Idolon by Mark Budz Read Free Book Online Page A

"Looks first run. I haven't seen anything else like it."
    "Influences?"
    "Hard to say for sure." He tapped his chin thoughtfully with one finger. "Offhand, I'd say Bible-thumping minister with a little Wall Street mixed in. You've got Pastor Lud and Pat Robertson mixing it up with Peter Douglas from Stalk Market . Conservative and clean-cut on one hand, gritty and cutthroat on the other. Kind of sends a mixed message? "
    "To who?"
    "Corporate executives. Politicos. Lawyers. That's the target audience. If I had to venture a guess."
    "Not exactly your demographic. That what I'm hearing?"
    Lagrante shrugged. "There's no shortage of busiiness types who want to come off as straitlaced, but not rigid. Competent and self-assured but not immmoral." He pursed thin lips. "How long you been out of the tank?"
    "Couple of hours."
    Lagrante stood. He stubbed out his Hongtasan in a dissembler-shiny ashtray, then walked around Pelayo in a slow orbit, as if checking out the lines on a hooker. "How was the install?" he said. "Clean?"
    "As far as I know." If there were any problems, he wasn't sure Uri would have told him.
    "Awright." Lagrante cracked his knuckles. "Let's pop trunk on this motherfucker. See what we got."
    _______
    "Well?" Pelayo asked. He stared at Lagrante's brow, knotted in concentration over his glasses.
    Lagrante didn't answer. Pelayo wasn't sure if Lagrante was listening, if he was too deep in to hear anything, or just ignoring him. In the ashtray, all that remained of the Hongtasan was a minute curl of paper.
    "I'll be damned," Lagrante finally whispered. He let out a low whistle infused with frustration and addmiration.
    "What's that supposed to mean?"
    Lagrante sucked on his front teeth. "The platform is new. Hardware. Firmware. Software. We're talking from the ground up."
    "You saying you can't rip it?"
    Lagrante pinched the bridge of his nose, then let the glasses slide back into place. "I need to do some research, make some inquiries. Check if there's a crack out there. Know what I'm sayin'?"
    "Yeah. I'm fucked."
    "Relax. IBT wouldn't hull one of its guinea pigs. Not on purpose, leastways. They need the test data."
    "Thing is, they don't care if I get hulled or not. If you screw up and something goes wrong, that counts as data, the same as anything else."
    "It won't come to that," Lagrante assured him. Pelayo sniffed, uncomfortable with the rip artist's laissez-faire attitude. "Easy for you to say."
    "Everything will be fine. Don't worry, you'll get our percentage. It might take a little longer this time around, that's all, but it'll be worth it. Trust me. That's some bomb-ass shit you're waring."
    Pelayo's gaze drifted past Lagrante to the artwork the walls. Reproductions of several Archibald Motley, Jr. paintings and grainy photos of jazz musicians wreathed in cumulus smoke. "How long?"
    Lagrante tipped back in his chair. "Couple of days. I should have something definite by then."
    Pelayo nodded. "Any word on Concetta?"
    "Nothing yet."
    "You been saying that for three months." Part of the latest deal he'd cut with Lagrante involved information. In exchange for giving him access to IBT's test 'skin, Lagrante would put out feelers for Pelayo's missing cousin. So far, it had been a bust, and he'd begun to wonder if Lagrante was using Concetta to string him along.
    Lagrante's hand fluttered to his chest, all wounded — like an injured bird alighting on his green silk tie. "These things take time. Especially if the gurl don't want to be found."
    Or if someone didn't want her to be found. Pelayo exhaled through his nose.
    "It might not happen," Lagrante said. "You knew that going in. It was a long shot — no guarantees."
    "Yeah, yeah. Doing everything you can."
    "What's up with that other cousin of yours?" Lagrante drummed fingertips on the mahogany veeneer of his desk. "Marta. She into something these days?"
    Pelayo shrugged. "I haven't talked to her."
    "You don't keep in touch?"
    "Not lately."
    Lagrante arched one brow