by Jay Smith
"Yes," he replied and let the topic die. Reilly created a steeple with his fingers and peeked over them at me. The peek turned into an uncomfortable stare before he finally said, "First, I am sorry for your loss. Grant was a great guy and King loved him very much, so I can only imagine how his loss affected you."
"Thanks. I'm sorry about Mr. Kline as well. I didn't know him personally, I admit, but I enjoyed his billboards around the city."
"Thank you. The reason I'm calling on you, Mr. Casey, is that King — Mr. Kline's estate is under attack by various parties related to alleged incidents that took place during his time on the Board of Aeternus Enterprises."
"Was he a courtier?"
Reilly offered me a glimpse of one of his yellowed fangs as he groaned. "Not really. Mr. Kline was an activist and was negotiating with Alan Horus to create the first online refuge for runaways and abused children."
"I don't understand. An online refuge?"
"A place where endangered youth could signal for help online quietly, without risk to themselves. The online community would help locate a local shelter or refuge or what have you. It was in the very early stages. Honestly, Mr. Kline was not well-versed in technology, but he had a good heart and wanted to help his wife expand her charitable programs."
He sat up and folded his hands on the tabletop. His eyes sharpened and fixed on me like a weak, but cornered predator. "Alan Horus had some great ideas and, on Grant Parker's word that Horus was a plain dealer, my client moved forward with some good-faith activities that exposed him to some potentially actionable activities."
"You lost me there."
"Before Grant Parker died, he was working with King on this project. Parker discovered evidence that the online refuge was tied to human traffickers disguised as international relief organizations."
I immediately thought of Nadeim and the bride brokerage he uncovered in Iraq. I volunteered none of this. "So Park flushed out the wolves?"
"No, it turns out that those organizations were specifically chosen for the program. Aeternus is an organization that has clubs all around the world. The plan was to convert some of these meeting places into temporary shelters for endangered youth."
"I thought Aeternus was an online thing. I know there's a resort in Vegas, but…"
"And Horus is thinking of buying out DrakkenCon in Atlanta to build an east coast resort." He paused, freezing like his batteries needed changing, then snapped to with "You don't know about the meeting houses, then?"
"No."
"There's one nearby. King and Parker used to meet there all the time. They recruited for The Realm there. I was one of King's first recruits."
"I'm not sure I understand how that works."
Reilly bloomed into that "I know something you don't" grin and sat back. "Well, I would brush up on the company you keep, Mr. Casey. Because your friend, my client, and several real-world members of The Realm are about to dip ass-deep in a sex crimes investigation. Someone linked a global youth locator service to the exact people it was meant to protect them from. The question is by whom. Because Parker's investigation was terminated, we have a difference of opinion about who is to blame."
"And since Parker and your client are dead…"
"History is written by the winners and survivors."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "What does this have to do with me?"
"You inherited everything in Grant Parker's online accounts - digital and financial assets along with all the correspondence he kept with other players in-world. I also have to assume you received information in other forms that might help clear my client posthumously."
"Not sure I can help, but I've got a lot of unindexed, unlabeled stuff. I was just going to delete his private emails."
He blended his cordial and sinister expressions into something psychotic. "Oh, I wouldn't do that, Mr. Casey."
"Do tell why, sir."
Reilly sighed and looked down, disappointed. "While participating in an online session with Mr. Parker, my client was exposed to activities that Aeternus Online is now saying he sponsored. Those accusations, in part, drove my client to suicide."
I took a drink. "That seems a little odd."
"Why's that, Mr. Casey?"
"Well, his reputation as the fierce champion of the oppressed for a start. You don't build a fortune taking on corporate armies and insurance companies without a strong spirit."
Reilly lowered his voice. "Sometimes the strongest people outside are barely holding it together inside. I felt the same way before - before I found his body and his suicide note." His anger and grief played out as sincere. Of course, he wasn't just King's lawyer, but one of his oldest friends.
