Jury of Peers (23 page)

Chapter Thirty–Seven

Twister

             
Finn's first experience with being shot was… unglamorous. 

He was on the toilet.  Stuck.

He'd slept on the long drive home from the elder Meek's estate, and then hobbled up the stairs to his apartment upon returning to the city in order to grab another hour of honest to God time in a real bed –
his
real bed. 

He was just about to warm up the toilet seat when the phone rang, but as he reached for the one on the john wall, the damn thing stopped.  He liked having a land line, it made him feel connected with his past… or just a little old.  His cell rattled against his ankle a moment later and gingerly reached into the pants at his feet to retrieve it.  Then, he'd made the mistake of sitting down.  He'd felt the pain in his ribs as he stooped, but gravity had already taken hold and he continued the ungraceful arc until he thumped down hard on the cold seat.  He sat there in pain until the phone stopped buzzing in his hand.  When he could breathe again, he peeked at the number.  It was the one thing he'd learned to do efficiently with a cell phone that did everything from organizing his taxes to shooting music videos.  Spencer.  Well, in that case, it would ring again any second.  He stared at the phone.  Blinked.  Something flitted about in his mind, but he couldn't pin it down as he turned the cell over and over in his hand.

When it buzzed again right on cue, Finn was still staring. “Yeah?” he answered finally.

             
“About time to get back to work don't you think?” Tonic asked.  It sounded like he was walking.  Fast.

             
Finn gathered himself, "Not for a little bit I think, I'm on the poty.”

             
“We've got a date.  Something special to clear your head."

Finn leaned forward, trying to extract himself from the latrine.  It wasn't any easier with just one hand.  "Listen Spence, this getting shot thing isn't as fun as I thought, I’m gonna rack out for another hour.”

              “Alright, I’ll pick you up then, eh?”

             
There was a knock at the door and Finn groaned.  "Hold on, someone’s at the door.  If it's you, and I know it is, I'm going to fucking shoot
you
too."

             
“It’s alright, I’ll hold on.”

             
He tossed the phone into the sink just across from the toilet, then reached forward and clutched the hot and cold knobs, praying he wouldn't wrench the entire thing from the wall and be permanently wedged between fixtures.  No small amount of cursing ensued, but he was finally able get his body into the fully upright and locked position.

             
He grabbed his phone and stumbled out of the bathroom, "You still there?"

             
"Yeah, you okay?  Maybe you ought to go easy on the cherry donut greasy BBQ combo?"

             
Finn made it to the door and peered through the peep-hole, “You fucker."  He ended the call and opened the door. 

             
Tonic stood there, evidently waiting to be shot.

             
“Fuck you, com’on.”  Finn waved him into the kitchen, and stood there in his boxers... his pants were still on the bathroom floor.  He threw in an ass scratch for good measure.  “You need food?”

             
“Nah, and neither do you, I’m buying, let’s go.”

             
“Where could we possibly want to go?”

             
“That’s a nice little welt you’ve got there,” Tonic pointed.  "I don't mean to be an dick, but it gets worse.  It'll feel like you did seven thousand sit ups."

             
Finn’s hand came up to his ribs where the skin was broken in a rough black semicircle that radiated out into an assortment of nasty purple and yellow combinations.  “The ER kid said it was a forty five,” he said.  "Bullet like a boulder.”

             
“And that’s why I’m buyin’,” Tonic said again.  “Go hobble your skinny ass in there and put on some of your expensive clothes.  I’ll just be in here going through your shit.”

             
“You hate me don’t you?”

             
“Very much.  Hurry on now gramps, we’ve got people to do and places to see.”

             
Thirty minutes later the two were laying face down, side by side, on two of four roughly hewn tables that may well have served as butcher blocks in a former life.  The room was easily a hundred and twenty degrees with humidity that you could use for a pillow.  They dripped sweat, but despite the foreboding hiss of steam and the occasional knocking of pipes somewhere deep within the walls, it all felt rather relaxing.

