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

“Chloe, can I ask you a question?” 

“Sure, Paul. The beer’s in the kitchen.” She pointed towards the back of the house. “You can put your champagne in the fridge if you want. We should save it for later I think. Just help yourself to anything that looks good.”

“Actually, I had another question.”

She smiled at him and put an arm around his shoulders. “Whatcha need, babe?”

“How do I…” he stammered. She felt warm and inviting and, once again, smelled so good. “What should I…What should I say to people? About what happened today I mean?”

“Whatever you want. Everyone here’s in the know. Hell, almost everyone here had a hand in making it happen. So, I guess the first thing I’d say is ‘thanks’ and then go from there. No worries though, we’re all family here. This is my Crew – you can trust them.”

“Oh,” said Paul. “Ok, that’s great then.” All these people? All of them knew? There had to be fifteen strangers in this house, and they’d all helped him extort a ton of cash from his best friend. He was starting to think that maybe he had made the right decision about coming late and taking care of his little errand first. 

“Cool,” she said. “Right now I gotta pee. Go get yourself a beer.” With that Chloe disappeared down the hall, and Paul was left to his own devices, although not for very long. It was as if Chloe’s stepping away had been a sign for the others at the party to descend on him. Raff was the first, holding out his long-fingered hand in congratulations.

“That was a great score today, man,” said the tall hacker. He had to be 6‘5″ at least, mostly skin and bones and brain. Raff however, didn’t have the physical insecurity that Paul associated with the computer programmers he’d worked with. This hacker radiated confidence and even a certain amount of grace. More like a star basketball player than an awkward desk jockey. “We were listening to the whole thing through the mic in Chloe’s briefcase. She really went to town on those guys, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Paul, “She’s pretty amazing. She was pretty amazing I mean. They didn’t know what hit them.”

“They never do with Chloe,” Raff said. “That’s why she’s the man.” 

“Right,” said Paul. “Anyway, Raff right? I just want to say thank you for helping me out. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, man! It was a real kick. I live for this shit. Listen, can I get you a beer or something? Newcastle? Guinness?”

“A Newcastle’d be great, thanks,” said Paul. “But I’ll get it – you’ve done plenty for me already.” Paul sidled by Raff and into the kitchen, where he saw Bee and another woman already standing in front of the open door to the refrigerator. 

Bee was maybe five feet tall and had a stocky build that would never be thin, even if she lost some of the extra weight she was carrying around. Chloe had said that she was a very talented electrical engineer and would have been in charge of wiring up the hidden cameras if the Crew had chosen a different plan last night instead of the one they ended up going with. Bee had already pulled a bottle of Newcastle out and was handing it to Paul. 

“Thanks,” he said. 

“There’s a bottle opener on the counter there,” said Bee, her attention now focused on the refrigerator’s contents, which Paul saw consisted almost entirely of a brown rainbow of different beers. “Let’s see. Let’s see. What looks yummy for my tummy?” 

“What do you care? You don’t even like beer,” said the woman standing next to her, who’d pulled out a Newcastle for herself. She then turned her attention to Paul, leaving Bee to make her choice on her own. She held out her beer to Paul, who had just finished opening his own after putting the bottle of champagne down on the counter. “Could you do me as well?” 

“Sure thing,” he said. Paul took her beer and opened it. Returning it to her he said, “I’m Paul by the way.”

“Of course you are,” she said. “You’re the only stranger here, so you’d have to be, wouldn’t you?” She was an attractive young woman, with dark brown hair that fell in loose curls to her shoulders. She wore jeans and a black t-shirt with a steel-studded leather belt. She wiped her hand on her pants before extending it back towards Paul, who promptly shook it. “I’m Popper.”

“Nice to meet you, Popper.”

“So,” she said, stepping close to Paul and leaning against the kitchen counter. “You satisfied with how things went today?”

“Yeah, definitely. I mean – wow. It’s pretty impressive.”

“I’ll say. We haven’t been part of a score like that in months.”

“Four months, at least,” chimed in Bee, who was still trying to pick a beer.

“I don’t know what’s more impressive,” said Paul. “The fact that you guys helped me pull this off today or the fact that you’ve done something just as crazy before.”

“Ha!” said Popper. “This was nothing, sweet cheeks. This was a short job for us. I mean, Chloe happened to find you in the right space at the right time and so we did it. It was a lark, you know what I mean? No real risk for us on this deal. Just a little fun yanking around the gamer geeks, which is always a blast.”

“Well, thanks again. What did you – you know, do? I hope that’s not rude of me to ask…”

“No, no problem at all. It was your score, right? Who’re you gonna rat us out to?” She took a swig of beer. “Actually, I was pretty light on this one. I culled through some e-mails from your old producer pal. There was some juicy stuff in there between him and that piece on the side he’s keeping. I picked out the best bits for Chloe to use in her blackmail files. Then I did some driving and was waiting around the corner as backup in case things went sour.”

