Dylan
IT WASN’T THERE. I mean it was, but every time I clicked on the file to open it I got a “This file is corrupt and cannot be opened” error.
“The universe hates me,” I said with a groan.
Her forehead scrunched up.
I showed her my screen.
“Can you repair it or something?” she asked.
I watched a couple of YouTube videos on fixing corrupt files and tried out their suggestions, but nothing worked. Of course it didn’t. Because I needed one more complication in my life. In order to clear my name, I needed the file, and there was only one place we could get it. I grabbed the pen again and wrote, “How do you feel about a little B&E?”
Addison pointed to “B&E” with raised eyebrows.
“Breaking and entering,” I wrote.
Her eyes about popped out of her head, a reaction which brought me a moment of clarity. Addison was a good, respectable woman from a rich and powerful family, and I probably shouldn’t ask her to do such a thing. Besides, there was serious danger involved. If the thugs from my apartment found out she was involved, they could possibly go after her.
“Forget it,” I said, rising to my feet. “Forget I said anything. It was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Stupid. Never to be spoken of again.”
“But you’re still gonna do it,” she said, staring me down.
Man I hated the way she could see right through me. “No. Absolutely not. I’d have to be an idiot.” Or madly in love with a man I couldn’t make out with while I was in prison.
“Dylan.” Her eyes were like little shards of glass, cutting the truth out of me. This time she dragged me into my room and turned up the volume on the speakers. “I want in.”
“There is no ‘in,’” I replied, but even as I said it, my brain was already working on a plan. “It would probably never work. My security clearance has been revoked, and my hacker friend probably wouldn’t help me out. Even if he was willing, he might not be able to get past their security system.” That was a lie. Quinton had gotten past much more complicated systems. Ours was old, antiquated. The board hadn’t approved of a new system since people actually used AOL.
“Then why are you thinking about it?” Addison asked.
I couldn’t lie to her. “I’m trying not to, I swear!”
“You’re totally plotting. I can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears, and I want in. You’re not doing this without me, Dylan Linn.”
“You’re evoking the middle name?” I asked, shocked.
She shrugged. “Gotta do what I gotta do, and you’re taking me with you.”
“It could be dangerous. Jail time dangerous… thugs coming at us with guns dangerous.” I needed something more ominous. “Your dad could get really ticked off at you.”
The mischievous glint in her eyes told me that none of my arguments were working. “It’ll be fun. I’ll bring my gun.”
I massaged my temples, a sudden headache coming on. “I don’t think those sentences belong together in this context.”
“Don’t be a killjoy, Dylan. We’ll dress up all stealthy, have your friend zap us in, download the new spreadsheet, and save the day.”
“Zap us in? You do realize he doesn’t have Star Trek type abilities, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She waved me off. “It’ll be fun.”
I doubted it. In fact, it’d be amazing if we didn’t both end up in jail or worse. And I didn’t even want to think about what “or worse” could entail.
“Think we should tell Asher?” I asked. “You know, just in case he has to bail us out of jail?” Or maybe talk some sense into us and keep us from going at all.
“Nah, you worry too much.”
My phone rang in my hand, cutting off the music. Addison and I both screamed and jumped about three feet in the air.
“Oh God,” she said, patting her chest.
“We are so thug,” I whispered, checking out the display. “Uh oh! It’s Quinton.”
Addison put her hand over my phone, glancing toward the window. “No discussion over the phone,” she whispered. “See if we can swing by to pick up your laptop.”
“Right, of course,” I said, my feathers a little ruffled by her insinuation I’d be dumb enough to try and discuss the details for our B&E over the phone.
“Hey,” I said, careful not to say his name. “Remember how I was telling you I lost my job when I dropped off my laptop? Well, I gotta start the old searcheroo. You mind if I swing by and pick up my laptop?”
Searcheroo? Where the hell did that come from? Even my tone sounded guilty. I threw my head back and stared at the ceiling, waiting for him to respond.
“We are so gonna end up in the slammer,” I mouthed to Addison.
