A bright moon glistens in a velvet black sky. An unseen dog barks bloody murder as a Clean-Bot 2100 purrs its way through a wide and spotless street. <\/p>\n
Around the street there are no cars, no signs of life except for a lone woman. She frantically runs ahead of the Clean-Bot as if she fears it will suck her up like trash. <\/p>\n
The woman, her ginger hair swinging from side to side, reaches the end of the street where there is a tall water tower, at least fifty feet high. Painted on the tower\u2019s side, in vibrant red and blue, is a big \u201cMilton Brothers Studios.\u201d <\/p>\n
Frantically the woman climbs the first rung of the tower\u2019s ladder then the second and the third. <\/p>\n
At the top of the water tower there are no eyes on the ginger haired starlet, no studio cameras, no klieg lights, no adoring fans. There is only a clear view of the back lot with its twenty-three cavernous soundstages, dozens of cranes, trucks, fake palm trees, sword and sandal set backdrops, even a water tank that could hold the Titanic. <\/p>\n
The Milton Brothers Studios, maker of the latest and greatest in filmed entertainment, is at rest for a few hours. Perhaps a security camera has caught her exit from her dressing room. More likely the guards are asleep on the job.<\/p>\n
At the top, along a small guardrail, the ginger haired woman does not look out at the whole of Bollywood West, does not admire the view. <\/p>\n
Instead, she fights, kicks, flails. <\/p>\n
Someone, or something, a shape of shimmering light is next to her, pushing her, grabbing at her, tearing into her leg. <\/p>\n
She loses her balance, falls over the guardrail. Her hands go out to her side, as if she is Esther Williams diving into a pool, ready to synchronize with a bevy of bathing beauties. <\/p>\n
Only it\u2019s not water below; it\u2019s a concrete jungle. <\/p>\n
By her ginger haired head, spilling over the black pavement, a pool of crimson blood forms like a seahorse drifting toward a distant ocean.<\/p>\n
With an efficient silence the Clean-Bot 2100 rolls back and sucks up the blood around her head.
\n<\/p>\n
\u201cLive fast, die young, leave a beautiful twenty-seven year old corpse,\u201d said the calm voice into Nick Kane\u2019s earpiece.<\/p>\n
The voice was Grable. That\u2019s what Nick Kane decided to nickname his ex-girlfriend. They never broke up, not formally. Didn\u2019t have to given the fact that she died before Kane got a chance to grow tired of her faults, her transgressions or any of the annoying quirks that typically show themselves in the second year of any romance. <\/p>\n
Grable was essentially dead. Only Grable didn\u2019t have a body. Not anymore. She was in the cloud, backed up, restored, enhanced into an adaptive, cheerful, personalized AI consciousness, one that talked, laughed, collated, analyzed and assisted his investigations. All of this was done through Kane\u2019s skin toned earpiece, a wireless marvel of simplicity and functionality. <\/p>\n
Inside the hyperloop between New Vegas and Bollywood West, Kane had one eye on the large entertainment screen and one on the small screen on his wristwatch. There were three-dozen passengers packed around him in solitary soundproof berths like hens about to be plucked. A series of digital ads flickered on the large screen, offering hope, pleasure and a glimpse into the world outside. <\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s such a Bollywood West thing to do,\u201d said Grable.<\/p>\n
\u201cDie tragically?\u201d asked Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cDie tragically at the age of twenty-seven. Such luminaries and artists as Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin. Amy Winehouse, Dirk Masters, Jim Morrison, Indira Shavati and Anton Yelchin all died at that age. Sadly, the list goes on and on.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, what do we know about the deceased?\u201d asked Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cRita Wells, twenty-seven year old actress, plunged to her death from the Milton Brothers Studios water tower. Looks like a suicide. That\u2019s what the company would like you to investigate.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou hacked her toxicology report yet?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFilled with a dose of jade star.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s nasty stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOutlawed in thirty-six countries, wanted by the New Koreans, Thai-Nam and some other bad actors.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane scrolled through a series of still images on his wristwatch. They were all of Rita Wells in various cinematic roles: race car driver, doctor, ninja warrior, even a red skinned alien. In each, her vibrant aqua eyes twinkled and her ginger hair blazed. <\/p>\n
Grable continued. \u201cSeveral actors on the studio lot have tested positive for jade star.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGreat work, Grable.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh Nick, if I wasn\u2019t dead\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2014Grable, I don\u2019t like when you use that word.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry, Nick, but clinically, that\u2019s what happened and the sooner you accept reality \u2013 \u201c<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2014I know, I know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut come on, you have to admit our relationship is stronger than ever. Some might call our arrangement on the cutting edge. You\u2019re a man. I\u2019m a machine. Who cares? It\u2019s progress, Nick, progress, with a big capital P. Besides, you\u2019re a thousand miles from the ring, no longer on the run, no longer looking over your shoulder. You did your time. Free at least, and all of that jazz.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHallelujah,\u201d sang Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Nick, even though my existence has changed, do you still love me?\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cI couldn\u2019t live without you, Grable.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAw, you\u2019re sweeter than a Georgia peach.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re my eyes and ears, and my left and right brain, too.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re the best, Nick, the best,\u201d said Grable. \u201cIf I could I\u2019d kiss you right now\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2014okay, okay, Grable. Settle down. Remember, you\u2019re a V-C-R, not my girlfriend.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh Nick, a Virtual Consciousness Replication girl can dream, can\u2019t she?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou dream?\u201d<\/p>\n
