Chapter One: HACK ME
5 December, 1999
L felt his attention jerked by a scene unfolding at the opposite corner of the café, despite his efforts to keep his attention on the laptop before him. It wasn't like he was distracted, or wanted to be. His subconscious had simply broken out his grasp and had decidedly absorbed itself in something he was against.
Thirty minutes. Two thousand and forty-seven numerical and alphabetical characters, including the pound or space key. Hit delete twice. Hit backspace once. Haven't cleared yet.
The homeless woman wasn't texting or calling. Her typing had no patterns, so she couldn't have been playing a game. Could she be in the middle of a ploy or prank, where she was to be caught texting?
Still, even those pretending to text would subconsciously favor certain keys, resulting in a normal distribution of character-versus-hit. Her typing was erratic, random, and unnaturally disordered.
L felt a slight and foreign hint of irritation.
It had been a years since he had a truly challenging case—a few mass murderers, some strange plots to assassinate random presidents of obscure democratic states, and a perverted killer every now and then. None could merit 'interesting'. Even the longest case, which took him a relatively record-breaking three minutes and twenty-seven seconds, was barely waxing engaging.
And here, ironically enough, was the internationally renowned detective: wasting away in a café to stalk an unfortunate and oblivious homeless woman because all his job was too horridly undemanding.
"What is she doing? What could she be trying to pull off, L?"
He could feel the question bubbling in his fingers and wrapping around his toes. The sensation only vexed him more.
And the fact that his boredom was at last alleviated by a stranger pressing her definitely-not-manicured fingers on a typical cell phone pad only smacked home the notion that he must have been very, very fed up to be suddenly so easily entertained.
The thought that he was so, very bored was definitely displeasing. Therefore, he was irritated—but not irritated enough to be conscious of his own irritation.
It wasn't a good disposition, being amused and irritated at once, and aware of neither.
The only feeling of which L felt was the itch to know exactly what the girl was doing to her phone. And who she was, why she was here, how she got here, when she had gotten here and—
He stirred another sugar cube into his coffee and watched with morbid fascination as it melted away into the mud-like substance that was already thick with the corpses of previous sugar cubes. Meanwhile, his mind occupied itself with the possible interpretations of the other black-haired creature's actions.
Perhaps she had been kidnapped, and was engaging in an action that was only slightly suspicious in order to rouse the actions of others.
But her phone was functioning. That meant that she wasn't kidnapped.
Perhaps she was only entertaining herself in a bizarre fashion. She was sitting alone, and it was a very typical day during which girls her age and type would probably go out watching movies with friends and self-amuse.
But no one would possibly find half an hour of random-button-pressing amusing. That meant that L had another wrong hypothesis.
Perhaps she was browsing the internet, messaging someone…anything.
No, the latest versions of internet-receptive phones were still under testing. Even L had to rummage quite a while for one—and things L had to search for should be completely inaccessible to the public, and impossible to even dream of for a homeless woman.
"What could she be doing?"
L sipped his coffee patiently, staring at the reflection of her image through the dark, luminous surface of his computer screen. She was still at her game. She had started tapping her foot against the ground, obviously impatient. Her fingers drummed against the keypad with increasing speed.
A smile snuck up on the corners of her lips.
"What does that smile signify? Something must have been achieved. She was scheming, after all."
L could hear her now. The rapid crashing of her nails against the surfaces of her phone sent rows of muted chatter across the café. Even the self-adsorbed barista leaned over the counter to survey the newest attraction.
L turned around to glance at her, so not as to seem inconspicuous by not glancing at her. But when he turned back around, something was different.
His computer had magically woken up from hibernation, without a single touch. The shining blue picked at his patience.
"Computers don't do things on their own. Do they? Should they? No, I programmed this myself. Someone must be interfering. Fifty-percent."
Still, the girl was more distracting than the unreasonable behavior by his lap top. He could go home and fix the machine up (a euphemism for destroy-without-hesitation), but it was unlikely he could meet the homeless woman again.
However, it seemed time had betrayed him. Before he had a chance to return to his analysis, the girl shut her phone with a pleased smirk and waved over the nearest the waiter: "Sir, the bill, please."
L could no longer see her reflection. His computer screen, now shining blue, was too bright to serve as a mirror. But L couldn't turn it back off. It would be suspicious. She probably already noticed him, anyway, with his strange hunchback and bed-hair.
He noted her heavy Chinese accent, obviously that of one who was not a native speaker of the "Queen's English".
"Chinese accent: what can it mean? Immigrant, perhaps alien resident, moved here at a later age—but does that mean anything? Think. I am being paranoid. That's obvious. No, I am in no state to evaluate my mental stability."
A few brief and unremarkable words later, at the sound of her chair shuffling against the floor, L darted out of his seat as normally as possible under the pretense of a rush for the toilet.
