Navigating Nine Chapter 11

Note: So, at long last, here it is. A brand spanking new chapter. Are you not entertained? Sorry, couldn't resist.

Disclaimer: Look, we've been over this. It's mostly Janet's. Sort of. Except for the parts that aren't exactly.

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I woke up the next morning to someone's hand tracing my cheek and the scent of Bulgari shower gel. I was smiling before I even opened my eyes to look up at Ranger. His hair was tied back, and he was already dressed to take over the world.

"Good morning," he said with a smile.

"How can you already be up?" I said, fighting back a yawn. His smile widened and he shook his head.

"Practice, Eliza."

I scrunched my nose and stuck out my tongue. He chuckled. "Cute." His eyes grew serious and the smile disappeared as he smoothed my hair out of my eyes. "Be careful today. Call Tank or Les if you run into any problems."

"No worries, Higgs." I caught his hand with mine, and pressed a quick kiss to his palm. "I'll just be tracking McDonalds Howie. You try not to get shot, okay?"

"Babe," he sighed, the ghost smile returning to his features. "Get some sleep."

"Mmkay." I smiled at him one last time before burrowing back under the covers. I still had lots to think about from the night before, but it would wait. Maybe if I pretended it didn't happen no one would notice mom's bounty hunter book.

The next time I woke up to the infectious sounds of Accidentally in Love and I found myself almost bouncing out of the bed as my head reacted to the cheerful rhythms. Damn those dastardly djs and their morning morale-boosters.

I was smiling against my will and singing along with the song astoundingly off-key by the time I'd crossed the room. I was still singing it when I got out of the shower and tackled my hair.

I was dressed before it occurred to me to wonder whether I had a car. Then again, this was the Manor. Well, if it was there I'd take it, if not I could bug Les and Tank. Ranger had said to call them if I had any problems, after all. Lack of transportation definitely qualified as a problem.

I pulled on one of the pairs of jeans I'd picked up with Valerie, which were the only ones that weren't falling off me. A few other assorted clothing pieces had appeared in my closet that fit, but the jeans of mysterious origins were all unfamiliar brands and looked suspiciously expensive. I needed to talk to Ranger about them, because although I was thrilled, I didn't wear expensive jeans. If expensive was needed, spend it on shoes, jewelry and sexy dresses. Or just give me the cash and let me loose in Gadzooks. On second thought, screw the invisible house elf shopper, give me the plastic and the store. And a Merry Man to carry the bags. Maybe two.

Smiling happily at the thought of a Shopping Spree of Doom I headed downstairs to investigate my car situation. By some miracle I found my Jeep sitting out front of the houses, dazzling in its blinding new whiteness. One of the guys must have brought it. They said they'd never let it in the garage, afraid of ruining the look of all those black vehicles probably. Company cars my foot- they just liked being in bad ass black.

My next car was going to be hot, glaring, fuchsia pink. Maybe trimmed in purple, with pimp-style gold rims. Park that in the driveway here and see what happened. I was pretty sure it would mysteriously disappear, or get an overnight paint job, but I was curious just to know.

I drove to the office, managing to only get lost one time. I had to stop and get directions back to the right path at a 7-11. Talk about your déjà vu. First on today's game plan was to check for new skips, then go work out with Mac, and call around looking for McHowie. Finding him, I would then seek him out, badger him with some scary Merry Man at my back because I remembered Howie lived by a crack ho, and hopefully avoid getting Howie shot. Maybe I could convince him to leave the game or something.

I doubted it, but it was worth a shot, especially since I didn't understand the game. I kind of thought everyone but the Web Master and the winner died, but that was idiocy. First of all, Clyde didn't strike me as being social enough to make that many friends in the area, even online. Second of all, even if he did he had to meet them all somewhere. A common point of origin, probably role play chats, but that was an issue because Fishy Kitty wasn't like any Dungeons and Dragons player I ever knew.

Maybe Marvel RPGs?

I pulled into the bonds office and turned off the car, but remained inside, following the train of thought. I had had tons of friends who did RP chats. Problem was they had all done the classic high fantasy stuff. What Fish Feline talked about was like some cracked out Vampire the Masquerade powers-transcending-reality crap, but it didn't fit with the other players.

