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

“Is she there? Maybe I should talk to her…”

“She’s busy man. All tied up in this thing. Deep in it if you know what I mean.”

“Not really. I mean, I don’t really know what you mean.”

Exasperated, Raff started to lose his patience. “Listen, can you help us out or not Paul?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Of course.” Of course he’d help them – what else was he going to do? “Just tell me what you need.”

“Great. Do you have a pen and paper? You’re going to want to write this down so you get it exactly right.” The line was silent for another moment. “There’s no room for error here, Paul. No room at all.”

“Ok,” Paul said as he pulled a pad of paper from the bedside table drawer. “I’m in.”

An hour later, Paul stood in Gillespie Park, near downtown San Jose, waiting. Raff had told him to look for the man in the red tie and simply take the briefcase from him. Sounded simple enough, especially since there didn’t seem to be anyone within five blocks wearing a tie, much less in the park. There were a few homeless; a few parents watching their kids play in the grass. Not a lot of business types in view. No red ties in sight.

Paul sat on a bench, staring blankly at the paper and listening to his heart thump. There was nothing to this simple job. Certainly nothing compared to the comic con job. All he was doing was picking up a briefcase. He didn’t even have to talk to anyone. Raff had actually been rather insistent that he not talk to the man except to give the code phrase. Still, whatever this con was, it was big. That much was obvious from how everyone in the crew had been behaving the last few weeks. 

A car pulled up beside the park, stopping in a no parking zone and disgorging a pair of middle aged men. Bingo. One of them had both a red tie and a briefcase, an oversized case, twice as thick as the typical lawyer’s accessory and finished in dull steel. The men peered brazenly around the park, challenging anyone who met their gaze. Even Paul looked away when Red Tie fixed his glare one him. But he stood up and concentrated very hard on folding his paper as he moved towards the men.

Red Tie’s companion, a gaunt, white haired man in a gray suit, noticed Paul’s approach and the pair stopped in their tracks, staring with open menace at him as he approached. Red Tie looked to be in his late fifties, pudgy and angry, with thinning brown hair and a wrinkled blue suit. He didn’t look like he’d been getting much sleep lately. 

As soon as Paul came within earshot the gaunt man called out in a deep voice. “You him?” Paul stopped walking. 

“I’m here for the package. Christmas comes early this year,” said Paul, wincing inside as he uttered the code phrase Raff had given him.

“Very fucking funny,” replied Red Tie. 

They just stared at each other, the two men waiting for Paul to say or do something else. For his part, Paul decided to just wait them out.

“Well?” asked the gaunt man. “Are we going to do this?”

“Yep,” said Paul. “Give me the package. Christmas is early this year.” 

The two men just looked at each other. “So you said, asshole,” growled Red Tie. “Now don’t you have a phone number for us?”

Paul of course didn’t have a phone number. What was he talking about? Thinking back to his encounter with the maids at the beach house, Paul said “Sure. You better have a good memory though. I’m only saying it once. Now give me the case and I’ll give you the number.” He held out his hand expectantly. After a moment’s intense thought, Red Tie stepped forward and handed him the case. “408-349-1969.” It was his old work number, the first thing that came into his mind.

“A local number?” asked the gaunt guy. “You’re kidding right.”

Paul’s heart raced. He took complete custody of the case and started to walk away. “Nope. Call it, you’ll see.” But the gaunt guy was way ahead of him, already pulling his cell phone out and dialing. Paul tried to hurry without looking like he was scared. His car was all the way across the park.

It wasn’t thirty seconds before they started shouting and came running at him. Paul broke into a sprint, racing for his car. The gaunt man was surprisingly quick for his age and Paul wasn’t. As red tie huffed and puffed along, the other guy was gaining on Paul fast.

Then a white conversion van Paul had noticed earlier roared to life in its parking place on the street. It jumped the curb and came careening onto the grass, headed right for Paul. Startled beyond comprehension he froze, holding the briefcase to his chest for either protection or comfort. His pursuer turned out to be more fight than flight oriented and a moment later he smashed into Paul’s back, sending him hard to the ground right on top of the heavy case.

Before his attacker could follow up his tackle, the van’s driver slammed on his breaks right in front of them, tearing up grass and dirt. The side door swung open and three men with pink bandanas wrapped around their faces jumped out and rushed the prone duo. One of them came running forward and swung his leg up like a football player making a punt. The foot connected with the gaunt man’s shoulder, sending him spinning away from Paul. The kicker went down in a heap as well, having lost anything resembling balance as he executed the kick.

