He always took the Bible for his guide,
And he liked little boys to walk by his side;
He preferred their company more so than men,
Because he knew there was less guile in them.
William McGonagall GENERAL GORDON, THE HERO OF KHARTOUM
CHAPTER 15 BRAHAN PARK, HUNTSVILLE
“Hi Prof? I’m in Walmart. You want anything?”
“Only you. Is Joe with you?”
“He’s over in the Parkway Mall. Said he was meeting up with a few friends.”
“Good for him.”
“So I guess that gives us a couple of hours.”
“Oh good.”
“So do you want anything? I can always go over The Parkway and get something in the food hall.”
“I have got everything a man could want except you. What colour underwear have you got on?”
“Wait and see. Wont be long.”
Professor Moriarty smiled. It’s strange how things turn out. He'd lost funding for his seat at Cambridge and “respectable” folk stopped inviting him. And he had done nothing wrong. He was still young. And young men liked young girls. It was normal. Not like he was on drugs or stealing or anything. But that wasn’t the way the old bastards in Cambridge saw it. Said he was in loco parentis. Even with girls over 18. And he’d never done it with anyone under eighteen. As far as he knew. Certainly not under sixteen. Probably.
Then no other Uni’s wanted him. He was too dangerous to be with female students.
But who was he kidding.
He was old and lonely. Well, middle aged. Mature. Girls like a mature man..
But not really. Girls didn’t like mature men, women did. Some women did. But not many liked him. Not any more.
He was kidding again. He’d no woman for a year before he met Annie Harrison.
When he got to the Marshall Spaceflight Center, women liked his cute British accent. He’d had dates, got lucky a few times. And that was it. He was just one among a whole community of exotic foreign know-it-alls and clever dicks.
And Moriarty'd lost it. He wasn’t young or exciting, he was a middle aged, past over, professor. Who'd lost his chair because he couldn’t keep his trousers on.
Then he met Annie. He was arguing with her about getting a claim paid. He'd been sent to Area 51 on the trajectory option maths of this troop glider thing. He'd got a ticket to McCarran Airport at Las Vegas paid for, but then he took a taxi from McCarran to the Nellis AFB main gate. Apparently he should have phoned for a USAF car to pick him up, or there was a bus every half hour. He'd no pressing reason to take a taxi and she wasn't going to pay for it.
He was being pompous and bombastic and self important, till he remembered he was just another British clown.
He looked at her eyes and said sorry. And she smiled.
She seemed to care. He apologised some more. They talked about nothing much. He asked her out. She said where? He didn’t know, and she said they gave free concerts in the park. So it hadn’t cost him a penny, except for a hot dog for her son.
But even with her boy Joe coming along with them, it was OK.
That’s how it started.
Moriarty's balcony looked onto Brahan Spring Park, and he hoped to see her car.
He had looked up “Brahan” thinking it was Native American, but it was the name of a medieval Scottish wizard. The Brahan Seer, who made prophecies about cows up towers and building the Caledonian Canal.
Anyway, they kissed and
made love, always careful her son didn’t see them, but he was at
college, he wasn’t an idiot, so he must have known. And she was
wonderful. Her full woman’s body and her golden brown skin. Nothing
like a British student. He felt so at ease with her. Like he didn’t
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