“You’re sure it was Cadoc North who was abducted?”

Nobody had gotten a good look, but everyone was absolutely sure. Sao was happy to be sidelined while Rai attempted to patch a picture together from the incoming babble.

“They were wearing hoods.”

“Walked like him. No, he wasn’t walking. He was dragged.”

“About this tall.”

Sitting on a folding chair, Sao raised his hand in lieu of another speaker. He turned to Trae. “You were the one who recognized him when his hood fell, correct?”

“I thought so. He looked sick, maybe knocked out. Although, I’ve never seen Cadoc knocked out, it looked… kind of like him. At the time.” Trae picked at the edges of his sleeves, his mask re-affixed, but unable to hide a deep frown. “Whoever it was, they were sick and they were being carried away. That’s why I tried to follow.”

“I know. You did your best.”

“But I couldn’t be the only person to see his face. I wasn’t even the first to call out to him...”

“You,” Rai said, aiming a finger and an iron glare at Nero’s dejected fanclub. “You were hounding the pair as they were leaving. You knew it was Cadoc? Why did you think that?”

“It’s true. Because...” the tall man sputtered valiantly over his shuddering companions. “He had the shoes.”

“The shoes?”

“On the stage, Cadoc was wearing red shoes - new sneakers or something. The hoods, no, the one getting dragged, he had the same. I saw it because his feet pulled across the floor, all squeaky, tripping people - it was the same color of shoes...”

Rai pulled a hand across his face hard enough to leave tracks. “Red shoes. The guy next to you is also wearing red shoes. Is that really all?”

The blend of alcohol and interrogation weren’t sitting well with their witness. A heavyset member of the squad spoke up instead. “We were waiting outside the staff room for him to come out. Red shoes, a guy about that size, and the staff room where all the competitors went - it had to be him, right?”

The tall man groaned.

“So this is how it started. You were waiting outside the staff room. What were you planning to do when he came out? Wait - we already know.” Rai folded his arms. “Dueling in the middle of the lobby. Classy. You didn’t happen to get a punch or two in before the ladies stopped you, leaving Cadoc to be dragged off unconscious?”

“Nothing happened!” five voices cried in shaky unison.

Rai turned to Sao and declared loudly. “I guess we’ll have to check the security cams for that.”

Sao shrugged. “On the bright side, without the altercation and such, Trae and the others may not have noticed the abduction.” Evidently this was not what Rai had wanted from his assistant, because the daggers were aimed his way.

“And it might not have been him after all,” admitted one of Nero’s fans.

Rai threw his hands up. “Was it or wasn’t it him? I can’t even start to put together a report here.”

Sao stood. “If we’re requesting security footage, we’ll have a chance to confirm one thing at least. If Cadoc really did leave the staff rooms or not.”

The doors of the staff room, pale and windowless against the end wall of the lobby, faced them in silent regard.

Rai sighed when they had left the crowd behind them. Trae was trailing them, but at a distance, not eager to catch Rai’s eye again. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” Rai muttered.

“Why’s that?”

“I was just starting to enjoy the whole thing.”

---

The staff doors led to a whitewashed hall, where the large cooler and scales were stored. The hall smelled sweaty, meaty and stale. Air conditioners blasted away, but lack of ventilation meant it did little good. A cluster of technicians was inspecting some paper, in a discussion led by a long curtain of blue glitter. When Rai stalked toward the group, Zip Cobalt, in his sequined blue suit, snapped to attention.

“Interviews aren’t scheduled until later.”

“This isn’t a reporter’s ID.”

“Huh? Oh - Police. I see - you’re just a Level 3. You still can’t be here, unless there’s been-” Cobalt twitched. “Some sort of trouble with the convention?”

“You could say that. There’s been some talk that Cadoc North was almost involved in the fight in the lobby, and that he’s been kidnapped. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

A nervous laugh. “All the competitors are here in their rooms.” There were a dozen doors, all identically windowless. “Cadoc and his manager know they aren’t supposed to leave until the schedule’s done. There’s a final ceremony, and the interviews, the press...”

“And the prize money?”

“His manager already received it. All the contestants have already claimed their pay, actually, it’s policy. But they know they aren’t supposed to leave-”

“His manager?” Rai folded his arms. “Okay, did you notice either Cadoc or his manager leave their rooms?”

“Not that I know… of course, I wasn’t out here the whole time.” Cobalt pointed at the nearest, completely nondescript door. “I was in the lounge with the staff, the judges and techs, trying to call a van to pick up the equipment. It was all hands on deck, and as you can see, we’re a little short on hands. We’ve only got ten people total. And with the air conditioning out here, I had to take the call in a room, I wasn’t watching-”

“I see. So Cadoc could be gone, or he could still be in here safe and sound. Let’s make this easy: why don’t we take a look in his room?”

