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The case was a tough one -- but then, they knew better than
to call me for the easy ones. Name's Ace, Ace Lucas.
I'm a Private Hacker. It says so on my door.
I had just settled
for a quiet night, just me, the fags, the vodka, and the
flickering neon throwing crosses through my window like it
had a contest going on with the Klueless Klan. Next door,
those damn kids were shrieking up the place again, informing
everyone that sex was being had. Outside, the glancing
headlights of the last bus kissed childhood goodbye, and
then, the night was dark as a lorrie-load of assholes. And
that was when this hunky patron knocked on that same door.
The neon's frantic stutter returned, and I took another drag
from the Senior Service.
I switched on a token bulb and casually knocked against the
wall. "Come!", I shouted, both to the patron
and to the kids.
"Miss Lucas?", he asked with a voice like Whiskey.
"The same.", I said, the evening's two packs registering
in my voice. "Enchanté.", I added drily, mostly in an
attempt to clear my throat.
"Find me a file-manager that doesn't suck.", he said
I grunted. "That'll cost ya.", I told him between puffs.
"They don't make the likes of those anymore."
If that rings a bell with you, you may want to check out
evidence, that file-manager thing they got going. We got
We got the files.
And all at a
you won't believe, buddy.