Denial of Service 4: L.A. Conspiratorial

by Steve Jordan

  “Starts?”

  Cooley nodded. “Once they execute it.”

  That was it! Merc was a program!

  “Of course Merc is a program!” Cooley replied. “What did you think we were talking about?”

  “Oh,” I said. “Did I say that aloud?” At least it wasn’t leakage…

  I watched as Cooley’s face drained again. He pointed an accusing finger. “You didn’t know! You didn’t know what Merc was! You tricked me, you bastard!”

  “Yeah, and now I do know,” I said, refusing to back down. “In fact, I know enough to have you put away for a long, long time, Cooley! So: Now that the cards are all on the table, you might as well tell me what Merc actually does.”

  Cooley shrank back, clearly reluctant to speak. I took out my cellphone. “Or I make a few calls to a few friends in places with letters for names.” I reflected a moment on how incredibly stupid that sounded. “C’mon, Cooley: States’ evidence… or states’ bitch?”

  I didn’t think his shoulders could slump anymore than they already had. He plopped down into a sofa, and stared at the floor.

  7: The plan

  “Remember Black Monday?” Cooley asked me.

  “Sure,” I replied. “Stock market crash of, what? ‘85?”

  “‘87. The crash was partially caused by automatic programs that weren’t programmed to react sensibly to the initial downturns, and went ape-s**t selling stocks off to compensate, driving everything into the cellar.”

  I looked at Cooley dubiously. “I know BM isn’t planning to crash the stock market. That would be more stupid than diabolical.”

  “Of course not,” Cooley said. “But the crash taught somebody a lot about how to better write those stock-handling programs, and even take some shortcuts around the NASDAQ protective protocols… and B&M worked as the accounting firm for one of those companies. The company was in dire straits, we bought them out… and we learned about this software. Someone realized what we could do with it, right away.”

  “Which was what?”

  “To manipulate certain stocks at programming speed, which would allow us to buy up stocks at a low price almost immediately, drive the prices back up, and dump the stocks at the top… making a hefty profit in about nine seconds, before anyone knew what happened.”

  “Whoa. Neat trick, if it’d work.” Then something clicked in my head. “You tried it once,” I said. “It didn’t work.”

  “Yeah,” Cooley nodded. “It was programmed to go after various mercantile stocks—”

  “Mercantile?…” I slapped a hand to my head. “ That’s ‘Merc’!…”

  “Yeah, sure. But it crashed our system, and almost left a clear trail from NASDAQ back to B&M. The execs had our IT guys make it look like we’d been attacked, to throw the trail off of us.”

  The DOS attack. “And you blamed a contractor’s employee for leaving you wide open for it. A guy named—” I brought my cellphone up to my face, to perpetrate like I was reading off the screen. “—Mike Schitzeiss.”

  “Yeah, somebody,” Cooley nodded again. “I dunno who, I wasn’t that deep into it.” He dropped his head and shook it sadly. “Man, I knew it was a bad idea. I knew it was gonna blow up in everyone’s face. This is why I just wanted to get out of it…”

  I was experiencing a wild ride of emotions right then. Part of me was incensed to find out the truth behind the ruination of my career… and another part of me was triumphant at discovering the truth on my own, not to mention getting a confession that would clear my name. Even at finding out what ‘Merc’ actually stood for. But the angry part of me was disappointed, because it sounded like Cooley was too far down the chain to satisfy any urge of physical retribution I may have had… and yeah, right now I could have killed this guy with my bare hands if I’d thought he’d been more directly responsible… and then, the last thing he’d said—

  Waitaminit. What’d he say?

  “ Waitaminit. What’d you say?”

  “I said, I just wanted to get out of all this,” Cooley repeated. “After the first screw-up, I knew it wasn’t going to work. I came out here to apply for another job, to get away. Hopefully before they tried to re-use that program, and get us all arrested.” He gestured at the door. “I thought you were my appointment, here early…”

  “You were trying to get out? Why didn’t you just go to the feds and tell them about Merc?”

