When Madden came out of the bathroom his Wilco was sitting in a chair by the long table. He was in his mid-seventies, tall, thin, with a narrow face and just a fringe of snow white hair over his ears. His suit was grey and baggy and rumpled, just as Madden ordered. "How are you doing?" asked Madden, not really caring about the answer.

  "I heard there was a second murder in this hotel," said Wilco.

  "We heard that too," said Madden, "you've got nothing to worry about. We'll be done with all this in less than an hour. Then you can collect your money and go home."

  "Spooky," said Wilco, rocking slightly in his seat.

  "Yeah," said Madden, "spooky as hell." A quick exchange with one of the bellboys who brought the chairs told Madden that guests had been fleeing the hotel all evening when word got out of there being second murder in as many days. The death of Erica Cross hadn't had that same effect. It happened in the adjoining convention centre, and it involved a celebrity, things that put a psychological wall between the event and the everyday folks staying in the rest of the hotel. But this second murder was different, it may have happened on the rich person floor, to a rich person, but it happened inside the hotel proper and it involved some nobody the average person had never heard of. If it happened to someone famous like the last one, the hoi polloi would put a few bricks in that imaginary wall between them and the victim. This new victim tore down that imaginary wall, telling them that anyone and/or everyone could be next. That scared the royal piss out of the other nobodies, and those nobodies were fleeing in droves.

  Three knocks on the door.

  "Who is that?" asked LaGuardia, he was scratching his hands again and Madden figured it had to be nerves.

  "It's the bidders," answered Madden as he went to the door. He looked through the peephole first, just in case, and confirmed he was right. Then he opened the door.

  "Come in gentlemen," said Madden as the bidders paraded in. Blaylock made a point to come in first, shaking Madden's hand with a grip capable of cracking concrete. Grant Upton entered second, he didn't shake hands, preferring to squirt some more sanitizer. Richard Imahara followed him, and was himself followed by a few newbies from Asia and Europe. "Please take a seat. Can I get anyone a drink?"

  Most shook their heads, and took their seats in an arc in front of the table displaying the artwork.

  "Could you please stand up?" Madden asked Wilco and the old man rose from his chair.

  "As you may know," said Dick Wilco, his voice frail, "things are in a bit of upheaval at my old employer the Atlantic Comics Company. There are rumours of a takeover by the Continental Pictures movie studio, and the company is seeking to avoid any expensive litigation from creators like me. They figured the best way to settle with artists like me is to let us have some of our original artwork. A few months ago I agreed to settle in exchange for the original artwork from my book Answer Man number one."

  On cue, LaGuardia lifted up the framed sheet of paper containing the inked cover page, revealing the ominous form of the mysterious Answer Man, complete with trench coat and slouch hat, looming over a pair of particularly shady looking criminals.

  Despite their status as the jaded elites of the collector market all let out a little gasp of awe. Most of them already owned a copy of the first edition of Answer Man #1, and had paid through the nose for it, but here was the closest thing to a holy grail they could expect to see in their lifetimes. It was the original artwork itself, presented and authenticated by the man himself.

  "I was hoping to hold onto it for a little while," said Wilco, his head hanging low, "but my wife's been ill and you know how the bills tend to pile up, and don't get me started on the tax man. Anyway, long story short, I'm selling these pieces right now, in the only way I can where I won't violate the confidentiality agreements they made me sign. I hope for a good auction, and may the best, and by that I mean the highest paying, man win."

  The group let out a little laugh as Wilco took his seat.

  "Okay," said Madden, "I'll give you all a moment to look over the artworks, and then we can start the bidding."

  The bidders rose from their seats, walked to the table and started looking over the art. All were intimately familiar with the final published product and searched for the slightest discrepancies. Grant Upton, always a stickler, even took out a magnifying glass and leaned in like he was Sherlock fucking Holmes searching for Moriarty's fingerprints, or the Sign of the Four, or maybe even the Red Headed League, Madden didn't care. They weren't going to find anything untoward, LaGuardia made sure of it.

  Madden gave them ten minutes, then he beckoned them all back to their seats.

