Sixty

Hugh Graxton sat in his customary spot in the Chestnut Hill Starbucks, his MacBook Air open on the table in front of him. Oscar Sagese hulked next to Graxton, the spot on the table in front of him occupied by a vente cup of coffee. Jael and I stood in front of Graxton.

“Well, well, Oscar,” said Graxton. “Look. It’s your hacker buddy.”

Oscar stood. Jael shifted her weight.

He pointed at my chest. “You fucked me, Tucker.”

Oscar was at least six foot four. I said, “Uh—sorry.”

“Sal made me close my Facebook account.”

“That’s a shame.”

“A shame? A fucking shame? All my friends are on Facebook.”

I raised my hands. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but it was probably for the best.”

Oscar stepped toward me. He shouted, “What the fuck do you know about the best?”

Graxton said, “Oscar, you need to use your inside voice.”

I said, “If you’re on Facebook, the FBI can get all those pictures, all your statuses, they can even get a list of your friends. It’s like handing them evidence on a silver platter.”

Graxton said, “The man is right, Oscar. You were lucky he was the only guy to get them before you deleted them.”

I decided not to mention the fact that Facebook might have not deleted the pictures. Internet pictures are like a tattoo; they’re out there forever.

Graxton said, “Check Tucker for a wire, Oscar.”

Oscar grabbed at me, his meaty hands batting me around as he pounded my check and back. He ran a hand up each thigh, and whacked me on the left nut with his fist. It wasn’t much of a punch. A love tap in the balls, so to speak. Still my eyes fluttered shut as the pain washed over me.

Oscar said, “He’s okay. You want me to check her?” He took a step toward Jael, who arched an eyebrow.

Graxton said, “It’s your funeral, buddy. As much as I’d like to see what would happen, I might need you functional later. Why don’t we take Jael at her word? Are you wearing a wire, Jael?”

“No,” said Jael.

“That’s good enough for me,” said Graxton. His eyes lingered on Jael’s face, and her eyes found his.

I said, “Do you guys need some time alone?”

“No,” said Jael. “We do not.”

“You’re in enough trouble, Tucker,” said Graxton. “You should shut up now.”

“Can we get down to business?” I said.

“By all means. Oscar, I think Tucker is about to owe us a big favor.”

Oscar sat, “Favor, my ass. I’m not doing him any favors. Fucking hacker.”

Graxton sighed and pulled out his wallet. Stripped out a fifty and handed it to Oscar. “Go buy me a Wall Street Journal.”

Oscar said, “Can’t you just read it online?”

“I like the smell of newsprint, okay? Now, go get me a Wall Street Journal.”

Oscar stood, grunted, and lumbered out of the Starbucks, folding the money into his pocket.

With Oscar gone, Graxton said, “Tucker, you seriously destabilized that boy. I think Facebook was his drug of choice.”

“I think there’s an online twelve-step program. You should Google it.”

“He has serious anger-management issues. He needs to beat somebody up.”

I considered Oscar’s size and the latent violence that came off him like body odor. “Well, that can’t be good.”

“It’s not. This is a major pain in the ass. So you should know that the only reason I’m talking to you is that you’re Sal’s cousin.”

Jael coughed into her hand.

“And because Jael asked me to. Two. There are two reasons.”

“And a fanatical devotion to the Pope,” I said.

“What?”

“I can give you a third reason to talk to me.”

“Really? How?”

“How much money does my Uncle Walt owe you?”

“I told you. He doesn’t owe me any money.”

“Look, I’m not wearing a wire and I won’t tell anyone. How much?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“C’mon, Hugh. Work with me.”

“Get lost.”

Jael said, “Mr. Graxton, this is not helpful.”

“I’m not here to be helpful.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” I said.

“Really? How?”

“I’ll pay it.”

“You’re going to pay me Walt’s fifty grand?”

I blanched. “That much? He owes you that much?”

“Why would you pay it?”

I told Graxton about Lucy and Talevi, how I needed Walt to get into GDS, how I didn’t have any leverage. Then I shared my plan.

Hugh said, “I like it. If Walt gets you into GDS, you pay me sixty thousand dollars.”

“I thought it was fifty.”

“There’s a ten-thousand-dollar change fee. It’s like the airlines.”

“Screw that, Hugh. Why should I pay ten grand more?”

“You’re desperate to save Lucy, right?”

“Yeah. I told you that.”

“So for ten thousand you get a little negotiating lesson: don’t bring your desperation to the table.”

I crossed my arms, “Hmmph. Fine.”

Hugh picked up his iPhone. “Now, let’s call Walt.”