by L. E. Price
Sure, but revealing that meant revealing the conspiracy Trevor had stumbled into, and he had to keep that quiet for now. Odds were, anything he said to the Kensingtons — and especially to Anton, the corporate insider — would make its way back to the Elect’s ears one way or another. Perfect opportunity to mix fact and fiction, and give the Elect a little false confidence. Let them believe he was following the wrong trail.
“The gangsters who abducted me aren’t talking,” Jake said. “But before they lawyered up, one let it slip that the Russian mob has become increasingly interested in immersive sims for the purpose of bet-rigging. I think that Trevor innocently stumbled upon the Kiselev gang’s operation; they couldn’t simply kill him, given that they couldn’t get past arcology security, so they settled on silencing him with the logout bug.”
Trevor’s mother, the technophobe, stared at him with mounting horror. “This is about gambling?”
“That’s my working theory,” he said. “Some of the gang members are still at large including, presumably, the hacker they hired to manipulate the game’s code.”
“I see no evidence of any of this,” Anton said. “What I see is a washed-up private investigator trying to justify his fee-”
“Our investigator,” Susan said. She lifted her chin, her cool and steady glare daring Anton to defy her. “It sounds like Mr. Camden has made more progress than anyone else, including your entire security department.”
Gordon nodded his agreement. “Jake’s our guy. He stays on the case.”
Anton took a deep breath, like he was counting to five in silence, barely keeping his cool now.
“I assure you, we are doing everything we possibly can. Outside interference can only muddy the waters at this point and do more harm than good.”
“Are you?” Susan demanded. “I’m seeing a lot of action from your company’s legal and public-relations departments. Actual effort finding my son, not so much. Mr. Camden stays, and if you interfere with his work, my husband and I will go to the media.”
People have tics, habits that show when they’re nervous, when they’re agitated. In poker they call it a tell. Anton, stressed and frustrated, had a tell of his own.
Jake watched as the long fingers of his left hand drummed against the top of his desk. Rhythmic, unconscious, letting out his nervous tension.
Jake had seen that exact same gesture before, from the same left hand. He’d seen it from the Elect’s cadaverous sorcerer. Jake remembered how his ringed fingers drummed with irritation in the back room of the Carnival of Flesh. Cybele’s words drifted back to him. And do not trust the drumming man. He poses as an ally, but he means to see you fail. He will kill you if he can.
“Of course,” Anton said. “I apologize if I gave any impression that I might stand in your way. I disagree with your choice, but you, and Mr. Camden, have my absolute support.”
As the head of the legal department, Anton had access to all of SDS’s most intimate secrets. The perfect job for the ringleader of a conspiracy. And the perfect vantage point to shut down any investigation while keeping his drumming fingernails squeaky-clean.
“I appreciate that,” Jake said.
He stared at the video screen, his gaze boring into Anton’s digital image, marking his target. You and me, Jake thought. We’re going to have words in private. Real soon now.
* * * *
“Anton Kozlowski,” Woody said for the third time, still not processing it.
“I can’t prove it yet,” Jake said. “He’s got the exact same nervous tic as the Elect’s sorcerer, but that’s not proof. Not the kind that stands up in court.”
They walked in the fields outside the village of Dutton, the airship pylon looming up ahead. It was a bright, warm day, wisps of cloud drifting along a pristine sky. A ripple of wind ruffled the grass under Jake’s boots.
“Explains the conversation I had with him this morning.”
Walking on Jake’s other side, Prentise cocked her head. “Fired you?”
“The opposite,” Woody said. “He gave me a bonus, said to stick to Jake like white on rice, and he wants daily reports now.”
“If he can’t shut me down, at least he can keep tabs on me,” Jake said. “Good. Means he doesn’t suspect you.”
“Do you think he bought your story?” Prentise asked.
They paused at the foot of the pylon stairs. An airship was coming in, a graceful swan of canvas and wood on the far horizon.
“My gut says he did, and that buys us some breathing room. If the Elect think I’m off chasing my own tail and hunting an imaginary gambling ring, they’ll relax a little. Which gives me the perfect opportunity to get right into their personal space and start digging, hard and fast.”
“Us,” Prentise said.
Jake didn’t argue. He knew he should. The Elect had claimed another victim, and he still saw Timothy’s anguished face every time he closed his eyes.
I’m logging out.
Jake was determined to walk this road to the end, no matter where it took him, vindication or the graveyard. He couldn’t ask Woody and Prentise to walk it with him. Then again, one look and he knew he didn’t have to. They’d signed on to see it through.
His hand brushed against Prentise’s. Just a fleeting brush, a tingle of warmth on the tail of a springtime breeze. Their eyes met.
“So,” Woody said, “what’s our next step, fearless leader?”
Jake led the way up the spiral pylon stair, wooden planks rattling under their feet. There was a crowd at the top, packed tight on the platform, and the ticket-taker cupped his weathered hands to his mouth.
“Next stops are Hurst Station, Gray Mire Station, The Gash, New Academy Station, and Vangelis City! Make ready for departure.”
“Tim’s our best lead,” Jake said. “We know he was in contact with the Elect, and they gave him the trapped wine bottle. We also know where he was taking that bottle when we chased him down.”
“Vangelis,” Prentise said.
“Think it’s time we took a trip to the big city,” Jake replied. “We follow Tim’s trail, retrace his steps before he died…we’ll find our proof. And then we’ll take these bastards down for good.”
Jake thought the Kensingtons were crazy, back when they first hired him for this job. He was a PI from Philly; what did he know about magic and monsters? He was out of his element and out of his mind for saying “yes.”
Now he was standing on the prow of a flying galleon, wind in his hair, an impossible blue sky above and a lush green forest below, and he knew they were right. The streets might change but human nature never did. They’d given him a mystery to crack, a missing kid to find, and the bottom line was the same as a dozen other cases: greed, desperation, and a crime committed by men who thought they were untouchable. Jake had a trail of clues, a pair of friends he could trust, and a weapon. When he thought about it that way, his situation wasn’t strange at all.
Jake was in his element. A hunter on the trail. And he’d get the job done.
Credits
Don’t worry, these are the short kind of credits. Just wanted to thank Jack Wojcik for his editing expertise, Arel B. Grant at BZN Studio Covers for cover design, and of course, last but certainly not least, thank you for reading!
The adventures of Jake and friends will continue shortly with more intrigue, more mystery and (much) more trouble, as the full scope of the Elect’s plot is unveiled. If you want to jump onto my mailing list and be notified when it releases, pop over to my website at www.authorleprice.com. Or if you just want to get in touch, you can reach me at [email protected]. Thanks again!
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