It's Not Me, It's You

by Mhairi McFarlane

  ‘Yes! He said his little friend never leaves his side!’ Delia said. ‘I think I saw it once, too. This must be what he meant.’

  ‘Boom,’ Adam said, tapping a pen on his knee. ‘If there’s a smoking gun about the retirement homes deal, that’s where it is.’

  ‘If it’s always in his pocket, how the hell do I get to it?’ Delia said. ‘Wait until he’s got it in the laptop and goes to make a cup of tea?’

  ‘I don’t think he ever put it in the laptop when we were there. Also, Kurt never makes the tea,’ Steph said.

  ‘Good points.’

  ‘Not to be Debbie Downer, but even if we get the USB stick, we’re not going to get anything from it. The contents will be encrypted, heavily security-protected,’ Adam said.

  ‘We’d need some sort of IT genius to break through it?’ Delia said.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘I have an idea.’

  Delia went into the kitchen to put the kettle on and put the laptop on the table while the Skype call connected. It was too self-conscious ‘meeting’ Joe for the first time with onlookers.

  The call was answered and a surprised Delia, stood in Emma’s kitchen in London, found herself face to face with a slim man in his thirties dressed in a black t-shirt, in Newcastle, in what looked like a storeroom. Delia was ashamed to admit that it surprised her that he was boyishly attractive, in a skinny computer geek with pointy angles and unkempt hair sort of way. She’d been ready for any stripe of seriously eccentric shut-in.

  ‘Hello!’ she said. ‘Joe!’

  ‘Delia. We meet at last,’ Joe’s youthful voice, in her native accent, sounded over the tinny speakers on her laptop. He grinned tightly and self-consciously.

  ‘Oh my God! It’s you! And me!’

  ‘It is,’ Joe said, tucking his hair behind his ears. ‘I’m in the garage by the way. In case you think I might be in prison. It’s my lair. Yes, OK, I live with my parents.’

  Delia guffawed.

  Relief at how easy it was to chat washed over her, making her even more voluble. Delia was burbling merrily at the screen as she carried the laptop back into the living room, placing it on the coffee table, facing the sofa.

  ‘This is Joe,’ she said a little breathlessly. ‘He’s got mad skills when it comes to computers.’

  ‘My skills are quite sick,’ he said. ‘Ah, there’s all three of you. Hello!’

  Delia could sense Joe was not a natural performer but he seemed reasonably at ease in the sanctuary of his garage.

  Delia sat in the reflected glow of his expertise as Joe said his hellos to Adam and Steph and then discussed ‘Operation Hack USB’ in much more authoritative terms than anything Delia had managed so far.

  ‘Everything boils down to passwords these days, up to twenty characters or so,’ Joe said. ‘The difficulty of the password is generally in proportion to the value of the information to the owner. If it’s, say, grumble pictures of your girlfriend, you’ll have medium level. If it’s something that could see you in prison for a thirty-stretch, it’ll be very strong, and so on.’

  ‘Expect the latter,’ Adam said.

  ‘Can’t you run password-finding software where a million options scroll past and then it finds the password, the cursor stops on it and it clicks and flashes?’ Delia said, only half-joking.

  Joe grinned. ‘That’s how we’d do it in a film. Unfortunately the reality is not quite that easy.’

  ‘If we have to guess a password, this is a needle in a haystack, isn’t it? Or Shakespeare and the typewriter chimpanzees.’

  Adam smiled at her.

  ‘Not quite,’ Joe said, ruffling his hair with his long-fingered hands and looking about sixteen. ‘Firstly, frequency of access is in our favour. This is something he’s using often. My guess is he won’t have put in lots of underscores and random numerals because it’d be a pain to input. It’ll be a phrase. With brute forcing, what we can do is “seed” the attack. With your help, I pull together everything available about Kurt online. Hopefully somewhere there’ll be a clue as to what’s influenced his choice of password. We run a program, pre-loaded with this research, that then throws everything it has at guessing the password, bam bam bam bam—,’ Joe did open and closing hand movements. ‘It’s a hailstorm assault until something snags. A hailstorm tailored to your target. It’ll find its mark eventually.’

  Adam and Steph both looked impressed. By contrast, Delia tried not to look disappointed. This still sounded hopelessly impossible, to her untrained ears.

