Interference

by Danielle Girard

  “You have plans tonight?” Sophie asked. Mei got the sense it was more than a casual question. “I’m having dinner with my… aunt.” Mei stopped, unable to say the word ‘husband.’ No one in the department, or even in San Francisco, knew she was married.

  Sophie didn’t seem to notice the hesitation. “Maybe I could buy you dinner some time.”

  Mei smiled, heat flushing her cheeks.

  “As a thank-you, I mean,” Sophie added.

  “Of course,” Mei said. “I’d really like that.”

  “How about sushi? Thursday night?”

  Andy would be in L.A. by Wednesday. Mei had no plans for Thursday night. “That sounds great,” Mei said, both embarrassed and a little giddy. When was the last time someone asked her out? It wasn’t a date. Just a thank you. But still…

  “Great. Meet you after work? Say six? I’ll take you to Akiko. It’s this great little place. I think it seats like ten people but I know the owner’s daughter. They make the most beautiful sushi.”

  “It’s a date,” Mei said. “I mean—”

  Sophie touched her arm. “A date.”

  Before Mei could say anything else, Sophie headed down the hall toward the stairwell. Mei looked at the flowers and ducked back in the lab, setting them on her desk. It seemed smarter than bringing them to dinner with Andy.

  Mei walked slowly toward the bus stop. It was warm with a breeze off the water, the most pleasant weather she’d experienced yet. Or maybe it wasn’t the weather. Maybe it was the idea of a night out. No, not just a night out; she was having that tonight with Andy and Ayi.

  The plans with Sophie were different. This was what she had come to San Francisco for: to explore the feelings she’d been hiding—even from herself—since she started dating Andy. Since before then. She didn’t even know if she was attracted to Sophie, but the erratic fluttering in her stomach told her that there was something there.

  Chapter 15

  Sam was slow, much slower than he’d originally promised. All that would have been okay if he hadn’t started asking about Hank. Unbeknownst to J.T., the two had originally made some plan to roll around in the money they made off the guns like a couple of apes. Sam had his ten thousand—in dominations of tens, fives, and ones just as he had requested—but he wanted to share the moment with Hank. Hank wasn’t answering his cell phone.

  “Hank was a little paranoid,” J.T. had told Sam, not entirely untruthfully, when Sam would not let up about why Hank wasn’t answering his phone. J.T. had already dumped it otherwise a few text messages to Sam would have eliminated all this chatter. This was likely why Sam was taking longer. He might have been a genius with a computer, but he lacked the power of concentration above a first-grade level.

  The first server was easy, according to Sam. Security would be looser at an architectural firm than at a pharmaceutical one. A few sets of stolen schematics filed on a drive somewhere and done. The doubt was established and the police could spin on that.

  This last part was the real deal, the goal. All of the rest of it was just a game to keep the police occupied. It should have all been done by now. It seemed Sam hadn’t expected this to be so tough, which planted a seed of doubt that Sam was the right person for the job. Lots of deep breathing over the past two days and now J.T. was ready to relax.

  “I’m into the server. One of their IT idiots put a script, running as root, in the DMZ, and didn’t sanitize their inputs. I just did a buffer overflow, and gave myself root access.” Sam explained like he was lecturing to a four-year-old. “I already installed a virus that corrupts the data when they make a backup or a copy.”

  “Sam, no need to explain. You and I both know it’s too complicated for me.”

  Sam snorted his laugh. He loved it when J.T. reminded him of how smart he was.

  “Just tell me when you’re done.”

  “Right. Right. I could explain it to you, but it would take some serious time.”

  “We don’t have that kind of time.” It was true J.T. understood only about two percent of what Sam said, but it was more than a little grating when Sam acted as though his little assignment made up the mastermind of the entire operation. “Now I’m on the database server. They aren’t even tracking log-ins. Vastly under-secured,” Sam said scornfully, despite the fact that undersecured wasn’t a word.