  "All right," said Madden, "please return to your seats, we'll start the bidding at five hundred thousand dollars, American."

  "Five fifty," said Blaylock.

  "That's a good start," said Madden, "but it's just a start."

  "Six hundred," said Upton.

  "Six fifty," said Imahara.

  "Do I hear seven hundred?" asked Madden.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  "Who the hell is that?" asked LaGuardia.

  "Why don't you go see?" ordered Madden.

  LaGuardia headed to the door, then Madden heard the latch click, someone had unlocked the door.

  LaGuardia froze when he heard the latch click and saw the door start to open. Then all he saw was the immense black hole of a gun barrel. Seconds later LaGuardia felt a rough hand grab his shoulder, then the carpet against his face.

  All LaGuardia could hear were the boots stomping on the floor, shouts of "FREEZE!" "POLICE!" and "PUT YOUR HANDS UP!" LaGuardia felt the cop snap metal handcuffs on his wrists, and rolled him over to his side. He could see the bidders dropping to their knees, their hands up. Looks of terror on their faces. Dick Wilco leaped to his feet, screaming: "This isn't in the script!" Two burly cops in black body armour cut the scream short when they tackled him to the floor.

  Madden went down on his knees, his hands on his head. His expression was blank, and LaGuardia knew that meant he was angry enough to kill someone. Gloved hands pulled LaGuardia first to his knees, then to his feet and turned him to the door.

  The hall seemed full of uniformed Toronto police officers, and they all parted like the Red Sea before Moses, and LaGuardia had to consciously fight to avoid pissing his pants.

  "Kirby?" asked LaGuardia, staring at the impossible. "Kirby Baxter!"

  "Yes," said Baxter, with a nod, and that massive bodyguard by his side, "the reports of my death were greatly exaggerated."

  "Who–"

  "Don't say a fucking word!" ordered Madden. "Not one fucking word!"

  "James Madden and Kevin LaGuardia," said a woman with dark blonde hair. "You are under arrest for suspicion of murder, fraud and conspiracy."

  "I want a lawyer!" screamed Madden. "A lawyer!"

  LaGuardia didn't know what to say, because the only thing he knew was that he was in way over his head.

  Back in Interrogation Room One. Kirby was starting to feel more at home in this plain grey room than in the very expensive suite he had paid for back at the Waterloo.

  "Hello Jimmy," said Kirby, as he took his now usual seat next to Darling and Gustav moved to his usual spot looming over Madden's back like impending doom.

  "You're looking a lot better than the police let on," said Madden. "If you're here, then who–"

  "My client has nothing to say," said Madden's lawyer. Kirby thought the arrest of Jim Madden had dragged the attorney from a late night pool party considering he smelled faintly of chlorine and beer, and was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. "And can't this wait until tomorrow?"

  "It'll be tomorrow in thirty minutes," said Darling. "We can wait until then."

  "What's your story?" asked Kirby.

  "I have nothing to say," said Madden.

  "Okay," said Kirby, "I'll tell you your story. You, Kevin LaGuardia and the actor you hired to play Dick Wilco were going to defraud some collectors by selling them bogus artwork."

  "I have nothing to say," said Madden.

  "I got suspicious when I heard about this auction," said Kirby, "and wasn't invited to attend. Dick Wilco literally taught me how to draw and, thanks to my lottery win and some lucky investments, I have lots of money, so you think that I'd be the first guy to invite. I was going to look into that, but I got distracted with other things, but then I heard you say that Dick Wilco had flown in from Utah for the auction."

  "You bugged my phone?" asked Madden.

  "If you didn't have a warrant–" said the lawyer, but Kirby cut him off.

  "We didn't bug your phone," said Kirby, "and how I heard that isn't important at this moment. What is important is that the moment I heard you say that, I knew your whole auction was a fraud."

  Madden shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  "You probably want to know how I knew," said Kirby, "well, I knew Dick Wilco when I was growing up, and I learned a lot about the man. I learned was that Dick Wilco had his faults in the form of some pretty odd prejudices. Two of his biggest prejudices were airplanes and Mormons. There isn't any way the real Dick Wilco would have flown in from Utah."

