Geek Mafia

by Rick Dakan

  "They were a breakaway group from one of the big protest organizations in the late sixties, the Students for a Democratic Society, or SDS. They had an argument with SDS about how to do things and so they split and started doing their own thing. Around 1970 they decided their own thing included blowing shit up. That's when they went from being the Weathermen to the Weathermen Underground. Or Weather Underground.

  Same difference."

  This was starting to ring bells for Paul. He's seen something on TV about them once a few years ago. "Ok, I think I've heard of them. Didn't they bomb all kinds of places? They were basically terrorists right?"

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  "If you asked Winston, he'd say it depends on your perspective. The Weathermen never killed or even hurt anyone, even though the set off scores of bombs over a whole decade. They attacked government centers, banks, and other conservative institutions. But it was all just property damage. They always gave plenty of warning. The only people ever killed were some of their own when a bomb they were working on accidentally went off in their apartment."

  "But still," insisted Paul, "They set off bombs and terrorized people. They were terrorists."

  "But it didn't mean the same thing then as it does now. This was way before 9/11. This was Vietnam, when the biggest terrorists in the world were us. We were the ones bombing the fuck out of civilians in Cambodia and Laos. The Weathermen felt the only way to fight back was with violence of their own - just not deadly violence."

  "I can tell it worked out real well for them, huh?"

  "No, of course not. I think it probably did more bad than good for their cause. But still, you have to admire their devotion and their commitment and their bravery. Many of them lived underground for years - over a decade in many cases."

  "Or four decades in Winston's case," said Paul. "He was one of these guys you said?"

  "He was, although he says he didn't become really involved with them until the mid-seventies. In that picture from '69 he was only 16. He'd been living in Chicago with an aunt and heard about the student rally that night and so he showed up. He eventually became a Weatherman, but he wasn't actually part of the group when that pic was taken, which is kinda weird if you think about it."

  "So anyway, I don't really know anything about what he did while he was with them. I just know that he lived a life on the run, always using false names and moving from place to place. He was probably part of a cell and he probably helped in some bombings, but he would never admit to me for sure, one way or the other. All I know is, that's where he learned how to live the life, and he's never looked back once. Most of the others turned themselves in around 1980. They lucked out actually, because the FBI had broken so many laws trying to catch them that none of the cases against the Weathermen could really hold up in court. Most of those cats are out on the street today, living normal lives."

  "But not Winston," said Paul. "Why does he like this crazy-ass life so much?"

  "What did I ask you earlier? Are you having fun? For him, the answer to that question is always yes. He's always having fun. And he hasn't given up on his idealism either. Unlike my Crew, he and his group pull scores that have a point, and I admire that. I sometimes wish we were more like them. They hit the capitalists and the polluters and the fascists where they live. Nothing flashy, nothing public, but they get their licks in and live the good life while they do it."

  "What do you mean get their licks in? Do they still bomb things? What kinds of things?"

  She smiled wryly. "That would be telling. And Winston didn't give me permission to spill those secrets. Not that I really know any details anyway. But no, they don't bomb things, nothing violent anymore. No blowing things up either. But as to specifics, I don't know. Just like Winston doesn't know anything about us helping you settle your score with your old boss or you helping us counterfeit comics. No good can come of telling people shit they don't need to know."

  "You mentioned that you wished your crew was more like Winston's. More socially active or whatever. Why aren't you? Why not do cons with a political point instead of just stealing from people?"

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  "Like I said, I'd like to. I'd probably love it if I tried it. But that's just not our vibe."

  "That's right, you're all about the money."

  "Sort of, yeah, of course. We're about the money because the money is what keeps the crew together and happy. And the crew's my family. My peeps. I want them to be happy."

  "Huh," said Paul, mulling her words over. There was something to what she was saying, but he couldn't put his finger on it, something about the difference in the vibe between Chloe's crew and Winston's. Chloe's crew felt like a fraternity or a club - people who were very close and supported one another, but who all had their own agendas. Winston's crew on the other hand, felt like a family. Like the most important thing in the world was supporting each other. That was the sense he'd gotten anyway, but he'd only spent one night with them.

  "So how did you meet Winston anyway?" he asked. "How did you two become so close?"

  "There's a whole network of groups like ours out there, each Crew operating totally independently from one another. But we do keep in touch. Winston, in fact, is the one who originally set up the network, at least here on the West Coast. Not that many people know that anymore. But we all communicate with one another through coded message boards and secret drop sites. It's good to have other contacts in the game in case you need something from an area of expertise you can't cover. We're pretty well rounded, because that's the way I like my Crew to run. But others specialize. There's hacker specialists or surveillance specialists or even breaking and entering specialists, all kinds of different crews out there. More than the government would care to imagine I'm sure. When our Crew was first getting started, Winston somehow found out about me and introduced my little group into the network. He's my mentor in the life."

  Paul sat in silence and thought about this idea for a moment. Chloe started to say something else, but he interrupted her. "I never know when to believe you and when not to."

  "Why's that?"

  "Well, you're an admitted con-woman for one."

