The Manolo Matrix

by Julie Kenner

  Probably not likely, but as we stepped into the fabulously appointed lobby of the Algonquin Hotel, I tried not to worry about it. After all, we’d figured out the clue. Surely we’d figure out the answer, too.

  The place was positively stunning, old-world elegance highlighted by writing desks and other antique furniture in rich, dark colors. Settees and chairs were clustered together in conversation areas, empty now when so many New Yorkers and tourists were still sleeping.

  As we moved toward the front desk, I stifled the urge to smooth my clothes and brush back my hair. This was elegance to the max. By comparison, I felt like a street person in my jeans, even if they were designer.

  We reached the reception desk, and banged on the little bell. Almost immediately, a petite blonde emerged, her eyes bright and her smile wide despite the early hour. “May I help you?”

  “Actually, we need a room,” Devlin said, as I looked on in surprise. He caught my glance and shrugged. I didn’t protest. I felt scummy and gross, and even though Devlin probably didn’t mind—he’d been wallowing in scummy and gross—I was desperate for a shower. And if past experience was any indication, we were going to need some time with the computer even after we found the kitty-cat clue. Assuming, of course, that we were right and Matilda was harboring a clue for us at all.

  As the woman took all of our (false) information, Devlin casually mentioned Matilda. “I don’t suppose she’s up and about?”

  “Oh, I bet she’s around.”

  I turned in a circle, visually scouring the lobby. “Um, so where is she?”

  I was already having a sinking feeling about this. I had a mental image of me crawling on my hands and knees over every inch of the hotel, shaking a bag of Pounce and trying to urge Miss Kitty out into the open.

  Thank God reality turned out to be so much better.

  The clerk turned her attention away from Devlin long enough to call out in a stage whisper, “Matilda! Matilda, sweetie, you have admirers!”

  And then, just as pretty as you please, this big, beautiful, fluffy grayish-white cat leaped silently onto the top of one of the writing desks. She plumped her rump down and stared at us as if saying, “Well, I’m here now.”

  I swear, I wanted to kiss her. The cat, not the clerk, although in my giddiness, I would have kissed the clerk, too. Out of a day of horrors, I think this was the one and only thing that had gone smoothly. As soon as this was over, I was so getting a kitten.

  “Um, can I just go over?” I asked, motioning toward Matilda.

  “Oh, sure. She’s very used to people.”

  I guess she’d have to be. So while Devlin finished up the paperwork and gave the woman the cash for our room, I went over to make Matilda’s acquaintance.

  Sure enough, she was a friendly cat, rubbing her head against the palm of my hand, and then leaping into my lap with little encouragement once I took a seat in the chair by the desk. “What have you got to tell me, sweetie?” I murmured, my nose buried in her fur. “Have you got a message for me on that collar of yours?”

  That really would be too easy, so I was completely positive her collar would yield nothing.

  Fortunately, I was wrong.

  “Anything?” Devlin asked, coming over to join us.

  Matilda’s purr ratcheted up a notch as I kept my fingers buried in her fur, scratching away at that sweet spot at the back of her neck.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “Matilda’s my new best friend. Check it out.”

  As he leaned in closer, I manipulated the collar so the back side was facing up. It was a stretchy thing, like a woman’s bracelet, with links of silver encrusted with diamonds and emeralds (fake, I assumed, but what did I know?). The underside was smooth, though, and on it, someone had engraved a message: WWW.PLAYSURVIVEWIN-CAT.COM

  “Thank you, Matilda,” I whispered. “If we survive this, I’m sending you kitty treats every week for the rest of your life.”

  Chapter

  38

  DEVLIN

  Why do you run? What do you wish?

  To prevent the Horrors, to shun the fate of a fish.

  So scurry, scurry like gaggling geese,

  Run to Bishop to make your peace.

  The clock is ticking, petals falling,

  Not a Beast, but dead…and no use stalling.

  Devlin stared at the computer screen and decided that the world was one very fucked up place. “This is nuts,” he said. “Absolutely fucking nuts.”

  Beside him, Jenn kept her eyes firmly on the screen, but he caught the way her lower lip quivered. Hell.

  He slipped his arm around her shoulder. She slumped against him, and he knew she was losing confidence. And that simple truth was more devastating to him than the day he’d lost his badge.

  He turned her slightly so that she’d be facing him if it weren’t for the fact that she kept her head aimed toward the desktop. Since he couldn’t meet her eyes, he pressed her forehead against his. “Hey. We’re going to figure this out.”

  “It’s already six. I’ve only got until ten. And damned if this game will throw us a straightforward clue. So when? When are we going to figure it out?”

  “Right now. We’re going to figure it out right now.” His voice was firm, determined, and he noticed that when she looked up at him, she was smiling.

  “Are you taking care of me?”

  “Damn straight.” He of all people knew how easy it was to wallow in self-pity. But that kind of thing could kill you. Him, it would just kill his soul. Her, it could kill before the day was out.

  “God, I’m pathetic. I’m sitting here letting the asshole win.” Her chin jutted out in a way he found both cute and incredibly sexy. “I’m not going to let him win.”

  “Then get off your ass and do something about it.”

