Yes! And though Cordova might suspect that he'd been set up, he'd never know for sure. And he'd never know by whom.
Jack went through Cordova's wallet, transferring the cash and credit cards to the envelope, then he tossed it in the gutter. He inverted his bloody gloves as he pulled them off and stuffed them into another pocket.
He remembered a subway stop on 174th Street, just a few blocks down. He'd catch the next 2 or 5 train and get the hell out of the Bronx.
But the game wasn't over. Not until Jack was sure Cordova didn't have another backup. If he did, it meant extra innings.
THURSDAY
1
Richie didn't remember the last time he'd made it to the office this early. Maybe never. He beat Eddy by ten minutes. Her surprised look at his mere presence escalated to shock when she saw his bandaged face and head. He told her what he'd told the cops last night.
The last thing he'd wanted to do was call 911, but he was bleeding like a pig from the back of his head and knew he needed stitches. He'd been straight with them, told them he'd been caught from behind by a scumbag he hadn't seen coming or going. The only thing he'd held back on was the money in the stolen envelope. Even if he was an ex-cop and getting special treatment, that much cash would lead to too many questions.
The cops found what the jerk had used to open his head: a hot plate. Assaulted with a hot plate! He couldn't fucking believe it.
So they did a search while his head was being sewn up in the ER. They found his wallet—empty, of course—but not the envelope, empty or otherwise.
Not that he'd had any hope of ever seeing it again.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Why'd it have to happen to him, and why when he was carrying a couple of thou? Talk about bad fucking luck.
But it was that backup disk that worried him. He didn't want anyone going through those picture files… it could screw up everything.
And having no backup at the moment was making him nervous as all hell. But he could fix that real quick.
He sent Eddy out for coffee and fired up his computer. He slipped a blank disk into the CD-R drive and ran the copy program that automatically copied everything out of certain folders.
When the program finished, he leaned back in his chair and took a deep
breath. Done. He was protected. He felt better on that score at least. His stomach felt a little queasy, though, and he had a pounding headache that four Advil hadn't touched.
He went to remove the CD from the drive and then thought, Better check the disk, just to be sure.
He opened a file from the CD and stopped breathing when he saw:
HOPE YOU REMEMBERED TO BACK UP!
"No! No-no-no-no-no!"
He switched back to the hard drive and checked a random file.
HOPE YOU REMEMBERED TO BACK UP!
One after the other, the same message. That fucking virus had got back into his system and cleaned him out! Everything was gone!
He started kicking at the computer tower on the floor, but stopped himself after two strikes.
Wait. All was not lost. His files were gone, but the cows didn't know that. They'd already seen what he had… he could still string them along, keep squeezing them till they ran out of juice.
But still, this was a fucking catastrophe.
Feeling sicker than before, he flopped back into his seat. The phone started ringing but he couldn't bring himself to answer it. All that work, all that risk… gone. He still couldn't believe it.
Eddy popped back in then with the coffee and picked up the phone. A few seconds later she stuck her head through the doorway.
"It's the guy from Computer Doctor. Want to speak to him?"
"Do I? Do I?" He snatched up the receiver. "Yeah?"
"Oh, Mr. Cordova," said a prissy male voice he didn't recognize. "This is Ned from Computer Doctor. We just wanted to call and check on how satisfied you are with our service."
Richie wanted to kill him. In fact, he might just go down there now and tear his whole staff into little pieces.
"Satisfied? I'm NOT satisfied! Listen, asshole! The virus you were supposed to kill off is still there! And it wiped out all my files again!"
"Well, sir, if you want to I'll be glad to come up and recheck the hard drive. I'll even restore all the files from your backup."
"Don't bother."
"Really, sir, it will be no trouble at all. And while I'm there—"
Richie knew if he got within ten feet of this geek he'd rearrange his face. Things were bad enough at the moment; he didn't need an assault and battery charge added to the pile of shit his life had become.
"Just forget about it, okay? You've fucked things up enough already."
"Really, sir, I hate the thought of a dissatisfied customer. Just get out your backup disk and I'll—"
This asshole just wouldn't take no for an answer.
"I don't have a backup, you little shit! It was stolen last night! Now what are you going to do?"
"No backup?" the voice said. "Oh, well, then. Never mind."
And then the fucker hung up. He… just… hung… up!
2
Jack stood amid the surging pedestrians on Lexington Avenue and pocketed his cell phone. He smiled as he imagined Fat Richie Cordova pounding his receiver against his desktop, maybe even smashing it through his monitor screen.
Game. Set. Match.
He'd arrange a meet with Sister Maggie later. Now it was time to awaken his xelton.
Jack had dressed in his blue blazer and a tieless, button-down white oxford shirt. He entered the temple, used his swipe card for a free pass through security, then went to the information desk. It looked like an old hotel registration desk.
"I have an appointment for a Reveille Session," he told the uniformed young woman behind the counter, then added, "With Luther Brady."
Her hand darted to her mouth, covering a smile. Jack detected the hint of a giggle in her voice as she said, "Mr. Brady is going to Reveille you?"
"Yes." Jack glanced at his watch. "At nine sharp. I don't want to keep him waiting."
"No, of course not." Her lips did an undulating dance. She really, really wanted to laugh. "I'll call upstairs."
She pressed a button then turned away as she spoke into the receiver. It was a short conversation, and when she turned back, she was no longer smiling. Her face was pale, her expression awed.
She swallowed. "G-GP Jensen will be right down."
Jack figured it wouldn't take long for word to spread that he had Luther Brady as his RT—one, maybe two nanoseconds after he and Jensen stepped into the elevator it would be all over the building. A few more nanos after that it would be spread throughout Dormentaldom.
He'd had a reason for mentioning it. He planned to use his new cachet to allow him access to places that would be verboten to a regular newbie.
Jensen showed up in his black uniform, looking like the megalith from 2001. On the trip to the top floor the two of them started off with an earnest discussion about the weather, but Jensen soon steered the talk toward Jack.
"How was your day, yesterday?"
"Great."
"Do anything interesting?"
Jack thought, You mean after I ditched your tail?
"Oh, tons. I don't get to New York that often, so I did some shopping, had an excellent steak at Peter Luger's."
"Really? What cut?"
"Porterhouse." Jack knew from a number of meals at Luger's that porterhouse was the only cut they served. "It was delicious."
"And then what? Called it a night?"
Jensen wasn't being the least bit circumspect about third-degreeing him.