  "Sure, but why do you doubt me now?"

  "Because it's crazy, that's why! You're telling me you're part of some vast underground conspiracy or something. That there's this whole network of you out there living off the books and pulling scams on us normal folk."

  "What's crazy is that you consider yourself normal folk," said Chloe. "Beyond that, why's the rest of it so crazy? We're a community, not a conspiracy. Like Dead Heads or the mob or biker gangs or any other specialized group in this country. It's not crazy - in fact it's so commonplace I'm surprised you're surprised."

  Paul didn't know what to say to this and so said nothing. After a moment Chloe turned the music back up and concentrated on the drive. Her story seemed to fit everything he'd seen with his own two eyes over the past couple of weeks, but it didn't fit at all into the world-view he'd developed over the past thirty years or so. He still had a lot of questions, but decided it was better not to press the issue now. He rode on in silence for a few more minutes before launching a new conversational gambit aimed at lightening the mood.

  "Who is this band we're listening to anyway?" he asked. "The woman singing sounds familiar but I don't know the song."

  "It's me, you goofball, of course you recognize it," she said. "Me and my band. The Flying Crutchmen."

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  "You were in a band?"

  "You've obviously never heard me sing - of course I was in a band." She looked wistfully out the window, as if remembering her glory days on the stage. "Man, I could tell you some stories about those days."

  "Go ahead," said Paul, "It's a long drive."

  It was over an hour later, when she couldn't stop herself from laughing during her description of the band's tour of Albania, that Paul finally realized she was bullshitting him on
ce again. But her stories made the ride pass in fun, and they both laughed when he called her on it. And Paul definitely preferred her when she laughed.

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  CHAPTER 17

  When they got back to Chloe's house, there wasn't a parking space to be found - the place looked like it was full to the rafters with Crew members, but there wasn't any party going on. Paul and Chloe opened the door and stepped into chaos. Bee was there in the living room, networking together several computers, connected by a thick cord to the server room. "Hey, Chloe, Paul," was all she took time to say before bending back to her work.

  "Looks like I got back just in time," said Chloe, to no one in particular. She handed Paul her backpack and said to him, "Paul, could you put this away in my bedroom. Might as well unpack your own stuff in there as well, the Crew seems to have co-opted your couch."

  "Sure," said Paul, bristling a little at being told what to do, but happy to be making the jump up from couch to Chloe's bedroom. "What's going on?"

  "Raff's little score, isn't looking too little anymore." She said to herself as much as to Paul, and stalked into the kitchen shouting, "Where's Raff?"

  "He's in the garage," said Bee. Chloe swept back through the living room towards the back of the house. Paul followed her as far as the garage door, but she opened it and closed it behind her before he could get in a word or a glimpse. He went back to Chloe's room and dropped their bags. They'd tell him what was going on eventually, and right now he felt sticky and cold, and decided he should probably shower before he even sat down on Chloe's crisp, white sheets. She had her own bathroom, which was a nice luxury in this crowded house. He stripped down and took a shower, hoping that Chloe just might decide to join him.

  As it turned out, Paul didn't see Chloe again that day. By the time he came back out, she'd gone somewhere, although none of the dozen or so crewmembers in the house seemed to know where (or, more likely, were unwilling to tell him). Bee intercepted him as he tried to go into the garage, saying that he wasn't allowed in there right now, same for the Sever Room. He had the run of the rest of the house, but no one had time to talk to him. He made himself a turkey sandwich and watched the hustle and bustle whirl around him. From his vantage he could only see the operation's periphery and couldn't even begin to guess what it was they were doing.

  Bee made a little time to sit with him while she shoveled Ramen noodles into her mouth. "How was your trip?" she asked.

  "Good. It was fun for sure."

  "Great."

  "What's going on here?" he asked.

  "Not much," she replied. "What'd you do on your trip?"

  "Not much really," was all he could think to say. He got the message though. Everyone here had secrets and you had to respect those boundaries and not ask questions you know people don't want to answer. They finished their meals in silence.

  "You should see a movie or something," said Bee as she rinsed out her bowl at the sink. "It's not going to be very exciting or fun around here tonight."

  "Maybe," said Paul. "Do you know when Chloe's getting back?"

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  "Nope."

  "Ok, thanks" He watched her as she jumped back into the fray. She'd spotted something that one of the other crewmembers was doing wrong and corrected him on it, immediately becoming lost in her work once more.

  Paul decided against the movie. He wasn't interested in anything that was playing. The truth was, there wasn't any movie out there that was more interesting than his own life had become since he met Chloe. He ended up lying on her bed and reading a pile of the old comics left over from the comic con. He fell asleep around 1

  AM with the lights on.

  He saw Chloe the next morning, as she came into her room to grab a quick shower and change out of the clothes she was still wearing from the day before. Paul took the fact that she brought her clean jeans and shirt into the bathroom with her and locked the door as a sign that whatever had happened at the beach might not become a habit between them. He pretended to be asleep as she quietly gathered her clothes and then he slipped out into the living room while she showered.

