Breaking-In, CH 05 (Patreon)

I’m through the firewall in seconds; that thing’s a joke. Then, I’m rummaging through the computer’s files. Come on, who archives things this way.

Oh, you think this chaos is going to protect you? I have programs to deal with that. Once I’m done screwing up your system, it’s going to be the best organized one you’ll have ever seen.

There might be a contradiction in there.

No time to worry about it.

Oh, no you don’t. You don’t get to delete the evidence on my watch.

Oh? You think you’ve succeeded? What are you going to say when you find out I already have an image of your drive? I did say I’d organize things, not that it would be on your computer.

I terminate the connection, leaving the hacker with a reminder of my work in the form of the Crimson Binome, laughing on his screen. 

Better start running. Once I’ve reconstructed the data you stole, the cops will be on you.

Or whoever the company paying my boss sends. After all, our job is to make sure you don’t get to sell the information, not prosecute you.

And corporate espionage is so not what my personal work involves.

I get the reconstruction program going, then let the monitoring group know, I also send a message to Kat with the name and address of the hacker so she can let the people who will now do business with her know who to go after, or hire. It’s amazing how many information criminals bypass prison to end up with cushy jobs with large corporation.

It’s almost like hacking their servers is their job interview.

Again, not my problem. The most offensive thing that guy had on his system was nude drawings of Tomb Raider.

The guy is forty-seven.

Talk about pushing the stereotype.

My phone rings while I’m searching through our client’s list for someone to check the security of. I glance at it, and I’m looking at the screen again when what came up as the caller registers.

Tempe High School.

“Yes?” I answer. “What’s wrong?” Fuck, how am I this worried. Emil’s a grown boy. He can take care of himself.

“Mister Crimson?” a woman asks uncertainly.

“Yes. Is Emil okay?” Of course he’s okay. He fucking better be, otherwise there is now way I can keep this from Tristan.

“There was an incident.”

“Lady, unless you’re in the habit of calling one of the students out of the blue just to hear their voice, I know there was an incident. Is Emil okay?”

“We need you or his… other father to come to the school.”

“Oh, you want me, trust me on that one.” I’m up. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in fifteen.” I disconnect. I am so giving them a piece of my mind about not answering my question. Telling me if he’s okay, or if I should tell them to get ready for the nuclear bomb Tristan till fall on them like seems to me like it’s just basic survival instinct.

“Crimson!” Kat yells as I reach for the door’s handle.

How badly do I want to piss her off right now?

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“I don’t have the time. Something’s happened to my son, and I have to go to his school before things escalate.” Something’s off with that phrase. What is it?

“You have a son?” she asks, incredulous.

Right, I haven’t told her that.

“He came with my marriage.” I show her my wedding band, again. I can’t help it. I’m married to the most wonderfully dangerous man in existence. How do you expect not to brag about it any chance I get?

She’s amused at the display. “You never said he came with baggage.”

“Emil’s not baggage. Do you have a problem with kids? Is that it?”

That was not the right thing to say.

She points to the door. “Get out of here. Go deal with it.”

Her back’s already to me as she returned to her office. She didn’t say to come right back, or to come back. I might not have a job after this.

* * * * *

Oh, thank God. There’s a coffee machine just inside the school. I don’t care why a school has a coffee machine where the students can access it. I pay for one, down the vile concoction as it prepares the next one and drink that on the way to the principal’s office.

Now I am somewhat ready to deal with whatever this is. I also need to have a talk with Tristan about how he cleans my car. There was a travel mug under the passenger seat he shouldn’t have thought to remove.

“I’m Alex Crimson,” I tell the woman behind the desk as she opens her mouth. “Where is—” I spot Emil seated in the torture devices that are school chairs. He has a bandage on his cheek, his lip is split and he holds an ice pack over his left eye. “Are you okay?”

He smiles and winces slightly. “You should see the other guy.”

“Mister Crimson?” The sternness in the tone makes me look askance at the man in the charcoal suit standing in the door to the principal’s office. “If you and Emil will come in.”

There’s an air of annoyed resignation to Emil as he stands. I follow him in, then sit. At least these seats have cushions on them.

Principal Carlyle, according to the plaque, looks at me sternly, like I’m the one who was called to the principal’s office. I really don’t need the reminder of that feeling. I might have ended up in a similar office a time or two after Dear Old Dad kicked me out. Okay, maybe more than a time or two. That kind of betrayal leaves a mark.

