Hollow Man by Mark Pryor Page B

mention all that cold, hard cash.
    â€œLet me plan it out, check out the end of his route. I'll take lead and let you know, okay? We're just stealing a car, not even really stealing it for long. Borrowing , like you said.”
    â€œRight,” he said. “And I have a condition, too.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œNo guns. I know how you like to carry everywhere you go, but on this, no guns.”
    â€œYeah, okay. No guns is fine with me. You said before that he carries, though.”
    â€œI think so….” He snapped his fingers. “Come to think of it, he might not. He picked up a DWI a year ago, which means he has to wait another four years to get a concealed carry license. He's not allowed to carry a gun.”
    â€œWhich means he shouldn't , not that he doesn't.”
    â€œTrue. But if he's trying to fly under the radar, he'd be stupid to take the risk.”
    â€œOn the other hand, he'd be stupid not to carry. He's more likely to get jacked by a civilian than by the police. Anyway, just do your thing and I'll let you know if it's feasible.”
    He left me there in the bar, to go home to his wife and work on those kids. Truth be told, I didn't trust him much, either. For a decent, conscientious, loving man to commit a serious crime and jeopardize his future and his family…well, there was a lot about empaths I didn't get, and this went on the list.
    I thought about going home and beginning the feasibility analysis, but I wanted to start then, that very second. I also didn't want the distraction of my new roommate, Tristan Bell.
    I'd recently rented a room in a condo that Tristan owned, tosave money. He was the IT guy in the main DA's office downtown and had posted a note saying he wanted a roommate. I asked around about him, and people told me he was quiet and would be easy to live with. So far that had been true, excessively true almost. The name “Tristan” reminded me of the dorky vet of the same name in the English show from when I was a kid, called All Creatures Great and Small , and this Tristan fit the mold. A modern version, he was a classic computer nerd, complete with glasses and reclusive streak. He spent almost all his time in his bedroom, and when he wasn't there he kept his bedroom locked. It seemed odd at first, paranoid even, but I figured that we didn't know each other that well and, if he had expensive gadgets or porn in there, I could see why he wouldn't risk a stranger nosing around in his room.
    The best thing was that he didn't bug me, ask me questions, or want to be my friend. He left me alone the same way he liked to be left alone. I'd worried about my guitar playing, but he told me he liked the muffled strum coming from my room. “And I do have headphones,” he said, “if I don't like the song you're playing.”
    So I probably could have gone home and thought about this little caper, but I wanted some immediate answers. Or if not answers, some decent lines of inquiry and maybe a list of supplies. I borrowed a pen from the waitress, reached for a paper napkin, and opened it up.
    Let the planning begin.

Three weeks later, I walked into my office to find Tristan sitting at my desk, his nose in my laptop. I stood in the doorway until he noticed me, eyes blinking in surprise.
    â€œSomething wrong with my computer?”
    â€œDoing some updates. Security stuff and new software that allows downloads straight from the APD servers to your computer. You'll be able to watch in-car videos minutes after they're shot. Assuming the officer downloads them properly.”
    â€œYou couldn't do that remotely?” I wasn't tech savvy by any means but, in the past, the folks in IT had been able to help me with problems from where they sat, taking over my computer somehow and doing what they needed to do.
    â€œAlmost done.” He typed for a second, then stood up. “Sorry, but you should be good to go. If you have any problems just let me