Free The Payback Game by Nathan Gottlieb

whiz and a master at gathering information. The downside was that the man was a maniacal conspiracy theorist. His current obsession was jet “chemtrails.” Wright was certain that the chemtrails contained harmful chemicals and biological agents the government was spraying at high altitude for a sinister purpose undisclosed to the public. Every visit to Wright’s repair shop included the latest news on chemtrails and the progress the New World Order was making in its mission to take over every government on the planet.
    Boff parked a few doors down from the computer repair shop, took a deep breath, and walked to the shop. Even though it was only mid-afternoon, there was a CLOSED sign on the front door. While Wright did indeed fix computers, he only put in two or three hours a day doing it. The rest of his time he worked in his backroom, where he had four computers and a combination printer and fax machine.
    Boff waved at the surveillance camera mounted above the door and was buzzed in. The door to the backroom was unlocked. Stepping into the inner sanctum, he noted that, as usual, the place was littered with fast food bags, donut boxes, and Styrofoam cups. The only clean spot was the immaculate L-shaped desk where the information broker was working on one of his four big computers.
    Wright looked over his shoulder. “Take a seat, Frank. I’ll be right with you.”
    Before sitting down, Boff opened a mini refrigerator, took out two Cokes, and set one down on Wright’s desk. Then he sat in another computer chair. After a few minutes, Wright swiveled his chair around. He was a heavy-set man in his early forties with a dark complexion, a round face, and a thick nose.
    “Frank, I’ve got some scary new news about the chemtrails.”
    “Tell me later.”
    Ignoring that, Wright launched into his latest paranoid news bulletin. “Back in ‘95, a document entitled ‘Owning the Weather in 2025’ was submitted to the director of the Air Force.”
    “I’m not interested.’
    “The document was supposed to be a fictional report not intended for real-life scenarios. But in reality? It was a detailed research paper about the potential for developing aerospace technologies that could control and manipulate the weather.”
    “For chrissake, Billy, spare me!”
    Wright wagged a finger at him. “This is important stuff, Frank.”
    “So send me an email about it. Later. My spam folder needs fattening.”
    “Frank, the technologies and capabilities in that report have become a reality. They’re going to use chemtrails to seed the atmosphere and cause hurricanes and monsoons. For what purpose, you ask—”
    “—I didn’t ask.”
    “—to get rid of people the New World Order considers ‘useless eaters.’” Wright pointed to a table. “There’s the report over there. It’s a copy. Take it home and read it.”
    “Are you done? Let’s get down to business. Did you have any luck with Sorriano?”
    “Well, you didn’t give me much time, but, yeah, I found some things. This mutt’s one bad dude. The godfather of slumlords. Or at least he was until Nicky Doyle did the story on him. Now, instead of buying more properties, Sorriano’s being forced by the city to spend a shitload of money to renovate the worst of his tenements.”
    Boff popped the lid on his Coke and took a quick sip. “What’s Sorriano’s back story?”
    “About thirty years ago, he was running a small bookmaking operation for the Colombos. Then a friend of his who was a builder called and proposed they go partners in a new venture.”
    “Which was?”
    “Basically, they began buying tenements, sprucing them up, and selling them for a nice profit.” Wright paused to take a hit on his own Coke. “Sorriano eventually split with his partner and continued his buy-renovate-and-sell operation. He did even better on his own. Earlier this year, though, things started to unravel. One of his ratty buildings in Harlem collapsed, killing two people. But the