"King Of The Universe"

several N.F.L. scouts considered him a blue chip prospect. Hermann Friedman had one main shortcoming however, and that was that he never attached much importance in developing friendly, long lasting relationships with his teammates. He had been a loner all of his life. Maybe it was so because he was adopted, and an only child. Perhaps, he became much like his deceased father, who devoted little time to learning proper social etiquette. He was a recluse German scientist who immigrated to the U.S., and spent few precious hours with his son over the years. And there was his mother, a woman who cheated on his father often, but who carelessly allowed her adopted son to become all too haunted by her disgraceful behavior.

         Friedman checked his watch. It was 3:00 P.M. His blood pressure began to rise.

        “I hope Puchev is on time,” he spoke out loud to himself, as he reached for his one piece of luggage—rudely knocking two other passengers temporarily off balance.

        “Hey—what the hell . . ..” the tall slender man shouted out, but quickly became tongue tied at the mere sight of him; Friedman’s large face was flushed and his body language—ambivalent.

       Friedman bolted out of the double glass doors to make his way to his associate’s car.         Dr. Nicholai Puchev hit the power door locks, and the two were on their way to Hamilton Hospital in Center City, Philadelphia.

         “Puchev, is everything ready at the laboratory?”

         “Yes, Hermann, just like you instructed.”

 “How many times did I tell you not to get too personal with me! It’s Doctor Friedman to you!”

“Oh, sorry,” Puchev answered squeamishly.

Nicholai Puchev was short and thin, with cropped red hair. Dr. Friedman could be an intimidating figure whenever he chose