Fantasy in Death

10

She didn’t find Benny in his office, which offered her the perfect opportunity to study his space. Open door, she thought, glass walls, implicit permission. Like the others, he had an office Friggie and AutoChef, a range of comps, a collection of toys and games.

More files, more clutter than Var, less than Cill, she noted, with active memo cubes stacked on his workstation, a mound of discs beside them. More discs filed by number on a shelf-and, as in Mira’s office, several photos.

She studied Benny with Cill and Bart as kids, all fresh faces and goofy smiles. Benny, tall and skinny even then, had an explosion of improbable red hair. He towered over his companions as Cill’s sharp green eyes sent out a wickedly happy glint, and the doomed Bart stood in the middle. In another they were teenagers at what looked to be the Jersey shore, sunshades, geek tees, windblown hair, mugging for the camera.

Still another had them dressed in costumes, with Cill in a fancy wig that had big rounds of hair at both ears, and a white flowy dress-with some sort of blaster in her hand. Benny wore a kind of space soldier suit, a smirky smile, and held another blaster, while Bart wore a white tunic and carried a glowing tubular sword.

No, light saber, she corrected. Sure, sure, the Jedi deal, the Star Wars thing-like his droid.

She took a closer look at the light saber, shook her head. It just wasn’t the murder weapon.

Other pictures included Var-older now, college time-shaggy hair, sloppy clothes, sleepy eyes. Then the four of them stood in front of the warehouse, with patchy snow on the ground. Each wore a U-Play T-shirt and mile-wide grins as they toasted the camera with glasses of what was likely champagne.

She filed it all away before wandering out. She scanned the area-the glass boxes, the open stairs, the clear cubes, and workstations. Not so much bustle today, but still plenty of movement.

She frowned as she watched the way the sun beamed down and flashed over all the glass-and threw certain areas into soft shadows.

That was interesting, she mused. Glass walls or not, at certain times of the day sections were glared to invisible by the slant of sunlight.

She stopped a guy with a half a million tiny braids before he could whiz by on airskates. “I’m looking for Benny.”

“Um. His office?”

“No.”

“Um. Maybe he went home. It’s a crap day. Yo, Jessie? Benny?”

“Um. I think he was going to Lab Three. Maybe.”

“Lab Three,” Airskate said helpfully. “Maybe.”

“And where is that?”

“Um. Third level.” He pointed east. “That way.”

“Thanks.” She wondered how many “ums” were dropped in the air on any given day.

She took the long way around. No one stopped her, asked who she was, what she was doing. People went about their business, or gathered in little groups with the slash of those black armbands like wounds on their bright colors.

Now and then she noticed someone actually using a swipe card, but for the most part doors remained open.

She spotted Benny through the glass of a lab, its outer wall lined with comps and screens. He seemed to be executing some sort of martial arts kata, mouth grim, eyes shielded by VR goggles.

Good moves, she decided. Smooth, controlled, quick despite his human stickman build.

This one did more than sit in a cube and pretend.

She hooked her thumbs in her back pockets, watching until he made the ritual ending bow.

He jumped when she rapped her knuckles on the glass.

When he pulled off the goggles, his eyes looked dazed and glazed and made her wonder how long he’d been caught in the VR.

He fumbled a little with the lock code, then slid the door open.

“Lieutenant Dallas. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were out here.”

“No problem. Good form. What level are you?”

“Oh, none.” There was an awkwardness to his shrug that hadn’t been there in the movements of the routine. “Not really. Virtually and in holo? I rock, but I don’t actually compete or practice or anything.”

“You should.”

He said, “Well…” And shrugged jerkily again. “Is there something new about Bart? Did you find out who killed him?”

“We’re working on it. Were you testing a new game?”

“Oh no. Not really. We’re always adding new functions and levels to our VR instructional programs. But mostly I was just… going away for a while. We should’ve closed today.” He looked over her shoulder, away. “I think we probably should have closed. But Var thought we’d all be better off here, doing something, being together. He’s right, I guess. I don’t know what I’d do at home.” He shrugged again. “The same thing I’m doing here, probably. Sorry. Do you want to come in? Or go to the break room? Something.”

