“At this point, ma friend, does it matter?” Hamish replied, grabbing the remote to flip on the TV. Having always been a bit more reserved than the others, Lee’s response to their surroundings may have lacked the bubbling exuberance of his friends, but even he had to admit to being somewhat overwhelmed by it all. First the consulting gigs and the money, then the Gulfstream, and now a limo to a posh beachside condo and dinner at one of the ritziest steakhouses in the city? Talk about first class, and for what? Beating a video game?
Still, remembering Lunley’s sage advice earlier about the gift horse and the mouth, Lee decided to put his overly analytical nature on hold and simply enjoy the weekend for what it was—a remarkable opportunity to do something fun for a change and spend some much-needed quality time with his friends. Besides, it wasn’t as if Jacksonville, Florida or his job at Layne were going anywhere—not anytime soon, anyway.
“Man, this is better than Vegas!” Link exclaimed, sliding the glass door closed behind him and joining the others in the living room. “BTW fellas, we’ve got some Grade-A, USDA Choice California honeys down there on the beach right now, and all I’ll say about that is, god bless the guy who invented the thong!”
“Be careful Link,” Mac warned, emerging from her bedroom to take a seat beside Lee, who had moved to the couch. “I seriously doubt any of those girls charge by the hour, which means you might have to rely on your award-winning charm and pleasant personality to… oh, wait…”
“What?” Link said through a mouthful of peanuts he’d swiped from the Gulfstream’s mini-bar. “I can do pleasant!”
“And to think,” Danny said to Lee, “if you hadn’t have had the stones to switch up and go after that prisoner transport, we would’ve never gotten a taste of any of this.”
“I’ll second that,” Link agreed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I thought you were nuts for making that call so close to the finish. But knowing what I know now about just how screwed we’d have been otherwise, I’ll give it up to you, man. You figured it out and that’s why you’re the Top, and I’m not.”
“Agreed,” Hamish added. “If these aren’t truly the spoils of victory, then I’ve never seen them.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Mac groaned, draping a lazy arm around Lee’s shoulder. “Enough with the praise for our fearless leader, already. His head’s big enough as it is.”
“Dude!” Link howled. “Let’s talk about how Danny totally crashed and burned with that redhead back at the PGC office!”
“How about we don’t and say we did?” Danny suggested.
“Seriously, Danny,” Link pressed, “they didn’t see flames that high in frickin’ Pompeii! That chick was straight evil to you, man! She’s like… my new hero!”
“Eat me, Short Round.”
“He’s got a point, Danny,” said Lee. “I ain’t seen you take a fall like that since high school, brother.”
Danny’s face twisted. “So is everybody jumping in on this little dogpile, or what?” he crowed.
“Easy there, champ,” Mac said, stifling a snicker. “It’s just the laws of probability at work here. Bottom line: you can’t win ‘em all, but just remember…” She paused, her momentary straight face faltering. “The lap dance is always better when the stripper is cryin’!”
The group exploded into laughter as Danny slammed his arms together over his chest and fumed.
“Whatever,” he said with a huff. “I’ll leave the computer nerds, the academic snobs, and the Royal Ice Princess to you idiots. Rumor has it there’s a tiki bar downstairs by the pool, and I’m sure there’s plenty there to keep me busy!”
“Outstanding call, Crockett!” Link agreed, launching to his feet. “Quick! To the Hoochie-Mobile!”
And with that, he, Lunley, and Danny bolted for their respective bedrooms to change into swimwear.
“Boys, boys, boys,” Mac called after them. “How about we not act like a bunch of soccer hooligans and try to at least pretend that we’ve got some semblance of class?”
A rumbling, wet belch erupted from the back bedroom.
“I knew it,” she sighed, eyeing the wine rack in the kitchen. “I’m surrounded by heathens.”
Chapter 12: Table Talk
Following three hours of beer and sunshine on the Washburn’s poolside deck, the group scrambled back up to the condo to shower and get ready for dinner with the PGC staff at Mike’s, a locally owned seafood-and-steak place they’d heard was a hotspot for much of San Diego’s high society.
