by Rachel Ford
Screams ripped through the lobby, and the crowd parted before the two men. The marine warded off a punch, and then, swift as lightening, flipped the ninja. Alfred heard a terrific cracking of bones and tearing of tissues, and a scream of agony.
The gun flew to the ground several feet away. Josh yanked off the space helmet, unmasking the assassin. It was, Alfred saw, the same man who had knocked on his door with towels earlier in the morning.
And yet, it wasn’t him. But it is. He had the same square jaw, the same blue eyes, the same muscular neck and murderous gaze. But he was blonde, now, and his hair was cut in a different style.
This time, he saw what Nancy had seen earlier. He knew this face.
“Oh my God,” she said behind him. “It’s Swell Dude.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
It seemed a dam of activity had broken with the gunshot. Visitors poured out of the convention center in a panicked flood.
Still, there were those who remained, phones out, filming the entire spectacle. Josh took charge, directing foot traffic away while Nancy called the police. Convention center security arrived before the officers, and so did Rick Ashworth and Kate Dallas.
They’d been, Alfred found out later, in the middle of a session a few rooms down when the shot rang out. At the time, all he knew was that he held Dallas responsible for his and Nancy’s near death. “You!” he spat out as she approached.
“Oh my god,” Ashworth said. “What happened? Chris, are you okay?”
Chris Becket was whimpering in a heap, clutching with his left hand at his right wrist – which was bent into a shape Alfred had never before seen human bones manage.
“He tried to kill us,” Nancy declared.
One of the convention center security personnel said, his voice low, “Witnesses are telling me Mr. Becket was the shooter, ma’am.”
“Chris? A shooter?” Kate was astonished. She turned to the actor. “Chris, what’s going on?”
Becket, meanwhile, threw a poisonous gaze in her direction. “Go to hell.”
Josh glanced toward the doors as sirens sounded in the distance. “Good. The police will be here soon.”
Kate Dallas’s attention, though, was still on the actor. “Chris, what the hell is going on? Is what they’re saying true? Did you bring a gun? Did you try to shoot people?”
“He did,” Josh said.
Nancy and Alfred confirmed this, with the taxman adding, “Your minion’s going to spend the rest of his life in jail, Ms. Dallas.”
The words coincided with the flash of blue and red lights outside the door. Chris Becket’s injured expression turned into a scowl, and then a snarl. In a flash, he was on his feet, racing for the gun that still lay on the floor among broken glass.
Josh dashed for the actor. Rick Ashworth yelled, “Kate, lookout: gun!” And Alfred and Nancy moved to each other’s sides. But the marine reached Becket before there was any need for further heroics on anyone’s part.
Officers arrived to find a reasonably tranquil scene: a gawking crowd, a few gaping executives, and the shooter subdued and pinned to the floor by Josh.
Nancy, meanwhile, turned to Kate Dallas. “It wasn’t you, was it?”
The entrepreneur blinked. “Wasn’t me who what?”
“Tried to kill us.”
Kate’s eyes widened, and even Alfred was moved by her surprise. “What?”
“Where were you on September tenth of last year, Kate Dallas?”
She frowned. “London. What does this have to do with anything? And who are you people?”
Alfred intervened here, drawing his badge. “Alfred Favero, with the IRS.” He left out the part about being an analyst. For some reason, civvies tended to be less impressed with the term analyst than agent, as if there was something more impressive about being a field monkey than doing the actual work of finding the bad guys. So neglecting to mention his job title, he allowed Ms. Dallas to draw whatever conclusions she would.
And she drew exactly the one he wanted. “I’m sorry, Agent Favero, I don’t understand. What is the IRS doing here?”
“Someone is embezzling money from ECF,” Nancy put in.
“Embezzling? No, that’s not possible. We only work with people we absolutely trust.”
“People like Chris Becket?” she asked pointedly.
Kate pressed her fingers to her brow. “I…I still can’t believe Chris tried to kill people.”
