The X-Ray Glasses (M solo exhib voy)  

THE X-RAY GLASSES 

Looking at Billy as he loitered in the shopping mall, one
might have easily thought him retarded. Wearing an odd pair
of thick-rimmed spectacles, he walked slowly, often turning
in small circles to watch passers-by, or stare at their
bags. An odd smile persisted on his face, and he often kept
his hands in his pockets when he sat. It looked as though he
might even be playing with himself. 

That was certainly what the security guard thought when he
asked Billy to leave. Billy reacted to the request with a
puzzled look that confirmed the guard's suspicions. He
explained to Billy slowly that he would have to leave.
Walking behind him, the guard took care not to touch him,
for fear of a lawsuit. 

Billy wasn't retarded, however. In fact, he was a university
student with a reasonably good grade point average and 20/20
vision. That day, maybe even slightly better. It was on that
day Billy went to the mall wearing the x-ray glasses from
the lab. 

No one at the lab called them that, but that was sure as
hell how they seemed to work. He looked at bags and saw the
purchased clothes folded and tucked away inside. He spotted
wallets and bill folds as easily as a veteran pickpocket.
 From thirty feet he could make out the unpopped kernels
clustered at the bottom of a bucket of popcorn. 

Billy watched square molds of Chinese take-out swing inches
below hands that grasped the metal wire of the boxes. He
grew hungry and had lunch, but almost changed his mind when
he saw the floors normally hidden by the counters of the
food court. 

What really interested Billy, though, were the women. He saw
the high school girls on their way to work at Cinnabon, and
their breasts bouncing in their bras as if they were walking
through their bedrooms instead of the mall. It amazed him
how the young women shopping all wore such sexy underwear.
Underneath every skirt was either a thong, or a garter belt
supporting stockings, or both. Every pair of jeans covered a
better ass than the last one he spied. I must be dating the
wrong girls, Billy thought to himself. 

At one point, he counted thirteen women walking around, each
with a vibrator in her purse. A couple kissed outside a
department store, and he watched in amazement as the man's
cock turned over and stiffened. No wonder, he thought, if he
knows his girlfriend is wearing that underneath her clothes. 

When the guard threw him out, Billy was upset, but only for
a moment. He had all weekend to play with his toy. He walked
back to campus, gawking at the well-built joggers, looking
away from others. 

Once he got to campus, he wished he had left the mall
earlier. They didn't wear as many thigh-high stockings, and
the lingerie was scarce, but a good fraction kept up their
part of the thong quota. There were other differences,
though, that made up for the lack of suggestive clothing.
Billy saw pierced navels, and even a pierced nipple or two.
Some women had tattoos: a butterfly on one shoulder, or a
small heart on a small, pert ass. One had a snake that
slithered from one hip, through a dark patch of pubic hair,
and emerged on the far thigh, flicking its tongue in the
direction of her crotch. Damned if those twenty year old
bodies didn't look like walking pieces of art, Billy
thought. 

The dormitories were a decided letdown. Too many people
studying, not enough doing the nasty on a pleasant spring
afternoon. Often, he couldn't see past the wiring and pipes
between brick and dry wall. 

He was about to take his chances on returning to the mall
when he saw her. Lying on the lawn, she looked to be asleep.
Dark roots of her scalp gave way to blond hair that spread
out like a fan among the green blades of grass. She was
sunbathing in a blue bikini. She may have been reading,
because one hand held a book near her waist. 

Only Billy saw that she wasn't sleeping, and he knew the
real reason for holding the book that way. One hand lay
underneath the book, on top of her blue bikini bottoms. The
fingers extended straight out and down, and rotated in a
small circle at her crotch. 

A small smile graced her face, one that might easily be
confused with the pleasure of a catnap in the sun. But Billy
realized the smile was from pussy-rubbing in the heat. He
backed behind a tree for fear of being seen, but he knew
that under her sunglasses her eyes were closed. 

Billy wanted a pretense to sit down in the grass across from
her solo flying efforts. Rooting through a nearby waste bin,
he found an old copy of the campus newspaper. He sat down
and opened it in his lap, while sliding his own hand
underneath. 

