Geek Mafia by Rick Dakan (read book .txt) 📕

now, hear me out. I know comics. I published my own for seven years.” It was all coming together in Paul’s head – a ridiculous plan to be sure, but he was certain it met all of the criteria for success in this game of theirs.

“You all know that comic book collectors can be pretty rabid about the quality of their books and what-not, right? You know, mint, near-mint, and whatever. Well, there’s this company now called the Comics Rating Group. They’ve basically totally taken over the comics grading business. How it works is this, you send them a comic book that you think is maybe worth some money now or might be worth more money down the line. They have these professional graders who look at the comic and then give it a score on a scale of one to ten.” Paul had their attention now, although some of them looked unsure as to where he was going with all this. 

“Of course, that score wouldn’t do you any good unless you could assure a potential buyer that it was still in the same condition that it was when the graders looked at it. So here’s the cool thing. The CRG guys then seal the comic book in a clear, stiff, plastic envelope thingy with the score sealed in there with it. Now, as long as that seal’s not broken, then anyone who buys the comic is guaranteed to know that the comic inside is in the condition that they say it is. People pay like thirty bucks for this.”

“You’re making this up,” called one of the Crew, a guy named Chris, if Paul remembered correctly. “If it’s sealed in plastic, then you can’t even read it!”

“Exactly!” said Paul. “That’s the beauty of it! As long as it’s in the plastic, collectors know exactly how much it’s worth. If they take it out to read it, then they’ve wasted their money on getting it graded and sealed in the first place. Plus, since most comic books get reprinted in book collections these days, they can read it that way. This sealing in plastic thing is only for the hard core collectors.”

“So let me get this straight,” said Chloe, leaning forward in her seat. “People buy these graded comics that’re sealed in fucking plastic and never open them?”

“Exactly.”

“Which means that, they have no idea what’s actually inside of those plastic cases,” she continued.

“Exactly. Except the front and back cover, which of course they can see.”

“Which means, if we can figure out a way to fake our own plastic sealing thingamajigs, we can sell ‘graded’ comics to folks and they’d never know the difference,” said Chloe, making air quotes around graded.

“Exactly!” said Paul. “How would they ever know? They wouldn’t want to check, and if we only did comics that’d been collected in another form, they wouldn’t even be tempted to read them since they could read them without breaking the seal some other way.”

“I have to say,” said Chloe, smiling broadly. “That’s not a bad little plot for a swabbie like you, Paul.” Paul swelled with pride. He was having a blast, especially now that he’d earned Chloe’s approval. But there was only one problem with his plan, and fool that he was, he couldn’t stop himself from mentioning it.

“There’s only one problem,” Paul said. “I don’t have any idea how they seal these things up. And they’re pretty tight-lipped about the process.” He hoped that this omission wouldn’t sour their good impression of him.

Chloe stood up and came and stood beside Paul, slipping her arm around his waist. “Don’t sweat the details right now. Plots and Plans is all about coming up with crazy ideas. You can always worry about the how-to shit later. I, for one, think you’ve come up with a swell idea – certainly swell enough for a first try.” She kissed him on the cheek once more and then turned to the rest of the Crew. “What say you?” she shouted. “Is this a Worthy Plan?”

The assembled crew cheered and most of them rose to their feet. Bee hoisted her glass of champagne and said in a loud voice, “You bet his sweet ass it is!” The rest of the Crew joined in the toast. 

And just like that, story time was over and the assembly spun apart into a half-dozen different cliques and conversations. Paul had passed whatever test they’d just thrown at him, a fact that pleased him much more than he’d thought it would. Chloe kissed him a third time, a quick peck on the lips, and said, “Good job, Paul.”

“Thanks,” he said, his heart pounding in his chest. “I have to admit, that was kind of cool.”

Chloe slid her arm around Paul’s waist and gave his butt a little squeeze. He jumped a little at her touch. “I told you we’d show you a good time, cowboy! We’ll make a Crewman out of you yet.”

The rest of the night quickly melted into a blur of the senses for Paul. Several hours and many drinks later, he found himself sitting on the floor between Chloe and Bee while the three of them, along with Kurt, tried to blow each other away on a first person shooter that was being projected onto a big white sheet they’d hung in front of the book cases. According to the rules, every time you died you either had to drink or take a hit off one of the three or four joints being passed around the room. He held his own for a while until Chloe and Bee started jostling him every time he lined up a kill in his sites.

