result of generations of mice bred for their intelligence. The tests were various, and many had been added to the original ten that were originally applied more than fifteen years before. There were tests on counting to ten and responding to stimuli: colors, shapes, noises, smells, and textures. Testing with mazes and remembering the meanings of different sounds had shown that from one mouse generation to the next, the little animals were getting smarter. The meticulous records were maintained with a severe scrupulousness, as demanded by the clinical investigator. The animal caretakers were trained diligently on the care and feeding of the little animals. During the daylight hours, beginning at 5:00 AM and on the hour, the mice were taken from their cages, kissed on the forehead, and cuddled.

The mice in the study were all white with pink noses and pink flesh around the claws. The missing mouse was considered to be a very smart mouse, identified early by the clinical investigator to be the ultimate brainy mouse. This missing one, BB-254, was the one that the clinical investigator identified as elite; by all measures of mouse intelligence, it was the one furthest from the very first mouse study group, many mouse generations before. The test that had earned BB-254 this accolade was one in which fear and famine were combined. An owl replica was perched in the corner of the test cage, near but not overly close to the food dispenser. Owl sounds were played once each mouse was introduced into the test arena. The test required the individual mouse to crawl directly across the supposed sightline of the owl to get to the food. BB-254 crawled straight toward the food, watching the owl continuously. At the last moment, when the precise correlation between danger and food forced a decision, when the danger from the owl matched the last chance to escape, BB-254 continued on to the food, never taking her eyes off the owl.

The matter of losing a mouse was so serious that the director of research, Dr. Mahmood Wooten, had ordered his secretary to take down his words for a memo to all research employees. I realize that to most people, a mouse is just a pest, a rodent, a predictor of the lack of cleanliness. But to me, one lost mouse is a seminal event. It’s the first of my career. He paused, and during this long period of silence, his eyes searched the ceiling, as if he were praying for BB-254 to fall into his hands.

His secretary was a large woman of early middle age and comfortable soft contours. Her hair frizzed in various directions outward from her intelligent face. Her stoic personality never allowed emotion to show on her plain face. Her glasses, with their bright pink frames, hung from a faux pearl chain that hung loosely on her neck. Do you want me to repeat that back to you?

No, I haven’t begun the memo yet.

Let me know. She leaned back her head in front of her computer screen.

Wooten continued his rant. I’ll brief Tinsley. Get me on his calendar. Don’t tell his secretary that it’s an emergency. We have two days to do the notification. Tinsley will have to sign all letters of notification to the various federal authorities with jurisdiction over research animals, research facilities, and research in general. Wooten paused again, as if searching for the perfect word. One hand went to his forehead; the other clenched some paperwork while one foot tapped impatiently on the floor. You know how I dread having to meet with the CEO. Oh, Tinsley is okay, but it is such a waste of his time and my own. He has to dream up questions, and I have to give him the right answers—just enough science and regulation so that he might be able to understand it. I just hope it can be a one-on-one. Right, that’s good—insist that no one else needs to be there, Sheila. Oh, God, how I hate to deliver bad news.

Sheila wrote on a pad with her left hand in stenographic code while speaking. Oh, Dr. Wooten, it simply won’t be that bad. Tinsley seems like a decent sort of person.

I’m sure he is, but I don’t want to deliver bad news. I shouldn’t have to deliver bad news. I have my reputation to protect and that of the department. I only want to deliver good news. Telling him this bad news is just bad luck. It’s a freak accident, for God’s sake, but unavoidable. If only we could find that damn mouse alive! My wife tells me that I worry too much—rolled around so much in bed the last two nights that she can’t sleep and she’s losing focus on the book she’s writing. I need those damn letters, Sheila! Wooten’s voice cracked, and he almost began to cry. My wife is worried about her book, and I can’t even focus on my own research. He bowed his head, and his left hand again went to touch his forehead.

Sheila smiled sympathetically and made soft cooing noises while she clucked It’ll be okay at him. She handed him the already completed three letters advising the national research accreditation agencies variously charged with the protection of research lab animals that the mouse was missing. Wooten looked at her without comprehending. Don’t lose those letters, Dr. Wooten. Would it be better if I kept them here? Wooten handed them back and went to his office, where he locked the door and threw himself into his chair. His sigh was clearly audible to Sheila.

