Generation of Liars (4 page)

“Well, Alice Fix, what really
sounds dangerous is you being involved with a boyfriend who is crazy enough to
shoot at you.”

“Who said anything about a
boyfriend?”

“You just said you received these
injuries during a lover’s quarrel.”

“I’m not involved with the guy who
shot me. This isn’t some tale of star-crossed lovers. He’s an ex. I hadn’t laid
eyes on him in three years, and trust me, Paris is the last place I expected to
run into him. This wasn’t about love.”

“What was it about?”

“A computer disk.”

“A computer disk? That seems like
an awfully stupid thing to get shot over.”

“Not if it’s a disk documenting all
of our Social Security numbers from before the November Hit.”

His fingers were moving fast now,
twining gauze over my wounds, blood pumping through the lilac veins in his
hands. I saw his shoulder shake slightly and I realized that he was laughing to
himself. “Excuse me if I tell you that your story seems a little farfetched.”

It felt like thorns, the bandages
pressing onto my tender skin. I jerked away. “Watch it, would ya?” I barked.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t
realize how tender it would be. Hold on a second and I will get you some
medicine for the pain. You will need it anyways once the shock wears off and
the soreness kicks in.”

“Thanks.” I looked down at my
knees, focusing on the exposed patch of shocking white skin between the hem of
my skirt and the elastic of my striped stockings. I was swinging my legs back
and forth over the side of the cot, maudlin and childlike, as I waited for the
pills.

The doctor grabbed an opaque bottle
and dumped three pills into his hand. He filled a paper cup with tap water and
carried it to me. I grabbed for the pills. He closed up his fist and pulled it
away from me. “You’re saying there’s a computer disk with all the Social
Security numbers just floating around out there, and you have it?”

“I didn’t say I had it. I said I
got shot over it.” My eyes were beaming covetously at his fist covering the
pills.

His palm sprang open, surrendering
the little white gems. “No offense, Alice, but the likelihood of that being
true is about the same as the possibility of your story about falling off the
Eiffel Tower.”

“You’re right. Please forget I even
mentioned it. I really shouldn’t be talking to you about it anyways.” I popped
the pills into my mouth and threw back my neck to wash down the concoction.

“It’s a very hooking premise, I
will give you that.”

As soon as the pills landed in my
stomach I saw a haze enter the room. My hands felt heavy and then light and
then not like hands at all but like wings. The doctor was suddenly blurry, and
the surface of his coat was covered in beams from white hot auroras. My eyes
started to close, but I felt a sudden jolt and it made my legs shake like I was
experiencing freezing, even though I was covered in a film of sweat. “It’s not
a premise,” I grumbled. “It’s true. There is a way to get to back everyone’s
Social Security number.”

“Impossible.” His steel-focused
eyes were guiding his hands to carefully apply the gauze. “Everyone knows that
the worm that erased the government databases spread to every public and
private database. Trust me, I worked in a hospital at the time of the November
Hit and all of our patient records were obliterated, even the data that was
backed up on the supposedly impenetrable servers.”

I shagged my head to the side,
which carried the whole room with it. “No, no, not everything was obliterated.
The disk I’m hunting was created before the November Hit, and it has everyone’s
Social Security number stored on it. We call it the dynamite stick”

He arched an eyebrow. “We?”

“I’m part of an underground network
searching for the dynamite stick.”

“If it does exist, where is this
dynamite stick
now? Why hasn’t the government used it to restore the
lost records?”

“Well, doc, if I knew where it was
I wouldn’t have been up on the Eiffel Tower meeting a pair of blackhat
criminals trying to get information on it, now would I?”

“I suppose not. But surely, as a
girl so entrenched in this underground web, you must have some guesses on where
it could be.”

“I know a little about where it’s
been.”

“You make it sound like it’s had a
life of its own.”

“It has, in a way. So far what I
know about it is that it was created by a government employee shortly before
the November Hit took place. After that it changed hands so many times it’s
impossible to pinpoint.”

“You mean the person who created it
was some kind of an amateur?”

