been forsaken as a child to choose the patron saint of children as his namesake. Again, a study in contradiction.
The man was also a study in deception, one of the primary talents necessary for survival in his field of endeavor. While his coterie of friends might know him as Nicholas, to the rest of the world he was an ephemeral string of aliases and assumed identities. He wove lie after lie after lie and had an amazing ability to keep the entire Web straight. It also made him exceedingly adept at ferreting out other people’s lies. At this moment, though, certainty eluded him. He couldn’t tell if he was being lied to or not.
As he descended from the jet, he reflected on the woman he had come here to see.
For many reasons, most notably his size, Nicholas was a committed recluse. The Internet had been a boon not only to his business but also to his social life. In the digital world, he could be a king—a god among men. There he was judged not by his physical stature but by the power of his mind.
Many of the people he met in those early days of the Internet saw the world in much the same way as he did. They were misfits like him, people who felt more comfortable in front of a keyboard than at a cocktail party.
So enjoyable were the friendships he had struck up there and so strong were the bonds he had formed, that after years of saying no, one day he agreed to meet his digital comrades in person at one of the annual hacking conferences.
It was a long time ago now, and the event had been held at a large hotel in a major American city. It was the most excited Nicholas could remember having been in ages.
He had arrived two days early to help get over his jet lag and didn’t leave his room. He didn’t want anyone to see him, not yet.
Attendees started arriving late Friday afternoon, and his circle of cyberfriends had arranged to meet in the hotel bar before attending the welcome reception.
Nicholas was so concerned about what kind of impression he was going to make that he changed clothes five times before settling on what to wear. Once dressed, he sat on the edge of his bed and waited until it was time to go downstairs.
When the moment finally arrived, he straightened his clothes one last time in the mirror and then turned and left the room. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as the elevator opened and he stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby. Two floors later, the car stopped and a group of young men, who had already been drinking, got on. Judging from their matching attire, they were part of a large contingent staying in the hotel for a highly anticipated college football matchup.
As the elevator descended, there were a handful of snickers, but Nicholas ignored them and faced forward. It was just as the car arrived at the lobby that one of the drunks asked, “Hey buddy, where are you from?” but by then the elevator doors had begun to open and Nicholas could pretend he hadn’t heard the question. Nodding politely once more, he stepped out of the elevator and headed toward the bar, where he found his online friends all waiting for him.
They were a collection of every “hacker” stereotype one could imagine. Some were younger, some were older, and some fell right in the middle. They ran the gamut from obese to dangerously underweight. There was a mix from post-punk-geek-chic with plenty of piercings and hair dye, all the way to a guy with a black cowboy hat and Buddy Holly–style glasses.
He had never shared his photo with the group, so no one knew what to expect until Nicholas showed up. When he arrived at the table, the conversations immediately stopped.
Nicholas’s heart caught in his throat as he introduced himself. For a moment, he was frozen with the notion that he had made the mistake of his life coming to the conference. Then someone broke the ice. “You’re actually a lot taller than I thought you’d be,” said the man in the Buddy Holly glasses. The group laughed and made room for Nicholas to sit down.
They shared stories and bonded over drinks until it was time for the reception.
It was a crowded event in an adjacent ballroom. The group managed to find a table and Nicholas was put in charge while the others broke into teams to get more drinks and bring back food from the buffet.
Despite the impolite stares he inevitably received, Nicholas was having a wonderful evening. As much as he disliked going out in public, there was no substitute for real, human companionship.
When nature finally called, he asked if anyone else at the table needed to visit the facilities. For the moment, everyone else was content to remain at the reception, so he excused himself, slid off his chair, and stepped away.
Buoyed by alcohol and his overwhelmingly good mood, Nicholas paused at the ballroom door, and with an exaggerated bow, stood back to allow an attractive woman with short, dark hair and leather pants to exit before him.
Instead of staring at him, as most people did, the woman smiled genuinely and said, “Thank you.”
How Nicholas could enjoy himself any more was beyond him. The evening was just about perfect. All he needed to do now was find the men’s room.
At the first set of restrooms, there was a line out the ladies’ room door, but he was able to walk right into the men’s room. The only problem was that the urinals were too high, and the lone handicap-accessible stall was taken. He waited as long as he could, but the pressure on his bladder eventually became too great and he set off in search of another washroom.
Close to another cluster of ballrooms, he found one. It was completely empty. At least it was until he finished his business and was exiting the handicap stall.
“Well, look at this,” said one of the drunks who had ridden with him on the elevator. One of his colleagues stood swaying next to him, trying to aim into the urinal.
Nicholas smiled and nodded politely, but as he passed, the man stepped back and blocked his way.
“Where are you going, little buddy?” the man asked.
Nicholas didn’t answer. He had found that if he remained quiet, people often lost interest in him. Engaging them only seemed to act as encouragement.
“I said,
Nicholas attempted to step around him, but the man quickly moved to block his path.
“What’s your problem?” the drunk demanded. “Do you have a bridge to get back under, or something, you rude little fuck?”
“He doesn’t seem to like you much, Stu,” said the other man.
“Why do you suppose that is?”
“Probably afraid you’ll make him turn over his pot of gold.”
“Is that what you are?” slurred the drunk. “A leprechaun?”
Nicholas remained silent and kept a neutral expression. He had no intention of giving these two assholes the satisfaction of knowing they were getting to him.
“Do you have any gold?”
“You can’t fucking ask him, Stu,” said the man at the urinal. “You gotta catch him first.”
The drunk thought about it for a second and then lunged. With his short legs, Nicholas was unable to move out of the way in time.
The man grabbed hold of Nicholas by the shirt and picked him up off the floor. “Now I want my gold,” he said, shaking him. “Give me my gold, you little fucker.”
“Put him the fuck down, Stu,” said the man at the urinal.
“Shut up,” said the drunk, turning his attention back to Nicholas. “You’d better have some gold for me, you little shit. Cough it up.”
Having been set upon before, Nicholas always traveled with an ace up his sleeve. This time the ace was a razor, but it wasn’t up his sleeve, it was behind his belt, and the way the man was holding him, he could move neither of his arms far enough to grab it. There was only one thing he could think to do.
Moving his mouth, he began to mumble, and the ruse created exactly the right response.
“What the fuck are you trying to say?” the drunk spat.
As Nicholas continued, the man drew him closer in an attempt to better understand what he was saying. That’s when Nicholas struck.
In one lightning-quick snap, he whipped his head forward and slammed the drunk right on the bridge of his nose. There was a crack of cartilage and a spray of blood.