He joined the erstwhile Amelia Earhart on her voyage. He
massaged his cock into an erection, and stroked away at it,
softly, being careful not to rustle the newspaper. Amelia
was completely steady in her rhythm, while Billy wanted to
sprint ahead. He did his best to match her pace. 

Suddenly, she accelerated as well. No longer content to have
the blue fabric between her and the controls, she pulled the
elastic band aside and returned to her instruments. Billy
gasped at the sight of her dark curls, which further
betrayed the nature of her long blond hair. 

When Amelia began a tight dive into her folds, Billy lost
his composure. His struggled to keep his arm steady, but his
body seized up, and he came, crashing into the solid earth
below. 

"Enough of that!" said the campus policeman as he yanked
Billy to his feet. 

When Billy looked up at the officer, he simply had to laugh.
All he saw the man wearing were black socks and a pair of
boxer shorts printed with red hearts. 


ONE 

"Sorry to disappoint you, Agent Maytag," said Dr.
Nirenbruck, "but that device is principally a sophisticated
parlor trick." 

"The National Security Agency obviously doesn't agree," said
Maytag. 

"No, that's true," Nirenbruck conceded, "but that may be
because they were afraid I would come across something else.
In addition to handing over the device, they wanted me to
speak with one of their experts. I suspect they want to shut
down the lab completely." 

"So they didn't ask you about the device?" asked Maytag. 

Nirenbruck shook his head no. They had spoken with Billy
Hutchins that morning, and then come to see him only an hour
or so ago. 

"You surrendered the device willingly?" Maytag asked, "I
would think that would be your property, if not university
equipment, and that you could have lawyers speak with them
about it." 

"Did the NSA offer you a job or a grant in return for your
help?" asked Stanton. 

Nirenbruck answered with his silence. 

"Dr. Nirenbruck," Maytag began sweetly, afraid that Stanton
might have squeezed the good doctor too hard, "let's get
back to the glasses and how they work." 

Nirenbruck warmed to the question, and his body became
suddenly animated. "The brain, Mr. Maytag, especially the
visual center, is a highly sophisticated piece of equipment,
principally because it does an excellent job of
interpolation." 

"Meaning.....?" Maytag played his part as the eager pupil. 

"Meaning that your eyes pick up differences of light and
dark, color, intensity, and then your brain puts those two
images together and fills in what isn't already there. Most
often that means depth of field, but it can be a lot more."
Maytag and Stanton both nodded in response. 

"For example," the doctor continued, "you might see a set of
curves, on a piece of paper, but recognize a lion in the
figure. Your brain can connect the dots and fill in what is
not there. Impressionist paintings are my favorite example
of the idea, but of course they are nowhere near as subtle
as some of the things researchers have tried in the last
fifty years." Dr. Nirenbruck continued along this line,
discussing experiments that involved tracing brain activity
during visual interpolation. Scientists had found an area of
the temporal lobe where most of the processing occurred.
Bolstered by recent experiments in which electrical
stimulation induced laughter in subjects, Dr. Nirenbruck
began attempts to stimulate visual interpolation. 

"What were you trying to achieve?" asked Stanton. 

"Just that," Nirenbruck said. "I wanted to see if we could
direct a cognitive process from outside. Developing that
process could potentially lead to therapies for the blind,
enhanced sight for pilots, possibly virtual reality
applications. I honestly don't know where the research might
go. These are baby steps we are taking, Agent Stanton." 

What happened next, the doctor described, was failure. Using
very primitive pictures similar to Rorschach inkblots in
conjunction with focused electrical stimulation, the
experimental subjects showed no difference from the control
subjects. They interpolated nothing, and were as aware as
the control subjects that the drawings were mere
scribblings. 

"Until one of the conductors made a mistake," said
Nirenbruck, wagging his index finger at the two FBI agents. 

The procedure was to attach the device to the head while the
subject was partially restrained to fix the view on the
cards. After the test, the conductor removed the device
before the subject left the restraint. 

One jumpy undergraduate volunteer moved his head a little
early, and his jaw dropped open when the assistant
approached him. When asked what was wrong, the young man
blurted out that she was naked. 

"Maybe all undergraduates picture your assistant naked,"
Maytag offered. 

"Not so far from the truth," said Nirenbruck with a chuckle.
"But we took his observation as a possibility that the
device did something. At least there was something to
study." 