“It was something of an accidental
treasure. It only has any extraordinary value in juxtaposition to the November
Hit. The story goes that the employee downloaded the information in the months
leading up to the cyber attack because he planned to scam senior citizens using
their stolen Social Security numbers. I mean the guy had no clue the attack was
coming, no clue about how valuable that disk was about to become.” Another
cigarette was under my tongue now but I didn’t remember putting it there. “The
guy’s name was Enoch Sprites. Isn’t that a weird name?”

“I suppose,” the doctor said.

“He was a doctor, too. But a real
doctor, not a phony like you. He ended up in the slammer at some point and he
lost the disk. It has been passed around quite a bit, but it’s still out
there.”

“So then you have never actually
laid eyes on this mythical disk?”

“Not technically.”

“Then you have no way of knowing if
this disk is even real. With all due respect, this sounds like an urban legend.
I don’t believe any of it.”

“You should believe in it. The
United States Government believes in it. They’re looking for the dynamite stick
as we speak.”

“So, you’re attempting to thwart
the efforts of the United States Government? Is that who shot you? Or did you
mix up your story again and forget you told me it was a boyfriend who tried to
kill you tonight?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” I corrected him,
“but I’m still not sure how he got tangled up in this. The last time I saw him
he was a first-year history major. We were just a couple of love-struck
teenagers taking goofy shots at the photo booth in the mall. But of course,
that was before the November Hit.”

“I’m pretty sure everything you’ve
told me so far makes you a criminal.”

“I guess it does.”

“If your story is true, that means
I would have to report you to the police.” He walked to the sink and began
sterilizing all the instruments he had just used. “Lucky for both of us, I can
recognize when it’s just the painkillers talking.”

“Well, you’re never going to see me
again, so it doesn’t matter.”

“But now that I know about the
existence of this so-called dynamite stick, doesn’t that mean I have to worry
about people shooting at me too?”

“No. You’re just a boring doctor.”

“I guess that means you finally
believe me about really being a doctor.”   

I rubbed at the tape crossed over
my hands. “You did a pretty good job on me. I guess that counts for something
towards your credibility.”

He smiled and I smiled back, and
our eyes caught each other’s and then we seemed to be trapped in an awkward
stare until the doctor finally looked away, as though he was caught doing
something perverse. I recognized what it was. He was looking at me like I was
beautiful.  

“Alright, Alice, we’re almost
done,” he said. “There are just a few more basic tests I have to do before I
can give you a clean bill of health and release you.”

“Like what?” My legs were swinging
back and forth, the colors on my stockings mixing like a spinning carnival
trinket. I admitted to myself that I liked the attention from the doctor, and
the feel of him in my physical orbit sent a rush of blood that started in my
head and travelled to all the nerve endings in my body.

“I’m going to test your reflexes.”

“I can assure you, doctor, that my
reflexes are catlike.”

“I don’t doubt that they are.” He
was flirting back. I was dizzy but smiling. He selected a mallet from the
counter and placed a hand on my thigh to steady my leg, his satiny eyes
snagging mine one last time before stooping down to tap my knee. “That’s
weird.” Something on my leg had caught his attention.

“Something wrong?”

“No, nothing is wrong. I just
noticed some blood on your stocking. You must have nicked yourself during the
altercation. I should clean it up.”

“These stockings are my favorite,”
I said between pouted lips. “I hope the blood comes out.”

“Just be glad you’re not in worse
shape.” He gently peeled the lip of my stocking. “But I will admit it is a
shame about the stockings since they add to the allure of your, what did you
call them? Catlike qualities.”

The feeling of his hand gliding
over my knee made the skin on my leg tingle and I bit my lip and laughed, and
that’s when something small and light fell out of my stocking and hit the
floor. The doctor reached down and scooped up the tightly overlapped note.

“Hey,” I hollered, recalling the
confession I kept on me at all times, “that note is mine!”
That damn stupid
burden
.

“Did you hide this note inside your
stocking?”

“I forgot it was in there. Just
give it back, okay?”

