This book is based on real events. Only the people, places, and events are fictionalized. The stupidity is 100% real.
Carlos poked the metal straw sitting in his afternoon smoothie with an index finger. He told himself he was calculating the Newtonian physics of variable applications of force on an object in a viscous fluid medium, but dude was just listlessly poking a straw on his kitchen island.
A knock at the door stirred him from his trance. Must be elastic bands he rush ordered last night.
He opened the door and was quite surprised to find a woman in the lobby before his private elevator bank.
“Ummmm… hi,” he ventured. “Can I help you?”
“You sure as shit can!” answered Monica before barreling past him and into his apartment. He was just about to protest this imposition when he spotted Cynthia, embarrassed and still standing by the elevator.
“Hi,” she ventured sheepishly.
“Cynthia?” he asked in shock.
“Get your ass in here, Cynthia!” cried Monica from inside the apartment. “Carlos, you might as well come too.”
“How did you get past lobby security?” demanded Carlos once he’d closed the door behind Cynthia.
Monica was leaning against the kitchen island, eyeing the smoothie skeptically.
“You have shit security,” she answered. “Also, please tell me this isn’t a SoyMan meal replacement shake. That stuff causes colon polyps.”
“Huh? What? No, it doesn’t! It received FDA approval after a thorough…”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Monica. “A thorough approval process involving three weeks of human testing, but the recipe is an almost exact copy of a formula the Soviets used for decades to feed prisoners in their gulags. And they had reams of data showing that it absolutely causes colon polyps. SoyMan’s executives know all of this, of course. They’re just hiding it from the public until they can IPO and retire before the symptoms start after five years.”
Carlos shook his head. This was far too much for a Saturday afternoon. It was about to get far worse.
“I can’t, I can’t,” he stuttered. “This cost $1,500 a month! It’s supposed to be tailor made for my body! I sent in an insane number of blood and stool samples!”
“They threw them out,” answered Monica. “You’re paying $1,500 a month for rebranded Siberian gruel. There’s a reason it’s banned in Canada.”
Carlos remembered that one complete and another almost complete stranger had just barged into his home uninvited.
“What are you even doing here?” he demanded.
“We need your help,” replied Monica.
“Why?” asked Carlos skeptically.
“Cynthia, do you mind giving our friend a refresher on what you’ve been through the last couple of weeks?”
Cynthia spent the next half hour recounting what had happened while diplomatically avoiding any mention of her online search habits or commentary on his physique. By the time she was done, Carlos’ jaw hung slack and his eyebrows seemed to be trying to hide in his hairline.
“That is literally the wildest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” he said at last.
“Yeah, I know, it’s been…” started Cynthia.
“You jumped out of a moving train?”
“Well, it had stopped by the time I…”
“This morning?”
“Yes.”
“To get away from three different groups of spies that were after you.”
“That’s right. I know it’s a lot to take in.”
“And a right-wing army of podcast listeners?”
“Yeah, maybe…”
“And you didn’t hurt your ankle when we met?”
Cynthia looked at her shoes and reddened.
“No, though I’m pretty sure the nurse practitioner saw through that.”
Carlos chuckled.
“A blind person could’ve seen through that,” he said with a smile. “I just thought you were a fan.”
Monica rolled her eyes.
“So, why didn’t you call me out?” asked Cynthia.
“Because you’re hot!” asserted Monica.
“And you’re some sort of super eco-hacker?” snapped Carlos.
“I don’t know about ‘super,’ but I’m at least a pretty good eco-hacker,” she admitted with a thick layer of false modesty.
A thought struck Carlos like a brick.
“Hold up!” he exclaimed. “Are the people coming after you going to be able to spy on me through my phone and appliances?”
“No,” replied Monica. “Like I told this one over here,” she pointed at Cynthia. “We’re not dealing with the NSA. They don’t have backdoor access to everyone’s communications in the country. Nor do they have the processing power or funds to monitor all those devices. They’re almost certainly only surveilling a small group of Cynthia’s associates like her family, close friends, cited sources, and former coworkers. Also, I checked your router and network, and you’re clean.”
“Wait, you hacked me?” he exclaimed.
“Oh, please,” replied Cynthia with a dismissive wave. “I’d hardly call that hacking. It was more of a checkup. Though, you should definitely change your passwords. PinoyPapi69?”
She couldn’t help herself.
“Stop snooping around my accounts!” he cried.
“OK, you got it. But that’s the only way to make sure no one had hacked you.”
Carlos was only somewhat convinced. He began to pace the living room looking like someone just asked him to solve an orbital mechanics problem in his head
“OK. OK,” he said. “So, why are you here? What do you want from me?”
“Your help!” offered Monica in a chipper tone.
“Woah!” he exclaimed. Carlos stopped pacing and extended his arms, palms facing the interlopers, as if trying to keep as much distance between him and them as possible.
“I really don’t know about all that,” he said. “I don’t want to get mixed up with the governor, or spies, or neo-Nazis, or anything you just mentioned. And how am I supposed to help you, anyway? I don’t have any connections, or…”
“We need that giant, sexy…” Monica gestured up and down his body. “Brain of yours,”
she finished with a grin.
Carlos scowled.
“She’s right,” added Cynthia. “Monica can break into anything, gather all sorts of evidence, and spot and neutralize threats. I can put the story together and tell the world. But we need someone with scientific training, someone who knows how to ask the right questions and methodically pursue the right leads. We need you.”
“Look,” started Carlos. “I can’t just drop everything in my life to go on a zany adventure with you two. I have a lot going on right now. I have a lot of responsibilities!”
A sharp laugh escaped Monica’s mouth.
“Sorry, sorry,” she apologized as Carlos glared. “Truly, sorry. I understand. It’s a lot to take in and a lot to be asked to do. But, out of curiosity, what are some of those responsibilities?”
“Well,” vacillated Carlos. “I have to make the videos every week.”
“Gotcha,” responded Monica. “And how long does that take?”
“Like six hours…”
“Out of a week?”
“Yes…” his voice trailed off.
“Anything else?”
“Yes!” Carlos regained some of his former firmness. “I have to work out too!”
“Of course, of course,” responded Monica understandingly. “And how much time does that take?”
“Like an hour and a half a day…” he said, self-consciousness creeping into his voice.
“Right,” said Monica. “Well, it looks like you have plenty of time you can either fill being miserable or actually using your brain for something you enjoy.”
“I’m not miserable!” retorted Carlos defensively. “I am very, very happy! I have everything I could ever want!”
“Bullshit,” snapped Monica. “Look at yourself! You sit alone in your bachelor pad, hiding from the world, no friends, nothing meaningful to do. You are miserable!”
“I have a great life!” insisted Carlos, spreading his arms wide as if to exhibit his accumulated belongings.
“I have an amazing apartment with an awesome view…”
“Why’s there so much glare in here?” muttered Cynthia, shading her eyes.
“I have a big TV, and a couch, and, and,” he looked around as if expecting his kitchenware would inform him what he should be happy about.
“And I have a coffee maker!” he continued. “And a fridge! And a backsplash! And a ring light…”
His voice trailed off.
“Men would literally rather spend millions of dollars than admit their feelings,” said Monica.
“OK, fine!” he threw his hands in the air. “I am miserable! I hate my life! I do want to get back to science! And I want to be known for more than… my appearance. I want to make a mark on my field and the world!”
“Great!” replied Monica, slapping him on the back. “Welcome to the team! Cynthia will be moving in and I’ll keep living in my van downstairs.”
“Wait, what?” they both exclaimed simultaneously, but Monica was already out the door.
