Slum Online (20 page)

“Sorry? Paul Newman?”

“
The Hustler
, remember? We talked about it before.”

“I can never remember foreign names. Not on the first try, at least.”

“That’s because you don’t pay attention to me.”

“Don’t start.”

“You just nod your head to get through the conversation.”

“That’s not true.”

“A lot more people know about Paul Newman than the president of Hudson Soft’s trains.”

“Probably.”

“Your knowledge base is off. Way off.”

“You’re right.”

“Eddie treats his girlfriend in
The Hustler
bad too. She dies at the end, you know.”

“I didn’t, actually.”

“I don’t plan on dying anytime soon.”

“That’s a relief.”

“You use words to keep people at a distance.”

“Sorry. I don’t know any other way to talk.”

The line fell silent. I didn’t know what else to say. I’d already said everything. I wasn’t going to lie to her, and I didn’t want to repeat myself.

“Asshole.”

Ten seconds later, the line went dead.

I’d forgotten to tell her I’d found the blue cat.

I stood on the platform staring at my cell phone for a couple of seconds before walking out into the rain-slick streets. In the dim glow of car taillights and streetlamps I walked over to the video rental store in front of the station. That night I watched
The Hustler
for the first time.

Fast Eddie was, as the title suggests, a pool hustler. He was a real bastard who stole money from unsuspecting marks, took them for all they had, and then left them to fend for themselves.

He dreamed of beating pool legend Minnesota Fats and didn’t care about anything else. Fumiko had it right; he sacrificed his friends, his girlfriend, everything he had for pool.

He was just like me, standing in the corner beside the train doors. He didn’t want to play Minnesota Fats to win ten thousand dollars. The money was nothing to him. There was something inside, some reason only he knew, that drove him to do it. Hell, maybe he didn’t even know what his reason was, but he knew it was there. For him, it was the most important thing in the world.

Tetsuo had to see things in
Versus Town
through to the end. It wasn’t about anyone else. It was something I had to prove to myself.

Nearly three weeks had passed since I met Fumiko. I couldn’t say whether she was my girlfriend or not. We were always together at school, but that didn’t amount to much. Things in RL were more complicated than that. There was no way of knowing what flags you had to trip to make a relationship work. Maybe I was the only one who felt that our search for the blue cat was leading the two of us somewhere special.

I considered myself lucky to have met Fumiko, but did she feel the same?

Outside the rain poured down on the city.

CHAPTER 11

ANOTHER SUNNY DAY IN VERSUS TOWN.

The same scenery filled the TV screen. The same turquoise blue sky. The same butter roll clouds. The same textures covering the ground and walls. Today only one thing was different: Tetsuo stood in the middle of the tournament ring.

A character in a suit with a mic approached Tetsuo as he stepped out of the ring.

> The karateka Tetsuo, ladies and gentlemen. Congratulations on making it to the semifinals. I think it’s no understatement to say you’ve been on fire.

> So far so good.

> You’ve hardly taken any damage at all.

> That’s more luck than anything.

> You knew that your opponents were members of the socalled top four?

> Yeah.

> So how do you feel?

> Pretty much like I always do, I guess.

> You must keep a pretty cool head then.

It was two hours into the finals of the second season tournament. Tetsuo had scored an almost perfect win over 963 in the first match, and just now he had defeated Keith. Tetsuo’s match was the last of the quarterfinals.

The interviewer who had just finished talking with Tetsuo was one of the sysadmins. The chat they’d just had would be broadcast to all of the players watching the tournament.

The first three quarterfinal spots were held by Tanaka, an eagle claw, Tetsuo, a karateka, and Pak, a snake boxer. A nameless snake boxer had claimed the last spot. There was a thirty-minute break before the quarterfinals began.

Having gone through the motions with the interviewer, Tetsuo took refuge in the prep room set aside for the contestants. Dressed in full ninja regalia, Hashimoto was waiting in silence by the entrance.

> Congratulations.

> Thanks.

> I see I was right.

> Don’t start. I got lucky is all.

> Is that humility I detect? Next thing I know rain clouds will be gathering over Versus Town.

Hashimoto looked up at the ceiling with deliberate nonchalance. Tetsuo shrugged.

> So, find anything?

Everyone who made it to the finals had already earned a reputation in the arena. But with the exception of a win against Tanaka, the nameless snake boxer who found himself in the quarterfinals was a relative unknown with no record to speak of. Hashimoto had suspected this dark horse challenger might be Ganker Jack.

> Alas, no.

> Oh well.

> He came to Versus Town around when you did, but he arrives too early in the day for anyone to have taken note.

> Early to bed, early to rise.

> But how healthy and how wise?

> That’s the question.

> I still smell the proverbial rat.

> I’m not so sure.

> He IS a skilled throw breaker.

> Oh, he’s good, but not 100 percent good.

> No one can break throws 100 percent of the time.

> True that.

> Still, he must have some weakness.

> Only one way to find out.

> You sound every bit the comic book hero.

I could have sworn I saw a smile flash across the immutable textures of Hashimoto’s face.

According to Hashimoto’s grapevine, viewership for the tournament was over 90 percent. If the mystery snake boxer really was Jack, he would have a huge audience to witness his victory.

Something told me Jack wouldn’t be caught dead in a situation like that. If all he wanted to do was defeat Pak, he could have entered the tournament like everyone else and been done with it. Why spend all that time lurking in the shadows of Sanchōme waiting for an opponent that might not even log in? No, Ganker Jack was driven by that same nameless force that drove Hashimoto to role-play and Tetsuo to obsess over fighting in a make-believe world.

