“Is this where I ask how much you’d been drinking?”
Lydia was at a far table, her tablet propped up in front of her. Jacob started in that direction.
“I’ve known Yoshinaga a long time. I thought he was a good guy. And I kind of still think he is — I know, just wait for it. And we’d had two bottles of Jack by then. Anyway, my grandma had just died and left me some cash, and I agreed to front him seven grand, and he would pay me back with a thousand extra after the big deal. That’s good investment.”
“Fast forward to the payoff?”
“Supposed to be this month. But I just talked to Yoshinaga, and he says…. He says he sank all my money and all his money into equipment. Got a small biz loan, bought a ton of stuff. He said he landed the project, got the deposit, and was supposed to get paid the balance last month.”
“What happened?”
“The project lost funding. Went bankrupt, I guess. But he’d only gotten a deposit upfront, not anything close to the quote he’d turned in. Which was supposed to pay for all the equipment he’d borrowed money to get. And now they’re not paying him.”
“So he can’t pay you.”
“So he can’t pay me, and he’s in debt for the stuff he bought, and we’re both burned. And even if I sue him — which I probably could, we wrote a sort of agreement that night — I can’t get blood from a turnip, and he’s dead broke now. And it’s not his fault the company went bankrupt or whatever.”
“Can’t he sue them for his payment?”
Sergio shook his head. “I think that’s what bankrupt means, right? That they don’t have to pay what they owe? My uncle got burned by that a couple of times. Did work for companies that knew they were going to file, and so they never had to pay him. It’s a real jerk maneuver.”
“Look, why don’t you ask Lydia about it tomorrow?” suggested Jacob. “It’s not her field, but she can at least tell you if there’s anything worth pursuing. And if she doesn’t know, she can point you toward someone else.”
“Good idea,” said Sergio. “I’ll do that.” He shook his head. “I just hope….”
“What?” Jacob looked at him. “Oh, no. What?”
“I thought I was getting eight thousand dollars this month!” Sergio said defensively. “I put stuff on the credit card, figuring I’d have the money to pay it off when it came due.”
Jacob fought the urge to plant his face in his palm. “Don’t spend money you don’t have,” he muttered. “Ever.”
“What?”
“Trust me on this. You spend money you don’t have, you get in debt, you’ll do anything to get out of it. Sell anything, even your soul. Even other people’s souls. And you can’t change it afterward, and it’ll follow you forever.”
Now Sergio looked worried for him. “You okay? You’re talking like some sort of remorseful hit man.”
Jacob snorted. “I’m just getting into character to drop in at an RPG table. Bah, I was young, I needed the gold pieces.” He looked at Sergio. “Talk to Lydia tomorrow. And talk to your credit card company, see if you can work something out before they slap you with a zillion percent interest.”
He left Sergio and crossed to Lydia’s table. There were six around the table, all with folded name cards sitting in front of them. Lydia’s read Hotspur le PewPew.
She didn’t see him coming, as she looked from the grid to the character sheet on her tablet. “I’ve already cast Aspect of the Falcon, so now I’m targeting the druid.” She rolled dice. “Natural twenty! With my competence bonus, that’s a thirty-two, with a potential critical.”
“Roll to confirm.”
She dropped a die and pumped her fist. “Yes! Crit hit. That’s—” she rolled a handful of dice — “fifty-three points of damage. Boo-yeah!”
The game-master rolled a die behind his cardstock shield and made a face. “Well, that pretty much wrecked his day. The druid face-plants hard. He drops the crystalline ball, and it’s rolling across the floor, toward the east.” He set a small marker on the room map. “Next turn, Gunthor.”
A man sat forward, hand on his chin. “Well, I was going to rage, but there’s kind of no target left. So I guess I’d better get the crystal thing.” He deepened his voice and rumbled, “Gunthor grab!”
“And now we’re out of combat, so I’m going to say even though it’s rolling pretty briskly, you can snatch it without much trouble. So now you’ve got the final piece of the puzzle.”