Grable giggled. \u201cNo, \u2018course not. I was just, you know, kidding.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane sat back in his seat and tried to get comfortable, but the legroom in the hyperloop was nearly non-existent. <\/p>\n
\u201cYou have any video on this case?\u201d asked Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cSure. I pulled all available footage. I edited. Collated. Even added a maudlin film score.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane shook his head, in awe of Grable\u2019s efforts. \u201cJeesh, you could have kept it simple.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut why, Nick? I mean, we are headed to Bollywood West, and, well, I thought we should, you know, get into the cinematic virtual spirit of the place.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay, okay. Just run the footage.\u201d <\/p>\n
On his small wristwatch screen, murky and grainy security camera footage played. It was the night Rita Wells died from her fall atop the Milton Brothers Studios water tower. <\/p>\n
\u201cI see a scared woman, desperate for help.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut why is she scared?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExactly. Why? And who?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, Grable, I wonder who or what is chasing her?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou talking in metaphors?\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cNo Grable, I\u2019m talking literally. Stop the footage right before she gets to the water tower ladder. Don\u2019t you see it? What is that shape?\u201d<\/p>\n
On Kane\u2019s screen, the image of Rita Wells\u2019 perilous plunge rewound until she climbed back down the ladder. The image stopped. By her side, a shimmering outline was slightly visible. <\/p>\n
\u201cNot sure. Could be an invisible \u2026well\u2026an invisible something, about three feet in height or less. Since less than half a percent of the adult population is under three feet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAny of them known to be invisible?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust in the much beloved, though trope filled Tolkien universe of Lord of the Rings.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf we don\u2019t have a suicide, then we most likely have a work place accident.\u201d <\/p>\n
With a sigh Grable added, \u201cOr murder.\u201d<\/p>\n
When the hyperloop door opened, Kane got out and walked along a wide city street near a series of cavernous factory like soundstage buildings. In the distance a beige smog thickened above the hills, covering every letter but the large \u201cB\u201d in the white Bollywood West sign. A graffiti laden wall leading to a storage unit painted neon yellow read: Graffiti not accepted here. Please get a day job. The last sentence, however, was scrawled in a distinct orange. It read: I work the graveyard. <\/p>\n
On the street corner, Kane passed a group of Salvation Army soldiers, their red bucket ringing in the air and their worried faces searching the throng of new recruits to Bollywood West. An old lady tried to hand Kane a \u201csoul therapy card\u201d as she muttered, \u201cOh child, go home, please. Just move along, so you can keep your soul. Get back to reality, back to the real you.\u201d Kane didn\u2019t take the card and walked at a determined pace. <\/p>\n
He finally stopped at a gated entrance where a neon sign blinked Milton Brothers Studios. Along the main gate wall there were a series of four electric billboards. Each showed an upcoming movie. One caught his eye. It was for a movie called Holy Cow, a comic farce with Rita Wells, her ginger hair curled and luscious, surrounded by black and white dots. Her eyes, as big as cars, looked out on her past \u2013 one filled with fame, fortune, romance and tragedy. <\/p>\n
Kane reached the main gate, guarded by a gruff, heavyset security guard.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m here to see Jack Milton.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you are?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNick Kane. He\u2019s expecting me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWill you release your profile?\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane nodded and the security guard wanded his wristwatch. The wand chimed a pleasant beep and the guard smiled as he looked down at Kane\u2019s legs.<\/p>\n
\u201cWould\u2019ve never have known you\u2019re one of those mixed bionics,\u201d the guard said with a hint of surprise. \u201cI knew a guy, used to be a Marine. He got a pair of those new fangled things when they got blown off in combat, got the enhancements\u2026two of \u2018em. Well buddy, he could jump twenty feet in the air. Tried to be a stunt guy at the studio. Didn\u2019t quite work out, since he was afraid of heights. What about you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane looked through the gates, gazing a view of the water tower where Rita Wells plunged. \u201cThe legs work great.\u201d<\/p>\n
The guard looked down to Kane\u2019s legs, almost squatting like a baseball catcher about to receive a wild knuckleball in the dirt. \u201cSo, how do they really work?\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane shrugged. \u201cI guess I\u2019m just a miracle of scientific advancement.\u201d<\/p>\n
The guard scanned the screen. \u201cWell, everything looks to be in order. Enjoy your visit.\u201d<\/p>\n
In a spacious, oak paneled office, Kane sat across from Jack Milton, a middle aged slender man with sunken green eyes, a ski slope nose, wiry silver eyebrows and curly silver hair. The man had a silver and blue tie on, a white button down shirt and a purified water bottle in his left hand. His right hand swiped across the screen of his smart-phone. Milton slouched a little back into his chair, going through the motions of civility and interest. Behind Milton\u2019s desk, on a series of three shelves, two-dozen silver and gold award statues lined the wall. Kane noticed a series of black and white photos of Milton with a series of stars, from a very old Tom Hanks to an ancient Salman Khan to a vivacious Rita Wells.<\/p>\n
