Peter knew that dodge. He’d used it himself.
Boyle took the lollipop out of his mouth and examined it. “You want a sucker?”
“With beer? No, thanks.” Peter had another Lagunitas open on the counter. “I like the apartment. Did you do the work yourself?”
“Most of it. The cabinets came out of the house. I’m working on that kitchen now, or I’m supposed to be.” He shrugged. “I kind of lost interest. I’m building an app right now.”
Peter imagined Seattle to be a place where half the population over the age of twelve was building an app. Either that or brewing craft beer or roasting artisanal coffee. Or renovating these old houses. He’d seen a lot of Dumpsters and scaffolding in the neighborhood. Seattle was probably a good place to be a carpenter. He’d have to retrieve his truck and tools if he wanted to work.
The timer went off and Peter checked the fish. “About five more minutes,” he said.
Boyle pushed himself to his feet. “I’m gonna grab a smoke,” he said, and strolled to the front door.
When the door closed behind him, June turned to Peter. “It was nice of you to invite him for dinner,” she said. “He can be a little annoying sometimes.”
“Any friend of yours,” Peter said, raising his beer to her.
She gave him a rueful smile. “I’m not sure Leo has any real friends,” she said. “I’ve kind of adopted him, like a big sister.”
Peter had seen the way Boyle looked at June. Not how any brother should look at his sister.
“He’s pretty young to own a house like that. What does he do?”
June rolled her eyes. “Trustafarian.”
Peter didn’t know the term, and it must have showed on his face. June clarified. “He told me he inherited some money and doesn’t have to work. Those are marijuana lollipops he’s always sucking on. But he’s a computer nut, talks about all these groups he works with online.”
“What kind of groups?” Peter was thinking about the people who’d hacked June’s laptop.
“I can’t keep them straight,” she said. “He’s always starting some new project. He’s smart but lazy. He never seems to finish anything.”
“He finished this apartment,” Peter pointed out.
“Are you kidding?” said June. “When I moved in, the kitchen and bathroom were done, but the walls were all unpainted. The floor was bare concrete. No baseboard, no trim at the windows or doors. I put in that slate tile. I installed that trim.”
“That was you?” Peter raised his eyebrows. “Got some skills, girl.”
“If you ask me nice, I’ll show you my nail gun.”
“Now you’re just teasing me.”
Boyle came back inside, and it was time for dinner.
27
Stuffing down his fourth taco, Boyle said to June, “Was there some kind of problem with your old laptop? I could give it a tune-up. Might be nice to have a backup machine.”
“It keeps turning on the cell modem,” she said. “I think someone’s got remote access.”
“You got hacked again?” Boyle was trying for casual and failing. “I’ll take a look at it if you want. I built a Faraday cage in my basement. At least I can debug without your modem dialing out.”
“You have a Faraday cage?” asked Peter.
Boyle looked at Peter, his face a mix of arrogant skepticism and a kind of shy geek pride. “You know what that is?”
A Faraday cage was an enclosure made of fine wire mesh or metal foil. It could be the size of a cigar box, a factory, or anything in between, and was designed to protect sensitive equipment from static electrical charges. They were used in tech research and manufacturing, but they also kept out all electromagnetic radiation, like radio waves and cell signals, which prevented electronic eavesdropping or damage from an electromagnetic pulse. Which is why they were popular with the military, along with other paranoid institutions and individuals.
“I read a lot of science fiction in junior high,” said Peter. “What do you use it for?”
“Dude, I work on computers,” said Boyle. “You gotta be careful when you’re opening up somebody’s laptop. Plus I help out some people who really like their privacy. You want to see it?” His face was flushed. He was showing off for June, thought Peter.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he said. “You can really get rid of the malware?”
“Totally.” Boyle nodded sagely as he unwrapped another lollipop. “I can probably even figure out who did it.”
June said, “I got hacked two years ago using the Wi-Fi in a Starbucks. Someone tried to empty my bank account using my own goddamn computer. Leo found the hacker.”
“Piece of cake,” Boyle said grandly, waving his hand. “Guy was a total amateur. I sent him a worm that locked him out of his own computer. This new guy might be tougher, those internal cell modems are a bitch to access. But I’ll help if you want.”