  "The actor you hired has already talked," said Darling, "and it was one heck of a story he told. He said you told him it was all part of a prank you were going to pull on a friend, and that everyone but this one friend was supposed to be in on it."

  "I don't know what he's talking about," said Madden. "I'm the victim here. Kevin LaGuardia said that he and Dick Wilco had some original art from the archives at Atlantic Comics that they wanted to sell. I agreed to help facilitate the sale, in good faith, thinking LaGuardia had real art, and that man was the real Dick Wilco. Remember, I don't know Wilco from Adam. You're the only one who had seen the man in years."

  "That's your story?" asked Kirby.

  "That's my story," said Madden. "I didn't have any part in any fraud, and I certainly didn't shoot Kirby Baxter, because he's sitting right in front of me."

  "At least one part of that statement is true," said Kirby. "You didn't shoot me. You just shot a man who stole my jacket and was probably trying to break into my suite."

  "I didn't shoot anyone," declared Madden. "You can't prove I shot anyone."

  "It's not much of a stretch," said Darling. "The security cameras–"

  "Don't cover the floor," said Madden, "guest privacy."

  "Let me finish Mr. Madden," said Darling. "The security cameras cover the elevators and the stairs. They don't show anyone coming to or leaving the Excelsior floor at the time of the murder."

  "They didn't show Kevin LaGuardia coming and going," said Madden, "because he was hiding in my room when the cops came to ask questions. I'd tell you the whole story, but I need a deal where I go for a walk straight out of here, or I'm not going to tell you anything."

  Interrogation Room Two. Kevin LaGuardia sat alone, his court appointed lawyer hadn't arrived yet. He fidgeted in his seat, his eyes scanning the shape of every brick.

  "Shall we go in?" asked Darling watching LaGuardia through the one-way mirror.

  "Yes," said Kirby Baxter, nodding his head. "But we should let Gustav walk in first."

  "Why?"

  "Kevin LaGuardia was never very good at handling stress. Right now he's terrified beyond anything he's ever felt before," answered Kirby, "there's a chance that we can use that fear to get him to talk. Let me tell you, Gustav can give a stink eye that would make Lee Marvin wet his pants. With the state LaGuardia's in now, one look and he'll tell us if he's wearing women's underwear."

  Darling looked over to the large man and he nodded.

  "Whatever works."

  Gustav opened the door and went in. Darling followed the big man into the interrogation room, though she couldn't see the look Gustav was giving LaGuardia, she could see the flash of absolute terror on LaGuardia's face, and the way his fists clenched on the table.

  "Hello Kevin," said Kirby.

  "Hello Kirby," said LaGuardia, "I'm glad to see you alive."

  "Are you ready to make a statement?" asked Darling as she took her seat, followed by Kirby.

  "Should I wait until I get a lawyer?" asked LaGuardia, glancing over his shoulder at Gustav taking his position in the corner.

  "We could wait," said Darling, "but it's late on a Saturday in the summer. We might have to wait until tomorrow, or even Monday, and until then we'd have to put you in general population in the city jail... Besides, if you did nothing wrong, there's no problem."

  "I think I should tell you something," said Kirby, "it's about the hotel."

  "What about the hotel?"

  "The garbage chute on the Excelsior floor goes to a different dumpster than the others," continued Kirby. "That means the cops won't have to wade through tons of garbage to find the gun. In fact, I'll bet dollars to donuts that they've found it already and are rushing it back here as we speak. I'm talking about the gun that you tossed into the chute."

  "How did you–?" asked LaGuardia, his eyes wide with surprise.

  "I know you weren't the shooter," said Kirby. Now Darling was looking at him in wonder. "Madden did it, and he made you toss the gun down the chute."

  "I don't believe this," said LaGuardia. "I'd seen you do those tricks, but I thought they were just tricks..."

  "Right now Madden is in the next room," said Kirby. "Now you can wait for a lawyer to come, if you choose to not waive your right to an attorney we will be forced to end this right here. But I have to tell you that Madden already has a lawyer, and he's already talking about making a deal, a deal where he puts the whole thing on you."