Milton sat back in his chair. \u201cSo, what would you like to know about Rita Wells that the press hasn\u2019t shared for the last five years?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnything about the last few days that indicated she would kill herself?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe was in and out of love with men like my dog pees on trees.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s nice to hear you held Rita Wells in high regard.\u201d<\/p>\n
Milton leaned forward, his eyes blazed with showmanship. \u201cShe was a star, a brilliant shining star. Men wanted to screw her, then take her home to mom. Women wanted to be her. Rita Wells lit up the damn screen like nobody else. Her next picture was going to be huge.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s that last film called?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s just been re-titled The End.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cInteresting.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFrankly, Mister Kane, her death just added at least two hundred million dollars to the gross.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSounds like a nice raise for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor me and the lowliest grip and the board of directors and even the parking attendants, in the short term, her death benefits all of us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what about the long term?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe all just lost a star, Mister Kane, one who would have made at least five maybe six more extremely profitable films over the next eight to ten years. And now, she\u2019s gone and she can\u2019t be replaced. In the long run, Mister Kane, I just lost a billion dollars. At least. You just don\u2019t replace a star of her magnitude. Not overnight. Perhaps not ever.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane nodded. \u201cUnderstood.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNow, if we\u2019re done here, I\u2019d like to get back to\u2014\u201c <\/p>\n
\u201c\u2014just a couple more questions.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMake \u2018em quick. I\u2019ve got meetings back to back to back.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay, okay. Do you know you have a jade star epidemic on this studio lot?\u201d<\/p>\n
Milton leaned forward. \u201cWhat the hell is jade star?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJade star comes in nine different variations\u2014nightmare, tornado, tsunami, euphoria\u2014you get the picture. It induces a type of hallucination, so real, so intense, that one dose of jade star haunts you forever. The Feds have been testing this drug on lab rats for two decades.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause jade star, they believe, can implant a subliminal suggestion. Jade star has potential applications with assassins, spies. Scary stuff. In the lab, they\u2019ve been able to implant a sort of hypnotic suggestion. A primary emotion. Say joy. Or terror. Murder.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI see.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEven suicide,\u201d added Kane.<\/p>\n
Milton cleared his throat. His shoulders tightened. \u201cSo, why in the hell do I care about some jade star drug? I run a studio, not a spy ring. Or a lab.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause, sir, you hired another firm to investigate the infusion of jade star onto the studio lot.\u201d<\/p>\n
Milton sat back in his chair. A creak pierced the air. \u201cThat\u2019s enough.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis was about five months ago. They came up with nothing, as I understand it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEnough. Okay. Enough, Mister Kane. Rita Wells was far from perfect, but her death was a garden-variety tragedy. In fifteen minutes, people will move on to some other bloody mess.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know of any reasons why she might have started taking jade star?\u201d<\/p>\n
Milton was silent as he pressed his shoulder blades together, cracked his neck.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat people do with their bodies, what they ingest, who they screw, that\u2019s their choice, their business, okay? But when it starts to impact their performance, well, that is where I draw the fucking line. Now, if you can find out who is supplying jade star onto my studio lot, then I will make sure you are compensated generously.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m just an investigator, sir, not a bounty hunter.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOne hundred thousand dollars. No questions asked.\u201d<\/p>\n
Later in the day, after getting a tour of the water tower where Rita Wells plunged to her death, Kane sat at a park bench with his earpiece in his ear. His eyes rested on a row of three white and blue Star Wagon trailers parked in a straight line next to a soundstage. <\/p>\n
\u201cI recorded everything,\u201d said Grable.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood,\u201d said Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the boss has already approved your secondary mission to find out who is supplying jade star to the men and women of this studio.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA hundred thousand dollars is nothing to sneeze at.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know, Nick, I know. Maybe I could get that upgrade to the Infintium 3000.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWould the upgrade make you smarter?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure,\u201d answered Grable, \u201cand sassier.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSounds like a plan.\u201d<\/p>\n
