Con Job (9 page)

“Got it,” Mickey said. “How do we pay for it?”

Vince took another card from his wallet. “Here’s the con’s Visa. For the love of Kirk, don’t lose that.”

“How much do we get?” asked Sam.

“We have eight thousand people here,” Vince said. “Some of them will bail and go home, and some will order in, but there’s not a lot of options around here. Hotel convention space was pretty self-sufficient until it was shut down. Get everything you can, and we’ll return what we don’t use.”

“Right. Everything that fits into a Geo Metro.”

Vince’s mouth twisted into a tired smile. “You can make two trips.”

“I’m kidding. We packed four people in for the weekend, and three of us are cosplayers. When I need to fit something in there, the thing’s practically a TARDIS.” She smiled at Mickey. “You ready?”

“I really liked your reading in the contest,” Mickey said without preamble as he fastened the seat belt. “It was nice work.”

Sam started the Metro and eased backward. “Thanks.”

“I gave you some bonus points for that first line. What a beast. It was an awful line, but you were very professional about it.”

Sam smiled. “That’s about the nicest thing you can say for that, yeah.”

He laughed. “If it’s any consolation, I wanted to give you the prize. Don’t get me wrong, the other guys were good, but goat-man had two great lines. You had two great lines and a really good effort at saving a sinking ship.”

“Well, that’s good to know. Guess I just needed to convince Sandra, huh?”

“What? No, Sandra loved you. You were her number one pick.”

A pedestrian started across the street, against the lights and without looking at the traffic, and Sam hit the brakes. “Yipes! Crazy people. I swear, he didn’t even look this way.”

“Crazy,” agreed Mickey. “Anyway, don’t let it get you down. You should definitely send a demo, even if you didn’t win.”

“I will.”

They found the wholesale store, and the Con Job card got them inside. Sam got a shopping cart, and they started for the dry goods section. “We’re just going to clean them out,” Mickey said, sweeping several cases of granola bars into the cart. “In fact, you’d better grab another cart.”

“I’ll get one of the flatbeds instead.”

When they had stacked both the flatbed cart and the shopping cart beyond safe limits, they wrestled the goods to the front of the store. “Wow,” said the cashier. “You must be having one serious party.”

“You should see the other guy,” said Mickey. “Oh, wait, that line doesn’t work here.” He pulled out the Con Job credit card. “Put it all on the plastic.”

She rang up the dozens of boxes and then swiped the card. She frowned. “Sorry, it says this one is over limit.”

“How far over the limit?” Sam asked. “Could we put a couple of boxes back?”

“No, not like that,” the cashier said. “Like, this card is no good. It says to hold the card, which means it hasn’t been paid or is stolen.”

“It’s not stolen,” Mickey said hastily. “But this is an emergency use in the middle of the convention, so it might not have been paid off.” He looked at Sam. “I don’t suppose you carry large quantities of cash, do you?”

She glanced at the register. “Not like that, no.”

Mickey sighed. “Try this.” He pulled another credit card from his wallet. “This one’s my own, so I’ll need two copies of the receipt, please.”

“Sure.” She ran the card. “Um, same thing.”

Mickey swore. “Try this one.”

She took it, looking skeptical, and swiped it.

Sam dialed Jacob. As the phone rang, the cashier looked at Mickey and shook her head. “No good. I’d like to help you out, but….”

“Hello?” said Jacob’s voice from the phone.

“Jacob, are you in Ops? Or near Vince?”

“Right beside him. What’s up?”

“The con credit card is overdrawn. If we pick it up, can he pay us back?”

“Hang on.” She heard Jacob relaying the question.

Vince took the phone. “You’re very trusting,” he said. “But get the receipt, two copies if you can, and bring everything back here. You’ll get reimbursed off the top of everything we make selling the food.”

“Sounds good,” she said. “It’ll be less than we planned, because my credit limit isn’t super-high.”

