The sound of typing could be heard faintly over the humming fans. The monitors cast exaggerated profiles on the walls and ceiling like in a bad dream. The heat coming off the machines made the air unsatisfying, suffocating. Four or five guys sat scattered around the room, their faces made color by whatever screen they happened to be looking at. Squib was sunken into the couch with a piece of ancient hardware on his lap rigged up to a headset.
The headset cast the lower half of his wrinkled face in a DOS green. The kind of green that made kids these days tune out like a black and white movie. His fingers tumbled over the plastic keys. He was the only one in the room and probably in the whole city that still used a hard keyboard. It'd been awhile though.
His eye started to spasm.
The room was completely black for a full minute after he stripped off the headset. When he could finally make out the fuzzy outlines of other faces in the darkness he pulled himself out of the couch and made for the door, slamming his shin into a rack-mount that sat powered down near the coffee table in the process.
“Jesus Christ, watch where yer goin’, old man,” one of them said.
“Can’t see a fuckin’ thing in this place,” he mumbled. “Why you need all these lights off anyway?”
“Keeps the energy bills down. Keeps us lookin’ normal,” said another one from the corner.
The bare light from the corridor outside the apartment flooded into the room, illuminating thousands of twisted cords and cables running to and from boxes with glowing inputs and LEDs. He shuffled down the steps and out the front gate onto O’Farrell.
The night air was crisp, pleasant against his flushed cheeks. He pulled a thinly rolled joint from a cigarette case in the breast pocket of his coat. Across the street a trio of dezis were digging through their pockets in front of the Edgeworth Hotel. He watched them absent-mindedly while sifting through his own pockets for a light. Nothing.
He dragged his feet across the street to Kristi’s. He’d been there more than a few times in the past. A total dive. The drunks and dezis and crackheads and tweakers huddled together in the dark corners of the room, watching him cautiously as he leaned on the bar. The little square napkins glowed bright lavender under the blacklight, but nothing else did.
“Got a light?” he yelled to the trollish bartender.
“As long as you don’t smoke that shit in here,” she barked, slamming a pink Bic down on the counter.
"I’ll get it right back to you,” but the words were lost in a clamor of clinking glasses, boisterous laughing and mariachi music.
Outside the trio had disappeared from sight. He looked up and down the block before lighting up. As he blew out a plume a face he recognized appeared from inside Kristi’s. A girl. He couldn’t remember a name. He’d had a lot of that lately.
“Squibby?! What the hell are you doin’ down here, man? I thought you lived over in the Mission?”
She was young – way young for him. How the hell do I know this girl? She was hot. Tall, thin, pale eyes, rosy, freckled cheeks. Her choppy black hair was like an explosion.
“Yea, well – used to. Got sacked though. Somebody boosted most of my gear ‘bout a month back. Livin’ over on Larkin now.”
“No shit!”
“Doin’ business with some kids down the street, needed a smoke.”
He offered her a puff and she accepted.
“What kinda business,” she asked through the smoke, “You aren’t holdin’, are you?”
“Me? Nah, I don’t fuck with that shit, really. Just some computer stuff," he chuckled. "I didn’t know you got loose?”
She laughed.
“I’ve tried it a few times...it was fun. I ain’t no fuckin’ dezi, not addicted or anything. Makes sex amazing though. You ever done it?”
He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke twist against the dark sky. Still couldn’t remember her name.
“Better watch out with that shit, girl.”
He said it, but he wasn’t thinking it. His mind was wandering.
“Listen, I gotta get back to work, I just stepped out for a toke. See ya around?”
“Can’t miss me.”
He gave her a quick hug, flicked the roach into the street and stepped off the curb toward the flophouse.
“Hey, wait,” he said, reaching in his jeans, “give this back to the bartender, will ya? And tell her she needs to wax her mustache.”
Her high-pitched giggle echoed between the buildings as he lumbered through slow moving cars across the lanes of traffic. Down the street under a burnt out neon sign reading “Liquor Food Market” was his very first apartment in the city. The window that once looked in on the living room was opaque, painted mauve from the inside. He peered in through the edges where the paint was thin and sloppy. Looked empty. Dirty. Probably a squat.
