Chapter 1

"So why is it," Frank asked, "that we're here again, Tejal? I'm starting to think you're just using this as an excuse for drinks, dinner and a show in Atlantic City, and not an actual news story. Not that I mind, of course." He sat back in his chair, looking around the theater as he sipped at his whiskey. "If you want to count this as a dinner date as well as something work-related, I don't mind expensing it."

Frank grinned crookedly at Tejal ... and the grin faded as he saw the cold, indifferent expression on the face of the gorgeous woman seated across from him. Sighing, he took more than a sip of his whiskey, defeated. He pretended to look around at the other tables, watching the dinner theater begin to fill with more and more guests as showtime approached.

Tejal was used to it. Truth be told, she enjoyed it. Tejal was a striking young woman, willowy and slender with luscious, firm breasts and a long tangled mane of curly black hair. She had large dark eyes and light mocha skin, and when she smiled, it was dazzling and white and perfect. Tejal could turn the head of just about any man in a room when she walked in ... and, often, the head of a woman as well. And when she wore the right outfit – like the one she was wearing this particular evening, a low-cut crimson cocktail dress and stiletto pumps – not only could she make heads turn, she could make people whisper. And wonder. And want her.

But as much as Tejal loved the attention ... she wasn't interested in being with anyone. Not Frank, not any guy, no matter how rich, or attractive, or smart, or funny. She didn't have time for relationships. She hadn't had a boyfriend since she graduated from journalism school five years ago, and didn't really miss it. She was determined to be the best and most successful reporter of her generation. Things like sex and boyfriends and relationships, she'd found, just got in the way of that ambition.

Tejal's star had risen rapidly in the media world since she'd left journalism school – she'd gotten an internship at the National Herald, one of the biggest newspapers in the country, and quickly moved on to a position as a beat report. Shortly after that, she wrote a scathing piece exposing the corruption of a congressman ... and after that, another revealing piece about a famous movie actor's behind-the-scenes secret life as a drug dealer. Those two articles had launched Tejal into the national spotlight, and many people in the news industry thought that her brains, her stunning good looks, and her knack for uncovering a juicy story would take her to the top someday.

Tejal smiled, thinking about that. If only people knew the truth, she mused, sniffing at her wine. Her stories had earned her a reputation as a hard-nosed, no-nonsense journalist who could ferret out stories that no one else could. But ... well, that wasn't exactly true. Most of those stories – the biggest ones, that had moved her well along the road towards being a top journalist – those had literally fallen into her lap, almost by accident. The story about the congressman came from the congressman's then-wife, who thought she had just found out that her husband was sleeping with an intern. Spurned, the wife had called the Herald in a drunken rage ... and Tejal just happened to be the reporter who picked up the phone that fateful night.

As it happened, there was no affair. Oddly enough, the congressman was one of the few politicians in Washington not diddling someone besides his wife – he was actually one of the few "good guys" in office, trying to make a difference for the people who elected him. And he certainly wasn't doing any of the unsavory things that Tejal accused him of in her articles.

Tejal didn't really care, though, not even after the poor bastard's wife found out that her suspicions were wrong, and begged Tejal to print some retractions. The story had made her a star, and she wasn't about to say anything that would change that.

The same went for the drug-dealing actor – the actor's girlfriend, a lesser-known singer who probably dealt more drugs that he did, had gotten in some trouble and was about to be seriously investigated. Remembering Tejal's involvement in the congressman scandal, the girlfriend called her in a panic ... and after a bit of fudging some facts, the actor went to jail for his crime, and his girlfriend's crimes as well, and his girlfriend walked away scot-free.

Sometimes, the facts in Tejal's stories were true. She brought down a few people every once in awhile who actually deserved it. But more times than not ... well, not so much. She'd made up quite a lot of things in the name of a juicy headline, infusing them with just enough truth to make her lies believable ... and, more importantly, hard to completely disprove.

Either way, Tejal really didn't care. She knew she wrote good stories, and her stories had brought down enough famous people so that even the most powerful celebrities and politicians returned her phone calls and texts. She was respected. She was feared.

Tejal loved that, more than anything.