“We’d better stabilize the druid,” said another man in the requisite black t-shirt. His read, Can’t sleep, Con will eat me. “We need to keep him around to question.”
“Hey,” Jacob said, squatting beside his aunt’s chair. “What’s up?”
“Oh, hi,” said Lydia. “We’re busy solving a murder. Kind of like if Clue were done by an insane wizard.”
“Good luck with that,” he said. He dropped a key card on the table beside her dice. “Room four one six. What’d you get?”
Lydia gestured toward an over-sized bag on the floor beneath her chair, still following the game, and Jacob bent to look into it. It was the splendid Cloud Strife and Hardy Daytona figure. “Oh. A kid got arrested today for trying to steal that, you know.”
Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Does he need counsel? His fee should about cover the cost.”
“You’re cold, you know that?”
Lydia hummed the bass line shared by “Under Pressure” and “Ice, Ice Baby.”
The GM rolled a die and chuckled. “Oh, boy. Okay, so the crystalline ball is still in the barbarian’s hands. It quivers and then breaks open, and a puddle of ink spills out onto the floor, forming the final letter. You can now attempt to solve the second riddle of the captain’s death.”
The barbarian’s player looked about the table. “And the rest of my party is still looking at that book across the room.”
“That’s right.”
The player grinned. “Gunthor hero! They not invite Gunthor to special book just because Gunthor can’t read. But Gunthor prove wrong!”
Around the table, the group began to groan in anticipation. A woman put her hand over her eyes. “Absolutely nothing can go wrong here.”
“Okay, you’ve got all the letters, and you just have to unscramble them to learn the murder weapon.” The GM looked at Gunthor’s player, grinning. “Roll a D-twenty and add your Intelligence modifier.”
The player spun a die and snorted a laugh. “Well,” he announced gleefully, “that’s a one, minus two, for a negative one.”
The GM took a breath and managed to suppress most of his laughter. “You look at the collected letters and unscramble them. You are shocked — shocked! — to discover that Venture Captain Barillo was killed with a gnu!”
Shrieks of laughter rose from the group.
“I’m heading back now,” said Jacob. “Don’t leave tonight with the key, okay?”
“Are you kidding?” Lydia answered. “The way this con is going? I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter Twenty One
“Hey, Jacob.”
He looked up to see Jessica and vibrant-haired Amber leaning over the pass-through. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”
“I brought Amber to answer your questions.”
“What questions?”
“About arsenate pesticides.” Amber tucked pink and purple hair behind her ear and adjusted the ear cuff. “I’m an advocate with Consumer Actions.”
“Really? I never knew that’s what you did.” Jacob checked his phone to verify the substance name. “So, lead hydrogen arsenate. Sound familiar?”
“Lead and arsenic were really common as pesticides,” said Amber. “In the early 1900s people were actually getting sick from fruit treated with lead arsenate pesticides, and some boards of health were actually rejecting or destroying crops because they considered them dangerous. And this is like only fifteen or twenty years after The Jungle, you know? It’s still a big deal that they’re even acting on this.”
“So they b
anned it?”
“Oh, no way. They were using that stuff on fruit tree bugs and crabgrass and mosquitoes. Kills everything, you know, so we weren’t going to give it up just because it could kill us too. Lead arsenate wasn’t banned until the eighties, and there’s still some arsenic herbicides out there now. Heck, we can feed it to our livestock.”
“What?”
“Yep, there’s three or four arsenic compounds that are used to bulk up chickens and pigs for market. There’s a lot of talk about it in the industry, because the arsenic shows up in the chicken meat, and some of it has been pulled by the manufacturers at least temporarily. But the FDA hasn’t withdrawn its approval yet, so it’s all still legal and stuff.”
“Ew,” said Sam. “Are you serious?”
Amber twisted her mouth. “Why do you think I eat organic?”
“Makes sense, if it’s arsenic-free.”
