Nobody Saw No One by Steve Tasane Read Free Book Online

shivers of delight is mental torture and blackmail. The Digit has seen it in action, ain’t he? Seen Virus at work on one of his hacked accounts, and had the privilege of being talked through the process. Which goes like this: just suppose yourself to be – for one half a mo – a mappily harried Groan, with a well-respected job – schoolteacher maybe – and lovely kids – Olivia and Jeremy, say – but you’ve got a few dirty little habits. Unsavioury websites you like to visit now and again. Supposing one of your FB “friends” sends you a message, about how they know all about it, and wouldn’t it be a shame if your wife was to find out, or your kiddlies, or your boss, or all your other FB friends. But don’t worry, that’ll never happen … and maybe you could do this “friend” a small favour, a weekly financial outgoing that needs addressing….
    It’s a Privacy Tax, ain’t it? A hi-tech Protection Racket. Virus gets the regular weekly payment, but – and this is his real job satisfaction – also the knowledge that said respectable Pillow of Society is quaking in their boots at the fear of being uncovered as the perverated individ they really are.
    Nothing gives Mr Virus more delight than to twist the twisted.
    The
Cash Counters
buying and selling trade is just a front. Even so, Virus hates parting with his hard-earned. He wants to haggle some more. “Banks by name, banks by nature,” he smiles. But when JB matches his smile with his own sharkful, he adds, “All right, all right – add another fifty.”
    “Hundred.”
    “Fifty, and I’m swizzling myself.”
    “Swizzle. Swizzle. Like it. I like it. Let’s play Swizzle.” Banks waggles his fingers, like
Swizzle
is something fingers do to other body parts.
    Virus offers up a small laugh. “Old friends,” he chuckles gratingly. “As we’ve been acquaintances such a long and lustrous time, let’s agree on sixty.”
    “Seventy. Or I get me crowbar and we’ll have a game of Bishbash. Posh dinin’ furniture an’ all.”
    The Great Manager gives a small clap. “Well, then, I think we have ourselves a deal.”
    Banks holds out his hand, fingers all a-flap for the cash.
    “Ah, now, dear Jackson, you know as well as I do that
Cash Counters
empties its coffers at closing time.
No Cash Is Kept on the Premises Overnight
, yes?”
    Jackson Banks snaps his teeth together,
snippety snap
. “Listen, Fairy Cakes, I want money.”
    The Digit has seen these exchanges before. JB always wants cash. Virus never wants to part with it. Jackson threatens Virus while pretending he ain’t. And Virus hands over the cash.
    “Jackson…” Virus squeaks.
    “Crinkle,” Jackson says. “Thick roll of crinkle.” He waggles his tongue in Virus’s general direction. “Please,” he whispers, making his tone all high-pitched like a girl’s. “Pretty please?”
    Virus croaks and reaches inside his pocket. Course, he could always zap JB, couldn’t he? But he wouldn’t dare. Even at maximum voltage, Jackson could snap Virus’s neck in a millisec. So Virus fumbles with his wallet and hands over a wad of notes. “There’s half there,” he says. “That’s all there is. You’ll have to come over for the rest tomorrow.”
    Jackson winks at Virus, all conspiratorial. “We know otherwise, don’t we, V? All about your special savings account, hey?”
    “Don’t know what you mean,” Virus says, in a grump.
    Mr Banks lets it drop. He smiles his fangful smile and pockets the cash. “Grace’ll come tomorrow. Don’t disappoint.”
    Virus looks like he don’t know which is offended most, his scratched tabletop or his wallet.
    And what is Citizen Digit doing during all this, you may well ask? I’m sitting quiet, ain’t I? In the shadows. If Jackson Banks don’t notice me, then Jackson Banks can’t share with me none of his playfulness.
    Don’t be seen. Don’t get heard. That’s the way to Digit.
    I reckon that’s why Crow ain’t big on the chattables