Genrenauts: Season One

by Michael R. Underwood

  She hit the deck, clinging to the bucket for another few moments.

  Yep, there goes another one.

  After the second, she pushed the bucket away and averted her eyes. Not the first dead body she’d seen, but it was only the second. And the first burn victim.

  “Rookie, are you going to be okay?”

  “Can we go back?” she asked in a weak voice, pointing toward the dining area.

  That’s not embarrassing at all. Totally not mortified. But it was in-genre. She was the rookie, not hardened like King. At least she was screwing up appropriately.

  King nodded. “I’ll come back to check the body. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  Chef Refai led them out and they pulled the chairs down at a four-top round table. King flipped open his patented legal pad and said, “Why don’t you start from the beginning. You came in early to do paperwork.”

  “Yes. It was just before nine. I walked through the dining area, into the kitchen, on the way to my office. I saw that the oven was on and rushed to turn it off. Gas, you know. I didn’t smell any gas, but I did smell something far worse.”

  People. Leah gulped again.

  “How was Smith’s body arranged?” King had it locked down. All business. How long would it take her to be able to stay cool? Or was he already that deep into character?

  Refai’s face was a mask of horror. This guy was not used to seeing death. Maybe less used to it than Leah. “The rack had been pulled out. He was stuffed in.” Refai’s voice cracked, and he shook. “Stuffed in like a rag doll. Who could have done this?”

  “That’s what we’re here to find out,” Leah ventured.

  King said, “We’ll need to interview all of the staff. Especially anyone who was working last night.”

  “Of course. I’ll call them in. But I don’t hire criminals, Detective. My people are dependable. Most have been with me for years, even the busboys.”

  King ran through the script. “We need to cover all of the bases. Was there anyone who might have had a grudge against Smith or against the restaurant?”

  “Like I said, Dwayne was not always the easiest to work with. But he was always professional. He is from Chicago, like me. The Salvatores, though. They’ve been hounding me to sell the place ever since I bought it, and before, they tried to buy it from Oliver Balicki. They never outright threatened me, but it was always implied. If I were a betting man, I would say it was them. They killed him and then they took a shot at DeeZee to try to scare you off. He is a detective, like you. Not officially police. Safer to kill.”

  “Not that safe. Especially if he survives. I’ll go take a closer look at the body now.” King turned to ask Leah, “You okay to come along?”

  She tried to put on a brave face, and then her stomach roiled again. “I’ll look around the restaurant for other evidence?” she volunteered.

  King sighed, walking off.

  Doing great so far, she thought.

  * * *

  King and Leah interviewed all of the staff that had been on the night before. Refai promised to have the rest of them come in to the precinct later that day.

  Mostly, they got the same story. Smith was hard to work with, very demanding, but incredibly inventive and precise. He wasn’t well loved, but he was respected, even admired.

  And then they got to Ricardo Hernandez, the other head chef. Hernandez was Latino, in his late thirties, wide-shouldered and in good shape. He was as grief-stricken as the rest of the staff, words coming slow through emotion.

  “Did he have any enemies? Anyone who would want him harmed?” King asked.

  Hernandez looked up, as if searching his memory. “No, not really.”

  Leah jumped in, following the cop script from TV shows. “Think back to the last couple of days. Anything out of the ordinary? Weird visitors, problem customers?”

  Hernandez nodded, his face lighting up. “There was this thing yesterday. I was outside taking a smoke break, and Smith was talking in the alley with this woman. Tatiana. She’s a regular here. She grew up in the neighborhood, used to run with a bad crowd, until the Salvatores left her out to dry. Now she scrimps and saves and comes in to have one nice lunch a month. Yesterday was her day. Talk with her, and I bet you’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  King shared a look with Leah. That was a lead if he’d ever seen one.

  “That’s very good to know. One last question, just to be thorough. Where were you last night? You said you clocked out at eight…” King trailed off to let Hernandez take over.