  Not much had changed in the rest of the house. With the shades drawn tight and the crowd of hackers hunched in front of their computers, Paul noticed little difference between now and eight hours ago. He scrounged up some cereal but had to settle for soymilk. A few minutes later Chloe came into the kitchen, still damp from the shower.

  "Hey," she said. "Any coffee in here?"

  "Not that I can see," said Paul into his cereal.

  Chloe pulled a bag of coffee beans from the freezer and started measuring them out into the grinder. "You sleep ok?"

  "Yeah. Did you manage to sleep at all?"

  "Sadly, no. I'm running on fumes here. Well, fumes and a little pharmaceutical help. It was a busy night."

  "What's going on?" asked Paul, still looking down into his bowl of soy soaked corn flakes. The high-pitched buzz of the coffee grinder filled the room in place of Chloe's refusal to answer his question.

  As she waited for the coffee to brew, Chloe cleaned dishes and straightened up the kitchen, her back kept studiously to Paul as he finished his breakfast. He had known she wouldn't tell him what was going on, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. Let her deal with the awkwardness of the situation. No reason to make it easy for her. And so he waited for her answer in silence.

  Chloe finally gave in and sat down next to Paul at the table with a fresh cup of coffee.

  "Listen Paul, you know how this works right?" She sipped from her mug. "We're obviously up to something and only those, you know, 'in the know' get to, well, know."

  "And I can't be in the know?"

  "You're not a member of the Crew, Paul. You haven't paid your dues. This is some serious shit and no one really trusts you yet. Nor should they."

  "What about the comic book thing? Didn't that prove my loyalty or whatever?"

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  "Sort of, sure." She leaned forward and gently brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. He raised his head and looked her in the eye. "I trust you Paul. You know that. I've told you shit no one else in the Crew knows and I trust you to keep my secrets. Our secrets. And now you have to trust me. Trust me on this one thing.

  You absolutely do not want any part of this bullshit we're perpetrating right now. This is a serious score and there's no room for mistakes. It's not phony funny books. It's not the right time. After we're free and clear on this one, then, maybe, we can talk about you joining up for real." She paused to take another sip of coffee. "If that's what you really still want to do."

  "Why wouldn't I?" asked Paul, his voice taking on an edge of defensiveness.

  "Why would you?" she replied. It was a fair question. Why would he? Why get involved with people like this? Chloe was thinking along the same lines. "You've just made a shit load of money Paul, if you play it right and invest it well, you probably won't have to work again, or at least not for a few decades. It's a single score that any one of us would envy. Fuck, all of us already do envy it. Why fuck around with low lifes like us?"

  "I don't know," said Paul. "Maybe because this is the most fun I've ever had. Because I've got nothing else to do. Because I like you."

  "I think you should take a break," said Chloe. "Spend some of that money. Have a night out on the town. Get a fancy hotel room in SF and hire a bunch of hookers. Live it up a little, my friend."

  "That sounds great," he said. "Why don't you come with me? We'll live it up together."

  "I can't Paul, not right now. I don't have time for you."

  "I'll wait."

  She took an extra long sip of coffee and was silent for a moment. "I know you will, Paul. But you can't make life decisions based on...based on that."

  "Based on what?"

  "Based on waiting for me."

  "Oh," he said. "Yeah, you're probably right." Paul knew what she was trying to tell him.
And she was right -

  he'd made this kind of mistake before. By any reasonable logic she was right. But of course he didn't give a fuck about logic. However, he'd learned enough in his thirty-two years not to push her away even more by pressing the issue.

  Chloe seemed thankful that Paul had gotten her message without her having to resort to blunter language. She softened the blow a little with a pat on his knee. "We will have that night on the town though, Paul. Just not right now. When we've made the score. Until then, why don't you take some time for yourself? Get out and just relax a little. I'm not going to have much time for anything but work and breathing between now and then."

  "Ok," he said. "Sounds like a good idea. Maybe I'll go down to Santa Cruz or something. Learn to surf."

  Chloe stood up and smiled down at him. "That's a great idea! Then you can teach me." She quickly downed the rest of her coffee. "I gotta run. Have fun. And hey, there's a cell phone for you that I left by the side of the bed. Use it all you want, it's clean and paid for."

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  "Thanks," he said. "I appreciate it."

  "No prob," she said as she walked back towards the living room. "And have some fun!"

  Over the next few days Paul tried to do just that, although it was a little harder than he'd thought it would be.

  The only time someone talked to him for more than a minute was when Popper gave him five to pay him his share of the comic con. The crew had finally sold the last of the counterfeit comics on eBay and had brought in over $80,000 in bids. Paul's share came to almost five grand. Coupled with the money he already he had, he could do whatever he wanted. It was the figuring out what he wanted part that he was finding so difficult.

  He didn't want to go to any of his usual haunts where he might run into someone from work. He had no friends in San Jose outside of his former partners and coworkers, so that didn't leave him with a lot of social options. The comic book store and game store were no good either - he was friendly with the staff of both and knew they'd mention him to one of the guys he'd so recently extorted money from. Better to just leave all that shit behind and start fresh.