by Dick Lochte
‘Why didn’t Rufe use the wall?’ Mace asked.
‘Because this room is off limits to Rufe.’
‘But not to you?’
She shrugged.
On the screen, the man with the goatee stood suddenly. He looked angry.
‘You know who the beard is?’ Mace asked.
‘Acosta, I think Jerry said.’
‘Enrico Acosta,’ Mace said. It was not a name immediately recognizable by the general public, but a former felon, even one who had retreated from the world for the past few years, knew about Enrico Acosta, the world’s most notorious arms dealer. He sold to anyone. Some say he pocketed a billion dollars ferrying supplies to American soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan. He was the modern day equivalent of the guy on the coin. The new merchant of death.
And, evidently, a player in their game.
On the screen, Jerry Monte had risen and was attempting to placate Acosta, whom he convinced to return to the card table.
‘What’s the deal with Monte?’ Mace asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Where’s his clout come from?’
‘From here,’ she said, tapping her head. ‘He’s a genius.’
‘That’s what everybody tells me. A genius and a poet, huh?’
‘The poetry thing is silly,’ she said. ‘It’s . . . just a phase. But . . . here’s how his mind works. He hears this poem for the first time. A famous poem. William Blake’s Tyger! You know, “Tyger!, tyger!, burning bright . . .”’
Mace shrugged.
‘Well, Jerry heard it and loved it. So he had his composers put it to music. It’ll be on the new album and, at the same time, he’s got screenwriters working on a script in which the poem will play a key role. Synchronicity.’
‘And this makes him the new king of pop?’
‘Some kind of king,’ she said. She moved across the room to the instrument panel with the glowing dials and picked up an object that looked like a six-inch silver triangle. She held it in a two-hand grip, her thumbs poised over buttons on its flat surface.
The screen above the panel, on which Jerry Monte comments had been dissolving and reappearing, went suddenly bright red. Then it seemed to shatter with a loud bang and out of the destruction floated a new name in letters resembling a battered brick wall: Captain Combat.
Angela worked the buttons and the screen filled with the figure of the captain, rock-jawed, helmeted, khaki shirtsleeves rolled to display muscled arms.
Mace recognized the figure. He’d seen it on the machines kids played in Bayou Royal.
‘That’s the key to his kingdom?’ Mace asked derisively.
‘Did you know he created the Captain Combat computer game?’
‘Must have been a slow day,’ Mace said. ‘Compared to his other conquests.’
Angela looked at him and laughed. ‘You’re priceless,’ she said. ‘Computer games rule the entertainment field. It’s the biggest paycheck of them all. And it’s made Jerry the top show biz figure in the Forbes Four Hundred.’
Mace found that hard to believe. But he knew nothing about such things.
‘Maybe, but he didn’t create Captain Combat,’ he said. ‘That character’s been around for a long time.’
‘Not in a game format.’
‘Meaning what? That Monte just ripped off the guy who really thought up the character?’
‘As far as I know, it’s Jerry’s creation,’ she said. ‘And if it isn’t, I haven’t heard of any lawsuits.’
‘What’s the real story on Monte?’
‘Pretty much what’s in his press bio. Only a while ago, he was just a singer from Jersey. Popular, but no more so than the average American Idol runner up. He could have settled for a couple of years cutting albums and playing Vegas. Maybe doing some acting in movies or TV. But, then what?
‘He read the trades, saw the trends. Realized that songs, singers, actors, records, movies went in and out of style. In show business, nothing remains constant. Vaudeville was replaced by movies and radio was replaced by television. And now, TV and movies were being replaced by the Internet. The goal was not merely to rise to the top, but to stay there. And that meant staying ahead of the curve.
‘He spent several years learning as much as he could about computers. Then, with the help of a quartet of what he says were then “pimple-face geek teenagers”, he created his first game, Captain Combat: Worlds at War. It made him a fortune. He used most of it to buy back the shares he had to sell to launch the game.’
‘And what happened to the geeks?’ Mace asked.
