Read Online Super Born: Seduction of Being by kkornell - Free Book Online Page B

rest of my
information about flight 118 from interviews, research of records,
TV interviews and reports. Even though I wrote the article, you can
believe it’s all true…really, no kidding. (Okay, they made me write that article
about aliens living under the White House.)
    When Dr. Jones heard my story, he danced around
like a featherless chicken hip-hopping on a sun-baked asphalt
road—not that I have ever seen such a thing, or that anyone else in
the world has, for that matter. (That’s just how his image struck
me at the time. “My boy, I am telling you now, we are so close!
It’s not a theory anymore! She is here, and we will be finding her
soon, very soon, I’m telling you! What did I say? This will be the
story of your lifetime!” Then he bent over for a second, tapped his
butt, and said, “Mom and Dad, you will be kissing my professional
ass!…‘Little man with a little mind,’ they said at grad school…They
will be the ones bowing down to me!” Jones shook a finger at me, as
if I were one of his tormentors. “We’ll see whose thesis is
unimaginative crap!” Then he paced in a circle and calmed a bit
before mumbling, “Little fuckers.”
    I had told him Ed’s story of the beer truck,
just leaving out the minor detail of his death. I had told Jones
about the airplane landing, how I had researched and interviewed my
ass off to get the story, until I was certain the miracle of flight
118 was just a pretty myth that even the FAA was starting to doubt
(though I embellished on how much it had cost me to do so). I just
could not bring myself to tell him about the blue/green eye flashes
and that we had been within inches of our prey days
before.
    Then, when I told him that I had tracked down
the first of the women born during the Super Bowl and I would be
meeting with her that evening, the dance started again. It made him
so happy that he literally showered me with money. He grabbed a
wrapped stack of bills each time he passed his desk and threw them
up in an arc to me, mumbling and muttering joyfully to himself as
he went. Whether he spoke English or an Indian dialect I could not
say, only that I just kept waiting for him to pass that desk again.
One thousand dollars…five hundred dollars…two thousand
dollars—thank heaven for Mom, Dad, and that trust fund. I could
tell money meant nothing to him…but it did to me. How about one
more trip past that desk?
    Finally, he began to pant a little from his
exertions, and slowed down. “You have done well, my friend. This is
true progress. Are you prepared for your meeting with this woman?
Was she born near halftime?”
    I took my notebook out of my bag and fingered
down the list. “Her name is Jennifer Lowe. She owns a flower shop.
And she was born the closest to half time of them all.”
    “ She has lived here her whole life?”
he asked, patting the sweat on his forehead with a black bra he had
lifted off of his desk.
    “ Yes, her whole life. That’s what
made her so easy to find. Never been married.”
    “ In a town like this I can’t blame
her... Nothing more notable in her background than a
florist?”
    “ No…but our B.I.B…that’s what I call
her…”
    “ B.I.B? What does it stand
for?”
    I told him the story of how Ed had come up with
the name, bitch in black.
    Jones shook his head. “Best we stay
with just B.I.B., okay?” He said it again with musical tones,
the I being the
highest note. “I think I like it. Kind of catchy.”
    “ Sure…what I was saying was our
B.I.B. is undercover. She’s not like Olga Settchuoff—movie star,
cosmonaut, and the whole nine yards. She doesn’t want to be known,
so she will have a cover. She could be a florist, an accountant,
anyone.”
    “ Maybe we should have this Jennifer
Lowe followed, a private investigator, perhaps?”
    Inside I thought, Fat friggin’ chance of my handing her over to
you! This girl’s eyes glow and you’ll never see either of us
again! Outside I said, “If she looks
like