Cobalt shook his head so fast his features became a blur. “His manager won’t like that.”

“This isn’t only for your peace of mind. There are a couple dozen people out there claiming he’s been kidnapped or killed. Extreme assumptions, but if reporters get wind while they’re waiting, I imagine his manager won’t be too happy about that either.”

The technicians dispersed, quiet as feathers, but peeked around the lounge room door, watching Cobalt hang his head and lead the visitors away. Close enough for a better look, Sao observed that Zip Cobalt was quite tall, a well-built man who had not yet lost the physique of a sprinter, which had been his calling before becoming a sport commentator. He was spry and long-legged, a vibrant sight in his sapphire suit, but his wiry tension and perpetual shortness of breath gave the impression of a nervous prey animal. This was more evident than ever as he rapped on Cadoc’s door with a stiff wrist. “It’s some men from the police. They want to check in on you. Open up. Cadoc? Miss North?”

He rattled the knob and the door slid open. Cobalt hadn’t expected it and snapped his hand back as if it had been burned.

It was a simple dressing room, with a plywood shelf next to a vinyl covered bench on one end, and a table on the other - a sort of makeshift vanity with a drawer and a 3-paneled mirror. These rooms were likely intended for actors and performers of more artistic projects than the International Meat Cup, but it warmed Sao to know that the stars of the eating world had their own dressing rooms. Even if it was small and windowless, and held the odor of meat like sealed jar.

His appreciation soon faded. The room was empty.

“Maybe he’s gone to the bathroom,” Sao suggested.

Two water bottles were on the vanity table, unopened. Rai sifted through the drawers, checked behind the door. A row of empty coat racks. “No bags. The key’s on the table. It doesn’t look like anyone’s coming back. Who are you calling?”

Zip Cobalt froze in the doorway, flashed his phone screen. “Cadoc. Or his manager. No one’s picking up. The reporters are going to ask where he is, he has to come back, he’s the winner, everyone wants to speak to him. You don’t think he’s really…?”

“We’re trying to figure it out.” Rai turned over the bench cushions. “According to witnesses outside, Cadoc was dragged by an unknown person out of the staff hall, and out the main doors. If that’s the truth, something happened while he was back here. Cadoc North has his detractors, but did you ever see any kind of attitude like that from the backstage crew?”

“No. Not at all, the crew we have today are all very professional. They’re all experienced, and I can vouch for most of them personally.” Sao admired that Cobalt repressed his jitters for that question, but the strength was short lived. “The contestants, you know, there’s always the usual coldness or banter - Kep’s got a thing for trash talk. The managers and assistants can get snippy, but they’re just protecting the competitors. Everyone was tired when they came back from the contest, there wasn’t much talk. Of course, even if there was, Cadoc’s manager would never let anything happen to him, if she could help it.”

“Mr. Cobalt,” Sao said, as softly as he could without being drowned out by air conditioners, “You called for someone named Miss North. Would this be his manager?”

Cobalt blinked. “Right, I’ve spoken to her at so many events, I forget she isn’t so well known to the public. Yes, Miss North is Cadoc’s manager.”

“Is she a relative?”

“A sister, I’m pretty sure.” Cobalt went still with thought. “Well, looking the way she does, that would be the most likely answer. Very different person though. she’s very guarded.”

“If I may, what was she wearing when you last saw her?”

Evidently what Cobalt found remarkable of Miss North’s appearance did not include her clothing.

Rai flipped the trash can over. 

Cobalt’s nerves unraveled. “I’m going to try calling them again.”

“Please do. If someone picks up, ask them about the trash.” Rai nodded at the contents of the trash can, small crumpled shapes lying on the floor. Sao bent to see them. Tangles of tissue, some white and others dyed an unmistakable red, were adding the smell of iron to the sour air.

“Blood,” Sao said. “But clean tissues in addition..?”

“The clean ones were on top. Someone tried to hide the mess, just long enough to get out of here. A person goes missing, nothing but bloody tissues left behind. I guess that’s enough to begin.” Rai stood, snapped off his gloves (Cobalt darted behind the door at the flash of light) and started keying a report on his phone. “A protective sister who’s missing too? Double the trouble. Blood could belong to either of them.”

A razor smile was crawling onto Rai’s face as he hammered out the thrilling details for HQ to initiate a case. Sao was beginning to wish he had just stayed at the Chimera table with Gene. God forbid such expressions were ever programmed into the holo-services; Sao would have to become a shut in.

The report was fired out, and Rai shoved his phone away and pulled his gloves back on. “Okay, case opened. But who knows if and when we’ll get a response. For now, do you think we could speak with the other contestants? Since they’ve been here the whole time. Assuming they haven’t been dragged off too.”

Cobalt barely registered this as a question. Head hanging, his words floated on stale air. “If you must.”