That summer was one he remembered vividly. He’d just moved north after a few years couch surfing in L.A. It was an election year. He’d just turned 18, but didn’t bother voting. Not for lack of political interest or ideals - he knew the futility. It was people like him that made it that way. He remembered the bustling sounds of the neighborhood in full swing on those unnaturally warm days when he had to open every window in the joint just to circulate the air to keep his rig cool.
He pushed on the rotting wooden windowsill, but it didn’t budge.
Inside Liquor Food Market he grabbed an iced coffee drink, a pack of mini chocolate donuts and a lighter. Silicon vixens oggled him from old beer posters that hung dingy and disintegrating on every wall of the boxy corner store. Not much had changed. He used to hate the place for charging $2 for a bowl of instant noodles. Now he’d be lucky to get them for $7.
The man behind the high counter plastered with newspaper clippings and decade old advertisements gazed at him through heavy lids.
“This stuff not so good for you, boss.”
“Yea, I know. S’how I like it.”
“$15.36, my friend.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”
He knocked twice, paused for two, and then knocked three more times. That was their code. Fuckin’ kids, he thought as he listened to the commotion behind the door.
“Who’s there?”
“Me, Squib.”
The door flung open and Eva stood with one arm leaning on the door frame. Her stage make up was still on.
“Where you been, old man? I’m not payin’ you to eat junk food,” she said with a smirk.
“You aren’t payin’ me at all yet. When’d you get here, just now?”
“Yea, just got off. Had to stop at home real quick.”
“How was the show?”
“LIGHTS UP!” she yelled before flicking the switch and flooding the room with unwelcome light, “It was awesome! Did I tell you about that write up I got in the Guardian?”
Squib pushed a donut into his mouth and shook his head.
“Well, I got a little write up from one of my old buddies. A lot of people been stoppin’ by to check us out. Pretty cool. You should check it on their port if you get a chance. Been playin’ to a packed house just about every night this week.”
“Nice one!” he smiled before taking a few sips of his iced coffee and returning to his seat on the couch.
“Alright, guys, we’re all here now, right?” Eva raised her voice to address the various bodies strewn throughout the room, “I called a Midnight Mass because there’s some very important shit we gotta talk about, so cut whatever the fuck you’re working on and listen up.”
As he looked around, Squib counted six others aside from Eva and himself. All young, late teens through mid-twenties except for an older woman he didn't recognize in the corner. Her hair was big, messy and blond with dark roots, but he couldn't quite see her face.
They called themselves The Free Radicals. A group of disenfranchised hackers with nothing better to do than cause havoc for network security advisers the world round. They made their name toying with the world’s wealthiest corporations, hacking their intranet systems and financial networks at random, spreading their anarchist message with juvenile fervor. He'd always hated what they stood for, but Eva offered him the job and he'd do just about anything for her. Besides, if the money was right, any job would do.
"You may see some faces around you that you don't recognize," she continued. "I've brought in a few experts-"
"Experts at what?" one of them shouted, "getting old and dying?"
The others started to laugh.
"Shut the fuck up, Mark," Eva interjected. "These two could probably run circles around your ass."
"Who the hell made you the leader this time anyway?" he said from the back of the room.
"What?" Eva said with venom.
"Who made you the fuckin' boss, bitch?"
Squib saw Eva's fists ball up and he stood up to ease the tension.
"Listen, guys, if it's a problem I can just get out of here," he said, "it's no thing.""No," the blond woman in the corner interrupted. "You stay."
She stood up and crossed the room, stopping right in front of Mark and staring him down.
"You," she continued, "take your piece of shit rig and get your ass out of here."
"Whoa, whoa," Mark said, "who the fuck are you, grandma? This is my club."
The rest of the Radicals were starting to get antsy and several of them stood up to take their friend's side.
"You can't kick me out of my own spot, grandma. I think it's you who should--"
"Just do what she says, Mark," Eva scowled.
"Who made you the fuckin'--"
Before the words had even finished passing his teeth, the blond woman cocked her fist back and threw it at Mark's face, sending him toppling onto the floor next to his chair. The room immediately exploded in panic as the other Radical's raced to Mark's side and began shouting at Eva and the woman.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, EVERYBODY!!!" Eva screamed over them. "All of you, sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up or get the fuck out of here. Those are your only options! And to answer your question, Mark, I'm not the god damned boss this time, alright? I'm just the only one with enough fucking responsibility to keep you assholes paying attention long enough to get anything done. This is the boss of this run."