Along the wide back lot boulevard, a white and black Clean-Bot 2100, glided by the bench. Behind it, trailing like munchkins on the way to Emerald City, a row of little green men walked by on the way to a silver spaceship resting inside Soundstage 12.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh look, little green men,\u201d said Grable into Kane\u2019s earpiece.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019re just actors in a suit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know Nick, I know, but they\u2019re just so cute I could eat them up like thin mints.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo Grable, have you finished your data crunching?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure. Easy-peasy. Especially if you know how and where to look, and Rita Wells definitely had a digital footprint a mile wide.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, Nick, here\u2019s what I\u2019ve done so far: I\u2019ve cross referenced all available data, including the deceased\u2019s GPS, social media and texts in the last six months. Her behavior, like most, was fairly repetitive. Constant. On a schedule. Making it predictable and statistically sound. Cell phone. GPS. Security cameras. Her last known interaction with a human being was with another actor, a guy named Barry Stetson. They had a conversation an hour before her death.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe name sounds familiar. Who is he?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe used to be huge in all of Milton\u2019s explosive thrillers.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat was that big movie he was in?\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cAll Quiet on the Eastern Katmandu Front.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cGreat movie. Marilyn Monroe, Bela Lugosi and a young virtually enhanced Tom Hanks. Tom falls in love with Marilyn, but then Tom gets captured by enemy forces led by the tyrannical Bela Lugosi.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI cried like a baby at the end,\u201d said Grable. \u201cWhat about you, Nick?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI never cry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot even when I passed away?\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane was silent. <\/p>\n
\u201cNick, you\u2019ve got to let yourself grieve.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know, okay, Grable. Now let\u2019s stick to the case.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201dOkay, I just \u2013 you know \u2013 get emotional. We had a good thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe still do. Now what\u2019s this Barry Stetson guy look like?\u201d<\/p>\n
On Kane\u2019s wristwatch screen an image appeared. It was of a handsome young man, handsome in every way except the jagged scar running from his nose to his ear. <\/p>\n
\u201cHere he is. Barry Stetson. Thirty-six years old. From Topeka, Kansas. Current address is 8 Monte Vista Place in the hills of Bollywood West.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane asked, \u201cWhat happened to his face?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA car accident.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow\u2019d the accident happen?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOne night, after a wrap party, Rita Wells was drunk. She drove Stetson home and wrapped her car around a telephone pole. She had barely a scratch. He came out looking like Freddy Krueger.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAny other facts?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA famous dog named Mobius also died in that accident. Mobius acted in thirty-two films, six with Rita Wells.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood work.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks Nick.\u201d<\/p>\n
As the little green men headed into the silver spaceship, Kane rose from the park bench. Coming to a screeching halt was a golf cart driven by a pale, though muscular young man. His head was shaven clean. He wore a burgundy tracksuit with gold chains around his neck. With one hand on the steering wheel and one on a silver energy drink, the young man smiled, looked over to Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey buddy, you Nick Kane?\u201d asked the golf cart driver.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
The driver thrust his hand out, firmly offered it to Kane. They shook. \u201cI\u2019m Sid Washburn. Mister Milton asked me to shuttle you around. Hop in.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane got into the golf cart in the passenger seat next to Sid. The golf cart rumbled by a prop truck, some fake palm trees and an outdoor patio caf\u00e9 where folks sipped lattes and ate scones and granola yogurt. <\/p>\n
\u201cYou happen to be working the night of Rita Wells\u2019 death?\u201d asked Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo sir, I was at my night job.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Lime Flamingo. I\u2019m a bartender over there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow often you work there?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThree nights a week. This whole thing is terrible. Rita was one of our biggest stars,\u201d said Sid. \u201cI guess she went a little cuckoo for cocoa puffs. Know what I mean?\u201d <\/p>\n
Kane nodded.<\/p>\n
Sid reached for his energy drink, gulped it down then said, \u201cI guess not many people can handle the fame, the money, the attention.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know her well?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. Not really. I\u2019m just, you know, a stupid gopher and she was a superstar. I never even spoke to her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAny idea why she might have killed herself?\u201d <\/p>\n
Sid Washburn placed the energy drink back in the cup holder. \u201cI\u2014well\u2014I\u2019d rather not speculate.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGo on. Speculate. That\u2019s how mysteries are solved.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, you see, people have been talking.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA ghost.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA ghost?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, it might have been the ghost of Mobius on Soundstage 19 that drove her to\u2014well\u2014to you know, come unhinged.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou really think you have a ghost at Soundstage 19?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell\u2014I\u2014I don\u2019t believe in ghosts, but\u2026well\u2026you know, these old buildings, you just never know what the hell happened. They make sounds. Everyone knows she was hearing a barking dog everywhere she went.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEven Barry Stetson?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about Mister Stetson? What\u2019s he got to do with this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019d like to speak to him about Rita. Can you set up a meeting with him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure, sure, but Mister Stetson would never do anything to hurt Miss Wells. They had a close relationship.\u201d Sid leaned forward. \u201cVery close.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane sat at a park bench in front of a large soundstage door. Walking toward him was a young man in an exact replica of a NASA white spacesuit, space helmet and all. The young man took the helmet off, revealing a jagged scar running along his cheek.<\/p>\n
