SECURITY BLANKET, by Toni L.P. Kelner

Living through a science fiction convention is incredibly intense. In less than forty-eight hours, from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon, you can experience everything in fast-forward: friendship, romance, rivalry, hatred.

In my case, I went from admiring Pinky, to being embarrassed by him, to disliking him, to mourning him, to solving his murder.

* * * *

Naturally Pinky saw the situation before anybody else. He moved to intercept even as he used his walkie-talkie to alert me. “Regina, we have a toucher—repeat, a toucher—moving in on Masters. Older female, blue sweatshirt, white hair.”

I buzzed the rest of available redshirts, but though we immediately headed in that direction, the room was filled with fans hoping to catch a glimpse of someone famous. By the time Andi, Donna, Elliot, and I made our way through, Pinky had blocked the toucher’s access to her goal: the guest of honor, William Masters, who’d played the recurring role of Bane, good-guy werewolf on the TV show Werewolf Hunter.

In a polite-but-firm voice, Pinky said, “I’m sorry, but other fans are talking with Mr. Masters right now. If you’ll show me your ticket, I’ll let you know when you’ll have an opportunity to speak with him.”

“I just want to give him a quick hug and kiss.” The silver-haired woman looked more like Bane’s grandmother than one of his fans, but you really can’t judge fans by their appearances. “I know he won’t mind.”

“Mr. Masters himself requested that there be no unauthorized touching,” Pinky replied. “The rules were included in your registration packet.” He reached into his belt pouch. “I’ve got a copy here, as well, if you’ve lost yours.”

“I don’t need your damned rules,” the woman spat, destroying the illusion of grandmotherhood. “I paid my money, and I came a long way to meet Bane, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

Pinky said, “You’ll get your chance to meet Mr. Masters when it’s your turn, but there will be no touching. May I see your ticket?”

“I’ve lost it,” the woman said unconvincingly.

I’d have bet my favorite Werewolf Hunter t-shirt that the woman had never even seen a ticket, let alone paid the extra fee for a personal meeting with Bane. Still, as head of security, I had to play nice, so I asked, “Is there a problem?”

Pinky actually kept a straight face as he said, “This lady lost her ticket for her meeting with Mr. Masters.”

“I’m sure we can take care of that.” The woman’s face brightened, but only until I turned to Andi and said, “Can you take this lady out to registration and see about getting her a replacement ticket?”

“Sure thing, Regina.” The woman was trying to come up with another lie as Andi escorted her out, but I knew she’d be kept out of the way until the meet-and-greet ended. Fortunately, Bane hadn’t even noticed the uproar and continued speaking to one of the legitimate ticket-holders in that Australian accent fans found so irresistible.

I let Elliot and Donna go back to working the room and said, “Good catch, Pinky.”

“I shouldn’t have had to catch anyone,” he retorted. “There should never be a ticketed event in the middle of a meet-and-greet. You can’t do decent crowd control this way.”

“I know,” I said, annoyed. “Ted said there wasn’t enough in the budget for a separate room.” Ted, the chairman of the convention, had refused most of my requests.

“If you can’t afford decent security, you shouldn’t put on a convention.”

Again he was stating the obvious, and I ran my fingers through my bangs in exasperation. “We’ve only got half an hour to go. Maybe we’ll make it through without any more problems.

“If Shannon pays attention, that is. I saw that toucher a mile away—she should have, too.”

I turned to look at Shannon, who was serving as Bane’s personal attendant. Rather keeping an eye on the people nearby, she was staring at him in rapt attention. “Star-struck?”

“Big time.”

Security crew members, known as redshirts, were supposed to maintain objectivity, not stare in adoration at the guest of honor. But it was hard sometimes—we were fans, too. I’d purposely kept my own distance from Bane because I was such an admirer. “It happens,” I said.

