Reset

by Kirk Dougal

  “What you looking for, man?” he asked, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the music spilling through the door behind him.

  “I need to sleep,” Rick answered.

  The bouncer looked at his partner who glanced over at the pair for a few seconds before nodding in agreement. He reached down and unclasped the rope so Rick and Gwen could walk to the door. “Straight through to the kitchen, second door on the right.”

  Rick peeled five one hundred dollar bills off a roll in his pocket and pressed them into the man’s hand before walking past.

  “Good luck trying to get Strick to sign off on a petty cash reimbursement for that,” Gwen breathed into his ear.

  “He will if we get what we came for,” Rick answered as the full force of the club hit them in the face.

  Lights swirled around the club, adding neon colors to the dance floor and into the corners. Grinding bodies moved against each other, swaying to the thumping bass of the music, while predators of both sexes hunted down their prey for the evening. Mixed in with the typical college crowd were the late twenties and early thirties professionals, bankers and lawyers who were still young enough to remember how they once partied and with more than enough money to make it happen again.

  The crowd was thick and Gwen needed to detach herself from Rick’s arm as he led her on a weaving path through the crowd. This caused a problem only once, near the edge of the dancers, where three men who had downed a drink or five too many set their sights on Gwen. Rick turned when he felt her hand leave his and saw they had surrounded her, herding her toward the dance floor. Rage bloomed through his body as he strode toward them. Gwen saw him approaching and her pale skin grew even whiter.

  Rick lashed out with his foot, catching the closest of the trio in his Achilles tendon and dropping him to a knee. Before the first screamed out, Rick grabbed the second man’s left shoulder while his right hand pounded into the man’s lowest rib. This corporate wannabe’s gasp of pain could be heard even above the music and finally caught the attention of the third man who had both hands on Gwen’s shoulders, trying to force her into swaying with the music. He stared down drunkenly at his friends for a second before looking back up, anger spreading over his face.

  That was as far as it went. Before Rick could even reach out for him, Gwen’s knee shot up, catching the man in the groin. As he crumpled to the dance floor, she calmly smoothed her miniskirt and held her hand out for Rick to take. As he led her away, he noticed some of the other women patting her on the shoulders and he even received a couple of nods and smiles. A minute later, they walked through the swinging doors to the kitchen area. Relative quiet wrapped around them with little more than the vibration of the bass in the floor to remind them of what was taking place just a few feet away.

  “Are you okay?” Rick asked, his voice not loud enough to reach the handful of kitchen staff working at their stations. “You were pretty pale.”

  Gwen laughed and then leaned in close to his neck again, her body melting against his. “If you had seen your face, you’d have known why I was so pale. I thought you were going to kill those drunk bastards and blow our cover.” She lay her head on his shoulder. “Just buy me a drink when we get to where we’re going and I’ll be fine.”

  Rick led her past the first door on the right and paused for a moment in front of the second. One of the wait staff walked by but the young man kept his head down and tilted away from the couple, trying so hard not to make eye contact the effort was laughable. In fact, when Rick glanced up at the others scattered throughout the kitchen, no one looked in their direction. They might as well have been two shadows instead of people.

  Rick opened the door and he and Gwen stepped into a large, well-lit linen closet. The door shut behind them and they stood still for a few seconds.

  “Wrong door?” Gwen whispered.

  Rick shook his head once but remained silent. He had noticed movement in the shadows between stacks of table cloths on the far wall. Suddenly the wall swung back and revealed a bouncer even larger than the two on the street. Soft blue lights and music floated up from the stairway behind him.

  “Welcome to Morpehus’ Playroom,” he said and gestured them forward.

  They descended into the lights and noise. Where the volume and the sheer number of people created energy on the main floor, down here the electricity was fed by the raw power of depravity and lack of inhibitions. Most of the dancers on the floor still had some clothing on but the movements between them left even less to the imagination. Transformers shot miniature bolts of lightning back and forth while low-lying fog added to the atmosphere and soft blue and black lights made the neon make-up on the women glow. Some of the color extended down to their torsos where clothing should have hidden it.

