Crushed, p.9
Crushed, page 9
“What you need?” he asks. He shoves his hands into his shorts and waits.
“What would you recommend? Should we call Wolf? This is for The Bookery. She’s not there today. I want something over the front door and back door, minimum, maybe a cam over the cash register with a view of the stairs that lead up to her apartment.” I’d love to have cameras in her living space too. I believe the more security surveillance, the better, but I once went overboard with my sister, and she had a problem with it. I get her point. It’d be one thing if I was the only person watching the cams, but I wouldn’t be. And, as Cali pointed out, even if I was, some might think, well, Cali thought it was creepy.
Trevor texts Wolf. I read through the descriptions on the boxes while Trevor taps out a message. When he’s done, he drops his BlackBerry into his oversized cargo pocket.
He steps up to the shelf and pulls a white box off, and passes it to me.
“You like her, huh?” he asks as I open the box and examine the contents.
“I do.” She’s one of my oldest friends. I’m protective of all my people.
“What’s going on with her?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why’s she out today? Why’d she give you permission to put security in her place?”
“She has a family emergency.” His question makes me realize I still don’t know what’s going on with her. When I pinged her location, she was in the vicinity of the hospital. She said family, so it’s not her. But an uneasy sensation stirs in my gut. I could access the hospital’s database and check the records…or I could just ask her. Quicker to ask.
“She doesn’t know you’re putting cams in her place, does she?”
“Nope.” He removes the box from my hands.
“Then we’ll need different hardware,” he says. He stands in front of the wall of product, arms crossed over his chest.
I pull out my burner phone and text her back.
* * *
What kind of family emergency? Do you need anything?
* * *
The thud of boots on stairs announces Wolf’s arrival. I choose to ignore the fact he once again forgot to remove his shoes. We’ve picked out product, agreed on strategy, loaded our bag of tools and a battery-operated handheld vacuum to clean up any dust we create, and we’re in Trevor’s Tesla before she texts back. I sit in the back seat, letting Wolf, who is considerably larger than me, take the front passenger seat.
* * *
No. Thanks for asking. They’re admitting my grandfather. He took a spill this morning. It’s just a precaution. Sorry to upend your workday.
* * *
“Hey, you decided on a Tesla, right, boss?” He calls me boss because that’s his chosen nickname for me, not because he actually reports to me.
“Yep. I like them.”
“When’s it coming in?”
“Haven’t ordered it yet.” I looked for apartments, but I’ll need a car too.
* * *
No problem. Glad all is okay.
* * *
I send the text, then stare up through the glass roof. The white clouds overhead are light and airy. A fall shouldn’t be life-threatening. He must have hit his head or something like that. If they’re admitting him, they’re afraid of something. When my mom was in the hospital, she should have been fine. I had one of the best heart surgeons in the world flown in to do a standard procedure. There are no guarantees.
An urge to go to the hospital, to check things out, to hover just in case, builds. The urge is nonsensical. In her mind, we barely know each other. We had one date. But maybe the urge isn’t entirely illogical. It sucked not being in the hospital with my sister and dad. Helping from afar never feels like enough.
Trevor claims an open street spot a few doors down from The Bookery, and we all clamber out of the car. I scan the cars parked on the street. They’re all empty.
“You guys wait here. I’ll go around back to let you in.”
Within minutes, I’m unlocking the shop’s front door. The door chime echoes in the dimly lit store. I pass Wolf a stepladder that had been leaning against the back of the building.
“Why don’t you start with the camera out here? You think you can get it up in the eaves where no one will notice?”
He doesn’t answer, just studies the space.
“What about electrical?” Trevor asks.
There are overhead lights and exposed wiring connecting them.
“You guys go do the inside. I’ve got it out here,” Wolf says. He never tells us how he’s going to do it, and we don’t ask. He’s dressed in workman’s boots, jeans, and a black T-shirt. Anyone passing by will assume he’s hired.
It takes us a little over two hours to get cams set everywhere I want. I lock her back door. If she doesn’t have a key, then I’ll tell her I’ll break in for her, but there’s no way I’m leaving a door to a business unlocked. I’ve got to sit Vivi down and crush her naivety.
As we climb back in the car, Wolf asks, “So, where to for lunch?”
“It’s mid-afternoon,” I say. The guy eats like it’s his mission. For every glass of water I drink, he eats a Power Bar.
“You guys aren’t hungry?” he asks.
Trevor nods when I shake my head. Trevor’s pulling out of the parallel spot and doing a three-point turn to head in the opposite direction when I spot the suspect. He’s walking with another man down the street. I tap Trevor on his shoulder.
“That’s the guy,” I tell him. He looks over and nods.
“Yep,” he confirms. “He probably lives here, which is what we originally thought.”