Her brow furrowed. “Do I wanna get hammered?” She shrugged. “Sure, I could go for a drink or six.”
I did a facepalm, because my life was too ridiculous for words. But in the end, I realized I could sure go for a drink, too.
* * *
Despite the stereotype that gamers were jobless slackers still living in the basement of their parents’ house, most of the gamers I played with were successful in both business and life. My guild (the group of players I hung out with) contained several married couples, college students, business execs, and all sorts of other normal people who were too broke or busy to participate in real life adventures.
Quentin was a perfect example. He was an only kid, and shortly after he graduated college, his mom had a stroke, which left her in need of twenty-four-hour care. Rather than hiring some stranger, Quentin moved back in with her and took a job writing code for some sort of customer relations management software. So now he was home with his mom constantly, and the only adventures and social interaction he had came from online gaming.
At least until Addison and I knocked on his door Wednesday morning.
“Sorry about the mess,” Quentin said, inviting us in.
At five-foot-ten, I was about eye-to-eye with him. He was somewhere in his early thirties, thin, average looking, with mousey brown hair, rectangular glasses, and a shy smile. He looked like the kind of guy you’d want doing your taxes or helping you out with your insurance claim.
“I need to hire a maid, but Mom gets agitated anytime I bring up the idea. She’s uncomfortable with a stranger going through our stuff,” he explained, stacking blankets on the couch so we’d have a place to sit. “But I really need help with this mess.”
He wasn’t kidding. A gigantic pile of laundry blocked most of the hallway. Dishes were stacked on the coffee table. The floor needed a good vacuum. If the rest of the house looked as bad as the living room area, a maid could make a small fortune here.
“I’m looking for a job,” I offered.
Addison choked, patting herself on the chest.
Quentin offered her a glass of water—which she declined—before saying, “Oh yeah. You started telling me something about that, but Mom...”
“Needed you. Yeah, it’s a long, complicated story, and I’m in pretty desperate need of money to pay back my bail fees.”
Addison composed herself and narrowed her eyes at me.
“It would be temporary,” I rushed on. I hadn’t gotten my bachelor’s degree to clean houses, after all. “But I could totally get this place all spic and span for you in no time.”
“Wait, bail fees?” Quentin asked.
It seemed as good a segue as any, so I gave him my most innocent smile and laid out the details of my arrest. Then Addison pulled out her phone and played him the recording of the guys from my apartment. He took everything surprisingly well… until we got to our plans for getting the new spreadsheet.
“So… you want me to help you break into the place you were fired from in order to get something that will keep you out of jail?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded. “And the irony is not lost on me.”
“This is crazy,” he said, looking from me to Addison.
But… he didn’t say no.
“I know! It’s the system. They say innocent until proven guilty, but I’m innocent and having to prove my innocence. How messed up is that?”
Some sort of alarm went off. Quentin cleared it from his smart watch with a sigh. “Mom. I have to go… clean her up. I’ll be right back.”
Then he disappeared beyond the laundry pile, leaving Addison and I to wonder what “cleaning her up” entailed.
“Like change her diaper?” Addison asked, sounding horrified.
“I’d imagine so.” And I really didn’t want to think about it. However, the interruption did make me realize how selfish I was being by even asking Quentin to help us. My stomach sank. I’d have to find some other way to get the spreadsheet. By the time he returned with my laptop, I had my speech all prepared.
He set the laptop in my hands, but did not let go, forcing me to look up at him. There appeared to be a few more lines around his eyes than there had been when he disappeared. I’d always admired Quentin for basically giving up his life to take care of his mom, but until that moment, I’d never really thought about his sacrifice and the toll it took on him.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
I objected. “No. I’ve been thinking about it, and I never should have asked you. You’re all your mom has, Q. If you get locked up trying to help me—”
“If I get locked up, it would be like a vacation,” he said. “I’m in.”
He got out his laptop and looked up the Bridge City Property Management’s security system. Addison ordered us pizza and we spent the next two hours hammering out our plan.