Role-Playing Game.” Devon shook his head. “Where’ve you been?”
“Waiting for you to help me. I haven’t got time for this, Devon. Seriously.”
He tapped a button, and his game blinked off. He folded his arms and turned to me. “What’s this about anyway?”
“It’s private.”
He laughed. “So what the hell are you doing back here?”
“I need access to what’s on that drive. I’m sorry I don’t have time for frozen pizza and video games, but this is really important.”
“Excuse my life for being so fucking trivial, dude.”
I took a deep breath before I said something else insensitive. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, that’s not what I meant either, ass crunch. I was asking you what the hell you were doing back in Hawthorne. You know? Making conversation.”
“I don’t have time for conversation.”
He sucked on his teeth, jerked his head to toss his devil’s lock off his face. “You haven’t changed one bit since high school.”
“Now this is about high school?”
“No, man, it’s about your attitude. Even when you’d hang out with us, the big school losers, it was like you thought you were better than us.”
I tried to compare my high school experience with the one Devon described. They didn’t mesh. The reason I hung out with guys like Devon and Tom—the so-called nerds—was because I felt I was one of them. I never got along with the popular kids. I didn’t belong with them.
“That isn’t true,” I said.
He waved a hand. “Forget it, right? You’re too damn busy to give a singing lesson, but loser Devon has all the time in the world to play your personal hacker.”
“It isn’t like that.”
He blew a raspberry, fluttering his devil’s lock away from his face. “You know what? Fuck this.” He crossed his arms. “You want me to hack this, you gotta give me a singing lesson.”
I massaged my temples. The lack of light started a headache behind my eyes. “Right now?”
“No, not right now. But you have to promise to give me one. And not like next year or something. Sometime this week.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Hey, Rid? I’m a busy man. You want me to do this or not?”
My palms started sweating. My stomach felt like an overcrowded fishbowl. Symptoms of stage-fright, as if I was about to step into a spotlight right there.
“Isn’t there anything else? I could pay you.”
He leaned back in his chair with a crooked smirk. “Six figures, remember?”
“Why, Dev? Why do you want to go on that silly show?”
“Why do you want to crack this flash drive?”
I closed my eyes, counted down from three. “I told you, it’s personal.”
“So is this.”
“Fine.” I held out my hand. “Give the damn thing back.”
His buggy eyes bugged out more. “You serious?”
“I can’t sing. I just can’t.”
“You are severely traumatized,” he said and laughed.
“I never expected you to understand. You don’t want to do this for me, just hand it back.”
Devon snorted and swung back to his keyboard. “Whatever, dude.” He punched a sequence of keys and leaned back. “It’s already done.”
“Already… When?”
“Right before I lost my sword of excellence.” He rolled away from the desk. “Have a gander if you want, but it’s cracked for good, so you can access it on any PC now.”
I moved in and took control of the mouse. A list of nearly twenty files filled the window displaying the flash drive’s contents, all them word-processing documents. I scanned the file titles, most of them cryptic and incomprehensible. Then one caught my attention and sent a shiver down my spine.
MOBVIOLENCE03.
It almost seemed too easy. I wasn’t aware of any mob presence in Hawthorne. But I couldn’t fight the jolt I got from finding a possible clue. Maybe Doug had uncovered something that got him into trouble. I clicked open the file and found about twenty single-spaced pages of notes written in a journal format, each entry
“Waiting for you to help me. I haven’t got time for this, Devon. Seriously.”
He tapped a button, and his game blinked off. He folded his arms and turned to me. “What’s this about anyway?”
“It’s private.”
He laughed. “So what the hell are you doing back here?”
“I need access to what’s on that drive. I’m sorry I don’t have time for frozen pizza and video games, but this is really important.”
“Excuse my life for being so fucking trivial, dude.”
I took a deep breath before I said something else insensitive. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, that’s not what I meant either, ass crunch. I was asking you what the hell you were doing back in Hawthorne. You know? Making conversation.”
“I don’t have time for conversation.”
He sucked on his teeth, jerked his head to toss his devil’s lock off his face. “You haven’t changed one bit since high school.”
“Now this is about high school?”
“No, man, it’s about your attitude. Even when you’d hang out with us, the big school losers, it was like you thought you were better than us.”
I tried to compare my high school experience with the one Devon described. They didn’t mesh. The reason I hung out with guys like Devon and Tom—the so-called nerds—was because I felt I was one of them. I never got along with the popular kids. I didn’t belong with them.
“That isn’t true,” I said.
He waved a hand. “Forget it, right? You’re too damn busy to give a singing lesson, but loser Devon has all the time in the world to play your personal hacker.”
“It isn’t like that.”
He blew a raspberry, fluttering his devil’s lock away from his face. “You know what? Fuck this.” He crossed his arms. “You want me to hack this, you gotta give me a singing lesson.”
I massaged my temples. The lack of light started a headache behind my eyes. “Right now?”
“No, not right now. But you have to promise to give me one. And not like next year or something. Sometime this week.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Hey, Rid? I’m a busy man. You want me to do this or not?”
My palms started sweating. My stomach felt like an overcrowded fishbowl. Symptoms of stage-fright, as if I was about to step into a spotlight right there.
“Isn’t there anything else? I could pay you.”
He leaned back in his chair with a crooked smirk. “Six figures, remember?”
“Why, Dev? Why do you want to go on that silly show?”
“Why do you want to crack this flash drive?”
I closed my eyes, counted down from three. “I told you, it’s personal.”
“So is this.”
“Fine.” I held out my hand. “Give the damn thing back.”
His buggy eyes bugged out more. “You serious?”
“I can’t sing. I just can’t.”
“You are severely traumatized,” he said and laughed.
“I never expected you to understand. You don’t want to do this for me, just hand it back.”
Devon snorted and swung back to his keyboard. “Whatever, dude.” He punched a sequence of keys and leaned back. “It’s already done.”
“Already… When?”
“Right before I lost my sword of excellence.” He rolled away from the desk. “Have a gander if you want, but it’s cracked for good, so you can access it on any PC now.”
I moved in and took control of the mouse. A list of nearly twenty files filled the window displaying the flash drive’s contents, all them word-processing documents. I scanned the file titles, most of them cryptic and incomprehensible. Then one caught my attention and sent a shiver down my spine.
MOBVIOLENCE03.
It almost seemed too easy. I wasn’t aware of any mob presence in Hawthorne. But I couldn’t fight the jolt I got from finding a possible clue. Maybe Doug had uncovered something that got him into trouble. I clicked open the file and found about twenty single-spaced pages of notes written in a journal format, each entry
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