"For Christ's sake!" From her wallet she counted out ten hundreds, folded them up and slapped them on the table in front of me. "There. Can we move the fuck on now?"
I left the money on the table and crossed my arms wit h a nod. "All right. I'm good."
Kamikaze's jaw clenched involuntarily as he muttered, "Fucking unbelievable," under his breath. Little prick. "All right. Our objective is a stealth grab of some merchandise located in the facility that's outlined in your packets. Nothing major: five spiral-bound notebooks and two hard drives. Real exciting stuff."
"What on 'em?" my new black friend asked.
The kid folded his hands and looked directly at him. "That's not important."
"Who're we jacking it from?" I asked.
"That's in the packet on page twenty-four. We'll be going through that tomorrow after all you guys have had a chance to read it."
I flipped to page twenty-four. It was titled 'Section 8 - A Brief History of Dr. David Dola nd.' Didn't recognize the name.
"When are we scheduled to discuss the pay for the job?" I asked the kid.
"It'll be merit pay based on what tasks we each get after we've formulated an action plan. As I said, for this consultation, you'll each be paid $5500."
I nodded. "That square with you, Trace?"
"I'm here, aren't I?" she said without raising her head from the notes she made on her pad.
God, I hated these things. No wonder I was drunk all the time in Europe. I took a huge gulp of Scotch.
The squirrelly guy with the laptop that transcribed every word anybody said while it surfed the Internet, bought stuff on eBay, and played Angry Birds piped up, "H-how fast." Whatever the rest of it was, he mumbled out too much to understand.
"I'm sorry," Kamikaze said, "one more time, man?"
Squirrelly Joe got annoyed and angrily repeated, " I said , 'how fast can you fly?'"
Kamikaze glanced at Tracey. "Me? How fast can I fly? Uh, okay, why?"
The squirrelly guy, greasy-skinned, bearded and stuck in a body built for celibacy, sighed like somebody in a coffee shop that was just told they were out of goat milk or cinnamon or whatever the fuck it was they put in those drinks. He didn't make eye contact with anything other than the tabletop as he pissed out, "Because your boss's plane is about to have an accident. Yeah, look around at each other like you don't know what I'm talking about, everybody. The guy pulling the-th--he set this all up. The guy you all work for and who's got us all here in this room. Are all of you going to tell me this is for a 'job?' Don't lie to me because I'm not stupid. I know what this is. Your boss wants my nanites, he-he has for years. That's what this whole fucking thing is all about. Not some 'job.' The man has got people watching me, spying on me and coming around my place at night and when I'm not around."
Oh, it got better.
"My cameras can't catch them because they're somehow invisible, some kind of light-bending tech that he stole from somebody like me, but don't think I don't know they're there, you assholes. I can see the dust move on the feed, I'm not stupid. I feel them out there every night, watching me, and I'm honing that sense. One day, I'll be burning invisible bodies on my trash pile. I invented nanotechnology in a shack , and he wants to act like I'm stupid. But when the nanit es upgrade my eyes, Bill Gates' private army won't be able to hide."
Tracey rubbed her temples.
I. Hated. This. Fucking. Shit.
Kamikaze held up his hand. "Mr. Spencer, nobody here has been watching you."
Spencer, who had to be that guy Jim Spencer who was on the FBI's Most Wanted list for killing people with machines or something, shook his head and kind of half laughed, half growled. He kept wringing his hands in his lap, except for when he felt like he needed to dig his fingernails into his forearm.
"Yeah, okay. Okay," he said. "If that's the case, then I guess it's not a problem that your boss's plane is going to crash right now because he's not your boss, right? He's on
I left the money on the table and crossed my arms wit h a nod. "All right. I'm good."
Kamikaze's jaw clenched involuntarily as he muttered, "Fucking unbelievable," under his breath. Little prick. "All right. Our objective is a stealth grab of some merchandise located in the facility that's outlined in your packets. Nothing major: five spiral-bound notebooks and two hard drives. Real exciting stuff."
"What on 'em?" my new black friend asked.
The kid folded his hands and looked directly at him. "That's not important."
"Who're we jacking it from?" I asked.
"That's in the packet on page twenty-four. We'll be going through that tomorrow after all you guys have had a chance to read it."
I flipped to page twenty-four. It was titled 'Section 8 - A Brief History of Dr. David Dola nd.' Didn't recognize the name.
"When are we scheduled to discuss the pay for the job?" I asked the kid.
"It'll be merit pay based on what tasks we each get after we've formulated an action plan. As I said, for this consultation, you'll each be paid $5500."
I nodded. "That square with you, Trace?"
"I'm here, aren't I?" she said without raising her head from the notes she made on her pad.
God, I hated these things. No wonder I was drunk all the time in Europe. I took a huge gulp of Scotch.
The squirrelly guy with the laptop that transcribed every word anybody said while it surfed the Internet, bought stuff on eBay, and played Angry Birds piped up, "H-how fast." Whatever the rest of it was, he mumbled out too much to understand.
"I'm sorry," Kamikaze said, "one more time, man?"
Squirrelly Joe got annoyed and angrily repeated, " I said , 'how fast can you fly?'"
Kamikaze glanced at Tracey. "Me? How fast can I fly? Uh, okay, why?"
The squirrelly guy, greasy-skinned, bearded and stuck in a body built for celibacy, sighed like somebody in a coffee shop that was just told they were out of goat milk or cinnamon or whatever the fuck it was they put in those drinks. He didn't make eye contact with anything other than the tabletop as he pissed out, "Because your boss's plane is about to have an accident. Yeah, look around at each other like you don't know what I'm talking about, everybody. The guy pulling the-th--he set this all up. The guy you all work for and who's got us all here in this room. Are all of you going to tell me this is for a 'job?' Don't lie to me because I'm not stupid. I know what this is. Your boss wants my nanites, he-he has for years. That's what this whole fucking thing is all about. Not some 'job.' The man has got people watching me, spying on me and coming around my place at night and when I'm not around."
Oh, it got better.
"My cameras can't catch them because they're somehow invisible, some kind of light-bending tech that he stole from somebody like me, but don't think I don't know they're there, you assholes. I can see the dust move on the feed, I'm not stupid. I feel them out there every night, watching me, and I'm honing that sense. One day, I'll be burning invisible bodies on my trash pile. I invented nanotechnology in a shack , and he wants to act like I'm stupid. But when the nanit es upgrade my eyes, Bill Gates' private army won't be able to hide."
Tracey rubbed her temples.
I. Hated. This. Fucking. Shit.
Kamikaze held up his hand. "Mr. Spencer, nobody here has been watching you."
Spencer, who had to be that guy Jim Spencer who was on the FBI's Most Wanted list for killing people with machines or something, shook his head and kind of half laughed, half growled. He kept wringing his hands in his lap, except for when he felt like he needed to dig his fingernails into his forearm.
"Yeah, okay. Okay," he said. "If that's the case, then I guess it's not a problem that your boss's plane is going to crash right now because he's not your boss, right? He's on
Similar Books
