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’dbe 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 jumpedabout 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 Quentin.”
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 bedumb 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 theceiling, 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 stereotypethat gamers were jobless slackersstill 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 onlykid, 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 now his only adventures and social interaction came from online gaming.
At leastuntil 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.
