Alex O'Donnell and the 40 CyberTheives, Page 3

  Inside, the farmhouse was the usual jumble of large-family detritus and farming implements. The fragrant smell of stir-fried pork with fish sauce came from the stove, where her mother, a short Vietnamese woman in a long blue apron, was cooking dinner. Kateri set the package on the kitchen table and began to open it. What had Alex sent now?

  She groaned as she pulled off the last round of bubble wrap from the bulky object inside. It was an Oriental statue, super-gilded and beflowered with purple magnolias—the Chinese good-luck cat with a raised paw.

  “Pretty,” her mom said. “Chinese.”

  Kateri sighed. “Oriental.” Alex was like most Westerners, jumbling together Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Filipino, and Vietnamese culture into one thing: Oriental culture. She had tried to explain to him that Vietnamese culture was very different from Japanese and Chinese culture, but he couldn’t seem to grasp the distinction. Nor did he get that she preferred plain American to Chinese kitsch.

  She read the card he had scribbled. Miss you. Hope you can come and visit soon. She didn’t know how to answer that. If she found a job, she couldn’t visit.

  But until she found a job, spending money on pleasure trips didn’t seem wise.

  “What does the card say?”

  “He wants me to come and visit him.”

  “You should.” Mom tested the pork.

  “But I’m still job hunting.”

  “If you find a job, you won’t be able to go. So go now.”

  “Mom!” Kateri exclaimed. “You’re so—impractical sometimes. Like Alex.”

  Her mom chuckled. “Aren’t you and Alex still dating?”

  “Yes. Sort of,” Kateri set the cat on the table and raised an eyebrow at it.

  W hat exactly am I supposed to do with this thing?

  “You keep saying that,” her mom wagged a bamboo spoon at her. “‘Sort of’

  dating never got anyone anywhere. Either choose or not choose. Court or don’t court.”

  Kateri laughed. “You sound like Yoda.”

  The problem was, she liked Alex. A lot. And that was illogical. He was a suburban guy. White collar. Wouldn’t—couldn’t farm, didn’t have a job, couldn’t do anything practical, an expert in nothing except video games, martial arts, and swordfighting.

  Well, she admitted, sometimes those last two items were practical. Those skills had already come in handy a few times in their friendship.

  She had to confess it was fun to be with Alex. They connected on a very basic level. But was that really enough?

  I’m like that peasant girl in the Hiroshi Inagaki film and he’s like the samurai.

  Except they were Japanese. But it didn’t work out between them either.

  “What is wrong?” her mother prodded.

  Kateri exhaled. “When it comes to Alex, I just have too many questions about whether or not he’s right for me.”

  “That is fine!” her mother said with a shrug. “Courtship is the time for asking questions! Too many people only start to ask questions after the wedding is over!”

  Kateri pushed back her hair. “So what do you do if you still have questions after the wedding is over?”

  “Ignore them,” her mother said tranquilly. “After you have leapt off the cliff, it is too late to wonder how high the mountain was.”

  She handed her daughter a small bowl of pho soup, and Kateri drank it and pondered, giving occasional glances at the smiling ceramic cat. Her mother went outside to yell at Kateri’s brothers, who were supposed to be weeding the strawberry crop.

  What she had to do, Kateri resolved, one of these days, was sit down with Alex and have a serious talk about their relationship. What were they going to do now, practically speaking? I’m graduated, I’m going to get a job, and you’re going to do what? Play at college for another year, and then do what? While I wait for you?

  It might be better for them both just to work, study, and go on with life. Neither of their families was wealthy. It would be more practical to focus on making a living. And if after two years, he was ready to get married and she wasn’t dating anyone else—then maybe…

  The problem was, she really did like Alex.

  Emitting a cry of frustration, she finished the soup, snatched up the cat, and stalked to her room.

  She had shared the large bedroom with four sisters, but now they had all moved out. Only Faustina was still single, and she was living in New York and working as a secretary. Tracy and Marietta and Philomena were married. But the remnants of their tastes and souvenirs of their pasts were still scattered about on the walls: posters, photos, scrapbooks, stuffed animals. Polish flags and Vietnamese art. A large poster of an unborn baby in the womb, pro-life bumper stickers, collages from protests and slogan signs. Though the variations on themes were unique, the décor was the typical mishmash of teenage life. Kateri didn’t have the heart to take everything down and start over, even though no one else slept in the double bed with her any longer, and the daybed really was just a couch these days.

  Maybe I’ll be leaving this room soon too.

  The thought depressed her, even though her job search was not going well.

  It seemed the market was flooded with mental health majors; what had seemed like a shoe-in was proving to be scarce. No one was even offering internships.

  With years of pro-life experience and sidewalk counseling under her belt, she had counted on one of the crisis pregnancy centers she had worked with being able to hire her, but it seemed like everyone was under a budget squeeze. She would have to move to New York, most likely, to find any kind of entry-level job. And she hated the city.

  Given that her life was in such a flux, her instinct was to take a step back from her relationship until she figured out where she could find a job, and what God wanted her to do with her life. It might be easier on Alex too. She knew he still didn’t have a job. But how could she tell this to Alex?

