Only two people on earth knew the real identity of the hacker known as Happy Meal. One was Gulliver Dowd. The other was Happy Meal himself. Happy Meal’s real name was Sha’wan Jones. Most folks just called him Shea, like the old stadium the Mets used to play in. And to most folks, Shea was a twentysomething slacker living in the basement of his mom’s house in Bed-Stuy. But Gulliver Dowd wasn’t most folks. Not only did Gulliver know Happy Meal’s identity. He also knew that the house belonged to Happy Meal, not to his mom.
It was Gulliver who had found Shea out on the street almost eight years earlier. Shea was one of Gulliver’s first runaway cases. His mother couldn’t pay much, but Gulliver was trying to get a rep back then. A good rep was more important than money when you were starting out. As a chubby black fourteen-year-old kid with Asperger’s who didn’t play ball, Shea was bullied, beaten and robbed at school. Gulliver Dowd knew something about that. Yes, he did. With no dad at home and a mom who loved him but worked two jobs, Shea was left to deal with his problems by himself. One day he just ran.
Gulliver had located him in a few days. Shea was already in bad shape. He was eating out of garbage cans on the streets of the Bronx. When Gulliver found him, the first thing Shea asked for was a Happy Meal. Gulliver drove him to a McDonald’s and bought him two. The nickname had stuck. Everything else had changed. Sha’wan Jones had grown into a lanky young man. Handsome too. He hadn’t outgrown the Asperger’s, but he had learned to deal with it and use it. These days Happy Meal’s services were in big demand, and he made a boatload of money. Most of what he did wasn’t exactly legal. He didn’t steal money or plant viruses or malware. He didn’t destroy systems. He was good at peeking in places he wasn’t allowed and figuring things out. He could see things everyone else missed.
When Gulliver went down into the basement, Shea didn’t stand to greet him. He just sort of half smiled at Gulliver and kept pecking at his keyboard. He never took his eyes off the screen.
He did say, “Did you bring it?”
Gulliver laughed. He raised up his right hand to show Shea the bag with the Happy Meal in it.
Shea nodded. He didn’t eat burgers or fries anymore. But this was their ritual. Rituals were important to Shea. And this was the way Gulliver and Shea hugged hello.
“I’ve got a program working on the video you sent me from the building. I’m working on the phone and the computer stuff now. I should have the phone stuff first. Maybe by tomorrow. The computer stuff is more iffy. Depends how much was stored in the cloud.”
“Do the best you can.”
“I always do, Mr. Dowd.” He had never gotten out of the habit of calling Gulliver that.
“I know you do. Any luck locating the phone?”
Shea shook his head. “My guess is that it’s been destroyed. Probably in pieces in the river.”
Gulliver agreed.
“You think someone’s taken her?” Shea asked.
“My gut tells me yes.”
“That’s good enough for me. Have you told the family yet?”
“Not yet,” Gulliver said. “I need something more than my gut for that. These are serious people.”
Shea understood without having to ask.
“How much for the work?” Gulliver asked. “My client can afford it, so don’t hold back.”
Shea shook his head violently. Most of the time he didn’t charge Gulliver.
Gulliver knew better than to argue. “When you have something, anything, let me know.”
“Will do, Mr. Dowd.”
“Anything else, Shea?”
“Did you bring apple juice or milk with my meal?”
“Milk, of course,” Gulliver said.
Shea stopped typing and got a weird look on his face.
Gulliver laughed. “Got ya! I brought you apple juice, like always.”
That was the one thing Shea still enjoyed from the Happy Meal. As soon as he knew it was apple juice, Shea went back to work.