Chapter 1.2

Administrative Ineptitude

The research offices of the Orlando Citizens’ Health Care Center consisted of seventy-five employees, fully engaged in the support of the research activities of this large academic health center. Dr. Wooten was at the head of this enterprise, and there were research technicians who worked directly for the clinical investigators, staff who took care of the animals, grant administrators and grant writers, and the clerical staff. Of course, there were also graduate students, postgraduate students, undergraduate students, volunteers, and administrative personnel to cover the required tasks of accounting, human resources, acquisition, and material management.

This academic medical center shimmered in the Orlando sunlight. From afar, it seemed an oasis of blue green glass. Not yet ten years old, the stunning building graced the center of downtown Orlando. The politicians still basked in the glow of having arranged the financing, taking full credit and accepting with humility the numerous accolades. The politicians also continuously reminded their constituents of the higher-income jobs and renowned researchers that came to Orlando as a result of their visionary work. The politicians frequently spoke of the tremendous economic boon that they had delivered to the community. Those elected and the parties they represented also talked often of the delicate balance between good growth and too much growth. As Orlando grew, so grew the Orlando Citizens’ Health Care Center, a bastion of clinical care, research, and education. It was a source of pride for the entire community.

In all of Central Florida, the new buildings, communities, and businesses overwhelmed the remaining original parts of the metropolitan area encompassing Orlando. Growth had long since replaced the previously laid-back nature of the originally quite Southern city. The old sunny simplicity had been replaced by famous entertainment complexes, the intricacies of big-city living, and unrivaled cultural diversity. The Orlando Citizens’ Health Care Center also enriched the city’s diversity by recruiting physicians and scientists from all over the world. These newcomers added to the rich fabric of society but were largely obscured, as they were hidden behind the illusions of fun and fame that brought multitudes of visitors to the Mouse and the other entertainment megacenters.

Just down the hall, Dusty Godoy, the research administrative officer, was enduring yet another tongue-lashing from Nannette Simoniti, PhD. Dr. Simoniti’s research project, Genetically Enhanced Intelligence by Successive Generations of Mice through Challenges, Learning, and Incentives, was missing a mouse: BB-254. Not diplomatic on any occasion, Dr. Simoniti was coming completely unglued in response to what she called the worst professional moment of my brilliant career. She continued to accuse, berate, and verbally flagellate Dusty.

Finally, Dusty excused himself. Dr. Simoniti, we are doing everything possible to find your mouse, please believe me. I have another meeting and must go.

Chapter 1.3

True Love’s Truths

The atrium of the Orlando Citizens’ Health Care Center was infused with sunlight and the noise from a multitude of conversations. Two of its most dedicated employees, Vic and Veronica, were eating lunch on the mezzanine level of the center’s huge atrium. They sat at a table for two, which nestled against the coconut cream color of the two-inch thick steel bars that provided safety and beauty for all those entering the atrium. They gazed into each other’s eyes. They were in love. They were laughing at the research director’s memo, which stated, in part, Someone has lost a very valuable mouse, which will have a lasting negative impact on one of our finest studies. Search everywhere. Search again. Then search your areas some more. We must find this mouse!

Vic, already losing his hair at thirty-one, said, Someone specific caused the loss of the mouse. They know who, but everyone gets the memo.

That’s how it works here, my love. Veronica smiled, looking off into the distance, her face suddenly a blank. I wonder if the daily summer rainstorm will hold off until lunch is over. Like a summer rainstorm in the subtropics, suddenly her face was animated again, and her eyes peered intently into Vic’s.

Vic smiled at her, his eyes lit with the same look of adoration that she had while staring at him. I know you want a baby. I do too. I’m learning more every day about our problems with infertility, and I think I have come up with a solution. I need to do a little more research, my love, and then we’ll get you pregnant and get ourselves a baby.

I love you, Vic. I love everything at this moment—Orlando, the sunshine, the rain, my job, my family, and my dreams of having a baby.

I know you do, and I love you and all of those dreams. For a girl born and raised in Orlando, you know how fickle life can be here. I think we’ve grown right along with the city and that the best is ahead for all of us.

Veronica was still smiling at her guy. Vic, you are a great guy. I want you, and I want to start that family. I can’t wait. He dreamily returned her smile.

