Graverobbers Wanted (No Experience Necessary) (12 page)

   Several people were in there, sitting around a table with about six billion cards spread out in cryptic patterns. Both Carl and Farley were present, and Farley waved as he saw us enter.

   "Hey, did you come for your own throat treatment?"

   "No, actually I came to learn the game," I said. There was a small couch not being used, so I gave Theresa and Kyle each a kiss and bribed them with Skittles to sit on it and play nicely.

   "You came to learn the game?" asked Farley. "I hope you realize this
isn'tYahtzee
.
You're not going to pick up the rules for the first five or six weeks."

   "That's fine," I said, pulling up a free chair next to Farley. "By the way, I apologize if I'm just barging in. You guys don't mind if I watch, do you?"

   "No, no, we need all the players we can get," Farley assured me. Carl gave me a polite nod, but for the most part kept his eyes glued to the table, obviously planning out some intricate strategy. Introductions were made all around, and then they resumed their game.

   I watched carefully for about fifteen minutes without saying anything. This was another case where being Sherlock Holmes might have come in handy, because maybe he would have had some faint comprehension of the rules to this game. One guy, Harold, was sort of the narrator, telling the other players where they were and what demonic beasts were trying to kill them or transform them into minions of evil. That part I got. But whatever they were doing with those cards sounded like complete gibberish.

   I was
lost.Baffled.Out
of my element in society.

   Carl set a card down, making the pattern of cards even more hopelessly complex than it already was. "I'll use my Boots of Divine Intervention with an additional three karma points and an additional two stealth points to cross the threshold." He bit his lip nervously as he waited for Harold to roll one of about twenty multi-colored, multi-sided dice. This guy took the
gamewaaaaaay
too seriously.

   "Fourteen," Harold announced. "What's your Hero rating?"

   
"Twenty-nine."

   "You didn't make it. You fall into the lava storm and lose..." Harold rolled another die, "...seven points from your Health rating."

   Carl whitened. "I'll have to use my Cloak of Reconstruction to keep from falling into the Sleep of the Damned!"

   "You can't use your cloak," another player pointed out. "It's still cursed for one more turn from my Wand of Dissatisfaction."

   "But you're only holding it for six Curse points," said Carl. "So I'm going to use my +3 Reversal Armor to destroy the curse and then I can use my cloak."

   "All right," said Harold. "You're currently floating in the
lava.Your
turn, Farley."

   "I'll run down there and get Carl's head for my trophy case. It's time to move up to humans."

   "Seriously, Farley, what do you do?"

   "How many different points does this game have?" I asked.

   "Sixteen points in each of the fields," Farley replied.

   
"How many fields?"

   "There's the Field of Mind, the Field of Body, the Field of Might, the Field of Sorcery, the Field of Destiny, and the Field of Eternity."

   "
Gotcha.Somehow
I missed the Field of Eternity."

   "Now, I have a question for you," said Farley. "You're not here to learn the game, and you're not a real reporter. So who are you?"

   The other gamers fell silent. Farley's squeaky voice and diminutive stature made him somewhat less than intimidating, but this was still not exactly a development I welcomed.

   "What are you talking about?" I asked.

   "I can tell by the way you're watching us. You're not watching to see how we play the game—you're trying to study us as individuals. What are you, some kind of FBI agent?"

   I was secretly a bit flattered that he might have thought I was FBI material, but I didn't let it go to my head. "Okay, here's the real story. You're right—I'm not here to learn about the game. If I had an extra few hundred I.Q. points I could probably figure out how the hell the rules work, but the truth is that I'm a private investigator."

   Carl stared at me, seriously annoyed. "You're disrupting our game because you're a private investigator?"

   "That's right."

   Farley's face lit up with fascination. "That is so cool! Which one of us are you investigating? It's Rachel, right? I always knew she was up to something shady."

   "No, I'm here because your friend Michael Ashcraft has turned up missing. His wife hired me to find out where he is."

   "Mike's missing?" asked
Carl."
For
how long?"

   "Wasn't Michael Ashcraft that guy who stayed here for about ten minutes then called us all a bunch of geeks and stormed out?" asked Harold.

   "He's been gone since last night," I told Carl. "The police won't help because he hasn't been missing for twenty-four hours, but his wife believes there may be some element of foul play."

   "Wasn't he on vacation?" Carl asked.

   "It fell through," I said.

   Farley pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet. "I know who it was!" he announced, and then pointed at Carl. "It was you! You had the motive, means, and opportunity! You've always hated Michael because his mother liked him better than your mother liked you! It was you! Admit it!"

   "Sit down, you little nerd," Carl muttered.

