A Piece of the Action

Chapter 3: Amok Time

Tac-Con. Saturday, February 23, 2008.

Mozzie smiled as he listened to the chatter of fans in front of the Yellowface vs. Godzilla trailer. Travis's device was performing flawlessly. By adjusting the direction and sensitivity, he could monitor not only nearby conversations but also fans' comments about the Red Sands video game. Its booth was a few yards away.

His only issue was the distraction caused by attendees wanting to take his photo. Not that it wasn't understandable. Thanks to Richard, his Quark transformation was superb.

By next year's Tac-Con, the trailer for the video game accompanying the Doctor Who musical could be ready. The goal was ambitious but achievable. Scima had convinced the producers of the musical that the video game should be launched at the same time as the musical opened on Broadway. They believed the combination would propel both ticket sales and game sales while creating the unmistakable buzz of a smash hit.

Janet worried that he was overextending himself, and yes, juggling a movie, video game, and a musical in addition to his other activities was a bit much even for someone of his talents. Having someone worry about him was a new sensation. He was glad he hadn't told her about the van that nearly ran him over. It served as a good reminder to maintain better focus.

Speaking of which ...

Mozzie homed in on a pair of men studying the Yellowface poster. Were they Hollywood moguls? Unlike the other attendees, they wore suits, an abnormality worth investigating. He tweaked the settings on his snooping device.

"What do you mean you haven't found him yet?" the taller man said. "He wrote the script. He has to be here. In this crowd, no one will notice us snatching him."

"I'm telling you, boss. He ain't here."

"Look again. He was here last year for that stupid bee. He's bound to be here for the movie. You should have run him over when you had the chance. Don't disappoint me again."

Mozzie shrank into the shadows. After all these years, Frank DeLuca's voice was still unmistakable.

* * * * *

Neal stepped into the small conference room that had been set aside for Scima's use. The room appeared empty. "Mozzie? Are you in here?"

He'd gotten an urgent text message while he was taking a break from chaperone duty with Peter and Travis. They'd offered to go with him since Mozzie had described it as "life or death."

Travis frowned as he surveyed the room. "Do you want Peter and me to leave? Just say the word, and we will. But we're here to help extricate you from whatever jam you're in."

Mozzie slowly emerged from behind a storage cabinet of audiovisual equipment.

"Is this some kind of Ferengi joke?" Peter asked impatiently.

"I wish it were," Mozzie said. "Neal, you shouldn't have brought them along."

"He couldn't stop us," Travis declared. "You said this was life or death. I assume you mean yours?"

Mozzie nodded. "I spotted a mobster from Detroit in the crowd and used your snooper to eavesdrop on him and his henchman. They're searching for me."

"Which mobster are you talking about?" Peter demanded.

"Frank DeLuca," Mozzie admitted reluctantly.

"DeLuca ... I've heard of him," Peter said thoughtfully. "He was suspected of a crime while I was with Organized Crime. We didn't have enough evidence to charge him."

"There's never been enough evidence to charge him," Mozzie said gloomily.

"Why is he after you?" Neal asked.