“Nathan, you can’t disclose people’s personal identification numbers just because you can figure it out. Besides, how do you know you are correct? You take their card?”

The two servers were standing out back of Geovanni’s Italian eatery, one of the finer restaurants in Macon, Georgia. “Dude. You always have access to their card.”

“You don’t have time to hack it,” Jeremy said, sucking hard on his Camel, blowing the smoke over his head. The wind died a few minutes ago, making the warm summer night more bearable. The air conditioning inside was too cool for some servers but just right for the diners. Nathan and Jeremy were friends, meeting in between classes at Mercer University. “You’d need more than five minutes, and you don’t have the card all that long.”

“Don’t need it. Just the number.” Nathan lit another cigarette, knowing he wouldn’t have a chance to finish it. “Click. Click.” Flashing his phone’s flash at Jeremy, he continued, “That’s all it takes.”

“That’s illegal.”

“Yeah? You think Vinnie’s going to say something about it? He’s the one who showed me how to do it. He said if I wanted to make a percentage of what he collects, I could easily make $5k in a few days. I’m a broke college kid. Why wouldn’t I take the risk? Besides, it’s the machine that runs the transaction. All I do is send the card info to Vinnie.”

“From your phone?” Jeremy asked. “That’s stupid. Feds’ll be all over you. One wrong move, and you are toast!”

“C’mon now, Jeremy. Do you really think me and Vinnie would be that stupid? The Feds already are keeping tabs on this place. One wrong move, and this place’d be crawling with state and Federal agents. The only way to do it? Is with this,” he held up a second phone. A burner phone. That’s what we called them. Not traceable because no one is held accountable. No account number. Cash transaction. Sure, you could use a credit card. But why would you, especially when buying one of those cards you put money on is easier. Secure transaction. Works like a credit card. And, best of all? “Completely untraceable, Jeremy.” He smiled.

“Hey! Yous all done out here? Yous boys gots tables out here!” Vinnie stepped into the alley, adjusting his silk tie and polishing his highly shined black leather shoes on the back of his pinstriped slacks. “Yous done goofin’ off out here?”

“Yeah, Uncle.”

“Well, get your asses back in there. We’s gots tables. Full up tonight. And yous?” He pointed at Jeremy. “Best be on your best out there tonight. Capche?”

“Yeah, Mr. Francelli.”

He smiled at me. “See that, Nathaniel? Respect. Yous can’ts get that anywhere’s else but here, yeah?”

“Right, Uncle.”

“Hey, kid.” He wrapped his arm around Jeremy’s neck. “Call me Uncle Vinnie. We’s like family now, ain’t that right, Nathaniel?”

“Right, Uncle Vinnie,” he smiled. “Wes got work to do, Uncle.”

“So’s yous do. Get at it then.” He patted Jeremy on the rear like football coaches do, then grabbed his shoulder, pulling back into the alley. The door closed as Nathan walked through, leaving Jeremy and Vinnie in the alley. “Yous a smart kid, ain’t ya?”

“Yes, Uncle Vinnie.”

“That’s good.” He patted him on his cheeks. “Don’t do nothing stupid now, you got me?”

“I got you, Uncle Vinnie.”

“Good boy. Now. Go get to work.”