Forty-One
The choice of a favorite coffee shop may not be one of life’s most significant decisions. Still, it should not be taken lightly. Whether you go for the Old World ambiance of a Caffe Vittoria, the subterranean coolness of Wired Puppy, or the Boylston Street bustle of the Thinking Cup, you’re choosing a place that becomes both your refuge and your office, your kitchen and your den. It’s a place to meet friends, read a book, cruise the Internet, and, sometimes, drink some coffee.
I admired Mel’s choice of 7 Pond Coffee Bar as her coffee shop. Like Caffe Vittoria, it sported big glass windows that made you part of the street scene while letting you watch it from climate-conditioned comfort. While Caffe Vittoria looked out onto the tight, bustling confines of Hanover Street, Mel’s seat in 7 Pond let her look out upon the quiet residential foot traffic associated with two stately triple-deckers, plus a glimpse of the action on Centre Street. Nicely done!
I got myself a double espresso and made myself comfortable on the stool Mel had saved for me.
“So, Mr. Doxer,” said Mel, “you have news?”
“News and a bruise.”
“A bruise?”
I pulled up my shirt. “Baseball bat.”
“Who did that?”
“Dorothy Flores, but you know her as NotAGirl.”
“NotAGirl is a girl?”
“Pretty clever.”
“When did she hit you with a baseball bat?”
“Right after I introduced myself at her front door.”
Mel gave me a twisted frown and drank some cappuccino, the heart shape in the foam getting distorted by her lips. “You introduced yourself at her front door?”
“Yup.”
“Why didn’t you call me first?”
“The idea was that I’d threaten to contact you if she didn’t talk to me.”
“You could have done that after talking to me.”
“Not with a straight face.”
“So she beat you with a bat, and now you’re talking to me.”
“I think I would have gotten beaten even if I had talked to you first. She was terrified. I think they really believe what they’re writing.”
“Who?”
“The PwnSec trio. There’s Dorothy, then Russell Nguyen who goes by the name Eliza, and Earl Clary, who is Tron.”
“Good work.”
“I’m not sure how this helps us find the senator’s video.”
We drank our coffee and looked out upon the quiet pedestrian traffic. Mel started to say something, stopped, started again, stopped.
“Sox won,” I said, trying to break the ice. “We’re nine and three.”
“Is that good?”
“Pennant fever grips Hub.”
“Huh.” Mel was miles away.
“You might as well tell me.”
“I’m not supposed to.”
“I’ll find out anyway. I’m Master Doxer, remember.”
“Mr. Doxer, not Master Doxer.”
“I can’t be both?”
“We’ve found something on Peter’s computer.”
“The senator’s video?”
“No. A selfie of a topless Asian girl with a shoe on her head.”
“Why is that important? Peter was twenty-two years old. That computer must have been choked with porn.”
“Less than you’d think. This was the only picture.”
“What was special about it? Other than it was evidence of a life hack.”
“Yeah, I got that. Peter must have been tormenting the girl and forced her to take the shoe-on-her-head picture to get him to back off.”
“A classic hacker move. Was there anything special about it?”
“Two things. First, it was not in our database of porn. That means it was a one-off, a picture someone took themselves.”
“That makes sense. Selfies wouldn’t be in the database.”
“And it contained the malware.”
“The zombie malware?”
“Right.”
My espresso was empty. I got up from our nook and bought another. Looked back at Mel, who was sitting on her stool and scrolling through her phone, looking concerned. She was objectively a pretty girl who knew how to wear a pair of jeans. I pushed down thoughts of dating a twentysomething, then realized that E was probably a twentysomething. It didn’t matter, anyway. Mel and I were working together. No sense complicating that.
I climbed back onto the stool next to Mel. My phone rang. It was E.
“Have you seen Anonops?” she asked.
“No.”
“They’re planning something at your house.”
Mel interrupted. “Have you seen this?” she asked, pointing at her phone.
“Who’s there?” asked E.
“Just a friend.”
Mel gave me a look that said just a friend? Where did that come from? She’s not just a friend?
I said into the phone, “Thanks for the heads-up. I see it now.”
“Be careful,” said E.
“I will.” Ended the call.
Mel said, “Is she also just a friend?”
“We only met yesterday.”
“And?”
A gentleman never tells.
“She says something’s up with Anonymous.”
“Something is up with Anonymous. They’re staging a big protest in Boston today.”
“Let me guess. Going to the Federal Reserve to protest their student loans?”
“Those student loans are no joke.”
“Okay, fine.”
“I’m up to my butt in student loans.”
I resisted the urge to look at Mel’s butt. Resisted the urge to make a smart comment about student loans. Apparently one gets wily in his thirties, and becomes the master of tact.
“So what are they protesting?”
“They say they have a hundred people.”
“A hundred people protesting what?”
“You.”