‘They’re multimillionaire executives in Palo Alto, in charge of MonteVision Games. But they’re running out of space and soon they’ll be alternating between studios there and here. Jerry’s purchased a B-movie factory in Hollywood that’s been on the market for years. His plan is to create a state of the art facility. It’ll be used mainly for a new branch of the company that nobody knows about yet called Simureal.’
‘The fake exercise environment?’ Mace said, trying to impress her. ‘I’ve seen it.’
‘Really? There are only three in existence. The official unveiling at Wonderworld in Las Vegas isn’t set for another two months. Where’d you see it?’
‘I get around,’ he said.
She gave him a crooked smile, as if she suspected he was joking and hadn’t really seen Simureal.
‘Tell me more about what makes Jerry Jerry,’ he said.
She seemed to be trying to decide if he really wanted to hear more about Monte or was goofing on her. She must have settled on the former. ‘Well, he says there are four rules for success: maintain control, diversify, synchronize and stay ahead.’
‘Let me guess: control is the biggie.’
‘Maybe.’ She clicked off the game and the screen reverted to repeats of the Jerry phrases.
Mace walked back to the flat screen focused on the meeting. It looked like the main discussion was over. Monte was showing a leather-bound book to the new merchant of death. Corrigan was sampling his liqueur.
‘Why’d you come here tonight?’ Angela asked.
‘To see you.’
‘How did you know I’d be here?’
‘I took a chance.’
On the screen offering a view of the tent and the lagoon, Mace saw Corrigan’s thug – what had Angela called him? Drier – standing on the grass making a slow scan of the area.
Angela must have seen him, too. ‘Why are they trying so hard to find you?’ she asked. ‘Not just because you crashed a party.’
‘They want to kill me. Or maybe just hurt me a little.’
‘Don’t be such a fool. These people aren’t murderers.’
‘Tell that to Tiny Daniels,’ he said.
She reacted as if he’d slapped her. She blinked and backed away. ‘Tiny . . . you’ve no reason to think . . . Jerry didn’t even know him.’
‘What about the hologram of the big white dog at Tiny’s? Isn’t that one of Jerry’s creations?’
She was staring at him now. ‘How did you . . . I gave Tiny the dog. It was just a prototype that Jerry was going to toss. Tiny liked big dogs, but he had such expensive items in the house. Not only the art, but pottery and exquisite small, glass creations. Anyway, Jerry said I could have the hologram and I gave it to Tiny. Who loved it, by the way.’
‘Any idea why it would have been turned on the night he was murdered?’
‘He’d put it on when he was going out. I suppose he thought it might chase away thieves. He didn’t think the guards at the entrance to the Estates were enough security. He felt it was too easy for thieves to come in off the beach.’
‘He was right,’ Mace said. ‘Not that being right helped. Somebody paid the guy who shot Tiny and the others. Maybe Corrigan. Or the charming guy with the goatee. These people wanted something Tiny had. I think your brilliant boyfriend Jerry wanted it, too. Maybe part of his diversification plan.’
‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘The guy I saw running away from Tiny’s after the murders is named Thomas. He and his brother killed a kid I was working with. Crushed the life out of him. So, until I find out who hired them, excuse me if I’m a little nervous about Monte and his pals.’
‘Monte has nothing to do with killers,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You’re wrong. You have to be.’
She turned and he realized he’d pushed her too hard too quickly. He reached out to stop her, but his hand closed on air. She threw open the door and raced out and away.
Mace turned to the screens and studied the one covering the rear of the castle. Drier had moved on. Where?
Better question: where can I make a safe exit out of here?
It wouldn’t be at the rear of the property. That backed up to the side of the canyon. The sheer side of the canyon.
He grabbed the white remote. Maybe he could bring up a view of the front of the house. Find a break in the security set up. If he could just get to the canyon road . . .
He was fiddling with the buttons when his attention was drawn to the screen covering the study. Angela had just entered. She was saying something to Jerry Monte. Whatever it was caused Corrigan to put down his snifter and get to his feet. He shouted something. Monte shouted something back.