Pinky grunted, and I knew what he was thinking. It had never happened to him, and never would. Even as we talked, his eyes were constantly moving, watching for trouble. He didn’t look that formidable—he was plump with glasses and thinning hair—but his devotion made him a much sought-after security team member at conventions up and down the east coast. I’d been delighted when I found out he was willing to work at FullMoon, a small convention for fans of Werewolf Hunter, especially since I was taking my first stab at running security. By rights, he should have been in charge, not me, but he’d said he’d rather not. At the time, I’d thought that meant he had confidence in my abilities. Now I wasn’t so sure.

“Did you realize Shannon was so inexperienced?” Pinky asked.

“She’s not inexperienced,” I objected. “Ted says she’s worked plenty of conventions in the midwest.”

“Ted says? When you’ve worked as many conventions as I have, you learn to check out your team members yourself.”

“You’re probably right,” I admitted. It was something else I’d have to remember for the next convention, assuming that I didn’t screw up so badly this weekend that I never got another chance. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Does she have an exit strategy?”

“A what?”

He assumed a pained expression. “A strategy for getting the subject—that’s Masters—out of the room expeditiously.”

Everybody else called the actor by his character’s name, which Masters himself encouraged, but Pinky insisted on using his real name. “I’m sure Shannon has a plan,” I said. “She’s worked as a personal attendant before.”

Just then, an exuberant fan grabbed Bane by the neck and loudly kissed him, while Shannon watched in a blend of horror and envy.

“Maybe you should go see—” I started to say, but Pinky was gone before I could finish. “And I didn’t even get a chance to thank him,” I mumbled to myself.

“Did he say when he’s going to destroy the Death Star?” asked Elliot, who’d appeared at my elbow.

“You mean Pinky?”

“Who else but fandom’s answer to the Pinkertons?”

“He’s helping Shannon with her exit strategy. I can’t believe I forgot to check on her exit strategy.”

“I can’t believe you just said ‘exit strategy.’ Look, Regina, that guy may think he’s the Terminator crossed with a Klingon warrior, but the rest of us are just volunteers with walkie-talkies, doing the best we can. And you’re doing fine.”

“Then how come I nearly let that toucher get through?”

“Nearly only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. By the time Granny Goodness gets away from registration, Bane will be back in his suite drinking Fosters.”

“Granny Goodness?”

“The toucher.”

Security people tend to attach nicknames to troublemakers. This one came from the DC comic book universe. Granny Goodness, like our toucher, was not nearly so nice as she appeared.

Just then, I noticed a flurry of activity in one corner of the ballroom. It was probably nothing, but it was best not to take chances. “Can you check that out?”

“You’re the boss,” he said with a mock salute, and sauntered off. Unlike Shannon, I knew Elliot could handle anything that came up. We’d worked together before, and though I didn’t know him as well as I wanted to, I had hopes. Of course, even if he was interested, it would have to wait until after the convention.

True to his word, Pinky had Bane out the door at the stroke of ten, confounding the hopeful fans lingering in hopes of personal interaction. Shannon was left behind, too, though I wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or because she couldn’t keep up. Either way, Pinky was right. It was only Friday night, and Bane had a slew of events scheduled for the weekend. Shannon just wasn’t up to being his personal attendant.

The rest of the redshirts and I waited until the room cleared out, with most people heading either for a marathon showing of the first season of Werewolf Hunter or to their rooms to get some sleep. I checked in with the other redshirts distributed around the hotel, and was relieved to hear that everything was calm. I sent most of them off-duty, which left me and Elliot as the only ones active. Elliot had volunteered to stay on call for the night, and I figured I’d be on call until the last fan dragged himself out of the hotel Sunday evening. Pinky, of course, said he’d keep his walkie-talkie on, too, even though he was doing his overnight on Saturday.

After that, I was almost done for the day. I still had to stop by Bane’s room to make sure he had everything he needed. This was annoying for two reasons. First, to ensure Bane’s security, he’d been given a suite that was only accessible by going outside and up a steep flight of stairs, so it was completely out of the way. And second, it was waste of time anyway because Bane wasn’t alone. He and a happy crowd were noisily partying. As I’m sure Pinky would have told me, the location of Bane’s room should have been kept a secret, but I suspected Ted the con-chair, who was in the thick of it, had been less than discreet. I noted resentfully that he didn’t even have his walkie-talkie with him.