“Were you in New York City last September tenth?”
The entrepreneur frowned, then shook her head. “No, that would have been the London premiere of Fire Fell.”
“You billed ECF for a twenty-thousand-dollar hotel stayover. And made tens of thousands of dollars in donations that day,” Nancy said.
Kate Dallas was shocked, and Rick Ashworth wrapped an arm around her protectively. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asked. “That’s insane.”
“I didn’t bill anything,” she protested.
“I looked at your audit. That’s only the beginning of the suspect charges. Tell me, was the new face of ECF allowed to bill the charity?”
“Of course. Chris has been working with us for years.” Kate’s face fell. “Oh God. You’re saying…Chris was embezzling? All this time?”
Nancy nodded. Alfred asked, “It was the actor?” He was almost as surprised as Dallas.
“That’s the reason Chris Becket tried to kill us. When we found out what he was up to.”
“Oh God,” Kate said again. “I don’t believe it.”
Shouting, meanwhile, temporarily distracted them all. Becket was being hauled out of the lobby, while just about every cellphone in the building was trained on him. He was swearing and threatening the police. “I’ll sue this goddamn city dry, you fuckers.”
Now, officers headed toward them. “Well,” Nancy sighed, “this is going to be a lengthy explanation.”
It was, and it was primarily her who made it. Alfred and Josh attested to the pieces they knew – the killer who had shown up at their room, the elevator ride from heck, and so on. But Nancy pieced the final bit of the puzzle together.
It had been Chris Becket who was embezzling. It was Chris Becket who tried to kill them, not only twice in a day, but in all those other timelines too. “Except the first ones,” she confided to Alfred and Josh.
“What?”
“Back home. I don’t think those were Becket.”
“Well, who then?”
“I think it was Walker. Even if Becket could have just dropped everything to play assassin – and a movie star’s schedule can’t be that flexible, especially right before MarvelousCon – he wouldn’t have been close enough to get me within a few hours of opening the file.”
“No,” Alfred mused. “I guess not.”
“And not only that, Walker would know what I was looking at. If I googled the premiere, for instance, to make sure Dallas was in those photos? All of that traffic would have been captured by the firewall, and he could have seen it. That’s why he didn’t try to kill me when I just glanced at the file – because he knew I didn’t find anything that raised my suspicion – but did when we looked too closely.”
This was Greek to the taxman, or as good as. Josh seemed to be following more closely, though. “That son-of-a-bitch.”
“Biscuit,” Alfred reminded him.
The marine ignored him. “But if it was Walker, not Becket, that means he’s going to get away with it.”
“No, even if Becket doesn’t turn him in, Caspersen’s going to have his history crawled over with a microscope. He’s going down.”
“I mean about the murders. Those all happened in alternate timelines. There’s no way we can prove it. Which means that even though Walker would have killed you if he could have – did, in those alternate timelines – he’s going to get away with it scot-free.”
Here, it was Alfred’s turn to bring some clarity. He shook his head, saying, “No, he’s done for.”
“How? We can’t prove
things that didn’t happen in our timeline.”
“That’s only murder,” the taxman declared sagely. “He committed far worse crimes. From the law’s perspective, anyway. He compromised IRS security, committed conspiracy to defraud, stole money, engaged in tax fraud.” He shook his head. “Where the law’s concerned, attempted murder is child’s play compared to stealing Uncle Sam’s money.”
All of these musings, of course, they kept from the officers. To the police, they told a much simpler story. Nancy had worked an audit earlier in the week, and something had been bugging her about it. She wasn’t quite sure what was wrong, but something had stood out as being off. So she pulled the file again this morning. “And that,” Alfred told the officer who was questioning him, “is when the sugar cookies really hit the fan.”
“Sorry, what?”
“It’s when all heck broke out.”
“Oh.”
