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

they dug right in. It was good. Damn good for five bucks, and Paul said so to Chloe. 

“You see,” she said. “Not everything out here is expensive. You just need a local guide to show you the ropes.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Paul. “To be honest, I’ve been here almost three years and I don’t really know the area very well at all. Most of my time’s been either at work or at home or hanging out with people from work at somebody’s house.” 

“Sounds like you need to get out more and see some of our local sights before you head back east.”

“That’s a pretty good idea.” There was certainly no hurry to go anywhere, he thought. There damn sure wasn’t anyone like Chloe waiting for him back home. Not even close.

Chloe and Paul each took a moment to dig into their food. It was spicy enough to make his eyes water, which was just the way Paul liked it, and he was pleased to see Chloe heaping even more chili sauce onto her own dish. On some level Paul thought anyone who didn’t like spicy food was a wimp, and it was becoming more obvious with each passing hour that there was nothing at all wimpy about Chloe. 

“But back to my question,” she said after a few minutes. “What’re you gonna do with all that money?”

“I told you,” he said “Buy a house, live off the interest.”

“Yeah, sure, but what are you going to actually do? How are you going to spend your time?”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure. I could start up a new comic book I suppose. Maybe something based on what’s happened to me here.”

“Do you miss making comics?” she asked.

“A ton. I really miss just being my own master and not having to sit through endless design meetings where I have to justify every decision to everyone in the company.”

“You like being master of your own destiny,” said Chloe. “I’m exactly the same way. I can’t even hold down a straight job anymore. I just get too pissed off at dumb people telling me what to do.”

“What do you do for a living then?” asked Paul, although as he asked the question he realized that he was a little scared to hear the answer.

“Oh you know, this and that. I just try to have fun.” She paused and cocked her head to the side. “Come to think of it, I don’t really know how I make money. Something always seems to come up though. Life’s funny that way.” Paul took this to mean that it was none of his business.

“But come on Paul, answer the question,” she pressed. “What’re you going to do with $850,000?”

“I’m pretty sure I answered that,” said Paul.

“You only sort of answered it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Chloe, leaning back in her chair and pushing her empty plate away. “That your answer sucks, and I’m going to keep asking until you come up with a better one.”

“What?” said Paul, “You want me to give some of it to you?”

She laughed. “No, you big goofball. I don’t need your money. But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity for you. You could do something really exciting with this money. You could do almost anything, at least for a time.”

“And then I’d be out of money and back where I started,” he said.

“Or maybe you’d be out of money and somewhere millions of miles away from where you started,” she said. “Maybe you’d do something that would change your life forever and you’d never be able to go back. Never want to.”

“Haven’t I committed enough felonies for one day?” he asked, jokingly.

“Shush, you!” She chided. “There’s never such a thing as too many felonies – as long as they’re the right felonies.”

“Speaking of which,” said Paul as he looked at his watch. “I think it’s about time to make a withdrawal.” 

“Ok, pal, let’s go get your booty,” said Chloe, as she stood up.

“Booty?” asked Paul, his mind turning towards another kind of booty as he stood up as well.

“You know! You’re ill-gotten gains. Your filthy lucre.” She suddenly leapt towards him, jumping into his arms. He caught her – just barely – with an audible ooof. “C’mon! Don’t you know your pirate slang, rich boy?”

He smiled widely even as he strained to hold her whole weight. Their faces were very close now – just inches apart. “Ohhhhh…Booty!” he said. “I thought we were going to a strip club or something.”

“Yeah, you wish, cowboy.” Her face was very close now and they were looking straight into each other’s eyes. Paul decided to go in for the kiss. She turned her head just enough so that his lips pressed against her cheek instead of her lips, but he played it cool like he’d always planned it that way. He made a loud fake kissing noise as he pulled away.

“All right then,” said Chloe, disentangling herself and finding her feet again. “Let’s finish this up and get you paid.” She tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table and turned towards the door. Paul watched her walk off and caught his breath. Suddenly he felt sick again. What was he doing? What had he done? Who was this person? Then she turned and looked over her shoulder at him, smiling. “Come on, pirate-boy. Your booty awaits.” Paul couldn’t have stopped himself from staring at her ass even if he’d wanted to.

“Right behind ya,” he said, and went to go get his money. 

Forty-five minutes later they were fighting their way through rush hour traffic. However, the gym bag full of money in the trunk made it easy for Paul to tolerate the crowds of cars.

