I can go wherever I want—so there.
I plug the phone into an outlet to charge it and whistle under my breath, not in the least bit of a hurry to skedaddle like a stray dog with my tail between my legs.
There’s one phone call I can make.
It’s not a relative.
God knows they all hate me. Dysfunctional family and all. When your crime is hacking into your cousin’s online business, dumping all her data onto the internet, and enabling your criminal buddies to steal money and technology from Brilliant Brittney, the sweet, smart, favorite cousin who’s the most popular millennial of the family…
Let’s just say no one missed me.
They don’t know and don’t care that I’m being released. There won’t be any welcome home party and not a single invitation to go Christmas shopping, attend a gift exchange, or have a Christmas Eve drink.
I slouch in the hard chair in the waiting area while Guard One and Guard Two sneak sidelong glances at me and smirk every time I catch their gazes.
They think I have nobody.
They’re almost right.
There’s one guy who owes me a favor.
He’s the CEO of what used to be an online photo-sharing site, TrophyShots, which morphed into one of the seediest online hookup sites.
I was involved with a nest of hackers, members of the Scrappers motorcycle gang, and I let the press and the entire world believe I slept with all of them. Most of them were arrested and charged with stealing data and money from Brittney’s company, but because of me, Mitch Slack, the CEO of TrophyShots, was never implicated.
The truth was, the only man I slept with was Mitch, but every time he came to my apartment, he was wearing a different motorcycle vest with patches embroidered with the nicknames of the guys in the hacker club.
Since I still have one of those old flip phones, I don’t need much charge on the battery to make a call. I’m surprised I still have service, but then it belongs to the company I used to work in. It’s probably on some cheap voice plan that no one remembers and grandfathered into whatever reorganized plan they’re still paying for.
I deleted my address book before I was arrested, but I know Mitch’s number by heart.
Thought we had something going, but since he never visited me either, I have to admit I was only being used—for password cracks, honeypots, privileged backdoors, and spyware installation.
That’s all history now. Like the plump Valkyrie says, I haven’t seen or touched a keyboard in three years, and in hacking circles, I might as well be a nun in a medieval cloister still reading old English.
The call goes through, and Mitch picks up on the third ring.
“Who’s this?” he growls.
Funny. He never used to be this rude. But then, a jailbird like me gets no respect or consideration.
“Sammie the Snake. You owe me one.”
“Huh,” Mitch snorts. “Let me guess. You hooked up with a loser, and you want a refund.”
“Many times. You ought to know.” The wiseass in me can’t resist digging one on him. “How come you never visited me? Oh, wait. Don’t answer. Being around a prison makes you sweat, and thanks to me, you’re cool as an iceberg.”
“What do you need?”
“You have a cold or something? Because you sound hoarse.”
“I’m just wondering what I owe you.” His voice is rough, and not at all like the slightly effeminate Silicon Valley intelligentsia tone he used to have.
“Don’t you dare back out on me, Mitch. I spent three years in prison, and I pled guilty to everything. Your nose stayed clean as a whistle.” I pause to catch my breath, pissed off that he’d so swiftly moved on without a whiff of appreciation for my sacrifice.
“And?” He takes on the innocent act.
“And what?” I catch Guard One and Guard Two giving me the “having-trouble” faux-sympathetic look, so I sweeten my voice. “It’s my release day from the correctional facility, and I’d like you to come pick me up on your Harley. I want to ride out of here in a roar and never look back.”