The other two grabbed Paul, who still gasped for the breath that had been knocked out of him when he’d been tackled. He struggled for a moment against the two of them before the taller of the masked intruders whispered harshly in his ear. “C’mon Paul! Make it look good but don’t fight too hard. Play along!” It was Raff. 

Paul screamed and kicked in mock futility, even as relief flooded through him. Thank God they’d come for him. Red Tie was still running their way, shouting unintelligibly. The gaunt man may have been quick, but he hadn’t planned on getting kicked, and all the fight had gone out of him. He just sat there, glowering at the three masked men and Paul as they piled into the van and raced off through the park. Paul wondered if the man could hear Raff laughing like a maniac as soon as they closed the door.

“That was just great,” Paul said.

“You’re right, that WAS just great,” Raff agreed.

“I was, you know, being facetious,” said Paul, as he awkwardly twisted in his seat in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the huge bruise he was sure the gaunt man had left on his back when he slammed Paul to the ground. “What the hell happened?”

“What’s the problem Paul? You were great. Awesome even. We didn’t have to resort to plan B or anything.”

“So this was plan A? You might have told me.”

“Told you what?” asked Raff, although he’d turned most of his attention to the briefcase’s combination lock.

“That they were going to ask for a phone number. I had to pull that out of my ass.”

“And you did a great job!” Raff tried the lock but the combination he’d spun didn’t work. He began again. “To be honest that was their mistake, not ours. They must’ve misunderstood. We told them we’d call with the number after they handed over the case. They must’ve gotten cold feet.”

“Yeah, but what about the stupid Christmas comes early shit you had me say. I thought it was a code word but they didn’t have a fucking clue as to what I was talking about.”

“I thought it would make you sound cool.” Another attempted combination failed.

“You were wrong. I sounded like an idiot.”

“Maybe it was in the delivery. If you’d put a little more Clint Eastwood into it you could’ve sold the line.”

“I’m gonna have to say it’s the writer’s fault this time Raff. You gave me shit to work with, no matter how much Clint I put into it.”

“Ok, ok, you’re the writer. You can come up with your own lines next time.” The lock popped open this time. “Ha!” exclaimed Raff. “If it’s not 666 or 911 it’s always 321. People are so predictable it would make me sad if I weren’t stealing from them!” Raff didn’t open the case. Figuring out the code seemed to have satisfied him for now and he placed it by his side.

“What? You’re not going to open it?” asked Paul. 

“Why? I know what’s inside and there’s nothing I can do with it right now.”

“What is in there anyway?”

“That would be telling,” said Raff with a smile.

“What is this, the fucking Prisoner?” asked Paul. “I’m a partner in this now. I figure getting my face driven into the turf entitles me to at least know what I risked my neck for.”

“That was unexpected wasn’t it? I didn’t think he would bring anyone with him, and even when I saw the second geezer I never would’ve figured he’d chase you down like that. He was pretty spry for an old guy, huh?”

“So that wasn’t part of Plan A either then? Sounds like you’re flawless strategy almost crapped out on you completely.”

“No battle plan survives contact with the enemy Paul. That’s something you’ve got to learn in this game. But hey, you brassed it out and made it work.”

“And I’ve netted you one briefcase containing what exactly? Or does only Marcellus Wallace get to know what’s inside the case?” said Paul, referencing the Ving Rhames character in Pulp Fiction.

“So does that make me Samuel L Jackson or John Travolta?” asked Raff. 

“You can be Travolta, Raff. You’ve got the hair for it.”

“You sure about that Paul? If Chloe’s Mia in our little Pulp Fiction drama, then that means I get the big dance number, not you.”

“But on the plus side, you’re the one that gets gunned down by Bruce Willis,” replied Paul. “I like to play the long game.”

Raff laughed and picked up the case, handing it over to Paul. “Go ahead, sport, take a look. No glowing orange light I’m afraid.”

Paul took the case and balanced it on his lap. He popped that latches and was disappointed to see nothing inside but what looked like four smoke detectors and a Ziploc bag full of portable hard drives. He shut the case. 

“Not very sexy, huh?” said Raff. “I told you there wasn’t anything I could do with them right now.”

“Well, what’s on the damn drives then?”

“That really would be telling Paul and we don’t have time to go into it. Suffice it to say that your friend in the red tie has just fucked over his employers big time and the stunt we pulled on your former friends pales in comparison.”

“And that’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“That’s all getting tackled earns you. At least for the moment.”

They rode on in silence. Paul was angry but still excited. Raff’s teasing was intended to be good-natured, and Paul really did appreciate being allowed to help on the score. He hoped that his part in today’s snatch and run excitement might be his ticket back into the group. At the very least it would give