Geek Mafia: Mile Zero

by Dakan

  She turned around to face him. He smiled a shit-eating grin as he leered down at her. To his credit, he looked her in the eyes for three whole seconds before his gaze found its way to her tits. Chloe gave him a long, exaggerated examination, looking him up and down.

  "You're buying?"

  "I sure am," he told her chest. Then, to her face. "Whatever you're selling."

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  Chloe laughed, wondering if a line like that ever worked for him with a girl that wasn't trying to con him. "I'm drinking vodka tonics," she said, and pointed to the bartender. "He's the one doing the selling."

  Eddie leaned against the bar and gave it a slap, his eyes never leaving her. "Two Ketel One and tonics," he said, upgrading her drink and, she assumed, trying to impress her.

  "I'm Leo," he said.

  "Is that your name or your sign?" she asked.

  "As a matter of fact, it's both. My parents didn't have much imagination."

  "I'm supposed to watch out for Leos," she said. "We're not compatible."

  "Ahhh," said Eddie, "But I don't believe in astrology, so it's ok."

  She forced out a laugh that didn't sound forced at all. "I don't either," she said. The only true thing she planned to tell him tonight. "I'm Gillian. Nice to meet you, Leo."

  "And what's your sign?" he asked as the drinks arrived.

  "I thought you didn't believe in astrology."

  "I don't, but I do believe in destiny," he said, handing her a drink.

  "Really? And what's my destiny?" she asked, cocking her head a bit to the side and ever so slightly pursing her lips. She wanted to look like she was interested in him but was trying to hide that fact from him.

  "I don't know. I have to read your palm."

  Oh Christ, she thought, groaning inside. But outside she made herself giggle a little and held out her hand to him. "What's it say?"

  He took her hand in his sweaty mitt and started stroking her upturned palm with his index finger. "Let's see here...hmmm... very interesting. I see a very definite sign."

  "Oh yeah?" she said as if she didn't know what he was going to say. "What's it say?"

  "It's pointing right over there," he said, raising her hand and pointing it right toward his table. "Something about having a few more drinks with me and my friends."

  She smiled and stood up, deciding to let him keep a hold of her hand since he wasn't showing any signs of letting it go. They took their drinks over to Eddie's table. He introduced Marco as Eric and the other big guy as Quentin. They both seemed very glad to see her and her breasts, although Quentin complained that "Leo"

  had forgotten to bring them back another round of drinks.

  "So what're you guys doing in town?" Chloe asked, after they'd finished the introductions. Eddie's knee was pressed against her leg, but at least she'd managed to get her hand back and wipe the sweat off.

  "We're on a cruise," said Leo. "Cruising the Caribbean."

  "Ooh, that sounds fun," she said. "I've never been on a cruise." Ok, that was true too, although the thought of Chapter 12

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  being cooped up on a boat for days on end didn't have much appeal. It sounded even worse than being cooped up on an island.

  "Cruises are great!" the big man called Quentin practically shouted. "All you can eat, drink, sleep and fu..."

  Either Eddie or Marco kicked him under the table, cutting off that last thought.

  "You cruise a lot, then?" she asked, pretending to ignore the outburst.

  "When we can," Eddie said. "It's a nice way to relax."

  "What do you guys do when you're not cruising?"

  "We're in software," said Eddie.

  "Wow, cool," said Chloe. "Do you work out in Silicon Valley or wherever?"

  "We do," Eddie assured her. "Big time software company out there. Are you from California?"

  She wondered if he'd detected something in her speech patterns that gave her origin away, but on reflection decided that he was probably just fishing for info. "No," she said. "I've never been west of Texas."

  "Oh," Eddie said, "You should come out sometime. Silicon Valley's the best. We'll show you a grand old time." He patted her on her thigh under the table.

  "I'll bet," she said. "I'm sure it's a real happening place." She knew, in fact, that it was nothing of the kind.

  "You just need a local guide to show you around," he said. Chloe groaned again inside, before remembering that she'd once said much the same thing to Paul. She wondered how he ever fell for it.