  “I went out for a drink at Sal’s, halfway between here and my building. Got home at nine thirty, then I was in for the night.”

  “And who can corroborate that?” Leah asked, following the detective script.

  “My wife, for one.” A beat. “We have a doorman, too. They’ve got cameras and everything.”

  King filed away a note to check the footage and talk with the doorman.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hernandez; that’s all for now. You’ve been very helpful.”

  Hernandez stood and they shook hands.

  When he was out of earshot, Leah said, “That Tatiana chick sounds like a good lead.”

  “She does. We’ll follow up with her and run down the alibis this afternoon. First, we should go check in on DeeZee.” He held up his phone. “Captain texted and said he’s in recovery.”

  Chapter Four: Emergency Exposition

  Leah hated hospitals—they smelled like death and surgery and hours of stressed waiting on bad news. She was getting used to it, thanks to having a medical wing built into Genrenauts HQ, but that didn’t stop her from flinching when she stepped into the oxygen-heavy, antiseptic air of Chicago’s Our Lady of Grace.

  Remarking the signs on the wall, Leah asked, “Won’t he still be in surgery or recovering?”

  “Not in this world.” King chewed up the tile floor, his gait less “confident investigator” and more “ha ha ha, I have longer legs than you”—at least, that’s how Leah was taking it as she hustled to keep up. “We need him to be awake to move the story forward, so he will be.”

  DeeZee’s room was on the third floor. It was already decked with balloons and flowers. The TV in the corner was hooked up to a next-gen console. Beside it was a small stack of game disc cases with taped-on labels. A controller sat on the bed next to the detective.

  The ex-pro gamer looked run down, his white skin extra-pale, hair slicked back with sweat. He had thick bandages from his abdomen up and over his right nipple. He was still out, IV set up on the near side of the room.

  Detective De La Cruz sat on the bed beside DeeZee, face teary, as anyone reasonable would expect. She was being a person, not a stony extension of the state’s will.

  King and Leah stood in the doorway, not wanting to intrude.

  “May we join you?” King asked, hat in his hand.

  Leah took the respite to de-winter a bit, taking off her hat, untying her scarf, and stuffing her gloves back into her voluminous, Doberman-training-grade coat.

  “Please.” The detective waved them in.

  King’s footfalls came soft. Leah tried to match his tone and calm down the wackiness a bit in recognition of the serious situation.

  On the bed, DeeZee stirred, shifting and then wincing. Right on time.

  “What the frakking frell…” He saw the detective, then the two visitors, and his eyes went wide. He looked down, grokked that he was in a hospital. Leah caught him processing, doubtless going through what had happened.

  “Melissa?” he asked. His tone said there were a half-dozen questions baked into that one word. What happened? Is everything okay? Where am I? and more.

  Detective De La Cruz squeezed the PI’s hand. “I’m here, Dee. You’re going to be fine. They got the bullet out, no major organs damaged. Your amazing luck continues, to the surprise of no one.”

  DeeZee raised his free hand a few inches off the bed. “A winner is me.” His gaze passed to King and Leah. “Hey, King. Who’s
the newbie?”

  King nodded. “This is my new junior associate, Leah Tang.”

  “Nice to meet you. Those game boxes don’t look quite regulation—are they previews?”

  DeeZee managed a grin. “I’m still an honorary member of a team of game streamers; friend hooked me up with his press copy once he’d had his fill. Haven’t gotten to try it out yet. Strangely, my plans for today got derailed.”

  “About that, Mr. DeeZee.” King brought them back on topic. “We’re investigating the shooting, with the captain’s blessing. One of my brotherhood comes under fire, I’m not about to stand by. We’d like to take your statement, if you’re up for it.”

  King drew out his legal pad, and Leah quick-drew her phone to match. She reminded herself to choose the phablet option next time she had an upgrade. But only if she could get one that could hold on to its stylus.

