Geek Mafia, Rick Dakan [books that read to you .TXT] 📗

practically a victimless score. I mean, like you say, no one’s going to ever open these sealed books right? So really, we’re just making wealth for people. Buying one of our fakes will be like buying the real thing. They’ll probably turn around and sell it themselves in a few years and make a profit.”

“That’s something that really appealed to me personally about this thing,” said Chloe. “It’s kind of the exact opposite of what we pulled off yesterday. That was high wire, in your face, smash and grab stuff. This is so subtle no one will ever know they’ve been taken. That’s the challenge here – do it just right, and no one ever knows.” 

Paul knew that this was all bullshit of course. But somehow it was enough. Enough for him to keep playing along, at least, and see where things led from here. “Ok, guys, no worries. I’m…like I said; I’m surprised is all. Flattered really. I’ll help you out. I’ve already got some good ideas for books you can fake.”

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with Paul,” said Chloe, putting her hand on his to comfort him. “But any help is good.”

“Speaking of which…” said Raff.

“Right.” Chloe cut him off. “I almost forgot. Paul, do you have any comics in your collection that would be worth getting rated and sealed?”

“A couple maybe. A full run of Miracleman. Those are pretty hard to come by. Why?”

“Well, we might need some honest to God valuable comics to bring into the CRG offices when our face man goes in to scout the offices.”

“I have those and a couple of other things, but nothing worth over a $100. If you want someone to pose as a real big time collector you’ll need something more impressive.”

“Well then,” said Chloe. “I guess tomorrow you and I are going shopping for bait.”

“They do kind of know me at most of the stores in town here,” said Paul, suddenly wary about visiting any of his old familiar haunts for fear of running into one of his former co-workers. “I’d probably be recognized.”

“We’ll go up to San Francisco then,” she said. “We’ll make a day of it. Maybe buy you some new clothes too.”

The prospect of spending another day with just Chloe brightened Paul’s whole outlook. “Sounds like a plan,” he said. “What time should I come by?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Tomorrow. What time should I come by so we can go up to the city?”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“I thought I should get a hotel room or something,” said Paul. He’d assumed that was what he was going to do.

“Don’t be silly. Someone could trace your credit card and you don’t need any unwanted attention right now. You should stay here, with me.”

That sounded perfect to Paul. “Ok, thanks. I really appreciate it.” For a brief moment he wondered idly what bed he might get to sleep in.

“That couch actually does fold out into a bed,” she said, crushing his dreams. “It’s really pretty comfortable.” She picked up her chicken, which she hadn’t even started on and turned her attention to Bee. “Now, Bee baby, what’re you going to need to get this all set up the way you want it?” They began to discuss the dirty details of all the prep they were going to need to do and Paul’s thoughts wandered. He hoped the fold out bed really was as comfortable as she said it was. It looked like he might be crashing there for some time.

Chapter 10

It didn’t take them long to finalize their plans. Bee and Raff had their to-do lists and Paul had thumbed through a price guide they’d picked up and chosen about fifty promising comics to make fakes of. To finish off their plan they’d need high-resolution images of the front and back covers of each of these, which is part of what he and Chloe would work on the next day. The rest of the evening was pretty laid back, which was fine with Paul since his headache had never really gone away.

He did get a full tour of Chloe’s house, which consisted of three bedrooms, two baths, the kitchen, and the living room, which had a den area off of it that could be closed off with sliding doors. This den was officially known as The Server Room. As far as Paul was concerned, it looked like a cave. It had its own window AC unit to keep it icebox cold, and cheap folding tables covered with computers lined every wall. Heavy curtains covered the single tiny window and he never saw them opened. Paul would come to learn that the Server Room was open to all members of the Crew at all hours, and that people came and went as if they were visiting another building. They’d walk in the front door, go right into the Server Room and never even say “hi.” There was an understanding that this one room was somehow different from the rest of the house, which was definitely Chloe’s domain.

Bee lived in one of the two smaller bedrooms. She proudly showed off her collection of Simpson’s action figures, still in their packaging, which covered one entire wall, floor to ceiling. Other than that, the room consisted mainly of piles of clothing under which a bed hid somewhere and shelves lined with sci-fi and engineering books. Chloe was a fanatic about not leaving dishes around; otherwise Paul guessed there would have been dirty cups and plates everywhere. Bee probably would’ve left little bits of electrical engineering tools and pieces all over the place too, if she hadn’t already taken over the garage. 

