“And you were onto Chanterelle all along?” O’Hara said.
Shawn and Gus exchanged a look. “There was a pool of suspects at first,” Gus said. “It was Shawn who finally put it all together.”
“Only after Gus laid out the entire case,” Shawn said. “Although with a slightly different solution.”
“It was a joint effort,” Gus said.
“Because that’s the way we roll,” Shawn said.
“So who was your client?” Lassiter said, finishing up his report.
Gus froze. He’d almost convinced himself that he really had been undercover all the time he was at Benson, but the mention of a client reminded him how this had all really started.
“It was Jules, of course,” Shawn said. “She asked for help with Mandy Jansen’s murder.”
“I just meant a consultation,” O’Hara said. “I never dreamed you’d go that far.”
“No one ever does,” Shawn said. “And now there’s a little matter of the favor you were going to do in return.”
Which was how the four of them ended up on State Street in the middle of the night, wearing dusters.
“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” Lassiter said.
Shawn slapped a rifle into his hands. “You’ve got to try,” he said. “Suspension of disbelief is what it’s all about. We ready?”
Gus looked around. Each of them was armed with a rifle. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Yeah, why not?” O’Hara said.
They moved together as one, stalking down the deserted street.
“That one’s mine,” Shawn said, pointing into a doorway at a sleeping homeless man. He raised his gun and fired. The man’s chest erupted in red.
“I got one!” Gus said, leveling his rifle at a skinny man in a camo jacket, running across the street. He pulled the trigger and the man fell, a red blotch across his chest.
“It’s going to get harder now,” Shawn said, pointing at the homeless people scurrying away from them. “They’re on the run.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Lassiter said, getting off a shot at a bearded man asleep on a bus bench and watching him twitch as his chest was covered in red.
“Up to you, Jules,” Shawn said.
“Got it.” She stepped up to a doorway and with her foot nudged the form sleeping there. “It’s over.”
The form rolled over and saw the rifle barrel pointing down at him. “Officer?” Frank said in horror. “I thought we were friends.”
“Friends don’t let friends sleep on the street,” O’Hara said. “Rather see you dead. So would Morton.”
Frank scurried back in horror as far as he could, then cringed in terror as O’Hara’s finger tightened on the trigger.
“Stop! Stop!”
The voice was coming from another doorway. Shawn and Gus whirled, their rifles raised, as a scrawny man with a thick beard and bad sunburn staggered toward them. He wore a filthy Tommy Bahama Hawaiian shirt, now mostly rags, and what were once expensive designer jeans.
“Why shouldn’t I take your head off?” Shawn said. “Morton would like that.”
The man went pale under his sunburn. “No,” he said. “You can’t think that way.”
“Why not?” Shawn said.
“Because it’s not the game,” the man said. “It’s real! This is all real.”
“What’s the difference?” Shawn said.
“The game, it’s just for play,” the man said. “You can’t let it infect you. The stuff you do in there for fun out here has terrible consequences.”
“You mean like when you’re driving down the street and you speed up to run over a homeless man?” Shawn said.
The man nodded silently.
“Even when you’re supposed to be hiding away in your blacksmith’s shop, waiting to see if anyone’s smart enough to figure out the clue you left in the game,” Shawn said.
O’Hara let out a gasp, then looked more closely at the homeless man. “This is Macklin Tanner.”
Lassiter looked disgusted. He spoke into the microphone on his sleeve. “Officers Carren, Carol, and Blain. Stand down.”
Behind them the three dead homeless men stood up and tried to brush some of the red paint off their clothes before heading over to Lassiter.
“I was going to leave another clue at the barn,” Tanner said. “Let them track me down to Bermuda. The first gamer who found me would win a million dollars.”
“But when you were still testing it out, you went for a drive to pick up some supplies,” Shawn said. “Walon O’Malley was crossing the street in front of you. And suddenly all you could think of was the points you’d score by killing him. After you hit him you were ashamed and terrified. You cut the car you’d killed him with into pieces and hid out down here.”
“I wasn’t just hiding,” Tanner said.
“I know,” Shawn said. “You were atoning. Living out the life you had taken.”
Tanner nodded, tears streaming down his face. “How did you know?”
“I’ve spent some time in Darksyde City,” Shawn said. “That librarian’s a real pain in the ass.”
O’Hara took Tanner by the wrists and slipped on the cuffs. “Macklin Tanner, you are under arrest for the hit-and-run death of Walon O’Malley.”
She handed him to the three undercover officers and walked with him to a waiting patrol car, reading him his rights as they went. Lassiter shrugged off his duster and let it drop to the ground, then followed.
“That was fun,” Shawn said. “What do you want to do next?”
“I don’t think Brenda Varda’s going to let us back into Darksyde City once we give her the news,” Gus said.
“That’s okay,” Shawn said. “I was pretty much done with Criminal Genius.”
“You never got to meet Morton,” Gus said.
“Criminal geniuses are overrated, anyway,” Shawn said. “Once you get up close they’re just normal people with bad impulse control.”
“Like us, you mean?”
“Exactly,” Shawn said. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t I ditch you and you try to track me down?”
“That could be fun,” Gus said. “Want to give me a hint where you’re going?”
“Sure,” Shawn said. “If you track me through the San Francisco airport, make sure you save room for dessert.”