“Is his name really Yuri?” Finn asked.

              “Uh huh.”

             
Finn’s eyes were closed, his lips slack.  "He’s not gonna hit us with birch branches or some shit is he?”

             
Tonic’s lax expression morphed into a sleepy eyed smile, "Might.”

             
“I thought you were trying to be cultured.”

             
“Anything for a pal.”

             
A door creaked, and heavy footfalls announced the presence of Yuri.  Finn’s eyes popped open, but he didn’t move, choosing instead to search the steam without giving away his position.

             
“Oose verst?”

             
“He doesn’t sound Russian,” Finn whispered.

             
Tonic said, “I’ve heard hees vary goot.”

             
“At what?”

             
“Happy endings.”

             
Finn was still pondering how dreadfully unfunny that really was when a hand slapped down on his hip, “Aye vix yoah reebs verst.”

             
“You’ll
what
?” Finn asked.  He couldn’t sit up, couldn’t turn his head any further.

             
“Yoah reebs.”

             
“They’re fine, the steam…” with one flip he came face to face with Yuri.  He was every bit the enormous creation that Finn had created in his mind.  Round faced with stubble of equal length from his chin the top of his head, he looked like a man who could explain the meaning of the universe with his hands. 

             
Tonic kept his eyes closed, content to listen to the muted popping that was going on inside of his friend’s body.  “Wait,” was a common refrain between gasps and mumbled oaths.  It took less than ten minutes, but by Tonic’s standards, it was worth every penny.  When he finally opened his eyes, Finn had been returned to his original position, like an infant put down to sleep.

             
“I know where you live,” he murmured.

             
“Ungrateful bastard,” Tonic said.

             
“I can’t wait to watch him twist you into a clove hitch.”

             
“Nah man, I spent all my money on you, I just get steam.”

             
“Yoah reebs vixed goot," Yuri proclaimed, smacked Finn on the ass, and then faded away into the steam.

             
"Was it a happy ending?" Tonic asked after a few moments of hiss.

             
"My sinuses are clear if that's what you mean."

             
"Want to go?" Tonic rose up to his elbows.

             
"Not really.  There's a hundred and ten degree difference between here and the car.  I'm not sure I could take the shock.  Besides, I figured it out."

             
Tonic slid back to prone with a sigh, "Which part of what?"

             
"I would have told you earlier, but someone was busy massaging my spleen.  Actually, I think that's what finally jogged it all loose, so maybe I owe you.  Christ."

             
"Elucidate."

             
"What?"

             
"Explain you twit," Tonic said.  Finny loved to draw it out when he'd discovered something important.

             
"Why didn't Meek just kill them right there?"

             
Tonic rose back up to his elbows, "He wants 'em for something.  And really, I'm not sure I want to know much more than that.  They're in deep shit."

             
"Yeah.  What's Meek do for a living?"

             
"Computers.  Encryption.  I dunno, I guess he's the guy that makes Big Brother scary."

             
Finn didn't move at all, "Exactly."

             
"So?"

             
"Why didn't the second gun go off?"

             
Tonic rubbed his face and spoke through his hands, "Which… oh, because it wasn't a gun prolly.  It's easy to see a gun if you're pissing down your leg.  Ask me how I know."

             
"I agree.  It was a cell phone.  That's my money.  But why point it?"

             
Tonic's hands came away from his face, "It was recording."

             
Finn's eyes came open, face still against the slab, "Yep.  Taking pictures, a movie… something.  And remember what Big Meek said before he told us to go away?"

             
"Nice shoes?"

             
"No no, before that."

             
"No idea."

             
Finn worked himself up to his elbows as well, grunting a little in the process, "He said, 'let's let the jury decide,' or some such."