  "Still, I bet it doesn't compare to Key West. We know how to party here!" she said, summoning up all the Jimmy Buffet-inspired enthusiasm she could. "No place in the world like Maragritaville."

  "Whooo!" shouted Quentin again. "Maragritaville!" He was really, really drunk, thought Chloe. But it was Eddie she was focused on, and he seemed to be holding his liquor pretty well.

  "That's why I'm here!" said Chloe with convincing enthusiasm, "Livin' the Parrot Head dream." She and Eddie drank to that.

  "Last call!" the bartender shouted from across the deck. "Last call for alcohol!"

  "Fuck!" said Quentin. "What time is it?"

  "Who cares?" said Chloe, laying the foundation for her trap.

  "It's ten 'til four," said Marco/Eric, the first thing he'd said since she sat down.

  "You'd think having bars open until 4 a.m. would be enough for people," said Eddie. "But you'd be wrong!"

  He downed the last of his drink and motioned to the bartender with a swirl of his finger to bring them another round.

  "How long are you guys in town?" Chloe asked.

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  "Not long enough," said Eddie. "Not long e-damn-nough. Our ship leaves tomorrow."

  "You should come with us!" said Quentin.

  "As fun as that sounds..." Chloe started to say.

  "Don't mind him," said Eddie. "He's just drunk."

  "I am not..." said Quentin, bobbing side to side in his seat. "I'm drunk." He was such a typical dumb, big, drunk frat boy that Chloe wondered if he might not be faking the whole thing. Were the three of them playing her? Had they made her? "I'm not drunk," he repeated. "I just have to... I have to piss."

  Quentin struggled to his feet and then fell back into his chair. Chloe laughed as if this was the funniest thing she'd ever seen, and the others joined in, including Quentin. She smiled and winked at Eddie, who offered her an even broader smile in return. She followed his eyes as they glanced at Marco before coming to rest on her again.

  Having apparently picked up on the signal, Marco rose to his feet and said, "If you pick up the bill, I'll make sure Quentin doesn't drown in the head."

  "I never did but that once..." Quentin slurred as Marco helped him to his feet. Then he focused on his friend.

  "Thanks buddy. I need to piss, you know."

  "I know, I know," said Marco. "But remember, I'm not holding it for you."

  "That's what your mother said..." Quentin replied.

  "That doesn't even make sense."

  "You don't make sense..."

  "Come on, tough guy. Let's go." Marco slung Quentin's arm over his shoulder and helped him stagger toward the bathrooms, which were inconveniently located downstairs.

  Chloe laughed into her drink again. She suspected that Eddie had given them some pre-arranged sign to clear out so he could have her for himself. Quentin's showy drunkenness served to make Eddie look all the more appealing in her eyes. These guys had it down to a science.

  "He'll be fine," said Eddie, putting his hand on her knee again.

  "I couldn't care less," she said.

  Eddie laughed at that. "No, tell me what you really think. He's a good guy, he's just..."

  "Drunk," she said. "Nothing sadder than a limp-dicked drunk who can't hold his liquor."

  "No one like that at this table," said Eddie.

  "We'll see."

  The bartender arrived with the final round of drinks. "You tak
e two and I'll take two," Chloe said, picking up a vodka tonic and a rum and coke that had been meant for Quentin.

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  "You're on," said Eddie.

  They downed their drinks in short order. Chloe felt the alcohol flooding through her system and into her head.

  No stranger to liquor, she could drink most men under the table, but she had a suspicion that Eddie was no novice. Plus he had fifty or sixty pounds on her. But she didn't need to get him smashed - at least not here and not yet.

  Eddie droned on about the cruise ship he'd supposedly come in on, and Chloe nodded appreciatively. When the bartender came with the bill, she saw a momentary flash of worry on Eddie's face. She'd tightened up a little during the conversation, wanting him to doubt whether or not she was actually interested enough to leave the bar with him.

  "Come on, man," said Eddie. "One more round."