Shannon was at the party, too, sitting as close as possible to Bane, and laughing too hard at everything the actor said. Not that she was the only one. Bane was known for being the kind of wolf that didn’t need a full moon to bring out his animal side, and there were several other women there hoping to be chosen as his overnight guest. Bane waved me over when I saw him, but I just smiled and shook my head. I’d spoken to the man earlier, and tripped over my tongue so badly that I wasn’t inclined to repeat the experience. Drinking an extra-large Australian beer wasn’t likely to help.

On the way to my much less plush room, I walked down the corridor designated for room parties, and made sure the hosts knew to keep noise down, avoid serving beer to minors, and refrain from recreating famous chase scenes from Werewolf Hunter in the hallways. Lastly, I checked in with the hotel’s night security man to let him know things seemed under control.

Then I went to bed.

The first thing I did the next day was meet with my team over donuts and coffee in the control room, the function room reserved for convention business. We were all wearing our uniforms—jeans and blood red shirts with white bulls eyes on the front and the word “SECURITY” on the back. The shirts were easy to spot, and I’d been told it was a good color to set off my dark hair and eyes. I wondered if Elliot agreed.

We reviewed the day’s schedule, which included morning panel discussions with writers and artists connected with Werewolf Hunter, autograph sessions for those writers and artists, an afternoon talk by Bane that we expected the whole convention to attend, more panels, and a werewolf-themed costume contest that was likely to be our biggest headache. Ongoing were the art show, video room, dealers’ room, and hospitality suite where Bane would meet with the rest of the people who’d bought private tickets.

I was dreading the next part, so I kept my eyes on my clipboard as I said, “I’ve got some assignment changes. Shannon, I’m switching you to morning panels and autographs. Float between the panel rooms, and keep the lines moving in autographs. Pinky, you’ll be with Bane.”

I paused, waiting for an outburst, then looked at Shannon. She was nodding, maybe a bit annoyed, but there wasn’t a tantrum in sight. Pinky just looked smug. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, people, get out there and keep things secure.” They headed for their first assignments, leaving only me and Elliot, who had the morning off in return for his being on call overnight.

“Good call,” he said.

“I’m surprised Shannon didn’t make a fuss.”

“Didn’t you hear what happened last night?”

“What now?” I asked, sure that I’d let something slip.

“You know there was a party in Bane’s room, right? Well, Shannon practically threw herself at the guy, but when the party ended, Bane invited a different girl to spend the night with him.”

“Ouch. So that’s why she was willing to switch. At least we won’t have that problem with Pinky. Unless … Elliot, Pinky’s not gay, is he?”

“Who can tell? The only one who shares his bed is his walkie-talkie. I hear he even puts it into a plastic bag so he can take it into the shower with him.”

Though the morning had started out well, the lull didn’t last long. A wannabe writer showed up at the first autograph session with a stack of copies of her manuscript, intending to shanghai as many authors as possible into reading her Werewolf Hunter novel and then forward it to their agents and editors. It wasn’t an unusual situation, and Shannon should have been able to handle it. Unfortunately, she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. It was Andi, who was stationed in the dealers’ room, who heard the commotion and buzzed me.

By the time I got there, the aspiring writer and Marilynn Byerly, well-known author of Werewolf Hunter novelizations, were having a shouting match in the middle of the room, lobbing phrases like “incompetent amateur” and “sleazy hack” at one another. Plus the signing lines were in disarray, with people pushing and shoving their way to the front. I yelled, “Linus in the signing room!” into my walkie-talkie—that was the code word that meant that all available redshirts should blanket the room with security.

