“It’s the first two letters of my name. I go by C.H. because you’d never be able to pronounce my name properly.”
“It’s that difficult, is it?”
“You can’t imagine.”
“I’ve got a pretty good ear for names.”
“It’s a secret name,” he says. “Very few people know it.”
I stare at him a moment. “C.H. it is,” I say. Then add, “I’m sorry to hear about Moe. I’m sure he’ll be missed. Where’s the other one?”
They look at each other, confused.
“Lou told me there were five of you.”
They put their hands over their hearts and look down at their feet again.
And start to cry.
“What now?” I say.
“Lou was the fifth,” Larry says.
“Oh. Sorry.”
Curly says, “Now it’s you. But you don’t research. At all. Nor do you compute.”
“But he adventures!” C.H. says, brightly. “And when he does, we do!”
C.H. is the elfin one. If I knew him better, and could kid around, I’d ask him where he’s from, the forest or meadows? But I don’t want to offend him. I mean, I know there’s no such thing as elves.
Although I look at him and have to wonder.
“Guys,” I say, “I’m not Lou Kelly, and could never replace him in a million years. But I’ve always respected your work. Thanks to you, we managed to stop Miles Gundy from killing more kids.”
“Don’t be modest, Mr. Creed,” C.H. says. “You and Miranda gave us the proper search parameters. And you did all the killing. I’m happy to welcome you to the team. Especially since learning Miranda will be working with us. She’s my personal favorite. Do you think I might be able to meet her someday?”
“Are you saying you’ll work with me?”
“Only you,” he says. Then he shouts, “The Platters! Nineteen-fifty-five!”
Larry shouts, “Mercury Records. But it was their
Curly says, “Buck Ram wrote it for the Ink Spots.”
They make a little huddle, put their hands low and shout, “Heyyyy!” as they raise them up over their heads.
Each of them has a favorite joke, and I’m asked to listen and pick a favorite. The jokes are so poorly conceived and delivered, I chuckle throughout the telling to cover the fact I can’t decipher the punch lines.
“They’re equally funny,” I say, shamelessly.
“Not good enough,” Curly says. “You have to choose a favorite.”
I frown. It’d be easier to view Hell’s menu and choose between the unwashed tripe, fermented squid guts, and pig organs wrapped in flesh.
I pick one of the jokes and make two of my new friends unhappy.
But get the sense we’re bonding.
“Do you have an assignment for us?” Curly says.
I place my laptop on the redwood picnic table.
“I don’t speak computer, so this won’t sound professional.”
“Go ahead.”
“I want you to configure my computer in such a way that we can communicate in code. You send me a coded message, I respond in code. But since I don’t have the time or desire to learn a code, I want to type a password that turns your code into plain English so I can read it. When I type a response, I add a different password to the message and it changes my English back to your code. But my responses would also work with the first code.”
They look at each other a moment, stunned, then burst into laughter. Finally Larry says, “Yeah, we can do that.” Then he repeats what I said and they fall on the floor laughing hysterically, roll around, grabbing their sides.
“Plain English!” Curly yells between peals of laughter.
“Coded message!” Larry says, shaking with delight.
When at last they calm down, C.H. says, “Why a different code for the response?”
“If someone captures me and forces me to send you a message, I’ll use the same code both times. That way you’ll know something’s wrong.”
All three nod, sagely.
“I also want you to put a tracer on the computer, so you’ll know where I am at all times.”
They look at each other again, but refrain from laughing.
“That requires a lot of trust on your part,” C.H. says.
“I do trust you guys,” I say.
“That’s good,” Curly says. “Because we’ve been tracing your laptop since the day you got it.”
Larry says, “There’s a bomb in there, too.”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s a bomb in your laptop. All we have to do is go online, punch in a code, and your computer blows up.”
“I got my laptop directly from the factory.”
“Yes. But you ordered it online from your old computer.”
“So?”
“We have a keystroke capture system on all your devices. Everything you type, every message you receive, comes to us. We read your computer order, hacked into the company’s system, had your new laptop routed to our address, assembled the tracking device, key capture, and bomb, and shipped it on to you.”
“How powerful a bomb is it?”
“Not that powerful,” C.H. says. “It has a blast area of four to ten feet, depending on if your laptop is open or not.”
I look at my laptop.
“There’s a bomb inside?”
“Yes.”
“If I’m carrying it, and you press the code, I could die?”
“Yes, of course.”
Curly says, “It’s not that big a deal. There’s a bomb in all the computers.”
“What are you saying?”
“You, Jarvis, Maybe, Gwen, Joe Penny, Jeff Tuck-”
“What about Callie?” I ask.
“We can’t get access to anything owned by Callie.”
“Why not?”
“She’s too careful.”
“More careful than me?”
They all start laughing again.
I say, “You’re telling me you could kill me and all my crew with the simple entry of a code?”
“Yes, provided you’re near your computers.”
“You could wait for us to start typing, then kill us.”
Curly turns to Larry and says, “By George, I think he’s got it!”
I say, “Who authorized you to plant bombs in our computers?”
“Darwin.”
“Wait. Which Darwin?”
“As you well know, there’s only one Darwin. Dr. Petrovsky.”
“You knew who Darwin was all this time and never told anyone?”
“Yes.”
