Cold Calls (20 page)

“Me too,” Fatima said. “She's got my books, but she scanned some of it. That's what she's gonna send out.”

“No problem,” he said. “When we're done stealing things, we can just smash her computer. I'm sure the police will understand.”

They both looked at Shelly, who waited until it was quiet before opening her eyes. “Are you finished?”

“You don't think that's enough?”

“He's got a point,” Fatima said.

Shelly nodded. “Everything he said is true. All we have is her name and her address. Assuming we can get out there—and assuming we can find the place—she's probably not going to let us in her house. And if she does, we're probably not going to be able to find your book or get at the computer files. And at nine o'clock, she's probably going to do exactly what she said she's going to do all along—send out emails to everybody we know, telling them the one thing we want to keep secret. And realistically? There's nothing we can do to stop her.”

The silence lasted a full minute, then Fatima leaned in.
“But?”

“But,” Shelly said, “we're gonna try anyway.”

Eric grunted a laugh. “We don't have a choice.”

Shelly turned to a blank page and licked the tip of her pencil. “Okay, so you'll be driving, right?”

“I have a restricted license. I can't drive after dark.”

Shelly looked at him. “So, you're driving, right?”

“Right.”

Fatima scootched her chair closer. “How we getting in the house?”

Shelly smiled. “You ever read
The Odyssey
?”

“I saw the movie.”

“Well, that's how we're getting in.”

“What about my books?”

“I'm more worried about the computer,” Eric said.

“Easy for you to say. They're not your books.”

“If we can get to the computer, maybe we can delete the files. But don't expect me to do it,” Shelly said. “I'm no computer expert.”

Eric leaned back in his chair. “I know a guy,” he said.

“And that means . . . what?”

“It means I know a guy who knows computers, that's all.”

“So do I,” Fatima said. “My cousin. But I'm not telling him anything.”

“This guy,” Eric said. “His name's Ian. He goes to my school. Kind of a loner. And a real freak. He's into all that computer stuff. I could tell him what we need—without giving him any details. He could tell us how to do it.”

“Why would he help us?”

“Money.”

“How much?”

“I don't know.” He shrugged and thought about what he was supposed to have paid for the video work. “A couple hundred bucks, maybe more. You guys will have to chip in too.”

Shelly nodded. “All right. Find out if this is something he can do and what it'll cost—”

“Wait a second,” Fatima said. “What are you gonna ask him to do?”

Eric shrugged. “Wipe out her computer. Crash it. Something like that.”

“No way,” Fatima said, shaking her head. “We just want
our
stuff erased, that's all. Trust me, we don't want to piss off a computer geek.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Eric said. “How's Ian supposed to know what he's looking for? He's gotta take it all down.”

“If this guy's as good as you say he is, he can target specific files. I know
that
much.”

“Why bother? If he wipes it all out, we'll be sure he gets our stuff.”

“No, Fatima's right,” Shelly said. “If we erase our stuff, that's one thing. She'll know it's over and she'll know not to mess with us anymore. But if we go after
her
stuff, that's like we're out for revenge or something.”

“
So what?
She did it to us,” Eric said.

“Check with this friend of yours,” Shelly said, missing the look he was giving them. “See if he can take out
just
our files.”

“And leave the rest of the computer alone,” Fatima said.

Eric shook his head. “Whatever.”

Fatima swiped on her phone. “We've got eight hours and twelve minutes. We won't have time to come up with another plan.”

“Exactly,” Shelly said. “And that's why we have to make sure this one works.”

T
HE HOUSE WAS EMPTY, AND IT WOULD BE AT LEAST A
couple of hours before his mother got home, but Eric moved quickly anyway, taking the stairs two at a time and running down the hall to his parents' bedroom. His iPhone was on the charging pad on top of the dresser, right where he knew it would be. He swiped it on, went to contacts, and scrolled down until he found the name and hit the call button. The phone rang eight times, and Eric was expecting it to go to voicemail when Ian said, “You owe me fifty bucks.”

“I've been suspended. I'm back in school Monday—I can pay you then.”

“Don't make me look for you,” Ian said, then hung up.

Eric hit the call button again, and when he heard the click he said, “I've got another job for you.”

There was a video game playing in the background, and after a burst of machine-gun fire, the sound dropped out. “Another cafeteria video?”

“No, this is different.”

“Good. Because that was lame.”

If it was so lame,
Eric was tempted to ask,
why did it cost me fifty bucks?
Instead he said, “I need some files cleaned out of a computer.”

“Clarify your terms.”

“I need some files erased. Or deleted. Whichever is better.”

“And by ‘better' you mean . . . ?”

“Gone. Permanent. Forever.”

“Obviously it's not your computer. You wouldn't need me to do that.”

“No, it's somebody else's.”

“Do you have it now?”

“No.”

“When will you have it?”

“I won't. It's at her house.”

“
Her
house,” Ian said, a hint of twisted humor in his voice. “Interesting. Will you have access to this computer?”

“What kind of access?”

“Close enough to plug in a flash drive?”

“Maybe. But I doubt it.”

“Which is it, Eric?”

He thought before answering. “No.”

“That's too bad for you,” Ian said. “The flash drive option would have been better. And by ‘better' I mean cheaper.”

Eric swallowed. “Can you still do it?”

“
I
can do it. But it'll take some cooperation on the part of your victim.”

“I can't guarantee that.”

“Neither can I. But I get paid whether she does or she doesn't. Now, when do you need it?”

Eric glanced at the clock and worked backwards. Thirty minutes to pick up the others, say an hour to get there, then ten minutes inside. “Four hours?”

“Cha-ching.”

“Is that a yes?”

