Game of Death (21 page)

‘So you ended it with him?’ Killkenny sounds incredulous.

‘Yes, I did. He began trying to run my life, and when I made it clear that I wouldn’t play that game, he got violent.’

‘Josh?’ It surprises me. I’ve always known that he’s a bit of an asshole, but I didn’t see him as the type to beat women.

She nods. ‘Him and that psycho who runs his security.’

‘NetMaster?’

‘Yes, NetMaster. Not a pleasant man.’

‘What did they do?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Yes, it does.’

She’s looking down and her head whips around on me, her face deadly serious. ‘No, it doesn’t. I got away, that’s all that matters.’

‘And we’re supposed to believe this?’ Killkenny says.

‘You can believe whatever you want, Detective. If you want the full story, you can ask Tom Jackson. He helped me get away, and he kept Josh from going off the deep end. I’m not
saying it solved the problem, but it made it better. I’m pretty sure Josh keeps tabs on me, but I’m far more careful now, so I think I’ll be fine.’

‘Tom helped you,’ I say.

‘Yes. He’s the only one there I’d ever trust. He’s the only one who sees the company for what it is and what it could be – the good and the bad. You want some free
advice, I’d keep your wagon hitched to his. He’s the one who knows what he’s doing.’

‘He’s a good man,’ I say. ‘He helped me when I was in trouble.’

‘I know.’ She smiles at me, and it cuts to my heart. ‘I told you, we met.’ She lights another cigarette and, as strange as it seems, I want to tell her to stop. I have
some instinctive need to protect her, and as the flame touches the tobacco and the tip glows like the embers of an inferno, all I can think of is my mother strapped to her oxygen tank. I have to
fight the urge to say something. ‘So, you two really didn’t know about me and Josh,’ she comments. ‘Which means you’re not here investigating him. I assumed when you
started asking about NextLife that you were going to ask me some questions about Josh.’

Why would you assume that?’ Killkenny asks.

She shrugs. ‘I don’t know. You read all the time about CEOs getting in trouble with the law. And think about the information they have – the chances for abuse.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing,’ she says. Again, it seems as though she feels she’s said too much. ‘I just assumed you wanted to ask about Josh because we were together.’ She blows a
huge, perfect smoke ring. It hangs in the heavy air in the sitting room, swirling in an ever-expanding circle, losing its definition until I can’t even tell whether it’s still there.
‘So if you’re not here to ask about Josh, why are you here?’

‘We’re here investigating three murders,’ Killkenny says.

‘Murders?’ She sounds shocked. Who was murdered?’

‘Three of the other girls who were part of the modeling for the NextLife avatar library.’

She looks at Killkenny, clearly trying to judge whether he’s telling the truth. He just nods at her. ‘How were they killed?’

‘They were all the victims of sexual assaults that culminated in their murders.’ Killkenny relays the information in a cold, clinical manner. He could have done it with more tact,
but I think he’s getting back at her for refusing to answer his questions before. ‘We think he goes on NextLife to practice the murders, and then when he feels he’s ready, he goes
out and does it for real.’

‘How does he get the girls’ names? It’s not like they’re on the website.’ She’s smart, and she’s working through the implications quickly. ‘Which
means,’ she continues, ‘that he’s getting the names from the company somehow.’ It takes only a matter of seconds for her to make the next logical leap. ‘Which means
it’s probably someone who actually works at the company and has access to the records.’

‘We don’t know that for sure,’ Killkenny says. ‘But it’s certainly one possibility.’

‘There have to be hundreds of girls who modeled for the project,’ she says. ‘Are you talking to all of them?’ She’s looking at me as she asks the question. I shake
my head slowly. ‘Great,’ she says. ‘So you have a particular reason to talk to me, which apparently has nothing to do with the fact that I dated the CEO.’

‘We’re just taking precautions,’ Killkenny says.

‘Has he practiced my murder?’

‘We can’t talk about specifics.’