Needless to say, Shannon showed up late, after the rest of us had things back in order. Wanda Wannabe had been sent off with a warning that she’d be ejected from the convention if she approached any more authors with her manuscript, and Ms. Byerly had been soothed with a Coke and the promise of a good seat at Bane’s talk. As for the lines, Pinky had people queued up like Catholic schoolchildren, and I’d been both too busy and too embarrassed to see how he’d managed it.

Shannon didn’t even have the good grace to look winded. “What’s up?” she said.

“Where the hell were you?”

“I had to go to the bathroom. I was only gone a minute.”

“Then how come I’ve been here for ten minutes, and the people here said there was nobody here when the session started twenty minutes ago? Why didn’t you tell somebody you were going to the bathroom? That’s what your walkie-talkie is for. And why didn’t you come when I called the Linus?”

“I left my walkie-talkie in here.”

I was furious. Not only had she been away from her post and out of contact, but she’d left an expensive, rented walkie-talkie unattended. If I’d had anybody to replace her with, I’d have fired her, but the convention was too far along to scrape up another volunteer. “Then since you’ve had your break, I don’t want you to leave this room again until one.”

“What about the panels?”

“I’ll take care of them.”

“What about Bane’s talk? I want to work that.”

I just glared at her, then turned to see Pinky shaking his head in disgust. I wasn’t sure if it was at Shannon, me, or both of us.

The next disaster was right before Bane’s talk. It was scheduled for after lunch, which meant that most of the fans were skipping lunch so they could line up for good seats. While they waited under the watchful eyes of most of the redshirts, Bane was enjoying a private lunch with a few privileged members of the convention staff. Naturally, the invitation list for that lunch had caused more dissension than almost anything else during convention planning. I’d stayed out of it. Just being in the same room as Bane got me flustered—I could only imagine what would have happened if I’d tried to eat in front of him.

Through my careful planning, Elliot and I both had the lunch hour free, and were headed for the hotel restaurant when we saw Pinky being confronted outside the door where the VIP lunch was being held.

“Should we give him a hand?” Elliot asked.

“He hasn’t called for backup,” I said.

“I know, but that’s the woman Bane took to bed last night.”

The woman in question was blonde, buxom, and swearing like a sailor. Since she’d been Bane’s Friday night conquest, I mentally tagged her Girl Friday.

Elliot and I joined them, and I asked, “Anything wrong?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Pinky replied, keeping his security guard face firmly in place.

The woman appealed to me. “I’m supposed to go in there to meet Bane for lunch, but this fascist won’t let me in.”

“It’s by invitation only,” Pinky said, “and she’s not on the list.”

“Bane didn’t know me when the list was made,” the woman argued, “but when I asked him to meet me for lunch today, he said I could come if I wanted to.” Presumably realizing that wasn’t the most enthusiastic invitation, she bolstered her authority with, “It was early this morning—when we got up—so he probably forgot to add my name.”

More likely he didn’t remember her name, I thought to myself. “Pinky, have you checked with Bane?”

He gave me a look. “There’s no need to disturb Mr. Masters.”

Since I knew there were twenty people already in there, I didn’t think one more would hurt, especially since it was a buffet. “I’ll go ask him.” But Pinky continued to block the door.

“Don’t bother. Mr. Masters informed me that he doesn’t want to spend any further time with this woman.”

“You’re lying!” Girl Friday shrieked. “Bane would never say that.”

Pinky just stared at her.

“You’re lying,” she said again, her voice cracking. Then her face crumpled, and she ran off down the hallway, sobbing like a woman betrayed by her idol.

“Geez, Pinky,” Elliot said. “Do you think you could have said something to make her feel worse?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if Regina hadn’t interfered.”

“Regina is head of security,” Elliot snapped. “Doing her job is hardly interfering.”

“Regina assigned me to Mr. Masters, and I’m meeting my obligations the best way I know how. If she wants me to step aside …”

They both looked at me, finally acknowledging that I was right there, even though I wished I weren’t. “No, Pinky, you keep doing what you’re doing.”

He nodded, mollified, and I started toward the restaurant, with Elliot close behind.