Ian made a noise that might have been a laugh. “It's a yes to me adding on a one hundred percent rush fee. That's what you get for procrastinating.”

“How much we talking?”

“Five,” Ian said. “As in hundred.”

“That's way too much.”

“It'd cost more, but you get a return-customer discount.”

“I don't know,” Eric said. “It's a lot of money.”

“Guess what? I don't care. You can take it or leave it. But if you want it, I need to know right now. Much to do on my end.”

Eric drummed his fingers on the top of his parents' dresser, trying one more time to imagine a different option, a different way to get it done. Nothing.

He did the math.

Twelve bucks in his wallet and some cash in his room, maybe sixty bucks total, and another hundred or so on a debit card he could cash out. He could sell his phone fast enough, but that would raise way too many questions, so that left his Xbox games. He had the standard stuff, and nothing so new that it would be worth anything close to the original price. Even if he sold them all, he'd still be short, but with what Shelly and Fatima would kick in, it'd be enough. It had to be.

“Just so I'm clear,” Eric said, “you're telling me you can make some sort of, what, virus?”

“You don't want to know.”

“Okay. But whatever it is, it'll go in and just delete the files I tell you to delete. Right?”

“Right,” Ian said. “All I'll need are the file names.”

“What if I don't know the
exact
names?”

“Do you know when they were saved?”

“Well . . . yeah,” Eric said, then a second later, “but . . .”

“Let me guess. Not the
exact
dates.”

“No, not exactly.”

“How about the month?”

Eric rubbed the top of his head as he remembered the day he had it all and threw it away. “June.”

“Fine. It'll delete everything that was saved starting June first, and anything that came after. Anything saved
before
that will be fine. Simple,” Ian said. “For me anyway.”

“What if it's a picture?”

“I
said
everything.”

Hand on the back of his neck, phone to his ear, Eric paced his parents' bedroom.

It would work.

All their secrets cleaned out.

Erased like the whole thing never happened.

The picture—
that
picture—deleted, just like he had promised April.

It would work.

But it wouldn't be fair.

No payback for the shit she put them through, the way she played them, bullied them, yeah, even terrorized them.

No revenge.

No justice.

Just an end.

That's all Shelly and Fatima wanted, the only thing they needed.

But not him.

“I can hear you breathing, Eric,” Ian said. “What's it gonna be? We gonna do this or what?”

Eric took a sharp, strong breath. “Can you delete it all?”

“Define, please.”

“Can you get rid of everything on the computer? Every file, not just some specific ones. And every picture, too.”

Ian hummed. “Nuked, huh?”

“That's what I want. Everything erased,” Eric said, and after a pause he smiled. “And something added in.”

“Interesting,” Ian said. “Interesting and very doable.”

“Then let's do it.”

“Cash—no IOUs, no bullshit—paid in full before I show you what to do.”

“No problem.”

“And FYI, Eric. You screw me over on this, I unleash it on you.”

“Don't worry, I'll pay.”

“Oh, I know you will,” Ian said. “One way or the other. Now let's talk about how this is going to work. And about this thing you want added in.”

“Y
OU REALIZE IT'S A SCHOOL NIGHT, DON'T YOU?
”

“Mom, I'm suspended,” Fatima said. “I don't go back till Monday. Remember?”

“Please,” her mother said, her hand, white with flour, touching her chest. “Some things I will never forget.”

Fatima watched as her mother scooped balls of cookie dough onto the baking sheet, her sister Alya popping up at her side to swipe a finger along the edge of the bowl.

The clock over the stove read 4:50.

They'd be there any minute to pick her up.

Eric had wanted to come later, around seven, and he'd wanted to pick her up first, since Shelly's house was on the way to Town Line Road. But Fatima made it clear that if they wanted her along, she had to be out of the house before her father got home, and also, when the car pulled up and her mother looked out the front window, the only person she'd better see was Shelly, sitting in the driver's seat.

She had told Eric all of this when he called.

He didn't like it.

She told him she wasn't crazy about it either, but that's the way it had to be.

He told her he wasn't allowed to let anyone else drive his car.

She promised not to tell.

He doubted that Shelly had a license.

She said she was sure Shelly didn't, but that didn't change anything.

Then he sighed and asked her where she lived.

Her mother squeezed in another row of cookie-dough balls. “Did you help your brother with his algebra?”

“I don't need any help,” Haytham said from the table.

“And what about your homework?”

“All done,” Fatima said. It wasn't, but it wouldn't take long, and even if they asked to see it, she knew she could show them something that would pass for a week's worth of assignments. Her mother spent the next five minutes silently pinching and aligning the dollops, sneaking sideways glances at her eldest child. Then she wiped her hands and picked up the baking sheet, motioning for Fatima to come around the counter and open the oven door.

Fatima knew the silence, knew that her mother was trying to make her squirm, looking for any sign of nervousness that would hint at some devious plan. She was nervous and there was a plan, but there was too much riding on it to let it show.

Her mother adjusted the tray twice before standing to check the dials on the oven. “Who is this girl again?”

Fatima smiled. If it was going to be no, her mother wouldn't bother going through it all a second time. “Her name is Morgan,” she said, staying close to the truth. “She's in this drama group after school. She got picked on really bad over the summer, and now she's got, like, no friends.”

“And you have to see her tonight. Why can't you do this on Saturday?”

“Saturday's the car wash at the mosque. We're raising money for the Red Cross. I told you about that weeks ago. Besides, today's her birthday and we thought it would be nice if we dropped by her house to celebrate.”

“Who is ‘we'?”

The first lie was the hardest. “Just Shelly and me.”

“Where does this girl live?”