Page 9 of Deep Fake

I rolled my eyes. I could’ve responded in a snarky way, but I finally had an in to getting some help.

Even if I had to kiss ass a little bit.

I considered it, I replied. But no one would know the things this person does. They tell me details from my internet logs. Stills from my laptop camera. No one I know has those capabilities.

A pause. A long one. I’ll help you find someone, Pretender.

Tears welled in my eyes. He would help me get this weight off my chest. Still, I had to ask. But you said I can’t afford you.

A laughing emoji. And another shaking his head. I’m in a pro bono kind of mood tonight. Besides, I’m referring you. Not helping you myself. I don’t have the time.

My shoulders relaxed. Disappointment flooded me.

What do you need from me?

Another long wait. Details. As much as you can give me. Logs. Dates. Times. Access. Personal information. You and whoever helps you are about to get very intimate with each other. We have to in order to handle this kind of situation. You can’t really hide anything from us.

Threatening.

And yet, I was glad this one was on my side.

Or sending me to someone who would be.

I have no secrets anymore, Sketch. I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.

The answer was immediate. Then let’s get started. Get comfortable because none of this is going to be fun.

Was he trying to be scary on purpose?

You think I’m scared?

I typed the words with shaky fingers and a slow vibration building in my torso. Like I was on the cusp of something more than messages and pictures and texts. Diving headfirst into a rabbit hole I’d been thrust into instead of being invited.

No. I don’t think. I know. You’re practically oozing with fear, and that’s exactly how they want you to feel.

Wouldn’t you be? Sketch?

A laughing emoji. What an absolute asshole. If I was you? Absolutely. But I’m not. And I’m not scared of anything.

Chapter Eight

Riglan

I’m not scared of anything.

What kind of remark was that? What was I trying to prove?

Why am I being such an asshole?

Mostly it was how I always was. Brusque, abrupt, not a fan of small talk. Not even with people who’d known me for years. But also, not mean. I was much more likely to walk away from a scenario, block them online than brag about myself. And I’d never unblocked anyone before, much less given them a second thought at that point.

But something about him had my ferret in an uproar, to the point I’d let him have that foolish broad-daylight, midtown shift. He wanted me to help the guy, Pretender. Before now, he’d never even acknowledged anything online, but since it was such a big part of my life, it had probably been only a matter of time.

So, for my peace of mind and my beast’s, I’d decided to refer him to a “colleague” who could help him out. For that, I needed no more information than how he would like to be contacted. So why did I go on? Why did I need all the details?

My other screens were lit up with data I needed to be looking at if I wanted to complete my job and get paid. But what did I do?

Did I ask for his preferred contact and wish him the best in his future endeavors?