Page 67 of Mann Hunt
“No, of course not. Unless it was my case to start with.”
“This is no joke. Police trumps civilian every time. Your PI licence isn’t going to protect you. Now, drop it and go back to peeping through windows or whatever the hell it is that you do!”
Sam turned and marched out, but not before he yelled, “I’m not going to be there to bail you out again.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Charlie made it to the factory block with only two embarrassing moments. The first was when he approached a red light and put one foot on the clutch and the other on the accelerator rather than the brake. The Red Beast drifted into the intersection, making enough noise to put a Saturn V moon rocket to shame. The second was when he had to abandon a parallel parking space as a group of teens looked on laughing.
Eventually, Charlie found a nice, unobstructed spot on a side street. He collected himself, reviewed his cover story then headed out on his first undercover mission.
The factory was easy to find. Its ground-floor windows and doors were boarded up, festooned with notices warning trespassers that they were not welcome, and that the building contained hazardous materials.
Why would anyone want this building?
Charlie popped into the nearest shop to the old factory. It was a vintage clothing store called Old Rags to Riches. A young dude, dressed in clothes made of macramé, sat at the cash desk. His eyes were closed as he dozed in the late-day sun. Charlie cleared his throat and the dude’s eyes rocketed open.
“Oh. Hi!” he mumbled. “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”
“Don’t worry,” Charlie said. “I just came in.”
“Thank God. One day I actually slept through a robbery. They cleaned out the till and I didn’t even notice.”
“Business hasn’t been too brisk?”
“Business hasn’tbeen,” he answered.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“No sorrier than me. I opened the store here because I thought this location was up and coming.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Well, if it was, it came and went while I was asleep.” He laughed. “What can I help you with?”
Charlie could think of a number of things this attractive, albeit strangely dressed young man could help him with. He spotted the man’s name tag. “Well, Dylan, my name’s Scott Lazar, but my friends call me Scootch.” He extended his hand. Dylan just stared at him. “I’m looking at renting a space in the area for my business. I’m in computer games.”
“Well, you’ll have some competition. Sonic Masters across the street’s cornered the market in the area.”
“I’ll be opening a new development studio. I actually create the games.”
“Oh. That’s cool. Anything I’ve heard of?”
Charlie wasn’t prepared for this. “Yes…uh…Zombie Manifestois one.Call of…V-valouris our best seller,” Charlie stuttered.
“I’ve played that one, dude. You invented it?”
“You bet. Every…dead zombie and troll. Now, about the properties around here. There seem to be a lot of empty buildings. Is there a reason for that? Something I should know about?”
“Nah,” Dylan said, shrugging. “The company that holds my lease is just looking at renovating some of the older stores. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”
“And who’s that?”
“Monar—I mean…I’m not supposed to say.”
“Why not?”
Dylan looked around, and in a hushed voice said, “Apparently there’s a bit of a real estate battle going on. The owner’s trying to calm things down to keep our rents low. There’s a rumour that if they get the big building, it will be developed into something that will bring us a lot of business.” Dylan lowered his voice further. “But they’re worried the competition is sending in spies to find out what we’re paying, so we’ve been warned not to say anything to people asking questions.”
