At Wit's End

by Lawrence, A. K.

  “If you’re going to play, you’ve got to pay,” she panted and checked the time left on the machine. She was on the treadmill at a speed that was a near jog and had been for what felt like forever. She had about 10 minutes left in the cycle and she turned up the volume on her music.

  “Punish the body, punish the mind,” she groaned and wiped sweat from her brow. She thought it smelled like Riesling, winced and debated adding another 15 minutes to the machine but, really, she was being masochistic enough, was she not?

  The SmartPhone sitting on the shelf of the treadmill lit up and started dancing toward the edge. “Oh, thank you, whoever you are.” She quickly cancelled the rest of the cycle and turned the music to a tolerable level. She double-checked the incoming call and swiped her finger across the screen to answer it.

  “Thank you for calling C U There Party Planning. This is Marie, how may I help you?” It would have been the perfect tone had she not been panting.

  “Hello, Marie, how are you today?” The voice was smooth, young, well-modulated and definitely cultured.

  “I’m doing fine, thank you for asking. And yourself?”

  “Just great. My name is Brad Witson. We’ve exchanged emails about an event I’d like to plan.”

  “Of course, Mr Witson. Thank you for calling.” Marie was finally getting her breath back. Then she flashed onto the image of him in those revealing boxer briefs and nearly lost it again. “I understand you have specific requirements?”

  “Indeed. I’m preparing to host an event at my home. I’ve spoken with a few caterers and have asked them to write up proposals.” He listed several companies that Marie was familiar with. They were all high end and ultimately she hoped C U There would develop the same clientele. “I’d like you to put some ideas together and then we’ll meet to discuss it.”

  “I have a few questions before I’m able to do that, including the date of the event and any theme you may have in mind.”

  Wit’s mind went blank. He’d been making this up as he went along and realized his cover story wasn’t as thorough as it probably should have been. Next she’d ask about a guest list and, honestly, he didn’t have one. He scrambled. “I intend to have the event within the next month. I assume that gives you enough time?”

  Marie nodded to the phone. “A month will be more than sufficient. When would you like to get together to discuss my proposals?”

  “Will three days be enough time? I’m afraid I have several meetings scheduled and that’s my only available time. We’ll meet at CoffeeBot and, if you’re selected, I’ll bring you here to begin putting those plans into effect.” Wit winced. His ability to lie smoothly hadn’t left him while he’d been on the islands apparently.

  He wondered what else would come back to him now that he’d returned to New York. There were four that never would. Before his mind could travel down the dark path that reminded him his friends now resided underground he listened to her response.

  “I’m afraid I’m not aware of CoffeeBot’s location. If you’ll text or email me the address I’ll be happy to meet you in three days.” Marie pulled up her calendar, winced at all the empty squares that she’d hoped to have filled with appointments, and added their tentative meeting.

  “It’s a welcome home party,” he told her. Brad wondered if he’d actually have to throw the party at this rate. “So, for a theme, do what comes naturally.”

  “If I may ask, where had you been travelling? I can plan dishes accordingly.”

  Wit cleared his throat. “Think Jamaica, the British Virgin Islands, like that.”

  “It sounds like that would have been a fantastic vacation,” she replied. Ideas began swirling through her head and she immediately discarded anything that involved tiki torches.

  “One would think,” he said cryptically. “I’ll see you in three days.” After he’d disconnected the call Wit crawled into bed. He couldn’t believe how draining it could be to talk on a phone. He wondered briefly if he’d come home too soon. His liver informed him otherwise and he drifted into a deep sleep.

  The coffee shop was dim and it took a few minutes for Marie’s eyes to adjust from the bright of the afternoon sunshine. Something mellow was playing on the overhead speakers and she recognized it as Dave Matthews Band once she heard Dave’s mournful wail.

  There was a mishmash of furniture as though the building had been stocked from garage sales. There were laptops set up on the lopsided tables and several people were using them. Most were college kids from what Marie could tell but there were a few closer to her own age. Animated conversations were happening in the corners where people posed in overstuffed beanbag chairs.

  Marie made her way to an empty table and booted up her laptop. When a sullen server came by she requested a black cup of coffee and scanned the news pages, cleared out her email and tried to distract her wandering mind.

  Would he like her ideas? Would they finish this meeting early enough for her to get home and finish the preparations for Susan’s dinner? She mentally kicked herself for not putting Susan’s party into her calendar and then shrugged it off. Nothing to be done about it now and she’d find a way to make it work.

  Wit’s brain couldn’t let go of the code. There were a few niggling details left to fix and the algorithm would be a thing of beauty. Byte420 had one of those details under his competent fingers and Wit hoped he’d finish soon. He’d like to walk through the world without feeling like he was in The Matrix sometime soon. Assuming that was possible.

  He’d often felt he lived in an alternate world compared to the people wandering the streets of New York. Sometimes he felt like grabbing a stranger and screaming that life was about more than the next pay check, the next new car, the next pointless exercise in futility that seemed to dominate the modern age.

