Dragon's Luck: The Dragonbound Chronicles Page 4

  Ten minutes after that, I logged off in disgust. I’d scored two whole kills and no victory points while being ganked four times by my personal in-game nemesis, a punk who went by RainbowSparklePwnie. Did that bastard never sleep? Counting tonight, he had me down forty-two kills to none. I stared at the ceiling and fumed until I managed to drift off around four in the morning.

  The mercilessly cheerful bastard at the front desk called at six-oh-one. I managed to mutter my thanks and hang up without yelling, “Frak off, you frakking frakker” into the phone. I turned on the morning news, started the coffee, and took a hot shower. Dried off while checking email and having coffee. Got dressed, had more coffee. At that point, I was finally awake enough to notice what was on the news.

  The top four local stories were about casino profits. The next one was the opening of the Trove and BuzzCon. Only after the commercial did they cover the murder of two women walking home from their shift at a nearby homeless shelter. The attacker stabbed both of them dozens of times before decapitating them. It happened half a block from the Fremont Street Experience, in full view of several hundred people, and no one saw a thing. Of course, the police had no leads.

  I went downstairs before watching television ruined my appetite.

  Roast beef hash, bacon, eggs, biscuits, and gravy—Blessed Mother, why weren’t there buffets like this back home? And coffee! Ten different brews, including a Turkish brew thick as maple syrup. It didn’t make up for lack of sleep—I was still seeing cheery Goblin waitresses in leather bikinis—but it helped.

  At seven thirty, I met up with Nadia and three of the artists we’d contracted from Llewellyn, each of whom was hauling components for our booth. We slipped into line at the Trove’s conference center, along with seven hundred other exhibiters. The doors opened on time and we charged inside as politely as possible.

  Our booth sat halfway down the left side against the wall, next to the bathrooms and the hallway leading to the convention center’s monorail terminal. Spartan had the booth next to us. They were previewing the first expansion package for Glory of War VI, meaning they’d be thronged with fanboys from dawn to dusk.

  We were also lucky enough to have a Questgiver station next to us. During the convention, staffers with big gold exclamation points over their heads would be showing up at random times and passing out quests to the attendees. The quests were things like “What substance is the basis for all Alchemy formulas?” or “Proclaim the glories of your beloved for all to hear.”

  The reward for completing a quest was one or more paper satchels with stacks of coins printed on them in gold foil. Most contained food coupons or codes for in-game items, but some had passes for headline shows, free trips to next year’s BuzzCon, or even chips for the Trove’s casino. The grand prize was one gold piece, meaning a one-ounce American Eagle gold coin. Currently, the coin was on display at the cashier’s booth.

  All things considered, I don’t think I could have asked for a better spot.

  We were running the cables for the demo units when Suzanne called me. Mitch’s new secretary, Dee Dee, had turned off the air conditioning for the server room. Since the development team was out for a long weekend during BuzzCon, Dee Dee had decided the IT team didn’t need to be wasting all that power keeping an empty room cool. She’d even sent out a snarky little email chiding the IT team about their excessive carbon footprint.

  “Fire her,” I said. “You choose her replacement. I gave Mitch discretion over who he hired and he picked a moron. Cancel her flight, hotel room, everything. How much damage did she cause?”

  “The systems powered down when the room temperature reached one hundred and ten and the failure alarms went off. The team is venting the air to prevent condensation once they restart the cooling. Last night’s backup was successful, and ready to go if needed. Just a moment, please.” Suzanne put me on hold. When she returned, she said, “Tickets and boarding pass cancelled.” She paused and I heard a rush of key strokes. After a few hmmm noises, she said, “This is odd. Mitch cancelled her room four days ago. We’ve already received the credit from the hotel. Why would he do that?”

  “So he could offer to let her room with him.”

  “Of course, I should have known that.” She didn’t bother hiding her distaste. “Well, it’s all taken care of now.”

  “Thank you, Suzanne. If we get any backers this weekend, remind me to give you a raise.”

  “I’ll put it on your calendar. Good luck out there.”

  I hung up, stifling a yawn. “Hero needs coffee, badly,” I muttered.

