Game of Death

by David Hosp

  ‘Am I the only one left?’

  ‘Don’t answer that!’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘There are at least six others that we know of. There could be more.’ The news that she is not the only potential target left seems to comfort her slightly.

  ‘That’s it!’ Killkenny shouts. ‘This interview is over!’ He stands up and takes my arm by the elbow. ‘Nick, you’re coming with me now, or I’ll bust your ass for obstructing a police investigation.’

  I stand and let myself be pulled away. I’m looking at her as we leave, and she is watching me go. I’m overcome with the need to do more – overcome with the need to protect her. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say as Killkenny pulls me out of the house.

  ‘What the fuck was that?’ Killkenny demands, still holding my elbow as he guides me toward his car.

  I shake my arm free and make my way to the passenger side door. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You were going to be my silent partner, remember?’

  ‘Hey, you were the one who told me to ask her the questions, when she refused to deal with you. Maybe if you hadn’t been such a prick to her from the start, she would have been willing to deal with you.’

  ‘Oh, please? What, you think I hurt the whore’s feelings?’

  ‘She’s not a whore!’ The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them, and they fly with such force that I practically knock out my teeth as I spit them out.

  Killkenny is on the other side of the car now, and we are looking at each other over the SS’s roof. ‘What do you think that place is, Nick?’

  I look back at the tall Victorian house looming over the narrow sidewalk. ‘What are you talking about?’ I almost don’t want to hear the answer.

  ‘Shit, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you grew up sheltered.’ He nods back toward the front door. ‘She’s running a cathouse.’ I stare in bewilderment at Kendra Madison’s house. ‘The girls, the sitting room – it all makes sense. I’m not saying it’s organized or official, but you don’t think there’s something fucked-up going on in there?’

  It makes me angry that I know he’s right. There was something off about the place, and I could feel it as soon as we stepped through the door. What he’s saying makes sense, and I know it, but I still can’t accept it. ‘There has to be an explanation.’

  ‘There is,’ Killkenny says. ‘It’s the oldest explanation in the world.’

  ‘No, it’s something else.’

  ‘Jesus, Nick, don’t feel bad. It’s not like you’re the first guy in history to be fooled by a hooker. Their profession is making the men they’re with feel special. Any girl can fuck. Only the best can make the guy who’s paying feel like the money has nothing to do with it. You think she wasn’t into Pinkerton for a shitload of cash? Please, let’s deal in the real world.’

  I climb into the car, my head still reeling. ‘Where are we going now?’ I ask, absently.

  ‘Back to Cambridge for you,’ Killkenny says. ‘I’m handling the rest of the interviews on my own.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we made a deal. You were gonna keep your mouth shut. I’m not gonna jeopardize this investigation for you; I don’t care how far we go back, how much you care about your company or how infatuated you are with little-miss-tits, in there. You got that?’

  I want to argue with him. I want to tell him that I’m necessary to these interviews, but I know I’m not. Besides, I no longer care. I’ve seen my girl in the flesh. The spell is broken, I tell myself; the obsession will fade away now. As we pull away from the curb, I tell myself that everything will be fine.

  Somehow, though, I wish I could find myself more convincing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Killkenny drops me back at my car. He was right; no one bothered to molest the Corolla. It sits there on the street, its windows open, begging futilely to be violated. I feel sorry for it as I climb into the front seat. ‘I’ll be in touch if I need anything else,’ Killkenny says from his car.

  ‘Let me know what you find from the other girls.’

  ‘Right.’ We both know he’ll tell me what he wants to tell me, and nothing more. I suppose I can live with that.

  I drive through the Back Bay, down Newbury Street, where the boutiques cater to the wealthiest of Boston’s residents and the restaurants all have names that I can’t pronounce. Soon I will be welcomed here with open arms, if I want. The proprietors of these exclusive outlets will make the effort to learn my name, and to memorize my likes and dislikes. Once NextLife goes public, and they have an idea of what I can spend, they will all act as though they have spent their lives waiting for me to show up. That is the fundamental nature of American egalitarianism: Everyone of equal wealth is equal; the source or timing of the wealth matters little.

  From the Back Bay, I head down Massachusetts Avenue, across the bridge and into Cambridge. Massachusetts Avenue runs from the river through the section of the city that is dominated by MIT, with its dorms and laboratories, and the large domed building that looks back at Boston like a curiosity. I try to remember what it was like to be here; to study here and belong to something. I can’t remember, though. It seems too long ago.

  I head toward the office and park right near where I was parked the night before – where my windows were smashed. It’s daylight now, but there is still something that feels wrong about the area. It’s as though the attack has polluted the area for me permanently.

  As I get out of the car I can sense movement off to my left, and it feels as though the scene from last night is playing out again. I look over toward the sound, but see nothing. I take a few steps in that direction, wondering whether I’m willing to replay the scene, considering whether I’m willing to put the rest of the Corolla’s windows at risk. The thought almost brings a bark of nervous laughter, but I stifle it. The alleyway where my stalker hid last night is only yards away. I could break into a run and be there in a matter of two seconds.