Vic turned to look around at the crowd of employees coming and going through the mezzanine. He looked at his watch. Veronica Cooper, you are all that I could possibly hope for … and more than I should ever think about having the fantastic good fortune to love.

They were both research biologists, trained in genetic studies and adept at their work. They had each worked on different research projects. They had never been assigned to the same project. They were so good that neither any longer worried about the projects that they worked on being canceled or not renewed. Their reputations were solid and their credentials impeccable. The research business was always in transition, with project proposals funded every three years, not renewed, or never funded at all. Thus, their jobs were temporary in nature, but they had basic, good work ethics. This made them certain that whatever happened to any one investigator’s funding, another one would always find a place for each of them.

Veronica smiled, blushed, and turned her head toward the skyline. "All these cranes, they look like a Star Wars setting—the revenge of the construction cranes."

Vic laughed. I cherish the day we sat next to each other during that Information Security briefing. That briefing was a waste of time, but for the first time in my life, I felt so comfortable talking to a beautiful woman. That moment, the moment you said you would go out with me, and that first kiss still amaze me.

Veronica giggled. Let’s get back to work, lover boy. They grabbed their trays and hustled through the crowded tables on their way to their labs.

Chapter 1.4

What Do the Eyes Miss?

The millions of eyes that flew over Orlando on their way to vacation in this fun-and-sun capital didn’t see the reality of the area. People had flocked in from around the globe to join the descendants of the Native Americans who’d moved to the area once vacated by their predecessors’ deaths, disease, and migration. Of course, the white, Hispanic, and black early settlers had their descendants in the mix as well. This human tapestry provided a tableau on the world stage. Visitors, transients, and new residents reshaped the area, always redefining the image it presented to the outside world.

In this strange, ongoing kabuki theater, the entertainment industry presented to the world illusions of what fun, recreation, and entertainment were. The realities behind that world also involved intrigue, but only the most determined residents saw or learned about that. And all of those visitors hardly ever got a glimpse. In this kabuki theater were history, culture, energy, dynamic evolution, and wonderment.

In this large, complex urban environment, there were a few families in a few homes who worried about finding a missing mouse. In the Godoy household, a grandchild was present whose early language learning was not sufficient to clearly pronounce the word missing. To this lad, who listened carefully to his beloved grandfather’s every word, this news of the missing mouse was cause to frown and tear up. Finally, at his grandfather’s urging to tell his paw-paw what was the matter, the grandchild spoke. Why did you let this meanie mouse escape?

Chapter 1.5

Evasion

Having made careful observations of the actions taken against her kin, BB-254—more frequently known by her hunters as Meanie Mouse—was worried. She didn’t know about the protocol under which she was being studied or even what a protocol was, but she sensed that her time was coming to an end. Her instinct was to escape the animal facility to see what was on the other side of the wall, and then the wall after that one.

She examined the cage and, finding its weakness, chewed through a plastic link holding the front of the underside to the rest of the cage. After she chewed through this plastic, she, her droppings, and the straw lining dropped to the floor. She bolted through a small opening hidden behind a refrigerator. The hole was originally made by an electrician to pull additional electrical lines to the monitors that recorded the room’s temperatures. The plasterers and painters had lost the work order form, and the hole had never been repaired.

After Meanie Mouse ran for a long time, her lungs burned and her muscles ached. She was tired and frightened. She was now in the interstitial space, the area for mechanical and electrical equipment located between the floors of actual working space in specialized buildings such as hospitals and research facilities. She knew that she would have to find food and water soon. As she rested, she instinctively pondered what to do next. She knew she didn’t want to be caught.

The humans looked very carefully and thoroughly through all the labs. They searched closets, toilets, and every room in the building. Meanie Mouse could hear them. The humans tried to be quiet, whispering to themselves, moving stealthily on their sneakered feet. But Meanie Mouse had superior listening skills. She would never let them surprise her. They looked above the ceiling and checked for openings in walls. They couldn’t find her. For two days, she moved quickly but stealthily every time she woke up.

She had carefully and slowly crept into the middle of the lab, where she pondered her next move. Suddenly, the door opened, and the light switched on. The sudden brightness confused her. She hunkered down on the floor.

Lookie here. It’s the little darling. Don’t worry, little missy. Ol’ Daddy Mims isn’t going to trap you or even let them know where you are. I know you the one that escaped, ’cause you sure don’t look like one of the homies. He laughed at his joke and smiled broadly, wiping down the counters, emptying the trash, and running his sweeper over the floor.

