Milo yawns. “Not usually. When he does leave one, it’s just that symbol—the skull with the red background.”
And crooked crown. If Wick’s Red Queen, she’s more than just a sometimes bitchy, multicolored-haired high school girl. She’s dangerous, and Carson could very well be right about Wick being instrumental in her father’s crimes. She’s smart, lethal, and embarrassingly better with computers than I am.
That should not be sexy as hell.
Milo sighs. “I probably don’t want to know, but why’re you asking?”
“You’re right. You don’t want to know.” This time, I completely stop and turn around. Light from the houses illuminates patches of grass and pavement, but there are still heavy pockets of shadows. “I gotta go, Mi.”
“See ya.” He disconnects and I pocket the phone, still scanning the dark. Nothing’s there. I’m alone.
So why doesn’t it feel like it?
A buzz. My phone again. I check the screen. It’s a text message from my uncle.
Meet the Man tomorrow. 4:30. Don’t b late.
I take another long look at the path behind me. Don’t worry, Paul, I have no intentions of letting that opportunity pass.
9
Joe Bender lives in one of our neighborhood’s few houses, a leftover from when the developer thought Twin Creeks was going to be more than trailer rentals and clay orange lawns. There are always four to five cars parked in the front, but I’ve only ever seen Joe drive the faded-red Accord. It’s probably the only one that runs.
I weave around the cars, watching how the stained curtain in the front window briefly flutters. I’ve been spotted. I hop up the porch stairs and ring the doorbell. No sound. Typical. I knock twice and wait.
There’s a shuffling on the other side before two dead bolts turn. I have just enough time to wonder who would be stupid enough to break into Bender’s house before the door cracks open, accommodating Joe’s considerable gut, but no more. He looks at me. I look at him.
“Girl Scout Cookie time already?” Joe asks finally.
“Nah, Jenny Craig subscriptions.” I dip my eyes to the guy’s stomach. His belly button is pushing through his T-shirt. “Thought you could use it.”
“Boy.” Joe opens the door and lumbers onto the porch. He’s a big dude, no doubt. The boards whine and pop underneath his steel-toed boots. “After I’m done with you, you’ll be nothing more than a smear on the carpet.”
Bullshit. He’d have to catch me first. I shrug. “But then who’d do your firewall work?”
Joe sucks his teeth for a beat. “So Paul was serious—you want work?”
“Yeah.”
“Come in then.” He bumps the door open so I can pass, and honestly, there’s something about having Joe Bender behind me that makes my skin crawl.
“You as good as Paul says?” Joe asks.
I hesitate. My uncle Paul says computers are modern magic and, because I can fix his, I’m a magician. Uncle Paul smokes a lot of weed. “I have a few specialties—security, firewalls.”
“Good. I can use that. I already have someone who does the coding for the virus. She can handle that stuff and you can field the firewall problems.”
She? My attention pricks. “What’re you paying?”
“Cut of the proceeds. One percent.”
If I were actually accepting the money, that would be total bs. One percent means the profits’ll be run through Joe and he can pay me whatever because I have no way of verifying exactly how much we’ve made.
“You don’t like it,” Joe continues, “you can go blow and I’ll find someone else.”
I shrug. “Fine. I need the work.”
“Good man. Always nice to teach a younger generation a craft.” Joe walks into the dining room—or what used to be a dining room. The lights are low, but I can still see two low tables are covered in computers, their cords snaking to the floor and disappearing into holes in the carpet. They must be storing the servers in the basement to keep them cool.
“You have your own gear?” Joe asks.
“Yeah.”
“Even better.” Joe takes a cell from the nearest table and shuffles back to me. “What’s your number?”
I tell him, and seconds later, a text comes through on my phone.
“There,” Joe says. “Now you have mine. We should be meeting soon.”
I store it as he motions to the door with one meaty paw, ready to dismiss me. “I’ll contact you with a time. Show up, do the work, and we won’t have any problems.”
Fair enough, but the guy’s smile says he’s kinda hoping for problems, like he’s already thinking of ways to take me apart. “Who does your coding?” I ask.
“You’ll meet her soon enough.”
I swallow. I need a reason to stay, to ask more questions, and I’m not going to get it. The door’s already open.
I nod. “Looking forward to hearing from you.”
“No doubt.” Joe slams the door behind me, the locks clicking into place.
I walk home, thinking about whether I should contact Carson. I don’t want to . . . and I can’t decide why that is. I’ve got the job. I should feel better about this. In the end, I settle on a text:
Got job. Pay up.