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Chapter 42: Trask is back at City Hall
The Krim City Hall never closed but Wanda was gone for the night, replaced by Black Eyed Rawley.
He was pacing back and forth in the building’s lobby when Joe walked in, followed a minute later by Trask. Matilda was outside doing a perimeter check, whatever that was.
“Well? Has it spread?” Rawley asked. “I can’t see anything.” He stopped to peer out through the narrow, soot covered windows near the front entrance. “Somebody should clean those things.”
“No, they’ve contained it,” said Matilda, startling Trask by appearing behind him unexpectedly. He hadn’t even heard the city hall door open behind him. “Maybe next time.”
“You didn’t set the fire, did you?” Trask asked.
“What? No!” Rawley said. “I was here all night. Ask anybody.”
“Wanda was still on duty when it was set,” said Trask. “You’re telling me you came to work early?”
“Well, no,” said Rawley. “But I only heard about the fire after I got here.” He sounded disappointed. “If I’d known…”
“Any of the Gullivers still here?” Trask asked, nodding towards the far side of the lobby.
“No,” said Rawley.
“Can you call them?”
“No.”
“But what if there’s an emergency? Like, say, if the fire had spread through the city?”
Rawley shrugged.
They probably wouldn’t care, Trask thought. They probably thought that if buildings burned down, then residents would just have to rebuild, which meant they’d have to spend money.
Willson Courtney Gully might be the grid’s owner, but he had no idea of how Krim worked. There weren’t enough people in the world to rebuilt a city, even if they had the skills to do it.
Plus, if someone burned to death in a fire, they wouldn’t be coming back here. They’d be busy spending the next few years in intensive therapy.
“There’s an employee exit back there, right?” Trask asked. “Maybe there’s a bell on it or something.”
He headed for the hallway to the admin offices.
“Hey, you can’t just go back there,” Rawley protested.
Matilda glared at him.
“Oh, well, since you’ve overpowered me…” Rawley went back to peering out the window.
As Trask strode past Lockton’s office, he heard a rustling sound from inside, and stopped and opened the door.
Lockton was packing up his things into boxes and looked up, startled, when Trask poked his head in.
“Where are you going?” Trask asked.
“Just getting ready,” Lockton said. “The board just voted and I might be moving up in the world.”
“Is anyone else here?”
“No.”
“Can you let Gully or Binkie know I want to talk to them?”
“No.” Lockton walked around his desk, pushed Trask out, and slammed the door in his face.
“Want me to break that for you?” Matilda asked.
Trask shook his head and walked on.
The next two offices were empty, but when Trask looked into the conference room where he’d seen all the staffers working earlier, he heard a a faint sound coming from under one of the tables.
He walked over and looked under it.
“Bernie?”
Matilda shoved the table back a couple of feet and the intern looked up. She’d been curled up on some liberated chair cushions, reading a book.
“What? Why?” Bernie sat up, banging her head on the table’s edge. A couple of loose pieces of paper floated down and she batted them away.
“We need you to take us through the employee entrance to the main offices,” said Trask.
“I can’t do that,” Bernie said. “I don’t have the privileges.”
“Then we need you to send a message to Binkie. Tell her its an emergency.”
“Well, I don’t know…”
“You’ve got a staff interface, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah…”
“So you have access.”
“But…”
“Ask if the board knows that Gracious Capital is a front organization for the Humanists,” Trask said.
“Oh that can’t possibly…”
“It’s true. I’ve got proof.” Trask pulled the rolled-up newspaper out and slammed it down on the table above her, scattering more paperwork.
“I…”
“Gully and Binkie need to know this,” Trask said.
“No, they don’t,” said Lockton from the doorway. “First, it’s not true. I personally did a deep background check on all the investors. Also, this is a restricted area. If you don’t leave now you’ll be permabanned from the grid.”
Matilda held up her hands. “Whoa, I’m not involved here,” she said. “I was just following orders.” She glanced over at Trask. “Sorry, boss, but I have to be here on Krim.” She backed away.
Joe looked back and forth between her and Trask and finally said, “I’m out, too. My whole life is here.”
Lockton rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath about it just being a game, then stomped over to the table and grabbed the newspaper. “Now get out of here, all of you, before you’re kicked off the grid.”
“There won’t be a Krim left if the Humanists get hold of it,” Trask said. “We need to let the board know before they vote.”
Lockton gave a little self-satisfied smile. “The board’s already voted,” he said. “Now, what did I come in here for?” He looked around the conference room.
