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Something was happening at the motel, and it had all of the staff on edge. Room one seventeen, where the shooting had occurred a few weeks before, had been completely renovated. However, Eddie Ravenwood, the motel owner, had given strict orders that under no circumstances was the room to be rented out. Eddie had started wearing more businesslike attire, and he had been seen walking people in business suits around the property a number of times. He and his visitors also spent considerable time in room one seventeen, but so far, he had offered no explanation to his staff. Word amongst the employees was that he would soon be putting the motel up for sale, but so far it was only rumor and speculation. Craig was finishing up a check out when he heard someone walk up behind him. It was his boss, who had a serious look on his face.
"Craig? Would you mind coming into my office for a few minutes? I need to talk to you about something."
Craig's chest tightened. No doubt whatever Eddie had to say wouldn't be good. He gave the other desk clerk a quick glance.
"Don't worry," said Eddie. "Rick can take care of things while we talk."
As they stepped into the office, Eddie closed the door and pointed to the chair in front of his desk.
"So, Craig, I understand you're also a writer," he said as he took his seat.
"Yes sir, I am." Craig's breaths grew shorter as he squirmed in his chair.
"And I understand you've been working on an article for a magazine."
"Yes, sir, I have. I'm currently working on a series of articles for a national publication, but I've signed a nondisclosure agreement, so I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to mention the name or discuss any of the other details."
"I understand, and I didn't bring you in here to talk about your other job. My concern is this motel, and I take it you've been working here as a second job."
Craig cleared his throat. "Yes, I have. Unfortunately, in this day and age, it can be difficult for freelance journalists to support themselves entirely on their writing, and—"
"It's okay. You don't need to explain. So, after the shooting we had here a few weeks ago, I realized I needed to make some serious decisions about the future of this property. Did I want to continue being a slumlord, have more drugs and shootings, and risk being shut down by the city? Or did I want to turn the place into a more upscale, family-friendly hotel, and make it a business I'd be proud to pass on to my two daughters someday? Over the past few years the city has been doing a lot downtown revitalization, and we're only minutes away from the heart of it."
Craig felt his body relax. Perhaps he wasn't going to be fired after all.
"Therefore," said Eddie, "after much thought, I've decided to redo the place from top to bottom, and I've been busy getting the project financed. As soon as the funds become available, we'll begin the redoing with the front office." He clicked on his mouse and turned the monitor so Craig could see the architectural renderings.
"We'll remain open for business during the renovation. However, we'll be marketing to an entirely different clientele; tourists, families, convention attendees, and businesspeople. So, as of today, we're cracking down on the hookers and the drugs and all of the problems associated with them. I've already spoken to the Tucson police. They'll be increasing their patrol of the area, and this afternoon I'll send a memo the staff instructing them to call nine-one-one immediately if they see any kind of illegal activity happening on the premises. There will be no more looking the other way, and anyone who does will be terminated."
"I understand."
Eddie smiled. "I'm glad you do, because I'm also making some staff changes. You're a good worker, Craig. In fact, you're one of the best I've had in a long time. Would you be interested in becoming a manager?"
Craig sighed. It wasn't what he expected to hear. "Under other circumstances, Eddie, I would have jumped at the opportunity. However, I only came to Tucson to work on the articles I mentioned before. It was never my intention to relocate here permanently. I'm returning to Sacramento next month, and I've already given notice to my landlady. I'm leaving around September fifteenth, and I planned on giving you my notice at the end of the month."
Eddie frowned with disappointment. "I see. So is there any way I can talk you out of it? If your landlady has already found another tenant, I'd be happy to put you up in a room here until you can find another place."
"I'm flattered, sir, I really am, but I'm a journalist, and there are much better opportunities for me in California. A small publishing company in Sacramento has offered me a position, and I've already accepted the job. I start the first of October."
"I see." A disappointed Eddie stood from his desk and extended his hand. "Well, in that case, I'm sorry to lose you, but I wish you the best of luck with your new job. So, how much longer will you be here?"
"Long enough for you to find my replacement," said Craig with a smile.
The two men shook hands, and Craig returned to the front desk. He assured Rick he hadn't been fired but had instead given his notice and would be leaving soon. He smiled to himself as he talked. He had made up the story about the publishing company on the fly, but it sounded convincing, so he repeated it to Rick.
***
CRAIG DRUMMED HIS FINGERS on the steering wheel as he waited for the garage door to open. Once it finally rolled up, he parked his truck and walked out to the curb to check the mail. Inside his mailbox was a small, bubble-wrap envelope. It had a Placerville, California postmark, but no return address. Pressing his fingers along the envelope, he felt a small lump, about the size of a flash drive. His long-awaited package had finally arrived. A sense of euphoria swept over him and he hurried inside the house, rushing down the hall to his computer. He tore into the envelope and reached inside for the flash drive, holding it in his fingers and smiling from ear to ear as he waited for his computer to boot up. He was about to put in the port when he remembered he had two deadlines. The second article for The American Chronicle was due, along with the article for the British travel magazine.
"It's business before pleasure, my pet," he said out loud as he carefully set the drive down on his desk and opened up a Word file. Two hours later the final revisions were complete and both articles had been emailed to their respective publications. He took a short break to grab a cold beer from the refrigerator. Popping the can open, he prepared his invoices. Five minutes later he hit the send button. Both projects were officially complete.
Taking a deep breath, he slid in the flash drive, and took another sip of beer as the icon appeared on his desktop. He clicked on it and a window opened. The words, "click here to start," appeared underneath a skull and crossbones icon. He chuckled as he clicked on the icon and took a few more swallows of beer. Boris still had his twisted sense of humor.
