Jerry Markham stood up in his living room and began to pace. They were here, now, and he could begin his story.

"Okay," he said, "this took place last year, at MagicCon 2K. Any of you hear of it?"

"I did," said Morgan. He was embarrassingly tall, wafer thin, and hopelessly uncoordinated. But he was a brilliant tactics man, and very calm under fire. "That was the Stercutus incident, right?"

Jerry made a face at the sound of the name. "Correct. Well, for your information, it was my game that the big dumb fucker smashed up. He ruined the con, and my reputation." Markham tactfully omitted the pants pissing part of the story; it was better to not oversell it, anyway. "Now, that guy, Larry Croft, AKA Stercutus, is coming here. In fact, he's in town already."

"So, what do you want to do? Slash his tires? Beat the shit out of him?" said Russell, the stocky, wide, hotheaded combat monster. What Russell lacked in self-control, he made up for in a willingness to do anything. Markham saw him swallow a whole, raw egg once, on a dare. He could be counted on to do whatever it took.

"No. At least, I don't think so. I intercepted this, and I can't make much of it." He passed out copies of Larry's e-mail and sat down to chew on his thumbnail while they read it.

"Huh," said Steve. He was young, but very smart, and had a great head for puzzles. "Maybe this is notes for a role-playing game?"

"I don't think so," said Jerry. "Or, if it is, then it's a live-action game."

"Sure, that makes sense," said Morgan.

"No," Jerry amended. "It doesn't. Larry's a traditionalist. He hates live-action gaming. No, he's up to something, and on my-our turf, too."

"And you want us to help stop it, right?" said Russell.

"What's the deal with the backhoe?" said Steve. "What would he need that for?"

Jerry shrugged. "I don't know. 'Phallus of Ebon Keep' is ringing a bell with me, but I can't place it. Hey, you guys want a pizza?" Jerry knew they did; it was all part of the plan to get them to help out. Pizza was small, a token gesture, but it was only the first step in a complex series of bribes.

Jerry ordered two extra large pizzas and sodas, then sat back to make small talk. Everyone but Steve put the e-mail down and chatted about midterms, girls, and the upcoming summer movies. After the pizzas showed up and everyone had sufficiently gorged themselves, Jerry returned to the e-mail. "Okay," he said, "Steve, what have you come up with?"

"Whatever it is, it's a big operation," said Steve. "I mean, a thousand bucks! Fake ID, a backhoe..."

"So, it's illegal, then," said Russell, leaning forward with a smile.

"Jerry, if you want to shut them down so bad, why don't you just call the cops?" asked Morgan.

"And tell them what? Be on the lookout for four dorks and a backhoe? No, we don't know enough, yet."

"I need to do some research," Steve announced. "Maybe I can find out ... say, how did you get this, anyway?"

Jerry stared. "Huh? Oh, it just showed up. I figured he must have sent it to the wrong people."

"Or did he?" said Russell. "Maybe it's a smoke-screen."

"Russell, it's a hell of a smoke screen if they're driving from San Francisco," said Jerry, struggling to keep the scorn out of his voice.

"Well, there's certainly one way to find out," said Morgan. "According to this, they're picking up a backhoe here in town. So, let's find out who rents backhoes and stake out the places." Steve and Russell assumed put-upon expressions. "I mean, if this backhoe is part of the plan, then they have to pick it up, right? After that, it's a snap to follow them around."

"Ooh, James Bond stuff," said Russell.

"Settle down, Q," said Steve. "This could all be in code. 'Backhoe' could be a person, maybe even a prostitute."

Everyone laughed. "Steve, where do you come up with that stuff?" howled Morgan.

"I'm just saying, maybe we shouldn't take this as a literal list. Maybe it's in code."

"Nah," said Jerry, pleased that they had begun to refer to the carrying out of the plan as a 'we' thing. "Not Larry. He's just not smart enough to use a code in an e-mail."

Morgan took a big drink of Coke. "You realize, Jerry, that we could spend a whole weekend running around with our heads up our butts, don't you?"

"Hey, yeah," chimed in Russell, "I don't even know this prick. I mean, why should we help you settle an old score that has nothing to do with me? I might be in this guy's game somewhere down the road."

Steve just looked at Jerry. He was interested, but he was also a follower. Jerry said slowly, "Well, obviously the friendship card isn't going to work with you mercenaries. And while I'm not able to offer you money, I can keep you in food for the weekend."

Russell snorted. "You want me to slash a guy's tires for free pizza?"

"Okay, well, there's also an intangible incentive," said Jerry. He carefully kept his face neutral as he said, "fifty thousand experience points."

It was quiet for a minute. They were glancing at each other, trying to read what the other was thinking. Finally, Morgan broke the silence. "Make it a hundred thousand, success or failure."

"What?" Jerry was flabbergasted. "That's extortion!"

"Not really," said Morgan. "If this were a three-day game, all of our characters would level at least once. Food is a gimme, of course, but you're asking us to give up a real-time weekend. I think a hundred thousand is more than fair."

Jerry glanced around the room and saw that Russell and Steve were on board with Morgan's estimation of the situation. "All right," he said, slowly. "One hundred thousand experience points for each of your characters."

Morgan grinned. "Okay, let's get to work. How many places rent backhoes in town?"

"Three," said Jerry, handing out more sheets of paper. A good GM always anticipates his player's reactions.