"I'm very sorry. How can I help you, Mr. Reilly? I'm sure your client kept detailed records as well."
"Yes, but they are all encrypted. He didn't even share access with me. They sit in his online account and in a separate block of files on his hard drive. I'd like access to your account to see if you possess any correspondence between Parker and my client that would help put these accusations away. Mrs. Kline is beside herself with grief. These allegations put her at risk of losing everything she's worked so hard to build. All the charity, all the hope she's given at-risk youth...everything rests on clearing King Kline."
"Well, of course, I'll go through what I have to..."
Reilly waved his hand across my face so close, felt the breeze. "I appreciate that, but I'll need to image everything you have in inventory. You can be there, of course, but we'll need unfiltered access."
"You want to get together and go through my inventory?"
He was amused I didn't quite get what he didn't want to say in so many words. "That would take too long. I'm going to need to take some of your equipment, log in and copy everything."
"Yeah, I'm not comfortable with that."
"I understand, but you may not have a choice."
"I guess I'll have to ask my lawyer about this. I want to help, but…."
His nervous energy rose quickly and his leg began bouncing. "You'll have to retain one who isn't just a divorce attorney and I highly recommend you do so if you choose to get in the way of the investigation." Was this weirdo merely nervous, or desperate?
"You did some checking on me, huh?"
"Look, I'm just a lawyer looking to do the right thing, but the District Attorney's office and Federal investigators might not shy away from your refusal."
"I doesn't sound like you're shying away from anything, Mr. Reilly," I replied. "In fact, for someone who wants my help in good faith, Dennis, you're being kind of a dick."
"I am an attorney, Mr. Casey. I'm vigorously pursuing the interest of my client. This visit is a courtesy. If I thought you were hiding something or planned to be uncooperative, I would have a warrant in hand and sheriff's deputies beside me. Perhaps that's how we should start our next conversation?"
"You're part of Aeternus so you know that a lot of what's in our inventories is kept on their servers – their property – so my permitting you access would be against the law. So. How about we agree to meet in your office next week?"
"You have 24 hours, Mr. Casey." He stood up and looked down on me. From my perspective, he looked like a horror movie villain if the director had cast Don Knotts. He was doing his best to look scary, but I felt like I should direct him to the nearest rest room before it was too late. Still, little dogs like him don't come barking unless they're stupid or think they can bluff or they've got someone behind them ready to bite. My money was on that last option and made a note to give Ezrin a call.
"Let's meet at the Canary Street Safe House. It will give you a chance to brush up on how Aeternus is creeping out of the virtual and into reality, Mr. Casey."
Chapter Seventeen
I parked at the top of Canary Street just north of the Capitol Complex downtown. It's a quiet little neighborhood of thin, three-story brownstone row homes that follow a gentle slope from Commonwealth Street down toward the river. The only
outstanding feature of the neighborhood is an old abandoned funeral home with a small parking lot at the top of the hill. Black wooden sheets covered the windows and doors of the Canary Funeral Parlor, including the high tower windows that must have once overlooked the river. The whole place had that weird Scooby Doo vibe to it that made me think I’d find my address there.
Empty malt liquor bottles lined the stone porch at the side entrance and a nest of spent cigarette ends gathered in the corner of the porch, leading my eye to a single window where the board had been pried open a few inches from the pane. Rusty nails looked like needle teeth under a curled lip. Otherwise, the property could be described as "tastefully condemned" and blended in with the pastel row homes.
I found my address at the house next door. The buildings connected through an enclosed garage.
3015 Canary blended into the rest of the neighborhood and I pictured a young, active couple living inside what might be their first home close to the excitement of downtown living. The bushes under the big bay windows were neatly trimmed and the flowers blooming in the window boxes were fresh and colorful. The burgundy paint was new within the past year, as was the mahogany trim around the windows and doorframes. The house at 3017 shared a wall with 3015. It looked a little more worn than its neighbor and had a rustic feel to it with flaking paint over untreated wood siding and a wagon wheel against the front stoop.