“Is that true?” Trask asked Bernie.
Bernie put her book down and looked up, eyes focused on something that wasn’t there, probably using her interface to access the employee portal. Or however much of it she had access to, as an intern.
“Yes, the voting’s done,” she said. “Gracious Capital is in and the revival companies are out. They’re now discussing the two-week suspensions. The impex delays are next.”
“See? I told you,” said Lockton. “Now get out of here before you’re all permabanned.” He pointed a finger at Trask. “Especially you.”
Trask froze in place.
If he was permabanned from Krim, he would lose his job, of course. And would never eat at the Barley Mow again. But it was more than that.
“I’m sick of players thinking that rules don’t apply to them,” said Lockton. “You thought we didn’t know about all your illegal sports leagues? When I’m in charge, I’m cracking down on all of them. Anyone who gets caught playing basketball is getting permabanned. And anyone wearing illegal clothes. Commoners don’t have the right to wear velvet or silk.” He glanced meaningfully at Trask’s vest.
Trask took a step back.
“And all the stupid little clubs,” Lockton continued. “Oh, I know about the secret crossword societies. And the secret T-shirt shops and the crochet hooks section of the torture catalog. I’ll ban everyone.”
He’d never see anyone from the club ever again, Trask thought. People promise that they’d visit you off-world, but they never do. Their lives just go on without you.
But if Lockton took over, the crochet club would be banned and he wouldn’t see anyone anyway. And if the Humanists took over… well, the whole grid would be gone.
He ripped the newspaper out of Lockton’s hand and punched the man in the face. He felt a sharp pain in his knuckles. It was worth it.
If the Humanists shut down Krim, then the crochet club would be gone, anyway.
“I didn’t see anything,” Matilda muttered, and backed out of the room.
Trask punched Lockton again, harder, and this time the pain was sharper, and shot up the back of his hand to his wrist.
“Hey,” Bernie said, pulling herself up to her feet. “Stop that.”
Lockton held up his hands to ward off the next punch and Trask kicked him between the legs.
Lockton collapsed to the floor.
Trask shook his hand, then grimaced from the pain.
“This is a violation of the grid’s terms of service,” said Bernie. “I’m telling Binkie.”
Well, at least he’d get Binkie’s attention, Trask thought.
Chapter 43: Trask shows Binkie the evidence
“The Chamber really picks its security chiefs well.” Binkie shook her head. “Marshall Trask, I’m very disappointed in you. I thought this time Osgar had chosen better.”
Lockton, still curled up in the fetal position, moaned from the floor.
“Lockton has been lying to everyone,” Trask said. “He set the fires. He’s the one who attacked your intern. And killed the delivery driver and burned down the newspaper building. And killed the artist. And the courier. And he’s got a secret deal with the Humanists to take your job.”
“That sounds a little far-fetched,” Binkie said.
“Here’s proof.” Trask thrust the newspaper at her with his undamaged left hand. “He’s also the griefer. He’s the one who’s been shooting at the tourists.”
Lockton stopped his moaning. “That’s not true. I don’t even know how to shoot a bow.”
“He placed third in the Bow-a-Palooza,” said Trask. “There was a picture in the lobby.”
“What picture?” Binkie asked.
“He must have taken it down,” said Trask. “And then he killed the artist who drew it. Thomasin Bimbledeck, and set her studio on fire.”
Binkie shook her head. “That’s…”
Trask strode to the exit then glanced back. “Maybe the picture is still in his office,” he said. A narcissist like Lockton wouldn’t throw something like that out, he thought.
Binkie followed him. Reluctantly, judging from the expression on her face, but at least she was listening.
Lockton’s office was a mess of half-packed papers and memorabilia. How big had the picture been? Well, the drawing itself was small, but the mat was pretty substantial and the frame itself was big and ornate. Lockton had been really proud of his accomplishment. What box was big enough to hold it? He looked around.
“That must be it,” Trask said. He moved a smaller box out of the way and tried to pull the one under it out into the center of Lockton’s office. But it was heavy and required both hands and his right hand hurt too much. Instead, he pushed it with his feet. It was a wooden crate, since cardboard hadn’t been invented yet. He rummaged through it with one hand. “Here you go,” he said, and pulled out the framed drawing.
Lockton staggered into the doorway and leaned against the door frame. “That could be anyone,” he mumbled.
