Vanished: City of Lies #1

by E. J. Larson

  “You started when you were fifteen?”

  “Yes, I always liked old things and then I started learning how to look after them and mend them. Then after school I got an apprenticeship and a few years later I got my own business.” Amber ran her free hand through her open shoulder length hair. “And how did you get into jewelry design?”

  “I cut my first stone before I could write,” she explained with a grin. “It's kind of in my genes. But where I come from, no one could teach me anything anymore. I want to learn more, get better, develop my own techniques and create something all my own.”

  She felt her excitement as tingles in her fingertips. She would have loved to grab her tools immediately and make something to show Amber. She sensed that her new acquaintance was just as enthusiastic about what she was doing and understood what it meant to her to design jewelry.

  “Now, before you get into a craft discussion we can't follow, why don't you tell us where Jonah has already shown you around,” Olivia interrupted. “Maybe we know some nice additions.”

  “Phew, I don't think I'll be able to absorb today. You have to know, I come from a nest with a few hundred inhabitants and I'm already hopelessly overwhelmed. First, though, I have to figure out how to get from the apartment to Brooks & Shore's workshop. Do you guys happen to know?”

  “You work at B&S? Awesome,” Olivia marveled. “I was at their show yesterday. Alex Kant will be sending his designs down the runway with your jewelry at Fairfield Fashion Week this time. Watch out for that one, I think he's a real ass.” She slapped her hand over her mouth as if she hadn't actually meant to say that. “Oops, but you didn't get that from me.”

  Quinn couldn't help but chuckle. Olivia was even cute when she blasphemed.

  “So how did you come up with the show? I heard about something going on that night, but I didn't want to crash full-on into city life on my moving day.”

  “I'm a fashion blogger. No, stop, I'm a fashion journalist. I've been working for the Fairfield Chronicle magazine for a few days, but I also have a successful fashion blog that I'm putting to rest for a bit,” the blonde explained.

  “I kind of always thought all people in the fashion industry were conceited. You don't strike me as that at all.”

  “Thank you, not everyone is like that. I know a lot of nice people from the scene. Sure, there's a lot of show and it's often about looks, but that's not everything.”

  She hadn't meant to offend Olivia. It wasn't until she replied that she realized she might be touching on something with her words that was better left alone. Olivia gave her a smile that left no doubt that she knew all too well herself the kind of superficiality Quinn was referring to. The freckles and slightly too high forehead made Olivia special, but being special wasn't always uncomplicated. Especially in a world that fed on dazzling beauty.

  “I didn't mean to say …,“ she stammered out, trying to apologize. But the words stuck in her throat because she didn't know how to finish the sentence she had started.

  “It's okay,” Olivia reassured her, “I'm okay.”

  “Want me to show you the way later? It's really not far. We can walk it together this afternoon and get dinner on the way back. What do you say?” Amber suggested.

  10. Jasper

  THEY HAD BEEN living under one roof for almost three months now and it was only thanks to Grace that they didn't completely drown in their mess. Unfortunately she only came to clean up on Mondays and by the weekend they were knee deep in their own filth again. The living room was an impressive proof of this on Sunday morning. That was why they didn't usually have guests after Wednesday night. But now they had to tackle it themselves for once.

  Carter was coming over in an hour to talk about the game. Jasper, whose hangover was in check thanks to his early departure with the model, herded his roommate out of bed. After a cup of coffee, he instructed him to get the kitchen in presentable condition. However he would go about it. Jasper himself had hung the garbage can out of the kitchen and hung an extra bag of leftovers he had collected earlier on his wrist. In addition, he dragged the bulging laundry basket downstairs.

  When he was rid of the garbage, he continued his way to the laundry room and started a mixed machine. Now he just had to remember to get the laundry out of there promptly, otherwise it would smell so awful again. He took the vacuum cleaner for a spin around the coffee table, picking up stray crumbs. Groaning, he glanced into the kitchen.