When interviewed, some of the subjects described seeing
things inside or behind objects in their field of view. They
looked at a computer, and said they could see the circuit
boards housed within it. Looking at a sofa they saw springs
and wooden framework. And, of course, when looking at
people, they saw through their clothes, or at least through
the top layer. 

"Only they didn't really see through anything," Dr.
Nirenbruck cautioned. "They merely thought they did. The
brain had generated appropriate, or perhaps desired, images,
and the electric stimulus made them appear genuine." 

The effect was quite good in the susceptible candidates,
however. The brain did seem to base the produced images on
previous knowledge, which lent the perception credibility.
Subjects were convinced they saw through things. Confronted
with a black box, one might say there was a rabbit inside.
When the contents were revealed to be something else
entirely, the subject would claim he or she had been
tricked. 

"So Billy Hutchins actually thought he watched that girl
masturbate?" asked Stanton. That was what he had told the
police. He wanted to know why they hadn't arrested her as
well. 

"Yes," answered Dr. Nirenbruck, "I'm sure of it." 

"How did he get the glasses, Doctor?" asked Maytag. 

"Billy was something of a test pilot for a new, smaller
model. I really don't know much about the device,"
Nirenbruck admitted. "Octopoles and so on. We have
electrical engineers for that. But it is quite small and
portable. He volunteered to work late, and the grad students
are always keeping odd hours. I imagine he pilfered the
device after hours, thinking he could use it for the
weekend. The fact is," the doctor summarized, "the device
does not allow true penetrative vision, nor provide a means
for transmitting images. It merely stimulates ideas already
in the brain, and lends them credibility." 

"Like a hallucinogen," said Stanton. 

"Exactly," Nirenbruck replied. "I'm surprised the DEA didn't
arrive before the NSA." 

"Billy said they did," Maytag said. "They took a urine
sample, blood test, wanted to know if he was experimenting
with a new drug at the University as part of the test. I
imagine they'll stop by to see you shortly." 

"That would be a shame. Are you two old enough to remember
the previous name for the Drug Enforcement Agency?" 

Maytag and Stanton were both embarrassed to say they did
not. 

"The Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs," he answered
his own question with disdain. "Then people pointed out,
correctly, that marijuana and other substances were neither
narcotics nor dangerous. So they changed the name. Orwellian
new speak, courtesy of your employers at the Ministry of
Love." 

"Why, Dr. Nirenbruck," said Stanton teasingly, "you sound as
if you have an interest in 'marijuana and other
substances.'" 

"How do you think I became interested in neural medicine
twenty five years ago?" he rejoined. 


TWO 

"What would you do with those glasses?" Stanton asked Maytag
as they left the lab and walked through the campus back to
the large parking ramp. 

"Me?" 

"Yes, you." 

Maytag thought for a moment. "Mr. FBI agent that I am, I
think I would convince myself there was a body tied up in
the trunk of every Cadillac that drove by, a car bomb inside
every U-Haul, and a lot of folks with concealed weapons
under their coats. Nothing fun, I'm afraid." 

Stanton laughed. "I'd be worried that I would conjure up
some disturbing things." 

"Monsters?" suggested Maytag. 

"No," replied Stanton. "More like surreal things. A Dali
kind of place, with women's shirts hiding cabinets built
into their torso. Or behind a door I would see a bird's eye
view of the earth from 10 thousand feet up. Crazy stuff." 

Maytag gave her a sideways glance. "Did you spend too much
time at the Museum of Modern Art when you were growing up,
Stanton, or is Nirenbruck not the only one to have
experimented with 'other substances'?" 

Again Stanton laughed. "I did go to college, you know.
Plenty of exposure to art, and creative ideas. And other
things." 

It was Maytag's turn to laugh. "I wouldn't mind getting my
hands on that device, though," he said. 

"Just to try it?" 

"Just to get it away from those NSA apes." 

"Apes? I sense some unresolved issues." 

"No issues, only a little contempt," Maytag said flatly. He
elaborated. "I mean, they barely asked Billy or Nirenbruck
anything except, 'Where is it?'" Maytag spoke the question
with an exaggerated husky voice. 

"Now I understand. You're upset that some NSA muscle scooped
the intelligent FBI agents," 

"We could have gotten here first. We should be the ones
returning with that device." 