“Just do what you can.”

“We’ll be back soon.”

She hung up and told the cashier, “Give me just one second, I’m sorry. Mickey, can you pick out some of the less critical stuff? Whatever you think, maybe the candy bars?”

She opened her bank app and checked the available funds on her credit card, then showed the screen to the cashier. “We’ve got this much to work with. Tell us what we can buy.”

It took a few minutes, but they were able to sort the cases and packages until they had the flatbed full of purchases and the cart full of rejects. “I’m really sorry about the trouble,” Mickey said to the cashier. “Thanks for being patient with us.”

“Man, you didn’t cuss me out when your card was rejected,” she said. “Sad to say, that already puts you ahead of some people. Like it’s my fault they didn’t pay their bills.”

It took them more time and some creative packing, but in the end Mickey slid into the front seat and Sam wedged the remaining cases of energy bars and microwaveable macaroni and cheese between his lap and the dashboard. She eased out of the parking lot, leaning around him to see the oncoming traffic.

“Don’t hit anything,” Mickey said. “This would be about the most humiliating obituary ever, crushed and suffocated in convenience cheese sauce.”

Sam giggled. “At least you’d be dead. I’d be charged with homicide by mac and cheese.”

They loaded the food onto two luggage carts, guarded by hotel bellhops, and headed to Con Ops. “We’ve got food,” Mickey announced. “Where does it go?”

“Great!” Vince jumped up. “The hotel’s supposed to be setting up some tables in the lobby. We’ll divide it up, put some at each to try to give ourselves at least a fighting chance of keeping the lines down. What do we have?”

Sam produced a receipt. “Energy bars, canned drinks, microwaveable mac and cheese — there’s microwaves in the rooms — cup ramen, candy bars. Not a lot of vegan options, sorry.”

“True, but most of my vegan friends travel with their own food, anyway,” said Mickey. “They’re probably the best off right now, laughing at us with their soy cheese bean burritos while we’re flailing.” He grinned.

Rita threw him a smug smile. “It was an enchilada, but yes, I had one about an hour ago.”

Mickey gave her a little salute. “Always prepared.”

“Rita, can you type up a price list?” Vince was scanning the receipt and typing numbers into his phone calculator. “Okay, energy bars, candy bars, and drinks are a buck each. Mac and cheese will be — hang on….”

“I know those drinks didn’t cost any dollar each,” said Paul. “You’re going to make a killing.”

Vince looked up. “For emergency rations, that’s pretty reasonable — especially since they would have paid two dollars for a drink in the food court. Profit isn’t illegal or unethical, and they might actually end up saving money. What was a bowl of noodles and a drink at the hotel restaurant?”

Paul shrugged. “Point.”

“We need at least two staff at each table, one handling money and one managing product.”

“I’ve got people lined up,” Rita said. “We’re pulling them off Registration. Reg always slows down by Saturday afternoon, and somehow I don’t think we’re going to get a run on badges now, anyway.”

“You’re probably right on that,” Vince said. “And the Reg people are already cleared for handling cash, so that’s good. Sam, Mickey, thank you. I’ll keep this receipt, Sam, if you have another? Okay, good. As soon as we get some liquid cash, I’ll reimburse you for this. Thanks for covering it.”

Mickey waved. “I’m going to get back to schmoozing, but let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

“Thanks. I mean it. This was all way beyond guest duties.”

“No problem, happy to help.”

Sam was nearly at the door when it was pushed open and a man in hotel livery leaned inside. “A woman on floor seventeen was just attacked,” he said. “Security’s with her now, police are on the way. She was one of your attendees, if you want to come along.”

Vince swore. “Is she okay?”

“I haven’t seen her, but word is she’s a little battered, but okay. Her stuff was stolen, a photography bag — pink and skulls, they say, if anyone sees it. Staff’s on alert to watch for it.”

“Oh, no!” breathed Sam. “That’s Laser.”

