Greyhat: Issue 3 - Shaisty-Kovich

 "Oh! Go right in, Mister..." The secretary shot up when i walked in to Bern's office.

"On it, Grace," I said as I strode past her and pushed the big wooden double-doors open with a calamitous boom. "Bern!" I held my arms out wide as the doors revealed his inner office, only to also reveal a tall, square-built man in a grey power suit. He was unironically rocking a 'stache that would put Burt Reynolds to shame. "And who's the square?" I met Bern's eyes, who was sitting behind his desk with a stack of papers on his folders on his desk, hands folded on top of them.

"The 'square,'” Bern made air quotes and scowled at me. I love air quotes. Really. “Is Special Agent Dick Milonoski with the CIA.”

I flung myself into one of Bern's ultra-comfy leather armchairs and kicked my feet up on the coffee table. “'Sup Dick.” I pulled my hands behind my head and crossed my ankles. I looked over at the arm chair next to me.

“Hello, Bern. Mr. Milonoski,” she nodded at both of them. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” Cute and mousy as ever.

“I'm here,” the square paused as he came around from the side of the desk to stand in front of it, just to the side of Bern's line of site, “because of this exploit for the Swiss Black website you recently filed a patent request for.”

“I haven't filed a patent request for anything, yet,” I replied, planting my feet square and leaning on my knees, “have I Bern?” I cocked an eye at him.

“I have no idea what he's talking about,” he swiped his fingertips across his neck, “I don't know anything about a Swiss Black exploit.”

“Well,” the man's furry lip caterpillar formed as he pulled a tablet from his breast pocket, “I have a Mister...'Dershewitz' contacting your client here on the hacker site 'Bugfind' last night informing her that he had 'found a hack most foul,' and that 'he was too hot to take it.' Is this correct?”

“I don't know,” she said from behind the giant wings of the wing back. I was already leaning forward and I could barely see her chin under the oblong lobes, “you tell me?”

“Have we done anything illegal, officer?” I spoke up and drew his attention toward me. “Is this an interrogation? Am I being detained?”

“Oh cut the libertarian bullshit,” he put the tablet back in his pocket. “You know I know about the Swiss Black hack.” He put his fists on his hips. Power pose. I like this Dick. “The CIA is willing to pay you handsomely if you don't file a patent for it and give us the exploit.”

“You fucking idiots,” she said over top me.

“Hey now,” Bern put both his hands up.

“Yeah,” the CIA guy said with a knowing nod.

“10 million, and you exculpate us of any liability,” she folded her arms across her body. Or at least I think she did. Hard to tell.

“Done,” Dick shifted uneasily.

“And you get off Dershewitz's back,” she pointed a stern finger at him.

“Alright fine, but we're still busting his agent,” he pointed back at her.

“Fine,” she crossed her arms again. “Guy was a scumbag and was pretty much holding him hostage, anyway.”

“What did I just miss?” I leaned back and looked at Bern. He shook his head and held his hands to the ceiling flat-palmed.

“The less you know, the better,” he walked past us and toward the doors, which had automatically swung closed. “My office will send over the necessary paperwork to process the payment. Those two will both have to sign non-disclosure agreements, of course.”

“Of course,” Bern nodded.

“Pleasure doing business with you, then,” he pushed a door open and slunk out. “Ah, there, but for the Grace of God I Go...” I saw him lean on the desk before the door closed.

“Dick?” I looked at Bern and pulled my chin into my neck. “Who goes by 'Dick' anymore, anyway? We don't call penises 'Richards,' now, do we?”

“I know Dick,” Bern stonefaced me.

“I'm sure you do, am I right?” I made popped my mouth open and leaned around my chair.

“Just, no,” she held her hand up. I deflated.

“Why is everyone so gloomy?” I held my hands up, shook my head, and furrowed my brow.

“Just...” she struggled to find the right words, “not right now.”

“I'm so lost, you guys,” I held my pose, “what am I missing?”

“Just...” Bern stumbled himself, “not this time.”

“Alright,” I swung myself forward and stood up. “You two can have your own secret little 'in' thing on me. Are we square?”

“Hans has the money in the off-shores,” He folded his hands on his desk. “It'll take a few weeks for it to make it's way through the shell corporations. The Secu-Tex exploit will take a few days to get through arbitration, but Grace sent Grace the promissory contract and everything is square on the legal end.”

