Free Hardware by Linda Barnes Page B

Asia.”
    I waited. He’d called me, not the other way around.
    â€œI have some advice,” he said finally.
    â€œYeah?” I thought he was going to issue a dire warning about the consequences of calling the cops.
    â€œLeave Frank out of it. I know it’s a good story, but leave Frank out. If you can’t live with your goddamn conscience, make it you and me, but leave him out completely.”
    â€œThat could be part of the deal,” I said.
    â€œWhat deal?”
    â€œI don’t go to the cops, and I won’t mention Frank, on one condition.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou tell Gloria that G and W’s bugged.”
    â€œWhy?” he said. “You think she runs numbers out of there in her spare time?”
    â€œShe deserves to know,” I said.
    â€œHer room isn’t bugged. I had it swept. It’s soundproof. The G and W bugs can’t touch it.”
    â€œTell her or I call the cops. Simple as that.”
    I could hear him breathing over the line.
    â€œOkay,” he said finally. “Deal.”
    â€œTell her if she doesn’t like it, she can start playing loud music. Lots of garages play music.”
    â€œThat wasn’t part of the deal,” he said.
    I waited.
    â€œI’ll mention it,” he said. “You want me to recommend any tunes?”
    â€œDepends,” I said. “If Gloria’s tired of the Geezers, I’d go with rap. If she enjoys inhaling stogie smoke, she should find some Irish stuff. The Chieftains.”
    â€œI’m sure the task force would prefer The Chieftains,” Sam said.
    â€œNow, why the big hush-hush about Frank?”
    â€œI don’t ask a lot of favors, Carlotta. I’m asking. Don’t do anything to hurt him.”
    I drummed my fingers on the desk top.
    â€œPlease,” he said quietly. “It’s important to me.”
    Maybe he sensed I was about to argue.
    He hung up. I held the receiver to my ear until the phone company beep drove me off the line.

TEN
    Life sputtered on. Newspaper recipes for turkey leftovers gave way to instructions for homemade Christmas stocking stuffers. All roads leading to shopping malls were impassable. I dumped the summer clothes out of my closet and into one of the empty rooms I could rent to a Harvard student if I got truly cash poor.
    With manuals in hand, cursing whoever had laboriously translated them from the Taiwanese, I managed to hook up my computer, only to find it utterly useless without Frank’s promised software. I wound up locating my skip-traces the old-fashioned way, using guile and fast talk.
    I did not hear from Frank.
    Lee Cochran did not return my calls. I went to his office. He was out. I shoved a note under his door: Please call.
    I cleaned the birdcage and the litter box. After re-caulking my bedroom windows for the forty-seventh time, I started reading the replacement-window ads in the Globe . I was developing a craving for heat, a phenomenon enhanced by too many nights at Sam Gianelli’s cozy apartment.
    When the phone rang in the middle of the night, it took me a minute to realize I was sleeping at my place. The socks nailed it; I never wear socks when I sleep with Sam.
    â€œHow much you charge an hour?”
    â€œGloria?” I could hardly make out her voice over the relentless beat of a rap tune.
    â€œYou asleep?”
    I groped for the light. “It’s what? Four in the morning? You’re calling about food, you’re a dead woman.”
    â€œI asked a question.” Impatience underlined her mellow voice. “Two questions: Are you available? And what do you charge?”
    â€œI can barely hear you,” I said.
    â€œ What do you charge? ”
    â€œDepends who I’m working for.”
    â€œWorking for me.”
    â€œCall it a favor.”
    â€œStraight rates.”
    â€œTwo fifty a day,” I said, giving her a quick half-price deal. “Less if it waits till