As far as proving Walker’s involvement, this was done much more quickly than anyone would have guessed. Nancy had already texted Caspersen a brief report on the morning. The branch director had ordered an immediate lockdown of the network engineer’s access, and called the police. Becket, meanwhile, was already hinting that he was open to a plea deal in exchange for turning in his partner in the IRS. “It looks like Becket’s been doing more than embezzling. He’s been filing fishy reports of his own for years. My hunch is Walker was his inside man to make sure no one got wise.” But by time the police showed up, Walker had vanished. “We’ll catch him,” Caspersen wrote. “It’s just a matter of time.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Between giving statements and conferencing with Caspersen, the day was almost spent. “Outstanding work, Abbot,” the director said. “And you too, Favero. We’ll talk with payroll Monday, to get your PTO cancelled – since you’re on the job today – and bill your expenses.
“And I’ve cleared your schedules until Wednesday, and pulled Agent Dixon in too. We’re going to work a full audit, and put together an ironclad case against these sons-of-bitches.”
Now, though, she pulled a faux frown. “But, for the love of God, try to enjoy your weekend without getting into a shootout with anyone else.”
Alfred grinned. “Roger that, Director.”
Caspersen smiled. “Good.”
Nancy, though, was glum as the video chat ended.
“Why the long face, beautiful?” he asked. As far as he could tell, they had every reason to celebrate. They’d caught the bad guys. A pair of killers, a pair of low-down tax cheats, had been taken down. Justice had been served. And, most importantly, Nancy was safe.
She smiled, but it was a wan smile. “I was just thinking…”
“About…?”
“I can’t believe Swell Dude was going to kill us.”
He frowned. “You mean, Becket.”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged. “He’s a tax cheat, babe. A swindler. Stealing from your country is the gateway drug of crimes. If you’re willing to do that, anything’s on the table.”
It was her turn to frown. “I’m serious, Alfred.”
So was he, but he gathered from her expression that now was not the time to argue his thesis on ethics and tax law compliance. “What I mean, babe, is that he’s not worth worrying about.”
“I just can’t believe it. I mean, we’re talking about Swell Dude.”
“He’s just an actor, Nance. He’s no more Swell Dude than the guy who plays the big purple guy – what’s his name? Clodhopper? Anyway, he’s no more Swell Dude than that other guy is Clodhopper.”
“I know.” She sighed. “But he always seemed so nice. So genuine. Like it was more than a role.”
“Well,” Alfred exhaled slowly, “and I never in my life thought I’d say this, but I guess Becket was a better actor than anyone gave him credit for.”
She laughed now, and hugged him. “Oh Alfred.”
“So, what are we going to do now? Are there any sessions left for the day on your schedule?” After the cleanup, and despite a sizeable exodus of attendees, MarvelousCon had rolled on without much interruption.
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, babe. You’re the one with the fifteen-page schedule committed to memory.”
“I mean…I wonder if we should just pack up and go home.”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been a good sport, babe. But…” She shook her head. “I wanted us to have fun. I didn’t think we’d end up almost getting shot. By Swell Dude, no less.”
His frown deepened. “You listen to me, Nancy Abbot: I am having fun. And so were you. And who cares about that stupid actor? You had a whole schedule picked out, and none of it had to do with Becket.”
He pulled her to him, and kissed her. She shook her head at him, but a tentative smile crossed her lips. “So no more sulking,” he told her gently. “That’s my job, remember? You’re the one who is supposed to make sure we have fun.”
She grinned a little broader now. “Was that the division of duties this trip?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” she said, pecking him on the lips.
“Well, you should have read the fine print.” He returned the kiss with one of his own. “Everyone knows that.”
She giggled, and for a moment they remained wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing and talking delightful nonsense. Then, her phone dinged.
“Oh hell,” Alfred said. “Someone’s got very bad timing.”
She grinned. “I should check that. In case it’s Caspersen.”
Despite himself, he nodded. “And then put it on silent mode.”
