Neanderthal Seeks Human(58)

“What do you mean?”

“I helped people secure their computers, systems, networks.”

“Why wouldn’t your dad like that?”

“Because most of the people who hired me to do this were criminals.”

“So you created firewalls for mob bosses? As an aside, if I started a band ‘Mob Boss Firewall’ would be an excellent name.” Cringing, I mentally kicked myself for the tactless aside.

“Nothing so poetic.” He glanced down at his almost empty whiskey and studied the amber liquid; his shoulders seemed to slump under the weight of something I couldn’t see. After a long minute he said, “Actually, what I really did was keep their data from being used against them should their computers or hardware be confiscated.”

This was not something I expected. Before I could catch myself I asked, “Where did you learn to do that?”

He shrugged, not looking at me, “Mostly self-taught. I went to college in Boston for two years. My major was computer science but dropped out when business started to pick up.”

“Why did you stop? Why did you stop reverse-hacking for criminals?”

He lifted his eyes to mine, his expression blank; “How do you know I stopped?”

“I guess I don’t. Did you stop?”

“I did.”

“Why? If it was so profitable.”

“Because…” his eyes moved between mine, his brow pulled low as though he were trying very hard to decipher a mystery. His attention moved to my hair cascading over my shoulder. With an absentminded expression he picked up a curl and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. His voice was distant, distracted when he responded, “Because I was the reason my brother died.”

I didn’t know what to say so I just watched him.

Quinn’s eyes moved back to mine; he seemed to be attempting to gauge my reaction. He half smiled but it was tinged with bitterness. “How the first program worked was that when any attempt was made to access data in the absence of an RFID transmitter, a background script would run which wiped the hard drive clean rendering it inoperable. Later, as my customer base grew and for larger data systems, I built a degausser. I had to add on a battery backup, just in case the system was powered down. As you can imagine, the battery backup had a nasty habit of catching on fire.”

I cleared my throat and swallowed, wanting to add that the risk of fire could have been tempered by insulating and cooling the degauseer. Instead I asked, “Why do you think you were the reason your brother died?”

His mouth curved into a frown and he sighed, “Because one of the guys, one of your ‘bad guys’, who I worked for, shot my brother.”

I blinked, “I don’t- I don’t understand.”

“Months before Des- my brother- was killed, the police had a search warrant and took all of this guy’s computers, backups, everything. The program I built worked perfectly and the police came up empty. If I hadn’t put the program on his computer, if I hadn’t helped him keep his information safe from the police then he would have been in jail instead of-”

I closed my hand around his not wanting him to finish the sentence. It was a horrible story. I wanted to say that it wasn’t his fault but I felt like that statement would come across as pandering and patronizing.

Instead I said, “I understand why you blame yourself.”

He blinked at me then narrowed his gaze a fraction as though trying to see me better. This time both his eyes and his smile were sad, “Do you blame me?”

“I blame the bad guy who actually killed him, who pulled the trigger. In this situation you sound like a person who has recognized the error of his ways and made an attempt to change. If you recall, that is the difference between a good guy and a bad guy.”

He released a breath I didn’t know he was holding. His eyes were still sad but his troubled expression seemed to clear. He gazed at me with something that felt like wonder and said, his voice a quiet rumble, “I don’t think I’ll keep score with you.”



~*~



We fought over the bill when it came. By fought I mean: I insisted loudly on paying half and he responded with beleaguered silence.

Instead of discussing it or attempting to engage in my one-sided conversation, he wordlessly put his credit card in the holder; he kept it carefully out of my reach as I continued to list all the reasons we should split the check, not the least of which was that we’d agreed earlier that this was not a date, then handed it stealthily to the waiter as he passed. I was still oblivious, making my case, when Quinn signed the receipt.

“Wait- what are you doing?” I looked from him to the paper slip.