  "How's it going with you?” Jasper was sorry he'd ditched his mate the night before, especially since Tiffany had proven to be quite the handful over the course of the night. Sexually, he'd gotten his money's worth, but she'd made it difficult for him to leave gracefully. She'd babbled on about her professional achievements like a waterfall. It had given her a thieving pleasure that he had had no idea who her friend was. And she had suddenly had an incredible amount to share with him in other ways, too, after her lust had been satisfied. He hadn't ended up in her bedroom because he'd been looking for someone to chat with. When he'd gone there, he'd thought Tiffany felt the same way.

  “Have I ever told you that I hate washing dishes?“ Milo grumbled. His face was pale and he wore deep shadows under his eyes. “Can't we buy a dishwasher like other civilized people?”

  “Hmm,” Jasper returned with a shrug. Unfortunately, the dishwasher just wouldn't fit in the small kitchenette, so that purchase, while possible, would be nonsensical. “How much longer were you out? You look a little beat.”

  “Thank you, charm boy. I really wonder how you always get the girls around when you show so little tact.”

  “I don't get anybody. They come to me with clear intentions. There's nothing I can do about it.” Slowly and deliberately, he shook his head, dismissing any involvement.

  “How do you do it?” Milo asked suspiciously. “I had to settle for a friendly goodbye hug.”

  “You liked that girlfriend, didn't you?”

  “Yeah, she was cute,” Milo admitted. “It's not like I fell head over heels in love, but she was cute. We talked a bit and danced a bit and when those weird schoolmates left, it still got pretty nice.”

  “One of these days I'll teach you how to pick up a woman without doing a handshake, okay?” The offer was meant nicely, but he realized himself that his tone sounded a bit arrogant. So his friend's dismissive response followed on its heels.

  “But only if I don't have to call you master afterwards.”

  Milo was never at a loss for a quip. He was smart and a loyal friend. Actually, it didn't matter that he had the better shot with women in the short term. The bottom line was that they were both single and had little luck with relationships. Maybe Milo's tactics were more successful than his own in the end. Jasper didn't presume to judge. He merely wanted to give his mate some of his success.

  “Sorry, I didn't mean it that way,” he apologized for the blunder.

  “Is that enough?” Milo asked, pointing with a frothy hand at the tower of washed dishes.

  “Must have. Carter should be here any minute. The guy's always so darn punctual. At least we've got a week's worth of glasses and plates again. Grace will do the rest tomorrow.”

  “It's not like it's going to be a job interview or a first date or anything,” Milo confirmed.

  “Nah, he just shouldn't know we live in a pigsty.”

  “Hey, totally innovative idea: how about we just clean up after ourselves periodically?” Milo had raised his brows and was waiting for an answer.

  “Um, nah, never mind,” Jasper replied, shaking his head as if it was the most absurd thing in the world. Of course, he had always wanted to discipline himself into being a little more tidy, but it was a darn tedious thing to change an ingrained habit.

  At exactly 12 o'clock, the front doorbell rang. Carter's black hair was a mess and he looked just as hungover as Milo. His tanned skin looked sallow.

  “Hey, were you out partying last night too? You could have come with us,” Jasper greeted his old buddy wit
h a handshake and pulled him into a brotherly hug. They hadn't met in weeks and despite the odd occasion, Jasper was glad to see him.

  “No, you can't call it celebrating.” Shaking his head, Carter pushed his way into the hallway and slipped out of his white sneakers. “You saw the game, right?”

  Jasper nodded with a sigh. So he got right to the point.

  “That's also why I asked you here.” He hadn't made a concrete plan on how he was going to have this conversation. After all, he couldn't just throw it at his friend that his kid was ugly. “Something's wrong with the Game. Did something happen to the file?”

  “I know. I'm sorry. We've gotten quite a few of the bugs out, but we're nowhere near finding them all.” He ran both hands through his ruined hairdo and sighed. “There's still quite a bit in the side quests especially. We can't go to the market like this.”

  “How come? I thought you were giving me a beta,” Jasper asked, irritated.