"Why? What use does the FBI have for it?" 

"What use does the NSA have for it?" answered Maytag
rhetorically. "Besides," he continued, "the Bureau has a
lab, the Bureau has researchers." 

"A forensics lab, Maytag. The researchers are principally
profilers." 

"Who are principally psychologists. I'm sure they would love
to get their hands on this thing." 

Stanton was content to let Maytag have the last word on the
subject because the matter was moot. They didn't have the
device, and it was near impossible for them to change that. 

As the two climbed into the car on the third floor of the
parking ramp, Stanton saw something that made getting the
device a distinct possibility. "Mr. FBI, it's your lucky
day." 

"How's that?" Maytag asked. 

"What did Hutchins say the device looked like?" asked
Stanton. 

"A pair of thick, black, safety-goggles." Maytag looked
across the car roof at Stanton, but her gaze was focused
over the edge of the parking ramp. 

"I think we found your apes," she said. 

On a road that led back into campus stood two men in suits.
One unclipped a small object from his belt loop and handed
it to the other, who was busy adjusting a pair of oversized
glasses. 

"Follow them," said Stanton. She opened the trunk and
searched her luggage for binoculars. "I'll call you on the
cell phone when you hit the street and let you know where
they are." 

Maytag had already made a break for the stairs. Following
Stanton's instructions, he moved to within sight of the NSA
agents and their own experiments with visual interpolation.
At that point he called her back on the mobile phone and
gave her updates on their location. They eventually reached
the university museum. Stanton caught up with Maytag outside 
the building. 

"Isn't it too nice of a spring day for the trench coat,
Stanton?" 

"Yes, but I have a plan," she said. "Where are they?" 

"Ape number one followed some woman into the museum. I think
she's a cashier or something. He took off the glasses before
going in and gave them to ape number two. I think ape number
one saw something he liked, because he's talking to the same
woman right now." 

"Perfect," exclaimed Stanton. "Don't let the other one get
close to us," she said as she climbed the stairs. 

"What's in the envelope?" called Maytag as he hurried up the
stairs to play babysitter. 

"Just some suggestions," Stanton replied. 


THREE 

When Stanton found him, he was hunched over a small suit of
armor. She heard him say, "Wow, I always wondered how they
made things stand up." and then she cleared her throat. 

He spun around, and with his large frame and the bulky
spectacles he looked like a welder who had inadvertently
worn a suit into the metal shop. Brazenly, he eyed her from
head to toe with a leisurely dip of his head. 

Stanton held up her badge. She covered the letters FBI with
her fingers, but flashed the badge and her picture. "I'm
Heather Scanlon with the district attorney's office," she
stated, and pointed at his head. "Those glasses are evidence
in a pending case, and I'll need them back." 

"I'm De Luca with the National Security Agency," he said,
brandishing his own identification. "We talked to the DA's
office and got the OK to take these back to Washington." 

"You talked to my assistant," Stanton countered, as she
lifted the manila envelope. "I have a court order here for
the return of those glasses." 

"Let me see that," snapped De Luca. 

Heather handed him the envelope. He scanned over the
surface, and his lips moved a bit. He handed it back to her
without opening it. 

"I'm going to have to talk to my partner about this," said
De Luca. 

"I have a better idea," said Stanton. "Why don't we talk to
the District Attorney's office instead?" 

Just then, a group of schoolchildren turned into the hallway
and were soon flocking to the armor, halberds, and pole axes
that stood along the walls. Shrill shouts bounced off the
marble floor, and a taller woman of authority admonished
the children not to disturb the other museum visitors. 

"Maybe we should find a more private place to discuss this,"
Stanton said. 

The museum had smaller rooms connected to the exhibit
galleries for lectures and discussions. They stepped inside
one. Stanton dialed Maytag's cell phone, and in response to
his curt greeting said, "This is Heather Scanlon. Could I
please speak to DA Rogers?" 

"Stanton?" replied Maytag quizzically. 

"Scanlon," she repeated. "I need to speak with Rogers about
the Hutchins case." 

"I see, so I'm supposed to be Rogers," said Maytag. 

"He's in a meeting?" asked Stanton, "Well, then we'll --
hold on, I have a call on the other line." 