  ‘It could be anything?’

  ‘Technically, yes. But it won’t be. Think about your own passwords,’ Joe said. ‘Did they come from nowhere? Or are they associated with your life: important dates, names, pets, favourite songs?’

  ‘Songs,’ Steph put her hand up.

  ‘There you go. If you’ve got a Spotify or iTunes account, I know what you listen to.’

  ‘There’s a lot of hair metal,’ Steph said.

  ‘How long would it take?’ Delia said.

  ‘Can’t say. We could hit oil in fifteen minutes, or it could take two hours.’

  Adam shook his head. ‘I don’t think we should keep it long enough that Kurt notices it’s missing and figures out what’s happened. We should try to get it back to him before he realises. That’d give us the element of surprise when we publish, and Delia wouldn’t be in as much danger. If he realises she’s nicked it, all hell will let loose.’

  ‘Then it’s pot luck. We’ll try for as long as we can safely have it,’ Joe said. ‘Or you know, you can drug him, drag him to a cellar and hit him with a wrench until he tells you the password.’

  ‘Probably more crime than we want to commit,’ Adam said.

  ‘How do we separate Kurt from his trousers so I can get the drive?’ Delia said.

  Steph stifled a laugh.

  ‘You wouldn’t have much trouble doing that.’

  Adam side-eyed Delia.

  ‘Much as I want to take Kurt down, I don’t want it at the price of you having to go down on him.’

  ‘Second that,’ Joe said, cheerily.

  ‘Thanks for the chivalry but I wasn’t going to volunteer,’ Delia said, slightly offended.

  There was a pause while they silently wrestled with the conundrum of Kurt’s trousers.

  ‘Hang on, hang on!’ Delia said. ‘There’s a fancy dress party at the V&A that Kurt suggest we go to on Friday; some vodka launch. We’re going to change at work. He’d take his trousers off then?’

  Her thoughts ran ahead, almost tripping over themselves. ‘He’ll take the stick out of his pocket and put it in the costume’s pockets. I’m in charge of ordering the fancy dress.’

  ‘What’s he going as?’

  ‘A 1920s gangster, pinstripe suit, trilby, tommy gun.’ Delia was excited now. ‘And Kurt said it didn’t have pockets and asked me if I’d carry his BlackBerry! He won’t give me the USB, of course. It’s not feasible to get the drive out of a trouser pocket. But his jacket pocket, if you distracted him, noisy room, drink …?’

  ‘What are you going as, a gangster’s moll?’ Adam said, giving her a satirical look.

  ‘A fox,’ Delia said. ‘Not as in foxy lady,’ she said, hurriedly. ‘A literal fox, the animal. I’ve got an amazing tail with bendy wire in it.’

  ‘The Fox! Two become one!’ Joe said. ‘That’s the coolest thing.’

  Delia beamed at him and had a sense of them being a private club of two.

  Amazingly, out of the nothing they had an hour earlier, a plot formed, with parts for everyone to play.

  Joe would be talking Adam through the code-cracking. Delia was grateful this wasn’t her bit, as Joe’s account of what he was going to do became even less intelligible.

  ‘To make this work, I’m going to need more processing power. A lot more. We could rent it from The Cloud, but that would leave a footprint to follow. There’s a wholesaler that’s gone bankrupt and has loads of old Xbox 360s going on the cheap. I reckon I can c
obble them together into a beastly server of our own. In my garage. Or the Naan-cave HQ, as Delia knows it.’

  She laughed.

  ‘Do what you need to do, and bill me,’ Adam said. ‘I can put it on the company expenses.’

  Joe rang off as Delia thanked him profusely.

  ‘No need,’ he grinned. ‘This is the shit I smoke.’

  ‘The CIA want to worry about him,’ Adam said. ‘In theory, with about half a dozen moments ripe for disaster to strike, and scant chance of cracking the password in time, this could just work.’ He gave Delia a look of admiration. ‘Say I get something I can use. What happens to you?’

  ‘I’m not going back that job after Friday, no matter what. I have some savings, I’ll live off them if I can’t get anything else straight away. I might even be a barista. I always wanted to know how to make a good coffee.’

  Steph nodded and Adam looked at her curiously, as if he hadn’t had the full measure of her until now. It was peculiarly gratifying.