  “It's a beta, that's what's so bad. Someone slipped a worm into the files. It ate bits and pieces of code here and there. My lead developer had a nervous breakdown. All hell broke loose on our end.”

  “But you must have had backups. You're not beginners.” While an attack of this nature was not frequent, sometimes someone would inadvertently build in a bug. So the developers protected themselves with regular backups in various places.

  “Someone purposefully erased those. I can't explain it yet,” Carter whispered hoarsely. “If I can find whoever it was, he can be sure he won't get another foot on the ground. But so far I haven't a clue who it was.”

  “Only someone on your team actually has access to this data, right?” Jasper now also mused. The story sounded strange. It was too far fetched for an excuse as to why he had given him such a poor quality game. He wouldn't have had to give him anything at all if he hadn't been ready. After all, Jasper had only asked if he could help test it. So if he was serious about someone sabotaging the game for him just before launch, Carter had a real problem.

  “Actually, we do, but of course we have a network through which we communicate and file the masses of data. Maybe we have an undiscovered security hole somewhere,” Carter further speculated.

  “Undetected it wouldn't be now, would it,” Milo interjected, raising his hand apologetically as Carter scowled and expelled air through his nose. “Sorry.”

  “It's okay, I'm afraid you're right. Only we don't know where the gap is.” His gaze turned to the buildings outside the window. “It's pathetic. I thought we were professionals, and now we're trapped like lab mice. “

  “Is there anything we can do to help?” Milo asked now, who had been eyeing his old schoolmate with astonishment since his arrival. Carter was quite an apparition in his own right. His clothes embodied the hipster to perfection. He wore a tawny patterned shirt and dark green cargo pants with his white sneakers that day. On his nose sat a pair of glasses with thick black frames. His short equally black hair, which was usually styled perfectly, stood wildly off his head today. He was a bit shorter than Milo and it was obvious from his eyes that someone in his family was from Asia. Where exactly Jasper had never asked him because it didn't matter. Carter, like Jasper, had never left North America in his entire life.

  “If you're asking,” Carter suggested almost sheepishly, running a hand through the stubble on the back of his neck. “There would be something I could use some help with.”

  “Shoot, man,” Jasper now demanded. It was a point of honor that he helped his buddy. Besides, just like thousands of other gamers, he wanted this game to be released on time and in appropriate quality.

  “I need someone to locate the bugs. My team of developers can fix anything, but they don't have the time to go through all the code. They need clues as to where bugs are hiding. The game world has gotten huge and with all the side quests it has an insane amount of content. I brought a version of the game with a bug report built in. You'll get an update every day and you only have to drop orders into the mailbox of my developers for the next day. I could pay you guys for that too.”

  “Forget that,” Milo retorted more harshly than Jasper ever expected him to. “I don't take money for gambling.”

  “I don't want any money either.” He looked over at his roommate and they communicated without words. “We'll do it. We'll pull all-nighters and find your bugs. Count on it!”

  Relief was evident in Carter's face. “Thanks guys, you're saving me.”

  “Not an issue,” Milo replied. “I never thought finding test players would be a problem.”

  “It's not that,” Carter returned. “But I need secretive test players. How do you think the gamer community would shoot their mouths off if it got out what state the game is in? It would rain cancellations galore and I wouldn't be able to pay my remaining developers. It would be a fiasco.”

  Jasper could imagine that vividly. It wouldn't be the first time that the community discarded a game before it was released. Such effects had already destroyed entire developer companies due to unfounded rumors. This couldn't happen to his buddy.

  “We will be silent,” he promised. Milo also nodded in agreement.

  “Thanks guys, I won't forget this.”

  11. Milo

  THE SOUND ON his ears was a fantastic match for this day, with the sun burning relentlessly from the sky between the skyscrapers. He loved it. The asphalt beneath his graying sneakers was heated and the material of his shoes squeaked softly with each step. The young girls wore little fabric on their slender bodies and everything still held the magic of summer's lightheartedness. As the radio song in his headphones grew quieter, Milo slowed his steps.