“Well, no arsenic can be used in organic production, so it’s a lot safer, but it’s not foolproof. A lot of lead arsenate is left in the soil, and so it still shows up in crops. Rice is a big one for that. I’ve read estimates of two hundred pounds of arsenic were applied per acre, over the years. Think about that.” She shuddered. “About ten or fifteen years ago, the EPA pulled a bunch of topsoil out of people’s yards in a subdivision built in a former orchard. The lead and arsenic were causing birth defects in their kids.”
Sam swore. “That’s crazy. And why isn’t anyone talking about this? Seems like arsenic in the chicken would be big news.”
Amber shook her head. “There’s a few warnings about things like mushroom collecting and stuff — morels pick up a lot of lead and arsenic from treated soil and can be dangerous — but what’s the point of scaring people when there’s nothing they can do about it? So your backyard dirt might be causing birth defects or learning disorders, or your arroz con pollo might be carcinogenic, but what are they going to do?” She shrugged. “We’re pushing for changes in current production, which is hard enough, but things like arsenic in the soil, that’s hard to deal with.”
“So, you can still buy this stuff?”
“Sort of. Like I said, some of the animal feed stuff has been voluntarily suspended, but it could come back, and in the meantime it’s not illegal to buy or sell or use whatever’s already out there. Same with the herbicides, and you can buy some of those right in your local home improvement store. Plus, you could mix up your own lead arsenate at home, or at least a lot of the old farmers used to do that.”
“Ah,” said Jacob flatly. “So you don’t have to get it from China.”
“Oh, no,” Amber said easily. “No, there’s a fair bit of talk about arsenic in Chinese produce — and it’s not really without cause, because for all that they’re not supposed to be using it, lots of import crops test positive for it. But it’s certainly not limited to China.”
“Well,” said Jacob, with a guilty ripple of relief, “there goes that theory.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d thought — I’d wondered, if lead arsenate was being used in China but not here, that maybe the person who was using it had gotten it from China. But that’s not going to be very compelling, if I could just go down to Lowe’s and buy this stuff.”
“What you buy at Lowe’s or Home Depot is a little different,” Amber clarified, “but yeah, it certainly didn’t have to come from China.”
“You’re saying it could have come from just about anywhere.”
“Anyone with access to old farm supplies could have it, or access to a garden store, or a basic competency with Google, yeah.”
“Thanks.” Jacob sighed. “That doesn’t exactly narrow our field.”
“Hey, guy.”
This time it was Ryan Brazil leaning over the pass-through. “I’m Jacob. Can I help you?”
“Yeah. Hey, the green room got stripped and the con suite is full of police and suspects or something. What am I supposed to be doing about coffee?”
It took Jacob a minute to understand the problem. “You want…. There’s probably a coffee maker in your room, if it’s like mine. And it should be safe, because all the coffee stuff is prepackaged and the water should be fine.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “I’m not drinking generic hotel coffee. Who knows where that’s been, when it was ground, whatever? I need some Starbucks. Can you call me a volunteer, send them for something before my next panel?”
Jacob blinked at him. “We’re running at least four tables of snacks and microwave meals for thousands of attendees. We’re all having a little make-do. I don’t think there’s going to be a volunteer available.”
Ryan swore. “It’s like you don’t even want guests here.” He blew out his breath in noisy exasperation. “Can you at least get me some bottled water or something?”
Getting Ryan what he wanted would get him out of everyone’s hair for a while. Yes, it would further his spoiled attitude, but maybe his next entitlement tantrum wouldn’t be Jacob’s problem. “Sure. But I’ll have to go get something from one of the stations. Tell you what, you wait in the conservatory, and I’ll bring it out.”
He left Con Ops and went to the former staff suite. He slid up the side of the long line and went around the back of the table. “Hi,” he said, showing his Con Aid badge. “I need a bottle of water for a guest.”
“Is it Ryan Brazil?” asked the girl, pulling more macaroni and cheese from the cardboard case.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Of course it is.” She passed Jacob a bottle of water. “Last one for being a guest. Next one he has to pay for. We’ve got a lot of people to take care of here.”