“Who does he think he is?” Elliot wanted to know. “Why are you putting up with him?”

“Because he knows what he’s doing,” I said, leaving unsaid the thought that maybe I didn’t.

The rest of the afternoon went reasonably smoothly. We had to defuse a couple of arguments over seats at Bane’s talk, but the talk itself was a big success. The afternoon’s panels went fine, too, and a gap in programming at dinner time meant we redshirts could meet for pizza. Except for Pinky, of course, who was maintaining watch over his subject, and Shannon, who’d suddenly remembered she was in the costume contest and wouldn’t be helping with security for the night. By the time we’d eaten and planned the evening’s coverage, it was time for the masquerade.

The first part of the costume contest went fine. Of course, getting the contestants into the right order was the masquerade staff’s headache, not ours, and the tech crew was in charge of setup, lights and sound. All we had to do was make sure nobody snuck into the ballroom early and when the time came, resolve the inevitable arguments over seats. After that, we got to relax and enjoy the show.

Though I wasn’t all that happy with her, I loyally cheered for Shannon, who was dressed as a woods-dwelling sprite who’d lured Bane to her tree in Season Two. Or rather, undressed, because sprites wear fur bikinis with boots. At least Shannon could carry off the skimpy outfit, unlike some of the other contestants.

Once the procession of werewolves, werewolf hunters, miscellaneous lycanthropes, and other Werewolf Hunter characters had paraded across the stage, the judges retired to deliberate while a band came on stage to perform “Werewolves of London,” “Bad Moon Rising,” and other appropriate songs.

All the judges were supposed to go to the control room, which had been emptied for that purpose, but after they left, Pinky buzzed me on the walkie-talkie.

“Regina? Pinky, in the main corridor with Mr. Masters, en route to his suite. He prefers to deliberate on his own, and will join the other judges later.”

“He’s going to get a beer, isn’t he?” I said.

I could hear laughter when Pinky keyed his walkie-talkie, and realized Bane had heard me. “Affirmative,” Pinky said dryly. In the background, I heard Bane say, “After looking at that lot, I deserve it!”

Feeling like a complete idiot, I asked, “Do you need backup?”

“Negative. The halls are clear.”

“Good enough. Call me if you change locations.”

“Roger.”

Then I checked with Elliot, who’d accompanied the other judges. Since they hadn’t expected much input from Bane, they were perfectly willing to carry on without him.

The band was followed by a demonstration of sword fighting, but despite the fighters’ best efforts, the crowd was fidgety. There was a constant flow of people going to the bathroom, or to grab a Coke from a machine, or just deciding they’d rather party now and find out who the winners were the next day.

I knew the contestants had to be sweating bullets. Competition is always fierce, but the stakes this time were higher than usual. At the con’s closing event, Bane was going to act out a scene from the opening episode of Werewolf Hunter’s next season, and he’d promised to pick one of the contest winners to perform with him.

About twenty-five minutes into the wait, my walkie-talkie buzzed again. “Regina, this is Pinky, outside Bane’s room.”

“Go ahead, Pinky.”

There was no response.

“Pinky?”

There was a burst of noise, which I later decided was from the button of the walkie-talkie hitting something, and a horrific yell.

“Pinky!”

Now there was nothing.

“Linus! Outside Bane’s room!” I barked into my walkie-talkie. Then I ran as fast as I could, not knowing or caring who I ran into. Elliot, who was closer to Bane’s room, beat me there, and was at the bottom of the stairs leading toward the suite. When he heard me coming, he turned to stop me.

“There’s nothing you can do, Regina.”

Elliot was six foot something to my five foot four, but I pushed him out of the way just the same, and saw Pinky’s body at the foot of the stairs. I’d thought our shirts were blood red until I saw real blood staining his. His walkie-talkie lay on the sidewalk next to him.

“There’s no pulse,” said Elliot, who was an EMT in real life. “He must have fallen just the right way to break his neck.”