  “Because it would only implicate me, too!” Cooley replied. “And I’d be in jail too! No… I wanted out! All the way out! I figured if I just put enough distance between us and kept quiet, I wouldn’t be implicated!”

  “Cooley…” I had to admit, there was a point, there… though how often does it work out that way, except in TV shows and cheap (even free) detective stories? Still, I admired his desire to get away from the corruption of BM… and as I thought about it, I realized there might be a way to help each other.

  I sat on the sofa next to Cooley. “Listen, man: You’ve done me a big favor, here. And I’d like to return the favor. I appreciate your wanting to get out, but it’s rarely that simple. Even from here, you could be dragged back into it and thrown to the wolves. But I might be able to do something that would not only help you… but give me some personal satisfaction, as well.”

  Cooley looked at me. “I don’t understand. What satisfaction would you get out of this?”

  “I’m Mike Schitzeiss,” I said.

  Cooley’s eyes popped, and he leaned away from me on the sofa. “Y-you’re the—the guy? The guy they framed for the first screw-up?”

  “That’s me,” I nodded. “And now that I know what it’s all about, there’s nothing I’d like more than to make sure they pay for their actions. But there’s paying… and there’s paying. And I’d like to see them pay… my way.”

  “Your way?”

  “ As only an IT guy can make them pay.” Don’t ask me how, but my voice sounded particularly menacing, even to me. Which probably means I’ve been in this business waay too long.

  Cooley smirked. “You’ve been in this business waay too long, if you think any of the higher-ups at B&M will be scared of an IT guy.”

  I smiled. Thought leakage. A real good sign. “That’s because they don’t know M.D. Schitz.”

  Cooley drew a blank. “Who’s that?”

  My face fell appropriately. “That’s me! —okay, look: What I told you about their planning to fire off Merc? I said that to fake you out. I don’t know when they’re planning to execute the program. But if you help me, we can be ready when they do, and… make sure they regret it. And at the same time, keep us in the clear.” I extended my hand. “Will you help me?”

  Cooley thought about it for a moment, understandable given the circumstances. Then, I saw him decide in his eyes, and he started to raise his hand to mine.

  That’s when a knock came at the door.

  Cooley looked up. “Oh! That must be my job appointment!” He got up out of the sofa and started toward the door, then stopped and turned back to me. “You don’t mind, do you? I really need this job to get out from under, y’know?”

  I was pretty sure I already had his cooperation. Though I had no idea how much time we had, I saw no reason he shouldn’t keep his appointment and get his job. “Go ahead,” I said. Cooley smiled gratefully and went to the door, opening it just after the second knock.

  The door was blocking my view of the person outside the door, but I heard a female voice: “Mister Cooley? Are you ready for our interview?”

  I was positive I knew that voice. I think the hairs on my entire body stood at attention at that moment; which was none too comfortable down my shorts, to put it politely. As I stood up and approached the door, suppressing the urge to scratch myself everywhere, the woman stepped into Cooley’s room. She had on a skirted business suit and three-inch heels, an outfit that closely walked the line between fashionably attractive and scandalously sexual, and blond hair framing an expertly-made-up face and taste-me-now lips. As she
stepped into the room, she realized someone else was there… she turned her head, saw me, her exquisite eyebrows shot upward and got lost in her hairline, and those taste-me-now lips popped wide open.

  “ Gail!” I goggled. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Gail goggled back at me, and at once, said, “Oh, s**t.”

  8: Gail

  “You’re supposed to be in L.A.!”

  “Well, you’re supposed to be in San Diego!”

  “Don’t evade the question!” I snapped. “What’re you doing meeting this guy?”

  “My job!” Gail snapped back. Abruptly she looked at me with a cocked eye. “Are you following me?”

  “ No! I came after him!” I said, leveling an arm at Cooley.

  “You’re not supposed to be here!” Gail stamped at me. “You’re getting into my work! What did I tell you about that?”

  “And just how is a guy who ruined my life part of your work, hah?”

