“His name isnotChad.”
Lindy snorts. “I’m not actually sure what his name is. But he’s a Chad.”
I grunt in amusement, even though I feel a sliver of pity for Lindy. Part of the impetus for him moving east was that his mother’s in New York and not in the best health. But the bigger part was why his company made headlines for the second time. The financial papers had a field day when Orelo’s stock tumbled by a third when the CEO and CFO began battling for control of the company. The tabloids had an even bigger field day when the CFO filed for divorce from the CEO on grounds of infidelity.
What everyone got wrong, after an eventual out-of-court settlement, was who Lindy was sleeping with.
Still, my sympathy is tempered by the fact that Lindy’s bed partner was very much married, if still in the closet. While I’ve been researching this whole daddy rabbit-hole Logan’s started me down, I’ve come across the concept of “hard limits”: things you just won’t do. Married people are one of my hard limits.
I don’t let even the sliver of pity show, though. I made that mistake the first time we went out for drinks. Lindy ended the evening very abruptly. I might be as awkward as Greg called me, but I can pick up on clues people put out with neon signs. Whatever Lindy feels about what happened in California, hedoesn’t want anyone’s pity. I respect that, since there are places in my own past that I don’t want anyone turning a pitying eye on.
Once we’re seated at a 1950’s diner-style booth with a tray of hand-cut tortillas between us, I bring up the thing I really want to talk to Lindy about. I know he’s come across blackhats before because we talked about it when we went out to drinks.
“A got a call from the bad guys,” I tell him. “They want me to come in on a job.”
Lindy inhales several chips smothered in vegan queso, which I have to admit isn’t as bad as it sounds, although I stick to my cheesy version after trying it, before he asks, “And you said?”
“No. But if they can’t find anyone, they’ll ask again. More forcefully.”
“How forcefully?”
I shrug. My personal security’s damn good, but they could make life difficult enough that I have to dig in and spend some time in the bunker in my building’s basement. They could also go after people close to me. Not much I wouldn’t do to keep Manny, Logan, Emily, Ty, even Lindy himself safe.
“Pretty forcefully. They’re not good guys.”
“What if you go in as a mole and then turn them over to the good guys?”
I take a long drink of my soda to wash nachos and the slight bitterness of fear out of my mouth. “Any that I miss burn me to the ground.”
“How big a group are they?”
“I only know four of them and one’s in jail. But I think there are at least three more, just based on the communications traffic of the leader.”
“Think I might know them?”
I shrug. “Let’s not go there. I was hoping you could take a poke around my systems. Rough up my firewalls. See if you can find any weaknesses they might exploit.”
“Security of your systems isn’t going to stop them from snatching you off the street if they really want you.”
I nod. “I’ve got a guy I can call to watch my back.” I finger the black stud in my left ear, which probably made Lindy think I’d be receptive to his advances. It’s one of three panic buttons I wear at all times; Manny’s got me chipped like a fucking dog as well. A sensor goes off if my heart rate drops below fifty or goes above two hundred. If they knock me out, or snatch me, Squid will know in less than a minute. Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to chip everyone close to me, too. “It’s not foolproof, but I’ve got some cover.”
“Okay,” Lindy says before stuffing his face with more nachos.
“Thank you. Anything I can do for you?”
Lindy swallows before he grins. “Pay for the food.”
three
Lindy doesn’t wasteany time. I’m home less than an hour and deep into social engineering Ohio DMV database passwords when he launches a brute-force attack. I know it’s Lindy rather than Ness or one of his buddies because Lindy sends me a text with a big smiley face right before he starts. I shake my head at it and send back a middle finger emoji.
Lindy’s good, I’ll give him that. Right around the time I begin running searches for Wilsons in the Ohio database, screen one starts blaring with warnings. Since I know he’s trying to hack me, I tap them off and let him work.
Screen three blares next. Who tries to hack in through a man’s campaign? Now that is blackhat. I send him another middle finger emoji.
Then I stop paying any attention to what Lindy’s doing as a name pops up from a ten-year-old Ohio driver’s license. That’s a name I’ve seen too many times during this job. Rick-the-Dick’s own fucking business manager. I pick up the phone dedicated to Logan and Manny and start frantically dialing.
Logan ignores my calls for a solid thirty minutes. Manny even longer. I’m pacing on the other side of my desk, tugging at my hair, when Emily finally answers Logan’s goddamn phone.