She pointed at the blond woman, who was staring all of them down like a disappointed school teacher.
The room was silent except for the hum of the fans.
"That's right, motherfuckers - meet Stingray."
"Whoa," one of them said in shock.
"No fuckin' way," Mark continued.
"Yes fuckin' way, alright? Now if you'll all just keep your mouths shut for five seconds, we can get this meeting underway."
"Stingray is a chick?" the short, pock-faced Blanks mumbled to himself.
"You surprised by that?" Eva mocked.
"Yea, actually," he laughed, "Judging by your skills I thought chicks were only good for kickin' ass and lookin' pretty."
"Well now that you've been educated, put your ass in a seat and let's do this. I don't have all night."
"Do I still have to leave?" Mark asked sheepishly.
Eva looked at Cece, who gestured for him to take a seat as she slunk back into the corner.
"No hard feelings, right?" he asked Stingray, "I didn't know, you know?"
"No offense taken."
"Cuz, you know, aside from all that, it's cool to finally meet you in person - put a face to the screenname. We did that run together a few months back - the one about the pills, remember?"
Cece tipped her head at him and Mark bowed his to her, then sat back down, holding his jaw in his hand.
"Anybody else want to waste some more time being stupid?"
"Good," Eva continued, "like I was saying - this is Stingray, you should all know who the fuck she is, so I wont waste time explaining. She's got a direct line into our primary target, so I've brought her on, in the flesh, to head up the next run."
Eva walked behind Squib's chair and placed both hands on his shoulders.
"And this old geezer here you might have heard of as well. His name is Squib."
He waved awkwardly at the kids and then quickly took a swig of coffee.
"Never heard of him," Blanks said.
"Me either," a young punk named G.O. agreed as he removed his sunglasses to get a better look.
Squib shoved another donut in his mouth.
"Kids today, right?" she smiled at Squib, patting him on the shoulder. "Well, you don't need to know who he is, you just need to know what he can do and that's just about anything. He's been cracking systems since before you were even a squirt in your daddy's underwear and the fact that you turds have never heard of him means he's even better than I thought he was, so give him some respect."
The mood in the room was still tense. Untrusting. The Radicals looked around the room at each other, but didn't make eye contact with Squib, Eva or Stingray.
"No offense to your guy, Eva - I'm sure he's a real wiz," G.O. interrupted, "but all of us are pretty good at cracking systems...it's not exactly brain surgery...why do we need him?"
"Yea," Squib agreed, "I was wondering the same thing myself."
"You're working as a security consultant for the SFPD, aren't you?" Stingray asked.
"Yea...how'd you know that?"
"I might have mentioned it to her once or twice in passing," Eva winked.
"Well then that's why you're here. Your skills are great and all and we'll be calling upon them frequently, but mainly we need your intel. We need someone on the inside."
"Whoa, whoa, I thought we were going after Gladstone here," Squib frowned. "Nobody said anything about being a mole inside the department. That job is the only thing that keeps my rent paid."
"You worried about getting caught?" one of the Radicals mocked.
"Don't worry, Squibby," Eva said, "if this goes as planned, you wont need that joke of a gig anyway. Would you just listen to what she has to say?"
He sat back in his seat and polished off the last of his drink with a concerned look etched into his wrinkles.
"Alright. I'm listening."
"Well," Cece continued, "Squib here was right about one thing - we are going after Gladstone again."
"Fuckin' sweet," Blanks exclaimed.
"But no more of this little league info leaking bullshit. We've been doing that for years now and it's done fuck-all to the way these guys do business."
"What are you talking about, man?" G.O. said, "Our Gladstone blasts are legendary. Everybody knows about them."
"All of you know about them, yea, and all your little hacker buddies too, probably - you spend your time hunched over in front of a computer all day long. As for the rest of the general public...well, lets just say they're not as enlightened as you fine young gentlemen are. The news barely trickles down to the masses or it gets spun so many damn times before it does that it's like pissing in the wind."
She took to her feet and began pacing across the room as she spoke.
"It's not enough to just catch these guys with their pants down anymore - they're too big and they've got their fingers in too many pots. We've got to take them out. Completely."
"Like, put 'em out of business?" Squib asked.
"Exactly fuckin' right. Put those bastards out of business for good."
"And you've got a plan to do this?" Mark asked nervously from the back of the room.
"I've got half a plan."
"Half a plan?"