When he was too drunk to shoot straight, he resorted to grabbing Chloe’s controller from her. She jumped on top of him, smothering his face between her breasts as she tried to wrestle it back out of his hands. He enjoyed that quite a bit, at least until he couldn’t breathe anymore. Then he rolled over so now he was on top of her, the lower halves of their bodies pressed together. His erection was strong enough to hurt as it strained through his pants against her hip. She smiled knowingly at him and winked, but before he could be embarrassed Bee grabbed his leg and started chortling madly as she yanked him off Chloe.

At that point Raff and Popper stepped in with two others and claimed the game for themselves, banishing Bee, Paul and Chloe to the couch in a giggling heap. Kurt, who’d never stopped playing the game for a moment suddenly threw up his arms in victory and shouted “Yes! I win!” He couldn’t quite figure out why everyone started laughing at him.

Chloe took a joint as it was passed around and announced loudly that she was claiming it for the People’s Republic of the Couch. She took a long toke and passed it to Paul. He was getting really, really fucked up. Really too fucked up to even think straight, which was fine as far as he was concerned. Except maybe in so far as it might negatively impact his plan to seduce Chloe later. 

Right this moment everything was totally, absolutely fine. He sprawled across the crouch and Chloe sprawled across him as they watched the other guys play video games. He idly stroked her arm and this seemed fine, although the one time his hand brushed the tip of her breast, she shifted position to make sure it wouldn’t happen again. He took the hint. For her part, Bee had curled up at the other end of the couch and fallen asleep.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to a party like this, a party this fun. Most of the social life he’d had revolved around friends from work. Conversation at such events inevitably focused on work as well. But these people, Chloe and her friends, they were totally free, totally in the moment. They didn’t even talk about what they’d done for him earlier that day. No work talk here…

Chloe shifted atop him, snuggling her head into his shoulder. He smelled her hair, which despite its bubblegum tint, gave off the faintest scent of fresh apples. A wave of guilt passed down through him, as he remembered how he’d kicked her out of his car earlier that day. He didn’t understand why they hadn’t asked for any of his money, and he knew that it didn’t make sense. But these people weren’t like anyone else he’d ever met before in his life. They had welcomed him into their home and helped him in his time of need. As he drifted to sleep, Chloe snoring lightly in his lap, he sighed. This is all right, he thought. I could learn to live like this. 

But that might’ve just been the pot talking.

CHAPTER 9

Paul heard thumping. Not the regular thumping of music. Not even the regular thumping of a hammer. This was occasional thumping. There would be nothing for a while and then a muffled thump. Something heavy being dropped onto a carpeted floor. Thump. He squeezed his eyes as if he could close them more than they already were, and then tried to bury his head in the couch to make the thumping stop. The couch. Ok, he was on a couch. Chloe’s couch. His head hurt. Maybe the thumping was all in his head?

No. There it was again. THUMP. This time it was close enough to where he lay that he felt the vibrations. Some damn fool was dropping heavy things on the floor. Bowling balls maybe? He didn’t want to know. He heard a door open. Traffic noises from outside. People talking in whispers. Why would they whisper and yet not seem at all bothered about making those horrible thumping noises? Footsteps on carpet? Or was he imagining – THUMP – no, there it was again. 

He obviously wasn’t going to be allowed to go back to sleep. He let himself become more aware of his situation. He was on the couch in Chloe’s house. Ok. He’d been here with Chloe who as far as he could tell, was gone. Yes. He remembered her leaving. A quick kiss on his forehead as he drifted off to sleep. Someone had put a blanket over him, which was good, because he just realized he wasn’t wearing any pants. He still had his shirt and socks on, but damned if he new where his pants and underwear went to. There was a dim image of being half asleep and very drunk and complaining loudly about being hot or uncomfortable. Something.

He felt around with his foot and found what he thought might be jeans, bunched up and stuffed in between the couch cushions. That’s good. Assuming they’re not Chloe’s. No. She’d taken her clothes. She’d been wearing her clothes even. She’d been wearing her clothes and her clothes were a skirt. They were probably his. Good. THUMP. Ok, they’re not done dropping bowling balls yet. Why would they need so many goddamned bowling balls? Fuck! Of course, they might be something besides bowling balls. He’d have to open his eyes to know for sure. THUMP. Ok, ok, he got the point.

Paul squinted against the light as he opened his eyes. His contacts felt sticky. He usually took them out before he went to sleep. He had to gingerly rub his eyes for a moment before anything would actually come into focus. He made the waking man’s moan as he stretched and rubbed, letting the whole world know he was awake and not necessarily pleased about it. Someone was walking over towards him. It was Chloe. 

He looked up at her and smiled sheepishly. “I must’ve passed out,” he