  She must have taken him literally, because she started to pace, nodding a little as she moved. “Right. Right. Evita, maybe. She’s strong. And in the first act especially, she totally gets her way.” Her forehead creased in a frown. “Except she dies in the end, so maybe she’s not the best choice….”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Her cheeks bloomed with color. “It’s silly.”

  “I promise to only laugh for ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “Ha ha.” She made a face, but continued. “It’s this thing I do when I’m nervous. I pick a character—sometimes I even make up a character—so that I can be someone other than me. It’s stupid, but—”

  “I don’t think it’s stupid at all.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No,” he said simply. “I don’t.”

  “Oh. Well, then. That’s cool.”

  Her smile was sweet and a little shy, and impulsively, he pressed his hands to the sides of her face, tilted her head back, and kissed her. He’d honestly meant it to be a quick kiss. A symbol. A thank-you. Somehow, though, it became more than that. Her mouth opened, not from passion so much as surprise, and he took advantage, exploring her lips with his own, feeling his body burn with a need that had sparked hours earlier and hadn’t yet been extinguished

  When he finally pulled back, she stared at him, her eyes surprised, shocked, and dreamy. “Wow,” she said. She closed her eyes and rubbed her lips with two fingers. “Wow,” she said again.

  “I’m not going to apologize,” he said. “Even though I probably should. Because we don’t have time right now. But consider that a promise.”

  “Keep making promises like that, and you’ll find yourself seriously hurting if you don’t make good. And soon.”

  He wasn’t sure if he should laugh, so he just nodded gravely. “Absolutely.”

  “Good. Now quit making passes and get to work.”

  He scooted his chair closer so he could see the computer screen better. “We’ll deal with just the clue now since we’re racing the clock. But as soon as we’re sure we’re safe, I’m going to see what I can find out about this domain name.” He also intended to call and see who donated the c
at’s collar. But he had a feeling that was going to be a dead end.

  “You can do that?”

  “Sweetheart, I can do anything I put my mind to.”

  He was expecting a laugh. Instead, she just nodded, all business. “Yeah. I can see that about you.” For a second, her face turned serious and he thought she was going to say something else, but she shook it off. Instead, she pointed to the screen. “You can start by solving that piece of shit riddle.”

  “It’s a tricky little bastard.”

  “So prove to me what a hot shot you are.”

  “Right.” He reached for the phone. “And maybe some food, too.” He punched the button for the speed dial, then ordered in a feast of coffee, toast, sausage, and scrambled eggs. Plus a short stack of pancakes thrown in for good measure. To Jenn’s wide-eyed stare, he just shrugged. “We need protein. And food. And I think better when I’m not hungry.”

  “Whatever.” She tapped the screen. “It’s broken down in chunks—stanzas. I’m betting each stanza is a separate part of the clue.”

  “I bet you’re right. So we start with the first part. Here, pass me your pad.”

  He took it, then wrote out the first stanza.

  Why do you run? What do you wish?

  To prevent the Horrors, to shun the fate of a fish.

  “I want to live and I wish this game were over. Especially this part right now. And I want to know what the hell is going to happen at ten.”

  “Actually,” Devlin said, “I think that’s exactly what those first two phrases refer to.”

  “Really? They’re literally asking me what I want? Why on earth would we be so lucky as to get a straightforward clue in a game as fucked up as this?”

  “Because the gamekeeper wants you scared. And the second line is easy. It tells you exactly what’s going to happen at ten.”

  “It does?”

  “Ever see Little Shop of Horrors?”

  “Sure. It’s not one of my favorites, but it’s fun. I like the movie a lot. I love Rick Moranis.”

  “The dentist’s song. Do you remember it?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “The dentist is this total sadist. And he’s got this great song, and one of the lines is about how he’d poison guppies.”

  “Poison,” she repeated, her voice toneless.

  “Nothing’s changed, Jenn,” he said, taking her hand. “Ten, remember? Just the same as always.”

  “Right. You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” She frowned. “Nothing’s changed, but…I just don’t see how I could have been poisoned. Or has it happened yet? Is someone going to run by and tackle me and shove a needle in my arm? Force feed me a vial of poison? I don’t get it.”

  “You don’t have to get it. You just have to solve it.”

  “What if there’s another message?”

  He shook his head, not following.

  “On PSW! There’s a message center. I pulled up the first one that gave me your profile. But we haven’t checked to see if there’s anything in your message area. Maybe we’re supposed to have more information.”

  “You’re right,” he said, already pulling up the browser on her laptop. He headed over the the PSW website, navigated to the player login screen, then stopped. “Shit,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I made up a login and password that time. I just wanted to poke around. I wasn’t playing the game. Hell, I wasn’t even officially investigating.”

  “So?”

  “So I don’t know offhand what the login was. Much less the password.”

  “Oh.”

  That stumped them both for a few minutes, and he cursed himself for not having used something simple and memorable. He was still berating himself when Jenn bounced back to life. “Wait! Login to my message center and pull up your profile.”

  “Okay.” He started to type. “What’s your—”

  “I’ll do it. It’ll be faster.”