  “Yeah, sure.” DeeZee pulled himself up to a seated position, “Can I get some water?” Leah slid over and offered the man the waiting cup of water. Detective De La Cruz’s mask of worry relaxed, probably due to the combo of DeeZee waking and the familiarity of taking a witness statement.

  “I was getting coffee for the team so we could work the case. Melissa and I, we’re on the Dwayne Smith murder case. Or were, I guess.”

  King nodded.

  “I live just around the corner from Lake Effect, and Melissa’s favorite coffee shop is two blocks west of there. I passed by the alley and something twigged my radar. Being a lifelong gamer, you learn to trust your instincts, right?” he asked.

  Leah chuckled internally at the concept of Gamer Detective. Plotlines unspooled in her mind, threatening to run around with her attention. She reined it back in.

  “So, I looked into the alley and caught a flash of movement up high. I ran in, keeping the coffees level to avoid taking a latte-and-Americano shower. I looked up just in time to see the shooter on the roof of one of the buildings forming the alley. Looked like a woman, white. But that’s all I could tell. And then…” DeeZee tapped his chest, then winced at what he’d done. “And that’s all I’ve got.”

  “That confirms my findings from the scene. Is there anything else you remember? Something in the alley? Was the shooter holding anything other than the gun? What color was her hair?”

  DeeZee’s eyes went flat, like he was thinking. He slumped. “Mana sink like whoa. Is there a meds button or something?”

  Detective De La Cruz grabbed the cord and pressed the button. “Can’t find the right button on a controller? You must really be out of it,” she said with loving mockery.

  “Thanks, hon.” He was too out of it to respond in bantering kind, apparently. DeeZee lay silent for a moment, breathing as the medication flowed.

  They waited. King was patient when he needed to be. When he needed you to have done something ten minutes ago, he was less so.

  “Her hair was dark, but I don’t know if she was holding anything else. The gun was probably black. Her coat was. That’s all I’ve got, sorry.”

  “That’s very helpful. And rest assured we’ll catch this shooter. We’re helping the department with the Dwayne Smith case, as well. Captain gave Detective De La Cruz as much leave as she needs. The captain looks after her own, and so do I.”

  The detective piped up. “Captain Franklin has ordered a protective detail; the first officer should be here within minutes. We’re safe here. And anyone coming after you has to go through me.” Her grin was endearing, but also a bit intimidating. She was not kidding around.

  King drew out a business card and left it on the bed, sparing DeeZee from having to reach out for it. “Call anytime. That way, you both can rest. Especially you, Detective.”

  De La Cruz popped her back and sighed, a crack showing in the Stalwart Protector armor. Leah imagined she’d been there the whole time since she arrived, maybe even sitting in that exact position, paralyzed by worry and the possibilities. Worrying about friends was one thing. Add romantic love to the mix and it was a whole extra level of heart-wrenching.

  Advantages of being single, I guess? And that brought up thoughts of Mallery again. She channeled that straight into her other task and pulled out her phone to jot down notes for Mallery’s skit. Use her skill with accents. Maybe a riff on Legally Blonde?

  She followed King out of the room, his feet at the edge of her vision as she thumb-typed.

  They stepped out into the cold before Leah realized she needed to re-winter. But she’d gotten rolling and kept brainstorming as she donned her scarf and gloves.

  Okay, but what’s the twist, she asked, pondering both her skit and the case at hand.

  * * *

  King watched snow fall as they sped back to the precinct in a cab. Even snowfall had patterns. Follow the wind, gauge the size of each snowflake, and you didn’t have to be a chaos mathematician to guess where they would land.

  But something wasn’t adding up there. A second breach this quickly after the first? And that much bigger? Something was off.

  On their way back from the hospital, Preeti had passed on reports of increased dimensional turbulence, a storm brewing between worlds. If it got much worse, it’d cut their comms to HQ, maybe even delay their return.

  Leah broke his worried contemplation, spitballing. As she should be. Thoughtful Detective often became Maudlin Detective if left to their own devices. He’d need to be careful.

