Final Victim

Chapter 9

Malavida Chacone sat in the backseat beside Lockwood while Karen drove the yellow LeBaron. They had put the top up. Malavida was dressed in prn blue jeans and still wearing the cuffs and waist chain. They pulled into the sleepy town of Lompoc. Small, architecturally bland buildings housed 7-Elevens and chicken franchises. Malavida was straining forward, looking out the window, his senses quivering at the smell of freedom.

They rode in silence until they hit a stoplight and Lockwood said, "Whatta you need t'crack a computer?"

"A ten-dollar hammer and five swings oughta do it," Malavida said without humor.

"Don't be an asshole."

The light changed and the cars behind them started honking, so Karen accelerated.

"There's a computer store here in Lompoc," Lockwood continued.

"We can pick up a laptop and whatever else you need, then we'll check into a motel and have a go at it."

"Hey, why don't you start by telling me what program you want me to crack into? It might make a difference," Malavida said.

"It's a remailer in Oslo, Norway, called Pennet," Karen said. "It's set up to deny access to invalid logins. I get three tries and then it locks me out."

"You using Crack?"

"Yeah, I got it off the Internet."

"Why didn't you just call the System Mangler on the phone and tell him you were trying to break into his jukebox?"

"Look, I'm not a cracker. I use my computer for research," she said.

"I didn't mean to upset you, Miss Dawson," he said, smiling at her pleasantly. "I was just saying that the Crack program is a primer program for newbies. If this Pennet computer is a remailer, then they got high-grade security on it. You're not gonna get in with software like Crack. They probably have the telnet daemon listening for multiple logins. And Crack is slow. It could take you six months with Crack before you randomly hit the right password. You can't use Crack on a system like that, anyway. So, what happened? The SysAdmin came on and started screaming at you, right?"

"Yeah, he locked me out for ninety days. He also knew I was working on a government computer at Customs," Karen said, surprised by the change in his language and demeanor.

"That was telnet that did that. It has to know the IP, the 'Internet Protocol' address of the packets coming in, so it can send its data back to you. It knows your host address. So, what you are is, you're basically fucked."

"You better figure out how to get us unfucked or you're basically back in jail," Lockwood said. Then Karen pulled over and parked the car in front of the computer store.

"Whatta you need?" Karen asked.

"I need my own laptop. I got a 14.4 external modem at my mom's house in East L. A."

"Nice try," Lockwood said. "But let's save that trip for Mother's Day."

"Can't we get you a laptop with a high-speed modem in there?" Karen asked, pointing at the store.

"I also need my cracking tool kit…" Malavida said, playing out a little more line.

"What the hell is that?" Lockwood asked.

"It's all the cracking programs I've designed. It's a buncha disks. And I need my ITL notebook."

"Your what?" Lockwood was starting to get a headache.

"ITL… 'Interesting Things and Locations.' It's Internet locations of stuff I might need but haven't retrieved yet." He was again ignoring Lockwood and talking only to Karen, trying to look earnest and helpful.

"So, I'll send somebody over to your mom's house and he can get this stuff and modem it up here," Lockwood said. He wondered where in town he could buy aspirin.

"Nada."

"Whatta you mean, nada?"

"Won't work. I'm the only one who can access the disks. We need this stuff. I can't help you without it. I got a list of outdials and a copy of the C-programming language for several flavors of UNIX. I got a complete list of Internet locations and all kinds of software utilities. No offense, Miss Dawson, but you got the Pennet Systems Administrator on point with that Crack program. The way I go in, nobody sees me."

He started grinning. "I'm fast and invisible. And don't think you can send some clubfoot Customs nerd over there to deuce it out and open my files, 'cause all the disks are encrypted. If anybody tries to open them, it'll automatically erase the whole kit. And then we're S. O. L. I. M. F. H. O."

"What?" Karen and Lockwood said simultaneously.

"S. O. L. means Shit Outta Luck."

"I got that much," Karen said. "What's I. M. F. H.0.?"

"In My Fucking Humble Opinion. Let's go, the Mexican ghetto's that way." He pointed. "Either that, or you should take me back to prn." He closed his eyes. "I'm just gonna bone out back here till you two geniuses make up yer minds."

Lockwood sighed and looked at Karen. "Why not?" she finally said. "What's the difference whether we do it here or there?" He wondered whether he'd be able to steal some time to see Claire and Heather.

Karen put the car in gear and headed back onto the freeway. "One other thing, Chacone… She ain't gonna be your 'tight,' so you can stop the rubdown. I'm in charge."

Malavida nodded earnestly. "I know," he said, but he was already working on his next move. He was determined to splash on John Lockwood. Malavida hated him, and, one way or another, he would find a way to fuck him up.