After we’d finished, Chloe grabbed the Magician’s computer and started to close it.
“Wait,” I said.
“What?”
“If we’re going to invade the Magician’s private digital world, we should probably go all the way.”
“I’m listening,” Chloe said.
“I haven’t used a Windows-based machine in a while, but there has to be a way to access library and application file data, right?”
“Sure is,” Chloe said.
She performed a series of searches using the file explorer, but wasn’t able to come up with anything. Then she tried a couple of hidden image file searches. One of those searches uncovered some thumbnail image files located inside a hidden library folder at the root level of the Magician’s computer.
Chloe found Fatman right away. He was smiling back at us from one of the images. Chloe said it was a thumbnail screen capture generated by whatever video chat program the Magician had been using, probably created automatically during a system crash or similar disconnection situation.
“What the hell are HD video chat images doing on a computer running Windows 95?”
“Ninety-five is just a skin he’s using for some old software. There’s a proper OS on here as well.”
Chloe navigated to a hidden subfolder and found a bunch of other thumbnails related to the same video chat program; three of them featured Fatman. Most of those screen captures featured the room Fatman had been standing in when he’d spoken with Chloe in the arcade, but one of the images was slightly different from the rest.
Fatman must have changed the position of his computer’s camera at some point, because this particular screen cap provided a wider view of the room. Deep in the background of this image was a warm pink glow. The glow was coming from a neon sign that read: YALP.
“What the hell is yalp?” I said.
“Look at this,” Chloe said as she changed the view from regular to mirror image horizontal.
“Holy shit,” I said.
The word “yalp” had now become the word “play.”
“How many Seattle businesses have the word ‘play’ in the title?”
“A lot,” Chloe said, and the two of us sat down to look for neon signs.
We’d spent more than an hour combing through pictures featuring neon signs in Seattle when Chloe finally flipped her laptop around to reveal the website of a strip mall sex shop called Sinplay. The pink neon sign in the window matched the image from the Magician’s computer exactly.
Chloe stood up. “Get your shit. We’re going.”
“It’s almost midnight, is it even open?” I said as I stood up and stretched.
“Don’t know. Hours aren’t listed.”
Chloe called the number on the website, but there was no answer.
“Are you sure it’s the right place?” I asked, but Chloe was already putting on her shoes.
* * *
—
We found parking a couple of blocks away and walked over to the address Chloe had dug up online. As we made our way up the street toward the glowing pink neon sign, I thought I heard someone following us. I spun around, but there was nobody there. Chloe said she hadn’t heard anything, but I was positive I’d heard footsteps and shuffling at some point, about half a block behind us.
Sinplay was located in a low brick building between a bicycle repair shop and a dry cleaner. The building’s bricks had been painted black at some point, but so much of that paint had weathered away that it was almost impossible to come up with a word to describe the building’s color.
There were no cars parked out front, and apart from the pink neon sign, there were no lights on inside or outside the store.
Sinplay appeared to be closed.
We tried calling again, but—just like before—there was no answer.
As we approached the glass door to knock, Chloe noticed something. “There’s a basement,” she said, pointing toward the bottom of the neon sign.
The building had an additional section directly below street level that was accessible only by a small staircase located behind a wrought iron gate. The lower section looked like it used to be a retail space, but now it appeared to be some kind of office or storage area. A significant portion of the window had been plastered with posters advertising various adult products.
“Locked,” Chloe said, rattling the padlock on the gate.
“We should come back tomorrow,” I said.
“Sounds good,” Chloe agreed. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.” She turned around and started walking back toward the car.