The screen suddenly went black. He heard a static-like sound, and the screen flickered until an animated skull and cross bones appeared. The jaw moved up and down, and through the static he heard a distorted voice, speaking with a Russian accent.
"I told you, Walker, I'm no longer in this line of work, but you just wouldn't listen, so I guess I'll have to explain it to you another way. Your hard drive is now history, and you really should have hung onto your six hundred dollars, because you need a new computer. Hasta la vista, baby!" The skull laughed a wicked, deep-pitched laugh as the screen flickered a few more times before going black and silent.
A stunned Craig stared at the screen, unable to believe what he had just seen. It had to have been some sort of sick, twisted joke. He tapped on the keyboard and clicked on the mouse, but nothing happened. The screen remained black. He tried to manually reboot the computer, but again, nothing happened. His heart sank and he wondered if his many hours of hard work was gone for good. He grabbed his phone and was relieved to find he still had email and Internet access. He immediately launched his Google app, frantically searching for someone who could reformat his hard drive. A big box electronics store was nearby, and it was open every night until nine. He quickly removed the flash drive and carried his computer out to his truck.
Craig felt calmer once he reached the store. There was a short line at the repair desk, but it moved quickly, and he was soon face-to-face with a young repair technician who looked more like a high school cheerleader than a computer geek.
"This is so embarrassing," he said. "I'm a journalist, and someone sent me an anonymous tip on flash drive, only it was some sort of a computer virus. My screen went blank, and I can't get it to reboot."
"Let me see what I can do." She popped in a flash drive and tried rebooting it off the external drive, but it wasn't working. After several attempts, she gave up.
"Let me take it in back and see what we can do. Do you have a few minutes?"
"Of course." Craig tried to cover the anxiety in the voice. "I can't work without my computer. I'm a journalist. It has all my files."
"I understand. Do you have backup?"
He thought it over for a minute, and the realization dawned on him. "Of course. Yes. I backup my files to an external hard drive, which I would have disconnected before I put in the flash drive." He frowned again. "Only problem is, I haven't done a backup in several days. What about all the updates and revisions I've done since then?"
"Let's not go there yet. We may be able to reinstall your operating system, and with any luck your files will still be intact, but you may want to look into getting offsite backup. It sure comes in handy when stuff like this happens."
She pointed to a nearby row of chairs, telling him she would be back soon. He checked the time as he took his seat. Other customers came and went while he remained in his chair. Ten minutes later his technician came back out, saying that someone else was working on his computer. She turned her attention to the next customer in line and Craig returned to his seat. Time slowed to a standstill, so he walked around the store. Fifteen minutes later he returned to the repair desk. His technician was busy with another customer. Seven more minutes would pass. Once her customer finally stepped away, she excused herself, telling Craig she was checking on his computer. Five minutes later she returned, accompanied by another technician who carried his laptop. He had a sober look on his face when he motioned to Craig to come up to the counter.
"So what happened?" asked Craig.
The technician sighed. "I'm told this happened right after you clicked on something off a flash drive, correct?"
"Yes." Craig nodded toward the young female technician. "As I explained to her, I'm a journalist, and someone gave me an anonymous tip for a story I'm working on. I was told the information I needed was on the flash drive."
"I see. Well, I of course have no idea what kind of story you're working on, but somewhere along the line you've must have seriously ticked someone off. That flash drive apparently had a Trojan horse, which has completely obliterated your hard drive. I tried reformatting it, twice, but each time I tested it I found some sort of a glitch I can't get rid of. I've never seen anything like it. These hackers can be pretty devious, and this was obviously the work of a real pro. I could replace your hard drive, but you have an older computer."
"Yes. I've had it for about three years."
"I see, and because of its age, I'd recommend replacing it because the newer hard drives may not be compatible."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"I wish I was. I tried everything I could think of, but I'm afraid there's no easy fix. I'm more than happy to replace the hard drive if that's what you want, but if I have to put in a new processor to make it work, it'll cost you more money, and to be honest, you're better off with a new computer."
"How long would it take to repair? I have a deadline coming up fast."
"I understand, and unfortunately, we're pretty backed up right now. You need to allow at least three to four days for the diagnostic. Once it's ready, you'll know exactly what needs to be done, and how much it'll cost."
Craig clenched his jaw as he seethed in silent anger. He would have to deal with Boris later, but for moment he had to focus on damage control.
"That's way too long. Is there any way that you can put me at the head of the line? As I said, I have a deadline staring me in face, and three days is just too long of a wait."
"I understand. However, we charge extra for emergency services." He picked up a pen and jotted down all the various costs. "This is my best guess so far. As you can see, it all adds up pretty quickly, and, with this being an older computer, it may only last for another year or so. If it were me, I'd replace it. We have some good sales going on right now, so you're bound to find a good deal on something that runs faster and includes a warranty. And if money's a problem, we have financing."
"I take it none of my data can be recovered."
He shook his head. "Unfortunately, it can't. Whatever this was destroyed everything. We can replace the hardware and reinstall the operating system, but unless you have a backup, I'm afraid your data's gone for good."
Craig took a deep breath and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "Well then, I guess that answers my question."
"Sorry I don't have better news for you." He motioned to a nearby sales associate.
"This is Cory. He'll be happy to show you some new computers, and then you can let me know what you decide."
Craig mumbled a thank you, and Cory soon found a similar laptop with a generous mark down. After throwing in a few rebates he was able to close the sale. Craig stopped for a burger on his way home, but by the time he finished setting up his new computer and installing his backup data it had gotten late. He would have to redo his revisions as best he could, but at least the files hadn't been completely lost.
After shutting down the computer he had one last task to complete. He dropped the flash drive on the kitchen countertop and reached into the utility drawer for a hammer. After two swift blows he swept the broken flash drive into the trash.