J. Robb - Fantasy in Death

“Maybe I tagged Milt a couple times.”

“And Milt is?”

“Milt’s my… you know.”

“Okay. Does Milt your You Know have a last name?”

“Dubrosky. He’s Milton Dubrosky. It’s no big.” A little sweat popped out above his upper lip. “We’re allowed.”

“Uh-huh.” She pulled out her PPC and started a run on Milton Dubrosky. “So you and Milt live together?”

“Kinda. I mean, he still has a place but we’re mostly at mine. Mostly.”

“And what does Milt do?”

“He’s an actor. He’s really good. He’s working on his big break.”

“I bet you help him with that? Help him study lines.”

“Sure.” Shoulders jiggled again; toes tapped. “It’s fun. Kinda like working up a game.”

“Being an actor, he probably has some good ideas, too. Does he help you out there?”

“Maybe.”

“Been together long?”

“Nine months. Almost ten.”

“How much have you told him about Fantastical?”

Every ounce of color dropped out of his face, and for an instant, he was absolutely still. “What?”

“How much, Roland? Those little bits and bytes, or more than that?”

“I don’t know about anything like that.”

“The new project? The big top secret? I think you know something about it. You’re in research.”

“I just know what they tell me. We’re not allowed to talk about it. We had to sign the gag.”

Eve kept an easy smile on her face, and a hard hammer in her heart. “But you and Milt are, you know, and you help each other out. He’s interested in what you do, right?”

“Sure, but-”

“And a big project like this, it’s exciting. Anybody’d mention it to their partner.”

“He doesn’t understand e-work.”

“Really? That’s odd, seeing as he’s done time, twice, for e-theft.”

“No, he hasn’t!”

“You’re either an idiot, Roland, or a very slick operator.” She angled her head. “I vote idiot.”

She had the protesting and now actively weeping Roland escorted to Central, then sent a team of officers to scoop up Dubrosky and take him in.

His criminal didn’t show any violent crimes, she mused, but there was always a first time.

She finished her interviews, calculating it would give Roland time to stop crying and Dubrosky time to stew. She found two more who admitted they’d talked about the project to a friend or spouse or cohab, but the Chadwick-Dubrosky connection seemed the best angle.

She broke open a tube of Pepsi while she checked in with the sweepers and added to her notes. She looked up as the door opened, and Roarke stepped in.

He changed the room, she thought, just by being in it. Not just for her, but she imagined for most. The change came from the look of him, certainly, long and lean with that sweep of dark hair, the laser blue eyes that could smolder or frost. But the control, the power under it demanded attention be paid.

Even now, she thought, when she could see the sorrow on that wonderful face, he changed the room.

“They said you’d finished with your share of the interviews. Do you have a minute now?”

He wouldn’t have always asked, she remembered. And she wouldn’t have always known to get up, to go to him, to offer a moment of comfort.

“Sorry about your friend,” she said when her arms were around him.

She kept the embrace brief-after all, the walls were glass-but she felt some of the tension seep out of him before she drew back.

“I didn’t know him well, not really. I can’t say we were friends, though we were friendly. It’s such a bloody waste.”

He paced away to the wall, looked out through the glass. “He and his mates were building something here. Too many holes in it yet, but they’ve done well for themselves. Creative and bright, and young enough to pour it all in.”

“What kind of holes?”

He glanced back, smiled a little. “You’d pull that one thing out of the rest. And I imagine though e-work’s not your strongest suit, you’ve seen some of those holes already.”

“More than one person knows a secret, it’s not a secret anymore.”

“There’s that. Electronically it looks as though he covered the bases, and very well. It’ll take some doing to get through all of it, and I’m told you’ve already lost a key piece of evidence.”

“Self-destructed, but they got enough to give me the spring-board. How much do you know about this game, this Fantastical?”

“Virtual/holo combo, fantasy role-playing, varied scenarios at player’s choice. Heightened sensory levels, keyed through readouts of the player’s nervous system and brain waves.”

That pretty much summed up the big top secret project, she thought. “And when did you know that much?”

“Oh, some time ago. Which is one of the holes here. Too many of his people knew too much, and people will talk.”

“Do you know Milt Dubrosky?”

“No, should I?”

“No. It just erases a possible complication. If the technology developed for this game is so cutting-edge, why don’t you have it?”

“Actually, we’ve something I suspect is quite similar in development.” He wandered over to Vending, scanned, walked away again. “But my people don’t talk.”

“Because they’re paid very well, and because they’re afraid of you.”

“Yes. I’m sure Bart paid his people as well as he could, but there wouldn’t have been any fear.” He touched her arm, just a brush of fingertips, as he wandered the room. “They’d like him, and quite a bit. He’d be one of them. It’s a mistake to be too much one of your own as they’ll never see you as fully in charge.”

“When did you last see or speak with him?”

“Oh, four or five months back anyway. I was down this way for a meeting and ran into him on the street. I bought him a beer, and we caught up a bit.”

Restless, Eve thought. Pacing was normally her deal. Then he sighed once, and seemed to settle.

“One of my scouts brought him to my attention when Bart was still in college. After I’d read the report and done a little checking myself, I arranged a meeting. I guess he was twenty. God. So fresh, so earnest. I offered him a job, a paid internship until he got his degree, and a full-time position thereafter.”

“That’s a hell of an offer,” Eve commented.

“He’d have been a hell of a recruit. But he told me he had plans to start up his own company, with three friends. He outlined his business model for me there and then, and asked for my advice.” Roarke smiled a little, just a slight curve of those wonderfully carved lips. “He disarmed me, I have to say. I ended up meeting with the four of them a few times, and doing what I could to help them avoid some pitfalls. I don’t suppose this one any of us could have anticipated.”

“If he was that open with you, right off the jump, he might have been equally talkative with others.”

“Possibly, though that was one of the pitfalls I warned them of. He-they-wanted their own, and I know what it is, that want, that need. That, and well, the boy appealed to me, so it was easy to give them a little boost.”

“Money?”

“No.” His shoulder lifted, a careless gesture. “I might have done so if they’d asked. But they had some seed money, and you’ll work harder if it doesn’t come too easy. I had this property-”

“ This? This is your building?”

“Was, so relax yourself,” he told her with the slightest hint of impatience. “I’m not involved here. I rented them space here for a time, and when they’d gotten off the ground, he asked me to sell it to them. As I said, the boy appealed to me, so I did. I made mine; they had theirs. Good business all around.”