Black Hat Blues (20 page)

but there was nothing much they could do at the moment. Meanwhile

Sacco started doing the simple stuff he could manage from his own

computers: fucking with their credit cards, canceling their power,

phone, cable, and water, changing their PIN numbers and their e-mail

passwords. Nothing too debilitating on its own, but all of it extremely

aggravating, especially when taken together. For the security guards, he

sent in his second wave of hirelings, who approached the guards’ usual

drug dealers as if they were the lamest undercover cops in the world,

dropping the guards’ names as references and telling them all kinds of

details about past drug transactions that you just didn’t share with other

people. As a result, when one of the infuriated guards came around that

afternoon looking for a little mid-day bump to take the edge off, he was

turned away and even threatened as a narc. The day kept getting worse

and worse for these guys.

Then process servers started showing up, or rather people posing as

servers, with paternity claims and lawsuits for child support and other

baseless, but no doubt infuriating claims. These didn’t go down very

well either. The building superintendent and his son were getting these

as well, even as they tried to figure out why they had no cable or phone

or money in their bank accounts. The father went down to the bank to

complain, only to have some young guy with a black bandanna over his

face hurl a balloon full of red liquid at him before running off, leaving

him covered in blood-red latex paint. Half an hour later he’d changed

and showered only to be hit again three blocks down the street, along

with his son who’d accompanied him. They gave chase, but the attacker

slipped away into a waiting car with no license plate. By the time he was

cleaned once more, the bank was closed for the evening, but the ATM

told him he and his son were both overdrawn on their accounts.

Inside, the security guard at the front desk was dealing with a UPS

package that exploded in white powder after the delivery man dropped

it off. UPS deliveries were unheard of these days at the Polaris, so the

guard had been suspicious already. It still didn’t stop him from getting

freaked out. If the phones had worked he probably would have called

for some kind of help from his bosses, but they didn’t and he was at

a loss. The tenants, not sure exactly what was going on, but knowing

they liked seeing their tormentors tormented, laughed and jeered and

teased the fucks. The guards tried to intimidate them, to scream and

throw things at them, but they were a little too freaked out to really

vent their anger. If it was the tenants behind it, they must have begun

to realize how outnumbered they were. When they came off shift they

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Geek Mafia: Black Hat Blues

went home only discover the locks changed, the power out, and the

water turned off. Sacco wished he could have seen their reactions, but

he could extrapolate from how angry they were when they showed up

back at The Polaris and demanded to see the super.

All five of them crammed into the super’s ground floor apartment

for a conference that one of Anne’s bugs placed in the window allowed

them to listen in on. They were angry and confused, but none of them

had a working phone and were forced to talk by candle light as they

debated whether to report to the bosses or not. That’s when Sacco called

Monique and had her do her part. While they argued inside, she snuck

downstairs and left a phone in front of the super’s door. Once she was

safely clear, Sacco called it.

The negotiations went pretty well at that point. Sacco and the super

talked. Well, after he cursed and threatened and yelled for a few min-

utes, Sacco got him to start talking terms. He had the man watch the

videos he’d saved onto the phone—the guards buying drugs, the super

and his son breaking housing and health codes and stealing from ten-

ants. They knew their jobs and their freedom were on the line here. And

when Sacco gave them a way out—a way to get their money back, and

their utilities back online, and the harassment stopped, they relented.

They agreed to Sacco’s demands, that he was the new boss and that they

were to start fixing the place up, hire some hard core exterminators,

stop harassing the residents, and allow the renter’s rights activists free

access to the building. Once they’d done all that—ALL of that—their

shitty lives would start returning to normal. By 1 A.M. it was over.

Sacco had won the day.

“Well that was a fucking hoot,” Anne said. She’d been laughing and

cheering him on all day. “Nice work, man. Nice fucking work.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’m pretty pleased. Couldn’t have pulled it

off without your gear and cash.”

“You know it’ll never work long term, right?”

Sacco looked at her, annoyed and surprised. “Don’t be too excited

for me,” he said.

“I mean, those guys aren’t gonna do what you say forever.”

“Oh really? How long do you think they’ll play nice?”

“A week, maybe two at most. Then you’ll have to either do this all

over again or the bosses will have found someone to replace them.”

“And how long do you think it will take the renter’s rights advocates

Monique has on speed dial to document the atrocities there and bring

a huge-ass lawsuit against those bosses?” Sacco asked.

Anne nodded. “It was never about making them your bitches.”

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103

“Never just about that. It was about buying some space for the activ-

ists and the lawyers to get the evidence they need without interference.

They could probably win just on an hour’s worth of investigation.”

“And now they have a week.”

“Maybe two,” Sacco said, sticking his tongue out at her playfully.

“Plus, that super will actually fix some shit in there, maybe.”

“Well, Sacco, that all really works for me. That’s some clever shit you

pulled together.”

“Worth your investment?”

“Definitely worth our investment.”

“Our?” Sacco had never had any hint that Anne had told anyone

else about the operation or her role in funding it. “Who’re we talking

about here?”

“My friends and me. The folks who donated the gear and the cash.

It’s not just me that’s interested.”

Sacco felt his heart beat rise. Anne was bringing the scary vibe again.

“So, um, do I get to meet these friends of yours sometime?” Did he want

to meet them? He thought probably that he did. Maybe.

“We’ll see. Like I said, I’m impressed, but I have to make my report

back to the group.”

“You guys vote on stuff like this?” Sacco asked. That sounded

familiar.

“Stuff like what?” Anne asked.