“Wait,” I waved my hands in front of my face, “'Grace sent Grace?' Which Grace sent what to who?”

“Yeah, I was lost on that one, too,” she waved from the high-back. I could finally see her in it. She had practically disappeared into the leather folds.

“Their Grace sent my Grace,” Bern shook his head.

“Perfect,” I snapped and winked, “I don't want them squelching on me. We have the security footage in a safe place?”

“Uploaded the files to Iron Mountain just before Dick showed up,” Bern flipped his hands to the ceiling. “They have orders to release them, and a statement I prepared, to the press if they get word of yours or her death.”

“You're a master, Bern,” I signaled to leave. “We're gonna get outta here and let you get back to whatever it is you do. Order lackeys around and drink scotch with politicians, I assume?”

“Much more accurate than you think,” he said with a smirk and a finger-gun. “Take it easy, guys.”

“We will, Bern,” she said as I held the door open and she and I filed out. “Bye, now, Grace. Mister Milonoski.” She gave him a curt head-nod.

Dick and Grace looked up from their flirtation long enough to give us a little finger wave as we filed into the elevator and headed down. “Talk about a lucrative few days,” I said with an elbow-check to her rib.

“Yeah,” she affected and looked off into the middle-distance.

“Hey, buddy, why the long face?” I stepped behind her in the car and gave her a ginger shoulder rub.

“It's just,” she shrugged my hands off and started walking away when the elevator doors dinged open, “blood money.”

I stood a second and then jolted forward and fell instep next to her as we crossed the lobby. “I don't get it? What was all of that about up there?”

“I didn't explain it up there and I won't explain it here,” she pulled the door open to the 'Cedes. We got curbside parking, which was rare but, considering how early it was, not unexpected. “Suffice it to say, if a government square wants to pay ten mil' to keep you quiet about exploiting an international bank's database, it's not because they think it's going to damage the social fabric.”

“You're not growing a sense of morality on me now, are you?” She piled in after me and slammed the door. “Home, please,” I instructed the navigation.

“Actually, Harold's cafe, please,” She spoke up. “I have a hankering for their salmon and caper Benedict,” she rubbed her tummy. “So, with the ten large, what's our portfolio sitting at?”

“Uhh, I have no idea,” I shrugged and pulled out my phone. I had a text: You know who it is. Call me. “Hans handles that. If I had to guess, somewhere between famous television actor and investment banker? Hans says we make more than we spend, so I don't think it matters.” I replied to the text: Client meeting, can't call. What do you want.

“How do rich people even spend that much money, huh?” She pulled her own phone out. “There aren't enough hookers and blow to spend that much on, are there?”

“Trickling down the economy, I imagine,” I took a cigarette out of a case in the center bureau and tapped it down on the back of my thumb. “Five thousand dollar sandals made by child labor in third-world countries, beach houses on remote tropical beeches staffed by tribal wage slaves, and Jewish doctors to treat high blood pressure from all the Columbian blow harvested by press-ganged cartel farmers, would be my guess.”

“You're wearing a twenty-five thousand dollar suit designed by an Italian that is made in Bangladesh, we own villas staffed by locals in Curacao and the Phillipines, and didn't you just have a surgery a few months ago to repair lung damage from smoking too much?” She leaned across the cabin and swatted the cigarette out of my hand with a scowl.

“Yeah,” I said as I picked up the cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag, “and we're also rich as hell,” I exhaled a massive odorless cloud of water vapor into the cabin that quickly dissolved into the climate control system. Vaping is where thar be dragons. I still miss the real thing, except they only really sell these fake pseudo-cigarette pieces of shit anymore. But hey, it supposedly tastes like “chocolate blueberry,” so who am I to complain about the changing of the times? “You aren't really growing a conscious on me, are you?” I propped my elbow on my knee and held the cigarette clear of my face. “What did that g-man square do that has you so morose?”

“I dunno,” she said turning the screen of her phone off and holding it against her chest. “Just...what is it all for? Why do I still do this? What's the point?”

“Do you wanna save the world?” I took another drag.

“Oh God, no” she said with a scoff.

“Help your fellow man?” the fantastic cloud that came out at the same time made my voice do that muffled, talking-through-smoke thing.

“I'm pretty sure they could argue that you and I are actively working against 'our fellow man,'” She lifted her phone back in front of her face.