  J.T. said nothing.

  The snort again. “Okay, now I’m stopping the database replication and dropping the tables.”

  “Remember who you’re talking to, Sam.”

  “Right. Maybe after. When Hank gets back, then I can explain it. Hank wanted to understand it, too, so I can explain it to you both at the same time.”

  “That would be great, Sam.”

  “I’m writing a script to check for any other copies.” Sam couldn’t help himself. He probably talked to himself on the shitter. Everything about being around Sam made it difficult not to just stand up and snap his neck. The way he acted as though everyone else was a total moron but then proceeded to speak in a language that was reserved for the small percentage of people who spent one hundred hours or more every week playing online video games; his snort of a laugh; his thick jowl; the endless Big Gulp sodas; the dark fur that spilled out of the neck of his black T-shirt. And over his ears and the front of his shirt, too. It was tempting to lean him back in his little swivel chair and take a straight razor to all that hair.

  Plus, the smell. Whatever collection of trans fats and red dye number three that went into his body was leaching out into the air like poison. The small space made matters worse. There were no windows in the work space, only a small desktop fan that had been working overtime for weeks.

  “Okay, I’m there.” His fat fingers clacked on the keys. “Running the script.” A moment of silent passed. “Done.”

  “Done?”

  “Should take about an hour and you’ll have the results you wanted.” Sam grinned, and J.T. gripped his shoulder.

  Okay, J.T. thought. Maybe Sam deserved some credit. After all, he was very good. He’d spent his teen years ignored by his parents. His mother worked for Cisco, his father for Oracle, so while he lacked access to their attentions, he never lacked access to computers. While most kids rebelled by taking out Dad’s car and buying beer, Sam hacked into his parents’ companies and sent emails with top-secret patent information and signatures like “We’re out of milk” or “I want tacos for dinner.”

  Mostly, his parents did little to discourage him other than making it very clear that he’d better not get caught. After all, if a thirteen-year-old kid could get into these networks, he was, first, brilliant and, second, saving the companies billions of dollars in potential losses at the hands of other hackers.

  At the same time, what Sam’s parents didn’t know was that he was actually selling some of Cisco’s and Oracle’s less crucial systems information to competitors in order to amass a savings account that would reach several million before the end of high school. He rarely attended school. The truancy officers became such a nuisance that his mother finally enrolled him in an online homeschooling program which, rather than completing, Sam simply hacked into and gave himself perfect scores.

  At thirty, Sam was estranged from his parents, wanted for questioning by at least six government agencies, and the best hacker money could buy. After tonight, Sam would also be history.

  “Did you save me a Tommy gun?”

  “Of course,” J.T. told him. “Did you load the magazine?”

  “I loaded three. Just like you showed me.” Sam continued typing then, like a child realizing he hadn’t gotten what he wanted, stopped. “When will I get the gun?”

  “I’ll bring it up as soon as this is done.”

  The best way to ignore Sam was to practice breathing. A goofy-looking activity, to be sure, but it worked. Better on a comfortable mat or pillow, but even on the hard linole
um floor it worked. In for two, out for two. Silently. Normally, the ohm sound was especially helpful, but Sam needed to concentrate. The sooner Sam was done, the sooner his endless commentary ended.

  Wearing ear buds made it look like there was music. Theoretically, this should have made Sam talk less although it wasn’t clear that it did. It did make his voice a little quieter, which was a pleasant adjustment. Not quite enough noise-reduction to block out Sam’s endless garble but that was not an option.

  “An hour, then?” J.T. confirmed before turning to hole up in a corner and pretend to be busy with something. Anything to get a little distance from Sam, even if seven feet was the farthest possible.

  Sam glanced at his watch. “Fifty-seven minutes.”

  J.T. glanced at the clock on Sam’s monitor and had a thought. “I’ve got a good way to kill an hour.”

  Sam looked up.

