choice.
Otherwise, Maximillian Eugene Caldwell was a good-looking young man. There wasn’t a single thing wrong with him that a good stylist, a wax job on the old chassis, contacts, and a trip to Old Navy wouldn’t fix.
At twenty-three, Max is the quintessential computer geek...a nerd of the highest order. But a good friend and a reliable contact, so eccentricities are allowed. He’d gone to school with my son and I’d patched up many a skinned knees for both of them as well as baked more than my share of chocolate chip cookies. Believe it or not, despite my lack of actual skill in the kitchen I’d never had the first complaint when it came to my baked goods. No one ever had to know that my secret ingredient was the package . Betty Crocker had it going on. Why mess with perfection?
Max shoved his glasses up his nose and pinched his lips together as he searched another database for a match. Needless to say, after more than two hours, my hopes were waning. The metal folding chair he’d scrounged up for me provided hard evidence that the young man rarely had visitors in this dungeon of a workspace. I might not have noticed the lack of amenities if he’d gotten a single hit with the photo. But, as it was, I’d had nothing else to do except scrutinize my surroundings.
Damn. Not one hit. Either the guy wasn’t in any system or his face had changed sufficiently that there weren’t enough value points for a decent match.
My favorite computer guru pecked Enter again and leaned back in his slightly more comfortable upholstered desk chair. He exhaled a mighty breath of spearmint-scented frustration and waited for a report. The kid still liked chewing gum. Which was good since, in view of the number of empty pizza and Thai take-out boxes lying around and the grossly cankered coffee carafe, keeping fresh breath couldn’t be easy.
I resisted the urge to shift around in my seat in hopes of regaining some feeling in my ass. He was doing me a favor and I greatly appreciated the effort. The last thing I wanted to do was give the impression that I was restless or impatient.
When the screen stopped flashing once more it showed that the search had again come up with zero matches. Max grunted. “I can’t find him based on this photo,” he said, admitting defeat after dozens and dozens of searches on every database that allowed him access and a few that didn’t.
Max had learned a number of backdoors into other agency’s systems after two years on the job. But those secrets, he surreptitiously pointed out, he saved for special situations, like now. Max was the smartest guy I knew. He’d finished high school two years early, completed college and graduate school in less than four and even then he’d proclaimed boredom with the academic process. The city of Houston snatched him up before anyone else could.
“It was worth a try,” I said in all sincerity. “At least I know he doesn’t have a criminal record.”
Max scrubbed at his chin, his hands far too soft looking and his nails too clean for a straight guy. Maybe I should invite him on a picnic, try to fix him up with some nice girl. I figured the only sex he was having was with Rosie Palm and her five merry sisters. The one picture anywhere around his desk was of his mother. Not a good sign. I knew his mother. Talk about over protective. She’d scarcely let him out of the house as a kid. Thankfully he and Steven had buddied up. Since neither had any interest in sports, a cardinal sin in Texas, or band, a similar but lower level infraction, the two had been considered social outcasts in most school circles. But they had each other.
“Just because I can’t find the case number doesn’t mean it’s not valid,” Max said, wading into my retro ruminations. I’d been doing a lot of that today, traipsing around in the past...recalling things I hadn’t
Otherwise, Maximillian Eugene Caldwell was a good-looking young man. There wasn’t a single thing wrong with him that a good stylist, a wax job on the old chassis, contacts, and a trip to Old Navy wouldn’t fix.
At twenty-three, Max is the quintessential computer geek...a nerd of the highest order. But a good friend and a reliable contact, so eccentricities are allowed. He’d gone to school with my son and I’d patched up many a skinned knees for both of them as well as baked more than my share of chocolate chip cookies. Believe it or not, despite my lack of actual skill in the kitchen I’d never had the first complaint when it came to my baked goods. No one ever had to know that my secret ingredient was the package . Betty Crocker had it going on. Why mess with perfection?
Max shoved his glasses up his nose and pinched his lips together as he searched another database for a match. Needless to say, after more than two hours, my hopes were waning. The metal folding chair he’d scrounged up for me provided hard evidence that the young man rarely had visitors in this dungeon of a workspace. I might not have noticed the lack of amenities if he’d gotten a single hit with the photo. But, as it was, I’d had nothing else to do except scrutinize my surroundings.
Damn. Not one hit. Either the guy wasn’t in any system or his face had changed sufficiently that there weren’t enough value points for a decent match.
My favorite computer guru pecked Enter again and leaned back in his slightly more comfortable upholstered desk chair. He exhaled a mighty breath of spearmint-scented frustration and waited for a report. The kid still liked chewing gum. Which was good since, in view of the number of empty pizza and Thai take-out boxes lying around and the grossly cankered coffee carafe, keeping fresh breath couldn’t be easy.
I resisted the urge to shift around in my seat in hopes of regaining some feeling in my ass. He was doing me a favor and I greatly appreciated the effort. The last thing I wanted to do was give the impression that I was restless or impatient.
When the screen stopped flashing once more it showed that the search had again come up with zero matches. Max grunted. “I can’t find him based on this photo,” he said, admitting defeat after dozens and dozens of searches on every database that allowed him access and a few that didn’t.
Max had learned a number of backdoors into other agency’s systems after two years on the job. But those secrets, he surreptitiously pointed out, he saved for special situations, like now. Max was the smartest guy I knew. He’d finished high school two years early, completed college and graduate school in less than four and even then he’d proclaimed boredom with the academic process. The city of Houston snatched him up before anyone else could.
“It was worth a try,” I said in all sincerity. “At least I know he doesn’t have a criminal record.”
Max scrubbed at his chin, his hands far too soft looking and his nails too clean for a straight guy. Maybe I should invite him on a picnic, try to fix him up with some nice girl. I figured the only sex he was having was with Rosie Palm and her five merry sisters. The one picture anywhere around his desk was of his mother. Not a good sign. I knew his mother. Talk about over protective. She’d scarcely let him out of the house as a kid. Thankfully he and Steven had buddied up. Since neither had any interest in sports, a cardinal sin in Texas, or band, a similar but lower level infraction, the two had been considered social outcasts in most school circles. But they had each other.
“Just because I can’t find the case number doesn’t mean it’s not valid,” Max said, wading into my retro ruminations. I’d been doing a lot of that today, traipsing around in the past...recalling things I hadn’t
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