āI donāt like doing it,ā I told Lear over the phone as I slipped on an old t-shirt.
āI donāt either, but youāve seen how good Dario is. He wonāt stay on the market long.ā
āWe donāt technically need himā¦ā In the mirror, my ripped jeans were appropriately baggy.
āCome now, D-Zero,ā Lear wheedled. āThisāll solidify Godoy as a monster who would do anything for power. Thatās worth a few clients.ā
āClientsā were criminals from Learās extended network that I digitally laundered money for. āBurningā them meant stealing their ill-gotten gains. They had no legal recourse if we took that money, and the transfers were buried in encryption. Neither Lear nor I liked doing it, but anyone remotely competent enough to get through my security wouldnāt need to hire a stranger to shuffle their money around in a few crypto-wallets.
I sighed. āWho are they?ā
āSome low-level thugs,ā Lear said. āSafe bets to piss off.ā
āThereās no such thing as a safe bet,ā I sighed, traipsing away from my door to my desk to open the spreadsheet of clients. āTell me the names.ā
Lear said, spelled, then repeated 4 names: Franita Sufor, Li Na, Keiko Ikegawa, and Klaus Dolstoyevski. By the second āv-s-k-iā Iād already emptied all their accounts and sent them to the gangās crypto-wallet, but I let him talk on for a while because I was not eager to make my appointment with Hanz. Eventually, we hung up, and I pulled my hair back in a short puff of a ponytail. No jewelry, no fake lashes, minimal makeup. I wanted to look as unappealing as I could stomach.Ā Ā
The cafe Hanz haunted was way across town. I was still too scared to use the bike, so I caught a bus. As the coastline rolled by, an angry, covetous part of me thrashed at the thought of letting anyone take this job from me, much less a wretched, gamergate incel.Ā
Hanz Pfister was 32 years old and single in that involuntary way. Heād gotten clipped on a few computer charges, but still managed to land a reputable IT job at a local software developer. There arenāt many black hats I can risk associating with. Iām not Snowden-levels of global notoriety, but my face is known in certain circles. I canāt be picky. Unfortunately for me, Hanz is the right cocktail of cocky and stupid. As far as he knows, my name is āRamona,ā and Iām not much more than a script kiddie that skipped citizenships after getting pinched for a torrent-seeding operation. The gang wouldnāt thank me for having to put up with him for 6 months, but heād get the job done.
After hopping off the bus at my stop, I walked 4 blocks to Mug Shot, a modest internet cafe sitting in a brick strip mall next to a cell phone store. It was a shotgun of a placeāfrom the front windows, past the vinyl decals advertising espresso and 500mbps up and down speeds, you could see all the way to the bathrooms at the very back. Hanz was here already, a shock of mahogany hair at a 2-top near the coffee bar. He was buried in his laptop, looking gleeful.Ā
After catching my reflection, I took a moment at the shop windows to straighten my clothes, check my makeup, and take a deep breath. You have to give this job away, I told myself. You can only jeopardize things. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Maybe dressing down wasnāt my best plan. I felt off-kilter, like a compiling error I couldnāt locate.Ā
I went inside, marching past the chalkboard with the seasonal drink and wifi password; down the line of booths and high-end computers. I deflated into the chair across from a dozen half-naked anime girls covering Hanzās Alienware laptop lid. Maybe it was just an industry stylistic shift, but the girls in every new sticker looked younger and younger.
Hanz was that icing-tube shape of guy. Not fat exactly, just the same circumference from shoulders to hips. His stubble stretched down from cupidās bow to Adamās apple; patchy, unkempt, and pocked with glowing red pimples he didnāt have the sense to put concealer over. I always forgot we were almost the same age. He looked and acted like a perpetual teenager, so self-possessed that other humans were as much a source of entertainment as a TV show or video game.Ā
Hanz stayed buried in his screen, and when I tried to speak he put his hand up. āHold on.ā He tapped rapidly on his keyboard, then chuckled to himself in a way he probably practiced in a mirror. āI DDoSād the Epic servers. Everyone is losing their minds on Twitter ācause they canāt download the new Fortnite patch. Kids are so easy to troll.ā He slurped his energy drink.