  “Sit down,” Nadia said. “I know something that will get you up and going again.” She pushed me down onto an empty shipping case, whispered something I couldn’t catch, and tapped the middle of my forehead.

  Just like that, I was wide awake, clear-headed, and full of energy. I said, “Holy shit,” and bounced to my feet. “I haven’t felt this good in…a long freaking time. What the hell did you do?”

  Nadia said, “A spell called Bender Mender. Removes fatigue, sleep deprivation, and all drugs and alcohol in your system, leaving you all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Now redo that cable run so it’ll actually work.” She grinned at me and went back to hanging the backdrop curtains.

  I looked at the laptops I’d been working on and, sure enough, I’d cabled four of them to each other rather than to the switch. I got it fixed and…Nadia can do magic?

  Well, why not? You can.

  I decided to worry about it later. We had work to do. I grabbed a roll of Velcro and started in on cable management.

  Nadia kept us all focused and aware of the time. I kept quiet and stayed out of her hair. The Llewellyn guys, Isaac, Vex, and Gerrit, were banging through the setup tasks almost faster than they could mark items off the checklist, and by noon, we were ready. The booth was finished, the server was humming along, and all demo systems preflighted and cleared for takeoff.

  Our booth babes would be here this afternoon for training on the game and the talking points I wanted them to know, and Mitch wasn’t arriving until after setup closed, so I hung the velvet rope across the booth entrance and took everyone to lunch.

  Yes, I hired booth babes—all of them bona-fide gamers and all of them with a ‘sexy, smart, and knows her shit’ attitude. They’d be dressing like, and taking orders from, Nadia—black jeans, a black halter top, T-shirt, or leotard, and black shoes. We needed to get people into our booth, and I hired professional greeters to do it.

  Besides, hiring them was Nadia’s idea. How they looked and dressed was Rose’s. I just took their advice.

  Perceptive readers might have noticed Nadia’s name coming up a lot. I promoted her to programming team lead after my attempt at telekinetically choking Pete to death failed and I had to settle for firing him. It’s fair to say she’s the only reason we’re at the show at all. With her help, I was able to contract for two dozen Llewellyn programmers and artists, all of them free agents looking for careers in the gaming industry.

  Curious Diversions is forty people lighter, but we made up two years of deadlines in two months. Mitch was the primary issue now, but he’d been working as hard as anyone and keeping his nose clean so he doesn’t lose his golden parachute clause. He was even wearing sandals when he came into the office. Most of the time.

  Even though we made it to BuzzCon, we only had two weeks to find a backer. Finding one would buy one more year with this team, time enough to have a solid, polished game ready to launch. If I didn’t find a backer, the terms of my contract for the Llewellyn staff would force me to sell the fusion battery plans to Josephine and shelve The Living Land.

  Can you say “Faustian bargain”? I knew you could.

  Meanwhile, back at lunch…

  While we waited our turn for a taxi, Nadia stepped away to make a phone call. I could tell she was speaking Japanese, but I couldn’t follow any of it. When she came back, she said, “I got us into a great little sushi place. No waiting.”

 
I laughed. “I suppose you know the chef?”

  She shook her head. “Not personally, but I do know Hikaru-san, the manager. My parents come here a lot when they’re in town.” She shrugged and held up her hands in a what can you do gesture. “No point in having juice if you don’t use it now and then.”

  The cab took us around one of the resorts on the south end of the Strip and up to a heavy iron gate flanked by security guards. Nadia showed them a card and the gates rolled open.

  A woman dressed for a country club dinner was waiting at the porte-cochere. She opened the taxi door and said, “Welcome back, Miss L. Is this another one of your mother’s spur-of-the-moment detours?”

  “Thank you, Karen, but I’m here working BuzzCon,” Nadia said. “And, please, call me Nadia. We’re just stopping in for lunch.”

  “So I hear.” Karen took us through a series of back doors and deserted service passages. “Hikaru-san called me right after he spoke to you. You’re not staying off-property on me, are you?” She was smiling as she spoke, but there was genuine apprehension under it.