“In’s good.” She stepped past him. “You do some of your testing here, some development?”

“Sure. Mostly VR and interactive screen in this lab. We’ve got others for straight comp, pocket games, and instructionals, holo. I use it for research, too, comparing on-the-market stuff with things we’re working on.”

“Must be fun.”

“Yeah, mostly it is. Bart… He implemented this policy early on. Everybody plays. It’s like part of the job description. Everybody who works here has to log in a certain number of hours on actual play. You can’t create games if you don’t play games-that’s his philosophy.”

“So, does everybody who works here get a shot at something that’s still in the development stage?”

“No. That would depend on their level and specific involvement. But we have all our on-the-market games available for employees, and a lot of our competition’s. Do you want to try something out? I can set you up.”

“How about the holo-lab? I’ll try out Fantastical.”

He winced. “I really can’t. I’m sorry. We don’t test that with the staff here. Not yet. We do weekends and after-hours. In a few more weeks, we’ll be ready. Bart’s already talking about the launch, and how… I mean-God. Goddamn it.”

Benny leaned back against a work counter as if his long legs wouldn’t support him any longer. “I can’t get it. I just can’t pull it in and keep it there. He’s gone. He’s really gone.”

“Bart had big plans for the new game.”

“Mega. He had a way of seeing the whole picture, taking it down the line. Having Plan B and C in place just in case.”

“You went back a long way. I stopped in your office, looking for you. I saw the pictures.”

“Yeah. I can hardly remember a time when Cill and Bart weren’t right there. Then Var.” He etched a square in the air with his fingers. “We clicked the corners and boxed it in. Four square. Oh Jesus.”

“It’s a hard loss. A friend, a partner. You shared a lot. The picture in the costumes. Star Wars, right?”

“Yeah, A New Hope. Episode four.” After heaving out a breath, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, then dropped them. “Leia, Luke, and Han. The summer before college, at Worldcon.”

“Bart must’ve been a big fan. The costume, his house droid.”

“Arguably, Star Wars opened things up, and the CGI developed by Lucas…” He managed a ghost of a smile. “You don’t want to get me started.”

“He probably played it a lot, in fantasy games. Maybe favored versions of it in the new game.”

“Not so much. I mean in the new game. We’ve got buckets of Star Wars and Jedi games. Really intense.”

“But he knew how to use a light saber.”

“Wicked frosted. He could holo or VR pilot any ship or transport, too. When Bart goes gaming, he’s into it. He works at it.”

“What did he favor in the new game?”

“Gosh, we mix it up a lot. You’ve got to when you’re developing.” But the question, the thinking it over, seemed to settle him. “He likes the battles. Save the girl or the village or the planet deal. Quests and wizardry, facing the Black Knight, slaying the dragon. The thing about the new game is you can do all that and more. You can build the world, the mythology.”

As he spoke, excitement sparked in his voice, onto his face. “Bart’s the undisputed champ at world building. He wrote the outlines and consulted on the scripts for the vid versions of Charrah and Third Star. Bart’s a really good writer, and you combine that with the programming chops, you got something way up.”

Benny wound down, sighed, seemed to deflate again. “I can’t get it straight in my head that he’s gone. Really gone. It’s like it won’t stick in my brain from one minute to the next. I don’t know what we’re going to do. When you find out who did it, when you put them away, will it get better? Will it?”

“I don’t know. You’ll know who and why, and you’ll know Bart got justice.”

“It matters.” He nodded. “Justice mattered to Bart. It’s why he liked to play the hero, I guess. But the thing is, Lieutenant Dallas, justice won’t bring him back.”

“No, it won’t.”

She left him, headed to the steps, started down. When she looked back she saw him, VR goggles in place again, hands fisted as he gave the opening salute.

Going away for a while again, she thought.

