Lyle felt like he was back in an interrogation room at the Phoenix PD only he was on the wrong side of the table. He sat in front of Galvan’s desk and eyed the beefy guy with a crew cut who was not introduced. Yoo sat next to Lyle.
“So as you now know, I work at—or maybe I used to work—at Nostalgia City. In any event, I’m a cab driver.”
Galvan chuckled.
“I can show you my ID and commercial license.”
“This is not the time for your name, rank, and serial number,” Yoo said. “Tell us what you were doing here.”
Yoo still prodded, Galvan had large dark eyes, and the crew cut looked at him like he was a suspect in a one-man lineup. “Okay, I’m just looking for a Nostalgia City employee. What’s the harm?”
“And you thought he might be working here?” Galvan said.
“Possibly.”
“And what does he do at Nostalgia City?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I believe Tom Wyrick is a programmer for you,” Galvan said, her voice light and conversational as if she were asking if he enjoyed his flight to Florida.
Hell, how do they know he was a programmer? Amber, the receptionist. My mistake. She was the only one I told who Wyrick was. But how did they know I talked to her? I never mentioned her name to anyone. Surveillance cameras. They went back and looked at video of the time before I showed up in HR. Damn these guys are good. Least I know what they know about me, which is pretty much everything.
“Wyrick is a programmer and he disappeared. The park is worried about him so they asked me to look around.”
“And you were chosen, not because you drive a cab, but because of your previous occupation.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I was a sergeant. Phoenix police, homicide.” Did the crew cut’s gargoyle expression soften slightly?
“Actually, Mr. Deming,” Galvan said, “the only thing we don’t know for sure is what Wyrick was working on when he disappeared. But I can guess. There’ve been stories. And you were asking around in our attractions development building next door.”
This lady has a complete picture of my actions and motives. As complete as I would have liked for any perp I detained as a cop. He gave a shrug of surrender and leaned back in his chair.
Galvan turned to the thickset guy next to her. “Thanks for coming over Bill. It’s like we thought. I just have a few more questions for our cab driver. I’ll give you a call later.”
Bill got up slowly, pushed his chair out of the way, and came around the desk. He looked at Yoo and made a slight motion to the door. When they left, Galvan got up and took Yoo’s seat opposite Lyle.
“Are you working for Maxwell? Hiring an ex-police detective sounds like something he’d do.”
Lyle couldn't read Galvan's body language. She sat back in the chair, put a hand on the arm, and crossed her legs. Relaxed maybe, but her brown-eyed stare held his attention.
“Yes and no. I am working for Max, but he didn’t hire me. I went to work at the park because it was a break from police work. It takes it out of you. I like driving my taxi.”
“You’re not driving it now.”
“I sometimes do special assignments for Max.”
“So one of your programmers has gone rogue and you want to find him before he sells your secrets.”
Lyle could play the game, too. His noncommittal expression was as good as anyone’s.
“Does it have to do with your perception deception effect?”
Why don’t I just call Joseph Arena and have him explain the technical details to you?
“You don’t have to worry. That term was in one of the trade mags recently. No one knows what it means.” She shifted in her chair and leaned forward. “I sympathize with you. We all want the latest and the best, and we all try to protect our own proprietary ideas.”
“Which is why Yoo followed me.”
“That’s right,” she said. “I’m sorry if he got too rough. He’s young. It didn’t sound like you were looking to steal anything. I despise anyone who would steal secrets for profit. Your secrets, our secrets, anyone’s. Our engineering team is inspired, and like Edison said, it’s ninety-nine percent perspiration. Is this Wyrick going to sell your secrets to the highest bidder or what?”
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Chapter 36
The Orange County Convention Center in Orlando looked more like a theme park than a trade show. Life-size dinosaurs with chomping jaws competed for Lyle’s attention with roller coasters, robots, rocket ships, boats, and bobsleds. One ride spun visitors around in circles, another threw them along twisting tracks up in the air toward the shiny beams of the convention center’s sky-high ceiling. Everything either flashed lights, gyrated, or emitted sharp electronic sounds. Or all three. Enough to give you a seizure.
The day before, after he'd talked to Max, Lyle called Joseph Arena to arrange for IAAPA passes. It was no problem. The park sent people every year as Kate had told him. Lyle's admission would be waiting for him at the gate. Atlantic Adventures helped him get a reservation at a small hotel several miles from the convention center.