  “Yes, I am, over at the Trove. So are my parents. Trust me, they’ll call you if they don’t like the room.”

  “So glad to hear that. I’ll have your mother’s Lamborghini detailed and delivered to the Trove. Along with a warning to Eric that I’ll yank his ballsack off like a paper towel if he tries to poach you or your family.” Karen opened another door and led us into a flower-filled atrium.

  Nadia’s ‘great little sushi place’ turned out to be a Michelin three-star restaurant run by a Japanese celebrity chef—one I’d cheered on for years as he demolished chef after chef in dozens of epic culinary duels. Karen walked us past the line, right up to the velvet rope. The manager was waiting to usher us to our table.

  Before she left us, Karen passed out business cards with a thousand-dollar chip tucked into a pocket on the back side. “Have some play on me, and let me know if I can do anything for you. Miss Nadia, wonderful to see you again. Enjoy your stay.”

  After we ordered, I asked Nadia, “Your parents are high rollers?”

  Nadia grimaced. “They’re adrenaline junkies with money. They enjoy the risk more than the reward and don’t care about perks or getting comped for stuff. Although Mother loves the Lamborghini Karen was talking about. It’s a 2011 Aventador. Karen flew to the factory and picked it off the line the first month the model went into production. She raced back from Italy, got Nevada plates on it, and parked it in front of the villa less than ten minutes before my folks checked in. Mother named it Mandy.”

  “How often does she drive it?”

  “Once or twice a year, and never on the Strip. You can’t get it out of second gear.” Nadia snickered, shaking her head. “Last year Mother got this wild hare to go see more of Nevada. She stopped for gas in Rachel and got distracted by all the UFO stuff at the diner there. While she’s shopping, a cop comes in to get some coffee. She walks up to him and says, ‘Hi, I’m driving the red Lamborghini outside. My baby needs to run. If you could clear the road for me, you can write me a ticket for the highest speed I hit. I’ll pay it before I go back to Vegas’.”

  “Oh, Blessed Mother…” I shook my head. “What happened?”

  “She paid fifteen hundred dollars in fines and court costs for doing two twenty in a forty, plus fifty bucks for a copy of the helicopter footage.”

  The arrival of the food pre-empted further discussion. Everything was amazing. I have no idea what half of what I ate was, but I loved it. Then the last course arrived, presented by the owner himself.

  Fugu.

  Yes, the lethal-if-not-prepared-with-exquisite-care fish. The one where the smallest trace of its poison will liquefy your liver and make you die in extreme agony.

  Nadia and the boys picked slices up with their chopsticks and clicked the tips together. As one, they said, “Live proud, die well, live again forever,” before eating their pieces.

  I took a slice and said, “Here’s to what doesn’t kill us making us stronger.” I took a deep breath and placed the slice in the middle of my tongue.

  Chapter Four

  Tis better not to pray than too much offer; a gift ever looks to a return.

  News flash: I lived. Film at eleven.

  I have to say, the fugu was the best fish I’ve ever eaten. Delicate, tender, soft and flaky—no wonder people paid a fortune to eat it. I wasn’t sure it was worth dying for, but, damn.

  Karen comped our lunch and had a limo standing by to take us back to the Trove. We stayed long enough for everyone but Vex to lose the chips Karen passed out. He rolled a hard twelve on his first throw at the craps table and walked away with thirty grand in his pocket. He gave five thousand to a woman from housekeeping cleaning up a spilled drink.

  When the housekeeper protested, Vex told her, “It’s yours. You’re the only one doing any real work around here.”

  Since we were near the airport, I asked our driver to cruise by the west side of McCarran, looking for a small terminal servicing white jets with red stripes running down the body.

  The driver raised an eyebrow at me. “You mean the Janet terminal, right? Right off Mandalay Bay Road?”

  I laughed. “Yes, please. I should have figured you would have been asked about it before.”

  “Now and then. Mostly when science fiction conventions come into town. I did have a bunch of requests for it during the End of the World show two months back. Bunch of conspiracy freaks half an inch from wearing tinfoil hats. They wanted to taunt the Men in Black.”

