Flicking

then talk to me

  Ruutor: everone can speek here

  nil8: i’m waiting for your big move

  Code: cool it guys. so no big ideas. buddies disappear. we don’t know nothin. anybody getting hurt?

  Albu: what do you mean, hurt?

  squelch: ill kick their asses

  70mm: no hurting

  Albu: why is Code asking. you hurt Code?

  Code: no, nothing. no hurt

  Albu: phew [wipe my hand across forehead]

  nil8: fraidy cat [makes expansive gesture of amusement that snidely mocks Albu]

  Code: hey, gotta run. phone ringing

  USER Code EXITS CHANNEL

  Dorian clicked on the incoming call icon. ‘Unknown user’. He started the vadering, and launched security measures. He actually loved vadering. It made sure no one could recognize his voice, and he got to sound like Darth Vader in the bargain. The software even knew how to take his soft breaths and turn them into honest to god Darth wheezing. Sweet.

  “Hello? Hwaaaaaww-khwuuuuuu, Hwaaaaaw-khwuuuuu.”

  “Hello,” a clown voice responded.

  “Who’s this?”

  “You don’t recognize me? Must be my vadering. You like the clown sound? Slick, isn’t it?”

  Dorian stiffened. Different vadering software, so a different sound. This time a grating clown voice. “No, I don’t recognize you.”

  He launched the new call tracer, his fingers blurring over the keyboard, text scrolling across his screen. His software automatically recorded the call. Soon his whole screen flashed with the results of various software he was running to catch ReeperG.

  “You may know me as the person who will kill you.”

  “Who are you? Why do you want to hurt me?”

  “You don’t need to know, Code. Or should I call you Dorian.”

  Smoothly, Dorian punched the button to start the tone that would reveal ReeperG’s computer identity.

  Error. Shit, he’d tried it out five times before. How could the damn thing fail now?

  “I don’t know. Who do you think I am?” Dorian needed to keep ReeperG on while he fixed the tracer. He’d keep the guy talking, while typing at the same time, but not too hard so the clicking keys didn’t transmit through the vadering.

  “I know who you are. How is the mourning going? You happy your tiresome parents don’t bother you anymore?”

  Dorian wanted to scream. No, must keep his head. This was a battle for his life. “I can’t be put in fear by you, you piece of dirt.” He typed a few commands and relaunched the tracer. Wait for it. “If I find you, you’ll pay.” Wait for it. Error again. He opened a browser and looked for the error, searching the google results as fast as he could.

  “Touchy, touchy my little Freshman.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Why? What a stupid question from a stupid person. Money of course. Lots and lots of money. More than you’ll see in your soon to be cut short lifetime.”

  “It’s just movie downloads.”

  “I’ve got powerful bosses. Very powerful.”

  “And who are they?”

  “Ha ha ha. How dumb do you think I am? Now shut up you punk and listen very very carefully. Tell me this, who should die next?”

  “No one. You’re sick.” Here’s a possible solution on Google. He typed it in, shifted the configuration file to a new directory, and pressed go. “And I’m going to get you, you bastard.” Wait for it. Wait for it. It worked! Thank god.

  An undetectable tone sounded onto the call from Dorian’s computer, snaked out to the internet, connected from one router to the next router for twenty-seven hops, until it emerged in the software on the machine on the other end of the call. There the tone triggered ReeperG’s calling software to responded with a flurry of data packets encoding the location of the machine. In a few seconds, Dorian’s computer had captured thousands of these location packets.

  “I think I’ll kill Striptz,” said the clown. “He seems like the right kind, or should it be nil8? Oh I don’t know. Do you know their real names?”

  “No.” Now that he had a definite lock on ReeperG’s computer somewhere in his logs, he didn’t need the call anymore.

  “I do. But I’m not telling you. That way, no one will know they’ve disappeared in the real world.”

  Dorian’s stomach lurched unpleasantly. He wouldn’t listen. “I’m not afraid of you, you scum.”

  “You should be. I know exactly your dorm room in Wigglesworth. I’ll see you there soon.” He paused. “That’s all. Goodbye. Ha ha ha.”

  The call ended.

  This is who killed his family. The room spun around him. His eyes went so tired he could barely move. With difficulty, he pushed himself up from the chair, pulled himself across the room and into bed. His eyes closed instantly. Sleep enveloped him like a sock.