  As the meeting wound up, Delia thought she better say the thing they might’ve been thinking.

  ‘How legal is this? Aside from that, how ethical is it to steal? I mean it isn’t, obviously …’ Delia said, looking to Steph. ‘I’ve had pangs of guilt.’

  Steph cast her eyes downward.

  ‘None here, sorry. You should’ve heard him when he sacked me, Delia. He’s nasty. Also it’s not stealing if we give the flash drive back. It’s snooping.’

  Adam looked from Steph, back to Delia. ‘Exactly. The legalities are more for me to worry about if I publish, as I can be sued. There’s a public interest defence for snooping. If we don’t find anything in the public interest, we don’t use anything we find. The website has a lawyer on the payroll to check the safety of these things before we publish.’

  ‘What if Kurt reports us for theft anyway?’ Delia said.

  ‘I have a strong feeling he won’t want to invite that sort of scrutiny of Twist & Shout. You’re leaving, so sacking you isn’t a threat. Kurt got me sacked, once upon a time, and he’s spying on you, so no sensitive stomach about his right to privacy here. I won’t be opening folders with photos of his ex-wife. But Delia, are you sure you want to do this? You’re on the front line.’

  Delia took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

  ‘I think sometimes you have to do wrong to do what’s right. It’s not ruthless if someone deserves it. Right, Adam?’

  She waited for him to realise she was quoting.

  ‘You’re an even bigger smartarse than me, Dahlia.’

  As Steph reclaimed her bicycle from Emma’s hallway downstairs, Adam hung back, waiting to say something.

  ‘Delia,’ he said, ‘it’s fine us sitting here and coming up with this Mission Impossible heist. None of the rest of us have to actually tangle with the twat. You need to be careful. This is Kurt’s livelihood and he’ll be vicious as he needs to be to guard it. I know he’s got a soft spot – and a hard place – for you. But it wouldn’t mean a thing when push came to shove.’

  ‘I know,’ Delia said, with a shiver of nerves. ‘I’m not depending on Kurt’s affection.’

  ‘If it’s not happening on the night, it’s not happening. None of us will blame you if you can’t get the drive.’

  ‘… Thanks.’

  Delia tried not to take this as scepticism about her Spy Fox skills. Adam looked at her intently.

  ‘Diving around in his pocket … don’t go too far. Nothing’s worth anything that’ll make you feel less human afterwards.’

  As much as she knew this was well intentioned, she was faintly angered by it. She’d seized control, and he was still acting like he had the upper hand. She folded her arms.

  ‘You think you have to tell me not to give him a gobble, Adam? Think this could be considered patronising, and insulting?’

  ‘I don’t mean that, exactly. In the pursuit, when the adrenaline’s flowing, strange things can happen. It overtakes you. I’ve done stupid things when I’m after a story. Ducked under a police cordon, during a fingertip search …’

  ‘I’m not about to duck under Kurt’s cordon and conduct a fingertip search!’

  ‘I’m not having a go or accusing you of anything, I’m looking out for you. Kurt’s not a nice man. He’ll go further than anyone else. He’s built a career on it.’

  ‘That’s why we’re all here,’ Delia said.

  ‘Seriously. Be careful,’ Adam said, and Delia muttered, tersely: ‘Yes, thanks. Got it. I will be.’

  They parted on rather less warm terms than she might’ve expected, after the evening’s highs.

  Emma’s upside-down head suddenly popped into view, nearly level with Delia’s, making Delia scream with surprise. She was hanging over the upstairs landing from where she’d been listening in, her blonde bob making her look like a naughty schoolgirl after lights out in an Enid Blyton.

  ‘Has he gone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh my God, you two!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You didn’t tell me you were like that together!’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Bickery and flirty and close and sexual tension.’

  ‘Yuck! Hardly!’

  ‘You don’t think he was being manly and protective about a woman he likes too much?’

  ‘Did you spot the bit where he implied I’m loose as a goose?’

  ‘He wasn’t implying that. Cor, you have to make everything a cause, you do. That was the heat of his jealousy at the thought of another man’s hands on you.’

  Delia made a face. ‘Your judgement’s completely clouded by your randiness.’ Delia turned her head to one side. ‘Hasn’t the blood gone to your head?’

