2-Pack: BCMaster 65-Watt USB-C PD Chargers with 18W USB-A

  • 65-watt chargers are what you need for charging the big stuff, like MacBooks fast
  • Power Delivery 3.0 USB-C Ports and QualComm Quick Charge 3.0 USB-A Ports
  • That means super fast charging USB-C and USB-A
  • They’re… you know… charging blocks
  • Do these celebrate simplicity and/or beauty: no, for that you’ll have to head over to Mediocritee
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Plug In

In my line of business, the word “talk” could mean anything: you might talk to someone by breaking their legs, by burning down their house, by making them disappear. Rarely did “talking” involve a polite, verbal exchange.

Which is all to say, when Lou the Toad invited me down to the pier to “talk” about something, I knew there’d be trouble. But I went anyway. Because I had a plan.

I needed to remind myself of this at every step of the way. I have a plan, I told myself when Lou’s boys put a burlap sack over my head. I have a plan, I told myself as they led me down under the pier, this being my assumption based on all the big wooden beams I walked into, my guido sherpa being none too careful to steer me out of harm’s way. I have a plan, I told myself when the bag came off and I found myself face-to-face with Lou and Father Dixon, a man presumed to be dead, but only by those gullible enough to believe the obits.

“The burlap sack was nice, Lou,” I said, as one of his guys went through my pockets, “but usually it’s to obscure where you’re taking someone. Are we not under the exact pier where you asked me to meet you?”

“Why are you so mouthy, Ed?” Lou said. He tried to smirk, but I could tell by the way he crossed his arms that the barb had gotten to him. Lou the Toad was always trying to show he had the brains to match his muscle, but every stunt he tried to pull–like this one with the sack–only proved his value ended at the shoulders.

“Got it,” said one of Lou’s guys, taking my phone out.

“Check it for messages,” Lou said, “from Bobby.”

“It’s dead,” said Lou’s guy.

“Then go find somewhere to charge it,” Lou said, his voice rising. All this time the Father didn’t say anything, which was his style. He hadn’t earned the name for an ability to deliver sermons but rather in his skill issuing last rites. Usually with a mallet.

Lou’s guy disappeared out of the maze of posts. The other kept a strong hold on me.

“Your friend Bobby,” Lou said, “has been causing my employers some trouble.”

“Well, given the world employers work in,” I said, “maybe he’s just trying to get a job offer.”

Lou looked at the Father, then turned back to me. “I don’t get it.”

“I’m saying trouble’s your business, isn’t it?”

“You know, Ed,” Lou said, “You got a lot of spunk, acting like this. I give a word to my friend here, and the end of the line for you is face down in sand under a pier. What do you think about that?”

“I think dead fish is about my least favorite smell in the world,” I said. “And to die with that odor permeating my nostrils? It would be tragic. So I guess I’m glad not to be downwind of your breath, Lou.”

Lou’s henchman tightened his grip on my arm as Lou stepped forward, ready to swing, but just at that moment, his other guy returned. “I got the message.”

“You charged his phone that fast?” Lou said.

The guy shrugged. “We gotta move. Bobby’s waiting for him over at the gulch.”

Lou smiled. “I better save my energy for your buddy.” He nodded to his guys. “Tie him up and leave him here. We’ll deal with him later if the water doesn’t do it for us.”

Which they did. It took only a minute, but still, that was nearly too much. I almost cracked and smiled, but managed to hold off until the lot of them were gone.

What Lou and his friends didn’t realize was that I’d had a hunch about Bobby’s involvement in whatever was going on, so I’d done a little reworking of my contacts. I’d given the name “Bobby” to a man named Marshall Lee, head honcho of a motorcycle club. Had Lou’s guy really studied the text chain, he would’ve realized just how strange the interchange was, indicating some deleted messages, these being the ones wherein I’d been openly insulting to Mr. Lee, to ensure he was good and mad. He traveled with a crew, too many for the father to handle with his mallet. The quiet old man might earn himself a second obituary today, this one factual.

Of course, my cheeriness was short-lived. My best friend Bobby was in trouble and I needed to warn him to lay low. Only, they’d tied me to a post and taken my phone. I had to think of something, and fast. Because judging by my soggy socks, the tide was coming in.

[Editor’s note: the reason the phone charged so fast was because Lou’s guy used one of these BCMaster 65W USB-C PD Chargers.]

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