“Further the cause of mankind?” I I tapped the cigarette and left some imitation ash in a tray behind my elbow. It served no purpose other than to placate former smoke-smokers like me and I'd do nothing to trade it away.

“As if,” the phone illuminated her face as she tapped away at it.

“Fine, then what about building sex dungeons, getting driven around by robot luxury cars, and ingesting, just, an inordinate amount of alcohol and controlled substances?” I tapped out a drink order on my arm rest and a glass of whiskey appeared on the lift.

“Now you're talking my language,” her eyes widened greedily as the microscopic image of a cute girl's face, reflected from the screen of her phone, appeared in her pupil.

“Well,” I took a sip and a drag, “then we're living the good life. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I guess you're right,” she sighed and swiped the pretty girl's face away as it was replaced by another.

“You have arrived at your destination,” the automated voice of the car announced as the door popped open automatically.

“I know I'm right,” I pounded down the whiskey and extinguished the cigarette in the ash tray. “Now let's go eat some breakfast.

“Oooh, Bennies,” she locked eyes with me and her face went from sardonic to sadistic.

“I hope Cheryl isn't working,” I winked at her as we piled out of the car onto the sidewalk. It took off into a holding pattern around the block until it could find a parking spot.

“I hope she is,” she rubbed her hands together. “She was into freaky butt stuff and now I'm all hot and bothered.”

“She was into freaky butt stuff,” I cringed as she rushed past me to hold the diner's metal door open.

“Hey, this one's mine. My pussy is on fire,” she grabbed at her crotch and buckled her knees as I walked by her.

“Fine, fine,” I held my hands up and shook them side to side innocently. “Grace!” I greeted the hostess, “The usual booth if possible. Is Cheryl working this morning?”

“She'll be in for lunch,” she croaked out. Years of cigarettes, the traditional kind, visible on her face, not just in her voice.

“Perfect,” I pulled out my phone. New text: I am showing in town. Grace seated us at a small booth in the back corner. “Hey, how come this booth is always open? I feel like we're always able to sit here every time.”

“Because you come here like ten times a week and you've never tipped less than a hundred,” she threw the menus down nonchalantly. “The girls call this the 'chef's table' and refuse to let me sit anyone there, no matter how busy we are.” She grumbled at the last part and walked away.

“Oh,” I picked up the menu, ignoring her, “well, keep up the good work, and send my regards to Eduardo!”

“His name is Earl,” she looked over her shoulder, “He's not even Hispanic, His mom was born in Topeka.”

“His dad could be Hispanic, though,” she said to me and made a face behind the hostess's back.

“You know,” I turned and addressed her, “there are Hispanics in Topeka. They're called Chicanos, and were there back when it was a known as 'Territorio de Nuevo Mexico' and was under Spanish rule. So, for all we know, Earl is actually, secretly, Earl-duardo.” I made a finger gun at her and leaned back in my seat. A Man-splain deserves a Man-spread.

“You're so smart, did you know that?” She put her elbows on the table and cradled her chin. “You wanna go bang in the bathroom?” She leaned back against the booth and made a thumb gesture behind them.

“Wait, really?” I leaned forward. Who'd turn down an offer from a minx like that?

“No, you idiot,” she sneered at me. “I want my Jewish Benedict. Seriously? Gross. Ugggggh, dick,” she said with a shudder.

I leaned back. I always fall for it. Who knows, maybe one day she's serious? “It uses a bagel instead of an English muffin, it uses cream cheese instead of regular cheese, and it uses salmon instead of ham. That's not a 'Jewish Benedict,' that is a bagel and lox with an egg on it.”

“I know, but it's so good,” she licked her lips and rubbed her hands together.

“Also, how is a lesbian fucking you in the ass with a strap-on any different than a dick?” I took out my phone and texted back: Where?

“It never goes off early, when it's done, there's no clean-up, and your dick doesn't vibrate.” she pushed her hands into her crotch and squirmed in her chair “Mm. And, I don't have to feel that gross pulsing when its inside me. Uggh,” she shook her hands like she was drying them and shuddered again.

“Ok, fine, but how does that explain the ladyboys?” I put my phone down on the table and leaned.

“They have tits,” she shrugged and pulled out her phone, the inverted images of pretty girls passing by in her pupils again.

“That's racist,” I sneered.