Laser had dark skin and long micro-braids pulled back from her face, which was abraded and bruising beneath the cold pack she held to her eye and cheek. She was dressed in her trademark bondage pants and a slim purple shirt. Sam and Jessica sat on either side of her. Sam had called Jessica on their way up.

Beside Laser’s feet sat an enormous rolling gear bag, bright pink with white skulls pockmarked with rhinestones. A hotel security officer had just brought it in, and she was rummaging through it with one hand.

“Your name?” asked the policewoman. Detective Martin, she’d introduced herself.

“Bonnie Freeman. But pretty much everyone here knows me as Laser, for Laser Focus Photography.”

“Can you describe what happened?”

“I can tell you what I know,” Laser said. “I was coming back to my room, where I was going to get some energy bars and maybe take a nap before my next shoot. I’ve been going about eight hours so far. I took the elevator, which was full of people, but no one else got off on this floor. I was getting my key card out of my pocket when I heard footsteps, real loud and coming up real fast, and I just had time to start to turn when he hit me. Like, full on tackled me. I hit the floor, and he grabbed my hair and banged my head into the ground a couple of times. He yelled at me to stay down — I don’t know that I even could have gotten up, I was really stunned — and then he got off me and kicked me in the head. Just once, I think. It took me a minute to get oriented, and when I didn’t hear him I kind of sat up, and he was gone. And so was my bag.”

“What happened then?”

“I went into my room. I was just really glad that he hadn’t taken my room key and dragged me in there, you know? I was scared, not gonna lie. I called the front desk, they sent security up. And I have to say, they were fast, and one man, one woman. I appreciated that.”

The officer nodded.

“And they called you — the police, I mean.” Laser set down the cold pack so she could use both hands in the equipment bag.

Sam picked up the pack and pressed it to her head again. “You need to keep the ice on there.”

“I need to see what’s missing.”

A security officer had discovered the abandoned bag in the vending nook, near the elevator and stair well, while covering the hotel floor for anyone suspicious. It was open and had obviously been ransacked, but the thief had left much of the contents in the bag.

“Your assailant might have hidden in the vending nook to rummage through the bag,” said the police officer. “It’s pretty distinctive, and he probably knew it wasn’t safe to risk being seen with it.”

“I knew it was Laser as soon as I heard about the bag,” Sam said, one arm around her. “Half the cosplay community knows that bag. No way could he have walked it through the con without getting noticed.”

“And apparently he knew that, which implies he’s a member of the convention.” Detective Martin made notes as she spoke. “He might have been hiding there in the nook, too, when you got off the elevator. He probably was waiting.”

Laser shuddered.

“Did you see anyone else in the hall?”

“No, no one.”

“Can you say what race your assailant was? What was he wearing?”

“I didn’t see a thing. He took me down and then I just saw stars and carpet. I heard him, he was male, but that’s it.” She shuddered again. “You know how you can think super-fast when something’s happening, faster than normal? I thought maybe he was the murderer, you know, who killed that cosplayer and the MEGAN!ME woman. I thought he was going to kill me.”

“It’s like the con is cursed,” Jessica said, squeezing her. “This is insane.”

“I’m very glad he didn’t,” said Detective Martin. “And not to discount your financial loss, Ms. Freeman, but the theft of camera equipment isn’t the same as killing people. It was probably some lowlife who wants to make a quick buck reselling. I’m sorry.”

“It’s just such a jerk thing to do. That’s my life, you know? It’s going to cost me a fortune to replace. And all the pics I’d shot for the cosplayers, so they won’t get them, either.” She shook her head. “I’ll have to refund their money. Which is totally fair, but… that was my food money for the weekend, too.” Laser shook her head.

“We’ll spot you,” Jessica said. “We’ll share pizza and there’s supposed to be some food soon in the lobby, and we can get you something.”