āSounds like a formidable opponent for you.ā
āFormidable? Please. This is how I unwind. So whatās the job you need me for?ā
I was glad to get to the point. āBlack hat. Direct access, reverse-engineering, software development, financial systems, some phreaking. Itāll take the better part of a year, and youāll need to take a few months sabbatical from Jumpitt, but the take should cover that a few times over.ā
āHow much?ā
āA big 20. 6-way split.ā
Hanz pursed his chapped lips. āSounds simple enough. Why canāt you do it?ā
āIā¦ā A thousand excuses circulated in my skull. āI haveā¦ another job.ā
āLying,ā Hanz sang. āLemme guess, what they need isnāt something you can download off HackForum. It requires someone who can analyze financial backends and reverse-eng software from binary, which you canāt, Ra-mon-a.ā He slurped down the last of his energy drink, theatrically bending his head back to drain the dregs.
Before I could object, a waitress came to the table. She was that age where anything she wore looked fashionable somehow. She had a sweet faceāthe nice sorority girl that said ācome on, guys,ā when her sisters of Gamma Gamma Phi made fun of the comp sci majors. āHey Hanz, would you like another Monster?ā the waitress asked. Her bottom lip disappeared when she smiled.
In a spectacularly fast change of demeanor, Hanz breasted his laptop screen and smiled sheepishly up at her. āAw, Izzy, you must be psychic or something! Yeah, Iād love one.ā
The waitress, Izzy, vanished her bottom lip for him, then turned to me. āAnything for you?ā
āA cortadito,Ā thanks.ā
āOf course. Yāknow, Hanz is a regular here, but this is the first time Iāve seen someone with him. Are you his girlfriend?āĀ
Hope flashed in her eyes, and for a second wished I could lie, for her sake. Then I remembered my pride. āNo. Just an acquaintance.ā
āYeah,ā Hanz said, āAs if sheād be my girlfriend, hahaha. I have better taste than that, hahaha.ā
āAh,ā Izzy said, giving Hanz another forlorn smile. āIāll go grab that Monster and get your cortadito started.ā
I shot her a sympathetic look as she trotted off with the empty, salivated can. She wasnāt two steps away before Hanz shot me an amazed grin. āYooo, did you hear that? She was worried you were my girlfriend.ā
āWorried is not the word Iād use.āĀ
āThis is great. You gotta come around more often.ā
Fat chance. āCan we return to the subject at hand?ā
āRight, right, the job you canāt do.ā
I bristled. āIām more than capable of the technicals. It requires long-term onsite work and social engineering is... not my forte.ā
āPlease. A chickās whole life is social engineering, itās in your chromosomes. Admit it, Ra-mon-a. They need someone who actually knows what theyāre doing on this one, and youāre getting me because you donāt want your crime buddies to find out youāre just some skid. Maybe you should spend more time actually learning code and security systems instead of catfishing guys or whatever it is you do.ā
The only guy Iām catfishing is you, jackass, I thought, but I said, āCatfishing is almost entirely social engineering!ā
āHey, donāt get hysterical with me. See, this is why youāll never be a master hacker. Canāt control your emotions.ā
I rose half out of my chair, ready to pull up my wikipedia page and shove it in his stupid face. āListen, you little-āĀ
āHahahaha!ā Hanz leaned back in his chair, chortling. āI fuckinā trolled you so bad, hahahaha.āĀ
I sank back down, rubbing my temples and taking some deep breaths. That mean in me was going to boil up out of my throat if I wasnāt careful.Ā
Hanz snapped his laptop shut then tucked it under his arm just as Izzy walked up with our drinks. āGet me my money up-front and youāve got a deal,ā he said.Ā
āWh-ā I sat, stunned as Izzy placed the cortadito in front of me. āWe need the front money to finance the job. Youāll get your cut after itās done, like everyone does.ā
āThing is, if these tools work with you, I donāt have a lot of faith theyāll pull it off, no matter how well I do my job.ā He handed Izzy a 10 before taking the energy drink out of her hand. āMy fee, up-front, or itās up to you, Ra-mo-na. Enjoy your coffee.ā He winked at me in an ugly way, then waddled down the narrow cafe to the exit as Izzy retreated to the coffee bar.Ā
I sat at the table alone for a few minutes, sipping the cortadito in a vain attempt to simmer down from Hanzās immense bullshit. How were we going to get a 6th of the take up-front and still do the job at all?Ā
My head filled with the static of radio station after radio station fading in and out as I drove and drove and drove down the Pacific coast. No, I had to get Hanz his money.
āWould you like another cortadito?ā The sweet, bright voice startled me. The waitress smiled, kind but expectant.Ā
āAh, no, thatās okay.ā I peeled a few bills from my wallet. āThanks, Izzy.ā
āUhm, itās Isabella actually.ā The waitress made a squished face. āI kinda hate being called Izzy.ā
Itās Wednesday! But thereās still two more chapters coming this week, so stay tuned!