Free The Last Goodbye by Reed Arvin

my whole world over five bucks’ worth of electronic parts?”
    I looked down at the folder. “That’s what this is about? Five dollars?”
    â€œYeah. Five bucks’ worth of connectors for an autodialer.”
    â€œWhat’s an autodialer?”
    â€œIt dials. Automatically.”
    â€œComputers, you mean.”
    â€œMaybe,” he said.
    At that moment I realized that Nightmare was really just a thief, the only difference being that his breaking and entering was electronic. Ten seconds after that, a little plan hatched in my head, most of which entailed getting him as far into my debt as possible. After last night, the particular expertise I suspected he possessed I needed very badly. Since he didn’t look like the type of kid who would do me any favors, I would have to make him owe me. I figured that would take about five minutes.
    I looked across the hall at the assistant district attorney assigned to the case, who was talking to an overweight, dark-haired man of about thirty-five. I watched them for a couple of minutes, thinking. I stood up, and Nightmare flinched back about six inches from the sudden motion. I stared down at him, thinking about how many times he must have had his ass kicked in grade school. But I had no doubt that he was as dangerous with a computer as a prizefighter was with his fists. As much as I hated to admit it, the kid was right; the world was changing, and little pissed-off Nightmares like him were about to inherit the keys to the kingdom. But not quite yet, and in the meantime, I needed a favor from him. “Listen to me,” I said. “I’m sure I’m going to love the world you and your techno-anarchist buddies are building. But right now, the old economy is going to put your spindly little butt in jail if you don’t do exactly—and I mean exactly—what I tell you to do.”
    â€œNobody is going to put me in jail over five bucks.”
    â€œMichael . . .”
    â€œNightmare,” he corrected.
    I sort of leaned on him then. I wasn’t angry, I was just in a hurry. If the case was called and we got before Odom, it would be too late. “Okay, Nightfuck, I don’t really care what your name is, you need to listen to me now, because I’m old economy, and that’s whose house you’re in right now.” I took out my billfold, pulled out a ten-dollar bill, and pressed it into Nightmare’s hand. “Come here,” I said, “and do exactly what I tell you for a couple of minutes.”
    Nightmare shoved the bill into his pocket and followed me across the hallway. The dark-haired man glowered. “That’s him,” the man said. “That’s the little snitch that stole from me.”
    â€œYou?” Nightmare sneered. “Radio Shack is a multinational corporation that doesn’t know you exist. They spend more on toilet paper than your annual salary.”
    I took Nightmare’s arm and squeezed it hard. He winced, which didn’t surprise me, since he was about as muscular as a toothpick. I nodded hello to the DA, then turned toward the dark-haired man with a smile. “And you are?” I asked.
    â€œVincent Bufano,” he said. “I’m the manager of the Radio Shack.”
    â€œMr. Bufano,” I said, “Mr. Harrod here has something he wants to give you, and something he wants to say.”
    Bufano looked at Nightmare, who was squirming under my grip. “Give him the money, Michael,” I said. He started to speak, but I pressed my middle finger into the center of his bicep so hard he almost wilted. He reached his free hand into his pocket, took out the bill, and handed it over to Bufano. “And now Michael has something he wants to say,” I said. “Tell the man you’re sorry, Michael.”
    Nightmare started to pull back, but I had my grip on him. He muttered something under his breath, and the man just sneered. I dug my