> Jack would never enter the tournament.

> Not as Jack, at any rate.

> What do you mean?

> Perhaps he is like me. Now, I am ninja, but I do not always walk in shadow. Jack may not always show the same colors we have seen.

Hashimoto let down his mask to relax at JTS in a tuxedo. Maybe it wasn’t impossible to think that when Ganker Jack let down his mask, he fought in tournaments.

> I don’t know about him, but I just want to fight the best.

> Of course you do.

> What are you going to do if that snake boxer is Jack?

> Nothing.

> Nothing?

> The hunt is its own reward. In this town, what do we seek if not reward?

> Always the philosopher.

> I am ninja, and there are inquiries to be made. If you’ll excuse me.

Hashimoto sprinted off.

There was still some time before the next match, so Tetsuo made his way to the arena door.

Tetsuo arrived at the wall dividing Nichōme and Sanchōme.

The speakers emitted a soft hum. There were no sound FX here. Huge polygons made up the buildings, and even though these were the same graphics that brought Sanchōme to life, here they seemed sterile and dead.

Since he started spending all his time at JTS, Tetsuo seldom came to Nichōme. He didn’t even feel at home in the arena the way he once had. Today there was something he wanted to try that brought him to the wall.

Only lightweight characters could freely jump the E-rank wall surrounding the city. Middleweights like Tetsuo needed something to act as a springboard.

After watching Jack slip through my fingers, I had practiced again and again until I mastered using overturned steel drums to boost myself over walls. Unfortunately, overturned steel drums were strictly features of Sanchōme; if you needed one in Itchōme, you were out of luck. All of which meant that for now, the wall-scaling shortcut from Sanchōme to Itchōme was a one-way trip.

Taking Main Street through Itchōme and using every shortcut in the book, it took precisely five minutes and fortyfive seconds to reach the JTS Saloon. No matter how much they prettied up Sanchōme, it didn’t take long to get tired of the scenery. It took less than one minute from log-in to the arena, so if you could find a shortcut to Sanchōme behind the arena, you’d be shaving a lot of time off your commute.

Tetsuo ran along the wall that divided the virtual city. In Itchōme the arena stood a good distance from the wall, but in Nichōme they were right on top of each other. At the spot where the arc of the arena came closest to the wall, it might just be possible to use the polygons of the building to propel a middleweight character like Tetsuo over the wall.

I adjusted my perspective, viewing the building from a variety of angles. I found a window frame in just the right place. It was set slightly into the wall, so although it wouldn’t be possible to climb up onto it, it would make for a solid foothold.

Tetsuo backed up against the dividing wall and started running at a right angle toward the face of the arena. Two and a half steps out, he jumped, followed by a high jump as his foot connected with the window frame. If it worked, the triangle jump would propel Tetsuo over the wall.

Tetsuo traced a wide parabola in the air, narrowly missing the top of the wall. But not in the direction he’d intended. He crashed into its side and slid unceremoniously back to the ground.

I repeated the attempt several times, each time adjusting my timing, but Tetsuo always came up just short of the top. A lightweight character like Hashimoto could probably have made the jump without even needing to air-block.

Before I knew it, the digital clock on my DVR read 6:20
PM
. Just ten minutes before the semifinals started. If I didn’t get back soon, I’d be late. I started to retrace my steps along the periphery of the arena.

On my way back, something caught my eye—a light pole at the edge of the screen.

It stood exactly one jump distant from the window frame, but was just a hair closer to the wall. I decided to give it a try. Tetsuo backed up to give himself room for a running start.

This time, Tetsuo ran toward the window frame at a 45-degree angle. Two and a half steps from the wall, he jumped. Tetsuo air-blocked to shift his position and give his feet purchase on the window frame, then immediately high-jumped off the frame. His new trajectory sent him toward the light pole. The instant before he struck the pole Tetsuo performed another air block, kicking off the pole to complete the triangle jump.

Tetsuo’s body traced a wide arc through the air. This time, he rose just a little higher.

The instant before hitting the wall, I gave the command to air-block. At the height of the arc, Tetsuo’s body twisted to the side. The polygons of his body caught on the top of the wall. Another air block shifted Tetsuo’s center of gravity, sending his body careening over the top of the wall.

Sanchōme sprawled around Tetsuo.

Nichōme it was not. The clean, tidy streets had been replaced by a gritty, polygonal slum.

I laughed. Just a giggle at first, then louder until at last I was roaring in spite of myself. Tetsuo couldn’t laugh, so I had to laugh hard enough for the both of us. In a way, it was almost too easy. The E-rank wall towering over Tetsuo seemed smaller than it once had.

Using this shortcut, I could probably trim three minutes off the time it took me to get to JTS from log-in. It was even trickier than jumping off a rolling steel drum. It was a small miracle I’d made the jump on my first try. Maybe it really was my lucky day.

There wasn’t much time, so Tetsuo started looking for some polygons that would get him back over the wall. The only thing nearby was a small can of kerosene—too small for a springboard. Tetsuo moved his search to the next street. If he kept his opponent waiting too long, he’d be disqualified.

Someone appeared at the edge of the screen as it began to scroll. Whoever it was had leapt over the same E-rank wall Tetsuo had just scaled and come sliding to the ground in the same location.

One thing was for certain: it wasn’t Hashimoto.