Chapter 9

Libraries had long been anathema for Billy.  If he ran the place, it would be requisite for the Rolling Stones to be piped to every area, and at a generous volume, too; although he would allow the volume to be turned down around the aisles housing Contemporary World Religions... no point in being disrespectful for no reason.

Today’s visit found him in the science section, trying to cross-reference ‘pentaflouroethyl ether’ with little success.  PFEE... penta... fluoro... none of the roots offered more than pointy-headed doctoral dissertations that most PH.D. chemists would have trouble navigating. It’s no use.

Exhausted and hung-over, Billy lumbered down the aisles in search of a place to sit and think.  In the Periodicals section, he collapsed in an over-stuffed leather chair and rubbed his eyes, never bothering to take off his glasses.  When he opened them, he saw it.  There, on a rack, at about eye level, he discerned the words Soldier Of Fortune.  

That’s it!  Leaping from his chair, Billy grabbed the magazine and sat back down.  Inside, he found articles about practically every legal avenue of dispensing death, and all the weapons to go along with them.  There was nothing about poison in this particular issue, but now he had the means to his end. 

His mission defined and front line firmly established, he must now find his artillery and learn how to fire it.  With spring in his step, Billy B walked to the counter and asked the librarian where back issues of Soldier of Fortune were kept... did she know of any other magazines of that sort, and could she hurry, it’s actually quite important? Oh, and by the way, I like the way you wear your hair up in a bun; it’s refreshing to know that there are some ladies who don’t fall into the trap of becoming a slave to fashion.

Her one breech of decorum was a softly muttered, “Okay, Cowboy” as she led Billy to the computer screen and showed him how to cross-reference general fields of study in their UNIX system. After a minute or so, Billy located New Breed and Gung-Ho.  Unfortunately, when he asked his favorite librarian if either was available, he was informed that the library carried neither publication; both magazines being on a list of periodicals deemed unsuitable for general public observance... perhaps the Internet could help him.            

Three hours later, his newfound technical competence in tow, Billy hadn’t located any reference to the elusive pentaflouroethyl ether.  He’d found articles about Carolina (yellow) jasmine, oleander, pokeweed, inkberry, cyanide, dioxin, even blowfish and garlic juice... all were apparently effective, but had a downside- they were relatively slow. All could be effective for a professional assassin, but for some nut whose only reason for existence was to wreak havoc, he doubted that any of these choices would be suitable. Hence, pentaflouroethyl ether... and he could find nary a single word of its existence. Billy needed professional help, and he needed it in a hurry. Tony...