White Space Season 1

want to talk about, then they left the kitchen and the fridge with just six IBC’s as they headed outside, the both of them laughing, with a book of matches, Jon’s science project, and a bottle of bourbon.
    Blake Conway was going to show Jon how easy, and fun, it was to burn shit that no longer mattered.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 2 — Brock Houser

    Friday
    September 8
    nighttime…

    Brock Houser drove back to the Sands of Time, where he was staying in one of Jon’s rooms on the rented floor. All he could think about was the flash drive and what might be on it.
    The part of him that loved a good mystery believed that maybe there was something explosive on the flash drive — something that would rock the island and give Roger Heller motive to mow down his classroom. But the more realistic, and experienced, part of Houser’s brain said he was far more likely to find nothing but the ramblings of a tin foil hat-wearing conspiracy theorist.
    In either case, he was curious to know why a seemingly happily married teacher, and by all accounts, helluva nice guy, would kill his students. Even if the why was batshit crazy, at least batshit crazy was a reason.
    Houser considered himself an excellent judge of character. That made him an excellent judge of motivation. While Houser hadn’t known Heller, the picture painted by his wife didn’t make him seem like your typical nut job. Of course, there was always the chance Liz didn’t really know her husband as well as she thought she did. Maybe Roger Heller was so good at hiding his crazy or dark side that nobody could have seen what was coming. Which was all the more reason Houser couldn’t wait to see what Heller put on the flash drive.
    Houser’s longtime friend Martin Graves created a program which blended a brute force attack along with some new algorithmic shit beyond Houser’s depth, which could open and decrypt most files within a few hours. Most, but not all. Depending what Heller was using to encrypt his files, there was a chance Houser might have to wait until he returned to California to discover the treasure buried on the drive.
    Houser parked at the hotel, then crossed the lobby and went into the elevator. As he passed the front desk, the cute girl behind the counter smiled. He smiled back, resisting the urge to go flirt. If Jonny Hollywood was behaving himself, Houser was obligated to do the same. Jon had left a message on Houser’s phone saying that he and his brother had a big blow up and he was gonna go to Cassidy’s house to chill out and that he’d call if he needed a ride to the hotel.
    Houser went to his room, removed his shoulder holster, laid it on the table beside his computer then went in the bathroom and splashed cool water on his face. He grabbed a Diet Coke from the mini fridge, popped it open, and took a drink as he opened the lid to his laptop and pressed the startup button.
    As the computer chimed and booted, Houser opened the sliding doors, stepped onto the balcony, and looked out at the night sky. He stared at the moon hanging fat in the sky, hovering just inches above the island as the sound of waves crashing a block away rolled into the room. Houser loved the sound of the ocean. It reminded him of home. Below the balcony, a beautifully lit swimming pool beckoned. Late night swims were always nice. Maybe once he was done for the night, he’d take a dip, but only if the pool was heated. Houser didn’t care much for hotels, even when Jon rented an entire floor, but he always enjoyed having a pool to relax in.
    Houser left the doors open to the salty cool breeze, sat at the desk, and logged into the computer before slipping the flash drive into a USB port.
    He waited for the computer to recognize the flash drive and clicked to open the folder, and promptly received a corrupted data message.
    “Fucking Shit.”
    Houser searched the web for how to repair corrupted files, but wasn’t sure if the instructions applied to encrypted files as well. He certainly didn’t want to lose anything, assuming the files could be recovered.
    Houser decided to call Graves even though it was likely too late. He got voicemail.
    “Hey, it’s Houser. I’m in Washington, working a case. A client gave me a flash drive which I think is encrypted. When I put it in the port, I got a corrupted data error. I need your genius skills to walk me through a simple fix, if there is one. Call me back when you get this. If it’s after one in the morning, hit me tomorrow.