  Along one wall, rows of couches held writhing men and women wearing Beckys, their reaction to physical pleasure seen in the real world while the acts took place in between bits of information in a computer server. The rest of the room was filled with groups of people around the bar or mixing between seating areas.

  “I’m going to mingle and see what I can find out,” Gwen said. She detached herself from his arm and Rick found himself missing the pressure, even if it was only a part of their cover. “Don’t forget my drink.” She slinked toward the dance floor.

  Rick watched her go and then stepped the few feet to the bar. “Raven's Blood, twice,” he said.

  He downed the first glass of Jamieson’s and grenadine while he surveyed the others near the bar. No one stood out as he looked around and, just as importantly, no one appeared to be paying much attention to him.

  His gaze wandered farther afield until he took in the dance floor again. He stared for nearly a minute at a group of several women and a few men who moved in intertwined rhythm before he noticed Gwen was a part of the line. Rick watched for another few seconds before realizing she had removed her blouse and muted colors wound in designs across her bare chest and down her legs. Without thinking he reached out, grabbed the second drink, and gulped it down.

  “We okay here, my man?” Looking over the blond bartender’s shoulder was a waiter, both men staring at him as if they expected trouble.

  Rick forced a grin. “I was afraid she wouldn’t feel comfortable and fit in.” He laughed. “You better hit me twice more so I’ve got one waiting for her when she comes back.”

  The blond smiled and waved the other man away. A minute later he returned with two more drinks. He sat them down and wiped down the area with the bar towel.

  Rick put enough money on the bar to pay for the drinks and leave a generous tip. “Is REM around tonight?”

  The bartender’s towel never stopped and he swooped up the money in one quick movement, but Rick noticed the man’s eyes narrow slightly.

  “Don’t know anybody by that name,” he answered. “You must have the wrong place.”

  Rick placed his arm on the bar and slowly pulled his sleeve up until the bottom two pits were visible, the scar tissue glowing blue in the lights. “I want to sleep.”

  The bartender stared for a two-count and began wiping down the bar again. “Everybody needs a good night sleep,” he said before turning away.

  Rick turned to watch the dance floor again, noticing the large group with Gwen had broken up into smaller sections of three and four people. He had just found her with three others off to one side of the floor when he felt someone walk in close beside him.

  “Is that second drink for you or is it waiting for me?”

  Rick turned to face the young woman standing beside him, the glowing make-up lines on her face standing out against her dark skin. Her eyes also glowed in the black lights, the result of contact lenses. “I’m here with someone,” he answered.

  “It looks like you’re all alone right now. Doesn’t she work and play well with others?” She smiled, lips breaking wide in a grin that invited Rick into her thoughts.

  He swallowed half his drink, buying himself time. When he had gone thro
ugh the phase of substituting sex for his DIOD, this was exactly the sort of woman he had hunted down. Old feelings of longing rose in his thoughts.

  “I don’t know if she would approve,” he said. “We’re new.”

  The woman moved a little closer, the inner part of her leg touching the back of his as he leaned against the bar. Another inch and she would be straddling his thigh. “If you don’t know what she likes yet, then she hasn’t put out enough of a claim. Surely she wouldn’t object to some time on the couches.” She tilted her head toward the side of the room where the patrons moved on the couches, deep into their sexual fantasies with other players inside the club’s game.

  “My name’s not Shirley and I am going to object.”

  The girl jerked her head around to confront Gwen, but then slowly tilted her head back. The FBI agent was six inches taller than the young woman and twenty pounds of hard muscle heavier. But Rick thought none of that mattered nearly as much as the emotionless stare Gwen threw at the other woman.

  “No harm in asking,” the juicer mumbled as she stepped sideways to get around Gwen. “He wasn’t interested anyway.” She walked away.

