Head On (Lock In, #2)

by John Scalzi

I recognized the smile as the one Mom used as an alternative to murdering someone.

“Yes,” Stodden said. “A tragic accident which everyone in the league feels shocked and deeply saddened about.” He said this in a tone of voice that registered neither shock nor sadness.

“And you think Marla Chapman will be happy to see the thing? ‘Here’s the cat your husband kept at the secret apartment where he was fucking other people, Mrs. Chapman. His name is Donut.’” “It’s possible I didn’t think this one through entirely,” I said after a minute. “It’s possible,” Vann agreed. “You want a cat?” I asked Vann.

Hinson looked at us both uncertainly. “I think I need to talk with legal about this.” “Hurry,” Vann said. “We have a cat in the car.”

“What’s going on?” Tony yelled from his room. “We have a fugitive cat!” the twins yelled back. “What?” “It’s not a fugitive,” I yelled. “It’s just a witness,” Tayla said. “It sounds ridiculous when you say it,” I said to Tayla. “Yes, well.” Tayla reached down and scritched Donut.

“You’re paying for the movie tomorrow.” “So unfair,” Tony said. “If by ‘unfair’ you mean ‘lost entirely fairly because you suck,’ then yes. Otherwise, no.”

I pointed at the files. “So what are these?” “Well, some of them are spreadsheets and some of them are emails and some of them look like transaction records, and from what little I know about them, all of them look like what you really want to do is get stacks of forensics accountants in here to dig into them, fast, because no one locks all this stuff on a data vault hanging on a cat collar just for the fun of it.”

I hooked my pinky into hers. “Pinky swear,” I said. “I didn’t go to the press. I didn’t go to anyone. I told my partner. She would rather push a reporter down a stairwell than talk to one.” “That sounds vaguely totalitarian.” “It’s not. She’s just cranky. Reporters are just one group on the list.”