“So?” she didn't look up.

“Touche,” I finger-gunned again. Who doesn't love a finger gun? Seriously, they have chops.

“Am I interrupting?” The waitress wagged her pen as she cocked her hip out.

“No. I want a Bloody Mary and a stack of pancakes,” I finger-gunned her. She didn't look up from her notepad. Seriously, how can people so cavalierly ignore a finger-gun?

“We don't have Bloody Maries. You know that,” she looked up, noticed my finger-gun and rolled her eyes. Some people. “Do you want the Huevos or the Jewish?” She said obviously not to me.

“Am I that predictable?” She looked up from her phone innocently.

“Yes,” she deadpanned.

“You know, now that you mention the Huevos,” she got conflicted, put her phone down, and nervously pored over the menu.

“She wants the Jews,” I made an elbow-check gesture to her, “it's all she's been talking about. Can't keep her mouth shut about the Jews, let me tell ya,” I winked. I'm quite witty and sometimes I need to remind people how funny I am.

“Ha ha,” the waitress rolled her eyes again. “So flapjacks and a Jewish?”

“And a Bloody Mary,” I finger-gunned.

“Ugh,” the waitress walked away.

“You know for the amount of money we leave, you think they'd be less disdainful,” I leaned across the table and whispered to my conspirator.

“You leave them so much money because they are so disdainful,” she leaned in, too, before picking up her phone and resuming her swiping.

“Hey, what can I say? I like a woman who holds my feet to the fire,” I leaned back and picked up my phone. Text: Our old place. Don't bring her.

“You're using your phone more than usual,” she looked up briefly as I tapped a reply, What makes you think I want to see you?

“Business deal. An Independent is really interested in the Lutrox hack,” I stared at the phone waiting for a response.

“Motherfucker,” she put her phone down and looked up, “is it her?” She swiped my phone out of my hand before I could react.

“You bitch, give that back!” I reached across the table. She swatted my hand away as she read the text chain.

“You stupid motherfucker,” she chucked the phone across the table back at me. I swiped it up greedily. “Why did she leave you?”

“Because love is a lie, the world is a miserable, evil place, and I am an insufferable jerk,” I read her reply: Because I'm horny and you still love me.

“And because she gave you and ultimatum and you told her that you didn't want to get married and have kids, and that she needed to put out more than once a week,” she curled her lips up and squinted at me.

“Ok, so, maybe the whole relationship thing isn't my bag,” I tapped out a reply: One of those things is motivating. Same time?

“So why do you keep this shit up? Delete her number,” she picked her phone back up disdainfully, but didn't go back to swiping.

“I did,” I flipped my phone around in my hand, waiting for the vibration.

“Block her,” She looked up, no smile creasing her cheeks.

“But,” the phone buzzed, “but.”

“Do it,” she held my gaze.

“Fine,” her reply: Now.

“Now,” she continued to stare me down. My reply: No. I can't keep doing this. Lose my number.

“Done.” I threw my phone to her.

“Good,” she put it in her pocket. “You're still gonna fuck her, aren't you.” She said declaratively, no question mark.

“Of course. Are you fucking kidding me?” I laughed out loud. “You've never hit that pussy. It's like crack, man.”

“You're pitiable,” she threw my phone back at me. The reply: Fine, same time. Bring champagne.

“Probably,” I stuffed my phone in my pocket. “Just because I don't want that life anymore doesn't mean I don't love her, still.”

She dropped her phone down and scoffed, “Are you gonna get all philosophical on me now?”

“It's been a long night, we're at the diner,” I held my hands up and looked around comically, “isn't that what we do?”

“You ramble on about some completely misguided theory and I fuck around on my phone and make us money?” she wiggled her latest hack at me.

“Kinda, yeah,” I shrugged.

“So this is tonight's lecture? How romantic desire and carnal lust are different emotions?” she gave me a duck face. “Oh please, do tell me once again how a man can be in love but also want to fuck other people,” She cradled her face in her hands again.

“Well, you see, there are two sides of a man, his brain and his peni...wait a minute,” I closed one eye and pointed at her melodramatically, “I see what you're doing,” I smirked in a duckface.

“Flapjacks...” the waitress put the stack of pancakes and bottle of maple syrup down in front of me. I have no idea how long she was there or how much she heard. I like to think she heard it all.