  “Is that mine?” Gwen asked, gesturing toward the glass on the bar. She fastened one of the buttons on her blouse before she took the glass and knocked back the drink. “Can you get me another?”

  Rick turned to look for the blond bartender. He stopped a second later when he felt Gwen’s body lean into his back, her breath close to his ear.

  “You really weren’t interested in her?” she asked.

  Rick shook his head. “No, I’m working.” The pressure immediately went off his back but when he turned to look at Gwen, she had an odd look on her face. He felt someone tap his arm and he turned back to stare at the bartender.

  “You still want to sleep?”

  “Yes.”

  The bartender gestured toward one of the waiters who walked over. “He has a few minutes to talk.”

  Rick and Gwen followed the waiter through the crowd toward the couches. Gwen grabbed his arm again but this time the pressure was loose, barely enough to keep contact in the crowd near the dance floor. They walked around what Rick thought, at first, was just a bend in the wall but turned out to be a short hallway. At the end was a door the waiter knocked on twice. It opened with real light, not bright, but harsh enough to make Rick and Gwen squint when the glow hit them in the face, and the back lit shadow of a man gestured them forward.

  Once the door shut against the noise of the club, the man patted Rick down thoroughly. He moved to Gwen but she had on so little clothing, he only made sure she did not have anything placed in the waist of her skirt. When he was done, he turned to the far wall where another door opened.

  The man who walked into the room moved with grace and power. Every stride spoke of a coiled spring ready to leap, every move in his arms a ripple of muscles.

  “I’m REM,” he said, his voice sliding like a tenor river over his tongue. “I understand you want to sleep.”

  “That’s right.” Rick looked the man over, his stomach twitching a warning.

  “I apologize but I don’t recognize you. Can I ask your name?”

  Rick hesitated, not wanting to taste the bitter words in his mouth. “I’m RJ.”

  This time he caught it, the barest tilt of the man’s head, turning his right ear away from Rick and Gwen.

  “RJ is not a proper name. I need to know who you are before we can do business.”

  Rick felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He shook off Gwen’s grip and stepped to one side, ignoring the man in front of him. He stared straight at the back wall, toward whoever fed the front man questions in an ear piece. “If you’re who you’re supposed to be, you know who I am.”

  “You need to prove it,” the front man said after a few seconds.

  Rick let his long-sleeved shirt slide from his shoulders and held out his arms. The rows of scars trailing up each forearm stood out against the muscles.

  Another pause. “We’ve seen those before. It’s not enough.”

  Rick felt Gwen’s hand on his shoulder. “Show him your color, baby.”

  As much as saying his name had turned his stomach before, the thought of what she wanted him to do roiled a storm now. He pulled out the tail of his T-shirt and slipped the material over his head. When it was off, he turned, the snarling tattoo of his gaming nickname glistening under the overhead lights. A door slammed open and Rick whirled around at the noise.

  A woman a few years younger than Rick entered the room. She stood several inches shorter than him and no more than 90 pounds with her shoes on. Despite a silk suit that must have had lots of zeroes on the price tag, she could have walked down the street in a suburban neighborhood without a second glance. Her voice was the only thing out of place, reaching about half an octave too high and probably threatening glass when she was excited. She was excited now.

  “Oh my god!” she screamed. “You’re The Beast!”

  *****

  “Mr. Dowland, I can’t believe I finally had the chance to meet you. If you want to sleep, it'd be an honor to peep for you. Ted, please bring some drinks for our guests.” Rick and REM were now seated at a table in the next room while Gwen lounged on the nearby couch. After the front man left, REM turned back to Rick. “You know, the rumor was that DIOD took over and you'd gone in for so long you'd taken the permanent nap.”

  Rick pushed the sleeves down on his arms. “I almost did. I lost some real time but I’ve been awake now for about six years.”

  Ted returned with drinks and they were quickly distributed.

  “So why go back in now?” REM asked.

