William Rabkin - Mind-Altering Murder

“Let’s say I’ve been following this guy,” Shawn said.

Gus felt a flare of irritation. He was on the cusp of making a life-changing decision, and Shawn wanted advice on a move in a computer game. “Why?” Gus said. “He’s dead, at least in the fictional scenario we’ve been discussing in this entire conversation. Because as you pointed out, when I was playing the game, I killed him. In the game.”

“Let’s say I had to restart the game,” Shawn said.

“You had to restart the game?” Gus was doubly glad he’d decided to stay in San Francisco now. He had no desire to relive the terrible events at the petting zoo. The fictional terrible events at the petting zoo, he corrected himself, although he doubted that any government agency actually had the technology to pick up stray thoughts.

“Let’s say,” Shawn said.

“Okay, you’ve been following Cayenne,” Gus said. “So?”

“Let’s say I think he’s going to lead me to Morton, thus shortcutting me through at least two levels of play,” Shawn said.

“Congratulations,” Gus said. If he’d thought of that the last time he’d been in the game, it would have saved him from the encounter with the liquor store owner.

“Only when I followed him, he didn’t lead me to Morton,” Shawn said. “Instead he took me to a part of the city we hadn’t seen before. He went to an office building and disappeared inside.”

“And?” Gus said, wishing he could finish this call so he could reschedule his flight.

“Let’s say I was able to trace the ownership of the building,” Shawn said.

“How?” Gus said.

“It’s a game,” Shawn said. “There are clues built in.”

“Okay, fine,” Gus said. “So who owns the building?”

“Flint Powers,” Shawn said.

Gus tried to remember why that name sounded familiar, at the same time trying to understand why he should care what was happening inside some dumb game. “He’s the other mob’s boss, right?” Gus said. “Morton’s only rival?”

“That’s right,” Shawn said. “What do you think that means?”

“I assume Cayenne didn’t kill Powers,” Gus said. “Because you probably would have told me. So I’ve got to assume the only reason he’s going there is because he’s actually working for the guy.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Gus was about to check the readout to see if the call had cut out when Shawn’s voice came back. “So, you’re saying that if I see an employee of one mobster going into the place of business of another mobster, it means that the employee is betraying his boss. Selling him out to his rival behind his back.”

“I don’t see what else it could be,” Gus said.

“That’s kind of what I was thinking,” Shawn said.

“You didn’t need me to tell you this,” Gus said. “You’ve seen as many mob movies as I have.”

“Let me try one other thing,” Shawn said. “Let’s say that Cayenne wasn’t a hit man.”

“Shawn, my meeting’s about to start up again,” Gus said.

“Let’s say he’s actually a private detective,” Shawn continued.

“Fine, but let’s say that later,” Gus said. “I really have to go.”

“And let’s say he works for one detective agency, but his boss begins to wonder why he’s never around, so he tails him one day. And you know where it gets him?”

Gus felt his throat go dry. “Shawn, I-”

Before Gus could come up with a verb, Shawn stepped around the corner, slipping his cell phone into his pocket. Barely casting a glance at Gus, he rapped on the shining brass

sign affixed to the building’s granite entrance. The sign that read: RUTLAND ARMITAGE, DISCREET INVESTIGATIONS.

“It gets him right here,” Shawn said.

If you love somebody, set them free. That was how the song went, anyway. Not that Shawn had any idea what came after that line because every time it came on the radio, Gus insisted on changing the station. There was some grammatical issue in the line that used to drive him crazy for reasons Shawn probably wouldn’t understand even if he had bothered to listen.

Even so, he got the basic idea that the song was trying to convey. And he was fine with it. Shawn had never been possessive or jealous. He’d always been secure in the knowledge that he was more fun than anyone else around, so if a girlfriend started acting like she was ready to break it off, he knew he was better off without her. If she couldn’t appreciate what he had to offer, then they should go their separate ways.

That was true with friends, too. Even with Gus. Despite the fact that they’d been inseparable for three quarters of their lives, Shawn understood that their paths would have to split off at some point. If that time was now, then so be it.

All of which made it hard to explain to himself exactly why he had followed Gus through the airport to the air train, and then on to BART. He’d waited until Gus had stepped into one silver car, then gone into the next one. Positioning himself at the door between the cars, he’d watched the back of Gus’ head through the window, prepared to duck back if Gus ever happened to glance over his shoulder toward him. But Gus seemed to be lost in thought and stared straight ahead for the entire thirty minutes of the trip. When the loudspeaker announced that the next stop was Powell Street, Gus got up and stood by the door, apparently without a thought that someone might be following him.

Even that left Shawn with mixed feelings. On the one hand it was making his job a lot easier. But it also suggested that Gus had forgotten everything Shawn had tried to teach him over the years. If Gus took a stroll through Darksyde City without paying any more attention than this, he’d be chopped into pieces and made into soup by one of the mobs of feral children that roamed the place.

As the train slid to a stop in the tiled subway station, Shawn told himself to be a little more generous with his old friend. He had no idea what was going on here. Maybe Gus was trying to protect him, or was simply concerned about facing his judgment.

Or maybe Gus was waiting to find out if something was seriously wrong before bringing Shawn into it. Something medical, for instance. Maybe Gus had been slipping away all those times to see doctors and he’d come here to visit a specialist. If that was the case, Shawn had promised himself, if Gus led him to a medical building he’d back off and wait for Gus to give him the news when he was ready. And he’d do everything he could to make Gus’ life easier until that moment came.

By the time the train doors whooshed open Shawn had almost convinced himself that he should turn around and go straight back to Santa Barbara. If Gus needed a little privacy to deal with a medical crisis, Shawn certainly owed him that much. But since he’d been standing in the doorway when he reached that conclusion, he was pushed out to the platform by a surge of exiting passengers just in time to see Gus heading toward the escalator. He figured he might as well trail his friend for a block or two, if for no other reason than to see how good Gus was at spotting the tail.

He was appallingly bad. By the time they were halfway through the station, Shawn was considering jumping up and down and screaming Gus’ name, just to see if he’d notice that. Even when Shawn used the exit turnstile right next to his, Gus didn’t look around to see him. If Gus had simply inclined his head a few degrees while he was riding the steep escalator that brought him from the station up to the street, he would have spotted Shawn a dozen steps behind him. But he remained oblivious.

This, to Shawn, suggested strongly that he had indeed figured out the reason for Gus’ odd behavior. If you’ve traveled four hundred miles to ask a complete stranger whether you’re going to live or die, you’re probably not concerned with much of anything else.