After the sticky, sweltering heat that seemed to bounce off the streets of East Washington into the faces of anyone with business out of doors, the chill of a hotel lobby felt like bliss. Even better, Peabody felt completely uptown in her plum purple multi-zips-the cut and placement of zippers helped, she believed, made her ass look smaller. She’d married it with knee-high shine boots and a float tank-low scoop-that gave her tits a nice lift.

She’d added a temp tattoo on one of those nicely lifted tits of a winged dragon inside a heart, pumped up the facial enhancements, gone wild and curly with the hair, and draped on plenty of sparkles.

No possible way she looked like a cop.

She knew the outfit worked because McNab had taken one look at her, made that flattering mmmmm sound of his, and grabbed her ass.

Undercover meant blending, and she concluded they’d passed that test, she in her plum purple and candy pink, McNab in his spring-grass green and Son of Zark tee. Hand-in-hand they glided across the lobby in her heeled shines and his ankle skids toward con registration.

In his many pockets and inside her many zips, they carried weapons-which had required a stop and private ID scan at Security-as well as badges, restraints, ’links, and communicators.

Neither expected trouble, but both sort of hoped for it.

They collected their con passes, registration packs, and freebies-which included go-cups featuring characters from a new game, some free downloads, discount chits, and map discs.

“This is the frost on the ice,” McNab decided as they moved into the first display area. “This is total. Did you see they have VR demos all day-and look, man, that’s the new 3-Z system. It’s got portable holo capabilities. Costs the earth and a couple satellites, and it’s first generation, but you can play holo without a full holo-room.”

Peabody stopped long enough to watch the demo. “The characters look like ghosts. Flat, jittery ghosts.”

“Yeah, well, it’s first generation. Give it a couple years. Tech rules, baby.”

They wandered along with aliens and warriors, villains and heroes and geeks, while the air zipped and buzzed and crashed around them.

Lines snaked for demos, for meetings with game to vid or vid to game characters. Screens exploded with battles, space wars, air-toground chases, and magic quests.

“There’s the U-Play booth.” Peabody pointed. “We should go hang around there, get some dish.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” McNab craned his head to watch the screen as she dragged him along. “I could beat that score. I have beat that score. I should sign up to play. It’s in character.”

“Later. If Dallas tags me while you’re screwing around, it’ll be both our butts. We make contact, get the feel, get all juiced about weapons, see what we see. Then you can kick ass in Worm Hole.”

“She-body.” He gave her a little one-arm cuddle. “You’re so efficient. They’ve got adults-only games one level down.”

She slanted him a look under plum-tinted lashes. “Oh yeah?”

“I checked the map.”

“Well… It would be in character. It’s all for the cause.”

“Abso. If we don’t play a few games while we’re here, somebody’ll get suspicious.”

“We’ll work our way down.” She leaned over, nipped his multi-ringed ear. “Then I’ll take you down.”

“Fighting words.” He gave her ass a nice squeeze.

People crowded in and around the U-Play booth, a colorful throng against the streams of black crepe. A poster of Bart Minnock held center stage while on-screen he conducted a seminar on game play.

Some of the attendees wept openly, while others purchased mementoes, systems, games, and action figures. All reduced ten percent, in memorial.

They worked their way in, and Peabody widened her eyes at a woman manning a section of the booth. “Is he really dead? I heard it was just a publicity stunt to kick off a new game.”

“He’s gone.” Her already red-rimmed eyes watered up. “We’re all just flattened.”

“Did you know him?” McNab asked. “Like, personally?”

“Not really. I work out of East Washington, mostly handle marketing for this region. I met him though. He was a great guy.”

“But come on.” Peabody pushed a little. “What they’re saying can’t be true. Getting his head cut off, in a holo-room. It sounds like a game to me.”

The woman’s teary eyes went cold. “He was murdered, and that’s not a game.”

“Well, Jeez, sorry. It just doesn’t sound real. I mean, who’d do something like that?”

“I hope they find out soon, and make him pay. Gaming’s lost a really bright light. And those of us with U-Play, well, we feel we lost the heart.”

“It’s really sad,” Peabody said, and added a pat-pat on the woman’s arm. “My guy here’s the big fan. We hooked work and everything to come down because we heard about it.”