  So while he looked on, she typed in a username, then a password. The screen changed, a message appeared, and Devlin got that sick sense in his gut as he saw what he already knew: That she really had received twenty large. And that he really was marked for death in this fucked up version of The Amazing Race.

  “Here,” she said, pointing at the profile she’d pulled up. “See? At the bottom is says your username. G-Man. No password, though.”

  “I’ve got one I use exclusively,” he said, tugging his mind back to the problem. “Let’s give it a shot.”

  She nodded, then went back to the main page for the message center. He typed “G-Man” into the username box, then “TimothyJ5,” for his first stage role and age. He hit ENTER and waited for his messages to come up.

  “Invalid Password. Please Try Again.”

  “Fuck. Hold on.” He took another shot, trying his birthdate just for the hell of it.

  “Invalid Password. Please Try Again.”

  “Goddammit!” He slammed his hand down, making the desk jump. “Fucking machine!”

  “Hang on,” she said, her voice soft and soothing. She took his hand, twining her fingers through his. “There’s got to be a way in. They wouldn’t have given us the username only to screw us over with the password.”

  His heart was still pounding, but he managed to calm down enough to look at her. Really look at her. “You’re a rather amazing woman, Jennifer Crane.”

  She smirked. “Tell my mother. Better yet, tell me tomorrow, right about now.”

  “You’ve got a deal.” He pointed to the computer. “Were you just trying to calm me down, or do you have an idea?”

  She didn’t bother answering, just shifted the laptop so that she could maneuver, moused up to the password slot, and typed. She hit ENTER, the computer did its thing, and suddenly they were in.

  “Well, fuck me,” Devlin said. “What was the password?”

  She smiled, totally triumphant. “PSW. What else?” She laughed, obviously delighted with herself, then navigated them into the message center.

  “You have one new message.”

  She met his eyes. “Should we?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  She nodded, took a deep, audible breath, then clicked the hyperlink. And as soon as the message came up, David wanted to hit the damn computer again. More, he wanted to hit whoever was behind this bullshit.

  Beside him, Jenn didn’t look nearly as angry. But her eyes never left the screen as she reached for his hand.

  “Fuck,” she said.

  “I know.”

  They stared at the message that filled the screen. A message that told them what they already knew, but now had it spelled out in black and white:

  >http://www.playsurvivewin.com<<

  PLAY.SURVIVE.WIN

  >WELCOME TO REPORTING CENTER<<<

  ONE NEW MESSAGE

  REPORT NO. A-0002

  Filed By: Identity Blocked

  Subject: Status update.

  Report:

  Secondary subject located and encounter successfully orchestrated.

  Time-release toxin delivered.

  Initial message to primary subject in transit.

  Warning and incentive message to secondary subject in transit.

  Game currently proceeding on schedule.

  >End Report<<

  “Time-release toxin,” she finally said. “Well, I guess that explains that.”

  He reached out, turned her until she was facing him. “There’s nothing here—nothing—that we didn’t already know. Something bad is going to happen if we don’t solve these clues in time. We knew that. Nothing’s changed. We just need to focus on finding the answer.”

  “Right. Of course.” Her brow furrowed and she shivered, then hugged herself.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just a chill.” She pressed her hand to her forehead. “Do you think I’m getting a fever?”

  A wave of fear built in his gut—what if the timing was off? What if they were already too late
to find an antidote?—but he kept his expression calm and certain. “You’re just scared. You’re projecting. Now you’re playing the role of the sick victim. Don’t. Play the role of the survivor.”

  “I don’t—”

  “No.” He pressed his finger over her lips. “You’re the heroine of this story, Jennifer. And the heroine doesn’t die. And she doesn’t lose focus. Now, is that a role you can play?”

  She nodded, a little weak, but definitive.

  “Good. Because if you can’t, I may have to cast someone else in the part.”

  She actually smiled at that, and his heart lifted. “Yeah? For the first time in my life, I’m thinking maybe it’s time to back out of a role.”

  “Chance of a lifetime, kid,” he said, and squeezed her fingers.

  “The show must go on,” she retorted.

  Since he couldn’t think of any more clichés, he tapped the computer. “Back to work,” he said, then navigated back to the screen with their clue.

  “Right,” she said. “Just like the song say.”

  “All the livelong day,” he responded, finishing the line of lyrics from Working. They shared a quick grin, then both focused on the screen. “I think I’ve got the next line,” he said, after a few minutes.

  “Yeah?” She leaned in close and looked at the pad where he’d written the next bit:

  So scurry, scurry like gaggling geese,

  Run to Bishop to make your peace.

  “Oklahoma! ‘Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry, when I take you out in my surrey.’ From ‘Surrey With the Fringe on Top.’ Great song,” she said. “Except now it’s going to be going through my head for the rest of the night.”

  “There’s no production of Oklahoma! going on right now. Not that I know of, anyway. Are we supposed to find a surrey? We’re in Manhattan for Christ’s sake, not out on the prairie. Where are we supposed to—oh.”

  “The park,” he said, certain she’d come to the same conclusion he had.

  She nodded. “That has to be it. Except what’s the Bishop thing?”

  “You ever take one of those rides? Talk with the driver?”