  “How about I let you try out one of those guns?”

  Sam’s mouth dropped open. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Sam jumped up. His thighs hit the table, sending him back into his chair before he spun it around and launched himself out of it. Like a kid in a candy store.

  “You have your magazines?”

  He pulled the loaded clips from under a pile of trash and papers and handed one to J.T. “That’s okay,” J.T. said without touching it. “It looks perfect. You hang on to it.”

  J.T. grabbed the list and nodded toward the computer. “That thing can run on its own?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Sam assured J.T. “I don’t need to do anything.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  It looked like the kid was going to hug J.T. as they started out to the van. “Thank you, man,” Sam said, gripping the magazine in his right fist like a trophy. “This is so cool. So so cool.”

  Chapter 16

  Andy left Wednesday morning for a meeting in L.A. Mei drove him to the airport in Ayi’s car while he fielded calls on a case that had come up in Ft. Worth, Texas. Their good-bye had been quick and anticlimactic. He was between phone calls and they were going to see each other in less than three weeks when she went back to Chicago. For the two days he was there, Mei tried to tell him how she was feeling. Every pause in their conversation, she gathered her courage, and every time, she failed to find a way to start.

  Then, on the way out of the restaurant the night before, a gay couple passed them on the street. The two women were holding hands. They stopped just down the street and kissed. Andy stared at them while Mei averted her eyes. She didn’t want to see the look on his face. Maybe it was simple curiosity. Didn’t all men supposedly love to watch women kiss? But what if it wasn’t that?

  She and Andy didn’t have any gay friends. He didn’t know about Jodi. Andy was open-minded and generous, but how would he possibly deal with the news that his wife wanted to be with a woman? He would feel betrayed. The news would be devastating. How could it not be? Surely, it would make him question his life. His manhood. How could she possibly convince him that he was the most wonderful man she’d ever known? But it was just not enough.

  Like hers, Andy’s family was traditional. How would they react? What if they argued that gays could be “straightened out?” What would she do if they tried to convince her to try therapy or some crazy religion? Would Andy have to defend her against them? She couldn’t bear to think about the impact this would have. Mei went to work, heavy with guilt. There were moments when she considered staying. How bad could a life with Andy be? And then came the sickening pit.

  On the way out of the lab, Mei rewrapped the flowers from Sophie to take home. She’d considered leaving them at the lab, but she’d already deflected a couple of unwanted questions from Blake and Teddy. If Ayi asked, Mei would just say she’d bought them. On the way home, Mei stopped by Blush Wine Bar. She wasn’t ready to talk to Ayi yet. Mei had gone to Blush hoping to catch Julie, but there was no sign of the architect. Though they were friendly, they were hardly friends. Maybe it was that Julie was Chinese that made it so easy to talk to her that one night. Whatever the reason, Mei could have used a friend right now, especially one without ties to the department.

  Seated, Mei reached down to her bag instinctively but hesitated to pull out the computer. Once she did that, it would be tough to stop herself. She was here for one drink, then she had to go home to Ayi. That meant no computer. Instead, when the waitress brought her the glass of red wine, Mei leaned back against the smooth vanilla-colored clay walls and watched the other diners.

  Several tables were occupied by older couples. One Mei had seen a few times before. They ate slowly, leaning in to talk and sharing bites across the table. The woman had a long, gray braid and the man a goatee in the same shade. They wore solid button-downs and khakis, practical shoes and moved with great patience and precision. The woman cut her meat in a slow, carving motion then returned the knife to the proper side of the plate, lifted her fork, prongs curved to the ceiling, and brought the small piece casually to her lips. Every bite. While she chewed, she looked up at her husband and smiled. He reached over to touch her hand, pausing a moment.

  To some, they might have looked conventional, maybe even boring. But Mei envied them. She imagined they were the kind of people who had saved for retirement from their first paychecks. Either of them might be an accountant or a teacher. They had been married forty-plus years, had grown children, maybe even grandchildren. Loneliness washed over Mei. She wanted that kind of partnership. She wanted to raise children with someone, grow old with someone.

