“Got into my files, didn’t you? Clever boy. Dumped coffee on me. Jumped on my computer and used the old Wi-Fi. Smart boy. But were you smart enough to load it to the cloud? Or is it still trapped inside your computer?”
I don’t answer.
Tommy strides over to the desk where my laptop and my pad both lie. He drops into the chair and taps the pad. The four-digit-code screen pops up.
“What’s the password?”
“One, two, three, four,” I say. I’m pleased at how calm I sound.
Tommy’s skeptical, but he types it in, anyway. He scowls at me. “Cute. You have a separate security software installed.”
I shrug. “Too easy to break a four-digit numeric password. So I added a little something.”
“Give me the code.”
I shake my head.
“You know, bagel boy, it’s bad enough you left the Wi-Fi on,” Tommy says. “You also neglected to consider the fact that I have three separate micro surveillance cameras installed at my workstation.” He clucks his tongue. “Very sloppy.”
“What can I say? I’m an amateur.”
“Give me the code,” Tommy snaps. He casts a significant look at one of the security guards.
A split second later my head’s jolted by a full-palm slap.
It stings. But I box. I’ve taken a lot worse.
“Okay,” I say. “Don’t hurt me. The code is FG6H8D55lMSU1LQWVFOP7FD34MHUTDLK.”
Tommy types as I speak. “What is that, like, thirty characters?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Paranoid much?”
On the pad’s screen, a graphic of a middle finger appears.
Tommy curses. He knows what I’ve done.
The screen goes dark. All the data on the pad has just been erased and rewritten. A lab with the right equipment and trained personnel might still be able to salvage some of it, but it would take days, maybe weeks. Even then they’d just get fragments.
“Want the password for my laptop, too?” I ask.
Tommy leaps up out of the chair. He still has my pad in his hand. He smacks it against the side of my head, shattering the glass.
He brings it down again, this time on the top of my head, hard, with both hands and all the leverage he can get.
I’m not exactly home for a few seconds. Not all the way unconscious, but not functioning, either.
One of the guards, the younger one, pulls Tommy back before he can do me serious damage.
“Hey, hey, hey, Dr. Holyfield,” the guard says.
I’ve never seen Tommy this enraged. I’m not surprised. But it’s weirdly fascinating to see such an intelligent man so lost in fury. He’s spitting at me. He’s cursing. He’s straining against the guard until the tattoos on his arms are stretched and distorted.
It takes surprisingly long for him to get hold of himself. Eventually, the guard lets him go. Tommy paces, fingers twitching. He shakes himself out, adjusts his shirt.
“Okay. Okay,” he mutters, and I’m thinking he’s calmed down, but just then he darts in and punches me, a good, solid left jab. Blood explodes from my nose.
The guards are worried. They step in to stop him, but he backs away, hands up. “He had that coming. Little punk.”
Blood runs from my nose and more streams of it come rolling down from my head, pooling in my eyes. I’m still trying to get my scattered wits back.
“Who have you talked to about this?” Tommy asks.
I make a mistake. I say, “No one.” But I say it too fast, and he picks up on it.
“No one, huh? What’s ‘no one’s’ name, huh?”
He looms over me and I don’t think the guards will be enough to stop him if he decides to nail me again.
“You guys are going to be dragged into something very heavy,” I say to the security guys. “I don’t think you’re getting paid enough to be involved in major felonies.”
They exchange a glance. I’ve hit home.
“Walk away right now,” I tell them. “You haven’t done that much so far. We can let—”
Wham!
Tommy nails me again and this one really hurts.
“Whoa,” he says, examining his effort. “That’s going to be ugly tomorrow. Of course”—he moves in close—“a couple days from now, you’ll be good as new, won’t you?”
“Dr. Holyfield, you gotta chill, man, he’s right,” the younger security guard says.
“It’s all recorded, geniuses,” Tommy says. “We already have video of you two. And about the only person who can make that go away is me. So you are already deep in it. But bagel boy makes a good point: You aren’t being paid well enough. Which is why I’m going to give you each, what, let’s say five grand?”
“Each,” the older guard growls.
Tommy grins at me. He reaches out one finger and swipes the blood from my forehead. He sticks the finger in his mouth and licks it.
“Deal,” Tommy says.
And it’s that easy. My life has been bought for ten thousand dollars.
– 26 –
There’s a bell and a button. I stare at them for a while.
It’s late. And I don’t want Solo getting the wrong idea. Me coming to his room. Wearing … what am I wearing? Belatedly I look down and consider the matter.