And now ... she was sitting on a story that was, as Frank would call it, a doozy.

"Fine. You want the story?" Tejal asked Frank. She ran a finger across the rim of her wine glass. A knowing smile crossed her face, and she leaned slightly forward, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she looked at her editor. "Well, it's a good one. It's going to be big ... and it's going to sell a lot of papers. Scandals usually do."

"Scandals?" Frank snorted. "He's a goddamn ventriloquist with a wooden dummy. He's a retro fad. That's all. Yeah, he's headlining some big theaters now, but in two years he'll be on some reality television show on cable, trying to make a comeback after his career falls apart."

"Maybe," Tejal replied. "But think about this for a moment."

Reaching into her purse, Tejal pulled out a bunch of neatly-clipped newspaper articles, along with some pictures and forum posts she'd printed out. She pushed them in front of Frank, next to his drink.

"Four years ago," Tejal said, "the act called 'Benedict and the Amazing Bartleby' was instead 'Brian and the Gumdrop Kid'. Benedict was Brian, the dummy was different. And the act sucked. Hard. In fact, it was so bad, it was practically an urban legend." She tapped a finger on one of the printouts of a website posting. "People used to show up just to boo him. Comedy clubs stopped booking him just because other comedians didn't want to be associated with him ... well, that, and they got tired of cleaning up the stage after him. Apparently a lot of people threw rotten bananas at him."

"So?" Frank shrugged. "He was bad. He got good. It happens."

"Except I don't think he got good," Tejal said. "Look." She leafed through the pile of clippings and papers, finally extracting a thin, colorful brochure. "So Brian put the dummy away, left the comedy clubs, and got himself a job at the State Museum. He was a guide, taking tour groups through exhibits about ancient civilizations. And then, after being there about a year ... an idol went missing. A rather expensive idol, of an ancient South American spirit called Kurupi."

"Ah." Frank nodded approvingly. "Now we're talking." He began picking through the papers, looking them over. "So he's a thief ... what's a Kurupi, anyway?"

"A spirit," Tejal replied. "Supposedly a bad one. It's a creature of pure lust, or so some legends go. Doesn't really matter, though." She pointed at a flyer in the pile, one she'd picked up that very night, when she and Frank had arrived at the show. "Check that out. What do you see?"

Frank squinted at it. "Not much, apart from an ugly wooden puppet," he replied. He squinted again. "Jeez. Is that stupid thing wearing a velvet leisure suit?"

Tejal nodded. "Yes. But more importantly ... do you see a picture of Benedict anywhere on that flyer?"

Frank raised an eyebrow. "I'll be damned," he said. Tejal loved hearing the grudging surprise in his voice. "No. No, I don't."

"There's no pictures of Benedict anywhere," Tejal said proudly. "No pictures, no video ... go to YouTube to find a clip of his act, and you won't find anything. He's never done a single interview for anyone. There's no official reviews of his shows, either. Go ask anyone who sees his show. They'll tell you it's the funniest thing they've ever seen, but they can never tell you exactly what the show's about, or what any of the jokes were. It's like he's famous, but he doesn't exist at the same time, either."

"No pictures, no video – nothing?" Frank sounded skeptical. He finished his whiskey, and signaled to a nearby waitress to bring him another one. "Everybody on the goddamn planet's got a phone with a camera, Tejal. That's kind of hard to believe."

"I know," said Tejal. "But it's true." She glanced around the theater. It was almost full, and the crowd was starting to murmur, waiting restlessly for the show to start. "What's even more hard to believe is that no one's ever connected Benedict to Brian ... you know, Brian, the guy who stole a valuable artifact from a museum. No one's ever put together than two guys who make jokes onstage with a wooden dummy for a living are the exact same person."

Tejal smirked, and drank some more of her wine. "Well, no one except me, of course."

"Hmm." Frank leaned back in his chair, staring lazily at Tejal. "Interesting." The stunning reporter couldn't decide if her editor was simply trying to think through everything she'd just told him, or mentally undress her with his eyes. Probably the latter, Tejal thought irritably. He's always finding an excuse to stop by my desk when I wear something low-cut, so he can sneak a look at my tits...