Barry Stetson pulled at the white collar around his neck, sweating. \u201cCan we make this quick? I\u2019d like to get out of this monkey suit.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cSure, no problem.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere were you the night of Rita Wells\u2019 death?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGee, I guess I was right here at Soundstage Eleven, filming a scene for the world ending saga The End. It was supposed to be Rita\u2019s last picture. Instead I\u2019m watching Mandy Munroe try to fill her shoes,\u201d said Stetson.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you know Rita had a problem with jade star?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, I knew. She was a damn fool for taking that junk. She didn\u2019t listen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know how or where she got the jade star?\u201d<\/p>\n
Barry Stetson looked down to the ground, fiddled with the white of his spacesuit collar. \u201cWell, gosh, I \u2013 you know \u2013 I just don\u2019t know. I never touched that stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you happen to find out, let me know.\u201d<\/p>\n
Barry Stetson nodded. \u201cSure, sure.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBy the way, what did you talk about the night of her death?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, Rita, she wanted to get back together with me and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2014and what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2014I told her I still had feelings for her, too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about your relationship with Lauren Frost?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe were done.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor how long?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSix weeks at least, probably more. Lauren, well, she has big dreams, small talent, and a wicked disposition when she\u2019s mad, jealous or drunk.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid Rita have any enemies?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust about every actress in town. For five years, they\u2019ve lost every damn good part to her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAny reason you\u2019d like her dead?\u201d<\/p>\n
Barry Stetson looked away, casting a glance to the klieg lights and the gaffers. He then lowered his eyes, grimacing at the memory. The scar on his cheek, jarring and deep in its complexity forced Kane to stare at it.<\/p>\n
\u201cI once loved her more than words.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd now?\u201d<\/p>\n
Barry Stetson puckered his lips for a breath, exhaled. \u201cGosh, I miss her like crazy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about your face?\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow did your injury to your face impact your life? Your career?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHonestly, Mr. Kane, I am working more now than I ever did before. The scars of life give us our character, and if there\u2019s one thing an actor needs more of, it\u2019s character. People see the scar and immediately I\u2019m a villain or a disgruntled employee or a monster with a secret. So Mister Kane, I have nothing to hide.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you know Rita had two hefty life insurance policies?\u201d<\/p>\n
Stetson shook his head. \u201cNope. Rita and I had \u2013 well \u2013 a passionate relationship.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTurns out that if her death is an accident, then the studio is liable and must pay her beneficiary five million. If it\u2019s suicide, then the studio collects ten million on its own insurance policy. Guess Milton likes to protect his assets.\u201d<\/p>\n
Stetson rubbed his face. \u201cDo you know who the beneficiary is? If I may ask.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re the beneficiary, Mister Stetson.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t joke.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou didn\u2019t know you stand to collect five million dollars upon Rita\u2019s death?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2014I\u2014wow\u2014I had no idea.\u201d<\/p>\n
By the enormous outdoor water tank, a film shoot was in progress against a panoramic background painting of a beach and sandy dunes. Out on the crashing waves, a forty-foot catamaran style yacht crashed and thrashed in the machine driven storm. Klieg lights shone down on a pristine catamaran sailboat, with its blue and white sails flapping in the machine driven wind. Gaffers and assistants to producers huddled around a video monitor. <\/p>\n
Kane strolled down Main Street, nearing the shoot.<\/p>\n