“Everybody set?” Lee asked, rolling up the sleeves of the one collared shirt he’d bothered to pack as he stepped out to join Danny, Link, and Hamish in the main common area. Strangely, he got no reply, and looking up to see the trio of stunned expressions before him, it didn’t take him long to figure out why.
“What?” Mac wondered aloud—her expression obtuse as she leaned against the doorframe of her room.
Exquisitely dressed in an elegant black, long-sleeved top, matching black heels, and a pair of dark blue, designer jeans that fit her like a glove; she gave a final inspection of her hair in a nearby mirror before exiting her room. Gracefully styled, and free of the ballcap, it flowed in a silky cascade of blondish-brown across her slender shoulders, highlighting both the striking natural beauty of her olive skin and the endless depth of her sea-green eyes.
“Good Lord, Mac!” Link blurted from the kitchen. “Where have you been all my life?”
She shot him a smirk; meanwhile, across the foyer, Lee broke free of his trance and shifted to the living room.
“Seriously, Mac, what is that? Dolce?” Danny observed from the couch, impressed. “And Jimmy Choos to boot? Nice, very nice.”
“Only you would know that, Crockett,” Link snorted.
Shunning off the outpouring of wolf whistles and ostentatious cheers that followed her past the kitchen, Mac glided through the living room and dropped down on the loveseat beside Hamish.
“C’mon boys,” she simpered, kicking her feet onto the coffee table and snaring an airborne beer from Link with an effortless, one-handed grab. “Somebody’s gotta add a little A-lister quality to this motley little crew of ours, right?”
Watching her pop the top and take a glug, Lee couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Stunning new look or not, she was still the same old Mac—always had been, always would be—and nothing or no one would ever change that. He loved that about her.
“Alright folks, I’ve got 7:10,” Lee said, glancing to his watch. “How ‘bout we kill these drinks and get down to the lobby? The car oughta be here to scoop us up in five minutes.”
“Most definitely” Hamish agreed, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t know about the rest of ya, but I’m ready to set up shop on a seriously rare ribeye and a loaded potato.”
“I can get onboard with that,” Link announced. “Given the choice though, I’m more of a Porterhouse man, myself.”
“Dude, how does someone so small manage to pound down the single biggest cut of meat on the menu,” Danny asked in amazement, “much less the chocolate monstrosity that you always order for dessert?”
“We all have our unique skills in life, Danny Boy,” Link grinned with a hand on Danny’s shoulder, “and since we now know that Ol’ Red obviously has no interest in yours, let’s hope she can appreciate someone else’s, shall we?”
Danny threw him a look. “Link, I’ve seen you eat… it’s like something out of The Fly, bro. FYI, most chicks don’t go for that.”
****
Not long after, the limo arrived at the front entrance to the restaurant—a trendy, wood-paneled structure built to resemble the theme of its Texas ranch-house roots. Hopping out into the night air, the group made its way up the wooden plank steps and into the rustic main dining hall, where the low murmur of a crowd and the spicy, sweet fragrance of grilled onions and sizzling fajita meat filled the room.
“Good evening and welcome to Mike’s,” a formally dressed hostess smiled from her stand with a
well-rehearsed greeting. “May I have the name on the reservation?”
“Reiser, party of seven, I believe,” Lee replied, uncertain of which PGC personnel would be in attendance.
Running a glossy red fingernail down the list on the podium in front of her, the young woman paused for a moment before finding the notation.
“Ah yes, here we are,” she noted. “Right this way, please.”
Pulling five menus from her hostess’ station, she led the group through the main dining hall and to a private table in the back where Dr. Reiser—plainly dressed as always in a white shirt and burgundy blazer—sat alongside Madisyn Reynoles, wearing a classic, deep-blue cocktail gown. Each nursed a glass of red wine. Per his usual cordiality, the PGC founder rose to greet them.
“Dr. Reiser,” Lee said, shaking his hand and taking a seat directly across from him at the long, white-clothed dining table.