  “That’s two votes for a woman as the shooter,” Leah said. “You think she did both hits? Killed Smith and stowed him in the oven to throw off suspicion, and then took a shot at DeeZee when he spotted her?”

  “Could be. We’d need to know why she was back at the scene of the crime, though. And who she is. We haven’t got nearly enough to build a useful profile, so it’s back to the precinct. Narratology says that there will be some evidence available, and it’ll set us on the path to a suspect.”

  “This region is that schematic? You can just beat it out, step by step?”

  “Campbell isn’t the only one who pegged a formula. I’ve watched probably a thousand hours of procedural detective shows. Thing is, this case is strange. The breach means that we’re dealing with a double crime, so the pacing could vary. But checking in with the captain is good police work, and it’s narratologically indicated, so that makes it a no-brainer. And it gives you time to send over your skit to Mallery. Her audition should be almost done.”

  “And you’re not just taking us back because it means getting to see the captain again,” Leah said, a big dollop of intimation in her voice.

  The beginnings of a smile touched his cheeks. Involuntary. The archetype work already had him off-balance. Anywhere else, he’d be fine. But here, the stakes were different.

  Leah didn’t follow up with any of the hundred questions she doubtless had buzzing around in her mind.

  But most of those were not questions you asked your boss less than two months on the job, even in as close working conditions as the Genrenauts.

  “I’m not some lovesick kid. I made my peace with this a long time ago. I moved on.”

  Liar, he thought. He’d done his best, but there was a part of him that would always live here, with her, frozen in that last moment.

  King cleared his throat. “I’ll need you to focus on riffing and extrapolation when we get the lab results. Blue-sky thinking all around. Don’t filter yourself.”

  Leah saluted. “Aye aye. By the way, I like this mission. People should get murdered here more often.” She stopped herself. “That came out wrong. I like getting to be me but at a louder volume, and solving wacky crimes and being a part of a buddy-cop duo.”

  “Your interest has been noted. You’ll need to test higher to get a Crime specialization on your roster, though. Enthusiasm and a sharp tongue don’t get you that far outside this region.”

  On the street around them, a school let out, yearning figures standing across the street in coats with collars drawn up, each staring intently at a kid coming out of the playground. Estr
anged parents, most likely, each a potential suspect or victim.

  The whole region was divided up into three types of people—potential criminals, potential victims, and people caught in the middle.

  When the cab pulled up to the precinct, Leah all but leaping out of the car, clearing the grey-white slush beneath the curb.

  Leah continued to chatter on their way in, leaning into her role as King found himself talking less, grumbling more, and getting a very bad feeling about the whole case.

  * * *

  It was an audition hall like so many others. Just a bit more dramatic. Everyone walked out either beaming with triumph or crushed with sorrow.

  Mallery had auditioned for roles that were more of a stretch, but always within her discipline. And taking on covers with the Genrenauts was different—that was slipping into a whole other person’s life. Here, she was just an alternate-universe version of herself, a Mallery who had tacked a different direction in college.

  “Number seventeen!” a bass voice called from inside.

  But ultimately, it was still comedy.

  She strode into the room, head held high.

  Ten minutes later, she had a time and date for callbacks, and instructions to bring in three scenarios to run and a monologue to show off her chops.

  Leah’s instructions had been right on. They’d had her work with props, play off of the remaining troupe members, and at the end, they’d asked personal questions, trying to embarrass her. As if. She’d stared down death on a half-dozen worlds. Comedians, even good ones, weren’t quite the same level of stress. And the whole time they were auditioning her, she was reading them. They were nervous as a baseline. Some were angry about it and trying to take it out on anyone they could; one was just going through the motions, her mind somewhere else.

  And the fourth was acting excited about everything and everyone, probably overcorrecting for the others. She knew that move from personal experience. She called it the Everything’s Fine, I Will Make It Fine, and Shame on You for Not Being a Team Player If You Admit That Something’s Wrong move. She’d learned it from her aunt. Not the most mature, but it had its uses.