We live in a world that has doors.
— Not Lieutenant Weinberg
It was five in the afternoon when Claire found me slouched over the dining room table, eating a bowl of cereal.
"You're finally up," she said.
"Sort of. I had a long night. And then some."
"Good lord, Shayna. Is that what I think it is?"
"Maybe?"
"Oh, no."
"Look, we've been texting fake grocery lists, but we forgot to make a real one. We're out of milk."
"So you're having Fruit Loops with...?"
"Vanilla vodka."
"Girl, that's nasty."
"Trust me. I need this. What's up, Claire?"
"I have news."
"If it's bad, can it wait?"
"It's good. Maybe great. I might have a line on a whale."
"Wait. What?"
"I was supposed to be on a date with a mark last night, but he didn't show."
"You got stood up?"
"While I was waiting at the bar, the guy next to me used a crypto credit card to pay for his drinks. I guess that's a new thing."
"Good catch!"
"Yeah! I was, like, 'Hello handsome!'"
"You worked your magic!"
"I did. We flirted for a bit, but he had to go. He gave me his business card though. He owns an art gallery in Hyde Park, and I'm pretty sure it's a scam. I'm gonna pretend to casually drop by so he can ask me out. Wanna come?"
"No way. I never meet the mark."
"Not to the art gallery. I mean, you should come with me, to hang out, in Chicago. I know you love the city, and Hyde Park is a nice neighborhood. We'll make a day of it."
She knew me too well, which means she also knew I was in no condition to go anywhere. But we wanted to strike while the iron was hot, so we headed out the next day. She even offered to drive, since I was still recovering from a nasty hangover.
When we got into the city, I grabbed a snack at a coffee shop and wandered Hyde Park while she flirted with the mark. Then we went to 57th Street Beach so she could lie on a blanket and run her fingers and toes in the sand. Give me the concrete jungle any day, but that girl craves Earth.
I have to admit, it felt nice to take a day off and sit in late summer sun. Claire seemed to think so too.
"This has been a good day," she said.
"So, things went well with the mark?"
"His name is Mark."
"The mark is a Mark?"
"Mark is a mark."
"I guess that had to happen, eventually."
"His art gallery has scam written all over it, Shay. And there's a Bitcoin payment thingamabob by the desk. He's a mega-mark."
"Awesome! We should celebrate! Let's go for drinks. Someplace nice."
"Sure, but if you're drinking, I'm not. One of us needs to be sober for the drive home."
"More for me then. I saw a place with outdoor seating. I got an idea I want to run by you."
"Oh?"
"It's just a little something I've been thinking about."
I took her to a cafe called The Quandary. It had a patio with too many tables in too little space and an irrelevant awning that let the sun hit you in the face, but it was still perfect. I started to order a whiskey, but Claire said to live a little, so I ordered a Chicago Fizz, and then another, as a cool breeze hinted that autumn would be here soon.
She saw me smirk, and asked, "What's up?"
"On your left. When you see it, say it."
"Say what?"
"You'll know when you see it," I said, and I watched as her eyes searched for the source of my amusement.
My smirk grew into a full-face grin as a Lexus parked along the curb, across the street, in front of one of those stupid trendy hotels where people overpay for tiny rooms. The place didn't have a parking lot, but it had curbside valet in front of the main entrance.
A guy got out of the car and handed his keys to the valet.
Claire's jaw dropped, but her eyebrows went sky high.
"Oh my God, Shay."
"Ah ha! You saw it!"
"Girl, that's evil."
"Come on, Claire. All of what we're doing is... y'know..."
"Evil."
"I mean, we ain't doin' Mother Teresa shit."
"You can't even say the word, can you?"
"What word?"
"Evil."
"Is that what you want me to say?"
"I want the truth, Shay. Can you admit it?"
"You want the TRUTH? You. Can't. Handle. The Truth. Claire, we live in a world that has doors, and those doors have to be guarded with locks. Who's gonna give us the keys? Who's gonna do it? Them? Them, Lieutenant Weinberg?"
"What the fuck?"
"It's from A Few Good Men."
"Oh, lord."
"We have a greater responsibility than they can possibly fathom! We make them weep for their lost Bitcoin, but as you know, they'd just spend the profits on hookers and blow."
"Hey now."
"Or they'd lose it, Claire! They'd lose the Bitcoin, because, as we also know, the way they store their seed words is shit. It's shit! My God, they hand us their keys to their homes! So we must teach them!!!"
"We must?"
"We must! You and I have a duty to teach people the dangers of Social Engineering. That's the term for our shtick. You get into their lives so I can get into their homes. We exist to teach them a lesson, and this lesson, while grotesque and incomprehensible to some, saves lives!"
"It saves lives, Shay?"
"It saves something! It saves others from having to learn the hard way, because others find out what happened!"
"To the other others..."
"Yes! And thus..."
"There's more?"
"And thus, I lost my train of thought."
"Yeah you did."
"But, Claire, I've got it back!!!"
"Giiirl."
"And THUS, by stealing a mark's Bitcoin, we're teaching others! And we do this not only for ourselves, though especially for ourselves, but also for the other things, because I had something else to say, but again, my train of thought got lost."
"Trains are on rails, Shay. They can't get lost."
"But I don't care! And I don't give a damn what they think they are entitled to, not the trains, but the men, and that's also from the speech in A Few Good Men. But these are not good men, Claire! And so, I say fuck 'em! Fuck 'em all! Each and every one of 'em! Let THEM be the ones to experience a code red! Maxi-Pads for every fucking one of 'em!!!"
"It's time to bring this train into the station, Shay."
"I DID THE JOB THAT..."
"Shay?"
"Yeah?"
"I think you scared everybody at the next table."
"YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT I DID!!!"
"Oof."
"Sorry."
"Finished?"
"Yep."
"Feel better?"
"I really do."
"Whoooooooooo..."
"But it is brilliant, Claire, isn't it? My idea?"
"God, it is."
"And, yeah. It's the other thing, too."
"Evil?"
"That."
Editor's Note:
Our sincerest apologies to Aaron Sorkin, author of A Few Good Men. Unfortunately, this conversation happened.