Page 57 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
Sruthi responds, “It’s like a secret internet. Normal people don’t know how to access it or that it even exists. Some people use it because they’re afraid of being tracked by the government.Some people use it to do illegal things, like sell drugs and buy weapons. There’s some real messed-up stuff on there.”
This makes Oscar curious. “Like what?”
“Believe me,” says Sruthi, “you don’t want to know.”
Oscar looks around the room, observing the Magic: The Gathering kids and some other boys who are flipping through comic books or playing games on their phones.
He leans toward me and whispers, “Damn, bro, it’s like a secret lair for nerds in here.”
Sruthi finishes downloading software, moves it onto a flash drive, and sticks it in Nash’s computer.
After a couple of minutes, she says, “There we go.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“I found a way to keep the laptop from locking us out. Now the software I’m using is generating and trying a bunch of random PINs.”
“How long do you think it’ll take to find the right one?”
“It depends on how long his PIN is. It could be minutes. It could be hours. Who knows?”
I look at the clock on the wall. It’s almost 6 p.m.
“How long are you all gonna be here?”
Carter T. Douglass says, “Probably until 8 p.m.”
“Do you guys mind if Oscar and me leave for a little bit? We have to go to this thing tonight as soon as we get a text about it, but we need to go home and change first.”
“Yeah, sure, we’ll just keep this program running until you get back,” Sruthi says.
“Thank you. Both of you. Is there anything I can do for you two? Anything?”
Sruthi shrugs. “Not right now. But I’ll let you know if I think of something.”
“What about you, Carter T. Douglass?” I ask.
“You perform quite well at sports,” he says.
“Track mostly. But yeah, I play other things.”
“I’m somewhat of an embarrassment on the softball field.”
I shake my head. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“It is,” he says. “One day, I would love to be able to swing at the ball and not be the laughingstock of the entire class. I mean, my aim is reasonably accurate. I can guide the bat to touch the ball, but there’s no power, no velocity, no speed. The ball simply rolls to the pitcher, and I get tagged out. Always.”
I should be rushing out the door right now because there’s so much going on, but I want to take a minute to help Carter T. Douglass, if I can. After all, he and his friend are doing me a huge favor.
Leaning against the wall is a long packing tube, the kind you put rolled-up posters in. I grab it and hand it toCarter T. Douglass.
“Show me your swing,” I say.
“We don’t have to do this now. You must go.”
“This will only take a second.”
He gets into batting stance and swings.