The garage was Bee’s workshop. Aside from a heavyweight punching bag and a set of rusty barbells in one corner, workbenches and electronics tools took up every bit of space in the room. Bee spent most of her time in here, taking apart and putting computers back together, fiddling with tiny cameras, and hacking together her own inventions. Other members of the Crew used the workshop as well, but they always made sure to ask Bee first. Unlike the server room, this space was definitely not open to all, and even though it looked like a mess, Bee claimed to know exactly where everything was. 

The second small bedroom seemed to have a kind of rotating occupant. Right now it was Kurt, who was off doing something else that night, but whom the others assured Paul would be back tomorrow. Since he wasn’t home, Paul’s tour didn’t include this room, although he snuck in later that night on his way back from the hall bathroom and was disappointed to find it pretty Spartan – just a futon, a dresser and some clothes. Kurt hadn’t done much to make it his own, but maybe he hadn’t been there long enough. 

Chloe’s room was at the end of the hall and qualified as the master suite. It was the only room in the house that felt like it had been decorated. There was a kind of sparse, Asian or maybe Scandinavian feel to it – lots of simple lines and blonde wood furniture. One wall had several different Kabuki style masks placed in careful arrangements on it, while the other had two large, painted fans tacked elegantly to the wall. Hers was the only made bed in the house. Paul glimpsed the glint of a chain, which was attached to one of double bed’s feet, most of its length hidden beneath the bed. 

She was especially proud of her closet, which took up one whole wall of the room. It was the closest Chloe came to being disorganized, and one only got that impression because there was so much stuff in there that she was running out of space. It contained such a wild variety of outfits that Paul believed that maybe she really did have an outfit for any occasion. Dresses, jeans, suits, blouses, t-shirts, and even uniforms hung from wooden hangars. Chloe pointed out a row of boxes along the top shelf, “Wigs,” she said, “I’ve got like a dozen of them. This bubblegum pink hair of mine tends to attract attention.” These weren’t just clothes of course. They were costumes. Like the lawyer outfit she’d worn the previous day, they were tools of the trade. 

Late the next morning, Paul and Chloe climbed into his car and headed north up the 101 towards San Francisco. Paul had put together a list of several comic stores in the City that they should visit before crossing the Bay Bridge over into Berkley and the really good store over by the University. By the time they got back to San Jose, they’d have circumnavigated San Francisco Bay and hit half a dozen shops. Paul figured that would be enough to find everything they needed.

“You know,” said Chloe as she pawed thumbed through his iPod’s menus, “Your selection of music is kinda limited here, sport-o.”

“I’m more of a talk radio kind of guy really.”

“I guessed from all the Al Franken podcasts, but you know, sometimes you need a great driving song. And sometimes that great driving song wasn’t written by Madonna or the Barenaked Ladies, which seem to be the only two choices you’ve got in here.”

“I like what I like. I have trouble picking out new bands, a fact I blame not on my own limited knowledge of music but rather on the fact that there’s so much crap out there. Have you seen MTV lately?”

“Of course I haven’t seen MTV lately. All the music’s crap. I should say all their music’s fucking crap. In the entire world of all music there’s tons – literally tons – of great shit. You just need an expert guide is all.”

“See, that’s the problem with music,” said Paul. “You need an expert guide to find the good stuff. It should just float right to the top and be self-evident.”

“And I suppose video-games and comics are different?” she asked.

“Hell no. Comics are even worse. Well, not worse, but certainly just as bad as music. Or movies. It’s all about the hype and advertising and, well, tradition. X-Men’s always going to sell, no matter if it’s really good or really bad. Video games are maybe a little different. Unlike the others, you have to actually sit down and interact with the game. You can’t say ‘oh, everyone says this is good and I suppose it’s not actively offensive, so I’ll pretend I really like it.’ With a video game you actually have to play the thing, and if it’s a bad game, there’s no hiding the fact that you’re having a shitty time.”

“Makes sense I guess. Which do you prefer working on, comics or video games?”

“Oh comics for sure. Definitely. I have a lot more fun just concentrating on telling a story. With a video game you have to worry about making sure all the stuff you want to do is technically possible, plus you have to make sure it’s fun and it takes dozens of people to make it happen. I can do a comic myself and all I have to do is tell a good story.”

“Which isn’t always easy.”

“Nope. But at least it’s something within my control. I hope so anyway.”

Chloe had finally picked out a song. “Hah! Here’s something with a little more bite to it. Violent Femmes! Old school 80’s fun.” She pressed a button and the two of them immediately started singing along cacophonously to the brilliance that is “Blister in the Sun.” Paul kept sneaking glances at her as she bobbed her head back