I nodded. I could understand why a hacker would want to keep America out of Christendom. Right now, operating as a Free State, an independent state, America was a chaotic jumble of companies and laws. Christendom imposed order wherever it went; hackers tended to abhor order.
"Say, Mouse," I said, "what do you know about a company called Jordan Institute?"
Mouse scratched his chin. "Some kind of loony bin, right?"
I nodded. "Mental-health technology."
"Okay. Is that what you want me to dig up?" Mouse asked. "Information on this company?"
"Yes, and information on two men, as much as my account will pay for."
He snorted a laugh. "Knowing you, that won't be much more than their social security numbers." He cocked his head at the video, as if considering something. Then, with a sigh, he added. "Listen, keep your hard-earned money. You're a hot item these days ... we could" an expressive hand waved about to feign embarrassment for the request "barter. Give me some info to sell and I'll consider us even."
"I'm not sure that's a fair trade, Mouse. I haven't found anything about the company on the LINK at all. Could be a lot of work," I said.
"You're the P.I., Dee. I'm counting on you to do any real legwork. That's your specialty."
"Fair enough," I said. "But the guys might be hard to trace too. Angelucci's from Amish country ..."
Mouse cut me off with a wave of his hand. "Stop haggling. I'm not talking a major trade; the color of your panties is enough to make me a small fortune."
I sputtered a laugh. "Color? Why not the brand, style, and cut as well?"
"I'm serious, Dee. If you'd consent to more than one interview a year, you wouldn't be such a cult figure. You know you have your own bulletin board? I've logged a few hits there myself." I raised my eyebrows at this remark. It was hard enough for me to imagine Mouse condescending to surf a commercial board, but then to hang somewhere so kitschy truly surprised me. When he noticed my reaction, his smile broadened. "You've got some choice bytes. A boy can't help himself."
Heat rose on my cheeks. I leaned back in my chair, hoping the shadows would conceal my schoolgirl blush. "Mouse," I said sternly. "Business."
"What?" He shrugged with faux innocence. "This is business."
I kept my face stony and hidden.
"So serious all the time," he whined. When even this attempt got no reaction, he pursed his lips. Finally, he conceded. "All right, give me the names."
"Michael Angelucci, and the other is some Mafia tough going by the handle 'Morningstar.' "
"Oh, one of those," Mouse remarked with a quirky smile.
"What do you mean?"
"There's a whole cult of people taking fallen angel names, especially among criminals and rebellious kids. Although most of them aren't as biblically savvy as your guy. They're all calling themselves Lucifer or, even more creative, Satan." He wagged a finger at the screen. "You should know this stuff, Dee. It's part of your business. See, this is the problem with being cut off from the LINK and living in sheltered Christendom..."
"Not yet, we're not," I protested.
"If you elect Grey, you will be."
"Grey is a rabbi," I countered. "He would never join Christendom."
"Grey is a wimp," Mouse said in disgust. "He'll do what the people want."
I laughed. "Isn't that what an elected official is supposed to do?"
Mouse gave me a grimace. "America is a sinking ship, Dee. You have never recovered from the war. What America really needs is a benevolent dictator. Someone to guide wisely and steadily, not fluctuate with the tide of opinion polls."
"You're scaring me, Mouse. That almost makes sense." I laughed. "But, America is not Islam. We're kind of stuck on this democracy thing. Anyway, I'm surprised at you. How friendly would a dictator be to mouse.net?"
"Mouse.net is beyond single-country control."
"Ah-ha! Finally! World domination, eh, Mouse?"
He smiled, but there was a touch of sourness in his face. "You should give me more respect, Dee. I wield more power than you know."
"Enough power to get me information on two men sometime this week?"
Mouse blinked, then laughed. "All right, Dee. All right. Now then," Mouse said, with a wicked smile on his lips, "for payment ... underwear. Confess. What kind?"
"Couldn't I give you some other information?" I stalled. It wasn't so much that I cared if the public knew this kind of detail, but that I was giving it to Mouse. "There must be something else you could sell?"
"Of equal value?" he asked. After I nodded enthusiastically in agreement, he smiled darkly. The lines of his face looked tighter, and, for a brief moment, he looked older more serious. Squinting past the screen into the sun, he said, "Sure, McMannus. Tell me what really happened between you and Daniel the night before the Pope was murdered."
"White, bikini-cut, Hanes, size 6."
His gaze slid back to mine. There was something different behind his eyes, disappointment, maybe. Or, if I allowed myself the thought, hurt or rejection.
"Bikini-cut, no lie?" he asked, picking up his airy persona like a feather mask. "Kind of tawdry, don't you think?"