             
"And since he's Mr. Crypto…"

             
"Right, maybe the little fucker could really pull it off… an web trial, an internet
jury
.  Ol' Whit was being crafty; they're peas in a pod those two.  There's nothing at that address yet, but I'd bet there will be soon.  And even though Ray can't get a line on the domain name registration, someone has to own it.  I bet I know who.  And why."

             
Tonic rolled to his back, letting his arms flop over the sides of the table.  "Alright.  Wow.  Okay, so… if this is already in motion, and we try to squeeze Meek Senior, we'll be neck deep in attorneys for the duration."

             
"That seems likely.  There's something I can't figure though…"

             
"Want me to get Yuri back in here?"

             
Finn smiled, and it was lopsided against the table, "No thanks.  My pelvis is just fine."

             
"What then?"

             
"Why's he keeping us so close?"

             
"Yuri!"

Chapter Thirty–Eight

Tariff

Occasionally Smokey would clear the poker chips out of his back room for an anniversary or a stripper in a cake – often a combination with his clientele.  Cops and firemen seemed genetically predisposed to celebrate, and tended to do so for nearly any reason: St. Patrick’s day was booked six
years
in advance and with Christmas approaching, the room was occupied more often than not.  It was during those times when the poker table, the cards, the chips, and the booze were all shoved back into the
smaller
back room.  The back, back room.

Tonic fumbled with a stack of poker chips – he still smelled of cedar and sweat.  “This ain't as easy as the guys on TV make it look.”

The three of them sat hunched around the table, backs nearly touching the adjacent walls, each with a laptop opened and pushed aside, and each with a hand of cards.  They’d stopped only long enough at the station to pick up the computers and then fled back to Smokey’s for some well earned decompression.  Finn, officially, was off the clock.  Being shot generally earned a guy a get out of work free card when it came to some down time.  Tonic was still on duty, but it wasn’t a big stretch to view the last few days as unusual, and therefore open to interpretation as far as how they should be handled.  Sitting in a tiny back room around a poker table while waiting for an Internet broadcast of… of what?  It was all a little strange.  And Ray, well Ray didn’t know if he was on duty or not – there was no more pretending because he didn’t really know what position he held here anymore.  Instead, he’d decided to take the cops at their word and see this as an opportunity.  Really, he didn’t have much choice.  He hadn’t called Hack for a long time, long enough that he could smell that bridge's ashes.  And probably, that was a good thing.  It was going nowhere healthy, and now he had something that Hack didn’t.  Opportunity.

They had also decided that since the word
kidnapping
was being used in conjunction with Seth Meek, the FBI shop just down the street would be calling to get its feet wet.  Thus it was as good a time as any for them to all take a step back and look at the big picture. 

“We’re sure that we’re ready to go?” Finn asked Ray for the third time.

All three screens were loaded to http://www.juryofpeers.us, but none showed anything more than a black screen. 

“Yeah, this is it.  But it’s not five yet.”

“Just don’t let me catch you looking up any more porn,” Tonic said.

“I think that getting shot precludes jerking off,” Finn threw down his cards.  “Fold.”

“It’s all you Ray,” Tonic looked over his cards once more.

“Oh, right.  Sorry.”  Ray picked up his cards.  "I show them to you now?”

“If you want.”

“Two pairs of threes,” he said as he laid the cards out and looked back to his computer.

Finn looked over both sets of cards, “Ray you have
four
threes which beats Spencer's… nothing.”

“Well
all your bases are belong to us
then,” Ray said and absently reached for the chips.

Tonic looked at Finn who was grinning, "He’s so full of shit.”

“He’s a reporter, of course he is.”

“I prefer journalist,” Ray said.

“Shit,” Tonic groused. 

“At least you’ve won a hand you fucker,” Finn began and then went quiet as Ray sat up straight.  "What?”