How do you advertise a kill game, anyway? Who are your players? It just didn't add up, Janet. You really needed to draw this plot up a little more carefully. One is a kid with delusions of Totem Animals, one is a displaced computer geek who wants out, and the game master is a manic little troll bro with a serious inferiority complex. But Clyde liked super heroes, and Fish Feline identified himself with an animal sort of Wolverine style… Singh liked all things Americana…

But that still left the whole internet full of English language chat rooms about the glories of super heroes, whether role played or simply discussed religiously. Never mind. I was just going to have to do this the snail mail way. I was going to have to see if Howie would talk, then I was going to have to go to Vegas, hope I beat Tuna Cat, and somehow get some kind of proof against Troll C. Yeah, nothing to it.

I took a deep breath, centering myself mentally and surrounding myself with calming energy. I was going to need it to face the weasel.

As it turned out, I needed the calming energy just to deal with Lula. She was in a fit of diet euphoria. You know, that brief period at the start of a new diet when all the world, including size zeroes seem just within reach.

"This one's different," she was explaining to Connie with all the proselytizing zeal of the born again and newly inducted Weight Watchers. "This one is realistic."

I debated taking part in the discussion of the wonders of Fat Busters, but opted out. Lula was Lula and Fat Busters was no match for that. Billy Blanks might not even be a match for that. Instead I waited until Lula paused for breath, distracted by mournful thoughts of veggies without cheese sauce.

"Good luck, Lula," I said, smiling. "It won't be so bad once you get past the bacon cravings." I turned to Connie. "Got any new skips for me?"

"Yeah," Connie nodded, holding up a large pile of paper. "But he don't want anybody working on anything but Singh."

I sighed. "Oh well. I have to go look for some Howie guy, he and Singh might have been friends…I don't guess you could find him for me? All I have is that his name is Howie and he works at McDonalds."

Connie rolled her eyes. "Please, that's not even going to be a challenge… and I bet he isn't even hot."

I thought about this, trying to remember descriptions of Howie. "Probably not. No one hot ever works at McDonald's. It's hard to be hot and work around all that grease."

"Amen," Lula said, her eyes glazing over a little at the thought of grease and transfat. "Hey, maybe I should help."

"Like I said, he works at Mickey D's. You'd be putting your diet in jeopardy. I wouldn't ask you to do that."

Lula waved an arm, and I worried for a moment her lime green spandex top would explode. "No problemo there. I'm a changed woman."

I shook my head, and resisted thunking it into the wall. I was not going to win, and I knew it. "Anything yet Connie?"

Connie grinned and pointed at the printer as it began spitting out papers.

Lula let out a whoop. "Damn, you're quick, Con. Let me get my purse."

Fifteen minutes later, Lula and I pulled into the parking lot of a McDonald's. Lula was muttering something about McNuggets and her eyes had taken on an unsettling gleam as she looked at the building. I just turned the key off and sat back, my own gaze settling on the door.

If I could just get Howie to talk, I wouldn't need proof. But that was a tough thing to do. Did he know I was the prize or whatever it was? Did he know Singh? Damn it, why hadn't I paid more attention to the book?

I didn't even remember Howie's internet handle. I sighed as I realized I wasn't even sure when he died. I was pretty sure he did die… but when? Heck, I didn't even remember where in Vegas to find Singh. Triple damn

"What's up?" Lula asked, breaking into my pity party.

I looked over at her. "I've got a bad feeling."

"Probably just low blood sugar. We ought to get in there and get your skinny white butt some food."

I shook my head, and thought back. I'd eaten already today. I was pretty sure. Oh well, time enough to eat later. When I might not be about to die. "I'm good. But… let's go check out his apartment first."

"You think he might be in on Singh's disappearance? You got a hunch?" Lula asked.

"Yeah, you could say that." I bit my lip, then threw judgment out the window and added, "he and Clyde Cone both."

"Clyde Cone? He related to the—"

"The factory. He's Andrew and Bart's little brother."

"How would he know Howie?"

"Internet," I said readily. "Clyde's an internet addict. So is Singh. I bet Howie is too… maybe. It's a small Net after all." Riight. And I was queen of Romania.

"Hmph," Lula said.

"Let's go look for Howie's computer. We can come back and question him later. And get some lunch too. They have that new healthy menu."

Lula's scowl intensified. I could see the changed Lula façade breaking up in front of the idea of a BigMac. Trying to hide my smile, I put the Jeep and gear and headed for Howie's building.

