F Paul Wilson - Sims 02 (2 page)

 
          
“Really.”
She drew out the word. “What’s a private individual from
Idaho
doing on SimGen’s campus?”

 
          
“It gets better: Harold Golden’s
MasterCard is sound, so the leasing company never checked him out. But we did,
and guess what? Harold Golden doesn’t exist. He’s just a name on a credit card
account.”

 
          
“How can you be sure?”

 
          
“Can’t be one
hundred percent sure unless we find something like his Social Security number
belonging to a soldier who died in
Afghanistan
or
Iraq
.
That’s not the case here. The provenance of his Social
Security number appears sound, but can you imagine a man who’s doing some sort
of business with SimGen who has never taken out a loan of any kind? Who has one
credit card on which he charges only one thing: the lease of three trucks?”

 
          
“Unlikely…but that doesn’t mean he
doesn’t exist.”

 
          
“I can tell you that he doesn’t live
at the
Boise
address he gave the
leasing company. And that his MasterCard bill goes to an entirely different
address: a mail drop in
Hicksville
.”

 
          
“
Long Island
?”

 
          
“At the risk of sounding like an
infomercial: But wait—there’s more. The investigator I sent to
Idaho
turned up something else: Harold Golden began leasing these trucks four years
ago. The man who runs the company remembers him because Golden wanted the exact
same trucks that had been returned that very day from another lessee. Guess who
that lessee was?”

 
          
Romy shrugged.
“Mercer
Sinclair?”

 
          
“Close.
Manassas
Ventures.”

 
          
“Doesn’t mean a
thing to me.”

 
          
“Manassas Ventures was the source of
the start-up capital that allowed the brothers Sinclair to get SimGen rolling.
Consequently it controls a huge block of SimGen stock.”

 
          
“And the connection
to Harold Golden?”

 
          
“At this point,
nothing beyond the trucks.
But guess where Manassas Ventures has its
office.”

 
          
“
Hicksville
?”

 
          
“Exactly.
And it has a strange way of doing business. The company
rents
space in a small out-of-the-way office building but doesn’t
seem to have
any employees. Manassas Ventures is on the door, but it’s a door that remains
locked all day, every day, week after week. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it.”

 
          
“A man who doesn’t
exist and a business that doesn’t do any business.”

 
          
Romy felt a tingle along the nape of
her neck. “Am I detecting a pattern here?”

 
          
“I think so. Ironically, we’ve been
aware of Manassas Ventures all along but never paid any attention to it. I’d
assumed it was simply another of the countless venture capital groups that have
popped up since the early nineties—one that happened to get lucky and strike it
very rich. But I should have known never to assume anything where SimGen is
concerned.”

 
          
“If
Manassas
owns a lot of company stock, then it’s logical for it to be involved in SimGen
doings.”

 
          
“But logic seems to be taking a
breather here. For instance, if you were an investment group with SimGen on
your list and flush with capital, what would you be doing?”

 
          
“I’d be crowing. I’d have impressive
offices to attract new ventures to underwrite.”

 
          
“Exactly.
Yet Manassas Ventures’s only address is a deserted space in a nowhere
building.”

 
          
“Almost as if
they’re hiding.”

 
          
“They are.
Behind
Harold Golden.
I believe
Manassas
invented him as a layer of insulation between itself and the truck rentals. And
it almost worked. We were just lucky that our investigator asked the right
questions on a day when someone at the leasing company was in a talkative mood.
Otherwise, we’d never know the
Manassas
connection.”

 
          
“But why insulate
itself
?”

 
          
The tingle in Romy’s neck moved
across her shoulders and down her spine. She sensed the situation moving beyond
simply wrong…something sinister at work here.

 
          
Zero said, “Because I’m betting that
Manassas Ventures has ongoing involvement with SimGen’s day-to-day workings
that it doesn’t want anyone to know about. And the most likely reason for
keeping an activity secret is that it’s illegal.”

 
          
“But SimGen is one of the richest
corporations in the world, with a lock on a unique product”—she hated when
sims
were referred to as “product,” but this time it fit—“in
high demand. They’re practically minting money. They’ve got it all. Why risk a
connection to something illegal? It doesn’t make sense.”

 
          
“It does if whoever is behind
Manassas Ventures is pulling strings inside SimGen. Pulling strings that lead
to the basic research facility, perhaps?”

 
          
That struck a nerve…might explain the
company’s adamant refusal to let OPRR near the building, even with a court
order.

 
          
Zero went on and Romy could sense him
fairly vibrating with anticipation. “If something illegal or even quasi-legal
is going on, we may have found the lever to crack open SimGen’s wall of
secrecy.
All because you showed up earlier than expected.”

 
          
“And caught a
worm.”

 
          
“Maybe a snake.
I’d say Manassas Ventures is long overdue for an in-depth probe of its workings
and personnel, wouldn’t you.”