  “L-listen,” Cooley, stammered, “if it’s all the same to you guys—”

  “ Shut up!” we both shouted, and Cooley backed up, chastised. A second later, Gail realized what she’d done, and immediately, she looked at Cooley, and her face softened. She took a step towards Cooley, and to his credit, he continued to back away from her. She took a quicker step, and caught him by his arm.

  “Mister Cooley! I’m so sorry about this! I don’t know why my… boyfriend… (and she said it with enough venom to paralyze an elephant, let me tell you) …chose this moment to intrude into my work space, but I assure you, it has no bearing on our business!” She tried to soothe him with her voice, steering him over to a nearby chair. “Tell you what: I’m just going to speak to him for a moment, and set things straight… and then you and I will get down to business. All right?” Cooley seemed hesitant, so Gail pressed the issue by pressing closer to him. “I promise… it’ll be okay. I just need a minute. Please?”

  After another moment’s consideration, Cooley finally nodded. “All ri—”

  But Gail was already moving, crossing the room, grabbing me by the front of my shirt, and dragging me outside of Cooley’s room and into the hallway. The door slammed loud enough that I’d bet Cooley jumped on the other side. And Gail slung me around until my back impacted with the wall on the other side of the hallway.

  “You’ve got a lot of ‘splainin’ to do, mister!” She pushed her face into mine, with a grimace that made it clear she had no interest in kissing me. “What the hell are you doing messing with my client?”

  “Your client,” I replied, “happens to be part of the plot that got me fired and blacklisted in my home town! I came here to find out what he knew! Your turn,” I added before Gail could respond to that. “Why’d you tell me you were going to San Francisco?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to come!” she hissed. “If you knew I was going two hours up the coast, you would have wanted to tag along!”

  “Yeah, maybe I would!”

  “Well, I didn’t want you to!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I didn’t want to hurt you!” Gail shouted.

  That drew me up short. At first, I didn’t understand what she was saying… was she threatening me? Was she telling me she was going to break off our relationship… was she having an affair? No… wait… it was there in her eyes…

  “You knew. You knew B&M was involved in my—”

  “Of course I knew!” Gail replied, voice quieter again, so it wouldn’t carry all the way down the hall, but no less insistent.

  “But how? I never told you—”

  “You talk in your sleep, numb-nuts,” Gail said, finally touching me… in the form of bouncing the heel of her fist off my chest. “And I’ve only been sleeping with you for the past two months, haven’t I? I knew if you knew I was coming to interview a B&M employee for our firm, you’d do… something stupid.”

  “It wasn’t stupid,” I defended myself. “In fact, it worked. Now I know what happened, and maybe I can do something about it—”

  “Well, do it on your own time, mister! I’m on the clock, here! And if you make me screw up this gig, I swear to you, no suit in Baltimore will be a tenth as scary as me when I go down on you’re a$$!” She shoved me sideways, towards the elevator. “Now, get lost! I’ll call you when I’m done.” I stood there a moment, hesitant, prompting her to wave at me like I was a bad puppy. “Shoo!”

  I finally decided to go. But I said to her, “We’re not done with this…”

  “Not by a long shot!” she agreed. Then, as I backed away, she smoothed out her hair, checked her suit, walked back to Cooley’s door, and knocked on it gingerly. “Mister Cooley? Hello?”

  9: Evening

  My cellphone went off once, at 2pm. Instead of Gail, it was Pete.

  “Hey, bro! What’s going on? What’re you doing in L.A.?”

  “Long story,” I said, “I’ll tell you when I get back. How did things go with you and Riley?”

  “Well, I’ll be eating s**t for awhile, but I think we’ll live,” Pete replied.

  “Good, glad to hear it,” I said. “Listen, I’m waiting for Gail to call me, so—”

  “No prob, bro. I’ll talk to you later. Let me know when you’re coming home.”

  “You know it. ‘Bye, Pete.”