His eyes flickered to mine and he
read the words written on the outer fold
: If found dead, please contact the
parents of Heather Gilmore at the following phone number and share the enclosed
information
. “Who is Heather Gilmore?” he asked.

“That’s confidential.”

“Is your name really Heather
Gilmore, Alice?”

“No.”

“Then are you really anticipating
someone finding your dead body soon?”

“Nobody anticipates dying, but it’s
a dark world out there. The words on that paper are my last will and testament.
Now give it back.”

He handed me the note. I was
relieved that he didn’t open it up to read any further. “You’re a little young
to keep a last will and testament,” he told me.

I shoved the note back into the lip
of my stocking. “May I go now?”

“Technically you have a clean bill
of health. There are no signs of trauma or head injury, so I can’t justify
ordering you kept overnight for observation. Though just between you and me,
calling in a mental health professional for review wouldn’t be a bad idea,
Alice, or Heather, or whatever your name is.”

“Listen, I only told you any of
this because you looked bored in this place and I felt sorry for you. I figured
I would give you a taste of the exciting life you’re missing out there.”

When he spoke again, it was rote,
as though none of the chemistry we just experienced had happened. “It was nice
to meet you. My name is Ben Robinson. You can call me here at the hospital if
you need anything else and the receptionist will page me.” I watched him check a
few things off from the clipboard chart on the wall. “Do you have any family
you need me to call?”

“No family.”

“Is there anyone here in Paris who
can come pick you up? A friend? Coworker?”

“No friends. I can get myself home
just fine. I’m not a child and the pills you gave me have already worn off.”

“Okay, but take care of that wound
on your shoulder. You don’t want it getting infected. Your hands should be fine
in a few days.” His eyes seemed to condemn me. “Just don’t climb anything
else.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Oh, and please, whatever you were
really doing when you got hurt, just try and stay away from it. I don’t care if
it’s a boyfriend, drugs, or a pimp. You got lucky this time. Don’t try your
luck again. I don’t want to see you wheeled here inside a body bag next time.”

I slid down from the cot and
grabbed my bag and hiked it up onto my shoulder. “I knew I wasn’t going to get
hurt, don’t worry.”

He snapped off his plastic gloves
and bounced them into the trash. “How could you be so sure?”

“
Kitto Katsu
,” I said. The
words were foreign to him, but oh-so-familiar to me.

“
Kitto Katsu
?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s my motto. It translates
to,
I will surely win
.”

“It sounds… Japanese?”

“It is Japanese.” I was in the
doorway now, pretending it didn’t make me sad to be leaving his gem-like eyes
and extremely thorough hands.

“Does a girl like you make it to
Japan often, Alice?”

“Mostly just to visit the Tokyo Sky
Tree. I mean how else do you think I learned to climb the Eiffel Tower?”

He looked confused. I knew he was
dismissing it as another one of my tall tales. I wasn’t about to reveal to him
how my boss, Motley, had funded an intensive martial arts training ritual for
me, which just happened to culminate on the rickety two-thousand-foot skeleton
of the Tokyo Sky Tree during a finance-related lull in its construction. It had
felt like climbing to the stars. I was wearing a light-reflective suit that
made me nearly invisible the naked eye as I ascended like the Greek god Icarus.
Get too close and the sun might burn you up. But I hadn’t burned, I had shined.
I had conquered it.
Kitto Katsu
. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in
the metal cabinet doors that lined the room and saw that my shoulder was
wrapped in bandages like butcher paper. I wasn’t shining at the moment. My neck
was trimmed with ghoulish mustard-and-grape-colored bruises. I drank in one
last vision of the handsome doctor, so clean by comparison, and walked out.

Chapter Two: Big Red X’s

I
SCURRIED DOWN the corridor towards the emergency room lobby and blew by the
receptionist’s desk without signing myself out. A skyline of gilded domes and
scaffolding awaited me outside. I spun through the hospital’s turnstile doors,
and when I got on the sidewalk I reached inside my bag and felt that my trusty
snub-nose revolver was still in place. My phone was at my ear. My fingers were
dialing the phone number I dial every time I am about to throw a hissy fit.