“I told you it was real.” McNab tried for scolding and sorrowful at the same time. “I just want to say I really related to Bart. You know, he was the face of my generation of gamers. I bought U-Play’s first PS system, and I’ve never looked back. I got their PS-5, with the substation for Christmas last year. It really sings.”

“We’re very proud of it. Have you demo’d Excursion?”

“No, not yet.”

“Let me give you a complimentary demo copy, in memory of Bart.”

“Mag. I mean, thanks. I don’t mean-”

“I got it.” She offered the disc. “This’ll give you ten plays before it wipes. I hope you enjoy it.”

“No question. You know, some of my favorites?” McNab easily rattled off a list of games, heavy on war and weapons. “We have a Dead of Knight tournament every couple months at our place.”

“He was actually going to e-mail U-Play and invite Bart,” Peabody added, inspired.

“Oh, you should have! He might’ve come.”

“I’m thinking of having a big one next month-full costumes, props, the whole banana. Like kind of a tribute.”

“If you do, let me know.” She pulled out a card. “I might be able to get you some attention, and arrange for some freebies.”

“Hey, that’d be total. I heard a lot about Bart’s collection. I relate there, too.”

“I’ll say. My boy likes weapons, especially the phallic ones,” Peabody added with a wink. “We’ve got our game room loaded with them. We’re always on the lookout for something really tight. I like to find them and surprise him.”

“They’ve got a terrific weapons display up a level.”

“Yeah, we’re heading up there.”

“Ask for Razor, show him my card. I don’t know a lot about weapon collecting, but he knows everything. If it exists, in any form, he can find it, get it, sell it.”

“Frosty. Razor.” McNab glanced at the poster again. “I sure hope they get whoever did it.”

“We all do.”

As they left the booth, Peabody unzipped a pocket for her beeping ’link. After a glance at the display, she switched to privacy mode. “Hi, Mom!”

“Cute,” Eve said. “I’m-what the hell do you have on your face? And your hair’s all screwy.”

“Undercover, remember?” Peabody muttered. “I’m blending.”

“Where? At the Geek Skank Parade?”

Peabody narrowed her eyes. “What do you know about geek skanks? And who’s here because they do know?”

“Point taken, so never mind. I’m on my way back to Central.

Report, Detective Skank.”

“Ha-ha-ha.” Peabody sniffed. “We haven’t been here long, so we’re still feeling our way. But we just had a nice talk with one of the reps at the U-Play booth. They’ve got it draped in black, got a big picture of Bart-and they’re running a discount on for-sale merchandise due to death. Business is brisk.”

“Death sale? Interesting. I wonder whose brainchild that was.”

“We’re heading up to Weapons now. The rep gave us a contact.”

“Good. Let me know if you get a hit. How many times have you stopped to play games?”

“Not once. I swear.”

“Well, play something, for Christ’s sake. You’re supposed to be players. You can’t blend by skank alone.”

“You know, I’m starting to take the skank as a compliment. Game play’s on the slate.”

“And get back here asap. Feeney’s bitching about losing his boy.”

“We’re-” Peabody blew out a breath as Eve broke transmission. “Do I look like a skanky geek or a geeky skank?”

“If those are my only two choices, I abstain. I think you look like my one and only She-body, supreme.”

“That’s a really good answer.” She grabbed his hand, and continued to the third level. “Anyway, we’re supposed to get a hit, play games, and get back asap.”

But McNab didn’t respond. He stood, dazzled, circling slowly.

Blasters, battle-axes, peacemakers, swords, sabers, lightning discs, and more and more. Some shined, some glowed, some shimmered at the edges-and many did so behind security glass and lock.

Peabody snapped her fingers under his nose.

He blinked, grinned. “Just staying in character.”

“You’re a character all right. What is it about things that maim, hack, and kill?”

“I like things that blast better.” He made a credible blasting noise and grinned again. “But today, I’m all about the sword. Let’s find Razor.”

