Chapter 46 The Scrotum Was Fair Game #2
“Of course we get file-takedown requests, people asking us to block IP addresses, all that. And of course we take every reasonable measure, dialogue internally, roll takedown requests through legal, comply with court orders.” A conspiratorial flicker came across DeGrado’s face, a bid for comradery.
“But—off the record now—it’s not like we can investigate every time some holy roller files a complaint.
There are so many fake requests. I’m sure you can imagine.
Some activist gets a wild hair, boom-boom-boom, they just file a bunch.
We can’t be expected to take down work product every time someone’s got bunched panties or we’d spend all our time and manpower investigating instead of, you know, doing our job.
And we have mouths to feed, right?” A wink.
“And to fill. I mean, we create so much revenue for people. Not just the subscriptions, but ad revenue, too, helping grow small businesses. Propecia, dildos, sports cars, power drinks, concert tickets, steaks, hair-growth pills, whatever. Our vendors get a piece of all that. We make them stakeholders. It’s very democratic. ”
Evan thought of the money flowing into the VenSend accounts of Anca’s rapists, paid to them because they had raped her.
“Injustice” wasn’t a strong enough word. It was grotesque. Commercialized monstrosity.
“Plus?” DeGrado loved to talk. And Evan was happy to let him.
“Confidentiality is huge for us. A lotta places haveta sink millions into cybersecurity protection against getting hacked, all that. But for us, the numero uno issue is the privacy of our clients. So we can’t just open up the kimono anytime someone claims to have a legal issue. ”
“So you don’t think any of the claims are legit? Not one?”
DeGrado’s mouth twitched. He let his sneakers pull off the desk and tug him forward. Behind him, the pink neon #PROUDSLUT sign gave off a faint buzzing. “Not sure I like this line of questioning, brother.”
His hand wandered over to the phone on his desk and surreptitiously touched a button, though “surreptitiously” for DeGrado was anything but.
“Like I said, Frankie’s getting here soon.
I have some prep to do for the meeting. So: Thank you for your time.
And again, let me know if you want me to get you some photos. ”
“Pretty simple question, isn’t it?” Evan said. “Brother.”
DeGrado blinked a few times rapidly. “I don’t like your tone, man. I don’t like the tenor of this interview.”
“I thought you’re pro giving people what they secretly want. This is what I want. An answer.”
The door opened briskly and the security guard bulled through into the office, a weighty thunk reverberating as the room resealed itself. He stood awkwardly, arms crossed. He looked like he had a great affinity for squats. “Everything copacetic, Mr. DeGrado?”
Evan was pleased they were finally dispensing with first-name chumminess and the we’re-all-a-big-family charade.
DeGrado stood up, hands on hips, standing at the edge of the dais elevating his desk. Now that the guard was here, he was safe to strike an alpha pose, though it was undercut by the kilt and the floral blouse. “No, it’s not. Get this piece of shit outta here.”
From the brass-studded armchair, Evan looked calmly at the guard. “If you touch me, I will hurt you. Badly.”
The guard didn’t quite sneer, but his upper lip peeled back a bit. Evan was generally underestimated, perhaps his greatest advantage.
The guard unholstered the Taser. “C’mon, buddy, let’s not make a scene.”
Evan watched him grow tense, amp himself up.
Two thundering steps shuddered the carpet, and the guard grabbed for Evan’s shoulder, aiming with the Taser with the other hand.
Popping up from the chair, Evan took the wrist, twisted the arm, stripped the Taser, and neatly reversed the joint.
The guard sat heavily on the carpet, stared down at his arm flopping unnaturally at the elbow hinge, and vomited into his lap. DeGrado let out a squeal and darted past Evan.
Evan tripped him. He would have liked to call it a double ankle sweep, but it was just an old-fashioned schoolyard trip.
The guard hadn’t spoken, hadn’t made a noise. A cord of drool dangled off his chin. He was still studying his arm, the way it doubled back across his lap.
DeGrado lay sprawled on his back next to the guard, kilt askew, hands lifted defensively. “Look, man, we have serious fucking legal firepower. And I know who you are.”
Evan tapped the Taser against the outside of his thigh, aiming it down at the floor. The tungsten darts had considerable girth and barbed tips. “No,” he said, “you don’t.”
He enjoyed watching the terror work its way across DeGrado’s face. Considered walking out and leaving him in his fear and the puddle of puke.
Then he thought of the scarlet speckling the mattress in that subterranean Harlem apartment, lurched the stun gun north, and tased him in the scrotum.
The pitch and duration of the scream made Evan grateful for the soundproofed door. He waited patiently for the pause of an inhalation, then dropped the Taser and walked out.
Retracing his route through the corridor, he scattered the remaining flash drives in various offices and conference rooms, sliding them unseen through open doorways or leaving them atop empty desks.
When he reached the lobby, Gracie the receptionist hopped to her feet, and he tensed, expecting an altercation. But she’d risen to greet someone coming through the door. “How was your flight, Frankie?”
“Long.” The slender woman tore off an enormous pair of tortoise sunglasses, revealing a face smoothed with injections and makeup.
The skin at her neck and her hands betrayed her age, late sixties or early seventies.
She wore a sleek designer pantsuit, pinstriped gray, and shiny black crocodile-embossed boots.
Short hair expensively cut, spiky bangs teased artfully across her forehead.
Evan stared at RedLite’s CEO.
She stared back at him.
He said, “Really?”
She nodded, seeming to get it. “Really,” she said, with something like pride.
He shook his head and brushed by her on the way out.
He hadn’t even cleared the lobby when Joey called.
He picked up. “Go.”
“I’m already in,” she said.
All it took was for one curious worker to spot a stray flash drive and plug it into a computer on the internal network to check what it held.
“The worm is roaring through the databases, nullifying their bytes. First thing it rooted out and zeroed was any stored video of Anca. Now it’s making its way through the rest of the data warehouse. It’s gonna take them days just to comprehend how fucked they are.”
It would probably take DeGrado as long to extract the probes from his nutsack.
“How about running down Anca’s attackers?”
“Biometrics are tricky given the ski masks—”
“Every hour we wait could mean another Anca. Figure something out.”
“Okay, okay. I am.”
Climbing in his truck, he said, “Good,” and hung up.
Driving for home, he thought about the vow he’d made to use nonlethal force, to ensure that the punishment fit the trespass.
He pictured DeGrado rolling on his office rug, darts sunk deep beneath his designer kilt.
Those sad-sack eyes had betrayed him, his hollowed-out core, the little-boy impotence hiding beneath the strained coolness.
Then there was that facial tic, the not-quite-extinguished lisp, the desperation to keep one step ahead of the other bullies.
Evan caught himself.
Nah, he decided.
In light of DeGrado’s choices? The scrotum was fair game.