Except, of course, at their table.
It wasn't that they were homely individuals. Tres, in fact, was rather handsome, and he exuded that confident aura of a trust-fund beneficiary, for which girls seemed to have a sixth sense, like dogs could smell fear; consequently, he attracted frequent glances from passing females. Curtis, Dave, and Andy did not. They were just regular guys, not something you put on your curriculum vitae in Austin. Sure, Curtis was a math genius, but that meant absolutely nothing outside the math department at UT. And, worst of all, they were broke.
Tres' phone pinged.
'She's texting me again.'
'Natalie?'
He nodded and checked the message.
'Says she found an Indian clinic that'll do it for four thousand.'
'You sure you want to hire out your baby to the lowest bidder?'
'Hell, Andy, I'm not sure I even want a baby… or to get married.'
Tres drank his beer then leaned toward Andy and lowered his voice.
'You know a PI?'
'A private investigator? No. But I know someone who does.'
'Can you get me his number?'
'Sure. What's up?'
'I think Natalie's cheating on me.'
' What? Why?'
'To have sex.'
'No. Why would she cheat on you? Dude, she wants to have your baby.'
'She wants an Indian woman to have my baby. And maybe she wants to have one last fling before marriage and motherhood.'
'She wouldn't leave you.'
'She wouldn't leave the trust fund. Me, I'm not so sure.'
He drank from his beer.
'See, you guys complain about being broke, but being rich isn't all it's cracked up to be either. If you guys ever do get a girl, at least you'll know she's not after your money.'
'It'd be nice to have a girl after me for something.'
Andy smiled but Tres didn't. This was serious.
'What's got you worried?'
'She's acting different.'
'How?'
'She stopped wearing underwear.'
That got Dave's attention. 'No shit?'
'Look, guys,' Tres said, 'this is confidential, okay?'
'Oh, absolutely,' Dave said. 'Sure thing. Now tell us about the underwear.'
'Well, you know, she's always worn thongs-'
'What kind?'
Tres shrugged. 'I don't know. Just thongs.'
'Lacy ones?'
'Curtis,' Andy said, 'douse him with your beer.'
'Anyway,' Tres said, 'all of a sudden she just stopped wearing anything.'
'God, that's hot,' Dave said.
'Not if she stopped for some other guy.'
'Oh, yeah, that wouldn't be so hot.'
'Did you ask her why?' Andy said.
'She said that was the fashionable thing now.'
'You don't believe her?'
Tres took no notice of a girl checking him out.
'I think she's having an affair with the weekend sports anchor at the station. Bruce, he's an ex-UT jock, lives out at the lake.'
'You want a PI to follow her?'
Tres' expression turned grim. 'I need to know. Besides, it's nothing compared to what my father will do before we get married.'
'Track her cell phone,' Curtis said. 'It's GPS-enabled, isn't it?'
'It was expensive.'
'Then it is.'
'GPS, like with a satellite?' Andy said.
'Like with three satellites,' Curtis said. He pointed up. 'The Air Force has twenty-seven global positioning satellites orbiting the Earth. GPS tracking requires three to plot a location-it's a mathematical equation called trilateration. The GPS chip in your cell phone receives signals from three satellites, determines the distance to each, and plots a sphere around each satellite-'
Curtis was now teaching a class. He pulled out a mechanical pencil and on a napkin drew the Earth, three satellites orbiting the Earth, a stick figure holding a phone on Earth, and circles around each satellite.
— 'and those three spheres intersect at only two locations, one in space and one on Earth. Your phone is located at the intersection on Earth.'
Andy handed his cell phone to Curtis, who served as their personal tech support staff.
'Does mine have that GPS chip?'
Curtis dug in his pants pocket and pulled out a little utility tool. He opened the tiny screwdriver and then the back of Andy's cell phone. He shook his head.
'Nope. Let me guess: you got it free with your cell contract?'
Andy shrugged. 'Yeah.'
'Dude, you can get a GPS phone for a few hundred bucks.'
'Exactly. That's why I chose free.'
'Well, they can still track your phone.'
'How?'
'Triangulation. See, when you make a call'-Curtis flipped the napkin over and drew again-'the phone sends signals to the nearest cell masts-the towers. As you move from cell to cell-the area covered by each mast-the masts monitor the strength of the signals. When the signal is stronger at the next mast, that mast takes over the call. By calculating and comparing the time it takes the signal to travel to each mast-a mathematical equation called TDOA, time difference of arrival-and the AOA, angle of arrival-the computer determines the distance and angle from each mast to the phone, triangulates the signals, and plots out the location.' He shrugged. 'It's simple math.'
'Must be why I don't understand it,' Andy said.
'Triangulation isn't as precise as GPS. In the city they can track a phone to within thirty feet of its location. Out in the country, with fewer masts, it's maybe a thousand feet.'
'I never knew they could do that.'
Curtis pushed his glasses up. 'Cell phones are just tracking devices that make voice calls. Government mandated tracking capability for nine-one-one emergency calls, now the Feds use them to track terrorists and drug dealers.'
'Man, that's kind of scary, the government being able to track us with our cell phones.'
'It's not just the Feds. LBS providers do it, too.'
'What's an LBS?'
'Location Based Services. They've got deals with the carriers to capture the tracking data and they'll ping a phone for a fee. They say they require the permission of the person being tracked. They're mostly used by employers to track their employees, like truck drivers.'
'Natalie was reading about these chaperone services,' Tres said. 'You put a GPS-enabled phone in your kid's backpack and if they leave their school, you're automatically notified. In case they're kidnapped.'