 Everyone at the little bank had watched them the entire time they’d been in there. It wasn’t often that someone took out $850,000 in cash. Chloe had put her wig and sunglasses back on, just in case, and Paul wished he’d had a disguise of his own. As they drove away, Paul watched Chloe out of the corner of his eye as she removed the wig. She’d worn it because she didn’t want to be recognized on the videotape. She didn’t want to be recognized because what they’d done was probably illegal. She didn’t want to be recognized because she was a thief.

Paul stopped the car, pulling into a McDonald’s parking lot. 

“You’re hungry again?” said Chloe in surprise. “There’s going to be food at the party you know.”

His throat was dry and his stomach roiling. But he had to do this; it was the only thing that made sense. “Can I meet you at your house later?” he asked. “For the party.”

“What do you mean?” she said, looking at him intensely. “Paul, what’s wrong?”

“Can you get a ride from here?” He asked.

“From here…I don’t…”

“I just,” Paul said. “I just need to be alone for a little while. Do some things. Some private things.”

Chloe stared at him hard. Then she leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead and then opened her door. “Ok,” she said sweetly. “I understand. You’re still coming to the party though, right?”

He smiled unconvincingly. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll bring some champagne to celebrate with.”

“Great,” said Chloe. “I’ll see you in a few hours then?” He just nodded and she closed the door. He pulled immediately back into traffic, heading for the freeway.

He hid the money. Made sure it was safe. Even if Chloe and her friends did turn out to be heartless thieves they wouldn’t be able to steal from him. He took out $10,000, which seemed a ridiculous amount of money to carry around, and stashed the rest away in a safe place he knew. After that he drove around for a while, debating back and forth whether to go to the party or just disappear. Or maybe even give the money back to Greg. Or maybe…No. They’d done nothing but help him. He owed them some thanks at the very least. And he wanted to find out. To find out about Chloe and see what it was that she really wanted. 

He decided to stop by the house, just for a few minutes anyway. Just to say thanks.

Chapter 6

Paul was late for the victory party. When he finally arrived back at Chloe’s house he found her driveway and neighborhood so crowded with cars that he had to park on the next street over. He was ever so slightly worried about leaving his car out of sight in this neighborhood, but really it was his nervousness about the party that tied his stomach in knots. A $120 bottle of champagne under his arm, Paul walked bravely up to the front door, which opened from within before he could touch the doorbell.

“8:17!” shouted Chloe as she flung the door wide, a wristwatch held in her hand. “Who bet closest to 8:17?” Chloe wore a green and blue sari wrapped low around her waist and a white t-shirt on which someone had used a sharpie to write “HOOK-HER” on the front.

A young, stocky Asian American woman named Bee stepped forward. She held a little piece of paper in her hand, which she shoved playfully in front of Chloe’s face. “8:15! I had 8:15!”

Behind the two women a tall, rail-thin man appeared, wearing a faded blue polo shirt with the Microsoft logo on it and a pair of khakis. Paul recognized him as Raff, whom he’d met the night before. “Just barely beat my 8:00.” He said. Raff was the computer guy – the lead hacker in the group who’d been responsible for sorting through the reams of electronic data they’d stolen and finding the juicy bits. He’d also masterminded the attack on the company Web site and some of the other problems that had tied his former partners up in the hours after Paul had gotten the check. “I wanted to bet ‘never’ but Chloe had already taken that one.”

“Don’t listen to him, Paul,” said Chloe. “I just bet never because I knew everyone else would want it and I alone had faith in your return. But the others decided to have a little betting pool about when you’d finally show up after you pulled your little disappearing act earlier.” Chloe waggled her finger at him in mock scolding. “You’re a naughty little boy, giving me the slip like that.”

Paul had been expecting this chastisement, although he’d feared that Chloe would be much more serious about it. He had, after all, pretty much dumped her at the side of the road with nothing but cab fare. “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. I want to explain…”

Chloe grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the house. “Forget about it. I completely understand. You had something you needed to do alone. All that matters is that you’re here now and it’s time to have some fun!”

The house was full to capacity, a feat that wasn’t too hard given that there really wasn’t much room for humans in the crowded house to begin with. The number of computers in the living room had tripled over the course of their little “operation” and now they served as makeshift tables for cups of beer, ashtrays, and plates of food. Paul recognized most of the people from the night before, although there were plenty of new faces as well. He wondered what the protocol was in a situation like this. Did all these strangers know about his crimes and the con they’d pulled earlier that day? Should he even