They rounded the corner to see a very slim, short man in a checkered shirt jump up and down as he mouthed off to a collection of computer parts spread out before him. He grabbed a nearby hammer and started attacking the still smoking motherboard, shattering it into tiny pieces.
“I fucking warned you!” he shrieked. “Why do you have to do this to me, huh? The wiring is perfect, perfect. How can I fix it if you don’t explain the problem?”
“Ah … Jones?” Ray said softly. Microchip Jones jumped, his hammer clattering to the floor.
“Oh, visitors,” he exclaimed. “My pal, Ray. Sorry you had to see that, buddy. I know it was brutal. But this is what happens when the perfect motherboard refuses a RAM upgrade. I’m trying to integrate a crystal core into …”
“Save it, Chippie,” Ray said, waving his hands. “We need a hack job.”
“At your service, my man,” Jones said, jumping onto a swivel chair at a nearby desk. He grabbed the mouse of a computer that was separated into lots of parts and connected with twisted lengths of cable.
“Beryl,” he said, patting the monitor. “She can’t be upgraded any further, but at least she’s dependable and loyal, even if she’s just too old to go any faster.”
He turned and glared at the other bench, where the motherboard was still smoking.
“Not like you, Jezebel, you ungrateful fucking whore!” he yelled. Almost as an afterthought, he hurled a wrench. It bounced off the table, narrowly missing his knee.
“Fuck you,” he muttered, booting up his precious Beryl.
“He talks to his computers,” Augusta whispered.
“Oh, yes,” Ray confirmed. “They all have names and distinct personalities. I think he designs them that way.”
“I do not,” he sang out. “What do you need, Ray? And please, young lady, forgive my outburst. I am really quite charming in the right circumstances.”
Augusta came forward shyly. “I’m Augusta. It’s nice to meet you, Microchip Jones.”
“No need for formality,” he said, waving a hand. “Chippie or Jones is just fine.”
“I need the footage from the Colombo hangout last night, the security cameras.”
“One sec,” Jones muttered. Augusta thought he was exaggerating, but he literally pulled up the footage in one second flat.
“Whoa,” he said, checking out the scene. “I didn’t think you were into that, bro. Look at them tearing off their shirts. It’s like a wet T-shirt competition turning into an orgy.”
Augusta giggled in spite of herself. Ray had his eyes locked on the screen as he watched the guys taking off their shirts.
“None of them have the tattoo,” he sighed. Jones quirked an eyebrow but said nothing.
“So, where do we go from here?” Augusta asked.
Ray sighed again. “Well, I’ve crossed some people off my list. I guess we have to keep trying.” He gritted his teeth. “God help me if he’s one of the De Lucas. I don’t know why, but I have a gut feeling this is worse than I thought.”
Jones let out a low whistle. “You’re neck deep in it, aren’t you? What the fuck, man?”
“I’ll explain later,” Ray said. “I’ll need your services on this again, I’m sure.”
Jones eyed Augusta. “Is it because you’re servicing this young filly here? What’s she got to do with it?”
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Ray grumbled, that possessive energy seeping out of him again like pure menace hanging in the air.
“Easy, buddy! Take it easy. I meant no offense.”
He winked at Augusta, and she realized he had pushed Ray just to see what he would do. From the knowing grin on his face, he hinted that Ray didn’t usually behave like this.
That meant she really was special to him. Her heart warmed when she realized his possessive moments came from his strong feelings and that he was afraid he might lose her just after finding her.
She reached out and squeezed his hand while he chatted to Jones. If he needed her close, that’s exactly where she would stay.