Doing background checks on potential clients was one of the easier ways he could help Shay. But running their names through a few forums or websites wasn’t thorough enough. A mild dose of hacking some of their systems could help prove they were who they said they were and help keep down the surprises for Shay on the job.
Peyton pulled his chair closer to him with his foot, still typing as fast as he could as he fell backward into the seat. He stifled a yawn as he watched the information flow across the screens. An alert window popped up with a sharp beep. His eyes widened in surprise.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His hands flew over the keyboard.
The problem with looking for someone is sometimes they look back. Someone was counterhacking and had already traced back through half of his proxy servers.
He had used an automated code he designed that crawled like spiders through both the crowded webs, light and dark. They were programmed to search for potential doors and holes that he could exploit. One of them had caught hostile attention.
Just killing his spiders wasn’t good enough at this point. The hacker was tracing their path too effectively. He needed to lay down a false trail.
“Please don’t let this end with a bunch of guys blowing in through the door with machine guns.” Spit flew as he did his best to focus.
Sweat formed on his forehead as he typed faster, alerts beeping on his computer as the trace pushed through even more of his proxy servers.
“Come on, come on. I can do this shit. Shay may be a badass killer and tomb raider, but I’m a badass hacker.”
With only two proxy servers left, mere inches in hacker worlds, Peyton laid down a false trail leading to the computer system of the Eastern Kalama Church of New Eden. It was a cult that sprung up after the truth of Oriceran’s existence and spent their time yelling from street corners that everyone was going to hell. Magic was proof of it.
“Who knows? Maybe they’ll get a visit from an angry Wizard, proving their point. Everybody wins.”
Peyton took in and let out several deep breaths. He slapped the top of his head.
“That was too close. Shay will waste my ass if she finds out I almost led someone right to one of her warehouses. Fuck, I need to get out of here for an hour and relax. I’ve been alone so long I’m talking to myself and my only companion is a retired killer.”
Peyton pushed out of his chair. After what he’d just gone through, grabbing a quick bite to eat didn’t seem that dangerous. He patted his belly. “Food, you are my only comfort.”
Peyton sat on the leather-topped metal stool, slowly chewing, wondering if cardboard was one of the ingredients. The place was mostly empty except for a couple of drunk bros, taking turns eating, going back over the details of their night and punching each other in the arm.
Peyton looked back down at the paper plate in front of him.
How the fuck does someone screw up pizza?
He swallowed the disappointing bite and felt his tongue. I think it’s going numb.
Maybe the name itself should have been a clue. Pasadena’s Best’s Pizza, neatly tucked into downtown Los Angeles.
I’ve had crap out of vending machines better than this. “Excuse me.” He stopped a tired waitress slowly cleaning the counter. “Do you have a vending machine here? You do?”
“It’s usually empty.”
Peyton blinked, staring back at her bored face. He rose and followed the direction she was pointing in, finding the machine back by the bathroom. Nothing but lifesavers. “Who still eats lifesavers,” he muttered. He leaned his head against the glass and felt it slip down. The front was covered in a film of old grease.
His stomach lurched as he grabbed at small, folded white napkins, partially used from a nearby table and rubbed them hard against this skin.
“Try the Hawaiian. Tastes the most like food.” An old man with long, stringy hair was standing behind Peyton with his hand out.
“You want me to pay you for your help?”
“No, I want money. Seemed kind of obvious to me.”
He smelled like old sweat and grease and his thin body was in oversized jeans and a faded flannel shirt. Peyton dug out a five-dollar bill and gave it to him.
“The Hawaiian, you won’t regret it… well, as much.” He picked something out of his teeth, flicking it onto the ground.
“Really? Was that necessary?”
The old man shrugged and turned to go, lifting a hand to wave. Peyton shook his head, waving back. “My first friend outside of the warehouse. Forgot to get his name.”
He watched the old man walk out to the parking lot and turn toward the What-A-Burger. “Well played, old dude. Well played.”
He walked back to the waitress and slapped another five-dollar bill on the counter. “I’m feeling lucky tonight. Something has to go right. I’ll take a slice of that Hawaiian on my friend’s recommendation.”
The bored teenager standing behind the cash register gave him a quick nod. “I already closed the cash register. Can’t take any more cash tonight.”
“Seriously, how are you still open?” Peyton swiped his phone over the pay panel, grateful to one of his many, many aliases for paying for the food.
The teen pulled two limp slices out of the warmer and placed them on a single plate. She shoved the plate toward him and delivered the restaurant’s catch phrase in a complete monotone, “Please enjoy another slice of the best pizza in Pasadena.”
“Usually I love irony.”
The teenager gave Peyton a blank look and turned to get a key on a long wooden stick with the word, Men’s written in black magic marker. She handed it to Peyton and went and sat down, pulling out his phone.
“Is this some kind of friendly warning?” The kid didn’t even look up as Peyton returned to his table carrying the stick