For the first time I can see real vulnerability in her eyes. She’s scared, and she’s clearly not used to being scared. ‘Has he?’ she asks again. Now she is looking only
at me, her eyes locked with mine. They aren’t exactly the same as the eyes I’ve seen before in the LifeScene. They’re missing the luminous flecks of gold and silver, but they have
so much of the life that I’ve seen before, when looking down at her from
De Sade’
s vantage point as his hands go to her throat. Her eyes are begging now, just as they have when
the oxygen is cut off. I’ve been powerless in the LifeScene, but I’m not powerless now.

I nod. ‘He has.’

‘Nick!’ Killkenny shouts at me. ‘This is a police investigation!’

‘Am I the only one left?’

‘Don’t answer that!’

‘No,’ I say. ‘There are at least six others that we know of. There could be more.’ The news that she is not the only potential target left seems to comfort her
slightly.

‘That’s it!’ Killkenny shouts. ‘This interview is over!’ He stands up and takes my arm by the elbow. ‘Nick, you’re coming with me now, or I’ll
bust your ass for obstructing a police investigation.’

I stand and let myself be pulled away. I’m looking at her as we leave, and she is watching me go. I’m overcome with the need to do more – overcome with the need to protect her.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say as Killkenny pulls me out of the house.

‘What the fuck was that?’ Killkenny demands, still holding my elbow as he guides me toward his car.

I shake my arm free and make my way to the passenger side door. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You were going to be my silent partner, remember?’

‘Hey, you were the one who told me to ask her the questions, when she refused to deal with you. Maybe if you hadn’t been such a prick to her from the start, she would have been
willing to deal with you.’

‘Oh, please? What, you think I hurt the whore’s feelings?’

‘She’s not a whore!’ The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them, and they fly with such force that I practically knock out my teeth as I spit them out.

Killkenny is on the other side of the car now, and we are looking at each other over the SS’s roof. ‘What do you think that place is, Nick?’

I look back at the tall Victorian house looming over the narrow sidewalk. ‘What are you talking about?’ I almost don’t want to hear the answer.

‘Shit, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you grew up sheltered.’ He nods back toward the front door. ‘She’s running a cathouse.’ I stare in
bewilderment at Kendra Madison’s house. ‘The girls, the sitting room – it all makes sense. I’m not saying it’s organized or official, but you don’t think
there’s something fucked-up going on in there?’

It makes me angry that I know he’s right. There was something off about the place, and I could feel it as soon as we stepped through the door. What he’s saying makes sense, and I
know it, but I still can’t accept it. ‘There has to be an explanation.’

‘There is,’ Killkenny says. ‘It’s the oldest explanation in the world.’

‘No, it’s something else.’

‘Jesus, Nick, don’t feel bad. It’s not like you’re the first guy in history to be fooled by a hooker. Their profession is making the men they’re with feel special.
Any girl can fuck. Only the best can make the guy who’s paying feel like the money has nothing to do with it. You think she wasn’t into Pinkerton for a shitload of cash? Please,
let’s deal in the real world.’

I climb into the car, my head still reeling. ‘Where are we going now?’ I ask, absently.

‘Back to Cambridge for you,’ Killkenny says. ‘I’m handling the rest of the interviews on my own.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we made a deal. You were gonna keep your mouth shut. I’m not gonna jeopardize this investigation for you; I don’t care how far we go back, how much you care about your
company or how infatuated you are with little-miss-tits, in there. You got that?’

I want to argue with him. I want to tell him that I’m necessary to these interviews, but I know I’m not. Besides, I no longer care. I’ve seen my girl in the flesh. The spell is
broken, I tell myself; the obsession will fade away now. As we pull away from the curb, I tell myself that everything will be fine.

Somehow, though, I wish I could find myself more convincing.

Killkenny drops me back at my car. He was right; no one bothered to molest the Corolla. It sits there on the street, its windows open, begging futilely to be violated. I feel
sorry for it as I climb into the front seat. ‘I’ll be in touch if I need anything else,’ Killkenny says from his car.

‘Let me know what you find from the other girls.’

‘Right.’ We both know he’ll tell me what he wants to tell me, and nothing more. I suppose I can live with that.

