The Mystery Megapack

as redshirts, were supposed to maintain objectivity, not stare in adoration at the guest of honor. But it was hard sometimes—we were fans, too. I’d purposely kept my own distance from Bane because I was such an admirer. “It happens,” I said.
    Pinky grunted, and I knew what he was thinking. It had never happened to him, and never would. Even as we talked, his eyes were constantly moving, watching for trouble. He didn’t look that formidable—he was plump with glasses and thinning hair—but his devotion made him a much sought-after security team member at conventions up and down the east coast. I’d been delighted when I found out he was willing to work at FullMoon, a small convention for fans of Werewolf Hunter , especially since I was taking my first stab at running security. By rights, he should have been in charge, not me, but he’d said he’d rather not. At the time, I’d thought that meant he had confidence in my abilities. Now I wasn’t so sure.
    “Did you realize Shannon was so inexperienced?” Pinky asked.
    “She’s not inexperienced,” I objected. “Ted says she’s worked plenty of conventions in the midwest.”
    “Ted says? When you’ve worked as many conventions as I have, you learn to check out your team members yourself.”
    “You’re probably right,” I admitted. It was something else I’d have to remember for the next convention, assuming that I didn’t screw up so badly this weekend that I never got another chance. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
    “Does she have an exit strategy?”
    “A what?”
    He assumed a pained expression. “A strategy for getting the subject—that’s Masters—out of the room expeditiously.”
    Everybody else called the actor by his character’s name, which Masters himself encouraged, but Pinky insisted on using his real name. “I’m sure Shannon has a plan,” I said. “She’s worked as a personal attendant before.”
    Just then, an exuberant fan grabbed Bane by the neck and loudly kissed him, while Shannon watched in a blend of horror and envy.
    “Maybe you should go see—” I started to say, but Pinky was gone before I could finish. “And I didn’t even get a chance to thank him,” I mumbled to myself.
    “Did he say when he’s going to destroy the Death Star?” asked Elliot, who’d appeared at my elbow.
    “You mean Pinky?”
    “Who else but fandom’s answer to the Pinkertons?”
    “He’s helping Shannon with her exit strategy. I can’t believe I forgot to check on her exit strategy.”
    “I can’t believe you just said ‘exit strategy.’ Look, Regina, that guy may think he’s the Terminator crossed with a Klingon warrior, but the rest of us are just volunteers with walkie-talkies, doing the best we can. And you’re doing fine.”
    “Then how come I nearly let that toucher get through?”
    “Nearly only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. By the time Granny Goodness gets away from registration, Bane will be back in his suite drinking Fosters.”
    “Granny Goodness?”
    “The toucher.”
    Security people tend to attach nicknames to troublemakers. This one came from the DC comic book universe. Granny Goodness, like our toucher, was not nearly so nice as she appeared.
    Just then, I noticed a flurry of activity in one corner of the ballroom. It was probably nothing, but it was best not to take chances. “Can you check that out?”
    “You’re the boss,” he said with a mock salute, and sauntered off. Unlike Shannon, I knew Elliot could handle anything that came up. We’d worked together before, and though I didn’t know him as well as I wanted to, I had hopes. Of course, even if he was interested, it would have to wait until after the convention.
    True to his word, Pinky had Bane out the door at the stroke of ten, confounding the hopeful fans lingering in hopes of personal interaction. Shannon was left behind, too, though I wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or because she couldn’t keep up. Either way, Pinky was right. It was only Friday night, and Bane had a slew of events scheduled for the weekend. Shannon just wasn’t up to being his personal attendant.
    The rest of the redshirts and I waited until the room cleared out, with most people heading either for a marathon showing of the first season of Werewolf Hunter or to their rooms to get some sleep. I checked in with the other redshirts distributed around the hotel, and was relieved to hear that everything was calm. I sent most of them off-duty,