by Rick Dakan
"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.
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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!"
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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 back wall of the room, smiling drunkenly. "What say you Mr. Raff? Are your decks and disks clear?"
"They are!" he shouted. "Clear and ready for new action!" Everyone cheered at this as well, and Raff took a deep draught of his beer in acknowledgement.
Chloe now turned to Bee, who squirmed in Paul's lap. "What say you Ms. Bee? Are your tapes erased and your cameras clean?"
"They are!" Bee shouted. "I never even got to use the cameras. Next time..." The others jeered, pelting her and Paul with popcorn as she giggled uncontrollably. They'd all heard enough about not using the cameras.
Chloe let the impromptu food fight die down before she continued. "Then I, as El Capitan Du Jour, officially certify this latest sortie a success!" Everyone really cheered at this announcement, throwing more popcorn every which way, but mostly at Chloe. She then held the three CD's aloft once more. "And I do further certify that these represent the only remaining record of our adventures."
With that, she snapped the disks in two, one at a time. Paul had never seen anyone do this - it seemed dangerous to him, but no one else seemed scared of the sharp shards of plastic that went flying through the room with each break. Snap! The room cheered. Snap! More drunken revelry. Snap! The biggest cheer of all.
Chloe let the silver pieces fall to her feet.
"What do we always say?" she shouted. "If they're ain't no record..."
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"NO ONE KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED!" the room roared in reply.
Paul realized that something bound these people together besides technical ability and miscreant natures. They had done this before, as they freely admitted, and as best as Paul could gather, they had done it a lot. This ritual was old hat to them, as precise and maybe even as meaningful as a Catholic mass. Paul was the outsider here and, although there was a pretty girl in his lap and a beer in his hand, he suddenly felt more like a fish among sharks
than a guest at a party. These were criminals. They weren't would-be Robin Hoods or merry pranksters. Maybe it wasn't always about the money, but whatever they did, it was probably very seldom within the confines of the law.
Ok, he thought, time to make my getaway. He was glad - so very, very glad that he'd decided at the last moment to hide his money from Chloe and the rest. He wasn't sure he'd have gotten out of the house with it if he'd brought it back with him. As the ritual wound down around him, he started thinking of excuses to get up and leave. But then Chloe singled him out.
"Now," she said, coming over to stand in front of Paul and Bee. "Let's hear from the man of the hour himself.
Come on Paul! Stand up and give us a toast!" Bee somehow managed to find enough room on the couch to squirm off Paul's lap and into the seat beside him so that now she pushed him from behind as Chloe pulled at his arms from the front. "Come on, big boy! It's your turn," chided Chloe.
Paul was a little embarrassed and nervous. He still wanted to get out of there, but the pot had mellowed him out enough that he wasn't too worried about it. There was plenty of time. After all, the money was safe and he'd always enjoyed public speaking. The crowd clapped as he stepped into the center of the room. Chloe took his place on the couch, this time sitting on Bee's lap.
"Ok, ok," he said. "First of all, I have to say thanks. Thanks to all of you for helping me out today." He paused to let them clap and cheer for a moment - although it was certainly nothing like the applause Chloe had gotten.
"Yesterday was just about the worst day of my life. I saw everything I'd worked for taken from me.
Everything was turning to shit. And then this girl," he pointed to Chloe. "This girl right here came out of nowhere and, well, said the craziest shit I'd ever heard. I mean, just the absolute craziest shit I ever head."
Everyone laughed and Chloe buried her face in Bee's shoulder, laughing with embarrassment that might or might not have been real.
"But anyway, I just have to say, that you guys have done more for me here than I can ever thank you for. It's really amazing. I mean, the risks you guys took for a complete stranger. It boggles the mind. Maybe it's just the really good drugs you guys have here, but wow. You guys...you guys really fucking rock! If there's anything I can ever do for you - anything at all, just ask."
"Give us shares of the money!" shouted someone from the back of the room. Everyone laughed at this. Paul tried to smile. Was this the moment? Was it time to pay the price for what he'd done? What they'd done for him.
"Well, I...uh," Paul was thinking fast. "I mean sure. You know." He was grateful to them. Well, part of him was anyway. He wouldn't have the money now if Chloe hadn't seduced him into this crazy scam. But at the same time, looking back on it, he was starting to think that maybe it had been a big mistake. Yeah, he'd cashed out. But if he'd held onto that stock it probably would be worth something someday, maybe even a lot more than what he'd extorted out of Greg. But he'd been rash - and that was their fault. In a way, they might have cost him money in the long run. Not that he was about to tell them that.
Fortunately, Chloe saved him. "He's just fucking with you Paul. We all know this was a freebie." Everyone laughed, apparently agreeing with her. They'd enjoyed his moment of discomfort, but that was all. "You can, though, if you want, pay for the beer!" Chloe yelled.