“Welcome, Lee. I trust that the lodging accommodations are adequate?”
“They are outstanding, thank you very much,” he responded.
“Excellent, the five of you are our honored guests, and we simply wished to make sure that you were comfortable while you were here.”
“That’s real gracious of you, Dr. Reiser, but I can assure you that a couple of standard rooms at a decent hotel woulda been perfectly sufficient. Besides, we still don’t quite get why we’re such honored guests.”
Reiser smiled at Lee’s modesty and sipped his wine. “As we discussed in Florida, beating Mako Assault is no small accomplishment—but aside from that, it’s merely standard Phoenix policy to offer the very best care to those with whom we deal professionally. In my humble opinion, that’s just good business.”
“Well, whatever the reason, we appreciate the hospitality.”
“The pleasure is all ours,” Reiser assured him.
Shortly thereafter, their waitress entered from the back and made her way to their table. Also formally dressed in a white shirt with black slacks and a matching tie, she proceeded with a flawless recital of the menu before taking their drink orders and vanishing as quickly as she’d appeared.
“So Mr. Tucker,” Reiser began, snapping the dessert menu shut and placing it on the table in front of him. “How long have you been in law enforcement?”
“Six years,” Danny frowned. “Up until about five months ago, anyway.”
“Yes, I was sorry to hear about that,” Reiser said—his expression turning rueful.
“Eh, don’t sweat it Doc,” Danny chuckled. “I mean, when it comes time to trim the proverbial fat from the state budget, it only makes sense that the first ones to get the boot are cops, teachers, and firefighters… you know, the folks who make the community a better place? But hey, no bitterness here or anything.”
Not quite certain how to respond, Reiser shrugged and stared at his wine glass. “Well, as I said, I was sorry to hear about your situation. If there’s anything we can do to assist you—particularly with financial aid—rest assured, we’re happy to do so.”
“I really appreciate that, Doctor Reiser,” he nodded, “but I’ll be okay. Jokes and sarcasm aside, I just miss doing my job, is all.”
“I guess after six years, it’s safe to assume you enjoyed the work?”
“Very much so,” Danny perked up. “Don’t get me wrong, there are aspects of the field that aren’t a lot of fun to deal with at times, but I think you could probably say that about pretty much any profession, right?”
“Perhaps,” Reynolds interjected. “Though I would imagine that a job such as yours must inherently come with a great deal of stress, given the type of people you’re forced to deal with in your field.”
Surprised that she’d taken an interest in the conversation, considering her frigid behavior earlier in the day, Danny found himself staring at her with a look of slight bewilderment as she awaited a response. Plus, as distractions went, the way her blue eyes popped like diamonds with that dress wasn’t exactly helpful, nor for that matter was the light red shade of her lipstick, which worked in perfect cosmetic harmony with her porcelain skin and fiery red hair.
“Um, yeah,” he stammered. “There are some pretty unsavory aspects to what we do, yes. But thankfully they don’t always turn out for the worst.”
“How do you mean?” she asked, tapping a freshly painted fingernail against the stem of her wine glass.
“Well, about a year and a half ago, while I was a road deputy, I got called out on a domestic violence call where this scumbag had beaten the living hell out of his wife and their five-year-old son, so—”
Reynolds’ gaze fell sharply away—her expression noticeably darkened—and never one to linger on an awkward moment, Danny rushed to move on with his story.
“Anyway, it was a pretty ugly situation, but after I got the guy cuffed and into the car, me and the victim advocate got her and the kid set up at a local halfway house until she could get back on her feet. As I understand it, she’s doing really well these days. She’s moved back in with her family, gotten a steady job, and is even putting herself through night school,” he paused, “to be a paralegal, I think.”
“And the boy?” Reynolds asked, intrigued by the story but still avoiding eye contact.
“Doing fantastic,” Danny brightened. “Once they were settled, I actually got them hooked up with a retired cop buddy of mine who coaches little league, and from what I hear… the kid’s a star in the making at shortstop.”
