The Great Game

SORRY THIS EP IS A DAY LATE. I’VE HAD DEADLINE-ITIS.

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction.

Travis nodded. “I agree. But we are having this conversation. You are not suddenly a window cleaner. Your former colleagues yesterday morning were shot, not turned into mustachioed plumbers.”

“Yes,” I said. “I see what you mean.”

“Taylor old chap, your instincts seem reasonably sound so far, as Adams will grudgingly attest. What strikes you as a valuable use of your time at this juncture?”

I considered the matter. “I’d like to talk to Paz. It might give me a bit more of a handle on what the hell is going on.”

“Alright,” said Travis. “Fingers crossed you find something useful. Let me know if anything eccentric happens, hmm?”

“Yes, sir.”

Travis nodded at me, his eyes already distant. I fished around in my draw for a couple of candy bars, and then made my way back down to parking. I was wandering towards my pod, and chewing on a mouthful of sicky-sweet gunk, when I remembered the sight of Hallet’s corpse lying on the kitchen table. It seemed impossible that it had been little more than 24 hours earlier. Why Hallet?

I finished the bar and sank into my pod, my teeth grumbling from the sugar. If you wanted a criminal, why pick a hopeless small-time loser? If you wanted obscurity, why pick someone already on the radar? I told the pod to take me back to Devonshire again, and sighed. Could it really be just random happenstance? The wrong schmuck in the wrong place? Possibly, but it felt like an unsatisfying answer. Some contact or skill Hallet alone possessed? Nigh-on impossible. Come to think of it, why ‘Archons’? I didn’t like that at all.

I groaned, rested my face in my palm, and decided to pick up a coffee and a sandwich when the opportunity arose.

Eventually, the pod returned me to Devonshire and 8th. I clambered out, and crossed the road to the ABG office building. I went inside, and found myself in a spacious, lavishly bland atrium. Marble flooring, white walls with copper highlights, thick hand-woven red rugs, and an art display that looked like a team of short psychopaths had attempted to murder a vast sheet of wet cardboard with a range of farmyard implements. All carefully designed to convey the twin impressions of vast wealth and reliably safe boredom.

I went over to the security station, where a bored-looking guy was watching me with the sort of mild disgust usually reserved for pond scum.I pulled out my badge, and showed it to him. “John Taylor, DSP. I need to speak to one of your employees. Lucas Paz.”

The security guy nodded, and gestured at a book on the desk in front of him. “Sign in there.”

I glared at him for several seconds, before giving up and scrawling my name in the ledger.

“Third floor,” he said, and tipped his head in the direction of the glaringly obvious lifts.

I turned my back on him and went over to the lifts. One was waiting, so I went up. The lift opened onto a modern-looking reception area, complete with uncomfortable-looking couches, a table full of pointless financial magazines, and a couple of implausibly pretty girls sitting behind a counter.

I approached the girls, brandishing my badge. “Agent Taylor, Department of Security and Protection. I need to speak to Lucas Paz right away.”

One of the girls smiled. “Of course, Agent Taylor. Please take a seat. I’ll call Lucas for you now.”

“Thanks,” I said. I decided against the couches, and wandered over to stare aimlessly at the corporate information plaque hanging on the wall. A couple of minutes later, the girl rescued me, and took me down a suspiciously tidy corridor to an anaesthetic meeting room. Paz was a sharp, clean-shaven man with slightly receding curls and an expensive-looking smile.

I dredged up a smile for him. “Thank you for meeting me.”

“It’s a pleasure, Agent Taylor,” said Paz. How may I assist the DSP?”

“I just have some questions for you, Mr. Paz. We’re investigating one or two irregularities involving the history of this immediate area. Some of my queries might seem a little unusual, but I can assure you that this matter is extremely serious, and I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to just bear with me and answer as best you can. I can assure you that you are in no way implicated in any wrong-doings.”

Paz thought about that for a moment, and then nodded, looking a little puzzled. “Of course, Agent. I’ll do the best I can.”

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Today’s picture is Corporate Portrait by Guilherme Kardel.