I drive through the Back Bay, down Newbury Street, where the boutiques cater to the wealthiest of Boston’s residents and the restaurants all have names that I can’t pronounce. Soon I
will be welcomed here with open arms, if I want. The proprietors of these exclusive outlets will make the effort to learn my name, and to memorize my likes and dislikes. Once NextLife goes public,
and they have an idea of what I can spend, they will all act as though they have spent their lives waiting for me to show up. That is the fundamental nature of American egalitarianism: Everyone of
equal wealth is equal; the source or timing of the wealth matters little.

From the Back Bay, I head down Massachusetts Avenue, across the bridge and into Cambridge. Massachusetts Avenue runs from the river through the section of the city that is dominated by MIT, with
its dorms and laboratories, and the large domed building that looks back at Boston like a curiosity. I try to remember what it was like to be here; to study here and belong to something. I
can’t remember, though. It seems too long ago.

I head toward the office and park right near where I was parked the night before – where my windows were smashed. It’s daylight now, but there is still something that feels wrong
about the area. It’s as though the attack has polluted the area for me permanently.

As I get out of the car I can sense movement off to my left, and it feels as though the scene from last night is playing out again. I look over toward the sound, but see nothing. I take a few
steps in that direction, wondering whether I’m willing to replay the scene, considering whether I’m willing to put the rest of the Corolla’s windows at risk. The thought almost
brings a bark of nervous laughter, but I stifle it. The alleyway where my stalker hid last night is only yards away. I could break into a run and be there in a matter of two seconds.

I take another step. ‘Is someone there?’ I call. I hang there for a moment before I decide that I’m imagining things and it’s not worth the effort.

As I turn back toward the warehouse where my basement facility is located, though, I run straight into NetMaster’s massive chest. It’s shocking to me that a man of his size could
possibly move quietly enough to sneak up on me, and it makes me wonder what other skills the man has.

‘Shit! You scared the crap out of me,’ I say.

NetMaster just stares at me.

‘You need something?’ I ask.

‘You have not been at work,’ he says in his thick accent. He looks and sounds like the perfect James Bond villain to me. ‘Where were you?’

‘I was dealing with other things.’ I step to the side of him and head toward the building. I’m not in the mood to deal with his insanity. He puts his arm out to stop me.
‘You really want to touch me?’ I say. His advantage in life has always been that he’s large enough to intimidate everyone he deals with. As a general rule I’m not easily
intimidated, and I’ve dealt with guys bigger and more dangerous than him my entire life, so he and I have butted heads for our entire time at the company.

‘Where were you?’

‘I told you, I was dealing with other things.’

‘What other things?’

I look up at him. ‘I was fuckin’ your mother.’ When pushed, the street I grew up on comes out.

He looks confused. ‘My mother is in Holland.’ Apparently he’s too literal to understand the game.

‘That explains the fatigue,’ I say. ‘Jetlag’s a bitch.’

‘Boss wants to see you.’

‘Pinkerton? Why?’

‘Come with me.’

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I just need to check in with my people.’

‘Now.’

‘No, in a minute.’ I take a step, pushing his arm out of the way. He keeps it firm, preventing me from getting around. I look up at him. ‘Really?’

He looks down at me and gives a thin smile. ‘You and I,’ he says. ‘We will have our time together. Do you understand?’

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I do. But unless you want that time to be now, you’re gonna move your fuckin’ arm to let me by. Do you understand?’

The smile disappears from his face and he lowers his arm. I head into the building, and he follows.

I walk down the stairs and onto the basement offices. I pause, looking out over the floor. There are around fifty of my employees there, all sitting in their chairs, watching
the LifeScenes of others play out on their screens, seeing what our users are seeing, feeling what they are feeling, delving into their psyches as the users open themselves, secure in their belief
that what they do at their computers is safe from intrusion. The place looks the same as it has done for the past two years – since we started the project and I took over as project leader.
And yet somehow it feels different to me now. It feels darker, more sinister than it ever has.

NetMaster is behind me, and I can feel him watching my every move. I walk onto the floor and make my way through the maze of stations, to the back where my office is located. Yvette is there, at
one of the stations just outside my office. She’s not GhostWalking, she is at one of the computer terminals, typing away in computer code at a furious pace. She is so engrossed in what she is
doing that she doesn’t see me.