She was comforted by his low, reassuring voice. She still didn’t move, not wanting to take a chance and worsen her circumstances, or get in his way.

Daddy Mims stood there for a second or two. He went back outside. Not supposed to bring food into the labs, little sugar. But, you don’t mind me saying so, you look a little weak. I know they been chasing you. If you promise to eat all of this, I will leave it here for you. Now, don’t go getting me in trouble. He smiled broadly, chuckling to himself about their little secret. He turned out the light and closed the door, checking to make sure that it was locked.

The food was a huge relief, and it was most interesting as well. The only thing she had ever eaten in her life was rat chow. This smelled very different. The texture was fragile, and the taste made her slightly nauseous and at the same time thrilled her senses of taste and smell. She ate all that she could and dragged the rest of the bread into her hiding place in this room, a narrow crack behind the lab’s built-in sinks. She slept and dreamed of being in the cage again. She made little, fearful squeaking noises while she slept.

Chapter 1.6

An Assertive Briefing

Verbally prodded by his secretary, Dr. Mahmood Wooten finally began the journey to the CEO’s office. Just as the door closed behind him, the research office phone rang, and Sheila, Wooten’s secretary, answered it. Yes, Princess, Dr. Wooten left five minutes ago and should be there by now. You know how it is when he gets out in the corridor—the students and the investigators want to grab him and talk to him about their issues.

The CEO’s secretary, Princess Taylor, interrupted Sheila. Just make sure that he gets here on time. Mr. Tinsley has a killer schedule today, and we are already twenty minutes behind. Thanks.

Wooten strode confidently down the corridors to the elevator. Once in the elevator, he pretended to be reading from the file that he was carrying. On the tenth floor now, he ignored several greetings from physician colleagues in order to avoid discussions and the interminable pleasantries that would go with them.

After announcing his presence to Princess Taylor, the tall, lean research director paced in front of the CEO’s office. The CEO’s secretary, Princess Taylor, invited him into the office several times. He goofily grinned and kept on pacing. His worried face and nervous posture defeated the executive appearance of his well-tailored suit. The suit hung at all the wrong angles and bunched at the collar and waist inelegantly due to his nervous mannerisms.

Princess, do you have any word on Otto yet?

Dr. Wooten, please have a seat. Mr. Tinsley is on his way back to the office. Sometimes he just can’t get away from a meeting. Princess sighed, smiling officially and patiently at Dr. Wooten.

I’m too nervous to sit down, Princess. Wooten was a carrier of anxiety and a constant transmitter of nervous behavior. He made others nervous by his constant, continuous show of impatience while waiting or lecturing or during meetings, to which he often arrived late, if at all, and left early as often as possible. During the limited time he stayed, he would twist, twirl, twitch, and vocally interrupt others. His constant movements caused those seated near him to back away, creating a safety zone between themselves and his movements.

Tinsley walked in briskly, waving Wooten into his office. He smiled apologetically and knowingly at Princess. She smiled back.

Please have a seat, Mahmood. We’ve worked together too long for you to be so nervous. Please relax and tell me what the issue is. Just a moment, please—before you begin, I need to use the facilities. Tinsley smiled a warm and genial smile on his way to the bathroom. Mahmood stared back without expression.

Mahmood finally smiled. He sighed, anxiously tapping his notes against his thigh.

When the CEO returned, he draped his suit jacket over the back of a chair and sat down in one of the Queen Anne chairs in his office. Mahmood, I am so sorry to keep you waiting. People always think that if they have time to talk, so do I. It’s hard to get away from them. He found himself staring at Mahmood’s tie.

Mahmood nervously began his planned briefing. I understand. I never want to come down to your office with the kind of problem that I have to brief you about today.

Tinsley sighed to himself, lost in his own thoughts for a moment. Mahmood, I’m here to help, and this is none of my business, but you really need to know that my job is about problems and problem solving. If there weren’t any problems, I’d have to get a real job. Tinsley laughed. Mahmood cast his eyes to the floor.

