End of Watch (Bill Hodges Trilogy #3)(78)

‘Of course we had to make it clear that as many as three in every ten Zappit Commanders – that’s what the last iteration was called – might be defective, which meant each one would have to be checked. That killed any chance for selling the whole shipment. Checking the units one by one would have been too labor intensive.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘So, as bankruptcy trustee, I decided to have them destroyed and claim a tax credit, which would have amounted to … well, quite a lot. Not by General Motors standards, but mid-six figures. Clear the books, you understand.’

‘Right, makes sense.’

‘But before I could do that, I got a call from a fellow at a company called Gamez Unlimited, right there in your city. That’s games with a Z on the end. Called himself the CEO. Probably CEO of a three-man operation working out of two rooms or a garage.’ Schneider chuckles a big business New York chuckle. ‘Since the computer revolution really got rolling, these outfits pop up like weeds, although I never heard of any of them actually giving product away. It smells a trifle scammy, don’t you think?’

‘Yeah,’ Hodges says. The dissolving pill is exceedingly bitter, but the relief is sweet. He thinks that’s the case with a great many things in life. A Reader’s Digest insight, but that doesn’t make it invalid. ‘It does, actually.’

The legal shield has gone bye-bye. Schneider is animated now, wrapped up in his own story. ‘The guy offered to buy eight hundred Zappits at eighty dollars apiece, which was roughly a hundred dollars cheaper than the suggested retail. We dickered a bit and settled on a hundred.’

‘Per unit.’

‘Yes.’

‘Comes to eighty thousand dollars,’ Hodges says. He’s thinking of Brady, who had been hit with God only knew how many civil suits, for sums mounting into the tens of millions of dollars. Brady, who’d had – if Hodges’s memory serves him right – about eleven hundred dollars in the bank. ‘And you got a check for that amount?’

He’s not sure he’ll get an answer to the question – many lawyers would close the discussion off at this point – but he does. Probably because the Sunrise Solutions bankruptcy is all tied up in a nice legal bow. For Schneider, this is like a postgame interview. ‘Correct. Drawn on the Gamez Unlimited account.’

‘Cleared okay?’

Todd Schneider chuckles his big business chuckle. ‘If it hadn’t, those eight hundred Zappit consoles would have been recycled into new computer goodies along with the rest.’

Hodges scribbles some quick math on his doodle-decorated pad. If thirty percent of the eight hundred units were defective, that leaves five hundred and sixty working consoles. Or maybe not that many. Hilda Carver got one that had presumably been vetted – why else give it to her? – but according to Barbara, it had given a single blue flash and then died.

‘So off they went.’

‘Yes, via UPS from a warehouse in Terre Haute. A very small recoupment, but something. We do what we can for our clients, Mr Hodges.’

‘I’m sure you do.’ And we all say hooray, Hodges thinks. ‘Do you recall the address those eight hundred Zappits went to?’

‘No, but it will be in the files. Give me your email and I’ll be happy to send it to you, on condition you call me back and tell me what sort of scam these Gamez people have been working.’

‘Happy to do that, Mr Schneider.’ It’ll be a box number, Hodges thinks, and the box holder will be long gone. Still, it will need to be checked out. Holly can do it while he’s in the hospital, getting treatment for something that almost certainly can’t be cured. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Mr Schneider. One more question, and I’ll let you go. Do you happen to remember the name of the Gamez Unlimited CEO?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Schneider says. ‘I assumed that’s why the company was Gamez with a Z instead of an S.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘The CEO’s name was Myron Zakim.’





14


Hodges hangs up and opens Firefox. He types in zeetheend and finds himself looking at a cartoon man swinging a cartoon pickaxe. Clouds of dirt fly up, forming the same message over and over.

SORRY, WE’RE STILL UNDER CONSTRUCTION

BUT KEEP CHECKING BACK!

‘We are made to persist, that’s how we find out who we are.’

Tobias Wolfe

Another idea worthy of Reader’s Digest, Hodges thinks, and goes to his window. Morning traffic on Lower Marlborough is moving briskly. He realizes, with wonder and gratitude, that the pain in his side has entirely disappeared for the first time in days. He could almost believe nothing is wrong with him, but the bitter taste in his mouth contradicts that.

The bitter taste, he thinks. The residue.

His cell rings. It’s Norma Wilmer, her voice pitched so low he has to strain to hear. ‘If this is about the so-called visitors list, I haven’t had a chance to look for it yet. This place is crawling with police and cheap suits from the district attorney’s office. You’d think Hartsfield escaped instead of died.’

‘It’s not about the list, although I still need that info, and if you can get it to me today, it’s worth another fifty dollars. Get it to me before noon, and I’ll make it a hundred.’