Corrigan and Evelyn had just moved to a house in Fox Chapel, a higher-income, professional residential area a few miles north of Blawnox. They threw a great housewarming party for their friends from CLC and elsewhere, and to add to the fun had one of the EVIE realscaping teams go through the house to capture the interior from all sides and angles for addition to the ever-growing database for the “simworld” of Pittsburgh and the surrounding area. So now, Corrigan explained to everybody, they would be able to relive the party all over again by coupling into EVIE when they got back to work tomorrow morning.
On the night of the announcement that COSMOS was on hold, Corrigan came home somewhat the worse after a celebratory drink or two in town. “Maybe Mister Tyron isn’t so much of a big wheel after all,” he said, sporting a cigar along with a satisfied smirk as he delivered the news. “It’s like Vic Borth said: his field is just visual imagery. Toys. But this thing we’re talking about now is going to need real know-how. It’s getting out of his league.”
Evelyn was less sure of that, but wrote Corrigan’s brashness off to the effects of the drink and the strain that he had been under. Anyway, she didn’t want to spoil the party. “Sit down and I’ll get you a coffee,” she said, forcing a smile. “Have you eaten yet?”
Corrigan stabbed his own chest with a thumb as he lowered himself heavily into an armchair. “If there’s big money to be made out of all this, maybe I’ll get to claim a share too now. Maybe we’ll see who’s who, eh?”
Evelyn’s smile faded as she went through into the kitchen. She wasn’t sure that she liked the side of Corrigan that was beginning to show itself. And she was nervous. She didn’t think that somebody like Tyron would give up so easily—nor the kind of people that he had behind him.
Chapter Twenty-six
Maurice came into the still room as Corrigan was changing out of his work jacket and into his street clothes. “Where are you going?” Maurice demanded. “You’ve got another two hours left yet.”
There were times when it was fitting for Corrigan to carry on taking orders from, and working for, a computer animation, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to ask permissions or have to make excuses. “Not tonight,” he said, pulling on his topcoat. “There’s too much to explain, and you probably wouldn’t believe it anyway. It’s quiet, and Sherri can handle it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Far from satisfied, Maurice followed Corrigan out into the corridor. “There is such a thing as proper procedures, Joe. You might show the courtesy of clearing it with me first.” Lilly was waiting by the door from the Galahad Lounge, and moved across to join Corrigan as he appeared. “Oh, so it’s like that, is it?” Maurice went on behind him. “You can’t just walk off the job for a date, Joe. I mean, hey, what is this? This isn’t gonna go away in the morning, you know. Just who in hell do you think you are?”
They came out onto the street, with its usual assortment of caricatures, crazies, and zombies. “I’ve been looking for you all over,” Corrigan muttered as soon as they were away from the doors. “You’ve had me worried, I can tell you.”
“You know where I am. What was so difficult?” Lilly’s voice was clipped and bitter. Clearly, she was not over her indignation—at the deception, and him as the only accessible target representing those responsible. The latter was compounded by his defending the situation, which she interpreted as bland acceptance. He got the feeling that she had come to him only as a last resort.
“I tried to, a few times. But I couldn’t find the place again. They’ve changed parts of the city that weren’t scaped. I tried to get you at work, but I couldn’t find it listed.”
“Why all the trouble? What worried you so much?”
“I didn’t know what might come into your head to try next.”
“Did you think I might try suicide or something as a way out?”