It took nearly an hour, but Peabody didn’t have the heart to rush him. Plus, he unquestionably looked like a geek mesmerized by weapons, which was part of the point. He talked the talk with any number of attendees, collectors, reps-and got points for remembering he was supposed to be a sword guy rather than a blaster guy.

She left him long enough to go to Vending for a couple of fizzies. When she came back he stood holding a mean three-bladed weapon that sizzled with zagging red lights as he turned it.

“Hey, baby, check it out! Master’s tri-sword from Edge of Doom. It’s one of the originals used in the vid.”

“I thought you had that already?”

“No, no, you’re thinking of the trident from Poseidon’s Rage.”

“Okay.” She handed him the fizzy.

“This is my Dee-Light,” he said with a wink at the short, stocky man with a gleaming head adorned with tattoos. “This is Razor.”

“Right. The rep downstairs said you were the man.”

“Weapons rule, and I rule the weapons.” He gestured toward the trisword in a way that made the snake tattoo from his knuckles to elbow seem to slither. “Only four of those in existence, and only two still on the market. Plenty of replicas, sure, but this is the real deal. You get a certificate of authenticity with it.”

“It’s way tight.” McNab moved into a warrior stance. “Way,” he said again. “I’m going to keep it in reserve. What I’m really after is a single blade. Zapper broadsword. The real, real deal.” He set the tri-sword down. “I’m licensed. I’m building a collection of blades, different levels, you get? Toys, props, and reals. I’m zeroed on reals today.”

“I get, but you’re still talking prop or toy with the zapper sword. I can get the Doom model, the Gezzo, Lord Wolf-like that, but the vid prop-and that’ll run ya. Or I can get you a deal on a repro. But there ain’t no real.”

“Underground says different.”

“Underground?” Razor snorted out a derisive laugh that made his silver nose ring shimmer. “You gotta wade through ten feet of bullshit just to see the underground.”

“The word I got is it’s a weapon featured in a new game, and they made reals so they could create the program.” He leaned a little closer. “I’ve got this friend of a friend thing, who worked in R &D at U-Play. Something hot’s coming, and this weapon features.”

Razor’s eyes tracked right and left. “Something hot’s coming,” he agreed. “I got friends of friends, too, and might be there’ll be a new line of weapons coming, too. But if there was a zapper sword, a real, I’d be the first. You can ask anybody in the game who knows what there is to know. They’ll say Razor.”

McNab pursed his lips, shoved a hand in one of his many pockets. “I don’t know why they’d string me on this. What’s hot is supposed to be, you know, fantastic.”

Razor held a hand up, lowered it. “Keep it down-low. Yeah, I got that word. But weapons are my thing, and there’s no word on what you’re talking about. Plenty of props, toys, models of that kind of thing, but no reals. It’s fantasy, man.”

McNab adjusted his face toward the dubious and disappointed. “How close are the models and props to reals?”

“I’ll show you one so close you’d swear you could slice your opponent in two, and leave the two pieces smoking.”

They spent another twenty minutes testing and discussing different swords. While all of them looked lethal, none of them could have caused more than a minor scratch, if that.

McNab ended up buying a toy replica of the three-bladed sword. “For my nephew,” he claimed. “He’ll get a charge. Listen, if you hear anything about what we were talking about before?” He scribbled down an e-mail contact. “Let me know.”

“Will do, but you’re chasing an urban legend, friend.”

“Or the wild goose,” McNab said to Peabody as they merged back into the crowd. “My gut says if anybody knows about this weapon, Razor knows.”

“My gut’s with yours. He figured you had the want and the means. If he could’ve brokered a sale, he’d’ve jumped. And if he knew about it, I think he’d have let it show. Ego, rep on the line. If it’s out there, it hasn’t hit the grapevine or the underground.”

“Maybe it’s military, top secret.”

“Think about it. Why would the military need swords? Any kind?”

“Gotta point. We hit the egg of the wild goose on this, Peabody.”

“Yeah, but we did the job. I say we continue in character and head down two levels.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Time to play like grown-ups.”

“She-body, you are so my girl.”

“You’re about to prove it.”