  Dorian dragged his eyes open. The room had darkened. What time was it? Seven-thirty? He needed to analyze the logs from the call before it was too late. The next hour before dinner should just about do it. He collected all the logs from the various tracking programs he’d used, all into one directory, where he could easily crunch them. He mangled, sifted and searched through the thousands of lines of cryptic messages, each needing research. Eight-thirty came and went. By ten he’d stolen a chocolate bar from his roommate’s stash and kept going, pausing only long enough to get a Coke from the machine at the next entryway. By eleven, when his testy roommate came home, Dorian had compiled a list of candidate internet addresses for intense investigation. They were the ones that counted.

  Success was close. He’d gotten ReeperG’s MySpace profile. Look it up and he would know the evil clown. Dorian’s brain felt like a snow globe turned upside down with the flakes falling past the little statue. The screen wobbled as he looked at it through watery eyes. His hands jittered like the arm of an old fashioned record player powering out ‘Helter Skelter’. He’d nearly nailed ReeperG. All he’d have to do is break into the MySpace profile and get ReeperG’s details. Easy. He’d done it a hundred times. He was as good as he thought he was. It didn’t pay to worry too much right now about what he’d do once he had the information. For now, all he had to do was get the information.

  He got up, splashed water on his face for the fifth time that night, stretched his neck to the right and left, sat back down and clicked the link.

  Finance

  After lunch, Andrea continued her investigation. She worked to steer her thoughts away from last night: the tossing and turning, the dreams of skull and crossbone brandishing movie download pirates swashbuckling around her. WTF? No, she needed to focus on her little offshore mystery: Beehive.

  A couple of dead ends later, she had tracked down all the related accounts, at least the official ones, and ran a consolidated cash flow statement..

  Beehive Financial Statement (consolidated cash flows):

  Net inflow $245,253

  Net outflow $0

  Total $245,253

  Well, hell, she thought, that was not a ‘couple thousand dollars’. She’d better tell Marco. She punched the print button, walked to the printer near her desk and went to find her rotund boss. After searching the building and finding nothing, she remembered, stupid!, that he had a production meeting with headquarters, and that was at the other end of the studio.

  But. This was SERIOUS. She had to tell someone, it was her responsibility. She couldn’t—no, not under any circumstances—let the report sit here. She had a responsibility to report this, didn’t she? No, she didn’t want to call Marco. He wouldn’t answer anyway. He was the good boy who turned off his cell phone in meetings, last of the dinosaurs. But if she didn’t report it, it would be all her fault as the training liked to tell her. But could she wait? What would happen then? Marco would come back, he’d be pissed as shit that she hadn’t passed it along. Or would he be pissed that she had passed it along? Didn’t he say something about ‘don’t piss anyone off?’ But of course that was about calling peo
ple and bothering them. Ok, fine, she had to tell someone, but who.

  Go speak to the Chief Financial Officer, she told herself.

  What? That’s a terrible idea. Why would he want to hear about it? What a terrible idea. Let the regular channels deal with it. That would be a good idea.

  She composed an email to Marco, so he’d see it as soon as he got back.

  But that wasn’t until tomorrow. Ok, fine, let it be tomorrow. But no, tomorrow was too late. Today.

  She made a decision. I’ll tell the CFO. If he doesn’t like it, screw him. This is my duty.

  She gathered the materials into a pile of papers, stapled on the left. As an afterthought, she attached a plastic cover. Straightening her skirt, she wondering briefly if there was a way to pull the hem down a bit. Fuck it. She went upstairs, and burst into the CFO’s office.

  “You have got to see this report I have,” she said, her face flush with excitement.

  “Why hello, Andrea,” the CFO said. “Good to see you again. Can you give me a second while I finish my call?”

  “Oh.” Andrea’s mouth clamped shut. Shit, she thought. Andrea now noticed the Bluetooth headset on the CFO’s ear though she was too embarrassed to listen to the words coming out of his lips. She plopped herself down in a chair at his conference table. Seconds later, she crossed her legs at the ankle. Seconds after that, she uncrossed them again. Whoa, this was probably a bad idea. Should she leave?

  She was about to stand and leave, her courage seeping out second by second. But the call ended.

  “How can I help you?” the CFO asked.

  “So