  It had taken the blast of a bomb for him to come to that realization. During his time on the various islands Wit had understood that making money, driving the sports car and wearing the trendy clothes could never make up for the lack he was facing in his life.

  A Lamborghini can’t ask you how your day was, he thought, or maybe it could if it was programmed right. The problem is the car didn’t actually care. For six months Wit hadn’t cared either. He had roamed the beaches, drank the whiskey or rum or whatever was at hand, and delved deep into the Deep Net.

  Everyone had revenge fantasies when something awful happened in their lives. The difference between other people and Wit was that he could actually do something about it. The group that was responsible for the bomb had run into a series of unfortunate setbacks they could never explain. Money disappeared from banks, cell phones stopped working and, aside from the FBI and ATF, they had dealt with visits from Homeland Security and a few other nameless government agencies.

  Wit felt lost in the world of binary code. 1’s and 0’s were everywhere he looked. Fortunately he knew how to make those digits do exactly what he wanted though there were times it felt like they were taking over. Wit welcomed that. He had grown weary of feeling angry and when he was deep in the code he didn’t feel anything.

  Byte420 and a few others had come across him on the message boards. Conversations had included interesting tidbits about scumbags that could use a visit from Zero. He couldn’t stand anyone taking advantage of the weak although, admittedly, some people had no concept of security and they may as well wave their hands and beg for bad things to happen to them.

  There was the corrupt police officer in Phoenix. That had been rewarding and not much of a challenge. The man’s credit cards showed airline tickets being purchased which normally wouldn’t raise an eyebrow except those tickets were to Afghanistan and directly underneath that charge had been several cash advances that went directly to the accounts of known terrorists from the region.

  It had been impossible for the man to completely talk his way out of the suspicions and he currently lived on unemployment which Wit made sure never came through on time or correctly. All done anonymously through the inte
rnet. The modern age was a beautiful thing, Wit reflected.

  Wit scraped the razor over his chin and winced. Perhaps he should have put shaving higher on his list of priorities while he’d been away. He grabbed his clippers and considered bringing his hair back to a manageable length but decided he liked the beach bum look. The brown tangle nearly reached his shoulders now and he found it vaguely appealing. He wiped the lather from his face and stepped back to look in the mirror.

  He’d lost weight; that much was obvious. Though he couldn’t see his ribs it was close. The six pack abs he’d worked so hard at the gym to develop existed but looked natural now. The white towel hung low on his hips and made his skin look far darker than he’d thought. Objectively he knew he was still eye candy, just of a different sort.

  Tired of looking at his reflection Wit stalked into the master bedroom and perused his closet. What does one wear when confessing to a ruse and then plotting ridiculously illegal activities? He chose jeans and a green polo shirt that had always been a particular favourite of his. Simply preparing for this meeting was making him tired and Wit thought it might be time to talk to someone about this depression before it ate him alive from the inside out.

  A chime came from his home office. Tapping his foot he waited and then his iPad made the same noise. Wit gave it another 5 seconds and was pleasantly surprised when his phone followed suit. He knew it would be some sort of spam but he was satisfied his email alerts were working as intended. A buzzing noise soon followed and that was his alarm. If he didn’t get his move on he’d be late for his meeting with Marie. He slid his bare feet into loafers, shoved sunglasses on, grabbed his keys and hit the elevator.

  The door continuously opened as customers came and went. The shaft of sunlight spearing through the room struck Marie in the eyes and eventually she switched tables. She’d wanted a view of the door so she’d know when Brad Witson entered. She knew what he looked like, thanks to the internet, but she didn’t know if he’d done the same. Therefore she would do her best not to wave like a wild maniac when he came in and instead would be calm and collected. She hoped.

  An alarm on her phone chimed. Marie knew it was from her calendar being set for this meeting and, just like that, her client was late. She had often wondered why it was so difficult for people to be on time for the meetings they set. Marie had been taught that if you aren’t 10 minutes early you’re late. She refilled her coffee, sat back down and prepared to twiddle her thumbs.

  It was with some surprise that she saw Brad Witson through the front windows. She thought it was him, anyway. When the door opened and he entered she rose from her chair and began striding toward him, all business.

  “Mr. Witson, I’m Marie Chase from C U There. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She extended her hand and he took it gently.

  “The pleasure is mine, Ms. Chase. Please, call me Wit.”

  “Wit?” She cocked her head.

  “All of my friends and many acquaintances do and have since high school.”

  “I see. Wit it is,” she accepted. “And, please, call me Marie.”

  “Now that we’re past the formal,” he grinned cheekily at her and Marie nearly swallowed her tongue, “let’s have a seat. We have a lot to talk about and I’d like to set this satchel down.”

  Marie pulled her wits, no pun intended, back together. “Of course. I have a spot right over here.” She gestured and Wit followed her to the small, wobbly table.

  The barista looked at Wit with a questioning look and he nodded. He’d been here each of the past three days and the workers were used to him. They knew he didn’t go for the elaborate coffee drinks and, instead, preferred it large, strong and black. He turned his attention back to Marie and couldn’t help but approve of the pinstriped skirt and white button down top. Professional and a look he found sexy. She had that wild mass of hair clipped back and he felt a desire to reach behind her head and release it.