  "Sorry, dude. Not my call. Manager says we shut down, down we shut." Eddie handed him a credit card.

  Chloe caught a glimpse and was impressed to see that it was in the name Leo Perry. Eddie was enough of a pro to keep his aliases straight at least.

  "So," he said to her in that casual yet meaningful way people have of speaking to relative strangers after last call. "What now?"

  "I go home I guess," said Chloe.

  "You're kidding."

  "I am?"

  "There's got to be something else going on in this town."

  "It's 4 a.m.!"

  "No after-hour clubs? No parties at your friends' houses?"

  "Nothing unless you've got money to burn," she said, her tone dismissive.

  "I definitely have money to burn."

  "You sure?" she asked. "I'd have to make some calls."

  "What're we talking about here?" Eddie asked.

  "There's a party. Really, they say it's the party. If you can get in."

  "What's so special?"

  "They have the best of everything. The best drugs. The best drinks. The best people. That's what I heard anyway."

  "Where is this? Some club..."

  "It moves," Chloe said. "It's somewhere new each night. But it costs like a hundred bucks to get in. And you have to know who to call to get invited."

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  Eddie's shit-eating grin returned as he pulled a neatly folded wad of bills from his pocket, peeling off two $100 bills. "Is that all?" he said.

  "Some of us work for a living," said Chloe, trying to look like she was trying to look unimpressed.

  "And some of us don't," he laughed. "Now come on, I've got the two hundred..."

  Chloe stared at the two bills for a long moment, milking his anticipation before she let a wide smile crack her face. "And I've got a friend I can call."

  He leaned back in his seat, pushing the two bills back into his pocket. "Well then, sweetie. Make the call."

  "Sounds like a party," she said, taking out her phone. She punched in Sandee's number. "I hope you're ready."

  "Oh, I was born ready," Eddie said.

  "That's what I like to hear," Chloe replied.

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  Chapter 13

  WHEN he was in high school, Paul's favorite books of all time had been the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series by Douglas Adams. He'd read the first three novels back to back and then turned around and read them again. He'd even carried around a towel in his car and worn a "Don't Panic" button every day. Funny, sarcastic, inventive and never for a moment anything resembling serious, the sci-fi novels had provided him exactly the kind of smart but carefree escapism that he needed during his awkward teenage years.

  Like many geeks of his generation, dozens of quotes, scenes and characters from the books still remained stuck in his brain now that he was in his early 30s (even one of his favorite political bloggers had picked the screen name Majikthise after one of the books' more obscure minor characters). There was one small piece from the third book, Life, The Universe, and Everything, that had always intrigued him - a description of a never-ending party that moved from planet to planet on its spaceship, raiding alien worlds for fresh supplies of cocktails and canapés. When he was an awkward young gamer kid who never got invited to the cool parties, the concept of a party that never ended seemed incredibly enticing. Much later, he'd read a description of a similar, more earthbound never-ending party in a William Gibson novel, and the idea took hold of his imagination once more.

  Key West was as close to a real-world never-ending party as any city was likely to get. But upon arriving there with Chloe and Bee, he'd discovered that even this island of revelry had its limits. He'd also discovered his own limits as well. It had taken him a week to recover from the seventy-two hour orgy of indulgence he and Chloe had enjoyed as they broke the new town in. But those three days had awakened dormant dreams of the Hitchhiker's Guide's never-ending party.

  The three of them had come here to set up a new Crew and make a new life for themselves. Not just a new life, but a whole new world, and Paul wanted to live in a world where there were fantastic parties that never ended. He'd explained his dream to Chloe and Bee, and while they both agreed that such a party would indeed be cool, they couldn't see much of a practical use for actually doing such a thing. Paul had argued that the whole point of a party was that it didn't have a practical purpose. Chloe had countered that it sounded like a fine hobby for him, but that they needed money, and unless he wanted to wait tables to finance his dream, they needed to come up with some scams.