Mahmood, what is that on your tie? Tinsley started grinning. He enjoyed watching Mahmood squirm.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Mahmood was twisting his tie in a nervous, manic pattern, moving it up and down and sideways, frowning and growling in a pathetic, slow voice. Oh, I am so sorry, so sorry. This is my son’s tie. Those are realistic breasts! No. No, of course they are fake breasts. My son gave it to me, I mean, but I never wear it. I did not mean to offend you, sir.

You didn’t offend me, Mahmood, but for the sake of keeping the peace, why don’t you take it off and put on my tie? I’ll just go open collar for the rest of the day. You’ll be doing me a favor, really. Tinsley kept on smiling as he removed his tie and handed it to Mahmood. Mahmood looked as though he might start crying, and so Tinsley calmly repeated to him not to worry, everything was okay, these kinds of things happened all the time.

Please, accept my apology, sir. I did not know that there were breasts on the tie. I mean, I did know that there were breasts on the tie, but I never wear this tie. Oh, this is a horrible mistake. Why didn’t my wife notice? Mahmood seemed to feel that his briefing was drifting away from him, and he made a visible effort to regroup, sitting up straighter and straightening his new tie.

So tell me, Mahmood. What is this business about losing a mouse? Tinsley relished a good story. He was quietly anticipating the moment when he would tell his colleagues at one of their Central Florida executives’ meetings.

Please, sir, I will. Dr. Nannette Simoniti is a PhD psychologist researcher. The lost mouse is from her laboratory study. This study is one of enormous importance and has been funded by one grant or another for twenty years by the National Institute of Mental Health. Someday her work may win prizes, but for now, we must find the missing mouse. He paused, as if waiting for a possible question.

Go on.

The study has tracked mice carefully selected for a phenotype of ultra-bright mice as measured by response to food, pain, water, and other comparative observed activities such as response to noises, music, and other environmental changes. Mahmood was back in form now. He was a dedicated researcher and academic. He had the facts down cold.

So, how many mice are involved? Tinsley’s brow furrowed, and he looked perplexed. Last month, he had signed several letters notifying various federal research activities about a mouse that had received an unauthorized injection of saline solution.

Dr. Simoniti has one hundred in her study at any given time. BB-254 is the one missing. Simoniti says that this particular mouse is probably the most intelligent one that she has ever observed. The issue is that research animals are so tightly controlled that no research administration or clinical investigator like Dr. Simoniti should ever lose a mouse or even do anything to that animal that is not expressly spelled out in the research protocol. The study may go on, but this particular mouse seemed especially intelligent, and Dr. Simoniti was hoping that when the brain necropsy was done, it would show significant differences from those of the mice examined at the beginning of her study.

Tinsley pursed his lips. So, Mahmood, these differences or improvements in intelligence would suggest that nurture could improve native intelligence?

Absolutely. And of course, Simoniti hoped to show significant improved variation from the first class, more than twenty years ago, as well. In other words, one less mouse might be enough to throw off the statistics of those characteristics being measured, possibly altering the findings or stopping her study in entirety. She has carefully tracked the DNA of these mice, and she is on the threshold of identifying the genetic markers for superior intelligence and memory. Mahmood was relaxed now, and he moved fluidly through the facts.

Wondering about the merits of the study itself, Tinsley asked quietly, So, Simoniti is essentially trying to show higher intelligence in mice over generations?

That’s correct. She has a measurement instrument that she has applied over ten generations. At the end of two years—mice usually live two to three years—she puts the mice through final testing. She tries to educate and stimulate the mice through rewards, challenges, and privileges, giving them an opportunity to respond to each and every stimulus in order to show how smart they are. NIMH is interested in having further scientific information on the nature-versus-nurture conflict in mental health and intelligence. The hypothesis would credit nurture to increases in intelligence, since all of the tested mice are identical in genotype. The fact is, though, that the mouse, even if recovered now, could implode the study.

And why is that, Mahmood?

Mahmood spent a second in an apparent need to recover the thread of his briefing. Because the animal was not controlled. We wouldn’t know what it had eaten, what traumas it might have endured. None of that changes the urgent necessity of finding it. No investigator wants to lose his animal subjects. And all of the animals are officially my responsibility—and yours too, of course.

Of course. What have we done to find the mouse? He wearily glanced at his BlackBerry screen. At the top was a message from Princess about his being thirty minutes late for his next meeting.