  Once they’d sat Wit was at a loss how to start the conversation. Fortunately Marie started for him. “So, if I may ask, how did you hear about C U There?”

  His brain stalled out completely. “It was a referral on the internet.” There, that was close to the truth.

  “If you let me know who it was I’ll be sure to give them a discount on their next event.” She looked at him expectantly.

  “An acquaintance.” Her head cocked to the side and he thought he saw a flicker of annoyance in her eyes.

  She waited and Wit wanted to bless the server when she interrupted them by bringing his coffee and a refill for Marie.

  “Well then, so much for the small talk,” she gave him a professional smile. Reaching into her bag she pulled out a folder. “I have several ideas for your welcome home party. I hope you find at least one of them appealing.”

  “Marie, I’m sorry but I have to interrupt you. I’m not actually planning a party.”

  “Excuse me?” The fire in her eyes was unmistakable and Wit felt like a complete heel.

  “I was referred to you by someone on the internet, that wasn’t a lie-“

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d take those sunglasses off,” she interrupted him. “It’s rude and I find it disconcerting to have someone lie to me when I can’t see their eyes. It seems vaguely unfair, don’t you think?” Catty wouldn’t begin to describe her tone.

  Wit whipped the sunglasses off and tossed them on the table. He wouldn’t meet her eyes when he apologized again. “I have a friend online who suggested you might be in need of my kind of assistance.”

  Her brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m afraid you’ve been misled. I haven’t requested any help.”

  “Um,” Wit tried to think of how to put this delicately. “It was something about some money that had been taken from you. Ah, that reminds me,” he pulled a check out of his pocket. “I felt bad about the ruse and I know you’ve worked hard on a party that isn’t going to happen. This should cover your time.” He laid the paper on the table. “If it’s not enough please let me know.”

  The insult burned in her stomach. She picked the check up between two fingers, took a long look at his face and slowly ripped it in half. “The consultation is free. We’ll just pretend you didn’t like my ideas.”

  Wit nodded. “Have it your way then.”

  “You’re Teddy’s friend? The guy who would hack the Pentagon if the money was right?” Disbelief dripped.

  Wit winced. “I don’t do it for the money, actually and, please, keep your voice down.” He looked around. The internet café wasn’t that busy but there were always curious ears. “I don’t like it when people are taken advantage of. If I’m able to balance the scales I will.”

  “So you’re some kind of modern age Robin Hood?” She snorted.

  “That’s not how I would put it but if it makes you feel more comfortable then, sure, call me Robin.”

  “You’ll need tights.”

  It took him a moment to realize she was actually joking with him. Maybe this would work out after all. At least she wasn’t shooting daggers with her eyes anymore. Such pretty eyes, it seemed a shame to have anger flash in them. More so, when he looked deep he could see hurt and mistrust. “I’m afraid I’m all out at the moment.”

  “I’m sure we can remedy that.” Marie leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs and sipped her coffee. “I don’t know how this works or what happens.”

  “It’s easy. You give me the guy’s name and any other information you have about him. If I can I’ll retrieve your money. Within two months the guy will wish he’d never been born. That’s assuming I don’t arrange it so it looks like he never was. Or both.” His smile was cold. “Then you forget we ever met or what happened.”

  What if I don’t want to forget we met? She wanted to ask. Stifling the urge she prepared to admit to something she desperately didn’t want to. “Um, I have no idea what his real name is. I don’t have his phone number or birthday or anything like that.”

  He didn’t roll his eyes and he was p
roud of himself for that fact. “How long did you know him?”

  Marie sighed. “Six months.”

  “Did he have a phone of some sort? An email?”

  “Well, of course,” she answered.

  “Then give me those.”

  “None of them are active anymore.”

  “I’m sure the phone was basically a throw away, something prepaid. The email address, too, is something that can be anonymous.” He thought about it for a moment. “How did he take your money?”

  “He transferred it out of all of my accounts,” she replied, downcast. Thinking about it made her stomach clench all over again and she wondered if the coffee would stay down.

  “Which means he had to transfer it to one of his accounts or something he had set up temporarily. That’s the information I need. I can handle it from there.” He pulled his laptop from the leather satchel she hadn’t noticed him set on the floor.

  She stared at him, aghast. “You aren’t going to do it right now, are you?”

  Wit nearly laughed. “It’s easy but not quite that easy. I don’t do that kind of work on this computer and these chairs aren’t nearly comfortable enough.”

  She wanted to bang her head into the table. Instead she reached into her purse and pulled out some aspirin she promptly swallowed dry. She pulled up her banking website and, being sure to block her password from him though she wasn’t sure why, she showed him the information he needed. “I’m not sure how comfortable I am with all of this.”

  Wit was entering the information on a notepad program that encrypted automatically. He looked up, briefly. “Huh?”

  “I mean, maybe I was meant to learn this lesson for some reason.”

  “Do you feel like if you got the money back you would still have learned the lesson?”

  She thought about it. “Well, yeah. This isn’t something I’m likely to forget anytime soon.”