LITMIR.BIZ

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How do you know Jennifer?”

      “We met at a tennis camp.”

      “Of course you did. What’s your name.”

      He hesitated. “Do I have to tell you that?”

      “Don’t be stupid. And don’t bother making it up. Your number is showing up on my phone. I can figure it out anyway in about two minutes.”

      “Pete,” he said after a moment. “Pete Freeley.”

      “All right, Pete Freeley. Jennifer your girlfriend?”

      A pause. “Yeah.”

      “A slutty extortionist. Cute.”

      “Listen—” he started.

      “No, you listen. We’ll do it at Easton. There’s a surface parking lot near the Barnes and Noble. Nice and exposed.”

      “OK,” he said. “What time.”

      “I’m right in the middle of something,” I said. “Ninety minutes. Don’t be late. And come alone.”

      “All right,” he said.

      I cut the connection and signaled the waitress.

      “Tapioca pudding?” she said. “Best in town.”

      “Only if you can box it up,” I said. “Sandwich too.”

      “Seems a shame to hurry on a Sunday afternoon.”

      “Truer words,” I said.

      6

      Traffic was light, even for a Sunday, and I made it to Easton in, well, less than twenty minutes. “Mall” doesn’t quite do the layout of Easton Town Center justice. The traditional indoor profusion of shops is bookended by two faux Main Street outdoor shopping areas. They’re meant to evoke an old-fashioned downtown retail excursion but in fact bear about as much resemblance to a traditional city center as a golf course does to a wildlife preserve. All it did was remind me that as a boy, not all that long ago, the big deal in my little Ohio town was coming into Columbus to shop at the downtown Lazarus. And now Lazarus is gone too: not even Easton could bring it back to life.

      I parked and got out of the van. I was exactly one hour early. Just the way I’d planned. I looked around and didn’t see anyone meeting the description of a nervous teenager with a couple thousand dollars of electronic equipment in tow. I strolled over to a Panera, bought a cup of coffee and a New York Times, took both outside, found a bench with a clear view of the cars coming in and out of the lot, and waited.

      I’d made it through the front section and sports—the Times was already weighing in on Ohio State’s chances against Michigan in two weeks (good)—and I was deciding whether to go with Business or Arts when my mark showed up fifteen minutes early in a new-looking Explorer. We hadn’t arranged a signal, but there was no mistaking the strained look on Freeley’s face as he climbed out of the SUV.

      As unobtrusively as possible, I got up from the bench and slipped back inside the restaurant. I found an empty chair at an inner wall table where I could see him but he couldn’t return the favor. I watched as Freeley walked up and down the parking lot, trying to look as casual as possible. I waited another minute, found his number on my phone, and called him.

      “Hello,” he said sullenly.

      “Listen very carefully,” I said.

      A minute later Freeley opened the back of his Explorer and pulled out a cardboard box. He walked over to the restaurant, set the box down on the bench where I’d been sitting a few minutes before, looked around uncertainly, then walked slowly back to his car and got in.

      “Hello,” he said, just as sullenly as before, when I called him back.

      “Username and password?”

      “Acooper. JarJarBinksMustDie.”

      “Who’s Acooper?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “You don’t know?”

      “I borrowed the laptop from my dad. The name and password were taped to the bottom.”

      “Password is ‘JarJarBinksMustDie’? Like in Star Wars?”

      “I guess.”

      “You put this on a borrowed laptop?”

      “It was just a joke,” he said, weakly.

      “Sure it was,” I said. “OK—we’re done here. Go home and stop thinking about it. I’ll call you when I’m ready. Got it?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Don’t screw this up, Pete,” I said. “Your future depends on it.”

      I waited for a count of twenty after he pulled out of the parking lot, then left the restaurant. I knew I didn’t have a lot of time. You don’t leave boxes on benches in public anymore without risking a visit from fire trucks and guys in hazmat suits. I picked the box up, walked to my van, set it down, opened the rear door, slid the box inside, shut the door, locked the car, and went back to sit on the bench. It was a nice day: cool but sunny, and it seemed a shame to be inside.

      When fifteen minutes had passed I called Hamilton.

      “Hello?”

      “It’s Andy Hayes.”

      “Oh right,” he said distantly. “Can you hang on a second?”

      So I hung on a second, which turned out to be almost a minute.

      “Sorry,” he said, returning to the line. “Couldn’t talk just then.” A whisper. “In the living room. With the wife.” Then, louder: “What—what’s up?”

      I explained the situation. After a long pause, he said, “That was fast.”

      “It worked out.”

      After another pause he said, “I just wish we could be more sure. I mean, about the video.”

      “Me too,” I said. “Sorry.”

      “So what’s next?”

      “Next is I check out the equipment, see how honest they were, then wipe everything. Couple of days, tops. After that, we hold our breath.” For the rest of your life, I thought, but didn’t say it.

      “OK,” he said.

      “I’ll call you by Tuesday. That’ll be enough time.”

      “Tuesday,” he said.

      “Things change,” I said, “we may have to renew the contract. But hopefully we’re almost done.”

      “OK,” he said again. He sounded distant now, and I thought I could hear a voice in the background.

      “Bye now,” I said, and hung up.

      I waited another minute, then dialed the same number from memory I’d called earlier in the day.

      “Hello?”

      I said, “I know this is irregular, but any chance there’s still room on your docket today? It turns out I’m just around the corner.”

      A long pause. I was getting a lot of those today.

      “That is irregular,” she said. “But not unprecedented. I suppose I could take your motion under advisement. How far away are you?”

      “Ten minutes.”

      “How convenient. No way to be late.”

      I tried to think of something to say. But she had already hung up.

      7

      I drove out of the parking lot, maneuvered onto Easton Way, then turned right on Stelzer Road. A couple of minutes later I pulled into a small subdivision of town homes.

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