I stepped onto the old stone porch of 3015 and looked for the doorbell. I found it just above the same black scanner pad I'd seen outside the Atlanta safe house. I waved my pass card over it. A soft beep was followed by a heavy, low CLUNK.
The scent of vanilla and candle smoke covered the atrium and front sitting room, but there was nothing remarkable about the cream paint jobs or the forest green on the windowsill. Like most houses on the block, it was a mix of modern tastes and century-old architecture. The floorboards creaked as I crossed the front room toward the kitchen at the end of a long hall. Lights bloomed along the hall as I passed. These buildings were tall and thin, with no windows along the shared walls.
“Hello, Lord Wynncase. Welcome to Canary House.” The low, feminine voice came from everywhere through different speakers throughout the floor.
“Thanks. Who is this?”
“I am Eris, sir. Safe House Attendant. I see you are alone. Will you be entertaining during your stay?”
“I don’t think so. I’m just here to meet someone. A lawyer, I mean.”
“Very good, sir." She continued as if she hadn't understood anything I'd said. "If you continue to the kitchen, you’ll find a guidebook to all local services and a list of active members who you can call should you desire company during your stay." Eris's voice followed me through different speakers, cross-fading as I moved through the house. "This is your first time at Canary House. Would you like me to summarize the house rules and amenities?”
I reached the end of the hall where the light under a silent ceiling fan dawned over chrome and marble in a gorgeous, expensive kitchen. Big bay doors opened to an enclosed patio and a small fenced-in yard beyond. A stainless steel fridge featured a small video screen upon which Eris appeared. She was a kid, really, maybe 20-something with pink hair and at least five metal hoops in her bottom lip and other hardware in her face. She sounded much older than her fresh face suggested.
"No. Like I said I'm just meeting someone here."
"Very good, sir."
I examined a pile of neatly arranged papers on the central island as Eris explained that only realm members were permitted in the house, meaning I could not bring friends, coworkers, or escorts there for any reason. I read on.
Four bedrooms upstairs, a master suite on the third floor and a dungeon in the basement. Discrete parking in the garage next door with access to the lower level. If one must arrive by taxi or the parking bay is full, guests must disembark at the corner by the funeral home's front door to avoid causing congestion or excessive noise in the neighborhood. All members must wear inconspicuous attire when outdoors and will not disclose to or engage neighbors in the nature of their activities.
Real Secret Squirrel stuff. The way the thing read, the place hosted some rocking house parties.
The registry listed several members who reserved part or all of the facility during the week. None of the in-world names were familiar, but my clearance allowed me to click on a few names and access their character files. A local semi-pro ballplayer. A State Representative. Lawyers. Business owners. A local church leader. One third of the 50 members registered with Canary House were women.
The front door opened. From the reception area, Eris greeted someone who headed right for the kitchen, marching with purpose up the hardwood to the kitchen tile.
"Mark Toklas," he announced to the room, hands spread to project his introduction. Mark was a classic narcissist radiating a lethal dose of confidence from six and a half feet of chiseled handsome in an expensive suit. His eyes arrived at mine and his smile extended like landing gear as he approached. His outstretched hand wasn't a courtesy but an invitation to something special. "I represent Aeternus Enterprises and, by extension, you. We're meeting Denny Reilly here."
"Winston Casey. In our secret clubhouse? Is that wise?"
He chuckled as though comparing my remark to something funnier he heard somewhere. "Oh, Denny is very familiar with this place. He and King both, actually." He walked through to the enclosed patio and set his things down on a coffee table near the sofa. Mark, too, was quite at home in the Safe House. He then collapsed on it like it was exhausting carting around so much uncut charisma. "Anyway, how are you doing? Getting used to a lifestyle of the rich and famous?"