“You’re lucky, as awful as it is to say it,” Detective Martin said. “You got away with just some abrasions and bruising, though we’ll want to get you checked out just in case.”

“Yeah, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to be as okay as I am. But I’m beyond pissed that it happened at all.” She took a breath. “Which is good, because I think that’s the only thing keeping me from crying right now.”

“At least he didn’t take everything, what with the bag being so distinctive,” Sam said. “Just the most valuable stuff.”

“Except that he didn’t. Some of them, yeah, it’s gonna flatten me to get a new camera and lenses. But some of the stuff he took is just stupid.”

“What all is missing?” Detective Martin asked. “Have you gone through it all?’

“The camera body, two lenses — those are the biggest hit, money-wise — some gels, a Fong, and the zipper case of SD cards.” Laser shook her head. “Which is full of stupid, because SD cards are cheap, and it was underneath the portrait lens, which he left. He had to think they were something else. I hope he’s good and disappointed.”

“Sometimes thieves dump worthless or less valuable goods,” Detective Martin said. “There’s a chance he’ll toss it when he realizes it’s not going to sell.”

“That’s a lot of trash cans to check,” Laser said sadly.

Detective Martin frowned at her notes. “Can you spell Fong and tell me what it is?”

“F-O-N-G. It’s a sort of diffuser.”

“Laser!” Jacob came in and squatted beside the bed. “Are you okay? Oh, man, that looks awful.”

“Thanks a lot,” she joked feebly. “I’ll be okay, though they’re going to take me in and make sure my brain’s not scrambled. He rang my bell a bit.”

“You need to do something about this,” Sam said, looking at Jacob. “Con security. This kind of thing can’t happen.”

Jacob gave her a pleading look. “We’re Aid, not security, and you know that’s for a reason. We can’t police an entire building. And it’s not exactly like nothing else has been going on.”

“Exactly,” Sam said. “Something’s going on. And I know I’m being unreasonable, but people are getting hurt, and it needs to stop.”

“We’re working on it,” said Detective Martin firmly, “doing as much as we can. Now let’s focus on catching this particular toilet scrub as soon as possible. Can you think of anything else missing from the bag?”

Laser shook her head. “No. I’ve been going over and over in my mind. I can’t think of anything else missing. He left the flashes, which are worth the most after the camera and lenses, and the beauty dish, and everything else I can think of.”

“So probably not knowledgeable about photography,” Detective Martin mused, “or else in a big hurry. Is there a chance it was one of the cosplayers? Stealing the cards and trying to get the pictures for free?”

“Oh, no,” Laser said immediately. “I know pretty much everyone I shot this weekend, and I can’t imagine any of them doing something like that.”

“People can surprise you. Sad, but true.”

“I know, but…. I just can’t see it.”

Detective Martin looked steadily at her. “Who was the last person you photographed?”

“That was FerretAngel. She was in Belldandy, OVA version. Before that was Rogue and Knight, doing Mara Jade and Boba Fett.”

“Okay, but who are they really?”

“What?”

“I assume Rogue isn’t what’s on her driver’s license.”

“No. Um, Rogue is Rogue Star online, and Knight is RedKnight. They’re from somewhere in the Chicago area.”

“Real names?”

“I don’t know. Rogue’s might be Amelia something; I think I heard someone make a
Doctor Who
joke once. But I don’t know last names.”

“So you don’t know these people’s real names or where they’re from, but you feel confident they wouldn’t do anything illegal?”

Laser’s mouth twisted. “Rogue is an accountant at a tire factory. RedKnight is an elementary school teacher, and he keeps his name on the down-low because he’s worried that administration would give him a hard time if they found out he does costume stuff, which is full of stupid, but at least he’s got a reason for an alias. FerretAngel lives in Missouri, has three cats, is in her second year of med school, likes vegetable pizza but can be talked into pepperoni, is afraid of spiders, used to be afraid of flying but learned some relaxation techniques to help in the air, and she’s been dating this guy on and off for two years and thinks maybe she should end it permanently but is afraid he’ll go a little berserk if she does. So no, it’s not like I don’t know these people. I just don’t know their names and addresses.”