“Holy crap,” Lyle whispered to himself as he walked into the cavernous, noisy exhibit hall. A badge with his name and Nostalgia City on it hung from the lanyard around his neck and he clutched a map of exhibitors. “Where to begin?” Some parts of the floor had aisles that separated the sprawling company displays. In other areas, exhibits overlapped. Bobsled-shaped cars dashed along tracks suspended in the air over virtual reality truck rides that shook and bucked.
Unfamiliar with the names of the ride builders, Lyle arbitrarily started at one corner of the exhibit hall. He looked for company representatives among the crowd of gawkers. Occasionally he saw people in costumes ranging from circus performers to aliens to superheroes. Visitors or vendors, he knew not.
He stopped at an exhibit featuring high-tech bumper cars. The different models sat in groupings like new cars in an automobile showroom. “Excuse me,” Lyle said to a casually dressed man with a name badge that matched the bumper car logo. “I’m trying to locate this man.” He pulled out his cell phone and showed Wyrick’s picture to the bumper car salesman. The man glanced at the photo, then shook his head. Lyle mentioned Wyrick’s name, but the man kept shaking his head.
The next exhibit showcased gondolas—the kind that hang from cables strung up the side of mountains or stretched in the air above theme parks. Gondolas in the exhibit hung from cables attached to an elaborate steel beam superstructure.
Lyle peered inside one gondola and saw a man using a straw to sip a light green frozen drink that looked suspiciously like a cocktail. For breakfast? The man’s badge identified him as an aerial gondolier, so Lyle showed him Wyrick’s photo. The man put his drink aside and leaned out of the car to stare at the picture. Then he looked up at Lyle.
“Dude, you’re from Nostalgia City. I’ve been there. It’s way cool. Is this person you’re looking for from your park?”
“Ah, yeah,” he said, suddenly wishing he didn’t have Nostalgia City on his badge.
“Haven’t seen him. If I do, should I tell him to call you?”
“Nah,” Lyle said. “Tell me, where did you get the margarita?”
Reminded of his drink, the man reached behind him and returned the straw to his mouth for a liberal gulp. “Snow cone place down the way. They have unique flavors not on the menu. Ask Bobbo for the special of the day.” He winked.
Advertising that he represented Nostalgia City was not what Lyle had in mind. Letting the word out that NC was looking for its absent programmer would get in the way, at minimum alerting Wyrick that he was on his trail. He thanked the guzzling gondolier and headed for the exit.
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Chapter 38
Music, electronic beeps, and intermittent laser blasts continued to fill the convention hall. At the next exhibit, Lyle stood face to face with a robot. It looked like an alien from a low-budget 1950s or ’60s science fiction movie. Its long arms hung like an ape’s nearly down to its knees. It wore an ill-fitting flexible space suit, and Lyle could see dark hair or fur sticking out at the cuffs. On its head, the robot wore what looked suspiciously like a diving helmet.
“I'm guessing you're not exactly the twenty-first-century technology I'm looking for,” Lyle said.
“You would be surprised,” came a voice echoing from inside the helmet. “We employ the latest in AI communication. What can we do for you, Mr. Gallagher?”
“So you can read badges.”
“And I can tell jokes. Want to hear one?”
Lyle turned to the salesman who walked up.
“Hi, I’m Carl Lamont. We do have the latest twenty-first-century technology. Interactive robots are the wave of the future.”
“This one looks more like the past.”
“Don’t be offended Alvin,” the man said to the robot. Carl dressed in slacks and a pink golf shirt. “He’s supposed to be retro,” he told Lyle. “And jokes are part of his AI. We like to give our characters a sense of humor. Our clients find it really helps make them more approachable.”
Who, the clients or the robots? Carl’s blond hair was askew, and he wore an expression that hinted he might be spending too much time talking to androids.
“Very impressive, but I’m not in the market for robots. I’m actually representing a buyer interested in the latest in AI-controlled extended reality dark rides.” He hoped he got the terminology right.
“For that, you want one of the major amusement companies like Poppy or Meng Industries.”
Lyle glanced at other robots standing or sitting in tableaus: a cartoon cat, a fuzzy bear, and a space-suited woman. He left Carl with his friends and walked on.