   Farley's eyes widened as he pretended to have another shocking realization. "But wait! It could also have been...me! That's right! How silly of me not to think of it in the first place! I'm the one who followed Michael home last night, burst into his living room, beat him to death with a snow globe, chopped up his body with a set
ofGinsu
knives
,then
stuffed the evidence down the garbage disposal, following it with a slice of lemon to disguise the smell. That's it! I've done your work for you, Andrew Mayhem...
ifthatis
your name!"

   "Yeah, that's my name. Look, I didn't come here to interrupt your game, but do you and Carl mind if I ask you guys some questions?"

   Carl looked pained at the idea of leaving the game, but Farley nodded
enthusiastically."Sure
, anything to help a private eye. By the way, how much do you guys make?"

   "Millions," I said. "Movie stars get the fame, but we get the
cash.How
about I talk to you first, then Carl after we're done?"

   "Fine by me," said Farley. He gestured toward the side of the room where Theresa and Kyle were playing. "Step into my office."

   Theresa was sitting on a beanbag, so I sat down on the couch then hoisted Kyle up on my lap. Farley sat down next to us. "Have you ever shot anyone?" he asked.

   Kyle looked up at me. "Have you, Daddy?"

   "No, I've never shot anyone. That's all TV stuff. Most of a private investigator's work is really boring." I think I'd read that somewhere.

   "Yeah, but do you take pictures of people cheating on their wives and husbands and bosses and that kind of thing?"

   "I'm trying to get out of that field," I said. "Sometimes the emotions involved are just too intense. So tell me about Michael."

   "You
mean
,does
he have any enemies?"

   "That would be a good place to start, yeah."

   "I don't know if he has any enemies or not. I hardly ever see him outside of work. His wife's a babe, though, don't you think?"

   "Kyle, why don't you go over and play with Theresa?" I suggested.

   "I want to hear about the babe."

   
"Kyle, go play with Theresa."

   Kyle reluctantly slid off my lap and went over to torment his sister. "Do you see Jennifer much?" I asked.

   "You
mean
,do
I see much of Jennifer?" Farley chuckled. The sleazy attitude seemed out of place coming from this little
twerp."
Nah
.
She comes around sometimes and complains that Mike should be spending more time at home instead of at work, but that's about it. Most of us just ignore her. Especially Rachel, she can't stand her."

   "I got that impression. Now, let me ask you kind of a strange question. If Michael had a safety deposit box, what would you say might be in it?"

   "Is that the kind of question they train you to ask in private investigator academy?"

   "Just work with me. What might be inside?"

   "I have no
idea.Maybe
nude pictures of his wife."

   "Do you know if he had any money stored away?"

   "
Nope.The
only time money came into conversation was when he said we were spending too much on the videos. So do you have to take a test to become a private eye or can anyone do it?"

   
"A written test, and a psychological screening," I
replied."
At
least
inFlorida
."
That sounded good.

   "Do you get to carry a gun?"

   "Yes, but I usually don't."

   
"Why not?"

   "I don't need one. Like I said, it's usually boring. Did Michael and Jennifer ever fight when they were around you guys?"

   "You think she did something to him?"

   "It's just a question."

   Farley hesitated. "Can this be off the record?"

   
"Absolutely."

   "I think she's cheating on him. Mike is paranoid beyond belief, but this is one thing he may have been right about."

   "Did he accuse her?"

   "No, nothing blatant, at least not that I know
about.But
you could tell he didn't like having any of us around her. And when they were together, you could tell something was up."

   "How could you tell?" I asked.

   "I don't know—you're the one who's familiar with psychological testing. All I can say is that if you're going to keep asking around, that may be something to bring up."

   "Thanks," I said. "That'll be helpful."

   "So do the cops resent you for intruding upon their turf?"

   "No."

   "Do you think I could tag along with you one day, on a stakeout or something? I won't get in the way."

   "Don't you already have a career in special effects?"

   "I don't want to
changecareers
,
I just want to see what it's like to be a gumshoe. What kind of car do you drive?"

   "A ratty old gray one."

   
"To be inconspicuous, right?"

   "You know it."

   "
Thatisso
cool. Hey, if you need anything else, feel free to ask. I'll go get Carl for you, if I can drag his obsessed butt away from the game."

   "Thanks."

   As Farley returned to the table I tried to figure out what to do with that new piece of information. Could Jennifer be behind this whole thing? If so, who was her accomplice with the knife? And once again, why?

   Carl came over and sat down on the couch. "Do you think Mike's okay?" he asked.

   "That's what I'm trying to find out. When was the last time you saw him?" This was a pretty obvious question that I should have asked Farley, but I didn't think of it due to the previously stated fact that I suck as a detective.

   "Last week. He was all psyched about going
toEurope
."

   "Was Jennifer with him?"

   Carl nodded. "She picked him up at work."

   "Did she come inside?"

   
"Just to tell him to hurry up."