More like the wrong way, I thought.

Shannon padded up behind me, still wearing her fur bikini and boots. The other redshirts came on her heels. “Andi,” I said, “get hotel security. Donna, call the cops.”

Bane stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at Pinky, swearing fluently. I wondered what the fans would have thought if they’d heard him, because for the first time all weekend, he’d dropped his Aussie accent.

The hotel’s security man got to the scene first, and, ignoring Elliot’s protests that Pinky was dead, insisted on checking himself, getting bloody in the process. Ted showed up, too, but just dithered uselessly.

Eventually the cops arrived, followed by a doctor to examine Pinky’s body and take it away. The police were visibly tense at first, but then got more relaxed, and I realized that they’d decided Pinky’s death was an accident. But it didn’t seem right to me.

Pinky had buzzed me to tell me he was on his way to Bane’s room, and presumably he’d gotten there without incident. So why had he buzzed me later? Why would he have been heading down the stairs? I mentioned my questions to the cops, but they figured he was going to get a drink or take a break, and was going to let me know. They didn’t understand that Pinky would never have left Bane’s door unattended, and didn’t think there was anything odd about him buzzing me just before he fell—one officer even suggested that he might not have fallen if he hadn’t been using the walkie-talkie.

Bane was no help. “I should have let the bloke come into the room,” he said apologetically, the accent back in place, “but I was fagged out and wanted a minute alone. He didn’t seem to mind.”

“Did you hear anything?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not a sound. I was in the WC at first, and I had music playing. Poor bastard. Has he got any family or anything? I’d like to pay my respects.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I only met him yesterday. There wasn’t really time to get acquainted.” But that wasn’t true. One of the best things about a convention was the way you could go from stranger to close friend in just a weekend. But Pinky had been all business. Not to mention the fact that he’d intimidated the heck out of me, and annoyed me even more.

“Bruce,” one of the cops said, Pinky’s wallet in his hand. “His first name was Bruce.”

I hadn’t even known that.

The cops didn’t stay long, and looking at the horrified faces of my team members, I realized I had to get them moving again. “Elliot, will you take Bane for the rest of the weekend?”

He nodded.

“Good. Ted, what’s the status on the masquerade?”

“The judges are ready, but maybe we should cancel.”

“No, Pinky would want us to go ahead.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Bane said.

I glared at him. “Haven’t you ever heard ‘The show must go on?’”

“Yeah, but—” He stopped. “Right. Let’s do it. But I want to say something about Pinky afterward.”

“Good idea,” I said. I turned to the rest of my team. “Okay, the crowd is going to be restless. Our job is to keep things running as smoothly as possible. Andi, you and Donna roam the halls, make sure nobody’s been taking advantage of our absence. Everybody else will work the masquerade with me.”

“Shouldn’t I go back backstage?” Shannon asked hesitantly. “I mean, I’m still in the contest. That’s where I was when you called the Linus.”

I stifled a sigh. Clearly her job in security was secondary to a chance to act out a scene with Bane. At least she’d responded to the Linus this time. “Fine, we’ll handle it.”

As I’d expected, most of the fans were milling around, spreading stories that had nothing to do with what had really happened. I heard half a dozen people who claimed to know the real story: everything from a drug bust to an orgy to a government crackdown to alien infiltration. We tried to reassure them and got people back into their seats as fast as possible. Once we had them situated, we brought in the judges, including Bane, and got the show moving.

The judges dutifully announced the winners, including Shannon, who got an award for “Most Daring” for her scraps of fur. The way she rubbed against Bane when she accepted her ribbon made it plain she hoped to supplant Girl Friday.

Once the awards were over with, Bane solemnly announced what had happened to Pinky, and said some kind words about him. I saw plenty of tears, but I also heard speculation about whether or not the death had really been an accident. I tried to tell myself that the idea was ridiculous, but it sounded all too believable.

