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Authors: Alexander Nader
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day is starting to show. I wonder if I look that bad. Ann still looks fresh, but her eyes stay closed an extra half-second with every blink.
“What have you guys got for me?” Vince stifles a yawn.
“Kevin Gagnon was a bust,” I say. “I don’t think he could have infiltrated an organization like SHI. He might be okay with a computer and may spill over some hate-speak on the weekends, but I doubt he gets any further than passive racism.”
Vince steeples his hands, chin resting on index fingers. “Did you glean any useful information from the man?”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. Something about sitting in the plush leather seat has reminded my body of just how fucking exhausted it is. The bed I left in Atlanta is a world away, now. “He said he talked regularly on a hero hate forum with two guys. One named LDeL…”
I wait for Vince to make the simple connection. Years on the force has taught me that even bosses like to feel like detectives. So every once in a while, you have to toss them the easy alley-oop.
“Leroy DeLaCruz. You don’t have to lead me, Quig. I’m more than capable of keeping up.”
I’ve been wrong before.
“Did you find anything else?”
Ann clears her throat. “There was a second person Gagnon spoke with frequently. Screen name: CapeH8er69.” The corners of Ann’s mouth draw back in a grimace.
Vince’s jaw drops an inch before tightening into a clench. “His name is what?”
“Cape Hater, ‘hate’ with an ‘eight,’” I draw an imaginary digit in the air much the same as Kevin did earlier tonight, “Sixty-nine.”
“Sixty-nine,” Vince says. The normally-amused Vince is anything but tickled by this.
“Yes, it’s an Internet code word for ‘Never been laid,’” I say.
This prompts a tired smile from Vince. Ann manages a laugh.
“Do you have a real name for Mr. H8er?” Vince is already typing away at a keyboard.
“We couldn’t get one out of Kevin, but I don’t imagine you will have a particularly hard time tracking that one down.”
“I suppose you are right. I assume you two are off to Vegas to check up on River?”
“Precisely,” Ann says.
There’s something about hearing the word ‘precisely’ with an English accent that makes it sound much more precise. I expect it to be in a sentence like, ‘The tea will be served at precisely three P.M.’
“Be careful with River. He’s smart and tricky and will take advantage of his psychic powers if you give him the chance. Ann, I want you by Jim’s side, understood?”
“Yes, Sir.” Ann nods.
“Jim, find out what you can about Gravitess. Meanwhile, I’ll see what I can dig up about our possible terrorist friend in cyberspace.”
“Yes, Sir.” I press a button on the screen, ending the call and folding the monitor back into the tabletop.
I stretch my arms over my head. The movement does little to ease the tension in my muscles, and I don’t even want to think about the ball of unpleasantness forming in the side of my hip. Chasing DeLaCruz back at SHI headquarters was not friendly for my body. At least I got to clothesline his ass, though.
Ann reaches down the side of her chair. A footrest springs up and the seat reclines. “We’ve got about forty minutes until we hit Vegas. I’m going to try to catch some sleep, all right? You should do the same.”
I nod and reach for a handle on the side of my seat. The chair adjusts and I am wrapped in a warm leather half-womb. My eyelids droop, but after ten minutes of counting non-existent flowers on the wall, I decide that sleep is not happening tonight. Of course, it’s not.
Three minutes of fumbling with the chair sets me upright. I open the computer on the desk and click around the screen, hoping to find Solitaire or something good. Instead of something useful, like a game, all I can find is a handful of programs I’ve never heard of. Out of boredom, I click on one called ‘Directory.’
The program opens up to a login screen.
“What have you guys got for me?” Vince stifles a yawn.
“Kevin Gagnon was a bust,” I say. “I don’t think he could have infiltrated an organization like SHI. He might be okay with a computer and may spill over some hate-speak on the weekends, but I doubt he gets any further than passive racism.”
Vince steeples his hands, chin resting on index fingers. “Did you glean any useful information from the man?”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. Something about sitting in the plush leather seat has reminded my body of just how fucking exhausted it is. The bed I left in Atlanta is a world away, now. “He said he talked regularly on a hero hate forum with two guys. One named LDeL…”
I wait for Vince to make the simple connection. Years on the force has taught me that even bosses like to feel like detectives. So every once in a while, you have to toss them the easy alley-oop.
“Leroy DeLaCruz. You don’t have to lead me, Quig. I’m more than capable of keeping up.”
I’ve been wrong before.
“Did you find anything else?”
Ann clears her throat. “There was a second person Gagnon spoke with frequently. Screen name: CapeH8er69.” The corners of Ann’s mouth draw back in a grimace.
Vince’s jaw drops an inch before tightening into a clench. “His name is what?”
“Cape Hater, ‘hate’ with an ‘eight,’” I draw an imaginary digit in the air much the same as Kevin did earlier tonight, “Sixty-nine.”
“Sixty-nine,” Vince says. The normally-amused Vince is anything but tickled by this.
“Yes, it’s an Internet code word for ‘Never been laid,’” I say.
This prompts a tired smile from Vince. Ann manages a laugh.
“Do you have a real name for Mr. H8er?” Vince is already typing away at a keyboard.
“We couldn’t get one out of Kevin, but I don’t imagine you will have a particularly hard time tracking that one down.”
“I suppose you are right. I assume you two are off to Vegas to check up on River?”
“Precisely,” Ann says.
There’s something about hearing the word ‘precisely’ with an English accent that makes it sound much more precise. I expect it to be in a sentence like, ‘The tea will be served at precisely three P.M.’
“Be careful with River. He’s smart and tricky and will take advantage of his psychic powers if you give him the chance. Ann, I want you by Jim’s side, understood?”
“Yes, Sir.” Ann nods.
“Jim, find out what you can about Gravitess. Meanwhile, I’ll see what I can dig up about our possible terrorist friend in cyberspace.”
“Yes, Sir.” I press a button on the screen, ending the call and folding the monitor back into the tabletop.
I stretch my arms over my head. The movement does little to ease the tension in my muscles, and I don’t even want to think about the ball of unpleasantness forming in the side of my hip. Chasing DeLaCruz back at SHI headquarters was not friendly for my body. At least I got to clothesline his ass, though.
Ann reaches down the side of her chair. A footrest springs up and the seat reclines. “We’ve got about forty minutes until we hit Vegas. I’m going to try to catch some sleep, all right? You should do the same.”
I nod and reach for a handle on the side of my seat. The chair adjusts and I am wrapped in a warm leather half-womb. My eyelids droop, but after ten minutes of counting non-existent flowers on the wall, I decide that sleep is not happening tonight. Of course, it’s not.
Three minutes of fumbling with the chair sets me upright. I open the computer on the desk and click around the screen, hoping to find Solitaire or something good. Instead of something useful, like a game, all I can find is a handful of programs I’ve never heard of. Out of boredom, I click on one called ‘Directory.’
The program opens up to a login screen.
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