“Right. I’ll tell him.”
Jacob took the bottle out to the conservatory. Several fandom groups were still photographing their gatherings, and he could see a group of several Battletech Houses and mercenary companies, a collection of Buffy characters, three Sherlocks in iconic hat and scarf, and an assortment of Alices from various Wonderland incarnations. He’d missed the costume contest, and he wondered how his friends had fared.
Ryan Brazil was on a couch, staring at his tablet. He was facing away, and as Jacob drew near he could see that Ryan was flipping through a photo album, dwelling on some and skipping over others. “Here’s your water.”
“Oh!” Ryan pulled the tablet to his chest and reached for the bottle. “Thanks. I’d wondered what happened to you.”
“Had to go pick it up,” Jacob answered. “They say that’s your last free one, sorry. They’ve got a lot of demand and they need to save some for the attendees.”
“Are you kidding me? The attendees don’t make a living off their voices, you know.”
“I’m just the messenger.” Jacob glanced down at the tablet Ryan held near him, hovering as if he were undecided whether to conceal it or leave it on his lap where Jacob might be able to see it.
Nothing is so intriguing as what someone wishes to hide. “Catching up on Facebook?” Jacob asked.
“Yeah.”
“Who’s that?”
Ryan hesitated only a second or so. “You think she’s cute? She is, but don’t get any ideas. She’s my niece.” He lowered the tablet and displayed a photo of a girl in her mid-teens, smiling at the camera with one hand on her popped hip. Jacob thought she was dressed as a Pokemon character.
“Cute,” Jacob agreed, “but a bit young for me.”
“Yep,” Ryan said. “Don’t want any pervs or creepers.” He brushed the screen as he reached for the power button, flipping to the next photo as the tablet screen went dark.
“Wait,” said Jacob. “Who was that?”
“Oh, that’s her sister,” Ryan said. “She’s older, but still, no ideas.”
“Can I at least see her?”
Ryan hesitated. “That’s kind of not cool.”
“Oh, come on. I don’t even know your niece.”
Ryan shook his head. “Nope, sorry.”
Jacob swallowed. “Okay. You’ve got a panel coming up, right? Hope i
t goes well.”
He headed back to Con Ops, his mind racing. It had gone by too quickly to be sure — but he thought that second photo had been Sam.
But Sam wasn’t Ryan Brazil’s niece, so it couldn’t have been her. But he was pretty sure he’d seen that photo before. It had been a cosplay photo, a white gown before a stand of trees, and not too many people had done the School Days arc of Season of the Dove. While it was plausible that Ryan Brazil’s nieces were fans, it seemed less likely that one would do the identical costume in the identical setting as Sam.
Jacob went directly to the computer at Con Ops and opened Facebook. Sam usually had a couple of albums documenting her latest costumes. He opened the first and stopped.
That was the photo — the exact photo. He was certain of it. Sam had been on Ryan Brazil’s tablet, and her profile was closed to non-friends.
Which wouldn’t be that weird, because Sam was pursuing voice acting and might be networking, except that Ryan had called her his niece and had tried to conceal the tablet.
He texted Sam. You busy?
Helping someone with zombie makeup for tonight, nearly done. What’s up?
It was an awkward question to ask via text. He decided not to. Can you come by Ops when you’re done?
Chapter Twenty Two
Jacob couldn’t see what was being submitted to the Flickr account, as it was administrated by the police. But photos shared via the Twitter hashtag were open to all, and he scrolled slowly down them. What was it the thief had wanted to hide? Was it related to either of the murders?
“Freaking idiots.”
Jacob turned as Daniel came in. The Imperial uniform was starting to look rumpled. “What happened?”
“The whole dance just got Rick-rolled, only instead of Rick Astley it was that Cougars and Cold Ones show again. What the heck? What is this thing?”
Ice settled into Jacob’s stomach. This was no coincidence.
“Where is it coming from, and why here? People are starting to make jokes about it, which is fine except—”
Con Job Page 13