A loud buzzing noise erupted from Tejal's purse. The report peered inside, and took out her phone. A wolf-like smile crossed her face as she looked at the phone's glowing screen.

"Benedict's agent," Tejal said to Frank. She tapped a few buttons on her phone, then placed it gently on the table in front of her. "He just agreed to an interview with our mysterious comedian. An exclusive one-on-one, between him and me. So after we watch his terrible act – and after I record it, of course..." Tejal reached over and pressed a button on her phone, turning on its digital video recorder. "After that, of course, I'll interview him, listen to whatever he's got to say, and then I'll write up an exclusive for you that'll run in the feature section of the Herald on Sunday, that explains how America's latest favorite comedian is a thief, a liar, and a fraud." She sipped again at her wine, savoring its bitter taste.

"Wow," said Frank, shaking his head. He pushed all of Tejal's papers and notes back in her direction, a rueful grin on his face. "Gotta hand it to you. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that you live for these moments. Making the mighty fall, even if it ruins their lives."

"Thank you," Tejal replied. Her dark eyes glittered with a wicked delight. "And yes, I think you do know better ... better than you know."

Sighing, Frank gave Tejal a pitying look. To her surprise, she felt an anger starting to burn inside her. Save it, I don't need you judging me, I can bring you down just like I've brought down better people than you, she thought hotly. She started to say something to him – something particularly vicious – but the sounds of a loud, thumping rock anthem suddenly began to echo through the theater, and the curtain on the stage began to swing open.

We'll talk later, Tejal thought darkly, as the lights dimmed and the show began.

The comedian billed as Benedict strode out on stage to thunderous applause. Tejal didn't particularly see the appeal in the guy – to her, he looked like an average slacker, more suited for working at a coffee shop than a stand-up comedian. Benedict was tall and thin, with a shaggy mop of brown hair and a scruffy, unshaved face. He wore a faded black t-shirt for some indie rock band that Tejal didn't know, as well as a pair of rumpled jeans and dirty sneakers. He held a battered leather case under one arm, that he clutched tightly.

The stage was bare, save for a rickety wooden chair that sat front and center. Benedict scuttled over to it quickly, his shoulders slumped, his eyes firmly fixed on the dusty stage floor as he walked. Wow, Tejal thought in wonder. Does he even want to be here? Looks like he'd like nothing better than to make a run for the parking lot and leave...

Benedict sat wearily on the chair, still not saying anything, still not even looking up at the faces of his puzzled audience. Instead, he put his case in his lap, and hastily flipped it open. Out of the case, Bendeict pulled out a battered wooden puppet, its face garishly painted. The puppet wore a battered top hat and rumpled purple velvet leisure suit, slightly covered in sawdust. A smudged glass monocle covered one of its painted eyes. Benedict sat the puppet on his lap, putting his hand on its back ... and then, the puppet seemed to come to life, sitting up straight, its head slowly turning as it surveyed the audience sitting in the theater.

"Uh, hey, Bartleby," Benedict muttered, although the tiny microphone attached to his shirt made his voice boom throughout the sold-out theater. The comedian's voice sounded dull and listless. Tejal wondered if the guy was stoned. "Ready to start the show?"

"I'm always ready, you pathetic, talentless hack," the puppet snapped back. "I'm just surprised that dumb fucks pay to watch this awful act of yours."

A few people laughed politely, a few more nervously. Tejal didn't laugh at all. However, she was surprised when she heard the Amazing Bartleby's voice. It sounded nothing like Benedict. The puppet's voice was shrill and nasal, and about as abrasive as fingernails being dragged down a chalkboard. And Benedict's mouth didn't move when the puppet spoke. Not at all.

He's really good at throwing his voice, Tejal thought grudgingly. He may not be funny, but he might be the best ventriloquist I've ever seen...

Benedict started to speak some more, saying something to the crowd that Tejal didn't find particularly amusing ... and then, that was when things started getting weird. As the puppet replied to him, Tejal found her fingers wandering to her phone. To her own astonishment, she found herself shutting it off, and tucking it away neatly in her purse. She was dimly aware of people at other tables doing similar things – putting away their cameras, their cell phones, and so on. All of them. Every last one.