He had to observe her just one more time. Perhaps there would be a clue. But the environment hadn't changed. The same people. The same scenery.
He caught her thumb pressing abnormally hard against a button on the side of her phone and stared.
What was she doing? Was it on purpose?
After she sauntered out the door L decided it would be left to fate whether he was to meet her again—which was remarkably unlike him. He also had to admit that it was remarkably unlike him to stalk young homeless girls in cafes in the first place.
"Maybe this was a coincidence. I have been off guard for too long and cannot differentiate fact from hypothesis. There was only a one-percent chance that she wasn't just—no, even one percent needs to be investigated thoroughly."
L found his way back to his seat swiftly, barely allowing the cold floor to touch his feet, but began slowing the moment his eyes caught onto his laptop.
It had turned itself off—No, it hadn't. It was…
L's lips slid apart slowly, revealing the smallest of cracks. Slowly, he fed his thumb into that crack as he stared at the unexpected surprise that had somehow managed to pop up on his computer screen:
"Dear Master,
I am deliriously sexy and would like to be used for my sexiness. This means, Master I'm-a-cheap-replicate-of-some-unknown-creature-from-The-Grudge, that I would rather not be left unused on a table because—
I don't know about you, but for me, hibernating is not sexy.
At least rub something on me. Even your hands.
Yes, rape me with your majestic hands.
Sincerely horny,
Your Sexy Lappy
P.S.: The girl that you were using me to stalk thinks that, for the love of god, you need a comb. And stalking isn't creepy. It's inviting.
Post-P.S.: My firewall is so fucked you might as well stick a 'HACK ME' sticker on my cover. Just in case you weren't aware.
Post-Post-P.S.: I'm sorry if you programmed my firewall yourself and consequently are enraged by the previous statement… you are enraged now, aren't you?"
By the time L turned around to look out the glass doors again, the fading hum of a motorcycle engine told him the girl was already too far away to be caught.
"Hm." L sat back down into his seat, folding his knees against his chest as he watched Watari's foot travel to the seat opposite of him.
"I apologize for being late." Watari noted, sitting down across the table, "I had just finished preparing the new case."
L stared on blankly, scarcely listening, and Watari continued, "Someone has been hacking into the Pentagon and leaving intentionally humiliating messages …"
L stopped listening entirely and smiled.
He definitely did not have the faintest idea whoever that hacker could be.
She was irritating.
She really was irritating.
No, scratch that, she was so incredibly irritating that irritating, at the moment, was really, really just an understate—
"Leila please, SHHHH!" The words that flew out of Xiaoxiao's mouth, which was stretched open and practically bleeding vexation onto the dirty carpet below, drew only a fleeing moment of silence.
Leila turned around, eyes half ajar critically, and faced Xiaoxiao with the skin-crawling-hair-standing-panty-pissing look.
"You shushed me, Xiao." Leila declared, the look now burning into her face like some kind of bad tar print which would've had seventeenth century witch-hunters giggling in worship.
Xiao felt a shiver of panic dart down her spine and quickly shut her laptop for pre-emptive measures. Not that Leila would dash a vase at it again. Hopefully.
"Did you just shush me, Xiao?" At this point Xiao knew that the hurricane was definitely coming: the twisted eyebrows, the unflattering snarl, the narrowed eyes. Xiao braced herself by stuffing her mouth full of hapless jellybeans that had been waiting digestion on the dining table since, probably, years ago. Stuffing her face meant an excuse not to respond to all the rhetorical questions Leila was so found of. Not responding to all the rhetorical questions meant a shorter hurricane. A shorter hurricane meant possibly protecting her tech-babies from Goddess Leila's various mood tantrums during yet another of their one-sided arguments.
Leila Anges Bell took one breath.
And it began: "Oh, m'ai gawd, Xi-a-o. Do you have any idea how noisy you are? Look at you. You look like a street-artist-wannabe. Toss that—you don't even look like one. You smell like one. When was the last time you used deodorant, sweet? Actually, when was the last time you even saw a shower head—no, water tap in general, huh? God, I swear, if..."
The artificial blonde, Leila, raged on and off about all of the despicable hygiene problems her friend sported in a continuous manner. It was so continuous, in fact, that Xiaoxiao began wondering how Leila was not dying from suffocation.
And the two stayed in such a manner, more or less: one rambling, one staring with passive confusion until, eventually, Leila finally dropped her nail filer and stared flatly at the Chinese girl on the couch: "Xiao, why are you living with me again?"
"Because I did your homework for you since grade three." Xiao slapped herself on the hand and regretted swallowing those jelly beans.
Not as if it mattered, of course. Leila didn't even wait to process Xiao's rebuttal before she began yet another tirade, "When are you going to start looking for a job? You even got fired from McDonalds! McDonalds, for crying out loud!"