I stepped out onto the patio. "It has its perks." I tried to keep us on topic. I didn't like the way this was heading with my name on a legal matter I knew nothing about. "What's this meeting about? Do I need to explain anything? Do anything?"
"No. You just need to sit there, pretend to be engaged, and let us law hogs insult each other for a while before I tell him to go shove his legal paperwork up his ass. If we're lucky we can be sipping bourbon out back by 12:15 and Reilly will be back to hustling grieving mamas in the county hospital ER."
"Then why am I here?" I sat down, prepared for a briefing.
"Aside from the bourbon? Because the meeting is, technically, with you. He wants access to your stuff. It's no big deal. Denny is trying to save his client's reputation – and spend the last of his retainer, I guess."
"How is it he's still part of Aeternus if he's taking legal action against it?"
"No law to say he can't sue us and kill some orcs at the same time. But his LARP card has been suspended so you won't see him at any sword dork speed dating events. By the way, how is your divorce lawyer working out?"
Before I could answer that it was none of his fucking business, the front door opened again. Eris announced Dennis O'Reilly. He had entered the house with his own passkey. Mark and I stood. We waited for Dennis to make his way back to the sitting room. His conversation with Eris was familiar saying, "Mr. Casey and Mr. Toklas are waiting for you on the patio, Denny."
"Thank you," Denny answered as he walked down the hall toward us. He met us with a quick wave, tossing his fat document bag onto the kitchen island. "Hey, Mark. Mr. Casey, good to see you again. How do you like the clubhouse?" He shook Mark's hand and grinned at him as he half-listened to my answer.
"Good to hear," he replied as he took off his coat. With a nod, he made a knife-hand toward the coffee cozy on the patio. "Please. Sit down, guys." He tossed the coat over the arm of a nearby chair. I wasn't sure if the smell it blew my way was bad aftershave or tequila sweats.
I sat back down but Mark decided to pour himself a drink from the sidebar. I guess he wasn't going to agree to even an offer to get comfortable from his adversary.
"Can I get you a fireball, Denny? Denny and The King would make pitchers of the stuff at our parties."
Dennis smiled and shook his head like it was an embarrassing
old story he loved hearing. "Yeah, well. That was something The King did. He thought it would get the party started. He was a character."
Mark shook a bottle at him, teasing. "That he was, Denny."
"No thanks, Mark. I've got two other appointments after this. You boys can drown your sorrows after I go."
Mark returned an obligatory laugh and returned to the sofa with a clear, sparkling beverage. He didn't bother asking me if I wanted anything. "Let's get this over with then." He placed the drink on the coffee table and woke up his tablet.
Dennis didn't enter the meeting with so much as a single sheet of paper, making Mark seem the best prepared of us all. We looked at each other like there was a script and someone else missed their cue.
"Now." Mark finally began. "You want access to Mr. Casey's private hardware to review proprietary content related to Lieutenant Grant Parker's accounts in Aeternus Online as well as any Aeternus Enterprises correspondence."
Dennis nodded. "Correct."
"You want to seize Mr. Casey's personal property for that purpose despite the fact you cannot confirm that any of the information you want actually exists there."
"Borrow is a more appropriate word, but it's the only way to objectively collect the data."
"You will also ask my client to surrender his pass codes, not only to Aeternus-related matters, but his private email accounts."
"That's necessary for full disclosure."
"Wait," I interrupted. "My personal accounts? Not happening." None of that sounded legal at all and was a detail Mark should have brought to my attention. Instead Mark invited me to shut the fuck up, please, with his pretty gray eyes.
"Don't worry," Dennis scoffed. "I'm not after your secret fetishes or your illegal downloads." He winked at me.
Mark turned his ice cannons on Denny. "As my client just said, that's not happening, my friend."
Dennis shrugged. "That's for a judge to decide. …a judge that never goes to an Aeternus junket and isn't listed in the guest book back." He nodded toward the front lounge. "We really don't want to start digging up each other's secrets, do we? Not in public."
