Part 9 (2/2)

”We can leave whenever we want, Jules,” Shawn said patiently. ”Even if we get caught and thrown in jail, we've just got to take off our helmets.”

O'Hara sighed impatiently. ”Look at the guard,” she said. ”What do you see?”

Shawn did as he was instructed. ”It's a security guard,” Shawn said. ”Standard-issue in this game, right down to the beard stubble and the paunch.”

”What about the uniform?”

Shawn looked a little more closely. ”It's got the usual stains from coffee drips and doughnut crumbs, but it's a little less wrinkled than some other ones I've seen in the game,” he said after some study.

”Yeah, there's that,” O'Hara said. ”Nice level of creativity with the cops eating doughnuts, by the way. Really raises my opinion of the programmers. But I was more interested in the b.u.t.tons.”

Shawn looked again. The b.u.t.tons on the uniform s.h.i.+rt were standard plastic, with four holes for the thread to pa.s.s through. There was absolutely nothing special about them, no markings, no color, no insignia. He was about to say something to that effect when he realized what O'Hara was talking about.

”They're on the left side,” Shawn said. ”That's not a s.h.i.+rt--it's a blouse.”

”And unless the security guards here are all cross-dressers ...” O'Hara said.

She didn't have to finish. Shawn bent down over the security guard and grabbed him by the crew cut. ”h.e.l.lo, Fawn,” he said.

Shawn gave the guard's scalp a tug and it tore off in his hand, leaving a jagged hole in his head. Inside, Shawn could see Fawn Liebowitz's long brown hair. He grabbed a piece of loose skin and tore down the guard's body. It ripped an opening all the way down, like the easy-open string on a twenty-pound bag of doggie kibble, and then the guard's body melted away, leaving the familiar form of Fawn Liebowitz behind.

”This is the one we've been looking for, right?” O'Hara said.

”Detective Juliet O'Hara, meet Fawn Liebowitz,” Shawn said, giving the student a nudge with his foot. ”Fawn, Jules has some questions for you. Although if you'd like to settle this with a hot-oil wrestling match, that would be okay with me.”

”h.e.l.lo, Fawn,” O'Hara said. ”You know what we want from you, don't you?”

The student stared up at her, impa.s.sive.

”That's how you talk to a student?” Shawn said. ”Or is that the special language women use with each other?”

”I'm just getting started,” O'Hara said.

”My name is Fawn Liebowitz,” Fawn said. ”I'm a student at Darksyde University. My major is library science.”

”We know that, Fawn,” O'Hara said. ”I'm looking for information. Please.”

Shawn looked down at Fawn and saw that she was reaching into her backpack. It couldn't be this easy. How could he not have thought of something so basic? There was only one possible answer--it was Gus' fault. All the years they'd been in the detective business, he'd let Gus handle all the intellectual issues like dealing with museum curators and college students because Gus liked talking to that kind of person. And Shawn had gotten out of practice. Thank G.o.d he was on his own again.

”Are you telling me it never occurred to you to ask her nicely for the information you needed?” O'Hara said.

”It was on my list of things to try,” Shawn said.

”Uh-huh,” O'Hara said. ”And it never made it to the top because?”

Shawn glanced down at Fawn again. ”Maybe because of that,” he said.

O'Hara followed his gaze and saw that Fawn's hand was coming out of the backpack, holding a fist-sized green oval marked with striations. And it was ticking.

”Grenade!” O'Hara shouted.

Shawn took a step forward and kicked the grenade like he was trying for a game-winning field goal. It soared through the air and exploded in a fireball over the dam.

”Do you have any other brilliant ideas?” Shawn said.

”I'm thinking!” O'Hara said.

”That's a plan,” Shawn said. ”One strategy this game really rewards is standing around doing nothing. You get to learn all sorts of new and exciting ways to die that way.”

”You worry about the threats, I'll deal with the girl,” O'Hara said. ”You're such an expert murderer by now, I'm sure there's nothing you can't handle.”

”Absolutely nothing,” Shawn said. ”Except maybe for that.”

He pointed up at the dam. Directly under the spot where the grenade had gone off, a spiderweb of cracks was crawling across the concrete surface.

”That's not fair,” O'Hara said.

”Now you're learning,” Shawn said. ”So maybe you could speak to our friend before the Shawnstown flood begins.”

O'Hara cast another glance up at the dam and saw how quickly the cracks were spreading, then turned back to Fawn Liebowitz. ”Have you considered rus.h.i.+ng Pi Phi? Because I'm sure they'd love to have you.”

”You're kidding,” Shawn said.

”Did you try asking her about sororities?” O'Hara said. ”That can be an important part of a college girl's life.”

”Well, unless Al-Qaeda's got a branch at Darksyde U, I don't think she's interested in social organizations,” Shawn said.

While Shawn and O'Hara had been arguing, Fawn had reached into her backpack again and come out with a metal briefcase.

”Now what?” O'Hara said.

”My guess is it's a suitcase nuke,” Shawn said.

”An atomic bomb?” O'Hara said, incredulous. ”That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”

Shawn grabbed the briefcase out of Fawn's hands and gave it a shake. It started to tick loudly.

”And the bar is raised,” O'Hara said. ”The suitcase nuke is no longer the dumbest thing I've ever heard. A ticking suitcase nuke is even dumber. Nuclear bombs simply do not tick.”

”Everything in this world ticks when it's about to blow up,” Shawn said. ”Ten ticks and you're done.”

”Then get rid of it!”

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