  ‘I’m draining it away from my …’

  ‘Stop, STOP!’ Delia said and Emma gurgled with laughter, withdrew her head and came halfway down the stairs, sitting on a step.

  ‘You sneaky bitch. That evening we met Sebastian you were all—’ Emma made fluttering eyes, pushed her lips forward, ‘Why has disapproving man done nice thing for me? Yeah. What a fiendish PUZZLE.’

  ‘I concede Adam West has some decency. He wouldn’t be here if I didn’t concede that. You’re completely off about the rest. In fact –’ this was a little disingenuous, but Delia wanted to nip this Emma idea in the bud ‘– I once overheard him saying he’d sooner turn gay than go for me. So there.’

  ‘Hah! Grandiose denials to throw others off the scent. It’s textbook bewitchment.’

  Delia sighed.

  ‘He cares about you,’ Emma said. She smoothed her dress over her knees, ‘It was nice to hear.’

  Delia had no reply for that, so she said: ‘Come and look at something,’ leading her into the living room and the laptop. She opened The Fox comic online.

  Emma held her hair back as she peered at the screen: ‘Is this the comic you were doing at uni? It looks fantastic. Fantastic Miss Fox, perfect! I’d forgotten how well you can draw. Delia, this is so cool. You’ve done this since you’ve been down? You’re so sly. No wonder you like foxes.’

  ‘I got it out of storage when I was back at home and started writing it again. I thought I might … I’ve been looking into contacting agents or publishers or something and seeing if anyone professional likes it. What do you think?’

  ‘I think you should definitely, definitely do this.’ Emma regarded her. ‘You’ve got your sparkle back, you know. I don’t want to take the credit – but I absolutely should have the credit. Coming to London has been good for you.’

  ‘It has,’ Delia said, glad she could be entirely honest. ‘It really has.’ She hugged Emma. ‘Christ, you are drenched in perfume.’

  Delia was apprehensive about Operation USB Stick, even more so after Adam’s cautions, yet she felt peculiarly energised. She was making things happen. She was making choices, standing up for what she believed in, doing good for others and taking risks for the right reasons.

  This was a life she was building for he
rself.

  It was fair to say that Delia had never encountered the problem of ‘how to sit down in a black cab when you have a huge fox tail springing from your arse’ before. She tried pulling it to one side but there was still a large bushel of bum accessory between her and the seat. She perched, doing an impression of sitting that was more squatting.

  ‘Why the hell do you want to look like a bin-scavenging varmint?’ Kurt said, eyeing her from his flip-down seat opposite, one big hand on the handle above the door to steady him, the other holding his Bugsy Malone fake firearm.

  ‘I like them,’ Delia said, trying not to pitch forward into his lap as the cab took a sharp corner. ‘They’re mysterious and nocturnal and slink around our world when we’re asleep.’

  ‘They’re rotten thieves who need to be on the wrong end of a twelve-bore.’

  He didn’t know how true he spoke.

  ‘Look at my tail though!’ Delia said.

  ‘Yeah. You’re making the get-up your own, I guess,’ Kurt said, openly scoping her form in a way that would make Lionel Blunt proud.

  In fact, Delia was regretting her choice of costume. It had seemed delightfully funny as an idea, but it was cumbersome and embarrassing in actuality.

  There was a theme to women’s fancy dress, it seemed – if you didn’t want a French Maid outfit or similar ‘the stripper’s arrived’ gear, you had to be a Slutty Something. Slutty Heidi, Slutty Witch, Slutty Snow White.

  When the fox outfit arrived, it was less cute and more provocative than she’d hoped, being a tube dress made from clingy orange lycra. It was low cut with a chest wig of white fluff underneath, thus drawing maximum attention to her cleavage, while the tail was an open invitation to stare at her behind. Her fiery block of fringe peeped out from under a hood attached to the dress, which had large triangular ears.

  Delia was right, the tail was the best feature – a foot-long fountain of russet fluff with a white and black tip, as bushy as a small Christmas tree and engineered to stand up by itself.

  Delia had used a kohl pencil to draw a nose and whiskers on her face. She felt ludicrous, and was glad of the black Zorro-face mask over her eyes, so she wasn’t instantly recognisable.