 
          
“Anything I can do?”

 
          
“In regard to
Manassas
, no.
But as for our friend, Patrick Sullivan—”

 
          
“Oh? So he’s ‘our friend’ now, is
he?”

 
          
Romy sensed a smile behind Zero’s ski
mask. “Not a close friend, not a bosom buddy, but…” His voice trailed off.

 
          
“But what?”

 
          
“I don’t know…there’s something about
him. Maybe I’m feeling a little sorry for him because he’s going through the
worst time of his life.”

 
          
“Really?”

 
          
“His girlfriend dumped him, his house
is a charred ruin, he’s been living in a motel room for weeks, and SimGen is
putting the screws to his career.”

 
          
Romy felt her interest growing.
“How so?”

 
          
“They’re pressuring Sullivan’s
clients to drop him.”

 
          
She shook her head in amazement. “How
do you know all this?”

 
          
“I have my sources.”

 
          
“You’re a SimGen insider. You’ve got
to be.”

 
          
“Back to Mr.
Sullivan?”

 
          
Romy tore her mind away from the
tantalizing possibilities of Zero’s identity. Sullivan…his predicament did sound
pretty awful, but the shyster deserved it.

 
          
“Don’t expect me to shed tears for
any lawyer, especially one of the headline hunting
variety
who’s been taking those sims for a ride.”

 
          
“You’re assessment of him might be
accurate, but I’ve got to hand it to him: He’s lost a number of big clients and
he’s still hanging tough.”

 
          
“No kidding?” Romy was surprised.
“I’d have thought he’d have folded like an old suitcase by now.”

 
          
“Well, I don’t expect him to hold up
forever, so I believe it’s time we stepped in. And speaking of suitcases…” Zero
lifted a large metal attaché case onto the table. “I’m hoping the contents of
this will bolster his fortitude.”

 
          
He slid it toward Romy who released
the catches and lifted the top. She repressed a gasp at sight of the stacks of
currency.

 
          
“How much is in here?”

 
          
“Two hundred and
fifty thousand.”

 
          
“What’s wrong with a check?”

 
          
“I feel a man like Mr. Sullivan—I am
not blind to his failings—will require more concrete proof of the seriousness
of our interest.”

 
          
Here was concrete, all right—a whole
sidewalk. “How do I approach him?”

 
          
“Directly, I would think. I’ll leave
the details up to you.”

 
          
Zero rose. A sign the meeting was
over.

 
          
“But where do I say the money’s
from?”

 
          
“Again, I leave that to your
inventive mind. But since I know how lying bothers you, I’m going to make
things easier. I’m giving the money to you, no strings attached.”

 
          
“You’re
what ?”

 
          
“That’s right. To do with as you
wish. Buy a house or a fleet of sports cars if you want. It’s all yours.”

 
          
As the shock wore off, she began to
understand. “I see what you’re up to.”

 
          
Zero said, “But should you decide to
approach Mr. Sullivan with it, I suggest being nice to him. You might find
yourself spending a good deal of time with Mr. Patrick Sullivan.”

 
          
“I can hardly wait.” She snapped the
lid shut on the money. “That’s it? You’re letting me walk out of here with a
quarter of a million in cash?”

 
          
“Your quarter of a
million.
Remember?”

 
          
Romy smiled. This was turning out to
be not such a bad day after all.

 
          
THE
BRONX

 
          
Needle Lady and Needle Man take Meerm
upstair.
Show room.
Nice room.

 
          
“This is your new home, Meerm,”
Needle Lady
say
.

 
          
“Why Meerm new
room?”

 
          
“Because you’re a
special sim.”
Needle Lady smile
Needle
Man.
“Very special.”

 
          
Meerm say, “All for self? Not share
other sim?”

 
          
“All yours,” Needle
Man say.
“The rest of the sims will stay downstairs in the dorm room,
just like always. But you’ll be here.”

 
          
Meerm walk and look. Nice bed, own
bathroom, all for Meerm. Not need share. But Meerm little room still have metal
bar window like sim big room downstair.

 
          
Meerm sit bed, hold out arm.

 
          
“What are you doing, Meerm?” Needle
Lady
say
.

 
          
“Stick?”

 
          
Needle Lady
smile
.
“No, Meerm, we won’t be taking any blood from you. Except for a tiny little bit
now and then, you get to keep your globulins.”

 
          
No stick?
This ver
strange.
Always Needle Lady and Needle Man
stick-stick-stick.
Take Meerm blood
ev
few day.
Take-take-take.
Now no stick?

 
          
“Meerm blood bad?”

 
          
Needle Man laugh, say, “Not at all!
In fact, we’re very happy with what we found in it.Very happy.”

 
          
Own room.
No
stick.
Meerm happy sim.