Chapter 11

“The entire world is losing its mind,” Brandon announced, the lobby door clattering shut behind him.

“I feel that way all the time,” I told him.

He was there for his regular after-school shift. It was Friday, so the lineup had changed. In keeping with our week-long salute to technology in film—which was seeming like a misbegotten idea at this point—we were showing The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes (1969, Kurt Russell and all the usual Disney supporting players) and The Honeymoon Machine (1961, Steve McQueen and Jim Hutton). In Tennis Shoes, a clean-cut college student gets a computer’s data transferred to his brain, resulting in comic hijinks, and in Honeymoon, a couple of clean-cut Navy men try to break the bank at a European casino using the government’s computer, resulting in comic hijinks. People used to think technology was so funny.

When Brandon appeared the two-thirty was under way and I was ostensibly on duty at the candy counter while mainly scouring the Internet for information on poisons. Just out of idle curiosity.

“Losing its mind about the game,” he clarified, slinging his backpack onto a shelf below the counter. “Nobody’s found a coin yet and as of today they’re each worth four million dollars.”

“Shouldn’t you be online looking for one?” Maybe I should.

He snorted, reaching for a cup to get himself a soft drink from the machine. “I’ve been stuck on a puzzle all day. I need to take a break before my head explodes.”

“That must be some puzzle.”

He nodded, gulping his drink. “That’s one of the reasons the Internet is losing its mind. The puzzles, the world-building—it’s way more complex than anything anyone has ever done before. It just doesn’t seem like you can win. Or, at least, not without paying a ton for clues.”

“What does that mean?”

He took a drink of soda and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Like this puzzle I’m stuck on. It’s a maze, and I could solve it in a minute if I paid for a map.”

“Real money for a virtual map?” I thought of Lisa and her comment about virtual cookies.

“Two dollars,” Brandon nodded. “Real dollars.”

“That seems like a reasonable investment for a four-million-dollar coin,” I said.

“Sure, but two dollars here and three dollars there and suddenly you’re hundreds of dollars into the game and no closer to finding a coin. That’s another reason the Internet is going crazy. Some people have spent thousands already. And they are pissed.”

I wondered if Tommy had realized there would be this kind of hostility toward how the game was played. I wondered if he and S had argued about it.

“Some people are forming alliances, trading charts and maps and codes, but it’s hard to trust someone you meet online when there’s four million dollars at stake,” Brandon said glumly.

“I would imagine so. Do you think the game’s making any profits so far?”

My teenaged employee gave me a look that implied I was an idiot. “Only about fifty million dollars.”

“What? How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “Everyone knows. Just look at the stats.”

There were very few things I wanted to do less than look at the stats. “Still, if all five coins were found today that would be twenty million they’d have to pay out.”

“Sure,” Brandon agreed.

“And if it goes on much longer, with nobody finding a coin and the payout ticking up by five million dollars a day…”

Suddenly he looked interested. “And if at the same time the payout is adding up, people are getting discouraged and giving up…”

“This could be a disaster,” I finished.

Brandon stared at me. “No way.” He shook his head. “S is a genius. Was a genius. There must be something we’re missing.”

“Maybe they assumed the coins would be found more quickly?” I guessed. “So the payout would be smaller?”

“But you wouldn’t really want that,” Brandon countered. “You’d want it to last long enough to build momentum. S’s last game was an international phenomenon. That doesn’t happen in just a couple of days.”

“That was the game with the space monsters?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Did that one have an ending?”

“Sure, you had to find them all and blast them, so the human race could survive.”

“But every player found their own monsters, right? I mean, if I downloaded it a month after you’d finished, I could still play.”

“Sure,” he said. “Or I could play again. The game would be different every time.”

“Which isn’t the case with this game,” I said. “In this game there are only five coins, and everyone’s playing the same game, or at least they’re all in the same world at the same time, right?”

He nodded.

“What happens when the coins are all found?” I asked. “The game is over, right? Nobody else will play it, or keep playing it, because why would they? There’s no more point. The revenue would dry up instantly.”

“Unless there’s another release or something?” Brandon asked. “I mean, there’d have to be, right? An expansion? A way to level up or something?” For the first time he looked doubtful. “Right?”

“Maybe.” Or maybe Tommy had realized that S Banks’s game could bankrupt him.

  

“I was so right!” Callie announced, barging into my office later that day.

“I never doubted you. Right about what?” I hung up the phone. I’d been talking with Lisa from the café across the street about the dessert table she’d be setting up for the midnight movie that night. The movie was Desk Set (1957, Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracey), one of my favorites, and we expected a big turnout.

