Chapter Twenty-One

Charlie made it to the factory block with only two embarrassing moments. The first was when he approached a red light and put one foot on the clutch and the other on the accelerator rather than the brake. The Red Beast drifted into the intersection, making enough noise to put a Saturn V moon rocket to shame. The second was when he had to abandon a parallel parking space as a group of teens looked on laughing.

Eventually, Charlie found a nice, unobstructed spot on a side street. He collected himself, reviewed his cover story then headed out on his first undercover mission.

The factory was easy to find. Its ground-floor windows and doors were boarded up, festooned with notices warning trespassers that they were not welcome, and that the building contained hazardous materials.

Why would anyone want this building?

Charlie popped into the nearest shop to the old factory. It was a vintage clothing store called Old Rags to Riches. A young dude, dressed in clothes made of macramé, sat at the cash desk. His eyes were closed as he dozed in the late-day sun. Charlie cleared his throat and the dude's eyes rocketed open.

"Oh. Hi!" he mumbled. "Please tell me you haven't been standing there long."

"Don't worry," Charlie said. "I just came in."

"Thank God. One day I actually slept through a robbery. They cleaned out the till and I didn't even notice."

"Business hasn't been too brisk?"

"Business hasn't been," he answered.

"Sorry to hear that."

"No sorrier than me. I opened the store here because I thought this location was up and coming."

"Isn't it?"

"Well, if it was, it came and went while I was asleep." He laughed. "What can I help you with?"

Charlie could think of a number of things this attractive, albeit strangely dressed young man could help him with. He spotted the man's name tag. "Well, Dylan, my name's Scott Lazar, but my friends call me Scootch." He extended his hand. Dylan just stared at him. "I'm looking at renting a space in the area for my business. I'm in computer games."

"Well, you'll have some competition. Sonic Masters across the street's cornered the market in the area."

"I'll be opening a new development studio. I actually create the games."

"Oh. That's cool. Anything I've heard of?"

Charlie wasn't prepared for this. "Yes…uh… Zombie Manifesto is one. Call of…V-valour is our best seller," Charlie stuttered.

"I've played that one, dude. You invented it?"

"You bet. Every…dead zombie and troll. Now, about the properties around here. There seem to be a lot of empty buildings. Is there a reason for that? Something I should know about?"

"Nah," Dylan said, shrugging. "The company that holds my lease is just looking at renovating some of the older stores. At least that's what I've been told."

"And who's that?"

"Monar—I mean…I'm not supposed to say."

"Why not?"

Dylan looked around, and in a hushed voice said, "Apparently there's a bit of a real estate battle going on. The owner's trying to calm things down to keep our rents low. There's a rumour that if they get the big building, it will be developed into something that will bring us a lot of business." Dylan lowered his voice further. "But they're worried the competition is sending in spies to find out what we're paying, so we've been warned not to say anything to people asking questions."

Charlie nodded and whispered back, "I'm just interested in finding a space. If you can't talk about it, maybe you could give me a name and a number I could call to make my own enquiries? Maybe you'd even get a referral fee."

It was clear that Dylan was working out his options.

"Tell you what—if you leave me your number, I'll make sure to pass it on. I could use one of those referral fees," he said as he grabbed a pen and piece of paper, then stared at Charlie, waiting.

"Right. Perfect. My name's Scott Lazar. That's L—A—Z—A—R."

"Like the light beam, right?"

Charlie wasn't so sure that Dylan's business was ever going to be a great success. "Yeah. Like the light beam."

"Cool. And your number?"

"Here." Charlie took the paper and wrote down a number, passing it to Dylan before realising the number he had made up had only nine digits instead of ten.

Dylan didn't seem to notice. He looked at the paper and said, "Cool. I'll let them know."

Charlie wondered if Dylan's napping was a sign of a more serious medical issue. "Great. Anyway, Dylan, I'll let you get back to work. Have a great day!"

"Same to you."

Charlie waved and left the store. He looked back through the window as he walked by, expecting he'd see Dylan asleep in his chair. Instead, he was chatting away on the phone, gesticulating wildly and looking at Charlie through the window.

Three shop doors down, Charlie entered All Things Go Round, a used record store.

A pretty blonde woman with cobalt blue lipstick and bright pink eyeshadow sat behind the counter. Music played loudly in the otherwise unoccupied store.

"Great song," Charlie shouted.

"What?" the woman responded.

Pointing to the speaker, Charlie yelled louder, "Great song," but by then she'd had time to twist the volume control down, so his voice rang out through the store, overwhelming Simon and Garfunkel's Bridge Over Troubled Water.

"They're one of my favourite groups," she said.

Charlie walked over to the counter and leaned on it. In his most seductive voice, he introduced himself. "My name's Scott. Scott Lazar. Can I ask you a question?"