  I hung up and put the phone down on the bed, where I was sitting up and facing the TV. “Some kind of long interview,” I muttered to myself… though I knew that important or particularly valuable prospective employees were often schmoozed for hours, given tours of the office and local sights, met multiple execs and workers, etc, etc… I mean, no one does that for an IT guy, but for a senior account executive, I guessed it was par for the course. For all I knew, I could be waiting until well after dinner.

  I tried very hard not to think beyond that. I had, of course, noted Gail’s attire, designed to make any guy go weak at the knees in her proximity. She usually dressed like that when I saw her go to work… and she’d told me once that her firm did not know she had a social life. So why did she always dress up like she was the social life? Who was she trying to impress, looking like that? Could there be something going on in her firm… maybe some one in her firm… that she was dressing up for? And most importantly: Did it stop with the dressing up?

  No, maybe more importantly: Was it my business?

  I tried to stop these thoughts from intruding on my waiting. Unfortunately, since I had chosen a motel with a fairly minimal basic cable setup, there was little on during the day, and in my searching around for something to watch, kept coming back to various soaps, the intent of each being apparently to reinforce the viewer’s distrust in his fellow man, and especially in the opposite sex. Then the soaps went off, followed by talk shows which cemented man’s cruelty to his neighbor even more. Then the news, and more examples of man’s inhumanity to man. It was so not helping my mood.

  When the phone finally rang, it caught me dozing, at eight o’clock. I fumbled for the cellphone, and checked the screen; it was Gail on the line. “Where are you?”

  “In my motel, on the south side of… uh—”

  “Never mind. You must have come in my car, so why don’t you meet me West Fifth and South Broadway? I’ll be on the north corner.”

  “I’ll be there,” I said, and hung up. Grabbing the sportcoat I’d left behind in my earlier foray, I left the room, climbed into Gail’s car, and dialed up the address on my cellphone’s GPS app. It took me about forty minutes to get there, partially because of two wrong turns I made that put me on one-way streets going the wrong way. I finally reached South Broadway, and after driving a few blocks, I saw Gail standing on the corner to my right, just before Fifth street. She saw me coming, and when I pulled up to the curb, she ambled over. She stopped short of opening the car door, though… I found myself staring at her midsection through the passenger’s side window. Perplexed, I hit the window control on that side, and before I could ask what she was doing, Gail leaned down, planted her elb
ows on the top of the door, and looked in at me like she was a classy streetwalker in designer threads looking over a cheap John.

  And actually said, “What can I do for you, sailor?”

  “Huh. I know I can’t afford you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I gave her a snide look. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

  “I have a better idea,” Gail replied, using a finger to point at a parking spot across the intersection. “Park it over there. I’ll be waiting here.”

  I looked across the intersection, and back at her. “Fine.” I waited until she’d straightened up, then I put the car in gear and drove off. I parked the car, fed one of those block-meters, then came back and crossed the street to meet Gail.

  Gail did not look particularly happy to see me. On the other hand, she didn’t look as though she planned to split my skull open with the nearest manhole, which was an improvement from her mood this morning. “I want to show you something,” she said. Follow me.”

  She started walking; and I followed. We didn’t speak as we walked, which made it convenient that we didn’t go far. Just about half the block, in fact, before Gail turned and entered one of the buildings. We crossed the lobby, took an elevator to the fourth floor, and stepped out. Gail took a moment to orient herself, then started down the hallway. When we reached a door, she opened her purse and fished out a set of keys on a gold ring. She used one to open the door, and step inside. The lights came on automatically as we entered.

  She walked through the office, which consisted of an open central space, with doors of frosted glass leading to each individual office. Most of the place was devoid of furniture, just a remaining chair here and there, and on the wall behind a receptionist’s counter, a name that had been painted or mounted on it, had been primed or plastered over. On the upper left, where the paint/plaster was thin, I could make out what looked like the word “Blue” and an “M,” but nothing else. At the far end of the office was a glass-walled conference room, that itself had a glass wall looking out over Los Angeles. L.A. being fairly flat in this area, I could see a wide expanse of lighted roadways and buildings continuing off into the distance.