  I take another step. ‘Is someone there?’ I call. I hang there for a moment before I decide that I’m imagining things and it’s not worth the effort.

  As I turn back toward the warehouse where my basement facility is located, though, I run straight into NetMaster’s massive chest. It’s shocking to me that a man of his size could possibly move quietly enough to sneak up on me, and it makes me wonder what other skills the man has.

  ‘Shit! You scared the crap out of me,’ I say.

  NetMaster just stares at me.

  ‘You need something?’ I ask.

  ‘You have not been at work,’ he says in his thick accent. He looks and sounds like the perfect James Bond villain to me. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘I was dealing with other things.’ I step to the side of him and head toward the building. I’m not in the mood to deal with his insanity. He puts his arm out to stop me. ‘You really want to touch me?’ I say. His advantage in life has always been that he’s large enough to intimidate everyone he deals with. As a general rule I’m not easily intimidated, and I’ve dealt with guys bigger and more dangerous than him my entire life, so he and I have butted heads for our entire time at the company.

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘I told you, I was dealing with other things.’

  ‘What other things?’

  I look up at him. ‘I was fuckin’ your mother.’ When pushed, the street I grew up on comes out.

  He looks confused. ‘My mother is in Holland.’ Apparently he’s too literal to understand the game.

  ‘That explains the fatigue,’ I say. ‘Jetlag’s a bitch.’

  ‘Boss wants to see you.’

  ‘Pinkerton? Why?’

  ‘Come with me.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I just need to check in with my people.’

  ‘Now.’

  ‘No, in a minute.’ I take a step, pushing his arm out of the way. He keeps it firm, preventing me from getting around. I look up at him. ‘Really?’

  He looks down at me and gives a
thin smile. ‘You and I,’ he says. ‘We will have our time together. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I do. But unless you want that time to be now, you’re gonna move your fuckin’ arm to let me by. Do you understand?’

  The smile disappears from his face and he lowers his arm. I head into the building, and he follows.

  I walk down the stairs and onto the basement offices. I pause, looking out over the floor. There are around fifty of my employees there, all sitting in their chairs, watching the LifeScenes of others play out on their screens, seeing what our users are seeing, feeling what they are feeling, delving into their psyches as the users open themselves, secure in their belief that what they do at their computers is safe from intrusion. The place looks the same as it has done for the past two years – since we started the project and I took over as project leader. And yet somehow it feels different to me now. It feels darker, more sinister than it ever has.

  NetMaster is behind me, and I can feel him watching my every move. I walk onto the floor and make my way through the maze of stations, to the back where my office is located. Yvette is there, at one of the stations just outside my office. She’s not GhostWalking, she is at one of the computer terminals, typing away in computer code at a furious pace. She is so engrossed in what she is doing that she doesn’t see me.

  I walk up behind her and tap her on the shoulder. ‘Hey,’ I say.

  She jumps, startled. ‘Shit, you scared me,’ she says.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘Yeah, we do,’ she says. Her voice is excited. ‘I think I’ve just about got it nailed.’

  ‘In my office,’ I say, cutting her off from saying anything more while we’re still on the floor. She gives me a curious look, and I glance across the floor toward NetMaster, who is standing there, watching us. She looks over at him.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘In my office.’ I jerk a thumb in the direction of my door. ‘We can talk in there.’ She gets up and follows me in.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m not sure. But things aren’t making sense.’

  ‘How so?’

  I take a deep breath and think for a moment. ‘We met with Kendra Madison,’ I start. ‘She’s the one who’s in the LifeScene I’ve walked. The one with the black hair.’

  Yvette’s eyes narrow and she gives me a slightly annoyed look. ‘That must have been very exciting for you,’ she says sarcastically.

  ‘You don’t understand – this has nothing to do with me,’ I say. ‘But she said some things that were a little disturbing.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘She dated Pinkerton,’ I say. I watch that sink in.

  ‘Josh Pinkerton?’ she says. ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘They met at the photo shoot. She says that she and he dated on and off for nearly four years. And that he ended up getting violent.’

  ‘Josh? I don’t see that.’

  ‘That’s what I thought too, but she swears, and she seemed pretty credible. She said that he brought in NetMaster and they started trying to control her life. When she pushed back, they pushed back harder, literally.’

  ‘Well, I can certainly see that of NetMaster,’ she says, thinking it over. ‘Do you think this has anything to do with the murders of the three girls?’

  I shrug. ‘I have no idea. It could be a coincidence, but it’s worth thinking about. It’s certainly worth investigating.’

  ‘So is Killkenny doing the digging?’

  ‘I don’t know. He didn’t seem convinced. It didn’t feel like it was something he was going to pursue. He actually accused her of being after Josh’s money.’

  She frowns. ‘Killkenny wasn’t convinced? Is it possible that she’s not really credible?’

  I think about telling her Killkenny’s theory that Kendra Madison is running a whorehouse, but decide against it. There’s no point in spreading that kind of a rumor without having any actual proof, and somehow I still feel protective of Kendra Madison. ‘All I can tell you is what I saw and heard and, to me, she was very believable.’

  ‘Are you sure you weren’t listening with your dick?’ Yvette has never had trouble expressing herself clearly.