They all turned to look directly into the camera. It was as if they were staring at Mace.
Corrigan headed for the door with Monte following.
Mace understood it was time for him to leave the party. One way or another.
THIRTY-THREE
Heading down the rear stairwell, he made it only as far as the first landing when he heard people coming up.
‘. . . don’t see the danger, Corrigan. What can he know that would hurt us?’
‘Let’s make sure, shall we?’
Moving as silently as he could, Mace turned and went back up the stairs.
On the third floor, he passed the game room. That was obviously where the men were headed, where Angela had sent them. The hall was long. There were several closed doors. But they all seemed to be locked.
The men on the stairwell were approaching quickly.
Mace moved past an alcove that housed an elevator door. It sounded as if the elevator was arriving. He knew it wouldn’t be empty.
Only a few doors left.
One was unlocked.
He slipped into a room that, at first, seemed pitch black. He leaned against the door and tried to catch his breath. That’s when he saw the thin red beam of light that he’d broken when he stepped through the door.
A security device of some kind. A signal that would tell them immediately where he was.
He pressed his ear to the door. He could hear the rumble of voices at the other end of the hall. Then a door slamming.
If he was going to get off the damn floor, now would be the time.
But the door wouldn’t open. He was locked in.
Maybe a window!
He began feeling his way through the blackness.
Suddenly a light filled the room, so bright it sent an arrow of pain into his skull. He staggered backward.
‘You there. Freeze,’ a gruff voice commanded.
The bright light had subsided, but the room had not reverted to total darkness. Blinking to clear his sight, Mace became aware of a huge man standing in the center of the room. Another blink and he saw that the man was in combat gear. He was slightly taller than Mace’s six-two, thicker and heavier-muscled. He was pointing a gun at Mace.
Mace’s eyes were watery and stinging. He rubbed them with the knuckles of his right hand and took another look. The man’s weapon was a Hammerli 280, a high-tech pistol.
‘Identify yourself,’ the soldier demanded.
‘Get fucked,’ Mace replied.
‘Do not move, Get Fucked,’ the soldier said without a hint of sarcasm.
Mace studied the figure more carefully. He took a step forward. There was definitely something weird going on. He wondered if he could have suffered a stroke. Or was in the middle of a too vivid dream. If only he could—
‘Stop. Another step and I will be forced to shoot.’
Mace stopped. His eyes and his brain were both returning to form.
A second blast of light blinded him again.
When the flash dissipated to a dim glow, he saw that the room had a new occupant. This one was an impossibly voluptuous woman almost as tall as the soldier. And almost as muscular. She was wearing a tight black leather halter that barely held in her huge jutting breasts and matching leather short shorts that fit her rounded hips like Spandex. Thigh-high black leather boots completed the fanboy’s fantasy outfit.
She, too, was pointing a Hammerli 280 at Mace.
‘Get Fucked giving you trouble, Jerseyboy?’
‘I’ve got him covered, Morgana,’ the soldier said. ‘We’ll just keep him here until—
The door to the room opened and Jerry Monte entered, followed by Corrigan and Drier.
‘What the hell . . . ?’ Drier said, gawking at the two images as they shifted their attention from Mace to them. He drew his gun and aimed it at the soldier.
‘Put it away, Drier,’ Monte said. ‘They’re not real.’
‘No shit?’ Drier said. He kept the gun in his hand.
‘Identify yourselves,’ the soldier said.
‘I’m Captain Combat, Jerseyboy,’ Monte said. ‘At ease.’
The two figures lowered their weapons. The male was grinning, the woman smiling seductively. ‘I’ve been waiting for you, Captain,’ she said, thrusting out her breasts.
‘Uh, this is creeping me out,’ Drier said.
‘Turn the bullshit off, Jerry,’ Corrigan said. ‘It’s a distraction we don’t need right now.’