“What happened?” I ask. Okay, stupid question. By his face, it’s clear Emil got in a fight.

“Emil was in a fight.”

“No, really?” Okay, I didn’t expect the stupid answer to my stupid question.

That throws the man off slightly. “Yes.”

Oh, this is going to be painful.

For someone.

Just so you know, if you’re going to make it painful for me, I am going to hit back.

“How about you start from the beginning?” I ask. “Use small words. I’ve only had two cups of something that claimed to coffee and I still can’t feel the caffeine kick in.”

The man narrows his eyes at me, while Emil covers up a smile with his hand.

Look, I’m already way caffeine deprived. Tristan is limiting me to one, ONE, coffee with breakfast. Not even a travel mug, one cup. Do you have any idea how important coffee is in the morning? You miss that and you never, ever, get it back.

So cut me some slack here.

“There was an altercation,” the principal says, “and Emil decided to intervene.”

Emil rolls his eyes.

“What happened?” I ask him.

“Some bully was picking on this girl. I stopped him.”

One bully? I need to have a talk about Emil’s training.

“Emil sent three boys to the infirmary.”

I almost smile in pride that it took three of them to give him a few bruises. Almost. I remember enough from my times in this kind of place to know it’s not appreciated. Still. I’m fucking proud.

“So he protected a girl from bullies,” I state, managing to keep my voice neutral.

“He hurt three students,” the principal replies with an even sterner tone, so maybe not. “Broke one of them’s arm. He may have given another one a concussion. Tempe High school does not condone the use of violence under any circumstance.”

I shut my mouth. Oh, what was about to come out would not have been helpful. Emil’s snort kind of summarizes my thoughts, though, and the glare he receives confirms it’s a good thing I kept myself from speaking. Kids are expected to be disrespectful. A guy in his mid-thirties is expected to know better.

“Who are the witnesses supporting?” I ask once I’m confident that’s what will come out of my mouth.

Growing up in Dear Old Dad’s house means I’ve had listened in on way too many talks between him and lawyers. I didn’t pick up a lot of legalese that way, but I did understand that it’s all about the witnesses. If you can get them to tell you what you want them to say, you have the case in the bag.

To this day, I am baffled by the number of lawyers who lost their jobs when they proposed my dad pay off witnesses or find creative ways to get them to change their stories.

“They say that Emil came to the defense of Stephanie. That he pulled Brian off her, he hit him once, then Jason and Steven grabbed Emil, while Brian punched him. Emil got out of their grasp and proceeded to… be extreme on them.”

“Beat the crap out of them,” I translate.

“Yes.” Oh, he is not happy I did that. “Now. Since Emil is new here, and a move will bring a certain emotional instability, and he acted to help another student, I will not have him expelled. However.” There’s always an ‘however.’ “You are suspended for the rest of the week and you will see the school counselor twice a week until I’m confident you understand the wrongness of what you did. And I expect you,” he levels his gaze on me. “To play your part in explaining to your son that violence is not the way to resolve any problems.”

Oh man, I hope I didn’t give him the disbelieving expression I think I did.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have become a father if you don’t think you need to play a part in his upbringing.”

So I did give him that expression. At least he drew the wrong conclusion.

I stand, and Emil follows me out. I eye the coffee machine as I approach. Anything claiming that vile stuff as being coffee should be destroyed. I get myself another one. Emil looks at me horrified when I ask if he wants one.

Maybe that’s why it’s there, and why it tastes so bad. They’re teaching kids to stay away from the stuff. Good. Means more for me.

Well, unless Tristan finds out.

Then he’s just going to find a way to keep all of that extra ambrosia away from me, too. I wouldn’t put it past him to change the formulation in the machine, so it tastes good and I have to compete with all the new converts to coffee.

“Three of them?” I ask, grinning once we’re in the car.

“Yeah. I didn’t know the other two were there, otherwise I’d have kicked them first.”

I’m on the road before I think to inquire some more. “How’s the girl?”

“I’m hoping she’s okay. I didn’t get a chance to check on her before the teachers got there and pull me away.”

“Good job. But—” oh dear God. Am I about to pull an ‘however,’ on Emil? “You really shouldn’t have let it get out of hand.”

“I know.”

“Alright.” 

Good. At least he gets it and I don’t have to play at being the stern dad.

“What are you going to tell dad?” he asks.

I think about it. “Well, seeing how this wasn’t anyone taking advantage of you, I think it’s safe to tell it how it happened.” I see the sign in the distance. “How about a real coffee before we head home?”