  The breeze from a truck rushing by brought cool air. He let his head spin, trying to shake off the leaden fatigue of the day. Waiting for an opportunity to cross the busy road, he went over his plan again.

  He wanted this story so badly. That dream had settled in his head months ago - back when it had all started. Burton had suddenly hit so much harder, knocking out his first opponents stone cold. Some media outlets had jumped on it at the beginning, making wild assumptions, but when they couldn't back them up, they'd quickly fallen silent. Since then, the subject just didn't seem to be talked about. It was like an unwritten law.

  In the beginning, he had exchanged ideas with his mentor in the editorial office a few times. Delia had promised him support, even though sports weren't really her domain. He had looked up to her. She was so much more fearless than he would ever become. Once she had a lead, she'd follow it - no matter what dark corners of the city it took her to. He was racked with terrible guilt. What if his research had gotten her out of the way? What if it was all the fault of his own cowardice? Why hadn't he done his own research, but infected someone else with his obsession? Someone he knew full well couldn't resist a secret....

  His helplessness had paralyzed him for weeks. He loved Delia like a great cousin. Her disappearance had stymied his own efforts to find out about Burton's mysterious development. Since the fight against Julien Dacapo the previous weekend, he'd been going back and forth. Milo tried to be realistic about the dangers posed by his research and approach the matter with a clear mind.

  He wasn't willing to die for the cause. It was just a story - a chance for his career, which interested him but was not his top priority. His life was more important to him. Still, he would slowly stalk his way near Burton and see how far he got. He owed that to Delia.

  When the traffic light turned red at the next intersection, the cars slowed down and there were no vehicles coming from the opposite direction for a moment. It was now or never. He sprinted between the cars and reached the other side in one piece. The glass building now loomed directly in front of him. The dues at Gabriel Burton's luxury gym were well above his pay grade, but it was a place the boxer claimed to frequent himself. Where, if not there, could he get closer to him? Sometimes you had to invest to get something back, Delia had always said. He'd never thought he'd have to take that advice so literally
.

  Jasper had often claimed that a little exercise wouldn't hurt him. After all, he was already sweating when he had to lug his bag a few streets away, as he had done that day. However, this September day wasn't exactly representative. The sun was slamming down from the sky, doing its best to once again remind them of the phenomenal summer that had graced them over the past months. Still, Jasper was undoubtedly right. He was out of shape. His roommate worked out regularly to keep fit. Milo merely tried to make better food choices now and then. He was naturally lean - some called him gaunt, which really just meant there wasn't an ounce of meat on him. A cannibal would find another victim if he came across him in a dark alley. A little weight training and some muscle building was just what he needed - plus the story of his life.

  Milo straightened his shoulders and wiped his forehead dry with the back of his hand. That vague feeling that his plan would be seen at the tip of his nose, denying him entry, gnawed at him and he hesitated before the entrance. Before he could get over his emotional hurdle, the door opened before him as if of its own accord. A pleasantly cool breeze sucked him into the vestibule. Even the air he breathed in here was better than anywhere else. Probably even their water tasted more expensive, he thought, shaking his head.

  “Welcome," an athletically dressed employee greeted him from behind the reception desk, his proportions hinting that he spent a lot of time at the studio outside of work. “What can I do for you?”

  Damn it, where to put the stupid gum now? He decided in his panic to swallow the thing for once. When that problem was solved, Milo looked down at his arms, which flashed out from under the black T-shirt like cooked spaghetti.

  “I'm new here and would like to sign up.”

  “I'd love to. I'm Tom,” he introduced himself. “Have you had a tour yet, or may I show you what we have to offer first?”

  The man did not treat him like a spy, nor did he give him disparaging looks because of his cheap jeans and worn T-shirt. He was polite, expressed himself in a chosen manner, and gave him a winning smile that suggested no reservations about his person. Milo's stiff shoulders relaxed.