The gym shorts I sleep in. And the T-shirt. And the lack of bra I also sleep in. And a pair of untied sneakers I slipped into on my way out.
I don’t answer.
Tommy strides over to the desk where my laptop and my pad both lie. He drops into the chair and taps the pad. The four-digit-code screen pops up.
“What’s the password?”
“One, two, three, four,” I say. I’m pleased at how calm I sound.
Tommy’s skeptical, but he types it in, anyway. He scowls at me. “Cute. You have a separate security software installed.”
I shrug. “Too easy to break a four-digit numeric password. So I added a little something.”
“Give me the code.”
I shake my head.
“You know, bagel boy, it’s bad enough you left the Wi-Fi on,” Tommy says. “You also neglected to consider the fact that I have three separate micro surveillance cameras installed at my workstation.” He clucks his tongue. “Very sloppy.”
“What can I say? I’m an amateur.”
“Give me the code,” Tommy snaps. He casts a significant look at one of the security guards.
A split second later my head’s jolted by a full-palm slap.
It stings. But I box. I’ve taken a lot worse.
“Okay,” I say. “Don’t hurt me. The code is FG6H8D55lMSU1LQWVFOP7FD34MHUTDLK.”
Tommy types as I speak. “What is that, like, thirty characters?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Paranoid much?”
On the pad’s screen, a graphic of a middle finger appears.
Tommy curses. He knows what I’ve done.
The screen goes dark. All the data on the pad has just been erased and rewritten. A lab with the right equipment and trained personnel might still be able to salvage some of it, but it would take days, maybe weeks. Even then they’d just get fragments.
“Want the password for my laptop, too?” I ask.
Tommy leaps up out of the chair. He still has my pad in his hand. He smacks it against the side of my head, shattering the glass.
He brings it down again, this time on the top of my head, hard, with both hands and all the leverage he can get.
I’m not exactly home for a few seconds. Not all the way unconscious, but not functioning, either.
One of the guards, the younger one, pulls Tommy back before he can do me serious damage.
“Hey, hey, hey, Dr. Holyfield,” the guard says.
I’ve never seen Tommy this enraged. I’m not surprised. But it’s weirdly fascinating to see such an intelligent man so lost in fury. He’s spitting at me. He’s cursing. He’s straining against the guard until the tattoos on his arms are stretched and distorted.
It takes surprisingly long for him to get hold of himself. Eventually, the guard lets him go. Tommy paces, fingers twitching. He shakes himself out, adjusts his shirt.
“Okay. Okay,” he mutters, and I’m thinking he’s calmed down, but just then he darts in and punches me, a good, solid left jab. Blood explodes from my nose.
The guards are worried. They step in to stop him, but he backs away, hands up. “He had that coming. Little punk.”
Blood runs from my nose and more streams of it come rolling down from my head, pooling in my eyes. I’m still trying to get my scattered wits back.
“Who have you talked to about this?” Tommy asks.
I make a mistake. I say, “No one.” But I say it too fast, and he picks up on it.
“No one, huh? What’s ‘no one’s’ name, huh?”
He looms over me and I don’t think the guards will be enough to stop him if he decides to nail me again.
“You guys are going to be dragged into something very heavy,” I say to the security guys. “I don’t think you’re getting paid enough to be involved in major felonies.”
They exchange a glance. I’ve hit home.
“Walk away right now,” I tell them. “You haven’t done that much so far. We can let—”
Wham!
Tommy nails me again and this one really hurts.
“Whoa,” he says, examining his effort. “That’s going to be ugly tomorrow. Of course”—he moves in close—“a couple days from now, you’ll be good as new, won’t you?”
“Dr. Holyfield, you gotta chill, man, he’s right,” the younger security guard says.
“It’s all recorded, geniuses,” Tommy says. “We already have video of you two. And about the only person who can make that go away is me. So you are already deep in it. But bagel boy makes a good point: You aren’t being paid well enough. Which is why I’m going to give you each, what, let’s say five grand?”
“Each,” the older guard growls.
Tommy grins at me. He reaches out one finger and swipes the blood from my forehead. He sticks the finger in his mouth and licks it.
“Deal,” Tommy says.
And it’s that easy. My life has been bought for ten thousand dollars.
– 26 –
There’s a bell and a button. I stare at them for a while.
It’s late. And I don’t want Solo getting the wrong idea. Me coming to his room. Wearing … what am I wearing? Belatedly I look down and consider the matter.
The gym shorts I sleep in. And the T-shirt. And the lack of bra I also sleep in. And a pair of untied sneakers I slipped into on my way out.