Leila paused for the long-awaited gasp for air, and then pointed an accusatory finger at Xiao's laptop, "It's only because you are such a geek, you geek face! When was the last time you talked to someone but me and that stupid lap top? Huh? Huh?"
"I got fired from McDonalds because they thought I was hacking into their employee management files." Xiao answered meekly, withdrawing to the end of the couch slowly, "Although, really... I swear I wasn't... I mean, I haven't dropped that low. I was only trying to send the manager a secret message telling him to give me a raise, that was—"
"I don't want to hear your excuses! You're going to find a job. You're going to find one now. I don't care what it takes. You will be employed. You will." Leila snapped, picking up her nail-filer and police uniform again, and marched promptly out of the room with her blonde hair bouncing and all.
Xiao heaved a sigh of relief—for once, Lei spared her laptop physical mutilation.
The door swung open again before Xiao had even had enough time to get her hands around the laptop, however. The Chinese woman quickly ducked for cover.
Lei's high-pitched screech resonated through the dining room: "When I said you were going to get employed, you idiot, I meant you were going to have to search for a job. Now go fetch the classified section. The newspaper's on the doorstep!"
"Okay, okay, I know, I-"
"GET IT."
"Yes ma'am." Xiao scrambled off the couch and ran for the door.
It was nine o'clock. It was time for the daily hacking. It was definitely time for the daily hacking. The fat men scrambling around the Pentagon must be missing their daily intruder. The looks on their faces must be so disappointed, so sad, so...
Xiao stared at her keyboard, fingers aching to caress those steel-cold, dead-gorgeous silvery, plastic sex gods (otherwise known as keys to the unwise population), and sighed dramatically as she dragged her gaze back to the classified section.
Job search. What the hell?
There were at least forty job openings in each classified section. At least four different types of newspapers. At least two months' editions she would have to plow through. Xiao shuttered. She was going to be calling for interviews for the rest of her life.
Not that the calls were of any good:
"So, Miss Liang, are you familiar with computers?"
"Are you kidding? I hack-I mean, I harbor such an adoration for programming, and… typing. Oh, yes, typing… I type superfast, I promise. Eurm..."
"Grrrreaaaat... What about this? We can have you come in for an interview, small one, real informal. Just let me know when works the best for you."
"Around midnight, I guess. I do kind of live on a strange...yeah."
"Oh, well...o... Okay, see, well, actually, the position was filled up already. I'm sorry. Thanks though. We'll let you know if there are any other availabilities in the future. Buh-bai!"
Xiao sighed and, swearing quietly, turned her attention back to her laptop.
She was really late today. The guys at the Pentagon must be gasping in anxiety. She couldn't help it. She knew Lei was only helping her but, but, but—
Then the idea struck, kind of like a cosmic explosion of wonderful stardust. Xiaoxiao's eyes were glimmering in hope as she squealed and began pounding on the keyboard. She was going to write the perfect resume, and everyone who owned a computer on planet earth was going to read it.
Literally.
"What..."
It was the hollow screech, awaiting arrival of the storm. Near breathed slowly. What could it possibly be? Some new-comer stole his chocolate bar again? Some hapless guest mistook him for a little girl again? Hones—
"...the fuck, mate?" Mello's voice dashed all the way down the corridor and nearly body-slammed Near off his bean bag. Mello wasn't even in the same room. Near sighed, "Yes, Mello?"
Toleration. Patience. Yes, Patience was a Virtue. Virtue. Virtue. He had to put himself in Mello's shoes. Of course, it must be the most sinful, unthinkable act in thousands of years of human history to steal a chocolate bar. Of course, it is the most rude and grotesque thing to mistake a blonde drag-queen for a girl. Of course. Poor Mello. Poor, poor—
"Some idiot sent a copy of her resume to me! How the hell do you typo an e-mail address so badly that it actually matches mine?"
"Mello, you make no sense." Near didn't even bother looking up. He hated days like these. Why did Matt have to have his physical examination on the same day that Mello gets a wrong-address email? What was the probability of that? (0.04%)
"BB says he got a copy too!"
Near didn't respond. He stared at the enormous castle that he had built around himself and picked up another piece.
"So did that fat-ass newcomer, and the anti-social girl, and the…"
Near flinched, scooting instinctively to the side of his plastic castle wall for protection. Just in case.
"Oh, my fucking god, Ne—!"
The door slammed open and this time, Near actually did roll off his bean bag. "NEAR, THERE IS A CONSPIRACY."
Near grimaced, peering at Mello with a sad, despondent countenance. Toleration.
L took the resume in a slightly more collected manner than his successors two floors below. After soothing his first reaction to throw away his laptop, L took a more careful analysis of the files.
The second her picture caught his eyes, a beam completely devoid of good intentions popped up on L's face.
Xiaoxiao Liang, 1732 Summer Drive, Apt. 15, London—was it?