“I don’t even know. Helping guys like me do things like this? That

kind of thing?”

“Mostly we do the ‘stuff’ on our own, only on a bigger scale.” She

winked at him. Winking wasn’t usually that scary, although it was

often that exciting.

“Oooh, tell me more.”

“Not tonight, sport. Tonight I’m going back to my hotel and tomor-

row I’m flying home.” She stood up and started walking towards the

door. “And next week I’ll let you know.”

“Let me know what?”

“Let you know whatever it is I want to tell you.”

He couldn’t think of a rejoinder or which question she wanted to ask

next before she got to the door. All he had in him was a lame, “Um,

OK, thanks…”

“You’re welcome,” she said, and then she was out the door with a

little, friendly wave. “I’ll come back for the gear some other time.”

Sacco grinned, no doubt like an idiot. He couldn’t wait for her to

come back, even if she was really kinda scary.

Chloe blew Sandee a kiss as he walked out the door looking like just

about the sexiest woman reporter you’ve ever seen. A smart, tight,

gray pin-striped skirt-suit with a red silk blouse and a brightly pat-

terned scarf that could only be described as sassy. Chloe’s own wardrobe

options had expanded significantly since Sandee joined the Crew, not

only because they could share some clothes, but because Sandee had a

much better eye for fashion as a disguise than even Chloe did. Before,

Chloe had always used changes of clothes and different wigs as a way

to trick people into thinking she was someone else. Sandee taught her

how to use outfits as a tool for inhabiting a whole new persona so that

she not only dressed the part, but thought about what she wore as an

extension of the life and mindset of the person she was pretending to

be. It was a neat trick.

But there was no disguise she could wear that would make going

out to watch the protests a good idea. Danny might be there at some

point, and Chloe wasn’t going to do anything at all to risk him making

some connection between her and the protest. Besides, this was Sacco’s

part of the show, and he was in charge. He didn’t need Chloe looking

over his shoulder again, which was why she was sending Sandee to

look over his shoulder for her. Not that Sacco’s role in this afternoon’s

event required a ton of oversight. He was just there to make sure that

things with the protesters really did get out of hand. If those black

bloc anarchists of his ended up being wimpy little peacenicks who

waved signs and chanted slogans instead of stirring up some serious

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105

shit, Chloe was going to be fucking pissed. Sacco was there to egg

them on if need be.

Sandee was there to watch and record the whole thing, posing as an

independent media blogger with a Nokia phone that could stream live

video to the web. Paul had set up a site to host the live video stream

as it came in, and had his cadre of fake online identities ready to start

pushing the link out to his blogger and activist media contacts. From

there they hoped it would hit the mainstream liberal blogs and through

them the mainstream media. Saturday being an otherwise slow news

day, and nothing too exciting going on in DC today as far as she could

tell, they hoped to get some real traction with their stunt.

Chloe got the call half an hour after Sandee left. He’d taken the

metro and was just coming up the escalator when he called in on his

cryptophone. Chloe knew he had a hands-free ear piece dangling from

his left ear, much to his dismay—and Chloe couldn’t deny it looked

tacky—but it was necessary.

“Two blocks north and then make a left?” Sandee said.

“You got it, babe,” Chloe replied, a map open on her laptop so she

could confirm the directions.

“I’m seeing a lot of dingy, faded black clothes and odd facial piercings

around here,” Sandee said. “I could probably just follow the gathering

crowds.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Don’t be so obvious, I know, I know, of course not. But this is a

pretty nice neighborhood. Not Georgetown nice, but you know, nice.

I’m not the one drawing all the sidelong looks from the rich, white folks

walking their dogs and strolling their kids.”

“No one said this would be subtle.”

“No one was right,” said Sandee. “It is nice to get out of that horrible

little room. Yes, yes, it’s not very little and not actually horrible, but

still, my dear, you’ve got to admit, it’s getting mighty stuffy in there.”

“No denying it. Another necessary evil.”

“It used to be all my necessary evils involved drinking, dancing, and

men with large muscles or women with large cocks. How did I ever let

you madcap pranksters seduce me into this life of crime?”

“Well, technically…”

“OK, yes, technically I was already leading a life of crime and I

seduced the pair of you, but you’re missing my point.”

“Which is?”

“That it’s really cold out here and I know for a fact that it is wonderful

and sunny and warm back home.”

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Geek Mafia: Black Hat Blues

Chloe paused for a moment to look it up. “71 degrees and sunny.”

“Now that was just mean!”

“You said you knew it for a fact.”

“That doesn’t mean I wanted the fact thrown in my face like some

free, adorable kitten who just wants a home.”

“Wait, now we’re having the cat conversation again? Paul’s allergic.”

“They do make drugs for that you know.”

“Fine, we’ll talk about it when we get home,” Chloe said, putting on

her most motherly tone of voice.

“Thanks mama! You’re so good to me. So listen, the anarcho-what-

chamacalits are starting to get thick on the ground and I’ve discovered

something else.”

“What’s that?”

“Whoever said these tights I’m wearing would keep my legs warm

was a fucking liar.”

“I told you to wear pants.”

“I know, I know. Didn’t I just admit I’m a fucking liar? OK, hey,

there’s something going on up there. I’m going to go ahead and whip

out my phone.”

“Great,” Chloe said, clicking away from the weather in Key West

back to the bookmark for Cap City Critiqual, the blog Paul had set up

months ago in prep for this moment. The site was “run” by Sandee’s

persona for the day, a freelance reporter with an acid tongue and a nose