I let it drop. While Wolf and Trevor talk about Santa Barbara and potential plans for a move, I pull out my iPhone and access the video feed. The two men stop in front of The Bookery. One guy presses his face against the glass, shielding sunlight with his hand. I’m about to tell Trevor to turn around when he steps back from the door, and they continue down the sidewalk. Maybe Trevor is right, and he lives in the area.
Trevor drops me off at the house. Kairi’s waiting outside. They’ve decided to go to a sports bar and watch something or another and have an early dinner. I gather my things, climb into the old farm pickup, and drive to the hospital.
She probably won’t need me. But I’ll be there, just in case.
The lobby is more of an open-air atrium with seating areas off to the sides of a central welcome desk. Large windows line the front wall. Electrical outlets are near the wall, but there are none in the floor to accommodate visitors in the central areas. I scan the crowd, searching for a platinum blonde braid or a colorful skirt. When I close my eyelids, I see those blue eyes. Doing so is a poor substitute for the real thing, but at least I’m in the same building she is in. That counts for something.
I find an empty sofa against a wall and plug in my laptop. As I wait for the laptop to restart, I double-check with the welcome desk. I tell them that I want to send flowers to a patient and ask if she can give me the room number. She smiles and tells me that she can’t give out patients’ room numbers.
“Can you confirm if someone is a patient here?”
“What’s the name?”
“Mr. Rossi. His granddaughter is Vivianne Rossi. I’m her ride home. I’d like to send flowers up to the room.”
“Looking to make a good impression, are you?” She gives me a knowing smile. “He doesn’t have a room number assigned yet, but if you order flowers from our gift shop down the hall, they’ll be able to deliver them when he does get his room.”
“Thank you.” She smiles at me like I’m the most thoughtful man in the world. Meanwhile, I look at her with disdain. She gave up information too easily.
I go back to my computer and pull up the hospital florist. As expected, I can order flowers online, and I do. If given a choice of interacting with humans or ordering online, I will always choose a user interface.
When I type in her grandfather’s last name, the motion of the keys, R-O-S-S-I, a memory flashes. I recently learned Firefly’s name, but I’ve seen that last name before. I know that last name.
“Two hundred thousand dollars!” Kane pumped his hands in the air and moved his body in a jerky motion that would’ve hit TikTok fame—and only because it showcased a man who cannot dance. “We are in the big-time, baby! Yesssss!”
“What do you mean?”
“We just got paid. And from a vineyard, no less. I am telling you, man. There is no end to the money we can rake in on ransoms.” He held both hands out and circled his arms while attempting to moonwalk backward.
“A vineyard?” An uneasy feeling in my gut grew. We’d started off going after greedy corporations. Places that offered shitty employment benefits and low wages. Companies that needed to go down, like coal and oil. But when I thought of vineyards, they didn’t strike me as overly greedy or bad for the environment. But I could see how they wouldn’t be tech savvy and could be easily breached. But easy to breach didn’t mean we should.
“Rossi Vineyards. Walk in any grocery store, and you’ll see their cheap ass white wine. I’ve had one too many hangovers from their high sulfite, high sugar crap. And they just paid, my man.”
I did a quick search while Mr. Kung Fu Dancer jerked his body around the room in a bizarre celebration dance. One article in Wine Spectator came up about a rumored customer data breach at Rossi Vineyards.
“They paid you two hundred thousand to protect customer data?”
“Yep. Oh, now, don’t give me that judgmental, I-am-too-holy-for-your-shirt look. This family has more money than the gods. More than the Vatican. Ohhhh. That is an idea. You are brilliant. We should go after the Vatican! They’re all child molesters. We’re gonna get the rich as fuck child molesters next.”
I closed my laptop. The view from our skyscraper suite in the Bulgari Hotel in Shanghai made me queasy. But aside from that, when I looked at the dancing Asian man, I felt nothing but disgust.
At first, my hacking projects were only a challenge. Like climbing a leader board. Building my hacking and coding chops. Years went by as my skills improved. I broke into sites and was paid by sites to do so. All to show them their weaknesses.
Kane had the idea to go after some of the less ethical firms. The ones that paid the executive team a hundred times multiples more than the employees who did the work. Seemed fair to me. But the man dancing before me in his Gucci loafers and his belt buckle with two bright gold G’s…he’d gotten bitten by the biggest G of them all—greed.
SEXY GAMER GIRL
Vivi
* * *
Granddad anger-clicks the remote, flicking from channel to channel with the impatience of a spoiled child. I settle back and exchange texts with my brother and sister, giving them updates and reassuring them I’m good hanging here for the rest of the day. I alternate between reading and watching television if my grandfather keeps it on a channel long enough to catch my attention.
Finally, a doctor comes in and asks him about pain.
Granddad grumbles, “Hurts like hell.”
My grandfather prefers that his doctors be close to retirement age, or at least a Baby Boomer, and this guy looks young. I sit on the edge of the seat, prepared to stand and intervene if Granddad goes berserk on him. The doctor reads his chart, listens to his chest, and looks into his eyes. Granddad’s frown screams angry to me, but the doctor doesn’t get the same read.