  “What is a Janet terminal?” Gerrit asked. “Are we going to get arrested for going there?”

  I shrugged. “Always possible. It is a top-secret government installation nobody is supposed to notice.”

  Vex chuckled. “Awesome.”

  A few minutes later, the limo passed a parking lot protected by a high fence topped with barbed wire. The driver made a quick U-turn and pulled over on the shoulder.

  “Here we are,” I said. We got out into the blazing sunshine, broken glass and native Las Vegas desert sand crunching underfoot. It was forty degrees hotter outside the limo. The heat coming off the burning sand went right through the soles of my shoes and started parboiling my feet.

  I pointed to the red-striped jets sitting on the tarmac on the far side of the parking lot. “Those planes are how people commute to Area 51. No alien spaceships out there, alas, just lots of experimental aircraft. Seeing these is as close as any of us are going to get to a world-famous pop-culture icon.”

  While we were taking pictures, the guards at the gate to the terminal parking lot were watching us through binoculars. Within five minutes, a white Jeep with tinted windows and US Government plates pulled up behind us. The driver wore a desert camouflage T-shirt and cap, mirrored sunglasses, and a sand mask pulled up over the bottom half of his face. The guy who got out fit the classic description of the Men in Black—black suit, black sunglasses, black tie, no identifying markings anywhere. He looked us over and asked, “Are you having car problems?”

  “No, not at all,” I said. “I just wanted to see the Janet planes while I was in town. Is there any chance your driver would take a picture of you standing with us and the jets in the background?” I pulled my cell phone out and offered it to him.

  “No, sir, there’s no chance of that happening. I have to ask you to move on now.” He didn’t move, but the word now still sounded like a threat.

  “Of course. In case you need to fill out any paperwork, my name is David Fraser, I’m from Denver, and I’m staying at the Trove. Let me know if you have any more questions. I’ll be happy to cooperate.” We got back in the limo and took off. The Jeep followed us until we passed Tropicana Boulevard.

  “You got some cojones, bro.” Our driver snorted, shaking his head. “Those survivalists would have crapped in their pants with that guy. He was the real deal.”

  “I know. That always makes it a better story.” I smiled, leaned back, and savored the rush
of cool air flooding the inside of the car.

  * * * *

  We made it back to our booth ten minutes before our greeters showed up. Shae, Frisco, Neko, and Heather were all friends, having met while working the conventions and trade shows. Their agency had assured me all of them were shooter and role-playing gamers as well as fantasy and science fiction fans. I turned them over to Nadia after making it clear they were not to take any direction from Mitch—just myself, Rose, and Nadia.

  For a moment, I entertained a fantasy that Mitch would never show up. A towering Transportation Security Administration agent would arrest him on suspicion of his feet being a bioweapon, and Mitch’s mouth would get him shipped to Cuba. The mere thought brought a smile to my face.

  While Nadia ran the ladies through character generation, I broke out my laptop and went through my email. Right at the top was one from Ishmael, my buddy in the FBI. He was part of the Visitor Services Group, an association of folks who had once been Dragonbound, as I am. They tried to cover up incidents which might compromise the visiting Dragonesses, mostly as a way to cope with not being Dragonbound anymore.

  The email contained a picture of me talking to the Man in Black, probably taken by the camo guy driving the Jeep. The Man in Black was on the left side of the image and only his back was showing. All the rest of us were clearly identifiable. Two of the Janet jets were right behind us on the tarmac. I clapped and pumped my fist in the air.

  Under the picture, all the email said was “Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.”

  I replied with a promise that I’d be good. I meant it, too; the speed with which that photo had gotten to the FBI and into Ishmael’s hands was nerve-rattling. Well, to be fair I did give Happy Fun Ball my name. I promised myself I’d keep my nose clean for the rest of the trip.

  Most of the remaining emails were trivial matters I could deal with later. The one from the company’s lawyer was not. He was our contact for finance and investment issues, and had an investor who wanted to meet at two p.m. Friday. In the gentleman’s suite. The investor was a senior VP at the second-biggest oil company in the United Arab Emirates, and a member of one of the six families ruling the UAE.