Chapter 3: Ben
I'm not a stare-at-the-ceiling-and-ponder-life kind of guy. I've never needed a ton of sleep and I get restless lying around in bed. There's too much to do. People to help, things to fix, workouts to do. You get the idea. This stupid house bothers me most. A vintage California bungalow sounds so great in theory, but there's a never-ending list of upgrades and replacements to take care of. Like the ripple in the drywall centered straight over my headboard.
For the first time since I can remember, I wake up and don't move. I open my eyes and stare at the poorly crafted ceiling, my mind working. I can't get that bartender Lilah out of my head. Not that I'm trying very hard. Images of her cleaning up broken glass in that short skirt keep creeping back in, sneaky as a fox in a henhouse. She was sexy as fuck, even with pickle juice splashed all over her. Something about the hungry look in her big green eyes is haunting me and won't let up.
Throwing an arm behind my head, I debate the merits of going back to the speakeasy tonight to see if I can get her number. She said, "maybe another time" and technically tonight is another time. It didn't feel like a complete brush-off, either. The way she blurted it out was almost hopeful, even if she looked like she wanted to take it back a second later.
I pick up a book from my nightstand on FBI interrogation tactics, but after a few minutes I toss it away again. All I can think about is Lilah. She's out there somewhere, sleeping in, and I bet she looks like a fucking angel when she sleeps. All that long, dark hair fanned across her pillow, lips parted as she breathes peacefully...
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, interrupting much more exciting thoughts. There are three people in this world who call me. Everyone else has the decency to email or a text. I doubt Jack is up after his night out with the douchebags, so that leaves my mother and my sister. The call ends and the messages start dinging. So that’ll be Ella, on a burner phone most likely. I could make her wait, but she's not known to be patient when someone needs help.
About half of my work consists of legitimate consulting. Call it cyber security testing or white hat hacking. Either way, it boils down to a cushy paycheck for very little effort. Plus, it’s a suitable cover for what I do the rest of the time. The thing that Ella probably needs me to do for someone right now.
The message waiting for me is a cakewalk. I don't mean to brag, but I’m amazing with computers. Okay, I mean to brag a little, but I’ve found the perfect way to put my skills to good use and make a decent living without ever having to set foot in a stuffy office or, perish the thought, work for the government ever again. Most of what I do isn’t exactly legal. If we're being technical, it’s very, very illegal. But illegal doesn’t mean the same thing as unethical. The way I see it, I’m providing a necessary service and making the world a better place.
Look, if there’s one thing I hate, it’s a scumbag who terrorizes innocent people. And if said scumbag has his bank account wiped, his world turned inside out, and all of his dirtiest secrets made public and/or handed over to the police... well, justice has been served, hasn’t it?
I'm not hugely picky on which scumbags I’ll deal with. Pedophiles, stalkers, abusive boyfriends, coaches or teachers that cross the line... you’ve got a dirt bag the cops can’t nail? I’ll fix it. Occasionally, though, being a digital vigilante isn’t enough. Sometimes it’s safer for a woman to disappear and start a fresh life; a necessity that is almost impossible in the digital age.
Unless you have me.
Given enough time, I can hack any system on the planet. I can build a completely legitimate new identity for someone, down to a new social security number and job references. I can even hack facial recognition databases and fix it so that not even those systems will recognize my client. I say client, but I've made it a policy not to charge for that side of my work. For one thing, I don’t need the money. Legitimate corporate consulting makes me more money than I could spend in a lifetime. For another, I can’t have anything leading back to me or my family. I’m not an idiot. Nothing is foolproof, but 99% of the time the money trail is what gets people caught.
I bury myself in my work and within a couple of hours, Katie Dohner, of Colorado Springs is no more. Welcome to the world, Bridget Dixon from Tulsa. L’chaim.
As soon as I wrap up her new digital identification, I send it to my sister. All Bridget Dixon has to do now is order a "replacement license" from the state of Arizona and slide into her shiny new life.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing left inside the house to distract me and my thoughts immediately shift back to last night at the bar. There’s no point in trying to analyze my attraction for Lilah. I want to get to know her better and it’s an impulse I don’t think I’ve ever had before. The pressing need to be close to her is as unfamiliar as it is intense. I’ve never been one for small talk or meeting new people. I only had a few short minutes with her, but I’ve never been that comfortable or relaxed with anyone, and I’m going to chase that feeling.