The wind machine, blowing a fierce storm into the water tank, blew his pants legs from side to side, revealing the sheen of his silver metal legs. A few gaffers noticed the silver, stopped what they were doing and whispered quietly. Kane was used to the stares, the whispering and kept on his way.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou believe Barry Stetson?\u201d asked Grable into Kane\u2019s earpiece.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know, Grable. I just don\u2019t know yet. What about you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell Nick, it\u2019s not actually whether I believe him, since believing is often a subjective endeavor, rather it\u2019s actually whether the statistical odds support his statement.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what do your odds say?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBased upon the company\u2019s deep dive into life insurance beneficiary survey, housed in actuarial table number 88, there is a 7% chance Barry Stetson did not know he was a beneficiary of the life insurance policy. Barry Stetson\u2019s reaction sounded authentic and reasonable, however, you know Nick, I am not a lie detector.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe they\u2019ll add that in version 4.0.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLying is a hard thing to detect. In fact, Nick, it\u2019s more art than science.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat else do your odds say?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStatistically speaking, Barry Stetson has the most compelling motive to want Rita Wells dead. I\u2019ve run a few other statistical scenarios, but I do feel that we\u2019re still missing some vital inputs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUnless they really loved each other,\u201d added Kane.<\/p>\n
He scanned the horizon. Bobbing beside the catamaran sailboat was just a face, a beautiful one with beautiful ice white blonde hair, bobbing against the blue of an ocean. The white foam of a tidal wave bubbled around the monster. Below the neck, the body was a coarse and jagged explosion of blackish green leather skin.<\/p>\n
\u201cCut!\u201d yelled the red-faced director from behind the main camera.<\/p>\n
The filming stopped. All the gaffers, grips, assistants and bystanders energized into a frenzy.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho is next on the suspect list?\u201d asked Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cLauren Frost, another actress and Barry Stetson\u2019s ex-girlfriend. She sent Rita Wells several text messages throughout that last day. Most were friendly, innocuous banter, some lightweight gossip.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood work, Grable, good work.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks Nick.\u201d<\/p>\n
A few minutes later, inside the narrow rectangle of the Star Wagon trailer, Lauren Frost tossed her ice blonde hair into the air. Her face, however, was not attached to a visible body. It was as if the body of Lauren Frost had just gone missing. Just a cinematic magic trick, perhaps. <\/p>\n
Kane sat in a seat by a cramped kitchen table attached to the sidewall of the trailer. He couldn\u2019t keep his eyes off of Lauren Frost, the woman who apparently had no body. She noticed. Her eyes glared back at Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry, ma\u2019am, I don\u2019t mean to stare.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell\u2026I just \u2013\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2014the boobs are fake, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane shuffled his feet. \u201cIt\u2019s just, well, Miss Frost, your body is invisible.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lauren Frost gazed downward at her chest. \u201cOh, sorry. I forgot I had this stupid suit still on. I\u2019m the monster from the deep, haven\u2019t you heard?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight. Okay. But where\u2019s your body?\u201d<\/p>\n
Lauren Frost laughed, a knowing shrill of money filled the air. \u201cYou must be new to filmmaking?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes ma\u2019am. Guess you could call me a newbie from cowpoke flyover country.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen pardoner, what can I help you with?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do they do that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTurn you invisible.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, well, that\u2019s just the latest and greatest in green screen suit technology. The suit reflects light. See, my\u2026um\u2026my so called character is half woman and half monster. They keep my glamorous face while my body, well it\u2019s a blob of monstrosity. They say it\u2019s going to be Godzilla meets Creature from the Black Lagoon. Or something ridiculous like that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre these suits made in various sizes?\u201d asked Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think so. The studio even put a camel in one of these things.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about something smaller?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure, I don\u2019t see why not. I imagine you could put just about anything in one of those suits. Customizing it isn\u2019t very hard.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, Miss Frost, where were you the night Rita died?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEasy. Dozens of witnesses saw me in this god awful, monstrous suit. Filming Monster from the Deep. Such a sad thing, her death, that is.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did you think of all the success Rita had? Didn\u2019t you lose out a few parts?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou get used to it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDidn\u2019t you lose the part in The End to Rita?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure, and then I lost it to Mandy Munroe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat must suck for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLook, Mister Kane, Rita and I go way back. She was a good kid. You know, back in the day, we were even roommates for a few months. I\u2019d give her my kidney to bring her back.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMiss Frost, do you think\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2014Lauren, please call me Lauren\u2014 \u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2014Lauren, do you think Rita was having a breakdown of some kind?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2014well\u2014I think her luck had run out.\u201d<\/p>\n
Lauren Frost walked to the back of the trailer, where there was a mirror. From a hook on the wall, she grabbed a lavender flowered robe and tossed it on. \u201cNow, if you don\u2019t mind, I think I have somewhere to be.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure, sure. Thanks again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAny time.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane rose, starting for the door. \u201cOh, by the way, you ever try jade star?\u201d<\/p>\n