Detective Martin sighed. “I see what you’re saying, but—”

Jacob spoke up. “There’s another reason it’s pretty unlikely, and that’s because Laser charges way too little for her pics. Most con photographers do.”

“You did a one-hour shoot, you said.” Detective Martin turned back to Laser. “You’ve got the shoot itself, plus processing, plus prints or digital copies. Could be hundreds in the end. My daughter got married last spring, and there’s a lot of people who would steal for that kind of money.”

Jacob shook his head. “Totally different market. Laser charges — what, fifty bucks a shoot, depending on the con?”

She nodded.

“And that includes processing and all the pics she deems good enough to release.”

Detective Martin’s jaw dropped. “But — they said you were pro. I mean, really good.”

“She’s crazy good,” Sam said. “She shoots weddings and portraits and art shots when she’s not at cons.”

Laser blushed.

“But con rates are usually lower, because a lot of photographers use them to get started and a lot of attendees, especially the younger ones, don’t have extra money. It’s just the market. Anyway, nobody’s going to steal her camera and keep her from doing the processing and from putting up photos for everyone to admire and re-post all over Facebook and Tumblr. People do this to show off their work; stealing her camera would do the exact opposite.”

Detective Martin nodded and looked at Laser. “Okay, first, I need a business card. Second, we need all the details of the missing equipment, so we can distribute lists to pawn shops and the like. I presume you know all the makes and models?”

Laser slid a few screens on her phone and held up a view of Evernote. “I have all the serial numbers logged here.”

“Fantastic, that will really speed things along. I wish everyone were half as organized.”

A niggling sense of something important brushed at Jacob’s mind. Why take the cheap SD cards but leave the valuable off-camera flashes and other equipment?

“So now I wait?” asked Laser.

Detective Martin nodded. “Yep. You get medically cleared, but then we wait.”

Laser sighed. “I guess I’ll wait, then. That’s more than a little frustrating.” She slapped her hands on her thighs.

“Where were you shooting today?” asked Jacob.

“Oh, man, all over,” she said. “I did a couple of shoots in the conservatory, and then that beautiful Achenar in the side lobby, by the mosaics and fountain, and then I did a
Nightlife
shoot in an access corridor and a stairwell, for a bit of urban feel, and then an
Alice in Wonderland
in the conservatory again.”

“Was anyone else in the access corridor?”

“Oh, no. We won’t stay if it looks like we might be in anyone’s way. That’s why we get to do them at all. One guy passed us while we were setting up in the stairwell, but not during shooting. We were pretty high up, to avoid the foot traffic.”

Detective Martin looked at Jacob. “Why do you ask?”

He shook his head. “Can’t really explain. Just…. My friend Jessica showed me the pictures she took during the
Star Trek
shoot with some unintentional photobombs. And I thought just now, maybe something was in the background, or someone, and that’s why the camera was stolen?” He gestured, trying to explain. “Because otherwise why take the time to dig out the extra SD cards? Those are cheap, especially compared to the other stuff left behind. It means somebody wanted the photos — and like Sam said, it wouldn’t be any of the modeling cosplayers, who had already paid and were getting them anyway.”

Detective Martin nodded. “That makes good sense. Any other potential reasons?”

Sam frowned. “Maybe someone wanted to pass off Laser’s shots as their own? Except that the cosplayers could shout that down pretty quickly, once the photos were posted. We tend to know a photographer’s style. Or, and this is way out there, someone wanted to Photoshop a cosplayer into something really ugly and damaging — but seriously, I’ve never even heard of anything like that, and again, it’d be easy to deny. Laser’s pretty known in the community, and once it’s out there that her equipment was stolen, everyone would be suspicious of any weird stuff going on.”