donut place with a reasonably private public phone.
Do I worry about heading into the evil city in the middle of the night all alone? You bet. But I don’t let fear stop me. You can’t when you’re single. You’d end up living in a box with three deadbolts on the door, eating cat food and waiting to die.
Stay home and the crooks win. They get the night, by default and concession, the night which should rightly belong to all of us.
That doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Keep your head down, walk purposefully, and stay where the lights are. Doesn’t always work, but there you go. It’s not as if the world hasn’t always had its crop of bad types who prey on others.
And oh yes, I have a set of brass knuckles that I always slip on under my gloves, a little insurance just in case. Surprise is one helluvan advantage.
You will, of course, have the good sense to not ask where I got them.
The donut shop has terrible coffee, but such is the price of no one minding your business. Double-double-dreadful in hand, I snagged the booth by the phone, poked the phone card in the slot and dialed. Jeez, forgot my secret decoder ring and everything.
“Hey.”
“I’m looking for Dennis.”
“You got him.”
I could just imagine this guy. He had a slight wheeze, which reminded me of every geek I’d ever known who lived on Doritos and never came out of his cave. Full beard because shaving takes time away from writing code.
Or worse—a soul patch. I shuddered. Next time I go to a computer conference, I’m taking a bucketful of razors and will volunteer to shave those miserable things off. Dennis—if that was his name—probably had skin the color of milk, wicked fast fingers and was dangerously clever.
“I need a credit report. I heard this was the place to call.”
He chuckled. “You live at Donut Paradise in Boston?”
I let scorn drip from my tone. He had call display, just as I had suspected. “Yeah, well, their chocolate crullers aren’t all bad. And I don’t have to go out to get them.”
“What’s your name?”
Fat chance I’d confess to that. You learn a lot about what can be tracked from a phone call in my business—let alone what can be divined from surfing around—and no one was getting me that easily. I love prepaid phone cards, keep a drawer full of them, all bought at different convenience stores and kept for at least six months before use.
I cut to the chase. “You selling or not?”
“Sure, but I want to know what you’ve got to exchange first.” Before I could try to interpret that, he continued. “You know that microbrewery down by the harbor?”
“I know it. Westphalian Lagers.”
“That’s the one. How about a twelve of their wheat beer?”
“Are you nuts?” I was outraged. “This area code is for Utah ! Do you know what it will cost me to ship a twelve pack of beer there? They use glass bottles! They’re PINTS!”
“Overnight,” he added mildly.
I fumed. “That’s unbelievable. That’s extortion!”
“That’s the price.”
“Beer. You want beer . What kind of wacko are you?”
Now, did I really want to know that? Probably not, but the damage was done.
“I like beer.” I could almost hear him shrug. “They don’t ship out of Massachusetts and I need the bottle for my collection.”
I swore and didn’t care what he thought of that. I did a little math and swore again. The overnight charge could make legal ways and means look good. “Six,” I countered, ever hopeful.
“Twelve. Take it or leave it.”
“I could just call the company. Do this legit.”
“Ah, the forms.” I heard his chair squeal as he leaned back to expound on his theme. I rolled my eyes, which fortunately makes no sound. Wouldn’t it be a drag to have the rattly eyeballs of cartoon characters? There’d be no privacy left in the world at all.
And there already isn’t nearly enough.
“Have you seen the forms?” ol’ Dennis asked. “They need to know who you are and why you want to
Do I worry about heading into the evil city in the middle of the night all alone? You bet. But I don’t let fear stop me. You can’t when you’re single. You’d end up living in a box with three deadbolts on the door, eating cat food and waiting to die.
Stay home and the crooks win. They get the night, by default and concession, the night which should rightly belong to all of us.
That doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Keep your head down, walk purposefully, and stay where the lights are. Doesn’t always work, but there you go. It’s not as if the world hasn’t always had its crop of bad types who prey on others.
And oh yes, I have a set of brass knuckles that I always slip on under my gloves, a little insurance just in case. Surprise is one helluvan advantage.
You will, of course, have the good sense to not ask where I got them.
The donut shop has terrible coffee, but such is the price of no one minding your business. Double-double-dreadful in hand, I snagged the booth by the phone, poked the phone card in the slot and dialed. Jeez, forgot my secret decoder ring and everything.
“Hey.”
“I’m looking for Dennis.”
“You got him.”
I could just imagine this guy. He had a slight wheeze, which reminded me of every geek I’d ever known who lived on Doritos and never came out of his cave. Full beard because shaving takes time away from writing code.
Or worse—a soul patch. I shuddered. Next time I go to a computer conference, I’m taking a bucketful of razors and will volunteer to shave those miserable things off. Dennis—if that was his name—probably had skin the color of milk, wicked fast fingers and was dangerously clever.
“I need a credit report. I heard this was the place to call.”
He chuckled. “You live at Donut Paradise in Boston?”
I let scorn drip from my tone. He had call display, just as I had suspected. “Yeah, well, their chocolate crullers aren’t all bad. And I don’t have to go out to get them.”
“What’s your name?”
Fat chance I’d confess to that. You learn a lot about what can be tracked from a phone call in my business—let alone what can be divined from surfing around—and no one was getting me that easily. I love prepaid phone cards, keep a drawer full of them, all bought at different convenience stores and kept for at least six months before use.
I cut to the chase. “You selling or not?”
“Sure, but I want to know what you’ve got to exchange first.” Before I could try to interpret that, he continued. “You know that microbrewery down by the harbor?”
“I know it. Westphalian Lagers.”
“That’s the one. How about a twelve of their wheat beer?”
“Are you nuts?” I was outraged. “This area code is for Utah ! Do you know what it will cost me to ship a twelve pack of beer there? They use glass bottles! They’re PINTS!”
“Overnight,” he added mildly.
I fumed. “That’s unbelievable. That’s extortion!”
“That’s the price.”
“Beer. You want beer . What kind of wacko are you?”
Now, did I really want to know that? Probably not, but the damage was done.
“I like beer.” I could almost hear him shrug. “They don’t ship out of Massachusetts and I need the bottle for my collection.”
I swore and didn’t care what he thought of that. I did a little math and swore again. The overnight charge could make legal ways and means look good. “Six,” I countered, ever hopeful.
“Twelve. Take it or leave it.”
“I could just call the company. Do this legit.”
“Ah, the forms.” I heard his chair squeal as he leaned back to expound on his theme. I rolled my eyes, which fortunately makes no sound. Wouldn’t it be a drag to have the rattly eyeballs of cartoon characters? There’d be no privacy left in the world at all.
And there already isn’t nearly enough.
“Have you seen the forms?” ol’ Dennis asked. “They need to know who you are and why you want to
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