Con Job (12 page)

Detective Martin blinked. “That’s silly, if it’s not available to buy here.”

“Don’t expect anyone to line up to argue. Even the creators are getting screwed, since no one can buy any
Mr. Doobles
material except for second-hand copies originally put out by Pop Culture, which of course pays no royalties.”

“But can’t they sue MEGAN!ME then, for failing to distribute?”

“Nope. It’s a license, not a distribution contract. An option, not an obligation. If they decide they don’t want to mess with a title, or if they pick it up in a bundle with something else, they don’t have to do a thing with it. But then no one else can buy or sell it.”

Detective Martin’s eyebrows drew together. “So what are the fans supposed to do?”

“Get mad or break the law. Or both. It’s harder to import a DVD, since a lot of companies can’t or won’t ship licensed titles to the US, plus the whole region mess, so they can’t buy them legally from out of the country. So, piracy.”

“Well.” Detective Martin looked faintly offended. “I didn’t know it could work like that.”

“Yep. And off the record, it’s hard to blame them when there’s a MEGAN!ME sitting on titles and making it impossible to do the right thing.” He shrugged. “But that’s not exactly your murder crowd, you know? They may get upset and vocal, but what it boils down to is, people are mad because they can’t pay for a product instead of stealing it.”

Detective Martin chuckled. “Okay, I see your point. But you said she did get a death threat.”

“She did. And I suppose there could well be some nutcase who thinks killing a VP will release his favorite show because that’s what all the voices tell him, but my money’s that it was some angry brat who never learned how to talk like a grown-up.”

“We probably ought to have the details, just in case.”

“I’ll bet it’s still in her email, saved somewhere. Not because she was worried about it, but because she was proud.”

“Proud.”

“Proud that she’d managed to make a kid swear at her in bad spelling. That was Valerie, sad as it is to say it.” He gave Detective Martin a pleading look. “Don’t tell Sophie. She wasn’t under any illusions about her sister, but she wouldn’t like to hear it said aloud to strangers.”

“I wouldn’t say anything. Does she know, about her sister?”

“I called her today. I got through a few minutes after her mother did, so she already knew. Still, pretty rough.”

Daniel walked in and stopped to look at them. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Mickey said. “Except — yes.” He ran both hands through his hair. “There’s one other thing I should tell you, before you find out from someone else.”

Detective Martin flipped her notebook open again. “Yes?”

“I — I need work. Pretty bad. I have a good reputation, some fans, steady roles, but — I could really use the money, you know? Got in a bit deep last year. And… Sorry, all that is just to say that I can’t afford to lose any work right now. And Valerie was going to cut me from
Caesar’s Ghost
.”

“What’s that?”

“She told me she was going to pull some strings and drop me. Or, it’s a first-person shooter set in ancient Rome, depending on what you’re asking.”

“Why was she going to do that?”

Mickey sighed. “Because Sophie booked a Caribbean cruise and invited their mom and step-dad, but not Valerie. So she was going to drop me to get back at Sophie.” He looked at them. “But I didn’t kill her, I swear. I wouldn’t do that — especially not to Sophie. But it’s going to look bad if it comes out.”

Detective Martin exhaled slowly. “Yeah,” she said. “It will.”

“Well, that was unexpected,” Daniel said.

They were in the staff suite, or what had been the staff suite. Now it was full of uniformed and plainclothes police and a single table of candy bars, packaged chips, energy bars, bottled water, cans of soft drinks, and snack-sized packs of trail mix.

Detective Martin propped her feet on an empty chair and popped the top of a can. “Yeah. But he had something about bringing it up before it came up, because I’m finding it a little harder to be suspicious of him. He seemed like a pretty nice guy.”

“A lot of them do.”

“Yeah, but he’s not at the top of my list. That’s Vince Corleone.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“I know he’s your convention buddy, but how much do you know about his financial situation?”

“It’s not the kind of thing that comes up during Marvel versus DC debates.”

“Everyone’s got hints that the convention’s underwater. Even Jacob here mentioned it.” She looked at him. “Come on, I know you’re listening.”

“Am not,” Jacob called. “I didn’t hear a thing about Marvel or DC.”

“It’s okay, I think we can use you.” She beckoned him over. “You’re not police, you’re part of the con. You’re our mole.”

He gave her a dubious look. “I’m a painted blue-green alien with antennae?”

“I’m betting that’s another in-joke,” she said wearily, and she took a drink.

“Why Vince?” prompted Daniel.

“The con’s in trouble,” she resumed, “and people seem surprised by that. Apparently it wasn’t struggling the last year or two, and my casual interest with some people has indicated that a convention of this size should be pretty stable and self-sufficient after several years. And Fibbins—” she nodded toward a man in a loose-fitting suit across the room — “says he can smell an embezzler from twenty paces but picked up Vince Corleone at twenty-five.”

