Chapter 51
Holy shit, I loved my life!
LOVED.
I’d always had an appreciation for it; for the immensely privileged world I’d been born into, but fuck me if it hadn’t turned on a dime in the last week.
Almost like my guardian angel had been shining upon me.
Thanks, Pops.
I cut the Range Rover’s engine in the spot next to Rafe’s Batmobile, or SCC Tuatara as he preferred to call it, and got out. The biometric pad on the wall beeped the affirmative when I pressed my thumb against it; the hidden panel sliding open to reveal the elevator which would take me straight to his Batcave, or Operation Center, again, as he boringly preferred to call it.
When Rafe decided to branch out on his own and build his own pro-bono legal firm, he needed a location. Luckily, his property portfolio had just the place, all it required was a little renovation. What was now a slick red brick and glass architectural wonder in the heart of Soho, featured in many a design magazine and filled with the best and brightest legal minds, used to be a run-down sewing factory.
During the renovations, I’d helpfully suggested he added a secret Batman style entrance. It was one of many suggestions I’d given him - see also, Batcave, Bat Elevator, and so on - notexpecting him to take me seriously, because he rarely did. But much to my unparalleled glee, they’d been on the architects’ blueprints when he’d shown me one afternoon over a beer. He did draw the line at a pole to slide down though, becausedon’t be ridiculous, Pennington. I can’t slide down a pole in a suit.
In lieu of the pole, he’d had a second elevator installed which carried him directly to a bookcase inside his office. It was not that elevator I was currently in, however. The one I was in had just opened into a vast chamber housed in the depths of the basement; the space which would always be referred to as his Batcave, whether he liked it or not.
He did like it; I knew in my heart.
Before I’d met Lowe at the stadium, I’d spent the few hours I’d been awake trying to figure out how the fuck I was going to find this Marnie chick. I’d searched for her online, and after a couple of rudimentary scans through social media and Google brought up zilch, I decided I needed to bring in the big dogs.
“Hey, dude, brought you a present…” I called to the big dog himself, waving a paper bag in the air as I walked through the office toward his desk.
Cody took it, opening it up and inhaled deeply. “Fuck, yes.”
Before coming here, I’d swung past my place to pick up one of Billy’s signature sandwiches: New York sirloin on homemade rye. The reason was two-fold. First, Cody could do with a solid meal instead of living off protein shakes; and second, bribery.
When I hadn’t been able to find Marnie, I knew there was only one person who could do the job; enter Cody, the big dog. His existence, and work for Rafe, sat under the need-to-know classification. Even I wasn’t entirely sure how they’d forged their partnership, but suffice it to say, Cody was one reason Rafe was so successful. This was down to his ability to hack sites he certainly should not be hacking - namely law enforcement agencies.
The problem was, however, it was a skill not many others had. It had gotten him into a lot of trouble - like twenty-five to life type trouble - but he’d somehow managed to talk his way out of it and now moonlighted for many of the said enforcement agencies, as an unofficial hacking expert to make the sites less hackable.
Rafe had somehow found him along the way and managed to persuade the powers that be to loan Cody out.
“Where’s Rafe?” I asked, waiting patiently until Cody had swallowed the giant mouthful he’d taken as though he’d never eaten a sandwich before.
He took a large glug of water. “He’s on his way down.”
“Good, I need a favor. Are you busy?”
“Nah, I have some time. What do you need?” His next bite was so big he almost finished the entire thing in one.
“Can you hack N.A.S.A.?”
It was at that moment the door opened, but not before consummate delight crossed Cody’s face; like Christmas had come early and I’d bought him a present he’d been asking for his entire life.
I hoped it was from N.A.S.A. and not the sandwich, but one couldn’t be sure.
“Hey, man, what’re you doing here?”
“Can I borrow Cody? He says he’s not busy.”
Rafe raised an eyebrow in Cody’s direction making it clear that wasn’t the case. “What do you need?”
I picked up a copy of G.Q. from the desk and began flipping through it.
“I need him to hack N.A.S.A.,” I replied, with the same level of nonchalance I’d use if I was asking him to pick up a quart of milk on his next grocery shop.
