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can you tell me?”
    â€œThe owners of the bag were computer nerds. They were moving something the boss wanted.”
    Computer nerds. That explained the photo from an airport surveillance camera. One of them must of hacked into the security feed. “Why use me? Why not you?”
    â€œThere had to be deniability. No one could know who was interested. It was supposed to be anonymous. But you fucked that up, eh, tough guy?”
    I let his challenge go unanswered and continued to probe. “What was in the bag?”
    â€œNone of your business. You don’t need to know. Next question.”
    â€œHow did you find out about these computer nerds?”
    â€œNone of your business. You don’t need to know. Next question.”
    â€œWhat else can you tell me, Julian?”
    â€œTwo things. The first is an address, twenty-two Hess. The second is I’ll see you in two days.” With that, the dinosaur was up and on his way to the door.
    â€œJulian,” I said. He turned to face me, his bulk erasing the door, and stared for a long minute. I put the last bite of sandwich in my mouth and raised my index finger and thumb. I felt a familiar grin pull at the side of my mouth and I dropped my thumb. It didn’t scare him; he didn’t even seem to notice. He stood in the doorway for ten long seconds, showing zero emotion; then he left. I went to the file cabinet and retrieved the notes I had taken earlier. “Computer nerd” and “22 Hess” were all I could add tothe random details I had collected. I thought about the bag I had taken from Nicky. Paolo used me because he wanted to insulate himself. No one was to know about the contents of the bag or that he was interested in it. Since no one outside of Julian knew that I worked for Paolo, having me steal the bag was the best way to make it look like he wasn’t involved. The contents of the bag had something to do with computers, which meant it was probably still around in some form or another. Software is worth something, but it’s not like drugs or cash; it doesn’t vanish, and it isn’t consumed and can’t be laundered. The information that was on whatever was in the bag must have been of interest to Paolo. But what kind of information could a bunch of amateurs have that would interest a man like Paolo Donati?
    I leaned back in my chair and stared at nothing in particular. Whatever the contents of the bag, I had two days and few options. I could steal the package back from Paolo and spend my life looking over my shoulder, or I could get the amateurs off my back. It took only seconds to weigh it out: I had to visit 22 Hess and the boys who paid me a visit earlier.
    It was still early in the day, only ten past one. I pulled a short-sleeved oxford-cloth shirt from the small office closet and put it on. The blue shirt had a faded pattern and it blended into a crowd well. I left the shirt untucked over my jeans and left the office. I got in the car, tossed the Glock into the glove box, gunned the engine hard, and drove fast away from the office, keeping a close eye on the mirror for a tail. As I made the different lefts and rights, I noticed a black Audi cut in front of me from a side street. It stayed with me until I made another turn, and a minute later it was ahead of me again. These assholes were unbelievable. They were doing a tail in front of me — which only workson long roads with few turnoffs — and they were using the same car they had driven to the office earlier. I pulled a pen from the glove box and wrote down the rest of the plate, H 21 2 T 5, on my forearm. When I saw an opening, I made a U-turn from the far right lane to the far left. As I pushed the car through traffic, weaving tightly around other motorists, I heard the sounds of horns. I watched the Audi in the rear-view attempt a similar U-turn only to get blocked in the middle of the street.
    I made my way alone to 22 Hess with little