Then Finn’s screen lit up.  A white box appeared, went grey, and then white again as a camera struggled to adjust to some very bright lights.  The blur sharpened into the image of a cinderblock wall then refocused upon the image of Seth Meek as he stepped in front of the camera.  The web address was clearly visible in bold letters at the bottom of the screen which, struck Finn as odd at first, and then understanding dawned.  He wanted this to be copied, distributed, forwarded…

“Well son of a bitch,” Finn said.

              They could see him from the chest up.  Swelling still partially obscured his eye and this gave him a guarded look – one that he would likely have worn anyway.  Dark, offset sutures still tracked across his lips, and while the swelling around his mouth was nearly gone, it still served to hide the pair of jagged teeth that must have hurt like hell.

             
Finn looked over his computer, "You’re getting all of this Ray, right?”

             
“Yes.  Yes absolutely.”

             
Seth cleared his throat, “My name is Seth Meek.  Not long ago my family was killed.  My wife Emily, daughter Jennifer, and our unborn child were murdered in our home at 23889 Arlington Heights, in Washington, D.C. at about 5:30pm.”

             
Tonic watched Meek’s face.  Had he not been so beaten, he would have looked very much like a guy preparing to make a toast at a party; a little nervous, but confident enough to stand up and clang his glass until everyone was quiet.  His voice was even and he wasn’t reading a script… this was raw and real.

             
“While I’m not going to say a great deal about the particulars of that day right now, I would like to take some time to explain what it is that I’m doing here this evening, and what I intend to do over the next hours.”  He reached for a soda and took a sip, “Alright.  I’ll keep it short for now.  After my family was killed, I was able to find the two who were responsible.  More on that later.  I confronted them, and brought them here.  The media will confirm all of this by tomorrow I'd think.  I intend to put them on trial for the murder of my family and to do it here where everyone can participate.”

             
Finn’s head came up, “Participate."

             
A nod from Tonic.

             
“My knowledge of the formal legal process is pretty limited, though I'm going to treat this like a capital case, that is… any case where the death penalty is sought.”

             
“Fuck me,” Tonic said.  “He’s really doing it.”

             
“This broadcast, as well as any others will go out live to anyone who cares to watch, as well as to the police who, I hope, are watching even now.  Also, about an hour after we're done here tonight with this round, I'll send this link to most of the major news agencies domestically, as well as the BBC abroad.  I'll also upload this broadcast to a bunch of open forum websites such as YouTube where it will likely be available long enough to be copied and shared.  In essence, I want anyone who wants to participate in this trial… to be able to do so."

             
He took another sip of his soda.  "So then, we’ll… adjourn I suppose, until tomorrow morning at 9:00am when the arraignment will begin.” 

             
Meek moved off screen causing the auto focus to blur and re–sharpen, and then the screen went back to grey, then black.

             
Ray was chewing on the Queen of Clubs, "Weird.”

             
“Raymond, take that out of your mouth, you don’t know where it’s been,” Tonic said.  He turned to Finn, "Weird.”

             
Finn was already nodding, “Okay Rayburn, you’re up.  Thoughts?”

             
Ray continued to fondle the queen.  “He can do this.  Unbelievable.  Jesus.  I think he can do it.  For a while anyhow.  Once something is out there, it's out there.  He can just keep posting the new stuff.  It's harder to actually hide though if someone's really looking for you.  Way harder.  But…" he leaned back in his chair,  "well, he works for people who hide everything… all the time."

             
Finn rose and left the room without a word.

             
“So what else?” Tonic prompted as he watched Finn leave.

             
"He's trying to act like a lawyer.  But he isn't… it's all totally bogus."

             
"Sure as hell.  He was married to a lawyer though, right?"

             
"She was an
ACLU
lawyer," Ray replied.

             
This earned a snort, "I bet that's going over really well right about now – civil liberties galore."

             
"Oh, that's something else.  She didn't quit, she got dumped.  The firm that she was working with, the ACLU folks?  They were involved with a case that she evidently didn't want to work on.  They poured on the pressure and she balked.  Instead of making a stink and firing her, they set her up and let her take the fall for a couple of shitty outcomes.  She 'retired.'  She went from being wholeheartedly involved in the system to being a stay at home mom in about ten hours."

