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electronic.”
    â€œSo has mine. Do you think if you are totally electronic you can escape your identity?”
    â€œCharlie, there’s always the IRS, and the city and county and state governments have to keep track of you for tax purposes.”
    â€œThe IRS has gone electronic for filing and billing simple tax statements. If you could get access to their computers, which are rumored to be medieval anyway, you might disappear yourself.”
    â€œBut what about your Social Security number? Have you noticed how we keep changing sides in this argument? You scare me.”
    They looked at Betty’s mail. Three mail-order catalogs for sensible shoes, Stylish, but with big toe boxes and slender heels, for the mature, stylish woman. One birdwatcher’s newsletter. A glossy quarterly report from Sara Lee. Three glossy brochures spouting the advantages of Celerium, the antiaging pill. How to live longer and enjoy it. The miracle cure for cataracts and senility. Orgasm for those over eighty!
    â€œMaggie, these are all addressed to her, at least. We all worry about our personal business, buying habits, finances, and health problems becoming public knowledge to whoever buys the right mailing list.”
    â€œVibrators? Porno videos?”
    â€œLook—here’s a come-on from two brokerage firms. They know she’s got Sara Lee, and she probably has other investrnents. They know her age, probably that she’s widowed, may even know what she has in her checking account. Here’s something from her bank, looks like. It’s all addressed here, and to her. She’s targeted. Ah, here’s AARP. See what I’m saying?”
    â€œI don’t want to.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œThey make dress shoes with big toe boxes and narrow heels? How come I can never find any? And if I order a catalog like this, they’ll give the AARP my name and address and the people who want me to have orgasms after I’m eighty.”
    â€œMaggie, the important thing is, almost everything is known about Betty Beesom. Almost nothing about Jeremy Fiedler. He didn’t seem like the hacker type, but if the Long Beach PD can hire some hackers, he sure could.”
    â€œTo get himself erased from all electronic records. But there are still paper records on him somewhere—backup copies of computer disks and CDs.”
    â€œCould be hard to find. Software changes, and companies don’t back up the dated versions long anymore.”
    â€œYeah. Look, they’ve even got pumps like mine—but with a wide toe box and a narrow heel.”
    Outside, the gate grated open and Betty’s Olds 88 roared in. They looked across the table at each other, sharing a familiar thought. The old lady drove only to church, the supermarket, doctor, dentist, and beauty shop. To the homes of a few close friends, and even fewer restaurants. She did much of her shopping by mail. But it was only a matter of time before she and that juggernaut hit something. Charlie and Maggie dreaded the day Mrs. Beesom could no longer drive. Particularly now that Jeremy was gone.
    Maggie took Betty’s mail over to her and Charlie forgot and answered her phone. It was Ed Esterhazie. Officer Mason of the LBPD had been for a visit. Ed was on his way over.
    The Esterhazie mansion wasn’t that far away, but Charlie was still surprised at how soon the doorbell rang. She opened the front door and then the security grate to the president of Esterhazie Concrete just in time to surprise two young things laying wrapped flowers up against the front gate of the compound. When she called to them, they turned and ran.
    â€œWait.” Charlie ran after them, leaving poor Ed to hold the grate open. When she returned moments later, one of the floral offerings exploded, and just the percussion knocked Charlie to the sidewalk. Seconds later another explosion sent pieces of the iron driveway gate flying. One twisted