"And that's where the rest of you come in. Believe me, I much prefer to work alone and keep my anonymity, but if we really want to do this and be effective, we have no choice but to work together as a team."
"So what's this half a plan then?" Squib said.
"As some of you may know, I have-" Cece paused, seeming to choke on her words, "well, I had a source inside Gladstone. He's dead now. Probably by their hands. Anyway, before he died he came to me in person, for the first time. Now that I think back on it, he probably knew what was coming for him and wanted to get to me first. He gave me this."
She pulled a tiny micro-disc from her jacket pocket and showed it to the room.
"He said if I wanted to make some real progress against them it would get me where I needed to be."
"What's on it?" G.O. asked.
"Passwords, encryption keys, service backdoors, security protocols, port addresses. To what exactly, I don't know, but he wouldn't have risked coming to me in person if it wasn't serious shit."
"So," Eva spoke up from her seat at the side of the room, "if we may finally come to the point - let's talk about dishing out responsibilities. Who do you need to do what, Stingray?"
"This run isn't going to be easy. I've scouted some of the locations on the disc in a quick preliminary run and it's heavy duty. Sub-system after sub-system, tons of redundancies and only one real way though that's heavily secured. We're gonna need at least four or five systems to get through the hole and another to provide a distraction elsewhere to take some eyes off our target. G.O., Blanks and Mark - you'll all be with me trying to simultaneously crack through the target port. Eva will handle the distraction."
"Figures," Mark mumbled under his breath.
"However," she continued, "one of us has to manually access the building's intranet. It's a completely closed network, so our only choice is to have someone there on-site to crack it and set up a relay. That'll be Squib's job."
"Why me?" he asked.
"I was just going to ask the same fuckin' thing," Blanks interjected, "why does he get the cool job?"
"Have you turds looked in the mirror lately?" Eva scoffed.
"Exactly," Cece added, "Squib, being the way he is-"
"You mean fuckin' old?" G.O. joked.
"Yea, being fuckin' old - he don't draw nearly as much attention as one of you would snooping around the building. Besides, we don't know how much Gladstone knows about our little group here - they may very well know what we look like and we don't want to blow this chance. Squib's an outsider, he flies under the radar."
"Fair enough," Squib agreed, "I can do that."
"Great! What about everybody else? You all up to the task?"
"I'm not sayin' I'm not up for it," Mark said, "but just for piece of mind's sake, what exactly are the risks here? I mean, if we were to get caught - not sayin' we will, but if we do - what would happen to us?"
"The long and short of it," Eva said, "is that we'd be royally fucked up the ass with a ten-ton rocket. That the answer you were lookin' for, Marky?"
"That's basically what I gathered."
"Eva's right," Cece agreed, "the Radicals, no thanks to me, are already labeled as a low-level domestic terrorist group-"
"Fuck yea!" Blanks pumped his fist in self-admiration.
"So needless to say, we get caught, we get the same treatment as any other terrorist group."
"Lovely," Mark smirked, "I've always wondered what Pearblossom was like this time of year."
"So what you're saying is - don't fuckin' get caught?" G.O. said.
"Man, you are one sharp knife, G.O., you know that?" Eva laughed.
"When are we doin' this," Squib interrupted, "are we gonna do a test run?"
"That's another factor," Stingray answered, "Gladstone's internal security team refreshes all it's passwords and protocols every week, so this intel will only be legit for another five days. I figure we meet up in a closed realm tomorrow night, go over the finer details in a secure environment, do a test run the day after and then go for the gold the next afternoon - get it done before they get a chance to realize they've had a leak...hopefully."
"Quick turnaround, but works for me," Squib shrugged.
Eva stood up itching to leave.
"I'll send you all the port address before three o'clock tomorrow," she said as she inched her way toward the door. "G.O., can I count on you to secure us a realm and outfit it with all the bells and whistles?"
"Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say, boss," he saluted.
Eva stuck out her tongue and flipped him off right before cutting the light and throwing the room back into darkness.
"You all can stick around and blow each other or whatever the fuck you get up to when I'm not around, but I've got someplace to be," she said to the void. "Squibby, you walk me out, hon?"
"Sure."
He closed his eyes for a moment to adjust to the dark, then stood up and made his way toward the sound of Eva's voice.
"Watch your step, Squibby," one of the Radicals giggled as the door shut closed behind them.