Monte shot him an angry look. ‘That “bullshit distraction” is my future, asshole.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Corrigan said, backing down. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Lemme tell you a little story, Corrigan,’ Monte said, taking an odd-looking cellular device from his pocket. ‘A few years ago, when I was trying to launch MonteMagic, the precursor to MonteVision, the Chinks came sniffing around. A dude named Zhang and some skinny bitch who thought she was the goddamned Dragon Lady.’
He tapped his device twice with his thumb and the two armed holograms vanished. ‘They figured they were dealing with some supernerd dickhead. The bitch giving me the fuckeye, like I’d touch her skanky bod without hermetically-sealed gloves.’
Mace had been busily searching the room for some way out. But the shaded windows were too narrow for a dive-through, even if he had been inclined to try a three-story leap. There was only one exit and the men were in the way.
‘This Zhang dude was playing the war lord, tossing the infidel a few coins from his treasure chest,’ Monte continued. ‘He offered me five point five mil for MonteMagic. And when I took it, he and his bitch laughed like the goddamned jackals they were.’
Corrigan, ostensibly doting on Monte’s every word, gave a subtle eye-shift command to Drier that started him moving slowly toward Mace.
‘But I laughed harder,’ Monte was saying, ‘because all their fucking millions bought ’em was a worthless name, a bunch of computer games that had lost their cache two gens ago. And a set of eyeglasses with prisms that had no practical use. Now the fuckers are wasting their time and coin with virtual reality, while I’m gearing up for the next generation in computer gameware: interactive holograms.’
‘Brilliant,’ Corrigan said.
He turned to Mace. ‘OK, brother, it’s come-to-Jesus time. What’s your story?’
‘It’s not as interesting as Mr Monte’s,’ Mace said.
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ Corrigan said. ‘I saw you at Mount Olympus. Did Lacotta send you here?’
‘Why would he?’ Mace asked.
‘That’s what I’m wondering. He had his shot. He fucked up. What’s he want now?’
Mace was puzzled. ‘What’s he want? What he paid you for.’
; ‘I thought I’d explained our position to him,’ Corrigan said. ‘I handled my end of the deal. He was the one let it unravel.’
‘How exactly did it unravel, Corrigan?’ Mace asked. ‘Who knew when the shipment was coming in besides you? Your pal Drier?’
Corrigan frowned. He turned to his host. ‘I don’t want to keep you from your party, Jerry.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Monte replied. ‘This is more interesting than the party.’
‘Yeah, but I’d like a couple minutes alone with Mr Mason.’
‘Oh. Sure. Enjoy. I’ve got the hologram boxes turned off, so you won’t be bothered.’
He hesitated a few seconds before leaving the room.
Corrigan waited for the door to click shut before asking, ‘How much did Lacotta tell you about our arrangement?’
‘Basically, that something went missing,’ Mace said.
‘And you know what that is?’
‘Is it bigger than a dime but smaller than a half dollar?’ Mace asked.
Corrigan and Drier exchanged looks.
‘You know why the coin’s so valuable?’ Corrigan asked Mace.
Mace nodded. He said, ‘I’m a little surprised you didn’t make a copy of the formula.’
‘Maybe you need that AND an analysis of the goddamn coin to complete the package.’
‘That does increase its value.’
‘So here’s the thing,’ Corrigan said. ‘I love the green and I’m certainly not a saint. But this is my country. My beloved mother’s in a home here, and I’m not about to put something like this in the hands of a bunch of gibbering third-world maniacs, regardless of the money. So I limited the auction to the US and its so-called allies. It got down to five serious bidders. One each from Japan, Germany and India and two from the US.’
‘The locals being Lacotta and the new King of Pop?’ Mace asked.
‘No. Jerry . . . I hadn’t been thinking that far outside the box,’ Corrigan said. ‘Tiny Daniels was my other bidder. And, in point of fact, he became the high bidder. It surprised me because the final offer from Lacotta and his people was an eye-opener and I didn’t think Daniels was that heavy a hitter. Then I discovered he wasn’t. He had a backer: Maxil Brox. You may have heard of him. Russian Mafia boss and now Putin’s best buddy. Fuck him. I threw the deal to Lacotta and Lacotta let me down.’