Taking another sip of her wine, Reynolds watched through the corner of her eye as Danny smiled reflectively at his tale’s happy ending.
“Who ya gonna call?” Link blabbed across the table.
****
Over the next hour, the group passed the time with a lot of the usual “getting to know you” conversation topics such as Lee’s research, Mac’s thoughts on the service industry, Link’s personal views on western politics, and even Hamish’s preference for Harleys over high-performance speed bikes (or “crotch rockets,” as he called them). Even the normally reserved Reiser loosened up by the end of the evening, illuminating on his various tastes in music, culture, and art. Still, it was his oddly naive views on music that Lee found a bit strange, and judging from Mac’s expression, she did, too. While their host was obviously well versed in a wide variety of genres (something all of them could certainly appreciate), he spoke of his fondness for them as if all of it was somehow new to him. Granted, “Stairway to Heaven” was indeed a timeless tune—nobody could deny that—but to hear Reiser speak of it almost made it sound as if he’d just heard it yesterday for the first time in his life.
“Well, as much as I hate to put a damper on an otherwise delightful evening by talking shop,” Reiser noted, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin and draping it back over his knee, “I do want to talk to the five of you about my game.”
“Don’t sweat it, Doc,” Link said through a mouthful of tiramisu. “After a meal like this, I’d want to make it a tax write-off, too.”
“I guess the most obvious question is simply, what did you like most about the game and what didn’t you?”
Pondering this for a moment before giving responses, Hamish was the first to speak up. “Honestly, I’d have to say the thing that makes Mako Assault so unique is the richness of the game play. I mean, do ya have any idea just how many games in the history of the industry have tried to do that and failed miserably? Trust me, the Atari on ma bookshelf back home should be enough to tell ya that I’ve been doing this for a while now, and never once did I think something like this was possible.”
“I gotta go with Hamish on this one,” Danny added, cradling a forkful of key lime pie between his fingers. “I’m not nearly the gamer that these guys are, and even I was blown away by the level of detail you poured into this thing. I mean, a person could conceivably spend years learning how to master every specific element of your game, and even then I don’t know if it’s possible. Whether it’s piloting the fighters, using the tech, or simply learning all of the wor
lds that a player visits throughout the course of a campaign, it’s just endless. For crying out loud,” he huffed. “Mac had to master a whole new language of code just to play! Bottom line, it’s pretty much a necessity that you play as a team, where everyone can learn something different, and then you put it all together into one, collective unit.”
“That was the idea,” said Reiser.
“Crockett is spot on,” Link continued. “Case in point, I’m the resident marksman of this little tribe of ours, and I’m here to tell you, I’ve never seen a game that takes so many variables into account just for that one singular task. Seriously, I felt like I got put through sniper school just to play your friggin’ game.”
“So the overall gameplay is, in your opinion, the biggest reason for Mako’s success, then?” Reiser probed.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Mac chimed in, stirring a squeeze of fresh lemon into her ice water. “Don’t get me wrong… the playability of this game is unbelievable, just like everybody said, but for me that’s not it at all.”
“Indeed?” Reiser said curiously, leaning forward to hear more.
“Not at all” she continued. “For me it’s the story and the characters in it. Listen, I’m an avid reader. I love sci-fi, drama, action, thriller, romance… you name it and I’ll read it, providing of course that the characters involved in the story are interesting. All of that said, for me, your video game… not a novel, not a movie… a video game, really succeeded in that regard. Beyond all the action, the tech, or the strategy, you’re telling a seriously epic story here with very real characters who you put an insane amount of detail into. Programmer to programmer, you’ve totally gotta show me how you did that, by the way,” she added, visibly intrigued. “I mean, the AI you guys used has got to be friggin’ incredible… like, forever changing the way games are written, incredible.”
Reiser’s lips thinned as he and Reynolds exchanged looks. “Our programming methods do deviate from the traditional industry standards a bit, yes,” he said. “But, all major projects usually do in some form or fashion. Ours is no different.”
Mako (The Mako Saga: Book 1) Page 17