Cold Fusion by Olivia Rigal Read Free Book Online Page A

this kind of machine. A disk is already inserted in the drive.  
    The machine boots up while Slider goes through the drawers of the filing cabinet. One is used to store clean underwear and shirts and the other drawer has some paperwork. Slider’s quick; I hear the click of his little camera and the paper turning while I stare at the blinking icon.  
    As always, when I want to do things quickly, I feel as if my life is playing in slow motion. Everything takes too long, and it drives me crazy. I look for a printer, but there is none. However, right in front of me is a box of disks. I toss the contents of the box on the desk, remove the disk already in and feed another   into the drive, praying for a virgin one or one with some space to copy files from the hard disk. The first two floppies I try are full, but the third one prompts the computer to ask me if I want to format it. Yes! That will work.  
    There’re dozens of files on the hard disk, and their names are initials. I have no time to look at what they are now. I decide to copy whatever the disk will hold. I watch the screen like those idiots who stare at the elevator floor numbers lighting up one at a time.  
    “What are you doing?” Slider asks, locking up the file cabinet after putting everything back.  
    “Copying fucking files,” I snap. “They don’t have a printer, and if they did, that would take too long anyway. I have no other choice.”
    “Hurry,” he says.  
    As if I want it to take so long. I throw up my hands because as far as I know, there’s no way to speed things up. He goes to check on Suzy. I hear hushed voices in the adjacent room. Ten minutes pass, and Slider looks into the office.
    “Still working on it,” I say. “How long will he be out for?”
    “Who knows?” Slider says. “That stuff helps me fall asleep, but it doesn’t knock me out the way it did him.”
    Right, but then again, Slider probably doesn’t take his sleeping pill with hard liquor.  
    In an ideal world, I’d make a list of the file names I copied, and I’d compare it to the files on all the disks, but this office is bare. There’s no paper, no pen, no stapler, and from what I’ve seen, there’s not much more in Slider’s office. Whatever mail comes to the club goes on an “inbox” pile on his desk to be picked up by the Wizards accountant who indirectly supervises Slider’s management.
    I’m trying to think of a way to make the list when all hell breaks loose. There’s a flash of light, then thunder strikes so close that the entire building shakes… and the power goes off.  
    Slider and I go through a cursing competition, and he wins. I keep repeating “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” whereas he has a more impressive repertoire. Suzy walks in holding a weird-shaped candle. Where did she pull that from?
    “I don’t smoke, but I like to do stuff with wax,” she offers as an explanation to the question I didn’t ask.
    “Give it to me,” Slider says. “I’ll go look at the fuse box.”
    “It’s not the fuses,” Suzy answers, pointing out to the window of Slider’s office across the hall.  
    It’s pitch black outside. No one else has any electricity.
    “A paper clip,” I growl. “I need a stupid paperclip to dislodge this disk from the computer drive.”
    “I don’t have that in my goodie bag,” Suzy says.
    “Was there a disk in the drive when you started?” Slider asks.  
    I nod.  
    “Then we’re leaving and locking up behind us. We’ll figure out a way to get the disk out before or during one of their next visits.”
    “I could drive—” Lightning immediately followed by thunder contradicts me. We’re not going anywhere for a while.  
    I listen to Slider’s voice of reason, put the disks back in their box, and let Slider check that the room is precisely as we found it. When we finish locking up, there’s not much left of Suzy’s candle. We make use of the little time left to put the belt back on Zach’s pants. We’re just