She laughed, extricating herself from his arms, and retrieved the phone. “It’s Josh.”
Alfred’s brow creased. After the conference with Caspersen, he’d all but forgotten about the marine. “What happened to him, anyway?”
“It sounds like he’s been talking to Ashworth and Dallas.”
“The comic book people?”
She nodded. “I guess they were pretty impressed with him. They want to know if we’ll join them for dinner.”
Now that he knew Dallas wasn’t hiring hitmen to kill Nancy, he had nothing against them. Nothing, at least, more than the usual charge of mass-producing the fluffy drivel known as superhero movies. And it sounded like precisely the sort of thing she’d enjoy. “You want to?”
She glanced at him with a tentative expression. “Well, yeah. If you do, I mean.”
He smiled. “I am yours to command, my lady.”
The night was reasonably enjoyable, considering their company. And, Alfred had to admit, Ashworth and Dallas seemed like decent people. He could almost forgive them their terrible contributions to art. Kate was, he thought, genuinely affected by the betrayal, and what it meant for the future of her organization. Now and again, she would bemoan, “We were doing such good things. Who will want to work with us now?”
And Ashworth would tell her, “We’ll figure it out, Kate. I promise.”
Mostly, the evening’s conversation revolved around Josh, and his heroics. They’d managed to find a room for Josh, now that so many had left the hotel, and they repeated some several dozen times how grateful they were that he’d agreed to stay on. “People will want to see the hero of MarvelousCon.” This got to be a little much for the taxman, but he endeavored not to be a poor sport. If not for the marine, he knew, he’d likely be occupying a cold plot of earth now.
The meal itself, it seemed, was intended as a kind of peace offering. “We’re really so sorry that this happened to you and Alfred,” Kate told Nancy. “We’re so grateful Josh was there. Who knows what Chris might’ve done otherwise.”
“Kill us, probably,” the taxman observed. The pair had spent so much of the night fawning over the marine that he didn’t feel any particular compunction in reminding them now and again of the stakes Nance and he had faced.
Kate shuddered, and Rick wrappe
d an arm around her. “Thank God that didn’t happen.”
“Yes,” Alfred agreed. “I’m rather partial to life myself.”
Nancy nudged him, and he grinned into his wine glass. Still, the taxman enjoyed his night, and, he was delighted to see, so did Nance. There was no more talk of leaving early.
Instead, on the way back, she reviewed their schedule of events for the next day. “There’s another drawing for autographs at nine. We need to be there.”
“Okay.”
“And then we’ve got the alien makeup session. And there’s a new game preview.”
Alfred yawned. “I didn’t realize Ashworth and Dallas were dating.”
“What?”
“Ashworth and Dallas. I didn’t realize they were a couple.”
Nancy grinned. “I’m not sure they realize it, babe.”
“What do you mean? Ashworth’s clearly in love with her. And you saw the way Dallas looked at him.”
“I don’t disagree. I just mean, they’re not officially a couple. Yet.”
The taxman frowned. “Why not?”
Her eyes twinkled. “I don’t know, Mr. Favero. Some people aren’t very good at recognizing their own feelings, I guess. They miss all the hints.”
He was about to remark on how stupid that was when he realized she meant him. He remembered how many hints he’d missed in the early stages of his relationship with Nance. “Oh. Well, relationships and human emotions are complex,” he decided.
She grinned. “Yes, they are.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They were back in costume for Saturday’s festivities, and Nancy was all smiles. “Hey, you mind if we have dinner tonight with Randy and Dave?” she asked as she applied his makeup.
Alfred shrugged. “Well, they’re not actually the killers. So I guess not.”
“Good. I haven’t had a chance to catch up with Randy in forever. And, honestly, I feel a little bad that we thought he was the mole.”
“Well, that one’s on me,” he reminded her.
“Still.”
They did not win autograph tickets that morning, but Nance barely noticed. “Oh well. That gives us more time for sessions anyway.”