As of this moment, the mouse has been missing for twenty-three hours and thirteen minutes. We have notified the entire research staff. We have notified security, engineering, and housekeeping. All research labs and the animal facility have been searched twice. We have turned every possible stone. We have set out baited traps. We have trapped a few non-research qualified mice, but not BB-254. We have examined all trash leaving our areas, as well as any other boxes, furniture, etc. being moved from our space. We will continue to have random searches, but at this moment, no one seems to have spotted the mouse. Mahmood smiled, his facial expression denoting confidence that the briefing had been successful.

Tinsley grimaced. He scribbled notes about follow-up questions on the small, white, lined pad he kept on his desk. Tell me again why losing the mouse so damages our medical center’s reputation.

Mahmood smiled. He stated quietly and forcefully, Because of all the paranoia about integrity in research, many reviewers and publishers will suspect that the mouse was lost intentionally because it was not conforming to the expected hypothesis. In other words, the clinical investigator arranged to eliminate the bad data.

Thanks, Mahmood. Hand me those letters. I’ll sign them right now. Tinsley realized he was fatigued, and unconsciously he began to wonder what he was going to have for dinner.

Chapter 1.7

Telltale Crumbs

Dr. Aristotle Ramboozi unlocked his lab. As usual, he was accompanied by two very pretty graduate students. He was explaining the nature of his cardiac study when suddenly he froze. His face slowly darkened, his brow arched, and his body tensed. He fell to the floor. The two women looked quizzically at each other.

Crumbs, the rotten, dirty bastards, that fucking Wooten. I tell you, you can’t do professional science in these conditions.

The woman looked very concerned, and they studied Ramboozi’s face, which was now ten inches from the floor. His mouth formed a terrible sneer. He was sniffing the air like a bloodhound on the scent.

Don’t move. Back away slowly. I’ll show you ladies how to deal with a corrupt and lax research bureaucracy and an administration that simply doesn’t give a shit about science!

Ramboozi backed out of the room with his two graduate students. Using a page torn from his notebook, he made a sign that read DO NOT ENTER PER ORDER OF ARISTOTLE RAMBOOZI. He placed the date and time on this note and taped it to the door. Then he led his graduate students to the research administration offices. There, his tirade lasted seven minutes. Dusty Godoy and Sheila listened and timed the speech. They nodded solemnly on occasion. And they laughed out loud as soon as Ramboozi slammed the door on their way out.

Godoy called Dr. Wooten, who, as usual, didn’t answer. Godoy left a voicemail. Crumbs were found this morning at 9:00 AM in Research Lab A54. The scientist assigned that space is Aristotle Ramboozi, and he found the crumbs. I don’t need to remind you of Ramboozi’s off-the-wall ranting and raving. He ranted to Sheila and me for seven minutes just now. I will personally check the room and get it thoroughly scrubbed down. Godoy then paged Wooten.

Wooten listened to Godoy’s message an hour later. Following his long-established protocol, Wooten never returned the calls of Dr. Ramboozi. He typed an e-mail message to Godoy and copied the chief of staff, to alert them that Ramboozi was on a witch hunt.

Ramboozi continued fuming to his graduate students. He got his camera and took pictures, close enough to pick up the few scattered grains of whatever substance it was. He knew his own lab assistants would never commit such an act. Outside the lab, where the two young women in white coats nervously waited and chatted with each other, he told them that he had made up his mind. He had to confront the CEO about this lack of support for research integrity.

Princess Taylor looked up to see Dr. Ramboozi standing in her doorway. She had only seen him a few times up close. She had never seen him in any state other than angry.

Dr. Ramboozi, how can I help you? She smiled.

I need to see the boss. I have an issue that he needs to know about. Ramboozi forced himself to grimace, which was as close as he could come to returning a smile. He wore elegantly tailored and exquisitely expensive pinstriped business suits. His patients often seemed to be intimidated, but he wanted to stand out among his peers—and, even more importantly, to his peers.

Do you want an appointment? She smiled again.

No, of course not. This can’t wait. I can’t get my work done with the way research is being supported by this hospital. His impatience was honest. His imperial nature was sincere, and he knew no other way to be.

Princess was frowning now. She said as carefully as possible, He’s in a meeting in his office right now. I don’t know when he will be through. He has meetings back to back for the rest of the day.

