54. High Noon
high noon
Mirren
The thought of stewing on all these details while trapped in a hotel room would be my undoing.
Shit, sitting still isn’t my thing as it is, but a gross motel, with Mom in an adjoining room, jonesing for a fix, and me trying to keep my patience while also keeping my cover is hell.
It’s trial by quilted, polyester bedspread which is worse than trial by fire.
Breakfast consists of leftover meat and sides from last night. I’ve almost got the last forkful of some kind of devilishly good creamed corn to my lips when my computer dings.
Showtime!
Hello15.72.9
You on the ground?
Yeah.
Fighter2389
Here. Ready to start trouble.
SallyIsAMenace
Here and can’t wait to live up to my name. When and where?
Interesting. I had assumed Fighter was the leader. It seems Hello is the one pulling the strings.
My phone buzzes as I start my reply.
Young
We’re tracking the IPs. Will revert.
Focusing back on Janis’s persona, I channel my inner ingrate.
Yeah. Let’s get this shit done.
Fighter2389
Exactly.
SallyIsAMenace
I didn’t come all this way to see 6th Street.
Do I strike you guys as a cowboy boots and a sash kind of person?
I could’ve passed you last night and not even known it.
Fighter2389
I’m not here for girl chat.
SallyIsAMenace
Don’t start with me, Aaron.
Fighter2389
Fuck you, Sally.
Well this is degenerating quickly. Sure hope Young and the team are getting these names and more with their deep-dive. The more I think of it, the more I should’ve looped Nate in. I know he pushes too much. He prefers chaos to order, but at least someone on the inside would have this data too.
I trust Young. I trust Exton Ranger, but it sure would be nice to have that inside track too. Too late now. Why is hindsight always 20/20?
Enough of this. We have work to do.
Hello15.72.9
Enough! I’m not here to chaperone and if either of you keeps this up, I’ll cut you both out. I don’t want to go in with @JustJanis but if I have to, I will. Understood?
Whew. At least I know who’s at the helm. Add watching my back and keeping my eyes on Sally and Aaron to the mix. Great. An already sketchy situation is getting more and more volatile, and we haven’t even begun.
My phone vibrates with an incoming text.
Young
Aaron Fitzgibbons. Arrested multiple times for arson, insurrection, illegal protests. Nothing sticks. Heavy fines. Overnights in local lockups. Doesn’t seem to care. Considers himself a social protester and a justice warrior but doesn’t seem to line up the rest of his life with his public values.
If I had to guess, he’s in this for the thrill of it, not because he actually cares. I’m more worried about that than anything. No guts. No convictions. He seems to like the troublemaking portion of this more than anything. Watch your back with that one.
Sally has zero internet presence. Lone IP. No face, no address, no credit history. No anything. That takes a hell of a lot of computer smarts which means she’s not some dummy picking a fight. Can you keep her talking?
Returning to my computer, I begin typing.
I’m rarely the voice of reason but we all have a job to do. This is important work. And two of us won’t be as strong as four. Can we manage to make this work for today or however long it takes and then go our separate ways?
Hello15.72.9
This! If we do it right, it’ll only take a day. Then it’s time to plot taking down the U.S. grid.
The whole point is to make this happen. Get them to take us seriously. Can we set aside whatever this is—and keep our rage focused in the appropriate places? We’re on the same team.
Yeah. I doubt that. And being less blasé and more rah-rah team isn’t Janis’s vibe.
I mean. Whatever. But let’s just deal until we go home.
SallyIsAMenace
Where’s home?
My phone buzzes.
Young
It’s a trap.
No shit. Have any good ideas?
The truth.
Back on my laptop, I respond, but with my cover, not the truth.
New Mexico. Home of green chili. Now, @Hello15.72.9, what are we doing?
Fighter2389
What?
Good Lord, these people!
The rest of the morning is similar. The conversation hangs on tenterhooks, and Hello and I tiptoe between Sally and Aaron’s pissing contest.
Young finds nothing more on Sally, but he does manage to scrape together a profile on our “leader.”
Hello15.72.9—or Ricky Germaine—sounds an awful lot like most school shooters since Columbine. Narcissistic, paranoid, with childhood trauma, socially isolated, not quite fitting in. Revenge seekers, punishers, a fascination with things going bad and people hurting. Basically, a sociopath.
Fighter’s here for the fun.
Hello is here to dole out pain.
And Sally is straight-up unknown.
I can’t imagine a worse predicament to find myself in, that I put myself in. And my backup is unofficial, off the radar, with wildcard tendencies… at least two out of the three.
Speaking of wildcards, Mom pops over during the morning clusterfuck and gets read in on everything. I give her Young’s number, just in case, and start a group message with both on the off chance I need them.
By sundown, I’m claustrophobic from being in this dingy, polyester-coated motel room. I’ve eaten anything that can be delivered via mobile app. I need a workout in the worst way. I pull a ball cap low over my eyes and lace up my running shoes.
“Hey,” I say while tapping the door frame between our joined rooms. “I’m going for a run. I won’t be long. I can’t sit anymore.”
“I’m surprised you lasted this long,” Mom says from between her legs. Her downward dog is impressive, and the muscles in her shoulders are proof. “Be smart.”
“Always.” Sliding my keycard into my sports bra and tucking my phone into my shorts, I leave the hotel.
It takes no time at all to warm up, despite the chill in the December air and the darkening night sky.
This isn’t the smartest time, and I wish I knew the area better, but leaving in the middle of the day couldn’t happen with all the plans being made.
Ricky got chatty. Hell, everyone got chatty, and me bailing would’ve undermined the whole reason I’m here.
If I’m going to leave my family, risk my life, and spend time away from home, it’s because my conscience demands it, not because I need the thrill of it.
Thrill burned out of me in the sandbox. I’m just fine with an unthrilling life.
Except maybe in the bedroom. Strider manages to make that exhilarating. Thank God.
We’re on the hook and on the clock tomorrow. High noon. Fighter thinks it’s poetic. None of the rest of us argued.
I need all the time I can get. One, for research. Everything I can know going in will help me come out alive. And two, if my brain will allow it, sleep for recovery.
Strider
Is that Kevin?
Why is she using Kevin?
Just say no to Kevin.
It’s not her vibrator, it’s a random vibration pattern on my phone. Someone’s calling.
I swipe at my eyes hoping that wipes the sleep from my voice and answer, unable to see the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Strider. It’s June. Listen up.”
That’s more effective than espresso or a cold shower at waking me with a jolt. “Yeah.” My eloquence is astounding.
“Grab a flight to Austin now. I’ll text more as I know it. Something’s off. I can feel it in my gut. I want you here in case Mirren needs you.”
That panic is the feeling of acid cauterizing through my veins with lethal accuracy.
She has you and Fitzgerald. Why would she need me? Never mind. “I’ll be there as fast as I can. What do I need to know?”
My worst fears are coming to fruition. I throw my glasses on and hurriedly toss on clothes. I slide the dentist’s toothbrush from my first night here and a little travel toothpaste into my pocket and grab my wallet and keys.
She talks quickly, every word worse than the last.
I’m out the door and heading to the one person I know I can trust with this when I hear the words that chill me to the bone. “This is a trap.”