He knelt down in front of his father. The old man seemed to be oblivious to his presence. He worried now that Gideon had also gone into shock.
“Paw? You ok?” There was no reply, as the old man stared off into space. “I got help coming. We gotta get you and Ray to the hospital.”
“Where was you at, boy?” Gideon suddenly spoke. “We needed you. You let us down … as usual.”
Junior was incredulous. He didn’t know if his father was talking out of his head or if he truly meant what he said. Regardless, there was no way he could’ve done anything to have prevented this. He’d simply been a casualty, too.
He wondered if that mattered at all to his father.
“C’mon, Paw,” he said softly. “Let’s get you ready to go.”
“While me and Ray get fixed up, you call in all debts, bring in the rainy-day stash,” instructed Gideon, as Junior helped him stand. “When we can, we’re gonna go shoppin’. Buy us some of that fancy shit.”
“What for, Paw?”
“We’re going fox huntin’,” Gideon looked at him, rage burning in those crazy eyes. “And we’re gonna kill everybody between it and us along the way!”
***
“Who is it? Whaddaya want?” A voice just on the other side of the door grumbled, Tiger knocking for the third time.
“You mean you’re a computer hacker and you don’t have a surveillance system?” Tiger taunted. “How am I supposed to respect someone that amateurish?” He knew he’d struck a nerve, as he heard the four computerized locks whirrr as they slid open in sequence.
“Well, maybe you need to take your ass somewhere else!” The man in the Huntsville UFOs hockey jersey and camo fatigues snarled as he opened the door and gave Tiger a look that would’ve melted iron rails. Tiger could only smile.
“Jocko, you’re easier than a two-dollar whore after midnight on Sunday. What have I told you about being so sensitive?”
“Fuck you, Tiger.” He looked past his visitor and down the hall of the apartment complex. “You by yourself?”
“Just me.”
“Well, get your ass on in here!” Jocko gave a jerk of his head. After Tiger was inside and Jock closed the door, the locks automatically re-engaged. Tiger took in the small one-bedroom apartment. Not much had changed. Same thrift store furniture. Empty energy drink cans, take-out boxes, and adult magazine quicksticks littered the coffee table. Clothes hung haphazardly over the backs and arms of two rickety chairs and an old love seat.
On the wall, unframed of course, a few sci-fi movie and pinup babe posters were taped up. And then there was the obligatory mugshot poster of the hacker god Igor Vesolovsky, a twenty-second century super hacker who went by the nom de guerre “Commodore 64.” Vesolovsky is the man all computer geeks ever since have idolized and tried to emulate. When the income disparity between the “haves and have-nots” continued to widen as the twenty-first century ended, the twenty-three-year-old college student hacked into seven of the largest banks and mortgage companies in the U.S. and launched a “termite” virus. Before these companies realized what was happening, billions of dollars’ worth of mortgage debt would be completely wiped out. It would be the ruin of most of these institutions, and the resulting panic on Wall Street would throw the country into a two-year recession. Most hackers only dreamed of pulling off that kind of caper. Eventually the good Commodore, who considered himself a modern-day Robin Hood, was caught and would spend the rest of his life in a Federal Supermax prison. He was considered such a threat to national security he was never again allowed to be in the same room with a computer. Even the electronic lock on his cell was removed and retrofitted with an old-fashioned tumbler lock. He wasn’t allowed to use any electronic communication and could only communicate with the outside via written correspondence.
“You don’t get out much anymore, do you?” Tiger observed. The two had been old schoolmates, but had since taken different paths in life. Where Tiger’s passion had been rockets and space, Jocko’s had been computers and information. Other people’s information, to be more precise. He had become one of the most notorious hackers in this part of the world. As a result, men like Cutter and Tiger found his talents quite useful from time to time.
“Why should I?” Jocko shrugged. “I ain’t lost nothin’ out there in that shit! I finally got approved for my ULA payment, so I’m making it just fine!”
“At least you’re not living in your mom’s basement,” Tiger conceded before it finally hit him. “Wait! How’d you get a ULA check? You weren’t displaced by a robot … you were fired for hacking!”
“Not according to the records I sorta … doctored … down at the Department of Commercial and Industrial Affairs, Displacement Division.” The hacker grinned like a mule eating saw briers.
“You hacked into a government database and got yourself a check meant for people who don’t have jobs?”
“I don’t have a job!” Jock seemed to truly take offense.
“That’s because you don’t want a job.” Tiger shook his head, remembering his Uncle Mud. “There’s a big difference!”
“You’re splittin’ hairs maybe a little, aintcha?”
“Some things never change, do they Jock?” Tiger wanted to smack his friend upside his head. “Still the same ol’ selfish prick!”
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Jocko pretended to ignore the sting in Tiger’s remark. “What you been doing with yourself?”
“Still pedaling rockets.”
“Damn, don’t that shit get old after twenty years?” he tried to change the subject, turn the heat down that he felt simmering his ass.
“What else am I gonna do?” he shrugged. “It’s the only thing I know.” Why
