“No.”
Shaw said, “Did the Task Force leave a car out front of your house, Frank?”
“A squad car? Yes.”
“Good.”
“Do you think he’ll come back?”
“No. But better to be safe.”
They arranged a time to meet tomorrow and disconnected.
Shaw was about to order the carne asada when his iPhone buzzed once more. He recognized this number too. He hit ACCEPT. “Hello.”
“It’s me. Pushy Girl.”
The redhead from the café. “Maddie?”
“You remembered! I saw the news. They found that girl you were looking for. The police saved her. They said a ‘concerned citizen’ helped. That was you, right?”
“It was me.”
“Somebody was killed. Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
“They didn’t catch him, I heard.”
“Not yet, no.”
A pause. “So. You’re wondering, what’s up with stalker chick?”
He said nothing.
“Do you like Colter or Colt?”
“Either.”
“It’s Poole, by the way. Last name.”
Commitment . . .
“Did you get the reward?”
“Not yet.”
“They pay in cash? I’m just wondering.” Maddie’s mind seemed to dance like a water droplet on a hot skillet. “Okay, I’m getting a feel for you. You don’t like to answer pointless questions. Noted and absorbed. What’ve you been up to since you saved her?”
Jail. And Tecate with lime.
“Nothing much.”
“So you’re not doing anything now? This minute? Immediately?”
“No.”
“There’s something I want to show you. You game?”
Shaw pictured her angelic face, the wispy hair, the athletic figure.
“Sure. I don’t have wheels.”
“That’s cool. I’ll pick you up.”
He asked the bartender for a card and gave Maddie the address of the restaurant.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“I just gave you a clue,” she said breezily. “You can figure it out.” The line went dead.
21.
Colter Shaw had never seen anything like it in his life.
He stood at the entrance to an endless convention center—easily a half mile square—and was being assaulted by a million electronically generated sounds, from ray guns to automatic weapons to explosions to chest-drumming music to the actorly voices of demons and superheroes—not to mention the occasional dinosaur roar. And the visuals: theatrical spotlights, LEDs, backlit banners, epilepsy-inducing flashers, lasers and high-definition displays the size of school buses.
You game?
Maddie Poole’s clue: Not as in “Are you game?” but “Do you game?”
Clever.
For this, apparently, was ground zero of the video gaming world, the international C3 Conference at the San Jose Convention Center. Tens of thousands of attendees moved like slow fish in a densely inhabited aquarium. The light here was eerily dim, presumably to make the images on the screens pop.
Beside him Maddie was a kid in a candy store, gazing around in delight. She wore a black stocking cap, a purple hoodie with UCLA on the chest, jeans and boots. She had a small tat of three Asian-language characters on her neck; he hadn’t noticed them earlier. As at the café, she tugged at her lush hair—those strands that escaped the cap. Her unpolished nails were short, the flesh of her fingertips was wrinkled and red—he wondered what profession or hobby had done that. She wore no makeup. On her cheeks and the bridge of her nose was a dusting of freckles that some women would have covered up. Shaw was glad she didn’t.
Maddie had given him the rundown on the drive here. Video gaming companies from around the world came to exhibit their wares at elaborate booths, where attendees could try out the latest products. There’d be tournaments between teams for purses of a million dollars, and cosplay competition among fans dressing up as their favorite characters. Film crews would roam the aisles for live streaming broadcasts. A highlight would be press conferences where company executives would announce new products—and field questions from journalists and fans about the minutiae of the games.
They eased past the booths, filled with players at gaming stations. He saw signs above some of them. TEN-MINUTE LIMIT. THERE’S A LOT OF OTHER SHIT TO SEE. And: MATURE 17+ ESRB. Presumably a rating board designation for games.
“What’re we doing here?” he shouted. He foresaw a raspy throat by the end of the evening.
“You’ll see.” She was being coy.
Shaw was not a big fan of surprises. But he decided to play along.
He paused at a huge overhead monitor, which glowed white with blue type:
WELCOME TO C3
WHERE TODAY MEETS THE FUTURE . . .
Below that, stats scrolled:
DID YOU KNOW . . .
THE VIDEO GAMING INDUSTRY REVENUES WERE $142 BILLION LAST YEAR, UP 15% FROM THE YEAR BEFORE.
THE INDUSTRY IS BIGGER THAN HOLLYWOOD.
180 MILLION AMERICANS REGULARLY PLAY VIDEO GAMES.
135 MILLION AMERICANS OVER 18 REGULARLY PLAY.
40 MILLION AMERICANS OVER 50 REGULARLY PLAY.
FOUR OUT OF FIVE HOUSEHOLDS IN AMERICA OWN A DEVICE THAT WILL PLAY GAMES.
THE MOST POPULAR CATEGORIES ARE:
—ACTION/ADVENTURE: 30%
—SHOOTERS: 22%
—SPORTS: 14%
—SOCIAL: 10%
THE MOST POPULAR PLATFORMS ARE:
—TABLETS AND SMARTPHONES: 45%
—CONSOLES: 26%
—COMPUTERS: 25%
SMARTPHONE GAMING IS THE FASTEST-GROWING SEGMENT.
Shaw’d had no idea about the industry’s size and popularity.
They made their way through a crowd clustering around the booth for Fortnite, which seemed to attract the most attention in this portion of the hall. Some attendees within the cordoned-off portion of the booth were at computers, playing the game, in which avatars ran around the landscape and homemade structures—forts, he assumed. The characters would blast away at creatures and occasionally break into a bizarre dance.