             
Tonic nodded.  "I wonder if she and Meek's dad got along… sounds like they've both drawn the short stick in the American legal system.  Hokay… anything else?"

             
“He didn’t mention anything about security," Ray added.

Tonic gestured for more.

"He’s an internet security guy.  He could have mentioned how he’s set this all up right?  How he’s the encryption master and all that?”

“Yeah, so?”

Ray smiled, "Think it through?"

"Oh, it's a challenge you mean?"  Tonic slowly raised his middle finger.

"Exactly. Computer guys are like that, if something’s unbreakable, every fucking one of them will have a crack at it.  His systems, well… they've got to be good right?  But it only takes time, you know?  Someone will eventually break it if this really gets as big as he’s hoping.”

"Yeah, and probably that someone will be super pissed and in a position to vaporize our boy."

Ray flipped the Queen out toward the table; it skipped and made a rough landing in Finn's drink.  "Yep, nuke him from orbit, it's the only way to be sure.  Listen, right now this is taking about as much bandwidth any other broadcast that a teenaged kid would dump on the web."

Ray jerked his hand away from rescuing the Queen as the door swung back open and Finn slid a heap of steaming ribs unto the table.  "What’d I miss?  What's Bandwidth?”  He lifted his glass, squinted, and set it down.  He pulled the ribs back to his side.

"Hartley's Law.  The maximum data rate of a physical communication link is proportional to its bandwidth in Hertz.  Net bit rate.  Throughput…"

Tonic was laughing, Finn was not, "You can't use the term
in
the definition."  It was clear that Ray was enjoying himself, which made sense, as he was on the verge of a major career move.

"Think of this broadcast as a sandcastle.  A little one.  To move it from one beach to another, you have to break it all down, shoot it through a pipe, and then reassemble it.  That's cool enough.  But assume that other people are using the same pipe to move their sandcastles around at the same time.  The more sand, the more bandwidth… pipe size, you need."

"Wonkavision," Tonic added helpfully, "it could change the world."

Ray nodded eagerly, "Exactly.  Exactly.  Now… in order for someone to view this broadcast, they have to access it.  To view it, they have to reassemble the sandcastle on their beach right?  Following?"

"We'll see in a minute."

"Well, the more people who view it, the bigger the pipe will have to be… this is all really simplified," Ray reached for a rib and again Finn pulled them away.  "The point is, eventually someone will notice that he's using the pipes if they start to clog up.  This broadcast was so insignificant that he had to give us the time and location.  If he really drops it in on YouTube and people start to watch… it could get big.  Exponential.  Two, four, sixteen, two–fifty–six, sixty–five thousand something… four billion... it goes fast once it starts getting mailed around.  Thing is, he could use the
world's
computer power to transmit it.  See?"

"So what's the problem?" Tonic asked.  Finn pushed the ribs back over.

"The problem is that he's going to have to hide himself.  And a lot of people will be looking.  Not just you guys…"

"But people with a vested interest in their security."

"Right." 

"Well, he’s willing to give everyone all the fucking time in the world to get up to speed on this… meaning that he’s awfully confident that it’ll fly.  Will it?” Tonic asked.

Everyone thought that it would.

“Alright then,” Finn said.  "Write it up.  You've got about forty–five minutes."

Ray was already typing, "Okay.”

Forty minutes later the ribs were gone, and Finn was still trying to understand how to move a sandcastle… but Ray's information was organized and ready to go.

Finn flipped open his phone and dialed.  “Hey Sandy, you ready?”  He nodded and pointed to Ray who fiddled with his computer for a few seconds and then popped the ENTER key once.  The story of the decade was on the way to the Washington Post.  His stomach churned.  It was just information, and he wouldn’t get much in the way of official credit – but it was the way that careers were born.