Daniel gave her an even look. “You talk like old film noir.”

“Busted. But it’s true, anyway. Fibbins is already talking about going over the accounts with Vince, with the excuse of understanding the MEGAN!ME sponsorship.”

Daniel exhaled. “I hope that doesn’t turn out to be true.”

Detective Martin’s face softened. “I hope so too, Daniel, for your sake.”

“But that doesn’t say anything about the other girl, Trish Kur….”

“Tasha Kurlansky,” supplied Detective Martin. “I know. Killing her wouldn’t affect the con’s finances, or Micky Groene’s job, or even that guy who was replaced by the stuffed animal.”

“Potential stuffed animal,” Daniel corrected. “That was only a rumor.”

“Right. Killing Tasha doesn’t save him from losing to a potential stuffed animal. But it can’t be a coincidence, not with two killings in two days on the same site with the same method.”

“Maybe the first one was a practice murder?” Jacob asked.

“It’d be a stupid practice run,” Detective Martin said. “If Valerie was the target, and he killed Tasha for practice, all he did was put us on alert about Valerie’s death that much faster.”

Jacob’s phone buzzed.
Are you busy?
Lydia asked.

He rolled his eyes.
It’s been that kind of a day,
he texted back.
What do you need?

I want to put my new figurine in your room so I don’t have to carry it everywhere.

Come by Ops and I’ll give you my key.

Busy, can’t come at the moment. Can you swing by Gaming?

Jacob chuckled aloud, and Daniel gave him a curious glance. “My aunt,” Jacob said. “She’s not fooling anyone, she’s having as much fun here as any other attendee. You need anything done toward Gaming? I’m headed that way to drop off a room key.”

“Play a round of DDR for me,” Daniel said.

“Hey, Jacob.”

“Sergio! Walk with me. I’m headed to Gaming.” He glanced at his friend. “Man, you look kind of green. And it’s a bit early for what that cup smells like. You okay? Something else happen about being a suspect?”

Sergio’s mouth twitched. “I just found out I’m about seven thousand dollars in the hole.”

“What? What happened?”

“You know Rick Yoshinaga?”

“Name is vaguely familiar, but no.”

“He’s a photographer.”

“Oh, yeah, got it. What about him?”

The Gaming room was a long room, subdivided from a larger ballroom. One end was full of arcade machines, consoles, and musical games such as Guitar Hero, DDR, and Rock Band. The other had a mosaic of tables at which groups of various sizes leaned over card games, board games, dice games, and arrays of small figures on maps.

“He wanted to get into videography,” said Sergio, “start a company. Do weddings, cons, graduations, promo films, small projects and stuff.” The tall Starbucks cup wasn’t full of coffee, and it probably wasn’t Sergio’s first. He was going to talk a lot. “But that’s an expensive business to get into. Lots of equipment.”

“I’m guessing about seven thousand dollars’ worth?”

“He’d been talking about it for a while, and then last year at Con-nundrum we were drinking in his room, and he told me he was ready to get started, that he even had the ideal project coming up and he was pretty sure he could land it if he just had the equipment.”

“Is this where I ask how much you’d been drinking?”

Lydia was at a far table, her tablet propped up in front of her. Jacob started in that direction.

“I’ve known Yoshinaga a long time. I thought he was a good guy. And I kind of still think he is — I know, just wait for it. And we’d had two bottles of Jack by then. Anyway, my grandma had just died and left me some cash, and I agreed to front him seven grand, and he would pay me back with a thousand extra after the big deal. That’s good investment.”

“Fast forward to the payoff?”

“Supposed to be this month. But I just talked to Yoshinaga, and he says…. He says he sank all my money and all his money into equipment. Got a small biz loan, bought a ton of stuff. He said he landed the project, got the deposit, and was supposed to get paid the balance last month.”

“What happened?”

“The project lost funding. Went bankrupt, I guess. But he’d only gotten a deposit upfront, not anything close to the quote he’d turned in. Which was supposed to pay for all the equipment he’d borrowed money to get. And now they’re not paying him.”

“So he can’t pay you.”

“So he can’t pay me, and he’s in debt for the stuff he bought, and we’re both burned. And even if I sue him — which I probably could, we wrote a sort of agreement that night — I can’t get blood from a turnip, and he’s dead broke now. And it’s not his fault the company went bankrupt or whatever.”

“Can’t he sue them for his payment?”

Sergio shook his head. “I think that’s what bankrupt means, right? That they don’t have to pay what they owe? My uncle got burned by that a couple of times. Did work for companies that knew they were going to file, and so they never had to pay him. It’s a real jerk maneuver.”