  LaGuardia slumped and laid his head on the table.

  "I'll waive," he said, not raising his head off the table.

  "I drew the pictures," said LaGuardia, still not raising his head. "But it was all Madden's idea. At first we thought about just forging art and claiming that it was coming out of the Atlantic Comics archives. But if we did that, folks might ask how we got it legally. So Madden came up with the idea of Atlantic Comics making a secret deal with their old artists to avoid any lawsuits that might screw up the sale to Continental Pictures. But most of the hardcore collectors know most of the artists that are still alive and would want them involved to verify the provenance and all that shit."

  "So you needed someone that no one knew," said Kirby.

  "Exactly," said LaGuardia raising his head and staring straight up at the subtly flickering florescent lights above. "Nobody had seen Dick Wilco in decades, nobody knows where he lives, or what he looks like now. He has no family, and you were the only friend anyone knew about, and you were gone into the wild blue yonder. It seemed a perfect way to get a little something for ourselves. The plan was for me to fake up the pictures, Madden was to hire an actor to play Wilco and set up the auction. The bidders were told that they had to keep everything secret for five years because Wilco was forced by Atlantic to sign some confidentiality clauses and the actor was told some bullshit about it being a prank being played by some rich men on other rich men."

  "He told us about that," said Darling.

  "No one was supposed to get hurt," said LaGuardia, rubbing his face with his free hand.

  "But someone was hurt," said Kirby, "in fact, he's dead."

  LaGuardia faced his interrogators. "It was because of you Kirby. You showed up after two years of being God-knows-where and Madden started to panic because you could screw up the deal."

  "Madden was the one that tried to run me over?"

  LaGuardia nodded.

  "You were going around asking questions," answered LaGuardia, "you almost stumbled on our actor on the convention floor. He was there to do 'research on his character,' which was strictly forbidden. But you asking all those questions and running into Grant Upton was the kicker. Madden decided that you had to go."

  "Did he buy the gun here," asked Darling, "or did he smuggle it into Canada?"

  LaGuardia shrugged. "He just whipped it out, I don't know where he got it. Then this guy appeared in the hall wearing your jacket and sniffing around your door, and Madden started blasting. Then he shoved the gun in my hands and told me to dump it. Bastard was wearing gloves."

  "So only your prints are on the gun?" asked Darling.

  LaGuardia nodded.

  "But if you check my smartphone," said LaGuardia, "you'll find a video file labeled 'convention video.' I filmed the son of a bitch doing it, because I knew he was going to screw me eventually."

  "We'll look into that," said Darling.

  "How did you know?" asked LaGuardia.

  "Know what?" said Kirby.

  "Know that I dumped the gun down the garbage chute?"

  Kirby Baxter shrugged. "Your hands are swelling."

  Darling looked down to see LaGuardia's hands were slightly swollen with alternating patches of red and white skin.

  "I remembered that you were allergic to the washroom soap at Atlantic Comics," said Kirby, "which is very similar to the soap in the rooms at the Waterloo. The amount of swelling shows that you scrubbed both hands hard with a brand of soap that you know you're allergic too. The only reason I could think of for you to do that was that you were trying to wash off gunshot residue and/or garbage."

  LaGuardia nodded, "Damn," he said, "I thought you really were a mind reader for a second there."

  "Why was Erica Cross killed?" asked Kirby.

  LaGuardia shrugged, "I don't know."

  "Are you saying that you had nothing to do with it?" asked Darling.

  "Yes," said LaGuardia, "because I did have nothing to do with that."

  "You didn't know she could hear everything happening in Madden's suite from her bathroom?" asked Kirby, leaning in, his eyes narrowing.

  "I haven't got a clue what you're talking about!"

  ISSUE #17

  TOSSING & TURNING

  As Kirby and Gustav stepped out of the elevator he took some relief that there wasn't another body lying by the door to his suite. The police had been extremely thorough, removing the patch of bloodstained carpet where Armand Tanzerian had breathed his last. The hotel staff had been even more thorough, replacing the missing patch with one that was only a slightly deeper shade of beige than the rest of the hallway.

 

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