Dr. Ramboozi interrupted her. I can see that he’s in a meeting. Call him on the intercom. It will just take a few seconds.

I can’t do that. I won’t do that. Mr. Tinsley doesn’t care to be interrupted, and you haven’t given me a subject. She was getting upset at this intrusion, but she would keep on smiling and being appropriately courteous.

Oh, you won’t? I’ll just knock on the door. Ramboozi moved quickly to the door and started rapping a staccato pattern with his knuckles. Princess was right behind him. She quickly moved in front of the door and began to push her body forward, inching Ramboozi away from the door.

Princess, what is it? Tinsley was halfway through the door, leaning out, looking as calm and placid as he usually did. He knew that getting upset wouldn’t accomplish anything. Sometimes, though, he had fantasies about coming to work with a metal baseball bat and knocking some sense into some of his brilliant charges.

Princess was very annoyed. Dr. Ramboozi has an urgent matter that he thinks can’t wait. He knocked on the door before I could stop him.

Tinsley stuck his head back into his office and excused himself. He closed the door behind him but stood right in front of it. He offered Ramboozi his most pleasant smile. What’s the problem, Dr. Ramboozi? How can I help? The graduate students peeled off from trailing behind Dr. Ramboozi and sat demurely on the chairs beside Princess Taylor’s desk.

I am sick and tired of the lack of support for scientific research in this institution. Wooten won’t return my calls. I have found crumbs of some sort in my office—typical and business as usual, I am very much afraid. I have complained over and over. You know I have an offer from Harvard. Ramboozi shoved the enlarged photograph of minute crumbs into Tinsley’s hand.

Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. I can assure you that we will have somebody up there immediately. Anything else? To dismiss the matter, he said, Princess, call housekeeping and get someone up there right now. Call the research administration office and notify them. Tell them I want that lab space checked again for the mouse. He waved good-bye to Ramboozi as he backed out of the office.

The graduate students could hear everything that Ramboozi said. During the intervening silence, they looked at each other and mouthed, Mouse?

Chapter 1.8

Administrative Injustice

The only person immediately available from the housekeeping department that day was the shift float supervisor. This float supervisor ran all the way to the research lab, including up five flights of stairs.

When he got to the door of A-54, he found the door locked. He had a master key, and quickly he unlocked the door. He heard steps coming rapidly down the hall. He looked carefully at every surface and then at the floor, where he finally spotted the grains of something.

Someone was knocking on the door. The float supervisor opened it. The administrative officer in research, Dusty Godoy, stood there. Dusty was a legend in the research arena, having over thirty years of experience. His ability to game NIH, polish grants, and run a tight, disciplined organization was well known in research circles. He had two assistants with him, one of whom held a short-handled net designed to capture fish in aquariums. Godoy growled a greeting at the housekeeping supervisor.

We need to secure the room and search it before you do any cleaning. Dusty smiled. We have another issue that takes priority over cleaning this room. So stand down for now.

The housekeeping supervisor leaned against the wall by the door. What do I tell my boss, M. T. Farthing?

Godoy glanced back at the younger man. Tell him anything you want.

The three men from research quietly and quickly opened all the cabinet doors, sticking their heads into the opened spaces, removing the contents, and examining every crevice very carefully. When they had finished that, Dusty muttered, Okay, let’s take it nice and easy. One stepped outside and brought in a stepladder. They examined the tops of all the cabinets. They saw nothing.

Next, one of the research men, armed with the net, stood on one end of the counter, peering down through the small opening behind the refrigerator. Dusty bent down to examine the floor between the refrigerator and the wall. Suddenly, Dusty shouted, Bingo! He saw the little white mouse with pink skin scurry away from him. The research man with the net quickly swooped it down, blocking the mouse’s chosen path of escape. The mouse couldn’t move backward fast enough, and it was trapped. Slowly, the research assistant moved the net toward the mouse, not really certain that he had trapped the mouse in the net or if she merely was trapped between the floor and the net.

"Bueno, bueno. Let’s make sure that we have her, whispered Dusty. Gently, gently." Now that he had the mouse, he didn’t want her to have a heart attack and die. The net came out with the mouse in it.

Put it on top of the counter so we can transfer her to the cage. Godoy then offered thanks to God.

The other research assistant had very quietly gone out the door and come back with a small plastic-and-wire animal transfer cage. They maneuvered the cage over to the mouse and the net.