“Oooo, pancakes. Mmmmmm,” I stuffed the napkin into my shirt collar and held my fork and knife in my hands and slammed the butts of them down on the table.

“And, the Jewish Benedict,” she put the lox and bagels with egg on them in front of her.

“Bennies,” her eyes grew wide and she licked her lips.

“Uggh,” the waitress audibly rolled her eyes, leaving with her tray and not saying a word.

“Just,” she sighed around a mouthful of salmon and cream cheese, “be smart, alright?”

“You sound like you actually care about me,” I tried to say. I have no idea what she heard. My mouth was literally full of pancakes. Or metaphorically, but I think literally, I don't know if there was physical room for more pancake.

“I need an agent and you land me a serious amount of pussy,” she shrugged and took another bite of her bagel, using it to sop up the delicious yolk-juice.

“I'm glad my talents are not wasted on such an esteemed colleague,” I pretended to doff my cap and shoved another bite of pancake in. Seriously you guys, this shit is too good to be real. Don't judge. My phone buzzed, but I was too busy stuffing my face.

“I swear to you they are putting heroin in the cream cheese,” She took another huge bite, eyes fixated on her plate as she methodically devoured its contents.

“I know right,” I think I said. I took a moment to catch my breath. This is Milonoski. Dershewitz is dead. Watch your back. “Son of a motherfucking bitch,” I sighed.

“What?” she took a sip of water. I guess water got put on the table?

“Where is my goddamned Bloody Mary!” I exclaimed loudly as I looked for the waitress.

“Dude, chill,” she held her hands up.

“Derschewitz,” I waggled my phone and threw it across the table. “Bad news.”

“Is he...” he bagel dropped from her hand and toppled onto the plate. She read the text message.

“Son of a motherfucking bitch!” She was much louder than I was. People were looking, it was embarrassing. Ok, neither of us were actually embarrassed.

“I know, if he got whacked and the FBI is giving us a heads up, it means that we've got a contract out on us,” I reached across the table and took my phone back.

“No you prick, I was gonna fuck him. I was really looking forward to it, too,” she pouted into her plate.

“Wait, what happened to 'eww dick?' What makes his dick so special?” I took another bite of pancake. I don't think you realize how distractingly delicious these things are.

“He's cute,” she shrugged and started eating again. “He's...err...was...like really nerdy and romantic. He said 'm'lady' to me once. Plus he was like six foot and couldn't have weighed more than a buck-twenty-five soaking wet. He was like androgynous super-model hot.”

I texted: Bern, Dershewitz is dead. What's our status? “I will seriously never understand you. You're like the worst lesbian.”

“I never said I was a lesbian,” she didn't look up from her plate.

“Fine, anyway, how about this whole 'FBI telling us that the contact we bought the thing they paid us ten million dollars for from is now dead and the FBI is warning us' thing. Pretty crazy right?” I checked my messages, Don Perignon. Decent vintage. I'm wearing lace.

“Talk to Earlduardo, maybe he knows some illegals who can do the security upgrade on the cheap,” she shrugged again.

“Do you not care that a hitman might be trying to kill us this very second,” I don't like hitmen. Scuzzy bunch. I mean, look at Grace! Hardeck's Grace. Not Bern's. Or the diner's.

“Nature of the game, bruh,” she shrugged and looked up at me, then went back to her plate. “I signed up for easy money and hard partying, I expect to die young and pretty, not old and in some retirement home in Florida.

“Who hurt you?” I took another bite of pancake.

“Daddy didn't love me, momma was a druggie, and all I ever loved was my sweet sweet internet,” she clutched her phone dramatically to her chest and smirked.

We both laughed out loud together. Yeah, there's a contract for two hundred fifty thou. Buy it out? “Lame. We're only worth two hundred fifty thousand.”

“Oh come on, the last contract on us was at least four hundo,” she scoffed.

“Cheapskates.” Yeah. Who placed? “I mean, seriously. I'm worth at least a million by myself at this point.”

“Heeeey,” we both turned to see who it was. “Fancy seeing you two here during my shift.” Cheryl wagged her buxom hips at them as she walked by.

“Oh hey,” she stood on the booth bench and grabbed Cheryl by her uniform lapels. “You. Me. Bathroom. Now.” She jumped off the bench, grabbed Cheryl by the hand, and dragged her to the bathroom behind them.