“Look at the newspaper,” said Trask. “There’s a drawing on the front page and it’s clearly the same person. And in the newspaper, the caption says that it’s Lockton.”
Binkie unfolded the paper and looked at the illustration, then compared it to the artwork that Trask was holding up.
“It does look like you,” she told Lockton.
“It looks nothing like me,” said Lockton. “Look at the ears.”
“How would you know?” said Trask. “You didn’t even look at the paper.” Trask propped the framed drawing up on Lockton’s desk and went back to see what else was in the crate.
“Those drawings never look like me,” said Lockton. “The artist is a hack.” He paused. “All the artists who work for the paper are hacks.”
“There are more pictures in here,” Trask said, holding up an unframed drawing. “They have Thomasin’s signature.” He glanced up at Binkie. “Someone killed her and ransacked her studio.”
“She gave me those drawings,” Lockton said.
“Thomasin’s throat was slit,” Trask said. “Just like Bernie’s at the post office.” He walked around Lockton’s table and saw something on the floor, sticking out from under a coat tree.
“I wouldn’t even know how to slit a throat,” said Lockton.
“You didn’t when you started,” said Matilda from the hallway. She hadn’t left, after all. “But you got better with practice.”
Trask bent down, then pulled out a canvas bag, painted with flowers. “This is the artist’s bag,” he said. He thought back to the last time he’d seen Thomasin. It was right after the first griefer’s throat was slit. Thomasin was in front of city hall, and she’d had the bag at her feet.
“She must have left it here by mistake the last time when she visited my office,” Lockton said.
“Her killer was seen carrying it away from her studio after he’d set it on fire,” said Trask.
“Huh,” said Binkie. She picked up the drawing that had been hanging in the city hall lobby. “I remember that picture now,” she said. “I thought Gully had it framed because someone he knew was in it. Bow-a-Palooza… that sounds familiar.”
“It’s not me in the picture,” said Lockton. “I never even heard of the Bow-a-Palooza.”
“It would be easy enough to check,” said Trask. “The competition must have records of the winners.”
“Hold on,” said Binkie. “Willie, weren’t you bragging about something-Palooza, oh, a month or two ago?”
Lockton took a step towards the door. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said. “The board’s already voted.”
“The investors promised him your job if he made sure their bid went through,” Trask told Binkie. “He’s been trying to kill the traffic so that Gracious Capital could make a lower bid.” He thought for a second. “Or to scare away the other potential investors.”
“But traffic went up,” said Binkie. “Gully was really happy about that.”
“That’s not my fault,” said Lockton. “I did what I said I was going to do. Just because people are crazy doesn’t mean that I didn’t live up to my part of the bargain.”
Binkie frowned at this, and looked back at Trask. “Tell me about the Humanists,” she said.
“You must have seen the protests out front,” said Trask.
She shook her head. “I don’t leave my office much,” she said.
“They’ve been saying that Krim’s about to be shut down. I think the Humanists are using Gracious Capital to get a controlling interest in the grid so they can close it. The newspaper article proves that Gracious is just a front for their money.”
“That’s insane,” said Binkie. “Why spend money to buy something just so you can shut it down?” She paused. “Never mind, people do that all the time.” Then she shrugged. “Ah, well. My resume’s up to date.” She must have seen the expression on Trask’s face because she patted him on the shoulder. “I know you players get really caught up in it, but Krim’s just a game. It’s not the real world. The real world is where you go home to.” She glanced at the ornate clock in the back corner of Lockton’s office. “That’s where your family and friends are. You know, your real life. Which I really have to get back to.” She waved an arm towards Lockton’s window. “Everybody here needs to take a breath and do that.”
Binkie reminded Trask of people he knew in his old life, government officials who didn’t live in the city they were supposed to serve. Or software developers who didn’t use their own software.
“What if Krim is your home?” he asked her. “What if all your friends are here, you work is here, and your life is here?”
She didn’t say anything.
“Is the board still in session?” he asked.
She looked up and her fingers twitched slightly as she accessed her admin interface. “Yes, why?”
“Maybe if I can talk to them they can reverse the vote.”
“It’s too late, don’t bother,” said Lockton.
“I’m messaging Gully now,” said Binkie.
Lockton turned and started stumbling away. Towards the city hall lobby, not back towards the employee entrance.
“I think he’s getting away,” Matilda called out from the hallway.
“He’s an employee,” said Binkie. “He doesn’t have privacy protections. He can’t hide. Oh, Gully got back to me. Let’s see what he wants us to do.”