  ‘What?’ I choke out. ‘What are you talking about?’

  She looks disappointed in me. ‘Come on, Nick – it’s me. I know you. I saw you when you were coming out of the GhostWalk that first time you were in De Sade’s Scene with this girl. I was in the room with you when you walked it for the second time. I saw your face, and I know you well enough to recognize infatuation when I see it.’

  ‘And you think that’s clouding my judgment?’

  ‘I think it could cloud your judgment. I have no idea whether it is clouding your judgment, but it’s clear that you came away with a different impression than Killkenny did. That raises a question mark for me. I mean, you tell her you’re looking for a killer, and she tells you that Josh Pinkerton roughed her up. You’ve got to admit, that might give her leverage over Pinkerton to get something out of him.’

  ‘Fair enough, but we hadn’t told her about the murders when she told us about the violence.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. She thought we were there to investigate him for some sort of misuse of information. We didn’t tell her anything about the murders until she’d already laid out her whole story.’

  Yvette considers this. ‘That’s strange.’

  ‘It is.’ I rub my forehead, trying to make sense of all of it. ‘Look, I’m not saying this is connected at all. I’m not even saying that she’s telling the truth, but I find it all very disturbing, and we should look into it further, y’know?’

  ‘Yeah, I hear you.’

  ‘How about you? You said something about almost having this nailed? What did that mean?’

  ‘It means I think I’ve isolated a whole bunch of LifeScene segments that all seem to be connected to De Sade, and it looks as though they may all originally have been created on computers actually on our network.’

  ‘Computers, plural?’ I ask. ‘He’s using more than one?’

  ‘That’s what it looks like,’ she says. ‘I’m still running the analysis. He’s done a pretty good job of wiping his trail, but I think I’ve found the string. It should only take a couple more days, and I should be able to track it back to the source.’

  ‘That’s great,’ I say. Looking at her, I can tell that she hasn’t left the office. That means it’s been days since she’s been home. ‘You need to get some rest,’ I say. ‘You look tired.’

  ‘Thanks. A girl loves a compliment.’

  ‘You know what I meant.’

  ‘Maybe I do.’

  ‘I’m serious. You need rest. This is too important, and we need to make sure that we don’t make any mistakes, you understand?’

  She glares at me. ‘You think I don’t understand how important this is? Why do you think I’ve been working as hard as I have been?’

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘I’d rather have you working on this than anyone else in the world. There’s no one better at this kind of work. But you can’t kill yourself over it, okay?’

  ‘This is how I work best.’ I realize there’s no point in arguing with her on this.

  I look through the window from my office out onto the floor. NetMaster is still there, watching us. ‘I’ve been summoned to the boss’s office,’ I say. ‘He’s my escort.’

  ‘Pinkerton’s office? Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out. If I disappear, tell Killkenny where I was going.’

  ‘Don’t joke,’ Yvette says. She’s looking at me, and I can see the worry in her eyes. Suddenly I feel guilty for bringing her into this.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ I say.

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  She looks out at NetMaster, waiting impatiently for me. ‘Nick, what do we do if I trace the LifeScenes back to their source, and it turns out it’s Pink
erton?’

  I take her by the shoulders. ‘We’ll deal with that if it happens. Don’t worry, we just have to track this back to wherever it goes and then figure out the plan after that, okay?’

  She nods. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Be careful when you talk to him. I don’t trust him.’

  ‘You don’t need to trust him. Trust me.’

  ‘You know I do.’

  NetMaster insists that I accompany him in his car to the NextLife building in Brighton, but I refuse and get into my own car. He glares at me as I put my key in the ignition, and only lumbers away when he realizes that I am not backing down, and that I am pulling out irrespective of whether he is ready. His car is only a half block away, and he hurries so that he can fall in behind me in the traffic. I can see him in my rearview mirror the entire way out west. At one point I deliberately slow down near the end of a green light and then speed through on the yellow, just to see how he will react. He hits the gas as well and flies through the red light, drawing a chorus of angry honks from drivers at the intersection.

  He pulls into the parking lot just behind me, and I hear him slam the door as I walk toward the building. He catches up and we get on the elevator together. I can feel his stare like a laser on the side of my face, but I ignore him, and when the elevator reaches the top floor I get out ahead of him, leaving the giant huffing to catch up with me.

  Pinkerton’s assistant holds up a hand to me as I approach, but I ignore her. ‘You can’t go in there!’ she calls to me.

  ‘He asked for me,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry.’

  I push the door open, and I can see Pinkerton standing at the window, looking out toward Boston. He turns and sees me. ‘Nick,’ he says quietly. ‘Come in.’

  ‘Josh,’ I respond. ‘I’m already in.’

  NetMaster comes through the door. ‘I instructed him to come at once!’ he barks, defending the time it took for him to produce me at Josh’s office. ‘He would not listen!’

  ‘I understand,’ Josh says. ‘Not to worry.’

  ‘He went into the Cambridge facility.’

  ‘Of course.’ He looks at me. ‘I’m sure you had something to do that was urgent, no? Otherwise you would have come immediately, isn’t that right, Nick?’