Rene Gutteridge - Listen

“No. The one on the other side of town.”

“Let’s go.” Frank got out and walked in, Gavin trailing.

One guy stood behind a half-circle counter, cradling a phone in his shoulder and talking fast. Without glancing up, he continued typing on the computer and carrying on the conversation. “Yeah, that’s right. Two years… Uh-huh. Then you can get the BlackBerry upgrade… Sure, come on in. We’ll get you signed up.” He dropped the phone into his hand, then snatched a cell phone off the counter. “Sorry, dude… No, I’m not busy.” He suddenly noticed both of them. “Let me call you back.” He snapped his phone shut. “Help you?” His name tag read Dave.

“We’re needing some information.”

“Looking for a new plan that can save you money?” He seemed to suddenly remember the smile that was supposed to go with that pitch.

“No.” Frank approached the counter, put his hands flat on top of it. “I’m looking for a way to spy on someone.”

“We’re a cell phone store.”

“With a cell phone.”

Dave blinked. “Let me get Pat. Pat knows everything.”

A few seconds later, Dave returned, followed by Pat. In every world, including the techno-geek crowd, there is the revered. Apparently Pat was that person. Dave offered him a front-row spot at the counter, pulled up a stool for him, decided he needed to do introductions. “This is Pat, our store manager. I’ve never seen him unable to answer a question.”

“Officer Merret. Officer Jenkins,” Frank said, studying Pat. He had a certain self-assurance you normally didn’t find among pale-skinned, superskinny, hairless males with a Bluetooth sticking out of unusually large ears.

He didn’t make eye contact as he said, “What can I do for you?” Instead, he typed on the computer, his full attention on the screen.

“First, you can give me some outstanding customer service,” Frank said.

Pat swiveled so he faced Frank. He didn’t say anything and his expression remained neutral.

“They want to know how to spy on someone using a cell phone.”

Pat, his expression unmoved, said, “We of course don’t sell anything like that here.”

Frank leaned in. “Of course. But let’s say we wanted to do this. Hypothetically, how would one go about doing it?”

Pat tilted his head to the side, a superiority-complex kind of smile nibbling at his lips. “It’s easy.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s a program you load onto the cell phone.”

“What does it allow you to do?”

“Pretty much whatever you want. You can listen in on phone calls. You can retrieve call logs. Any data or pictures.”

“You can even listen to conversations when the phone is off,” Dave added, then cleared his throat. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

“You’re telling me,” Frank said, “that this program allows someone to listen in on whatever is going on in a room, even if the phone is off?”

“That’s right,” Pat said. “The only way it doesn’t work is if the battery is taken out.”

“Is this kind of thing readily available?”

“Sure. It’s all over the Web.”

“How do you get it on the phone?”

“You have to have the phone in your possession to download the software.”

“So if it’s a girlfriend or someone you want to spy on, you have to snatch the phone, download it, and give it back.”

“That’s right.”

“Or you could have the software already on a phone you were selling.”

Pat started to nod, then stopped and glanced between Frank and Gavin. “What?”

“Hypothetically.”

“What are you saying?”

“Let’s say you wanted to listen to an entire town’s conversations. You load up these phones with some software, send them out, something like that?”

Pat’s otherwise colorless skin suddenly flushed pink. “In theory.”

“You guys doing that here? maybe thought it’d be a fun kind of prank? maybe got a little addictive, thought you’d take it a little further?”

“No. I can prove it. Pick any phone you like in the store. I’ll show you the programs on it. Or take my phone. You won’t find anything like that on there.” Pat slid his phone toward Frank, crossed his arms, and waited.

Frank slid it back. “No, thanks. That’s all the information I needed.”

Pat leaped to his feet. “Wait a minute. What are you saying? You think we’re behind this mess? we’re bugging people’s phones?”

“No, man. Just trying to figure some stuff out.” Frank held out a hand to shake.

Pat stared at it for an awkwardly long time before shaking it.

“Thanks for your time. Next visit I’ll look into that text-messaging package.” Frank winked, then turned and left the store, Gavin right behind him.

As soon as the door closed, Gavin rushed to Frank’s side. “See? See! It could work. I mean, here these guys are, selling phones that are going out to all the residents. How easy would it be for them to download that program onto these phones and-”

“No, it’s not them.”

Gavin stopped on the sidewalk, watching as Frank opened his car door. “What do you mean?”

“They’re not doing it.”

Gavin dragged his feet and got into the car, closing the door. “How do you know that? You’re a mind reader or something?”

Frank tried to give the poor kid a break. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this. It’s not going down like you think.”

Gavin slid down in his seat and stared out the window of the cruiser.

Frank glanced at him. “I’m taking a break. Where do you want me to drop you?”

Damien stood in his boss’s office for a solid ten minutes listening to Edgar blow off steam. He yelled questions but didn’t leave time for responses before going on, so Damien just took it. There was no point in arguing. He couldn’t explain any of this anyway.

“Now get out there and get me what I want!” Edgar commanded, jabbing his finger toward the door.

But Damien didn’t budge. He stayed there and stared his boss down. “What is going on with you?”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve known each other a long time. You’re acting strangely. You’re yelling at me like I’m some sort of idiot. Is there something on your mind? something you need to tell me?”

Edgar stood still, huffing, glaring, a vein on his forehead throbbing.

Damien crossed his arms. “It’s the site, isn’t it? You’ve been reading it. From the look of your bloodshot eyes, reading it nonstop.”

Edgar sat down in his chair, pushing a few papers around. “Just leave me alone.”

“But we’re frie-”

“Go.”

Damien turned and went to his desk, where his early-morning coffee was now cold. Cream circles floated at the top. He stirred it with the little red stirrer anyway as he tried to process the idea that evil had not arrived in their town with horns and a pitchfork. In fact, he thought, with much disgust for thinking it, that this kidnapping of Gabby Caldwell might’ve been easier to handle had it been a convict on the prowl in the quaint town of Marlo.

But no, it was not evil from the outside. It was evil from within. Evil that had disguised itself so brilliantly that no one ever suspected it.

Damien heard footsteps on the carpet and looked up.

Reginald Boren, the staff photographer, hurried up to Damien’s desk, out of breath. “Sorry,” he said, putting his hands on his knees and breathing heavily. “I took the stairs. Elevator’s too slow.” He yanked the camera strap off his neck and pulled a cord out of the small satchel at his waist. “You gotta see these.”

He knelt beside Damien’s computer, plugged something into the computer. Within seconds, a picture popped up on his computer.