His new persona was an attorney representing a large—anonymous—theme park corporation. The company hired him to locate and buy the absolute latest technology in dark rides. Something that’s never been done before. His corporate client was willing to pay whatever it cost—no limit. And although it sounded melodramatic, he thought about using the phrase, no questions will be asked.
After a few steps, he was overwhelmed by the smell of hot oil and scorched popcorn. The exhibit in front of him sold popcorn wagons. He remembered the convention also catered to county fairs and festivals.
Lyle soon found the broad Poppy Attractions Inc. display. Imitation stone walkways led from the aisle into the exhibit. Lyle strolled a path past models of rides, some automated. One model showed four-person cars winding up and down a mountainous road narrowly missing falling trees and tumbling boulders. Escaping the perils of the wilderness, the cars entered a tunnel. Gawking at the models, he must have looked like a serious customer because someone soon approached him.
“Are you interested in dark rides?” The short-haired woman wore a slightly less-than-chic outfit. More engineer than sales rep.
“In a way, I am. I represent a corporate client that’s interested in new ride technology. Not the fastest coaster or the usual mine train, but something powered by AI, something that’s only been imagined before.” He paused and pulled out one of Brent Gallagher’s business cards. He thought the gravitas of an attorney doing the shopping might make up for his spotty use of jargon. “My client wants something so revolutionary it’s only been hinted at before. It may not even be displayed at the show.”
“I think I understand what you’re looking for, Mr. Gallagher but…” She frowned momentarily, then smiled. “What brought you here?”
“I was trying to get away from the popcorn smell.”
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Chapter 37
How do you ask a famous movie star if he’s a murderer?
Even though it was Saturday, Appropriate Brand Pictures scheduled a half-day shoot, so Kate set off early to talk with Cory Sievers. She found him between scenes chatting with crew members next to an equipment-laden panel truck.
He must have seen her coming because he stopped talking. She’d chosen a navy midi skirt and simple long-sleeved blouse. Feminine, but businesslike.
“Mr. Sievers, I’m Kate Sorensen. I’m in charge of public relations for the park and I wonder if I could talk with you for a few minutes? Do you have time?”
He smiled, and Kate could see Johnny Caspary, the brash young race car driver he’d played in one of his recent pictures. “Public relations. Kate Sorensen. Yes, Wyatt—my agent—told me about you.”
She waited with a polite smile.
“Sure. I did my two scenes for today. You want to walk over to my trailer?”
As they turned to go, Sievers said, “later guys,” to the men he’d been talking to. Did one of them give Sievers a knowing grin? No matter. She had Sievers’s attention, although he obviously thought they were going to talk about something else.
“These little video vignettes were Wyatt’s idea,” he said as they walked around the corner from the set toward a parking lot that held several stars’ trailers. “He said there’s not going to be any script. So I just get to talk. Think I can handle that?” He gave Kate a waggish smile.
Kate hesitated about going inside Sievers’s trailer. If a makeup person or someone else was in there, she’d feel safer, but Sievers might not be as candid with the questions she had in mind.
His trailer appeared to be the biggest on the lot. Next to the door, a modest plaque held his name. She made a split-second decision and stepped inside. The main room’s furnishings looked like a standard, upscale travel trailer with leather overstuffed chairs, a small couch, lots of polished, dark wood, and a makeup counter and mirror at the rear. She didn’t see anyone else inside.
“Have a seat,” he said.
Kate sat in a soft upholstered chair next to the door. Sievers took off his sport coat, and she saw he was wearing a gun. He must have seen her reaction. “I hate lugging this around.” He pulled off the holster and semi-automatic from his belt and set it on a table at the back of the room.
Is he supposed to have that off the set? Isn’t there someone in charge of guns?
“Would you like coffee or a drink?”
“No thanks.” He might not be very hospitable once she got down to cases. On second thought, she accepted a cup of coffee. Why not have a little more relaxed intro?
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A boy of nine or ten happened by, gave but a cursory glance at the attacking monkey then looked down at his map.
“May I see that?” Lyle asked.
The boy clutched the map to his chest, then reluctantly held it out.
“Oh, this is the forest from the Wizard of Oz,” Lyle said. “That explains it.”
“Duh,” the young man said. He pointed down. They stood on yellow pavers.
With the help of the map, Lyle was finally out of the woods. He walked diagonally across the park toward a series of industrial buildings. He found an exit and used his prox card to enter the employee area.