Heather looked at De Luca and shrugged her shoulders to
indicate she had no idea who else might be calling her. She
pressed a random button and then said, "Hello, Heather
Scanlon." 

"Stanton, what the hell are you talking about? Are you OK?"
asked Maytag. 

"Oh, Jack, it's you," she said, and feigned embarrassment
for De Luca. "Look, honey, could you call back in a little
while? I'm busy right now." 

"Now you want me to call you back?" asked Maytag. "Stanton,
I have no idea what you're doing but I'll play along." 

"Yes, I'd like that," replied Stanton, saying a quick
goodbye and pressing again on the keypad. 

"Sorry about that," Heather said. "Just tell Rogers we'll
call him later." She hung up on a rather confused Gerald
Maytag. 

"That didn't go as I planned," said Stanton to De Luca,
thinking that it actually might go as planned if Maytag
called back in the next few minutes. 

De Luca moved to speak, but Heather interrupted him. "It's a
little hot in here, isn't it?" She pulled off her trenchcoat
in a quick flurry of arms and shoulders. 

De Luca appeared to forget what he was about to say. He
stood still, and looked Stanton over, slower this time than
in the hallway. Stanton felt his eyes on her, and she turned
and walked to the window, then walked back. It looked like
the normal pacing of someone waiting for a phone call, but
Heather did it to give De Luca a complete view of whatever
it was he imagined he saw. 

When she thought he had recovered from the shock of the
striptease that he only virtually witnessed, Stanton spoke
again to disturb his equilibrium. 

"You really shouldn't be doing that," she said. 

The soft look of amusement on De Luca's face turned to
panic. He struggled to speak, but was again interrupted. 

"I wish you would take those goggles off," she appealed,
only increasing his discomfort. "They're evidence in a
crime, and you're tampering with them." 

Relieved, De Luca stripped the glasses off so quickly that
he pulled the power cord from the battery pack. It was as if
he had been caught sitting under the bleachers, staring
under girls' skirts. The voice of the principal had startled
him, but scolded him only for skipping class. He eagerly
accepted the punishment for the lesser crime. 

Stanton answered her cell phone the moment it chirped.
"Scanlon," she said hurriedly. 

"Stanton?" 

"Hello, Jack," said Stanton with a note of disappointment. 

"Stanton, what is all this? Have you found the guy?" 

"Yes, it's good to hear from you, too. I just don't know if
we can talk about that right now." 

"Talk about what?" asked a frustrated Maytag. 

"Ja-ck," said Stanton, dividing the word into two syllables,
feigning embarrassment and turning slightly from De Luca.
"I'm not alone," she said in a lowered voice that she
intended De Luca to hear anyway. 

"Do you want me to hang up?" asked Maytag. 

"No-o," said Stanton, again singing the words with two
notes. "Let me see if I can get step aside for the moment." 

She turned to De Luca. "I'm just going to step outside for a
moment to take this call. It's personal." 

Once outside, she addressed Maytag directly, but continued
the performance for De Luca. In the hallway, the
conversation was unintelligible, and the gestures she made
didn't correspond with the dialogue at all. 

"Sorry about that, Maytag." Stanton's back was to the door,
and she threw her head back and ran a hand through her hair. 

"Nice to hear you say that," Maytag replied. "Rogers. Jack.
I was beginning to doubt my own name." 

"Don't worry, I know who you are, and I know what I'm
doing," she said, rolling her head, letting her hair sweep
over her shoulders. "I need you to help me continue the
show, though. When I call back, you are Rogers, the District
Attorney, and you are furious that the glasses are out of
your office." 

"Do I have a first name?" 

Heather lifted her right arm and turned her hand back so the
fingers pointed to her back. She rested it against her ribs,
and held her arm akimbo. 

"Make a suggestion," she said, as she moved the hand down
her side and onto her hip. "And don't say Roy." 

"How about Jolly?" asked Maytag. 

"That's even funnier," she said, sliding the hand around to
the front of her waist, and then between her legs. "Let's
just use Gerry." 

Maytag made some quip, but Stanton didn't hear it. She had
raised the right hand to her mouth and held the tip of the
index finger in her front teeth. She turned to look sideways
into the room. She didn't see De Luca, or the glasses. 

