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“And how exactly do you know that?”
“I know your kind,” I grumble. “You’re the head of the snake and all that crap. The only chance I have of getting justice is through you.”
The sides of his eyes crease and his lips crack, exposing the slightest smile. But he’s not smiling with me. I’m entertainment for this big old bastard. “You call swinging those weak little arms of yours getting justice?”
“It beats letting that asshole get away with it.”
In my periphery, I notice the prick who damaged my laptop taking a step forward, but the President stops him with a glance and a shake of his head.
“I don’t have time for this, but let me get this straight,” the Pres says. “My guy breaks your piece of shit toy, and you want to throw a fit with me? The man holding the power?”
I shrink to make myself small and manage to shrug out of his grasp. But I don’t back away. Instead, I lift my laptop out of my bag. Two letter keys from the keyboard fall to the ground as I open the lid, and I swear under my breath. The screen is cracked, but it lights up when I press the power button to take the processor out of snooze mode.
“This ain’t no toy,” I tell the Pres.
“Looks like it to me.”
“Yeah? Give me half an hour with a network connection or a phone line. I’ll know everything there is to know about you from only your motorcycle plate number.”
“Yeah. Right.”
“You want to take that chance? The Meadows Library on West Boston is opening in fifteen minutes. I’ll show you what I can do with this toy right here. If your clumsy goon didn’t already break it beyond repair.”
“How exactly do you get that kind of information?” he probes.
“What do I look like? DeVry College? I’m not giving away trade secrets.”
“I get it. You’re a hacker. What are you doing out here, anyway?”
“Waiting for a library to open.”
“No, I mean why are you out here, living on the streets like this? Like an animal? Where are your parents?”
“I don’t got none,” I say, eyes dropping to the ground. “My mother’s dead. Never knew my old man.”
“You don’t have to be out here. There are places—”
“If you’re talking about group homes, youth shelters or foster care, then trust me, I’m much safer out here.” I don’t know why, but something in his eyes tells me I can trust him. But not just that, he has this look that makes me want to tell him everything I’ve been through. That’s never happened before. Before I realize what I’m doing, I stretch the neckline of my t-shirt and show him the cigarette burn tracks made by my last foster dad. “Unless you call taking shit like this safe.”
“Whoever did that to you ain’t a man. He’s a fucking coward.” He folds his arms for a moment as he studies me. “You know what, kid? I’ll give you a chance to show me those skills of yours. I’ve got some business to take care of in that hotel across the street. Show me what you find out about me by the time I get back, and maybe I’ll let you work for me. I might even get you a new toy.”
“Why should I trust you?” I mutter as he turns to leave.
He pivots around. “You shouldn’t. Trust is earned, kid. Plus, you just said that you know my kind,” he answers, giving me back the spiel I just gave him. He reaches his hand into his leather cut and pulls out a wad of cash. All hundred-dollar bills. I can almost smell the vaguely familiar scent of newly minted bills as he slips off the money clip and pulls four bills from the stack. He holds out the four hundred dollars—more money than I’ve had in ages.
“Keep your damn money. My ass is not for sale.”
“I’m not buying you. I’m not a sick fuck.”
“What’s it for, then?”
“Go fix your toy. Or buy a new one.”
“There’s no such thing as free money.”
“It’s not. This is the justice you asked for.”
I don’t know if this man is for real, but I can use that cash he’s offering. I grab it from his hand and shove it into my bag, scooping up the fallen letter buttons of my busted keyboard from the ground. “Okay. If you insist.”