“What do you mean by ‘sour?’” asked Paul. 

“You know, if they’d called the cops or if someone got violent or if maybe you had freaked out or something.” 

“What would you have done then?”

She took another drink of beer and eyed Paul for a moment, her expression saying that she wondered if he was clueless or just dim. He couldn’t tell which option she decided on. “I can’t say. Not exactly. It depends what went wrong, doesn’t it? I’d have done what needed to be done to get Chloe clear of any trouble.”

“Just Chloe?” Paul asked.

“Well, if you were the one who went sour, then hell yeah, of course just Chloe.”

“Makes sense,” said Paul. “To be honest, I’m still not really sure why you guys helped me in the first place. I mean, what’s in it for you?” This was of course the big question he’d been asking himself over and over again for the past twenty-four hours.

She looked a little surprised and was about to say something when Bee cut her off and announced that she had decided she didn’t want a beer after all. “I want champagne!” she said, “Paul? Can we open that?” Bee pointed at the warm bottle he’d brought in with him. “I like the bubbles.” Paul wondered if she was changing the subject on purpose.

“There are bubbles in beer too,” Popper pointed out, having gotten the message to not answer Paul’s question.

“Yeah,” said Bee, “But I don’t like beer, remember?”

“Sure,” said Paul as he handed the bottle to Bee. “But you should probably stick it in the freezer for a bit first. It’s not cold at all.”

“Nope,” she said, “I’ve got a much quicker way.” She put the bottle on the counter and started digging around in the cabinet underneath the sink. “Ah-ha!” exclaimed Bee. She had a fire extinguisher in her hands. “Paul, can you do me a favor and open the back door for me?” she said as she pulled out a large cooking pot as well.

“Ok,” said Paul. “Sure…”

The house had a surprisingly big back yard, with trees and a hammock and a large grill on the cement patio. Three people Paul didn’t recognize were hunched over the grill and cooking hot dogs while they passed a joint around. Bee placed the large pot on the patio floor and then put the champagne bottle in it.

“Ok, stand back!” she said. The guys by the grill looked over and laughed. Popper grasped Paul’s hand and drew him back a few steps. Bee released the safety pin and pointed the fire extinguisher down into the pot. She let it rip and a cloud of white vapor soon enveloped the pot and her legs. She kept firing bursts for the next couple minutes, until the extinguisher was empty.

After the fire retardant fog had cleared, she reached in and pulled out the frosty bottle. “All set she said,” bringing it over to Paul. The bottle was ice cold.

“I didn’t know that really worked,” he said in amazement.

“CO2 under pressure,” said Bee. “Better than a salt water ice bath.” She took the bottle and unwrapped the top. A second later and the cork went flying through the air. 

“You guys sure have an interesting way of having a good time,” said Paul.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, cowboy,” said Popper. She took the bottle from Bee and drank down a swig before handing it to Paul. Then she and Bee each took him by an arm and started to lead him inside.

 “Come on,” said Bee. “Let’s go into the living room. It’s story time!”

CHAPTER 7

Story time, it turned out, was just that – a time to recount to the whole group what had happened that morning. The whole Crew, which numbered eighteen people, crowded into the living room, occupying every empty bit of couch and floor space. Paul somehow ended up with Bee on his lap, which, while not doing anything to relieve the heat of the crowded, smoke-filled room, had a certain pleasantness to it. She held a pot laden pipe to his lips for him to take hits off each time it passed around the circle. Paul was no connoisseur, but he’d seldom had pot go straight to his head as quickly as this did. 

Chloe presided over events as the master of ceremonies, telling the story with some incredibly funny (if inaccurate) impersonations of Greg and the rest of Paul’s partners. Former partners. She also played a few choice clips from the audio recording she’d secretly made with the microphone hidden in her briefcase. Bee laughed the hardest and loudest, repeatedly lamenting that she hadn’t had a chance to put in the cameras so they could watch it all on video. Paul laughed as hard as anyone, and took some good-natured ribbing for his own meek part in the affair. 

When she finished her performance, Chloe took a bow as the whole room applauded, whooped and hollered. She took a second, deeper bow and then popped the CD from the player she’d been using during her story. She held it up along with two other unmarked discs. 

“What say you cool cats? Have we well and truly triumphed?” shouted Chloe.

“WE HAVE!!!” the whole room (except Paul) responded. Paul realized that this must be some sort of ritual they’d performed before. 

“And have all records been well and truly erased beyond any hope of recovery?” she shouted again.

“THEY HAVE!!!” the room replied. 

Chloe singled out Raff, who was standing against the