“Huh? No, I don’t think I have.”
“Creative writing 101. An old college lecture. Never give away too much by simply telling, you have to show the reader what’s going on.”
“John, have you ever had a nervous breakdown?”
“No,” he answered with a shake of his head.
“Well, I am just about to have my first!” Caitlin said, adding emphasis and strength to each word.
John turned to face her and grinned. “All right. Just keep your pants on.”
He turned off at the next exit and pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot at the first intersection. He parked, got out, and went to the rear of the car. In a minute, he returned with a small plastic toolbox.
“What’s in there?” Caitlin asked.
“Tools of the trade.”
He set the box on the console and opened it. There was a complete set of miniature tools and a few electronic chips. John selected one of the screwdrivers, took out his cell phone, and in another minute had the back off. He then took what Caitlin recognized as a chip extraction tool and deftly pulled a square chip from the phone. He set it aside, took a similar chip from inside the toolbox, and placed it in the vacant slot.
Caitlin watched as he replaced the back.
“Is that what I think it is?” she asked.
“That depends. Do you think it’s the encoding chip?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, you’d be right,” he said.
“Is it stolen?”
His expression was one of feigned pain. “Do I look like a thief?”
“Last week I would’ve said no, now I think you’re capable of just about anything.”
John grinned broadly. “Good answer. In answer to your question, no. It isn’t stolen. However, its code was lifted from its legitimate owner.”
“How’d you do it?”
“You are noisy aren’t you?”
Before she could answer, he continued. “I didn’t lift it. I purchased the code from some people who do that sort of thing. They move around but spend a lot of time in apartments that overlook the Bay Bridge. People are always using their cell phones on the bridge. They use a scanner and decoder to pick up the chip codes from passing motorist. Then they transfer the codes to new chips and sell them on the black market.”
“I thought the FCC and FBI had shut down that type of operation. Didn’t I see that the phone chips are hardware encoded now so that only the original chip can use a particular number?”
“My, you do keep up, don’t you? The new phones do have hardware-encoded chips. But they currently only make up about sixty percent of the market. This scam will work for a couple more years.”
“How do you know the chips still good? What if the original owner has already noticed the increased usage and reported it?”
“Good point. I’m glad to see you’re thinking. I paid top dollar for this chip. My supplier assures me it’s virgin.”
“And you trust him?”
John laughed. It was the first time she had heard him laugh since the canyon. It was the strong laugh of a man comfortable with showing his amusement.
“No, Caitlin. I don’t trust him.”
“Then?”
“I tapped the phone records for this chip and keep a check on it. So far it hasn’t had abnormally high bills.”
“Devious aren’t you?” she asked.
“I try.”
“Now, are you going to tell me your plans?”
“All in good time.”
John flicked on the phone and punched in a series of numbers.
Caitlin waited. She was trying to remember what it was she had liked about him before. He’d seemed more open before, more likable.
“Squeeze? It’s John ... Yeah, long time. Look, I have a job for you. Can we meet? ... Yeah, I remember the place. Thirty minutes? ... Fine, see you.”
John lowered the phone and turned it off.
“Did I hear you right? Did you call him Squeeze?” Caitlin asked.
“Her,” John answered.
“Oh.”
“We don’t have a lot of time. You want a biscuit and some coffee?”
“Ah, yeah, that’ll be fine.” John cranked the car and pulled into the drive-through lane. They got a couple of steak biscuits and large coffees and in a few minutes were back on the freeway heading north.
“Care to tell me where we’re going?”
“Oakland.”
“What are we going to do there?”
“Among other things, we’re going to stash this car and borrow another one. Then we’re leaving town.”
In less than twenty minutes, they pulled into the lot of a small Mexican restaurant in downtown Oakland. John parked the car in the very back of the lot, out of sight of the street.
They walked to the corner of the building and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Miguel’s was a small restaurant, not much more than a hole in the wall. A neon light advertising Corona and another for Dos Eques lit one wall. The other wall was a vivid mural of a mariachi band at a garden wedding.
“It’s kind of early for lunch isn’t it?” Caitlin asked.
“Depends on what time you got up, but yes it is early.”
There wasn’t much of a crowd, a couple of people sat near the window, and there was someone else along the back wall. John waved at the waiter and then led Caitlin toward the back.
As they approached the lone figure, the woman stood. She was a short, middle-aged woman of dark skin and kinky black hair. Her dress was a dark fabric; Caitlin guessed cotton, with multi-colored flowers. It was the size of a small army tent.
Squeeze stood and met John with open arms. Her head came to the center of his chest as she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. John returned her hug with enthusiasm as Squeeze began to laugh.
They separated, and John raised a hand toward Caitlin.
“Caitlin, let me introduce Lori Turnis. Lori, this is an old