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"You got yourself a deal!" said Paul, genuinely smiling now that he'd found this out. "Beer for everyone!"
They definitely cheered at that - the biggest response he'd gotten so far. He thought that would be it and so he took a step towards the kitchen, inching gingerly through the crowd. But he wasn't quite safe yet. Someone was yelling from the back of the room. Apparently they wanted one more thing from him before he could go.
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CHAPTER 8
"Plots and Plans!" shouted Raff from his perch at the back of the room. Paul looked back at him. What had he said? Pots and pans? "Let's let Paul do Plots and Plans!" People started clapping and whistling. They seemed to like the idea of Paul doing the dishes. What were they talking about?
"What?" said Paul.
Chloe stood up now, thankfully coming to Paul's aid. "C'mon Raff, you know he's not a Crewmember. He doesn't have to do Plots and Plans."
"I'm not saying he has to," replied Raff. "I'm saying let him. It'll be fun."
"What's he talking about?" asked Paul.
"It's just a little ritual we have," she said. "Every time we take down a big score - like we did for you today -
we have a little session called Plots and Plans. Basically, whoever we judge benefited the most but did the least on the last score has to come up with the next one. Now, obviously this rule doesn't apply to you, since you're not a part of our Crew. But if you wanna play, that'd be cool. It is a lot of fun."
"How does it work?" Everyone was watching them now, waiting to see if Paul would play along or chicken out.
"There's not much to it, really. No rules or anything like that. You just come up with an idea of what to do next. Don't worry if none of the ideas are any good. It's really just a fun game. We hardly do half the things we come up with."
"C'mon Paul," said Popper, from the floor near Paul's feet. "It's fun! Just think of a scam. Some way to make money or have fun without, you know, really working for it."
"Ok, ok, I'll play," said Paul. It did sound sort of intriguing. "Can I have a minute to think of something?"
"Sure, if you want," said Chloe. "But part of the fun of the game is just thinking off the top of your head.
We're not looking for a carefully thought out scheme planned down to every last detail. It's all about coming up with ideas. You know, brainstorming."
"Um...ok. How do I start?"
"We'll help you out - that's the fun part for the rest of us." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then sat back down on the couch next to Bee. "Just throw out the first idea that comes to you." The first idea that came to him was grabbing Chloe and kissing her, but he didn't suppose that would go over very well.
"We could..." Paul was thinking fast. How to steal money? He searched his brain's rather comprehensive movie catalog - Heat, The Sting, Ocean's 11, Hudson Hawk... "We could rob a bank." This suggestion produced a chorus of good-natured boos.
"We're looking for something a little more original than that," said Raff.
"And a lot less dangerous," added Chloe. "Try and be more creative."
"How about counterfeiting?" Paul ventured. More boos. What the hell did they want from him? They were the criminals, not him.
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"C'mon Paul," This time it was Popper chiming in. "We like 'em quick and dirty like today. Nothing too fancy or that'll take a bunch of time and equipment."
"Let me think here," said Paul. To his surprise, this was turning out to be a kind of exciting challenge, even though he wasn't very good at it. "So, something more in the line of a con right?"
"Exactly!" said Bee.
"And the best cons are the ones where the person never even knows they were conned, like in The Sting, right?" said Paul. "We need to come up with something that the victims never even know about."
"Well, it's not a necessity," said Chloe. "They just need to not know about it long enough for us to get away with it!" The Crew laughed in appreciation.
"So not counterfeiting money," said Paul. He was on a roll now. An idea was coming to him. "But counterfeiting something that's, you know, easier to fake."
"Like what?" asked Raff, still leaning against the back wall.
"Ok, I have this friend who collects wine. He buys these real expensive bottles of Bordeaux and whatever and then he just holds onto them for years and years. It's supposed to take like ten or twenty years before some of these wines are ready to drink." Paul didn't actually have a friend like that; he'd just read about this kind of thing in an in-flight magazine once. But he thought that would've so
unded lame. "So we could make fake bottles of wine. You know, buy cheap wine and use Photoshop to make expensive labels for them."
"Not bad," said Chloe. "That's a good start."
"Who would we sell them to?" said Raff. "Who's going to buy $500 bottles of wine from people they don't know?"
"I don't know," said Paul. "Don't they sell wine on eBay?"
"I didn't think you were allowed to do that," said Bee. "We'd have to check."
But Paul was still rolling. The answer was in eBay. "Not wine!" he said. "Comic books. We could sell counterfeit comics online!" They laughed. This was a crazy, silly idea, but the Crew seemed to like it. "Hear me out 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."
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