  The first such scam had been the Keys Condos and Estates racket, which had succeeded beyond their expectations. Then Chloe had found a broken-down dive guide who they'd cleaned up enough to be a front man for selling fake maps to lost gold from the Spanish galleon Atocha that famed treasure hunter Mel Fisher had somehow neglected to find. A few greedy, credulous tourists bought into that, adding to their working capital, but without any big scores looming on the horizon, they needed another regular source of income. So, as Paul had done most of his professional life, and now all of his criminal life, he turned his wild imaginings into a money-making enterprise. Just as his doodles had become comics which had become a video-game which had become a plot to extort his former partners, so did a sci-fi inspired daydream become a plan for an actual party that became the perfect tool for exploiting Key West's party culture to the Crew's advantage.

  No party is successful unless the guests want to be there, and nothing breeds desire like forbidding someone from having something. People might or might not come to a 24-hour party that was open to all comers at all hours, but if they did, it would just be for a quick stop on their way to or from something else. But if the party was a secret - an invitation only, $100-or-more-at-the-door underground bacchanal - well then, people would beat a path to its door. On their way down to Key West, they'd stopped for a night in Miami Beach, and Paul had been both disgusted and impressed with the utter pretentious gall of the club owners there. Long lines of hopeful clubbers waited beyond velvet ropes to pay outrageous prices for the same drinks and techno-pop crap they could find anywhere else. All that mattered was the exclusivity.

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  Well, there was no hotspot in Miami as exclusive as the no-name party Paul and his Crew ran in Key West, although they had several regulars who flew or drove down from Miami to attend. It was only after they'd met and recruited Sandee that the plan had really come together. Sandee was an island native who knew everyone in the bar and club scene, and whose contacts allowed them to line up the entertainment, drinks, food and drugs necessary to make an underground party really take off and flow, along with the word-of-mouth network necessary to recruit just the right kind of party guests. Now, three months into the party's planned endless run, everything was humming along just as Paul had dreamed it would. Like the spaceship that inspired it, the party moved from place to place, making a circuit around the island and out onto selected boats and outlying islands
when the weather was right for it. Even as it moved, the party continued, never shutting down in one location until things were up and running in a new venue. Most were places they accessed through Keys Condos and Estates. Others were empty restaurants waiting to be refurbished or even vacant offices.

  Tonight the party had made its way back to one of Paul's favorite venues - the Crawford House on Eaton.

  Once upon a time it had been the stately home of a successful wrecker and salvage family (salvaging wrecks had been Key West's main source of income in the 19th century, at one point making it the wealthiest city per capita in the country). In the 1980s, a hotel chain had bought it from the Crawford family and turned it into an ultra-expensive guest house. After a decade of trendiness and full bookings, its popularity had declined, and by 2000 so had its standards. The parent company had spun off a boutique hotels division, which promptly declared bankruptcy six months later. The building had stood empty and unused for the last year while lawyers fought over ownership.

  A month ago they'd managed to get their hands on a key and moved the party there for several days before the neighbors grew suspicious. Since then, Paul knew that Sandee had been working hard at setting things up there once again. With its many private rooms and large central dining space, it made the perfect venue. He and Chloe had spent a particularly memorable night there the first time they'd used the house.

  "Let's dial up the party," Paul said to Bee as he hung up the phone. Chloe had just told him that she'd reeled Eddie in and was bringing him there. They'd watched Eddie "pick up" Chloe at the bar, and seen Marco and another man leave a short while later. Now one of the monitors showed Chloe and Eddie as they walked out of the Oasis and headed toward Eaton. Paul knew that Bee's spy-cams didn't cover much of the route to the Crawford house, so they'd have to wait until Eddie and Chloe arrived at the party before they could pick up their trail again.

  "You want wall-to-wall coverage?" Bee asked as she clicked through her camera options.

  "Pictures and sound," said Paul.

  "You got it." She brought up a window on her desktop and selected a group of twenty icons, dragging them over into her control interface on the adjacent screen. The entire wall of monitors flickered and flashed for a moment as the feeds switched over. Then they were looking at two dozen different angles on the interior of Crawford House, where there was one hell of a party under way.