“Mr. Rossi, I think we need to increase your pain meds.”
My grandfather does not dispute the young man’s conclusion, and within half an hour, he’s resting in a relaxed semi-conscious state. I text the good news to my siblings. Max responds immediately. Celeste has meetings this afternoon with an east coast wine distributor, so I don’t expect her to respond. Max sends me a text.
* * *
Max: I’ll bring him dinner. What do you think he’ll want? I’ll bring you dinner, too.
* * *
Me: Just bring him something semi-healthy. He’d probably request fried food, but the doctor specifically said he shouldn’t eat anything heavy. He had a burger, fries, and milkshake for lunch.
* * *
Max: LOL.
* * *
No, Max, it’s not funny. The afternoon passes in slow motion. Nurses come in and out. I finish the e-book I’m reading. Chloe calls, and I pick up with a whisper.
“Hey.”
“Is your grandfather okay?”
“He’s fine. Just keeping him overnight. How’d you know?”
“Susie Parsons saw my mom, and she heard it from god knows who. But everything’s okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Who’s manning your store?”
“It’s closed.”
“Maybe now would be a good time to hire some of that part-time help you’ve been considering.”
“Where would I find someone?”
“Well, given I know an entire world of waitstaff people in the area, I bet I can find someone.”
“They’d make more money waiting tables.”
“Yes, they would. But plenty of them don’t get enough hours and have to pull a second gig. José’s girlfriend is pregnant. I know he’s looking for something extra.”
“Isn’t he a bartender?”
“Yep, and only works nights. He was trying to make it as an artist, but now he needs something that pays. Want me to ask him?”
“Sure. Tell him I’ll pay twenty an hour. You think that’s enough?”
“I’ll ask. And my neighbor has a daughter who is home working on a thesis. I can walk over and ask her too.”
“That’d be great. Thank you.”
“Running a shop by yourself is borderline insanity.” Sadly, it hasn’t been that difficult until now. Not once that I can think of has there been a line at the register.
Chloe and I hang up, and in what feels like minutes, I receive a text that José would love to work at The Bookery.
* * *
Me: Great. Can he meet me tomorrow morning? I’ll take him through everything.
* * *
When she responds that he’ll be there at eight-thirty, the tightness around my ribs dissipates. This is good. I can be back here in the morning and help if they discharge my grandfather. And if not, I can corner the doctor to find out why.
My grandfather is a healthy man. He’s spent most of his life in the vineyards, and his weathered skin is permanently tanned. His bushy black eyebrows are peppered with white. He has a receding hairline, but he’s still got a head full of hair. It’s one hundred percent white. Outside, under the sun, that shock of white combined with his native olive coloring gives him an invincible, almost god-like quality, invoking wisdom and power.
In this hospital bed, the lines along his brow, his eyes, his nose, and around his lips appear deeper. He might be dehydrated. The blanket draped over his form shrinks his legs and his torso. The prominent veins on the back of his hands exaggerate his frailty. I don’t like seeing him in this bed – not at all. He keeps us together. No one can live forever, obviously, but he’s a pillar of strength. It’s easy to believe he might be the one to do it. I want him to do it. I can’t imagine visiting the vineyard without him appearing with dirt stains on his pants and work boots.
Chloe and I hang up, and I click over to Zeitgeist. The circle in the corner alerts me to four messages. Two are from the same player who wants to buy my game assets. I ignore his name and click on Phoenix.
* * *
Phoenix: Plenty of men don’t maintain social accounts. Are you talking about FB and Insta?
Phoenix: How did you meet this man?
* * *
Phoenix’s texts always excite me—because I am juvenile and ridiculous. It’s ridiculous. He’s a virtual friend. But his last text reads as a touch jealous. Or big brother. Protective. Am I reading too much into a text doused with brevity? Yes, I am.
* * *
Firefly: Why do you assume it’s me? I could be asking for a friend.
* * *
Within seconds, he responds.
* * *
Phoenix: Are you?
* * *
Firefly: No.
Firefly: Have you heard of TruthFinder? It’s an app I use when I date men. It’ll give me their history.
Firefly: It’s crazy cool. I busted a married man attempting to date my friend recently.
Firefly: Not sure of your dating status, but I highly recommend this app to anyone dating off the Internet. Lots of slime out there.
Firefly: Even for men. It’s a good app.
* * *
Phoenix: Good to know.
* * *
He doesn’t text more. Phoenix is always so fricking brief. I’d like to know his dating status. But why? It doesn’t matter. He probably lives on another continent. If he had any interest in meeting, he’d say more. He’d pick up that ball, and he’d throw it. He doesn’t. He could be married. He could have children. He could be a woman. But I don’t think so. Regardless, he’s not interested. There’s no ball throwing. I go back to reading my book.