It wasn’t just the oddness of Pinky’s death, it was the faces around me. Granny Goodness actually looked glad when she realized that Pinky was the one who’d kept her away from Bane during the meet-and-greet. Wanda Wannabe was there with a satchel, and I’d have bet dollars to donuts that she had a copy of her manuscript with her, hoping to corner a writer in the bathroom. Then I saw Girl Friday, bawling loudly where Bane could see. As he left the stage, he took pity on her and let her sob on his shoulder. That wouldn’t have happened if Pinky had still been alive.

I’d heard that when somebody’s been a cop for long enough, everybody starts to look guilty. Now I understood what they meant, because suddenly it seemed as if anybody in that room could have pushed Pinky down those stairs. If it hadn’t been for the walkie-talkie in my hand, offering me instant aid from the rest of the redshirts, I think I’d have run screaming from the room. No wonder Pinky had been so attached to his. For one morbid moment, I considered suggesting that the walkie-talkie be buried with him, which led to the even more morbid idea of him sending me a message from the grave.

Then something occurred to me, almost as if Pinky had sent me one last message.

Though the plan had been for Bane to choose the person who’d be acting out the scene with him at the end of the costume contest, under the circumstances, it had been forgotten, and I heard people muttering about it. That gave me the idea about what to do next.

I buzzed Elliot, and told him to take Bane someplace where I could talk to him privately. Then I buzzed Ted, and told him to announce that Bane would be picking somebody momentarily. Both of them sounded taken aback, but they didn’t argue.

Leaving the rest of my team to keep watch, I went backstage, which was mostly empty now that the masquerade was over. I was happy to see that Elliot had managed to detach Girl Friday, so he was the only one who heard me tell Bane what I had in mind. For once, I forgot that Bane was a celebrity and the most handsome man I’d ever met. From that point on, he was just another member of my team. I told him what I wanted, and why, and made it plain that I expected him to agree. He did.

I buzzed Ted again, told him Bane was ready, and listened as he told the same to the waiting throng. There was a hush when Bane stepped on stage, and I could practically hear fingers crossing.

“I know the timing is awkward,” Bane said in that delectable accent, “but a lot of people have come a long way to hear tomorrow’s program, and it’s fair dinkum that Pinky wouldn’t have wanted them to be disappointed.”

There were enthusiastic sounds of approval.

“Now I’m hoping one particular sheila will be willing to share the stage with me.” Now there were shrieks, giggles, and more than one shout along the lines of “Pick me!” Bane, who was an actor after all, paused dramatically. Then he named his choice. “Come on up here, luv.”

There was a delighted shout, and scattered applause as Bane’s leading lady accepted his invitation. From the catcalls that followed, I think there was physical contact between them, too.

Still playing to the audience, Bane said, “Of course, we’re going to need to rehearse, and tomorrow morning is pretty well booked. Do you think you can spare me some time now to go over the scene? We could work in my room.”

There were even louder catcalls, and I didn’t need to hear the woman’s answer to know she’d agreed. That was my cue to get in position and make the last arrangements.

I’d told Elliot not to rush, so I had plenty of time to get to Bane’s room. Too much, in fact, because I had time to reconsider what I was doing. Twice I reached for my walkie-talkie, ready to call the whole thing off, but then the door opened, and Elliot escorted Bane in. Along with Shannon.

She was nestled under the actor’s arm, looking at him so lustfully that it took a while for her to notice I was there, long enough for Elliot to close and lock the door. When I’d told Elliot he didn’t have to stay, he’d insisted strongly enough to make me think it was more than professional loyalty, but it was the wrong time to think of that.

Finally Shannon saw me. “Hey, Regina. Did you hear? Bane picked me. I guess I’m not going to be able to help out with security tomorrow.” She actually giggled.

“That’s okay,” I said. “I don’t want you on the team anymore anyway.”

“Hey, I know I haven’t been at my best, but—”

I forced a laugh. “No, I think this was your best.”

“Now, now,” Bane said soothingly, “I’m sure Shannon’s been trying.”