"Where has he gotten to?" she wondered. Maybe he was
shuffling in the room uncomfortably. Perhaps he was at the
window, using the X-ray glasses to watch the coeds stroll
along to and from classes, as he had earlier in the day with
his partner. With an average age of twenty, they certainly
presented an inviting target, Stanton had to admit. Even if
De Luca was as dumb as Maytag insinuated, he should be able
to connect the dots on those nubile young women. 

Or maybe he had taken the bait. Maybe Stanton and her
overcoat presented a novelty, the one woman that day he
could not see undressed. It was as if she were the one
chocolate wrapped in red foil in a huge box of candy, and
even though one might guess it was a cherry cordial
underneath, it still beckoned to be opened and tasted first.
Possible, she thought. In spite of all those other sweets,
she may have distracted him. 

"Stanton!" Maytag barked, "Are you even listening to me?" 

Surprised, Stanton responded. "Yes. No. It doesn't matter,
just keep talking." 

Heather's attention quickly left Maytag again, but avoided
more speculation on De Luca as well. If he were watching,
then she had better maintain appearances. 

Heather faced the room, but fixed her eyes on the hand
holding the cellular phone. She smiled, bit her lower lip,
then brought her other elbow back into her body and pushed
her hand down her thigh. With a slight shuffle, she
repositioned herself to face away from the side room, but
not completely. She put her hand inside her waistband and
thrust down. 

That should hold his attention, she thought. Was he hiding
in a corner of the room, spying on her? Stroking himself in
his pants like Billy Hutchins on his college campus? 

Heather noticed that she was actually wet. She didn't know
if that was from nervousness or an exhibitionist thrill.
Maybe that girl did know Billy was there. Maybe she knew he
was jerking off and she liked it. She slid a finger along
her slick lips and enjoyed the state of her own arousal. The
idea of De Luca, of anyone, watching was exciting, she
admitted to herself. Then again, Heather mused, maybe it was
the sound of Maytag's voice on the phone. 

The thought made her laugh, and brought her back to the
present. Maytag's voice registered. "What's so funny?" he 
asked. 

"Nothing," said Heather, with her hand still inside her
pants, only now she wasn't as interested in her
self-interest. 

"Well, that's the first thing you've said in a while,"
Maytag replied, disgusted with his partner's aloofness. 

"Oh, shit!" exclaimed Heather. 

Another class of kids had just turned down the hallway.
Stanton quickly yanked her hand out of her pants and ducked
inside the classroom. De Luca wasn't as fast, though. He
turned away and hunched over to zip his pants and buckle his
belt. Stanton, however, clearly saw him playing with himself
through the window as she made her move for the door. 

"What the hell are you doing?" she called out. 

De Luca struggled for words. "I was just fixing my pants.
Uh, this is an old suit and I must have lost a few pounds."
He turned to face her and grinned sheepishly. 

"Again with the glasses!" Stanton cried. "That's it, I've
had enough of this. Hand those over immediately! If you want
to lodge a complaint with my superior about the way this was
handled, then fine by me. But I can guarantee you the report
your superior will see will be a lot worse." 

De Luca pulled the goggles off his face and hurriedly handed
them to Stanton. 

"Sorry about this," he said. "I'm sure we can just forget
about this whole thing." 

"Yes, well," said Stanton condescendingly, "I thank you for
your cooperation." 

De Luca offered a polite smile as Stanton collected the
glasses and her envelope and prepared to leave the room. 

"By the way," she said on the way out, "your shirt tail is
sticking out of your fly." 


FOUR 

On the plane back home, Stanton made for poor
conversation. She had fallen asleep shortly after the
aircraft left the ground. Maytag didn't mind so much. He
enjoyed his snack, and had even purchased a beer, something
he rarely did on board a plane. 

The flight was rather interesting, or at least it was after
the crew announced that it was safe to use electronic
devices. Maytag enjoyed looking out the window at the wing,
and all the wires and motors just beneath the skin. He gazed
up at the overhead compartments and saw the baggage tucked
safely away, and the other pieces that shifted with the
airplane's movement. The quintessential FBI agent didn't see
any signs of hijackers among his fellow passengers. Airport
security had freed his mind of those worries. 

Best of all, though, were the flight attendants. He would
probably call one over again to order another beer. They
wore the most fantastic garter belts to match their navy
blue stockings. Just as he always imagined they did.