Read Online Repairman Jack [08]-Crisscross by F. Paul Wilson - Free Book Online Page B

reasonable?"
    "How's a half K sound?"
    "Sounds like a lot."
    "Hey, I got expenses."
    Jack made a show of looking around. "Yeah. I can see."
    He spotted a variety of blank invoice forms on Russ's desk. He picked one up. Yellow Pages was printed across the top next to the walking-fingers logo in the upper-left corner.
    "Oh, no. The invoice game?"
    Russ shrugged. "Hey, I gotta make ends meet."
    Phony invoices… a small-time, hit-or-miss scam. A guy like Russ would invoice medium-to large-size companies for services that hadn't been rendered. Unless someone was watchdogging it, more often than not the invoices got passed to the accounting or bookkeeping department where they were paid.
    "You're on parole , Russ. You get caught, you're back inside, and most likely not in a country club like last time."
    "Yeah, but they gotta catch me first. And then they gotta convict me. You see, nobody ever bothered to trademark 'Yellow Pages' or the walking fingers. They're public domain. Now, check out the lower-left corner."
    Jack squinted at the tiny print. " 'This is a solicitation'?"
    "Right. As long as I've got that there, I'm within the law—at least the letter of the law."
    "So you go through the Yellow Pages and bill companies for their listings."
    He grinned. "The bigger ones with the display ads are the best. They advertise in so many places they expect lots of invoices and don't look too closely. Works like a charm."
    Jack tossed the invoice blank onto the desk and shook his head. "Still… you're on parole…"
    "What else am I gonna do? I was a frosh at CCNY when I caught the hacking bug and dropped out. I know one thing, man, and I'm not allowed to use it. Shit, I'm not even allowed to work in Circuit City. And I need money for tuition."
    "Tuition?"
    "Yeah, I gotta look like I'm bettering myself, so I'm taking courses back at CCNY. Started as an English major, so I figure I'll go back to that, look like I'm trying for a degree. Makes my parole officer happy, at least."
    "But not you."
    He shook his head. "Taking a lit course. Now I know why I dropped out. Prof's got us wasting our time reading Marcel Marceau."
    Jack blinked. "Um, Marcel Marceau was a mime. A man of few words, you might say."
    "Well, then, Marcel somebody. Long-winded guy—zillions of words about nothing. The most boring shit you've ever read." He shook his head again. "My life sucks."
    "If you're trying to break my heart, it worked. Five hundred for the disk. Half down, half when I know it did the job."
    Russ's face broke open with a big grin. "I'll have it for you tonight. Jack, you just made my day!"
    Deadpan, Jack reached for his wallet. "That's me. Jackie Sunshine. It's what I'm about. I live for moments like this."

3

    Jack didn't feel completely naked walking through town without at least one weapon hidden somewhere on his person, merely stripped to his underwear. At the stroke of noon he arrived at The Light offices, just west of Times Square. A peek through the glass doors of the front entrance made him glad he wasn't carrying. Jamie Grant hadn't been kidding: An armed guard and a metal detector waited just inside.
    After confirming that John Robertson was expected, the guard passed him through the detector without a hitch. He was told to wait until someone from editorial came to escort him up.
    Soon a heavyset woman with short, curly ginger hair and a puffy face showed up and extended her hand. Jack immediately recognized the voice.
    "Robertson? Jamie Grant."
    As they shook hands, Jack checked her out: Early forties, about five-five, a large chest and bulky torso but thin arms and legs. She wore a loose white blouse over dark brown slacks. Small gold earrings, thin gold necklace, no rings. Her eyes were bloodshot and she smelled like an ashtray. Other than that she was a dream girl.
    "Thanks for meeting me." He handed her one of the Robertson cards, then jerked a thumb at the metal detector. "I'd thought you might be kidding. Why the high