“Then how did that woman nearly get past her at the meet-and-greet? And you didn’t see the mess she made in the signing room.”

“That wasn’t my fault!” she protested.

“Maybe not, but you didn’t show up to help, either.”

“I told you I didn’t hear the call.”

“That’s right, you forgot your walkie-talkie, didn’t you?” I said with a sneer. “Where’d you leave it this time—there sure as hell isn’t anyplace to put it in that getup.”

“You know I’m not on call tonight,” she said defiantly. “It’s locked up in my room!”

“Then how did you hear the Linus when Pinky fell down the stairs?” I asked.

She went white. “What?”

“For once, you were where you were supposed to be—you got there faster than Andi. So how did you know there was a Linus?”

“Someone told me.”

“Who? I’ll buzz whoever it was right now to confirm.”

“I … I don’t have to tell you anything.”

She was right, of course. I wasn’t a cop, and I wasn’t going to beat it out of her. Fortunately I didn’t have to, because Bane took her in his arms, and looked at her with those indescribably blue eyes, and said, “You didn’t mean to kill him, did you, luv?”

“No,” she whispered. “I mean, it wasn’t me.”

He gave her the smile that had melted the heart of the werewolf hunter herself, not to mention countless fans. “Of course it was, but you didn’t mean for him to get hurt. Just tell me what happened.”

I was almost afraid to breathe. If she hung tough, I didn’t think there was anything else we could do. But she was a fan, through and through. She’d killed to get close to Bane—she couldn’t lie to him. As long as she basked in his attention, Elliot and I might as well not have existed.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said in a tiny voice. “I only came up here to talk to you about using me in your scene, but Pinky wouldn’t let me come in. He said he knew I was lying about working security. He knew which conventions I’d said I’d worked at, and he actually called to check up on me. Can you believe that?”

Bane shook his head in shared dismay.

“I’ve worked at other conventions, honest I have, but I was just a gopher, and I knew a gopher wouldn’t get to see you up close. I just had to meet you.”

He nodded understandingly.

“Then Regina got mad at me, and you and that other girl—”

“She meant nothing to me,” Bane said convincingly, both because he was an actor and because it was true.

“I know, but Regina had already given you to Pinky, and I knew tonight might be my last chance to talk to you. That’s all I wanted. But Pinky said I was a phony, and that you wouldn’t want to waste time with me. He was going to buzz Regina to tell her about me. So I knocked that damned walkie-talkie out of his hand. It fell down the stairs, and when he reached for it, he lost his balance and fell. I tried to grab him, really I did. I didn’t push him.”

Bane nodded again, but I’m not sure if she saw it, because she’d looked away from him at last, either from shame or guilt. “Then what happened?” he prompted.

“I meant to get back to the masquerade, but I saw all the redshirts coming, and knew Regina must have called a Linus. Since I couldn’t get back without them seeing me, I acted as if I’d come with them.” She looked at him imploringly. “You believe me, don’t you?”

I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “What he believes doesn’t matter nearly as much as what the cops believe.”

“Bane would never turn me in,” she snarled. “It’s your word against ours.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Bane said, stepping back from her.

“Besides,” I said, “we’re not the only ones who heard you.” I held up my walkie-talkie so she could see that I was holding the button down. Every redshirt had heard her confession, and they all heard me say, “Linus in Bane’s room.” Then I put down the walkie-talkie to say, “Elliot, call the cops.”

“You’re the boss,” he replied.

“Damn straight I am.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Toni L.P. Kelner is all about multi-tasking. She writes the “Where are they now?” mysteries featuring Boston-based freelance entertainment reporter Tilda Harper (the latest is Blast From the Past), co-edits urban fantasy anthologies with Charlaine Harris (their most recent is the NYT bestseller Death’s Excellent Vacation), and sneaks in short stories whenever possible. As is apparent from her story in this collection, she’s a fan of science fiction conventions and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Kelner lives north of Boston with author/husband Stephen P. Kelner, two daughters, and two guinea pigs.