In New York, Eve wrote an updated report before running a new series of probabilities. Speculation, she thought, feelings, gut impressions. They were, to her mind, as much a part of police work as hard evidence.

She studied the results, let out a huh, then put her boots up on the desk, closed her eyes, and thought about it.

“Nice work if you can get it.”

She didn’t bother opening her eyes. She’d already heard the click of heels, the rhythm of them, and knew Nadine Furst, Channel 75’s ace on-air, and host of the wildly popular Now stood in her doorway.

“I don’t smell any doughnuts.”

“It’s middle of the afternoon. I used cookies.” She rattled the little box in her hand. “And saved you three-and it wasn’t easy.”

“What kind of cookies?”

“Mega chocolate chunk. I know you, don’t I?”

“And I know you. I’m not giving you anything on the inves tigation.”

“I’m here for that-though I’d never turn it down.” She dropped the box on the desk. “I had Bart Minnock on my show a couple of times. He was a sweet boy. I hope you roast the balls of his killer.”

Eve opened her eyes, looked into Nadine’s always camera-ready face. Those clever green eyes meant business. “Working on it.”

Nadine gestured to the murder board. “So I see.”

“Shit.” Eve’s boots hit the floor. “That’s off record.”

“How long have we been friends?”

“Not really all that long,” she said and made Nadine laugh.

“God, you’re a hard-ass, which is probably why you’re my friend. I’m here to personally and in person remind you your presence is desired at my book launch party tomorrow night.” She winged up her brows as Eve frowned. “And no, I don’t expect you to remember, but Roarke will. It hits day after tomorrow. The book does. So…” She ran her fingers through her perfectly styled streaky blond hair-a sure sign of distress. “God, I’m so nervous. No, make that terrified.”

“Why?”

“Why? Why? What if it bombs?”

“Why would it bomb?”

“Well, Jesus, because it sucks?”

“It doesn’t suck. You made me read it. I mean, you asked me to read it,” Eve amended, on the chance there was a friendship rule about “made me.”

“For accuracy since the Icove case was mine. Which I did. It didn’t suck, and it was accurate.”

“Great, it doesn’t suck.” Nadine tossed up her hands. “Fabulous. I wonder if I can get them to put that as a PR quote. ‘Lieutenant Eve Dallas says this book doesn’t suck.’”

“Do you need written permission?”

Nadine plopped down in a chair.

“Oh, make yourself the fuck at home. Can’t you see I’m working on a murder here?”

“Can’t you see I’m having a breakdown here?” Nadine snapped back, and gave Eve pause.

“Okay.” Because it was rare to see Nadine so jittery, Eve rose and went to the AutoChef. “You can have coffee, pull yourself together, then you’re out of here.”

“Oh, thanks a bunch.”

“Listen, I told you it was good when you made me”-shit-“asked me to read it.” Eve pushed the coffee at Nadine. “The reviews say it’s good.”

Nadine blinked. “You’ve read the reviews?”

“I maybe saw one or two, somewhere. The point is, you did a solid job. More than, if it matters what I think. You made it human and important, and you didn’t sentimentalize it-if that’s a word. You got it accurate, and that matters, but you made it real. And that’s probably just as important. So stop being a big baby about it.”

“I knew I’d feel better if I came by here. You bitch.” She grabbed Eve’s hand. “I’d really like you to be there tomorrow night, even if you can’t stay long. I might need you to kick me in the ass again.”

“What’re friends for? Look, I’ll try. I’ll plan on it, but if something breaks on this case-”

“Remember who you’re talking to. I know the priorities of the job. Anyway, if you’re roasting the balls of whoever did this instead of kicking my ass and drinking champagne, I’ll be fine with it.” She sat another minute, finishing the coffee. “Okay. All right. That should hold me for a couple hours.”

“Go bother somebody else if you need a booster shot.”

“I do have other friends, you know.” She glanced at the board again. “Go get them, Dallas.”

Eve sat again. After a moment, she opened the box and took out a cookie. She studied it a moment, then took a bite, sighed at the rush of sugar.

And she thought about friendships.