*****
The next morning a very tired Ally sat down at Mick’s table in the café across from the hostel. She smiled. But not at Mick. Or rather, not because of Mick.
“How was last night? You seem like you didn’t sleep much,” noted the suspicious Mick.
“I went out with some of the girls in my room.”
“Oh?”
“We bumped into the typewriter guy from the hostel at a restaurant after we went dancing.”
“Ew, yuck. I’ve heard enough,” said Mick.
“You know, he was a really nice guy.”
Mick laughed. “He was a nice guy. You can’t be any more brutal than that. Poor guy, did you let him down easily?”
“What are you talking about?” asked Ally, already exasperated after only twenty seconds of Mick.
“Calling a man, or a boy in this case, a nice guy is, essentially, saying that you are not interested in him sexually or as a boyfriend or as a husband because he lacks confidence, looks and income. All you can say that is appealing about him is that he is a nice guy – a meek and timid boy who doesn’t come across as threatening.”
“You are so cynical, Mick. You know, he asked me about myself: my story, my dreams, what I like, my thoughts on life, that sort of thing. The things that you haven’t asked me about the entire time we’ve been together.”
“So he read a few tutorials on how to talk to girls. And he’s not a socially dysfunctional autistic jerk.”
“So does make you a socially dysfunctional autistic jerk?” asked Ally.
“Well, under the circumstances of our brief relationship, are you surprised at my behavior?”
“OK, fine. That’s fair.”
Both sides took this as a truce. But Ally was not done with her story.
“I told him about Liz,” said Ally.
Mick didn’t respond.
“We left the restaurant and went for a walk,” she said. “And we talked for a few hours on the street. I didn’t tell him any important details. I merely said that a good friend had been killed recently. We talked about all the good memories I had of Liz.”
Mick tried to push the conversation away from its newfound serious tone.
“Did you talk about the great American novel that he’s crafting?”
“No, we actually never talked about his writing.”
“Really? Being a writer is probably the guy’s main identity. You better let him tell his story to you today or he’ll cry himself to sleep like all literary geniuses do.”
“He left this morning.”
“Well, that’s that. Will you be talking to typewriter boy in the future?”
“No. His views on economic privilege are regressive.”
“And…the Bolshevik is back. For a second there, Alison, I thought you were a regular woman.”
“Bolsheviks were the opposite of anarchists, Mick,” said Ally. “Well, one of the many opposites.”
Ally had grown tired of Mick once again and shifted her attention to her coffee.
Mick squirmed in his seat and let out a deep breath.
“What?” asked Ally, sensing Mick had something important to say.
“My money is under attack. I grabbed a new secure phone yesterday and checked my accounts. They’re frozen. Only the Office of Terrorist Financing and Financial Crimes could do that. I’m not sure…I’m not sure if that’s the doing of the Office on its own, or if your infiltrator friend has set that off to make me less independent and more reliant on you.”
“It’s not me, Mick. The Blue Team informant was doing internal surveillance and noticed that one of the more corrupt officers had been reaching out to debt collectors, trying to make money on the side. That’s when she noticed your name. But more importantly, that’s when she said that the info was being sold to The Executioner. I can’t prove anything to you. But that’s the truth.”
Mick said nothing.
“How much of your money is frozen?”
“All of it. If any entity starts digging into my accounts, my money is automatically transferred and frozen in new accounts. Nobody except for some stupid algorithm knows where for about six months. Then I get my access back. Until then I’m living off the cash I took with me. It sucks, but it’s the most secure way to store your money.”
Ally let the conversation pause for while.
“You know, Mick, this is not going to go away. This guy is not going to stop. I think that The Executioner gets obsessed with targets and keeps after them no matter what the cost. That’s his reputation, anyways… What I’m saying is this: I think you need to stick with Blue Team for a while. You need to go along with their plan. That’s your best chance.”
“Is that your opinion, or are you delivering me the communique of some internal revolutionary committee?” asked Mick.
“My opinion is pretty much the same. If I was you, I would want to get this guy off my back. We need to trap him. We can trap him,” said Ally. She paused, and then added “You are the best bait for that particular trap. That’s the basic truth. We don’t need an immediate answer, but within a week we need to…”
“Alison,” said Mick, interrupting her, “I’ll go along with this, and I’ll go wherever. But on one condition…”
“OK, what’s that?” asked Ally.
“We stick together. You stay with me until this thing is over.”
“Oh Mick, I do believe you are developing feelings for me!” cooed Ally, in her best fake southern belle voice.
“Gross,” he said. “That’s just gross, Alison.”
“Call me Ally, please.”
Mick did his best not to smile.
Department of Student Loans, Kidnap & Ransom Page 13