Brain Storm (62 page)

It was all he could do to keep from crowing, “Look, honey, a serial killer! I’ll bet we could get some bucks on this one!”

Watson reread the E-mail. He was personally opposed to the death penalty and would be proud to be instrumental in helping even one person avoid it. But was he the only techno-legal geek in the country available to make some more paper to file in Montana?

“Affectionately, RP,” he read again with a twinge of memory and extinguished desire. If he said yes, he would be back in close proximity to the Brain Venus. He would also spend another week hunched over his laptop, doing research on obese hangings and gruesome decapitations.

“Daddy?” said Sheila.

A murder of crows was making a racket out on his front lawn, which meant one thing—grubs. He peeked through the curtains and saw Oma Hodgkins standing at the property line. She was clutching the morning paper to her chest, staring with terror and loathing as the crows feasted on grubs, ripping up patches of denuded grass from the family Watson’s infested front lawn. If he could scan her, the deep, primeval circuits of rage and fear would light up orange and red and white-hot. He would have to go over and have a cup of coffee with her. Console her and apologize for his grubs.

“Daddy?” said Sheila.

He had a lot in common with Oma. She had her lawn and he had his colorful, orderly, software desktop. It would be tough to face her—he would be covered in shame, the evidence of his inferior moral code right there for all to see in his grub-ridden lawn.

He turned back to the laptop, open like a glowing plastic maw in the light of dawn. He clicked
REPLY
and typed: “Sorry. Can’t. Good Luck. JW.”

“Daddy? Can I play on the pooter?”

“We’re not playing on the computer this weekend,” said Watson. “We’re going outside to talk with Mrs. Hodgkins. Why don’t you get dressed and you can come, too. We can take her a present. Maybe that will help her feel better.”

Fred Nietzsche said: “A writer is somebody who possesses not only his own intellect, but also that of his friends.” Many friendly, prodigious intellects helped me write
Brain Storm
, especially my editor, Daniel Menaker, and my agent, Gail Hochman.

I am also grateful to Marcus Raichle, M.D.; Helen Mayberg, M.D.; and Rodolfo Llinas, M.D., for introducing me to neuroscience and the various scanning technologies.

Joseph Bataillon, Sheila Hunsicker, Phillip Kavanaugh, Cynthia Short, and David Slavkin were all generous with their legal savvy and their good ideas.

Thanks also to John Albrecht, Mike Becker, Lou Boxer, Liz Karnes, Kate Shaw, and Jeremy Slavkin.

Critical Care

White Man’s Grave

Blue Streak: Swearing, Free Speech, and
Sexual Harassment

R
ICHARD
D
OOLING
was born in Omaha, Nebraska. He received his B.A. from St. Louis University in 1976 and in 1979 began working as a respiratory therapist in intensive care units. After traveling for over a year in Europe and Africa, he went back to law school at St. Louis University, where he was editor in chief of the
Law Journal.
He practiced law at Bryan Cave in St. Louis for four years.

Dooling’s first novel,
Critical Care
, was made into a film directed by Sidney Lumet. His second novel,
White Man’s Grave
, was a finalist for the 1994 National Book Award. He is also the author of
Blue Streak: Swearing, Free Speech, and Sexual Harassment
, a collection of essays on the First Amendment and the politics of swearing. His writing has appeared in
The New Yorker, The New York Times, The National Law Journal
, and
Story.
He lives in Omaha with his wife, Kristin, and their four children.