Fantasy in Death (18 page)

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-to ground 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 investigation.”

“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.”