Geek Mafia | Page 2

notebooks and sketchpads and say
they're writers or artists. But really they're waiters or clerks or
something." She paused to put a reassuring hand on his forearm. Her
touch was warm and the feel of her flesh gave him a little internal
twitch of arousal. "Not that there's anything wrong with that or
anything. I'm all kinds of things in my head that I'm not actually in real
life."
"No, no, I'm the real deal. I'm even published. Hell, I used to even get
paid decent money for doing it."
"But not anymore?"

"Well no. I've moved up in the world, or at least my paycheck has."
"Sold out huh?"
"Sold out, yeah. I left comics a few years ago and helped start a
computer game company. I've been the lead designer on a game called
Metropolis 2.0." He rubbed the tattoo on his arm, the company logo as
he had designed it. Back in his apartment, Paul still had that first
sketchbook from five years back when he'd scribbled those early
doodles. Doodles that grew into the forthcoming online computer game
that PC Gamer magazine had hailed as "the most anticipated release of
next year." By contrast, his personal anticipation for the game had
taken a precipitous nosedive in the last few hours.
She nodded in approval. "Very cool. Is it out yet?"
"Not yet. Comes out in August."
"So tell me something else...," she started to say, but just then the
bartender returned, interrupting her thought.
"I'm sorry, the manager's at the bank or something" the bartender said.
"Do you want to leave a message?"
The pink haired woman eyed the bartender for a moment and then
looked back at Paul and winked. "How long do you think he'll be?"
"I dunno, fifteen minutes maybe? He should be back before the lunch
rush."
"Ok, I'll wait for him." The bartender nodded and started to turn away,
but she reached across the bar and tugged on his sleeve. "While I'm
waiting, can I have a shot of Sauza and another margarita for my friend
here?" She eyed Paul once more. Again, the wink. "Make that two
margaritas and two shots. I've got to catch up."
"Sure thing."
Now she turned back to Paul, who had to admit that an already bizarre

day had suddenly taken a strange new twist - but at least it was finally
turning in the right direction. "Ok, so what were we talking about?" she
asked.
"You wanted me to tell you something."
"Oh yeah! Right. I got it now. So," she said again, "Tell me something.
Why did you say you're a comic book artist when you're a computer
game designer? I mean, these days that's just as cool as being an artist,
maybe cooler 'cause it means you probably actually make a decent
living and can buy a girl a drink."
Paul looked down at his hydra hydra sketch, a monster attacking
itself. "Well, I guess because I've just been told I'm going to be fired
tomorrow."
"Oh, yeah, well, that sucks. Good thing I'm buying this round of drinks
then, huh? Even a better thing that I ordered those shots." She reached
into her shorts' pocket and pulled out a weather-beaten black leather
wallet. Paul caught a glimpse of red panties as the weight of her hand
in her pocket pushed her shorts off their perch on her hip. "Speaking of
which, here's my man now."
The bartender had arrived with the drinks. He spread them out before
Paul and his new friend - a shot and a margarita each, saying "Sixteen
dollars even." She pulled out a twenty and handed it to him and then
picked up both shot glasses, giving one to Paul.
"Here's to getting fired and fuck the fucks who swung the axe."
"I'll drink to that," said Paul, and he did in one fiery gulp. He surprised
himself by not coughing and sputtering as the liquor burned its way
down his throat. He chased it with a sip of his margarita and then said,
"But enough about that shit," anger and sadness blooming again,
despite the pretty girl. Time to change the subject. "What're you here
for, looking for a job?"
She made an utterly dismissive noise in the back of her throat. "Hardly.

No, I'm here to make a deal." She opened up her shoulder bag and drew
out a pair of small plastic figurines. They were little Mariachi
performers, with guitars. "Novelty salt and pepper shakers," she said.
"They're all the rage with the jet set this season."
"You sell those?" Paul asked, surprised.
"Something like that," she replied with a smirk and took another sip of
her drink. She quickly wiped her hand off on her shorts and then held