Suddenly, the mouse jumped through the net opening, landed on the side of the cage, climbed to the top, and jumped to the fire extinguisher and then to the top of a cabinet. Dusty and the two assistants bumped into each other while trying to trap the mouse again.

Johnny jumped up on the countertop and looked down at the top of the cabinet. He whispered, There she is. We would be better off with just the net, no handle.

We don’t have just a net, growled Dusty. He moved the stepladder over so that he could view the mouse. She crowded the wall. Let me have the net.

Dusty grabbed the net handle and eased it over the top of the cabinet. As he closed in on the mouse, she jumped onto the handle. Dusty jerked the net upward. He bumped a ceiling tile; it fell to the cabinet.

The little mouse jumped. She made it, scrambling from the jarred ceiling tile onto firmer footing. She raced away, scared, hungry, and hurting. She was in a state of total panic. She had spent her entire life, except for the last few hours, in a cage.

Dusty was visibly angry. The research secretary recoiled at the look on his face. Sit, Dusty. Calm yourself down. He did as she directed.

I’m just so angry at myself. Angry about having to brief Dr. Wooten again on the latest failure to capture the mouse. Angry that I have to tell Dr. Simoniti, and in the process, receive yet another tongue-lashing.

Chapter 1.9

Exhaustion

The mouse had to stop. Her energy was sapped. She fell asleep in the dark, cool space. She needed something to eat, but she rested for now. Her instincts were on high alert, telling her that she didn’t have much more time. When she was fully rested and alert, she moved cautiously above the ceiling tiles, over and around the ductwork and pipes, seeking solace, a place she could rest and maybe find something to eat. She could feel her strength ebbing.

When she reached a spot where she thought she could smell food, she stopped. Silent and determined, she looked around for an opening. She went in circles for a while. She knew one big thing, and that was that she never wanted to go back to life in the cage. Instincts drove her, but somehow she realized the appeal of true freedom. At last, she found an opening, a hole in the ceiling tile cut larger than necessary for the pipe that went through it. She poked her head through, lost her grip, and fell to the top of the counter, knocking herself out.

When she woke, it was still dark in the room. She was hurting all over, and it hurt more to move. She was desperate to find food. She found an open cardboard box. These boxes were supposed to be removed immediately from the labs. Somebody in a hurry to leave on Friday afternoon had left the box on the counter, full of what looked like glass plates. She crawled into the box, detecting a faint smell of something that might be edible. She gnawed through the plastic. She sniffed and started chewing on the resin. She ate the particles that she could gnaw off. It was too late. She died there, inside the cardboard box. She slipped to the bottom and was encased in a burial shroud of clear plastic.

Chapter 1.10

Fantasy or Vision?

Vic and Veronica met in the atrium as usual. Once together in front of the premium coffee stand and the large windows looking out over the park across the street, they would make their decision: eat indoors on the atrium level or outside in the park. Of course they brushed against each other, and after the decision, they held hands on their way to the spot where they would eat lunch.

The two research biologists went outside to enjoy the sun and gain a brief respite from their slightly too cold and sterile worksites. Their friend Sally, a supervisor in the ultrasound department, was with them. The warm glow from Vic’s marriage proposal of the evening before still occupied them. They cheerfully shared the news with Sally. They decided that they should go to Goober’s Sports Bar and Grill for drinks after work.

That afternoon, the three friends met at Goober’s. Vic made the first toast. To you, my wonderful Veronica. Thanks for agreeing to be my wife.

I love you, Vic. I am just so worried that I’ll never be able to get pregnant.

Please don’t. I have been studying in vitro fertilization, and I am quite certain that we can do it. Vic looked worried in spite of his confident boasting.

Sally appeared to be the most concerned of the three of them. Does our insurance cover in vitro? I don’t think so, but I’ll check when I get back to the office. In vitro is incredibly expensive, and most of that expense wouldn’t be covered by insurance.

Not to worry, my ladies. I have studied up on in vitro fertilization and have learned all the aspects, the issues, and the process. I think we can safely cut a few corners.

On the day after the dead mouse BB-254 had been found, Vic asked Veronica to walk with him after lunch. There was a special place in the park across the street. There, a bench was protected from the casual viewer by elephant-ear ferns and sago palms. The brick walk leading