“Look, why don’t you ask Lydia about it tomorrow?” suggested Jacob. “It’s not her field, but she can at least tell you if there’s anything worth pursuing. And if she doesn’t know, she can point you toward someone else.”

“Good idea,” said Sergio. “I’ll do that.” He shook his head. “I just hope….”

“What?” Jacob looked at him. “Oh, no. What?”

“I thought I was getting eight thousand dollars this month!” Sergio said defensively. “I put stuff on the credit card, figuring I’d have the money to pay it off when it came due.”

Jacob fought the urge to plant his face in his palm. “Don’t spend money you don’t have,” he muttered. “Ever.”

“What?”

“Trust me on this. You spend money you don’t have, you get in debt, you’ll do anything to get out of it. Sell anything, even your soul. Even other people’s souls. And you can’t change it afterward, and it’ll follow you forever.”

Now Sergio looked worried for him. “You okay? You’re talking like some sort of remorseful hit man.”

Jacob snorted. “I’m just getting into character to drop in at an RPG table. Bah, I was young, I needed the gold pieces.” He looked at Sergio. “Talk to Lydia tomorrow. And talk to your credit card company, see if you can work something out before they slap you with a zillion percent interest.”

He left Sergio and crossed to Lydia’s table. There were six around the table, all with folded name cards sitting in front of them. Lydia’s read
Hotspur le PewPew.

She didn’t see him coming, as she looked from the grid to the character sheet on her tablet. “I’ve already cast Aspect of the Falcon, so now I’m targeting the druid.” She rolled dice. “Natural twenty! With my competence bonus, that’s a thirty-two, with a potential critical.”

“Roll to confirm.”

She dropped a die and pumped her fist. “Yes! Crit hit. That’s—” she rolled a handful of dice — “fifty-three points of damage. Boo-yeah!”

The game-master rolled a die behind his cardstock shield and made a face. “Well, that pretty much wrecked his day. The druid face-plants hard. He drops the crystalline ball, and it’s rolling across the floor, toward the east.” He set a small marker on the room map. “Next turn, Gunthor.”

A man sat forward, hand on his chin. “Well, I was going to rage, but there’s kind of no target left. So I guess I’d better get the crystal thing.” He deepened his voice and rumbled, “Gunthor grab!”

“And now we’re out of combat, so I’m going to say even though it’s rolling pretty briskly, you can snatch it without much trouble. So now you’ve got the final piece of the puzzle.”

“We’d better stabilize the druid,” said another man in the requisite black t-shirt. His read,
Can’t sleep, Con will eat me
. “We need to keep him around to question.”

“Hey,” Jacob said, squatting beside his aunt’s chair. “What’s up?”

“Oh, hi,” said Lydia. “We’re busy solving a murder. Kind of like if
Clue
were done by an insane wizard.”

“Good luck with that,” he said. He dropped a key card on the table beside her dice. “Room four one six. What’d you get?”

Lydia gestured toward an over-sized bag on the floor beneath her chair, still following the game, and Jacob bent to look into it. It was the splendid Cloud Strife and Hardy Daytona figure. “Oh. A kid got arrested today for trying to steal that, you know.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Does he need counsel? His fee should about cover the cost.”

“You’re cold, you know that?”

Lydia hummed the bass line shared by “Under Pressure” and “Ice, Ice Baby.”

The GM rolled a die and chuckled. “Oh, boy. Okay, so the crystalline ball is still in the barbarian’s hands. It quivers and then breaks open, and a puddle of ink spills out onto the floor, forming the final letter. You can now attempt to solve the second riddle of the captain’s death.”

The barbarian’s player looked about the table. “And the rest of my party is still looking at that book across the room.”

“That’s right.”

The player grinned. “Gunthor hero! They not invite Gunthor to special book just because Gunthor can’t read. But Gunthor prove wrong!”

Around the table, the group began to groan in anticipation. A woman put her hand over her eyes. “Absolutely nothing can go wrong here.”

“Okay, you’ve got all the letters, and you just have to unscramble them to learn the murder weapon.” The GM looked at Gunthor’s player, grinning. “Roll a D-twenty and add your Intelligence modifier.”

The player spun a die and snorted a laugh. “Well,” he announced gleefully, “that’s a one, minus two, for a negative one.”

The GM took a breath and managed to suppress most of his laughter. “You look at the collected letters and unscramble them. You are shocked — shocked! — to discover that Venture Captain Barillo was killed with a gnu!”

Shrieks of laughter rose from the group.

“I’m heading back now,” said Jacob. “Don’t leave tonight with the key, okay?”

“Are you kidding?” Lydia answered. “The way this con is going? I’m not going anywhere.”