Brad Gordon had a bad feeling as he walked into the Border Caf? on Ventura Boulevard and looked at the booths. The place was a greasy spoon, filled with actors. A guy waved from a rear booth. Brad walked back to him.

The guy was wearing a light gray suit. He was short and balding and looked unsure of himself. His handshake was weak. “Willy Johnson,” he said, “I’m your new attorney for the upcoming trial.”

“I thought my uncle, Jack Watson, was providing the attorney.”

“He is,” Johnson said. “I’m he. Pederasty is my specialty.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Sex with a boy. But I have experience with any underage partner.”

“I didn’t have sex with anybody,” Brad said. “Underage or not.”

“I’ve reviewed your file and the police reports,” Johnson said, pulling out a legal pad. “I think we have several avenues for your defense.”

“What about the girl?”

“She is not available; she left the country. Her mother is ill in the Philippines. But I am told she will return for the trial.”

“I thought there wasn’t going to be a trial,” Brad said. The waitress came over. He waved her away. “Why are we meeting here?”

“I have to be in court in Van Nuys at ten. I thought this would be convenient.”

Brad looked around uneasily. “Place is full of people. Actors. They talk a lot.”

“We won’t discuss the details of the case,” Johnson said. “But I want to lay out the structure of your defense. In your case, I am proposing a genetic defense.”

“Genetic defense? What’s that mean?”

“People with various genetic abnormalities find themselves helpless to suppress certain impulses,” Johnson said. “That makes them, in technical terms, not guilty. We will be proposing that as the explanation in your case.”

“What genetic disorder? I don’t have any genetic disorder.”

“Hey, it’s not a bad thing,” Johnson said. “Think of it as a type of diabetes. You’re not responsible for it. You were born that way. In your case, you have an irresistible impulse to engage in sex with attractive young women.” He smiled. “It’s an impulse that’s shared by about ninety percent of the adult male population.”

“What kind of a fucking defense is that?” Brad Gordon said.

“A very effective one.” Johnson shuffled through papers in a folder. “There have been several recent newspaper reports-”

“You mean to tell me,” Brad said, “that there’s a gene for sex with young girls?”

Johnson sighed. “I wish it were that simple. Unfortunately, no.”

“Then what’s the defense?”

“D4DR.”

“Which is?”

“It’s called the novelty gene. It’s the gene that drives us to take risks, engage in thrill-seeking behavior. We will argue that the novelty gene inside your body drove you to risky behavior.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me.”

“Is it? Let’s see. Ever jump out of an airplane?”

“Yeah, in the army. Hated it.”

“Scuba diving?”

“Couple of times. Had a hot girlfriend who liked it.”

“Mountain climbing?”

“Nope.”

“Really? Didn’t your high school class climb Mount Rainer?”

“Yeah, but that was-”

“You climbed a major American peak,” Johnson said, nodding. “Driving sports cars fast?”

“Not really, no.”

“You have five tickets for speeding in your Porsche in the last three years. Under California law, you have been at risk for losing your license all that time.”

“Just normal speeding…”

“I think not. How about sex with the boss’s girlfriend?”

“Well…”

“And sex with the boss’s wife?”

“Just once, a couple of jobs back. But she was the one who came on to-”

“Those are risky sex partners, Mr. Gordon. Any jury would agree. How about unprotected sex? Venereal diseases?”

“Just a minute, here,” Brad said, “I don’t want to get into-”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Johnson said, “and that’s not surprising, considering three cases ofpediculosis pubis- crabs. Two episodes of gonorrhea, one of chlamydia, two episodes of condyloma-or genital warts-including…hmm, one near the anus. And that’s just the last five years, according to the records of your doctor in Southern California.”

“How’d you get those?”

Johnson shrugged. “Sky diving, scuba diving, mountain climbing, reckless driving, high-risk sex partners, unprotected sex. If that doesn’t comprise a pattern of high-risk, thrill-seeking behavior, I don’t know what does.”

Brad Gordonwas silent. He had to admit the little guy knew how to make a case. He’d never thought of his life that way before. Like when he was screwing the boss’s wife, his uncle just gave him hell about it. Why, his uncle had said, did you make that kind of fucked-up decision? Keep it in your pants, jerkoff! Brad had had no answer at the time. Under his uncle’s glare, his actions did seem pretty stupid. The broad wasn’t even that good-looking. But now it seemed Brad had an answer to his uncle’s question: He couldn’t help it. It was his genetic inheritance that was controlling his behavior.

Johnson explained further, giving a lot of detail. According to him, Brad was at the mercy of thisD 4DRgene, which controlled the chemical levels in the brain. Something called dopamine was driving Brad to take risks, and to enjoy the experience, to crave it. Brain scans and other tests proved that people like Brad could not control the desire to take risks.

“It’s the novelty gene,” Johnson said, “and it has been named by the most important geneticist in America, Dr. Robert Bellarmino. Dr. Bellarmino is the biggest genetics researcher at the National Institutes of Health. He has a huge lab. He publishes fifty papers a year. No jury can ignore his research.”

“Okay, so I have the gene. You really think this will work?”

“Yes, but I want to see some frosting on the cake, before we go to trial.”

“Meaning what?”

“Before your trial, you’re naturally worried, stressed.”

“Yeah…”

“So I want you to take a trip, to take your mind off things. I want you to travel around the country, and I want you to take risks wherever you go.”

Johnson laid it out: Speeding tickets, amusement parks, getting into fights, roller coasters, climbing expeditions in national parks-always making sure to get into an argument, a dispute about safety, a claim that equipment was faulty. Anything that would get his name recorded in a document that could later be used in trial.

“That’s it,” Johnson said. “Get going. I’ll see you in a few weeks.” He gave him a sheet of paper.

“What’s this?”

“A list of the biggest roller coasters in the U.S. Make sure you visit the top three.”

“Christ. Ohio…Indiana…Texas…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Johnson said. “You’re facing twenty years in prison, my friend, with some big guy with tattoos who’s going to be giving you lots worse than anal warts. So do as I tell you. And leave town today.”

Back in hisapartment, in Sherman Oaks, he packed a bag. The thought of a big guy with tattoos preoccupied him for a moment. He wondered if he should take his pistol. Going cross-country, to crazy places like Ohio-who knew what he might come across. He put a box of ammo in his bag, and his pistol with the leg holster.

Heading for his car, Brad found that he felt better about everything. It was a sunny day, his Porsche was sparkling clean, and he had a plan.

Road trip!