Page 1 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

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Brody

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

I’ve read the same five lines of code at least three times without processing anything. Now I have to re-read them because of my stupid roommate and his stupid determination to finally get me laid.

“I’m making you sign up for one of those dating apps.”

Miles said this with the same determination as when he claimed he’d kick my ass in high school for failing to realize Amanda Sheridan was into me.

He didn’t kick my ass, but only because we’d been interrupted by the algebra teacher as he shouted at us to get to class. For the record, Amanda was into Miles. Not me.

I’ve been thinking about those words all goddamn day because I know–I justknow– he means them. He means every single word.

It’s not that I hate women. I fucking love women. Really, I do. Unfortunately, they’ve always intimidated me more than I care to admit. When Miles and I go out, they gravitate toward him because he flashes those charming smiles and has those brown eyes that women want to fall into. That they want to look into while they scream his name.

I grunt and return my focus to the monitor in front of me.

The new system update for Harp Solutions has been on the fritz–likely because I wasn’t the one who created it. I keep telling Mel not to let other specialists touch my stuff.I keep telling her they aren’t qualified, but she keeps bringing them in and I have to clean up their messes while doing my own job. The computer screen glows black, a result of the dark mode I have enabled on every product where it’s available. While the long strings of code look like gibberish to many, to me, they’re the inner workings of one of our more important systems.

Harp Solutions prides itself on privacy–for our clients and within the company. It’s probably for the best. Otherwise, I’d end up throttling the programmer who fucked this up. I run my hand over my face and rub my eyes. The only sound in my small office is the cracking of my neck as I twist it side to side, breaking the silence.

Before I can return to the task in front of me, a notification pops up on the top monitor to my left. The background on this one isn’t mine. It belongs to a client’s wife. The conniving bastard wants to catch her cheating and it turns out that, despite her deceit, she trusts her husband implicitly. She downloaded the program that’s been spying on her simply because he suggested a new virus protection program.

The stupidity of some people.

The notification I’ve been waiting three days for is finally there, in the bottom right corner of the screen:Email from Grace Harden deleted.

It’s not hard to find a recently deleted email. Most people never empty their trash, though some providers automatically delete things older than thirty days. Mrs. Rawley is indeed one of those people. You’d think someone who’s trying to hide an affair would be more careful, but not this woman.

I save the file and use our secure system to send it to the definitely-cheating husband because he’s paying our company to catch his definitely-cheating wife. It’s going to be a nasty divorce, but that’s none of my business.

An impatient message comes in from Mr. Rawley. I reply, asking if there’s anything else he needs and his response is similarly short. I’m done with him for the day.

I return to the code but get distracted again when a notification comes through from Mel. A new client referred to only as C-120483 has been assigned to me. The information within the file pertains to a company they intend to either disrupt or fully destroy. It’s obvious that whoever their target is, they’re shady as fuck. This company is into something serious and it’s the kind of thing that makes me wonder just what else Mel is hiding from me.

Harp Solutions usually focuses on jealous spouses, adult children in a hurry for their parents to die, business partners in need of dirt for blackmailing purposes, and corporateespionage. Am I happy that the company I work for exists solely to destroy dignity and invade privacy? No, but I made my peace with it. None of the people involved are innocent, I learned quickly. Besides, if we don’t do this, another company will.

Mel Ashcroft has always been a shrewd businesswoman and we’ve run under the radar for nine years, serving clients in their less-than-savory activities. We rely on word of mouth to gain new clients. The scum of the world really do seem to know each other.

This new target for client C-120483 is a little worse than usual. Part analyst, part not-so-ethical hacker, part software engineer, my first step is to determine what their shipments contain. My initial guess would be either drugs or weapons. Human trafficking doesn’t seem likely and Mel has never dealt in that, as far as I’m aware.

Then again, people change.

A notification flares on the bottom right corner of my main screen as I scan the new documents. An email just came through to my personal inbox, inviting me to create an account, and it’s from…

“KinkRink?” I snort.

My text to Miles is more for his benefit. I don’t need to click the link to know where it'll take me.

I will. No one knows how to pull the guilt strings like my best friend, so why fight it?

Turning to my personal laptop, I quickly open the email and click the confirmation link. It pulls up a white screen with red andblack writing all over it. “KinkRink” is in bold along the top left side and I’m prompted to create a username and password.

I stare blankly at the laptop screen. I hate creating usernames. BrodyTorrence30 just won’t cut it–I need to be anonymous. I sigh and my fingers twitch over the keyboard for several minutes before typing out the only thing that comes to mind: technerd94.

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