Free Skunk Hunt by J. Clayton Rogers

like
burn before reading," I
observed.
    "That's pretty good, Mute," said Jeremy. I
waited for the punch that inevitably followed any sign of
cleverness on my part. I was pleased and puzzled when Jeremy sat
back peacefully in his chair.
    But I was now less bothered by his
familiarity with the digital world. One of the displays at the
Science Museum concerned the growing problem of cyber-crime. It
wasn't much of an exhibit, computers not being very photogenic.
Cyber criminals ranged from noobs and script kiddies to the black
hats and "1337's" (also known as 'the Elite'), and they specialized
in unraveling binary DNA and recombining it into unnatural monsters
that robbed you, seduced you and amused you, usually all at once.
From what I could tell, it seemed like the perfect way for lazy
crooks to make an illicit buck. For Jeremy to know about
sinister-sounding websites that vanished without a trace was
strangely reassuring. Rather than take the Skunk route of charging
more or less blindly into a usually-unwinnable situation, it seemed
Jeremy had chosen the easy path to riches. Why else would he bother
learning how to use a computer?
    "Of course," my brother continued, "we could
make this a lot simpler. You could just give me your codes and I
could take care of it all for you."
    Jeremy was back in the McPherson fold.
Slicker, more educated and prone to unsightly courtesy, but with
larceny in his blood. There was no other explanation for his
proposal. Did he really think we were so gullible? Of course not.
But there was always hope for the off-chance, that he could catch
us in a vulnerable moment. When we glared back at him, he smiled
and shrugged. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He had gained
nothing, but there was no harm, either.
    "You don't trust me," he said. "Am I right in
thinking none of us trusts the other? Did we all get a personalized
postscript, telling us something only Skunk would know? Do any of
us want to share our tidbit?"
    "So we have to wait two days before we can
find out anything?" Barbara asked in a subdued wail.
    "Looks like we don't have a choice," said
Jeremy.
    "You could both stay here, if you want," I
said queasily. For the last three years I had lived alone. I
wondered if I had acquired the quirky habits of solitude—habits
that would not bear close scrutiny by a brother and sister. I
sometimes forgot to flush the toilet. I wasn't even sure if I
talked to myself. I would ask myself later.
    "Why should we want to do that?" Jeremy
asked, darting a glance down the hall towards the bedroom we had
once shared. If the front of the house was a pigsty, the back might
be a cross between a camel pen and an anthrax lab.
    "I don't think..." Barbara shifted
uncomfortably in her seat, her glossy shorts almost causing her to
slide off.
    It was then I realized her 'nothing has
changed' had not been a compliment.
    Now what? Trade stories about the old days?
Not much good could come from that, and we knew it. Relate what we
had been up to these past few years? Jeremy had spent time doing
time, while Barbara had shimmied from pole dancing to a disastrous
pre-nuptial divorce. Me? I was an hour away from donning a bright
red and yellow clown suit which was the Science Museum's version of
an old-time popcorn vendor's uniform—a nod to the geriatrics who
found modern science a crashing bore, if not utterly
incomprehensible. I wasn't very high on the job skill list, and
preferred not to discuss past or current prospects. Nor was my sex
life a fit topic—I would have put it on a par with their own, had I
been in the game.
    To put it mildly, it was an awkward moment.
All we had in common was Skunk's booty, unavoidably out of reach
for about thirty-two hours. The only solution to our speechless
dilemma was to part ways as quickly as possible.
    "So...we meet back here on—"
    "Are you crazy?" Barbara interrupted. "You're
the one who didn't want me to say 'boo' on the phone. We're being
watched, you said."
    We both turned to