  “I lied. I don’t really want to sleep. Somebody killed Tim Shafer and we think his death is connected to the games.”

  REM choked on her drink, coughing a few times before she caught her breath. “Ghost's dead? I just talked to him a few weeks ago.” She reached up and touched the side of her glasses before making several gestures in the air.

  “You did business with him?” Rick asked.

  “Not like that,” REM answered, touching her glasses again before dropping her hand. “Tim was still coding on the side and I bought some of his games. He was a great guy but he was also a stiff prick about making sure the outputs were within the safety standards so I could only use what he sold me with the upstairs crowd most of the time.” She took another drink. “Look, I admire your loyalty to your friend but shouldn’t you let the downtown guys take care of this? What're you going to do about it?”

  “That’s just it, REM,” Rick said. “I am one of the downtown guys now. I’m a homicide detective and this is FBI Special Agent Gwen Talbot.” He gestured toward the couch but kept staring forward.

  REM grew even paler. A line of sweat popped out on her forehead and Rick noticed Ted stand straighter against the back wall, the spring coiling tighter.

  “You’re a cop?” REM asked, her voice cracking.

  “Whoa, whoa,” Rick said and put his hands up with his palms facing forward. “No one get excited. We’re only here because these murders might affect your business, too. We need information and I came to ask for some mutual help.”

  “Murders?” REM relaxed a little at the assurance but Ted remained a trap waiting to be tripped.

  “Yes, murders,” Gwen said. “We have six victims we can tie to the killer. All of them were sleepers. We believe they're being stalked in the game and then killed in the real world.”

  “Ghost was one of the victims?” REM asked.

  “Yes and no,” Gwen answered. “We believe he was taken out by the same killer but he wasn't a sleeper.” She hesitated. “We think he was murdered to draw Detective Dowland into the case.”

  Rick closed his eyes. Even though every word she said rang true, each one stung like a slap on his skin.

  “The tag.”

  Rick looked at REM and nodded. “That’s what I think, too. I think the killer knows how to find the IP tag for the players in gam
es and is using that to track them down in the real world.”

  “We thought about that,” Gwen said. “I spoke personally with some of the game companies and they all said finding the tags was impossible.”

  Rick and REM both laughed.

  “Maybe for the script kiddies, but not for the good black hat crackers,” REM said. “Eventually they find everything. You must've never had to worry about that in The Kindred, though, since you were the first game and were running before the fed regs.”

  “It was there,” Rick said. “Gardener insisted so we could use the tag as a backup for billing. It was hidden in the canine tooth. You had to rip the fang out of the avatar’s mouth and then you could access all the player’s information.”

  “I’ll be damned. That’s a juiced hiding spot.” REM shook her head. “Anybody ever find it?”

  “A couple of people. One was a 15-year-old player we were ready to kick out of the game until we realized she was just a white hat figuring out how things worked. Ghost offered her a job.” Rick leaned forward, staring REM in the face. “But you turned him down, Kealon.”

  REM stood up so fast her chair slid backwards about three feet. Ted moved just as fast, taking two long steps until he stood between REM and Rick.

  “How did you know?” REM asked.

  “Ghost was my best friend, hell, maybe my only friend. There were never any secrets between us. We told each other everything. When he found me that last time and dragged me into the hospital, he told me a sandman named REM helped find me. It didn’t take me long to figure out he was talking about you.”

  REM rubbed the sweat from her face and finished off her drink. “I’m sorry, RJ, I didn’t know what to do. Ghost was so desperate to find you. I know this is a business where people want to disappear…I know you’re probably mad as hell…tell me how to make it up to you…”

  Rick held up his hand and eventually she ran out of steam, her wandering confession trailing off. “I’m alive today because you helped Ghost. But if you think you owe me something, help me find his killer. If not, do it for yourself. If word of these murders gets out into the public, all the sandmen are going to be hurt. Your business will dry up overnight. And the sleepers who can’t stop will go inside without peeps. More people will die.”