Page 53 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
“Oh,” I say. “I didn’t mean dumb. I meant it’s common.”
Oscar shrugs. “Yeah, it’s dumb.”
He tries 1-2-3-4. Nope.
“Shit,” Oscar says.
“What?”
“Your brother got it set up to only let you try the PIN number five times. And it says here we can’t try again for another thirty minutes.”
“Damn it,” I say.“This sucks. And if his PIN is longer than four digits, then this could be endless.”
There’s millions (or even billions or trillions?) of possible number combinations that could be Nash’s PIN. (Math isn’t my strong suit, so I’m unsure of how many possibilities there are, but I know it must be a hell of a lot.) And now we only get five tries every half an hour. Unless we get incredibly lucky, this is seeming more and more like an impossibility.
“Ain’t there like software or something that can crack a password?” Oscar asks.
“There is. We can download it on my computer at home, try to connect it to my brother’s laptop, and run the program. But even then, depending on how complex Nash’s PIN is and because we only get five attempts every thirty minutes, it could take hours or days or weeks. We don’t have that much time. But I guess we can start the process in case we get lucky. I wish I knew more about hacking.”
“What about one of the nerds in your computer class?” asks Oscar. “One of them might be into hacking and shit.”
“I don’t feel right about getting more people involved. I mean, I already draggedyouinto this, and I already feel bad about it.”
“This is what friends do,” Oscar says.
“Besides, I don’t really hang out with any of those guys. I don’t have their numbers or know where they live or anything.” A thought occurs to me. “Oh, but wait. I kind of know Carter T. Douglass.”
“The Black dude that’s shaped like a marshmallow?”
“Yeah. I don’t know if he hacks, but it’s worth a shot. I mean, on my own, I can do research and try to learn, but someone who knows stuff might help move things along faster.”
“Where does he live?”
“I don’t know actually.” Another thought strikes me. “But today’s Saturday, right? I think he told me once that he goes to the comic book store downtown on Saturday afternoons to play Magic: The Gathering. They have, like, a game room in the back.”
“Magic the what? What’s that?”
“I think it’s like a role-playing game with cards or something. I’m not sure.”
Oscar points. “It’s this exit if you wanna go there.”
Just in time, I pull off of the freeway, which spills me onto Main Street, which leads into a downtown area that people describe as “quaint” and “charming.” No big shopping malls around here—just locally owned restaurants and “mom and pop” shops and things like that. The street looks like it’s from a movie of the past.
I find street parking on a block that’s around the corner from the comic book store. I grab the laptop from Oscar, dust the cocaine from the top, and get out.
As we hurry along the sidewalk, I see that skinny girl from school, Lucy, walking towards me with Andrew. As I approach them, I lift up my chin at them and say, “‘Sup.”
Once I’m past them, I can hear Lucy say, “Dear God in heaven.”
And Andrew adds, “Hunter’s looking like a snack.”
I’m used to it because I’ve often passed by those two when I’m out on one of my runs. On weekday mornings, I’ll run just a couple miles or so because I have to go to school. On weekends, I’ll do a lot more, sometimes twenty miles. I’m almost always running with my shirt off, even when it’s cold out, because I get really heated up and sweaty. Lucy and Andrew have gotten pretty shameless about looking me up and down. Part of me likes it, I guess, but a bigger part of me still wrestles with stupid insecurities.
Oscar and I round the corner. As we reach the front entrance of the comic book store, I hear behind me: “Ooh, I told you they were lying! I told you!”
Oscar and I turn around and see Blanca and Emma, walking towards us, ice cream cones in their hands.
“The hell you yelling about, Blanca?!” screams Oscar.