“S Banks was totally a paid promoter for Lyquid.” Callie flopped into one of the chairs facing the desk.

It took me a minute before I got it. “The smoothie? The thing he drank onstage?”

She nodded. “The Internet is losing its mind.”

The Internet was doing that a lot today.

“There’s a rumor going around that something in the drink killed him,” Callie went on. “People are demanding a recall. They’re saying it’s tainted.”

“Is that true?” I opened my laptop and started typing in a search.

“Who knows? The point is, I knew he wouldn’t have taken a drink on camera like that if he wasn’t paid to. What?”

I’d stopped mid-type. “If he was paid to take a drink onstage,” I said, figuring it out as I spoke, “people must have known he’d do it. At least some people.”

“I mean, okay…” Callie said.

“And if one of those people wanted to poison him…”

Her eyes flew open. “Omygod! Do you think that’s how Tommy did it?”

“That’s how I would have,” I said. “Not that I would have,” I amended.

“I mean, sure,” Callie agreed.

“The question is, would Tommy have known S was going to drink from that bottle onstage?”

“How do we find out?”

Which is when I noticed the headline that had popped up on my newsfeed.

“What?” Callie asked, seeing the look on my face.

I turned the computer screen so she could see it.

“Tech entrepreneur Tommy May released on bail as police follow multiple leads,” she read. Her eyes widened and she stared at me. “Sooooo…he didn’t do it?”

I stared back at her. “That’s one question. Here’s another: If he didn’t do it, who did?”

  

I didn’t have time to think about S, Tommy, motives, or games for the rest of the day. We were going all-out for the Desk Set midnight movie party, our grand finale to Technology Week, and there was a lot involved. Most of the movie takes place in the reference department of a media conglomerate on the cusp of computerizing, so our decorations were obvious but detailed. I had to trail a fake philodendron across the balcony landing. I had to haul an old metal desk up from the basement and arrange a rotary phone and a rolodex on it. I had to position a water cooler at the end of the concessions stand, and litter the lobby with reference books and pencils.

We were going to hold a Reference Desk Trivia quiz from the stage before starting the movie, and in addition to the usual popcorn and candy, a food truck parked outside would be selling fried chicken—a nod to the dinner Katherine Hepburn cooks for Spencer Tracy one rainy night. Lisa would be serving her goodies from a stand in the lobby.

One of Callie’s film student friends with a passion for set design had used cardboard and aluminum foil to construct a surprisingly realistic replica of the film’s EMERAC computer. It even lit up and made a boop-boop-be-do sound that made me happy every time it went off. My only regret was that my budget didn’t extend to costumes. I would have worn the hell out of that swing coat Hepburn bought for herself. I made do with a pencil skirt and twin set that I found in Robbie’s closet in the big house. At the last minute I twisted my hair up and stuck a pencil in it.

We expected a good crowd. Not only was it a great movie, but our Friday night parties were starting to become a cool local thing. Which is just what I’d hoped and worked for.

I got nonstop texts starting at about five. Monica said she was going to be there, and she was bringing both Abby and her salesperson Kristy. Bringing Kristy had been my idea. I hadn’t managed to talk to her earlier in the day, and I hoped I’d have a chance that night. I wanted to know how friendly she’d gotten with S the day before he died.

Another text, from Hector, let me know that he and his cousin Gabriela would be coming, so I put a “reserved” Post-it on the seat next to the open space in the back row where her wheelchair would fit. My phone pinged regularly with incoming updates from friends, customers, and vendors, so when I got a text from a number I didn’t recognize I didn’t think twice before clicking it.

 

I’m sure you heard I’ve been released, but the cops are still coming after me. We need to talk. I’ve sent a car to pick you up. I need your help.

 

It was from Tommy.

Tommy needed my help? Why would he ask for my help?

I looked up from my screen to the rush of activity all around me, everyone making the last preparations before the doors opened at eleven. Then I looked at the text again and registered something. Tommy hadn’t asked for my help. He’d expected it.

That expectation felt horribly familiar. This text from Tommy was insanely similar to the “I need you” note I’d gotten from Ted.

The adult and rational part of my brain knew that Tommy wasn’t Ted, but his attitude was identical. He needed something, and his need was the priority. Of course he expected me to drop everything to show up for him. People probably did that every day of his life. And maybe I would have too, once. But I wasn’t that person anymore. I blew out a breath and replied.

 

I’m working. If you need to see me tonight, you can find me at the Palace.