Lauren laughed. \u201cHell no.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t you know it\u2019ll kill you?\u201d<\/p>\n
As Kane headed out the trailer door, Sid Washburn approached carrying a dozen red roses. <\/p>\n
Kane smiled. \u201cPretty roses.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVery.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho are they for?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor Lauren. Sometimes she gets a dozen every day.\u201d<\/p>\n
After grabbing a curry filled burrito at the studio cantina, Kane approached the football sized Soundstage 19. There was no activity around the cavernous gray building. The sun had already started to set. Crews had already gone home. A Clean-Bot 2100 rolled on by.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, Nick, it\u2019s been a long day. You ready for some rest?\u201d asked Grable.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot yet. I\u2019d still like to check out that ghost at Soundstage 19.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane found a main entrance door to Soundstage 19, tried it and found it was locked. <\/p>\n
\u201cChecking the studio blueprint,\u201d announced Grable into his earpiece. \u201cOkay, got it. Just head north, then at the corner of the building turn right and look for the fire escape ladder.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane followed her instructions. Hanging from the outer wall of Soundstage 19 there was a fire escape ladder, about fifteen feet up with no way to get the ladder down to the ground.<\/p>\n
\u201cOnly one way up,\u201d said Grable. <\/p>\n
Kane sighed a bit. \u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJump up, jump up, jump up,\u201d sang Grable.<\/p>\n
And so Kane jumped up fifteen feet, better than any human had been able to do before bionic enhancements. He was still a part of the 1%.<\/p>\n
\u201cShow off,\u201d joked Grable.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook, no cracks from the peanut gallery.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh great, Nick, now I\u2019m just the peanut gallery. That really, really hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLook, Grable, I\u2019m just using what God and the scientists gave me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMe too.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane yanked the ladder downward, holding on for a wild ride to the ground. The ladder snapped to a stop three feet from the ground. <\/p>\n
Kane climbed up the ladder, reaching the roof. From atop Soundstage 19, Kane could see the water tower where Rita Wells plunged to her death. He could also see outside the studio gates, deep into the hills of Bollywood West. A couple of streets away, a neon sign shone with lime green and pink.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the Lime Pig,\u201d announced Grable, \u201cwhere Sid Washburn works as a bartender.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDistance?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEight tenths of a mile.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane saw a skylight, propped open at a slight angle.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s your entry point,\u201d announced Grable.<\/p>\n
Kane went to it, lifted it open wider and crawled through the opening.<\/p>\n
\u201cGot it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTrust me. Catwalk is ten feet below.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane climbed down through the roof. His feet plopped down onto a catwalk. He stood fifty feet above the sawdust floor of the soundstage below. It was a cavernous place with no lights on and shadows and cobwebs of cinematic history in every corner. He clicked his narrow penlight on, walking atop the narrow catwalk, along the row of lights aiming down to the stage.<\/p>\n
Kane walked until he heard a sound of a barking dog coming from the rafters by a series of light riggings.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou hear that?\u201d asked Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah. I also have a thermal signature moving in front of you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDistance?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTwenty feet away and traveling at eight miles per hour. It\u2019s very small.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane darted toward the sound. <\/p>\n
\u201cElectric pulse straight ahead. Accelerate. Accelerate. Turn right. Turn right. Bend and grab!\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane crawled on his knees along the catwalk high above the soundstage floor. It was as if he was searching for a rat or a snake, an invisible one. His hands flailed, stretched out straight in the darkness.<\/p>\n
\u201cGot something,\u201d announced Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2014it-well\u2014I don\u2019t know. I can feel something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot sure yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
Whatever Kane had grabbed was invisible just like Lauren Frost\u2019s body had been. With his fingernails, Kane scraped along the contour of the small object. Soon, the thing was no longer invisible, as the material wrapped around it slid off. It was the same material that had been on Lauren Frost, a shiny and shimmering layer of a suit used to make her mostly invisible. <\/p>\n
\u201cAnd here\u2019s our ghost,\u201d said Kane as he waved his hand in front of the drone. He held its four wheels off the catwalk. The wheels spun and a bark of a dog erupted in spurts from inside it.<\/p>\n
\u201cMotion sensors for movement and sound,\u201d said Grable.<\/p>\n
\u201cAgreed.\u201d <\/p>\n
