Down to the Liar(14)

“Depends who’s asking.”

“We need help with a honeypot scam.”

“That ain’t saying who’s asking.”

I don’t have time for this crap. I push Murphy aside and round the rickety table supporting the monitor.

“I’m asking.” I pour all the HULK-SMASH surging through me into the two words.

“Damn, mami. That’s all you had to say. Catholic schoolgirl wants me to do something….” Which he then follows up with a wolf whistle. Classy.

I size up the scrawny guy who just volunteered to be our guide. He’s older than us, but not nearly as badass as he thinks he is. Oversized sunglasses. Enough bling to blind a prophet. He’s lounging in a ripped chair, balancing a keyboard on one leg and his beer bottle on the other. I’m itching to knock that smirk off his face. I may let Dani do it for me.

“What you want with the Tog?”

“I have a proposition for him. Can you get him?”

“What’s the payout?”

“That’s between me and him.”

He laughs. “Baby, you talking to the Tog right now.”

I should have guessed someone named Tog would refer to himself in the third person. I just can’t win for losing today.

His grin turns decidedly lecherous. “This proposition involve you paying me with that smoking body? Because I could be down with that.”

I can feel Dani tensing behind me, which is just silly. I’ve faced zucchini scarier than this guy.

“This proposition involves me paying you with cash. Still interested?”

“Maybe.”

I outline the basics of the scam Murphy and I cooked up last night. It’s called the “honeypot” and has been used by hackers since there was a network for them to hack. It consists of a website on a controlled server that can fish out a visitor’s IP address. In other words, I provide bait—nude photos of Skyla, in this case—and give the perpetrator a link. But instead of leading to nude photos, the link leads to an empty site that captures the jerk’s IP address.

Once I have the IP address, I can use it to look up the stalker’s physical address. And then I can have a little one-on-one with our perp about etiquette and the proper way to treat a lady. There might be some thumbscrews involved. I like to be thorough.

After I’ve laid it out, Tog shrugs. “Doable. How much?”

“Three grand.”

He purses his lips, pretending to mull it over. “I don’t do white-hat. Could sully my rep.”

“You’ll bounce back.”

This is why I hate bringing in contractors. Attitude, fair-weather loyalty. They’re even worse for reliability than people who owe me favors. Plus, I have to pay them, which goes against every grifter grain in my body. But this is the only play we’ve got.

“You’re lucky I have a weakness for spitfires with great legs. Otherwise, your mouth might try my patience. And I don’t put up with gabachos who try my patience.”

I sense more than see his bouncers shifting position. The air in the room chills, though the keyboard clicks and mumbled conversations haven’t lessened. Dani’s hand circles my upper arm, but I shake her off. I’m not leaving without a deal.

I rest my hands on either arm of his overstuffed chair and lean in, stopping an inch from his nose.

“What a coincidence. Because I have exactly zero tolerance for posers like you. But it so happens my far superior hacker is on walkabout right now, so I’m in need of a temp. You don’t want the job, fine. I’ll dig up your nearest competitor and give him the money and the bragging rights instead. And then I’ll find your mom”—I stroke his neck suggestively and wind one of the gold chains around my finger—“and tell her exactly what happened to all her costume jewelry.”

Then I push against his chest to lever myself to standing. Murphy gapes at me. Dani’s as stoic as always, but I can tell she’s angry. Strangely, I’m not anymore. It’s the grifter’s high that comes from reading a mark and knowing exactly how to get him to do your bidding. Tog is a masochist in sadist’s clothing. Deep down he wants someone to push him around. Give the mark what he wants….

“Six grand,” he says, his voice husky.

I flash a version of his smirk back at him, hand perched on my hip bone in my best impression of a bikini model. Then I turn and walk away.

“I’ll be in touch,” I call over my shoulder. Dani and Murphy follow me out.