Here, as at Nostalgia City, the buildings were labeled with numbers and letters. Using what he’d learned in class, however, and the notes he’d read before he left Arizona, Lyle could make a reasonable guess where he wanted to go. He walked past a row of offices housed in portable buildings and turned a corner where a forklift unloaded the back of a semi-truck. The next building stretched for a block. An unassuming door marked the corner. Lyle could see no windows, just the one metal door, a pass card panel, and CCTV cameras. He waved his card at the panel and nothing happened. He waved it again and tried the door. Locked.
“Excuse me there. This area is out of bounds.”
Lyle turned and saw an armed, uniformed security officer. Where’d he come from? The man’s eyes were close together, his nose long and pointed, reminding Lyle of a rat, minus the whiskers.
“I’m with maintenance,” he said, as if the guy couldn’t recognize his uniform. “This access pad doesn’t seem to work.”
“Lemme see your card.”
Lyle held it out.
“You’re not authorized here. Can’t you tell? Look at your code letter.” The officer started to take the card from him, but Lyle pulled it back.
“My mistake.” Lyle pocketed his card.
The guard raised his arm and pointed to the building’s identification near the roof. “See, this is E-7. Why didn’t you know your card wouldn’t work?”
“Slow learner.”
“Uh-huh. You’re in maintenance. You should know.”
“This is a big place.”
“I don’t like your attitude.”
“That’s what my ex-wife used to say.”
“Where’re your tools?”
“My drill shorted out. Damn near killed me. It’s being repaired.”
The man rested a hand on the butt of his gun and continued to glare.
“Relax,” Lyle said, “I’m new. Just going through orientation. I’m trying to get oriented.”
The man’s stare lost some of its menace.
“So,” Lyle said, “is this your job? Guarding this door?”
by Mark S. Bacon
Do ideas for mystery novels float down from the ether? Do writers lean back in their chairs, arms resting on their heads, waiting for inspiration to strike? Sometimes. More often though, writers rely on their own experiences, their own history as the foundation for stories.
If you look at the background of many mystery/crime writers, sources of their inspiration become clear.
For example, as a young lawyer John Grisham toiled for many hours at a small, struggling Mississippi law firm. And the main character in his early books is typically a young lawyer toiling for many hours at a small, struggling Mississippi law firm.
Tony Hillerman, wrote about the southwest. In his most famous books, Navajo tribal police solve the mysteries. Before writing novels, he was a newspaper reporter in Texas. He patterned one of his main police characters after a local Texas sheriff he knew. Later he lived and taught in New Mexico for more than 20 years becoming familiar with the land and the people.
One of British writer Gerald Kersh’s most well known books is Night and the City. Al Pacino starred in the movie version. It focuses on the seamy side of the wrestling game in London. And while Kersh was learning to write he held a variety of odd jobs. For a time, he was a wrestler.
Dashiell Hammett, before he became a novelist and wrote The Maltese Falcon, worked for the famous Pinkerton Detective Agency. He used that experience as the basis for the Falcon and also for a long series of short stories and two novels that featured a private eye working for a big detective agency.
The setting for my mysteries is a theme park, Nostalgia City. Early in my career I wrote advertising at Knott’s Berry Farm, the large theme park just up the freeway from Disneyland.
Although I spent most of my time writing ads and commercials, I occasionally worked on special events in the park. I got to know some of the costumed employees who entertained visitors and had a behind-the-scenes look at what it took to keep a sprawling entertainment enterprise rolling smoothly. At times it seemed like controlled chaos.
Since my experience at Knott’s I’ve always thought a theme park would make a great setting for a murder mystery. A park can be crammed with tourists to the point of inducing claustrophobia. Or it can be dark and empty at night when the gates are closed, the rides sit motionless and the only sound is the wind whistling through the rollercoaster framework. Theme parks present many possibilities for intrigue.
In my new book, Dark Ride Deception, high-tech secrets for mind-bending new rides are stolen from Nostalgia City. My protagonists, Lyle Deming, an ex-cop now theme park cab driver, and Kate Sorensen, a former college basketball star, are sent on an undercover mission to search offices and workshops at other theme parks. They’re looking for the Perception Deception Effect, a remarkable artificial intelligence-controlled program that will alter theme park rides forever.
Lyle and Kate’s exploration of other theme parks is not unlike my first weeks working at Knott’s, as I tried to find my way around the grounds and learn the secrets of opening doors closed to the public.
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