Early to Death, Early to Rise - Kim Harrison [9]
“No, not make it. We get it. Before it’s released.”
The stress he’d put on his words pulled me back. “You lift it?” I asked, eyes widening. If he could hack a music site, a hospital computer would be nothing.
Excited, I edged forward. The move was not lost on Ace, and he leaned across the counter, hitting the sale button and closing the drawer almost before it had opened. “Last week,” he whispered, his eyes glinting, “Shoe got into a major record label’s site and lifted a track of Coldplay’s music not out until next spring.”
I shivered, my aura seeming to chime. He could break into secure sites. “Really? Can I hear it?”
Ace drew back, slyly standing behind the counter as if he were king of the world. “Shoe and I don’t let anyone listen. Not until we’re done. I gotta put the cover art on the disc. Then you can buy it.”
My breath huffed out of me. Feigning disbelief, I cocked my hip. “Okay, I get it,” I said in a bored tone. “Whatever.”
But Ace laughed. “You don’t believe me?” Turning to the back, he shouted, “Shoe! Tell her the name of Coldplay’s newest album.”
The boy in the back pulled himself out of the oven he had been cleaning. There was grease smudged on his shoulder and he looked mad. “What the hell is wrong with you, Ace?” he exclaimed. “You’re going to get us caught!”
“Dude!” Ace said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Cool your stick, man. She’s not going to say anything.”
Shoe threw the rag he’d been using at Ace, but it fell far short. “You don’t even know who she is!” he yelled, and a side door to the kitchen banged open and a short man wearing a shirt a size too small for him came out. Manager. I could tell even before I saw his lame brown shoes with the tiny brown laces.
“Mitch, we got a problem here?” he asked, and Shoe turned to him, still ticked.
“No!” he shouted. Taking the oven cleaner, he sprayed it wildly on the front of the next oven.
“Chill, dude!” Ace said. “It’s not a big deal!” He was almost laughing, and it only made Shoe angrier, his motions becoming fast and erratic.
The manager saw it, too, and he came closer. “Relax,” the man said, trying to look as if he were in charge. “I’ve put up with your temper all summer.”
Shoe turned. “Yeah? Well, I quit!” he shouted, slamming the oven cleaner down. “I don’t need this crap!”
“No, you’re fired!” the man said, and Ace started to laugh, looking at the food court to see who was watching. “Clock out, and don’t come back. I’ll mail you your last check! And don’t bother asking for a reference.”
“You can keep your lousy money,” Shoe muttered, and I watched in alarm as Shoe took off his apron and threw it down in disgust. Turning to Ace, who clearly thought it was all a big joke, Shoe said, “You’re a freaking loser, Ace. You know that? You’re so stupid you can’t even keep your mouth shut. We’re done. Got it? You’re on your own.”
Ace’s face colored, anger etching his features in an instant. “Yeah?” he said loudly. “Well, you can go screw a rat, asshole!” Ace’s sudden shift to anger felt wrong, and I gripped my shake tighter, trying to figure it out.
My mouth fell open, and I dropped back a step. The entire food court was watching now.
“Out!” the manager shouted, his round face turning red. “Both of you!”
“I didn’t even want to come in today, you tub of lard,” Ace said under his breath, but I knew the manager heard him, because he started to huff as if he were out of breath.
Shaking with anger, the manager pointed at the mall’s doors. “Get out!”
I scrambled back when Ace put a hand on the counter and vaulted over it. From the rear of the kitchen came the slamming of a heavy door as Shoe stormed off. Snatching his hat from his head, Ace dropped it on the tiled floor. “This job sucks,” he said, and he walked away, taking his apron off as he went and letting it fall.
The manager was fuming, and I hesitantly said, “Uh, how much do I owe you?”
He looked up as if noticing me for the first time, his thoughts clearly on Ace and Shoe. “Nothing. It’s free,”