  There had been a time in her relationship with Jodi where she’d convinced herself that her life would never be like Lai’s or Man Yee’s. There would be no children, no marriage and family. Jodi hadn’t wanted children. Even the idea of marriage was unappealing to her. Mei had assimilated Jodi’s views because she loved her. In truth, Mei didn’t think it was possible to have both—to be in a long-term committed relationship, an enduring partnership, and have children if you were gay.

  When Jodi left Chicago, Mei fell naturally back into mainstream life. She focused on school, then on getting into the academy. Her position at the FBI required total commitment. An alternative lifestyle would have posed a threat to her position. Or that was what she told herself. She avoided places where she and Jodi had gone and, in doing so, blocked herself off from meeting someone else. When she met Andy, it felt right. She genuinely loved him. She thought she could be happy with him and have the things she wanted. She could be married and have children and, best, she could be accepted. Wasn’t that the perfect life?

  With every passing day, Mei recognized that acceptance came at a very steep price, one she no longer felt willing to pay.

  Watching the plates pass by, Mei finished her glass of wine. Butternut lasagna, a bowl of the thick tomato-based soup, a salmon-topped salad. It all looked delicious. Her stomach grumbled. She debated ordering a salad, but it was already getting late.

  She hailed a cab, and in an unusual spurt of luck, one stopped right in front of the bar. Mei immediately recognized the Asian woman who got out. “Julie!”

  Julie turned and pushed the long hair away from her face. She wore a gray pantsuit and red heels. “Mei! Are you just getting here?”

  Mei shook her head. “Leaving, actually.” She caught the eye of the cab driver who waved her in impatiently.

  “Shoot,” Julie said. “Beautiful flowers. From an admirer?”

  Mei blushed. “Just a friend.”

  “I’m going to send you my cousin’s number. The realtor. For when you do decide to look for a place. I meant to do it today, but time got away from me.”

  “That would be great,” Mei told her. Over drinks one evening, Mei had confessed to Julie that she’d love to find her own place. It was the only thing Mei had confessed though she had been tempted to share more.

  Julie waved. “Talk to you later.”

&
nbsp; Mei got in the cab and gave the driver Ayi’s address. Before the cab had driven fifteen feet, her phone rang. “Ayi told me Andy is thinking of changing jobs,” her mother said in lieu of a greeting.

  “Hi, A Mā. Wow, news travels fast.”

  “So, it’s true? You’re staying out in California?” The last word came out like something distasteful.

  “A Mā, I don’t know yet. Andy just met with the office here. We haven’t made any decisions.”

  Her mother was quiet.

  “What’s wrong?” Mei asked.

  “Nothing,” her mother said quickly.

  There was something her mother wasn’t saying. “A Mā?”

  “I just assumed you would be home when you started your family. Like your sisters.”

  “I don’t know when I’m going to start a family.” Mei took a quick breath and whispered, “A Mā, I’m not even sure I want to be married anymore.” Maybe the courage came from the wine or from watching the couple in the bar, but the words just came out.

  “What do you mean?” her mother whispered. “Did you two have a fight?”

  The driver watched her in the rearview mirror. Mei gave him a hard stare until he looked away. “Nothing. Andy is great. He’s smart and kind. I just—”

  “Is there another… someone else?” her mother interrupted.

  “No,” Mei said. “Nothing like that.”

  “Did you tell Andy you felt this way?”

  “No, A Mā. I haven’t told anyone but you.”

  “Good, good.” Her mother was still whispering. “Listen. All couples go through this, Mei. I remember it myself. Maybe even more for us women than the men. It is very normal. Do not make a decision in haste. Remember nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.”

  Mei closed her eyes and thought about her mother’s proverb. Wasn’t nature the thing she was listening to?