A few minutes later, I parked along the curb outside the address listed as Howie's. Looking up at the building, all I could think of was one word: Eurgh. Well, that and creepy, but creepy was a distant second. Once upon a time, this had been an okay neighborhood, but it was heading down the express lane to ghettoland, if it wasn't there already. The house Howie was in had been a two-story single family place in the olden days, and had been converted into seven apartments. The paint was peeling, the window ledges were rotting, it was postcard perfect, if your postcard read 'Wish you were here. Misery loves company.'

Howie lived in apartment 3B. Unfortunately, 3B was locked, and I still hadn't convinced Ranger or a Merry Men to teach me how to pick a lock.

"Huh," Lula said, "Too bad you always get so upset about me knocking down doors. This door looks so flimsy, I bet I could lean against it and it'd fall down."

I looked at Lula and back at the door. She was probably right. Lula wasn't a feather weight. But I didn't want to deal with cops. Okay, nix the 's'. I didn't want to deal with cop. Specifically Joe Morelli.

"Let's go outside, see if there's a back entrance. If not, I'll see about asking a neighbor or somebody about a spare key." If the building had been in a better neighborhood I'd have done the asking first and the b and e second, but places like this, I figured the cops were probably going to be friendlier than the natives.

Outside we found ourselves staring up at what had to be the world's cheapest fire escape, or at least the most dangerous. There were Guatemalan jungles less hazardous than this thing.

At least the ladder was dropped. I could climb up it. I wondered if I had had a tetanus shot recently. Tentatively I grabbed one of the rungs and pulled. It held. "Okay, I'll just climb up and—"

"You're nuts. You can't climb that rusted out p.o.s!" Lula protested.

I agreed, but I needed that computer. "I'll be fine. You stay down here and do the lookout thing, okay? I'll be down in like five minutes flat." Or I'd just fall and be flat period. Either way.

Lula shook her head. "Crazy ass white girl."

I gritted my teeth and started the climb, pretending I was climbing to the barn loft at Grandmary's. Maybe I was climbing a tree. A really rusty tree. I made it to the first platform, and winced at the sound of groaning metal. Maybe that wasn't a good sign. Maybe I should climb back down now, while I still could.

But I needed Howie's hard drive. I needed to prove what was going on, or no one was going to believe me. Whispering a litany of curses at Janet, I started hauling myself up the second ladder.

Howie lived in the attic, I realized as I peered through the third floor window. It hadn't looked so much like an attic in the hallway, but sure enough in Howie's rooms there were bare rafters. Chipped linoleum on the floor, and a sofa what was overdue for an appointment with the dumpster, plus a couple metal folding chairs and a bare sink hanging on one wall completed the late ghetto décor.

I scrambled up on the platform and tugged at the window. I felt a sliver of wood slide into my skin and let go of the stupid thing with a yelp of pain, falling flat onto my butt, dangerously close to the edge of the escape.

My impact raised a teeth-grinding metallic shriek. I felt a jolt of fear and I scuttled toward the ladder. I got one foot on it and the whole thing disintegrated out from under me. I barely managed to catch hold of the handrail and pull myself back up. I laid flat on the metal grating, watching the rest of the fire escape fall to the ground. It didn't even make that much noise.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten, swearing that if I ever got through time and space and found Janet I was going to… to… ship her to a desert island without any pens or papers or computers.

"You okay?" Lula yelled up.

"Peachy keen," I called.

"You coming down soon?"

I sighed. Break Howie's window or call in the reinforcements? Maybe I should just lay here in the sun and die of exposure. I rolled over and looked up at the depressing gray-tinged blue of the New Jersey sky. Maybe I'd catch cancer from breathing in smog.

Was it worth the effort? I could just stay right here and sun myself and wait for a… hey, I could just jump off the fire escape. Maybe it would be the same as falling down a set of stairs. Maybe I'd wake up and this would all be a dream.

I frowned as that thought didn't sound as appealing as it should have, and pulled out my cell phone. I scrolled through the phone book, and dialed Ranger. "I'm stuck on an impromptu balcony and I'm going to die of exposure," I said when I heard him pick up. My announcement was greeted with several beats of silence.

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not, but in case you're interested in rescuing a damsel in distress, I have just the thing…"