\u201cNow, Nick, I\u2019ve cross referenced the first report of the barking ghost and found that six weeks ago, Sid Washburn accessed the prop room where the invisible suits are kept under lock and key.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSid the golf cart driver?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. I\u2019ve scraped his digital feed and security card log as best I can, and thankfully Sid left us a few breadcrumbs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLike?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSid studied drone operation for nearly two years while in the National Guard. He also has two virtual profiles. One is password encrypted hashtag of jdawg. Through this profile he receives messages about *Edaj. Spelled backwards, that\u2019s jade star. Turns out the criminally inclined are not always sophisticated at coding programs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about the other profile?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat one is scarily obsessed with Lauren Frost, our monstrous suspect.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNext steps?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI contacted the jdawg profile.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPlaced an order for ten *Edaj\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe just have to wait.\u201d<\/p>\n
In the morning, Kane waited on a sandy beach. Seagulls skulked around the sand. In the sky, brown pelicans dove into the blue ocean, searching for breakfast.<\/p>\n
\u201cWonder if he\u2019ll show,\u201d said Grable.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf he wants to make some money, he\u2019ll show.\u201d <\/p>\n
A few moments later Kane heard the dull hum of something flying overhead. Not the pelicans. Rather it was a silver and white drone hovering fifty feet in the air. Hanging down was a mechanical arm. Attached to it was a jade colored plastic bag.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have visual,\u201d announced Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I have thermal. Operator is eight hundred yards away at the north end of the parking lot. To complete the transaction, I\u2019m supposed to transfer five thousand to a masked electronic account.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDone.\u201d<\/p>\n
The drone lowered in the air and a jade colored plastic bag fell from the sky a few feet from Kane. He picked up the bag, admiring its contents: about ten jade green pills with a star stamped in the center.<\/p>\n
At first, Kane walked toward the far end of the parking lot. Once he had visual of the drone operator, Kane sprinted. The operator fled on foot. <\/p>\n
Kane accelerated, forcing his silver legs to become a blur of sheen and power.<\/p>\n
Kane caught up to the man, passed him and then blocked his path. It was Sid Washburn. <\/p>\n
As Sid tried to go right, Kane blocked his path. A white van was parked nearby with its windows open. The beach and ocean was to Kane\u2019s left.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey Sid, how\u2019s it going?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy are you chasing me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJade star.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know what you\u2019re talking about.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLook, Sid, the police have been called. They\u2019ll be here in two to three minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPolice? Man, I\u2019m just out for a walk on the beach.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight, right.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust leave me alone, man.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLook Sid, you think you have an alibi for the night of Rita\u2019s death.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure, sure man, like I told you before I was working at the Lime Pig.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight. You were working eight tenths of a mile away. Did you know the drone you\u2019re operating actually has a range of a mile?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho cares?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd Sid, did you know your drone produces a distinct electronic signature?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo Sid, while you were working at the Lime Pig, you were able to harass Rita Wells to death with this remote control drone. You followed her. Annoyed her. Kept her up at night with the barking of your ghost drone. And you sold her jade star. But why?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMan, this is too much. You\u2019re cuckoo for cocoa puffs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo Sid. We\u2019re just following the breadcrumbs you left. Like sending secret admirer red roses to Lauren Frost. It turns out you harassed Rita because you thought it would help Lauren Frost win the part in The End. How\u2019d that work out?\u201d<\/p>\n
Sid puckered his lips and whistled.<\/p>\n
Upon command two Dobermans bounded out of the open van window and charged right for Kane, tearing into his legs. <\/p>\n
But Kane didn\u2019t care. He let them bite away.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is wrong with you?\u201d shouted Sid.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s no pain in titanium,\u201d said Kane.<\/p>\n
In an amazing leap up, Kane jumped ten feet in the air, kicking the dogs off of his legs. The Dobermans squealed, whimpered. <\/p>\n
In the distance, police sirens blared toward the beach parking lot. Sid tried to run, but again Kane caught up to him, knocked him to the sand of the beach.<\/p>\n
Sid heaved. \u201cRita wasn\u2019t supposed to die.\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane and Grable left Bollywood West the same way they entered: by way of the hyperloop station. As Kane sat back in his seat, Grable sighed.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d asked Kane.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen will men like Sid Washburn ever learn?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProbably never.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t believe he harassed Rita Wells to death. For what?\u201d asked Grable.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor Lauren Frost. He thought Rita\u2019s demise would lead to Lauren\u2019s rise.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI guess it\u2019s true that the infatuated heart of a man always goes too far.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s get out of this town.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe we can ride the hyperloop north,\u201d said Grable. \u201cIf we hurry, we can see sunrise at the Golden Gate Bridge. I know this great Italian place, great wine and even better gnocchi. Maybe we can rent one of those new hover cars. What do you say?\u201d<\/p>\n
Kane smiled. \u201cThat\u2019d be great, Grable. Really great.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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