  Out of habit, she started cleaning her room, the best way to improve her mood. After straightening up her dresser and folding her clothes, she cast about for a space to stash the oversized cat statue. After a few minutes searching, she moved a stack of hats—random straw farm hats and soft felt hats—off the green dresser and slid the cat on its surface. Now the hats didn’t fit. She was about to toss them on the floor to deal with later, when something made her put the stack on the cat’s head. They fit perfectly. The cat’s head was just the size of the bottom hat. And her baseball cap could dangle from the cat’s upraised paw. It looked almost as though she and some decorating maven had gone out to purchase a unique hat stand and come back with the cat. A perfect fit.

  Her cell phone rang with a familiar tune—the theme from Karate Kid. Alex was calling.

  Is this the time to break it off with him?

  She stared at the singing phone and glanced back half-heartedly at the smiling cat. Alex would ask her about her job search, she would confess her failure and inadequacy, and he would reassure her. He would brainstorm for new strategies, new ways to get a job. He was probably praying for her. No, she didn’t have the heart to break up with a guy friend who was supporting her during this uncertain time. But would it be any kinder to do it later?

  Growling again, she picked up the phone and answered. She would thank him for the statue, maybe agree to come down and visit for a weekend. No time like the present. Pun resented.

  So it was that one week later, Kateri was on the bus to DC. She was taking the bus because her brothers Mark and Tobias needed her old truck for their job, and the other spare car had a bad fuel pump and had stopped shifting. Alex had agreed to split the bus ticket with her, since it saved him the trouble of driving to pick her up. Even though she hated to leave the farm work and the job hunt, she probably did need a break. She fell asleep as soon as she got on the bus, and slept until they had nearly reached the beltway.

  When she opened her eyes, she stared out the window at the passing scenery in some incredulity. Obviously this had all once been farmland. But n
ow it had become a monotonous pattern of strip mall—housing block—strip mall—

  housing block. Sometimes the developers had left the trees in. Other times they seemed to have sheared them all down. Either way, a completely artificial carpet of civilization had been dropped over what was once arable land—she could even spot an occasional barn marooned between lots. She felt nauseous. Or maybe that was just the fumes from the hundred thousand, shiny, compact cars that darted everywhere like oversized bugs.

  By the time they reached the bus stop in Northern Virginia, she had counted six Home Depots and ten Bed, Bath and Beyonds, and countless supermarkets and clothing stores. So this was where Alex lived. She was ready to leave.

  But there in the massive bus station was Alex, waiting for her as she stumped off the bus with her luggage. As usual, he was dressed in black—black t-shirt and trench coat, jeans, and boots. Black sunglasses, too. He was smiling at her and holding a huge bunch of long-stemmed red roses.

  She sighed—even jobless and short of cash, Alex could be so generous. And so impulsive. Too impulsive. She kissed him, took the roses, and only then noticed that he was still grinning.

  “What?” she said suspiciously.

  He took her arms and pulled her close.

  “We’re rich.”

  “Yes, in God, family, and one another. But that doesn’t—”

  “No, my family. Is rich.”

  She stared at him.

  “We’ve come into money. C’mon. I’ll tell you how it happened.”

  Incredulously, she glanced down at the roses.

  Alex said significantly, “They were not on sale.”

  Once she had gotten into the car, he told her about the money. How he had gotten the check. How he’d deposited it, on a lark. How it had actually cleared.

  “So now?”

  “We have over one million dollars in the bank. And we’re still not sure how it happened.”

  Kateri frowned. “But if it’s a check—you must know who sent it.”

  “The Sundance Fun Foundation. And here’s something weird: it closed its doors two days after our transaction went through. It’s listed as a place that holds contests, but none of us remember entering any sweepstakes. The only thing Mom can think of is that it might have been one of those things where you’re automatically entered into a drawing when you sign up for a service.”

  Kateri was still trying to take this in, and a feeling was growing inside her. “I don’t like this,” she murmured. “You’re right—it’s weird. You should—”

  Alex shot her a look. “I know what you’re thinking, Kat. I’d like to do some research, find out more, but the odd thing is, Dad doesn’t want me to. Plus he doesn’t want us to tell anyone about the money until he can figure out where it came from. I had to promise him up and down that you were one of those inscrutable Asian types who would never breathe a word to anyone.”

  Asian types. Kateri sighed again. “And of course, your dad agreed.”

  “You know I’ve told you how much he loves anything from the Far East. I know he’ll love you, too.”

  She shifted a bit nervously, having remembered again that she was meeting Alex’s family for the first time. A significant relationship moment. A sign that things were ‘serious.’ Again, she felt she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. “I hope I’m going to be more than just your trophy Asian girlfriend.”

  “Oh, absolutely, you are.” Alex said. “But I’ve always liked trophies. They tell me that I’ve won big.” He pulled to a stop at a red light, leaned over, and kissed her.

  Why did his corny romance always give her goose bumps? “Nowadays everyone gets trophies, even if they didn’t do a thing.”

  “The analogy holds,” he murmured. “I didn’t do a thing to deserve you, did I?”

  Groaning, she pulled away from him. “The light’s green.”

  He obligingly turned his attention to driving but kept talking. “Obviously, Dad doesn’t want us to spend the money. Unfortunately my brothers were with me when I went to deposit the check, and we’ve had to threaten them with Chinese water torture to keep them from talking. But that hasn’t stopped them from begging us to upgrade our video game systems, get new computers, cool cars—”

  “Probably good not to rush into anything.”

  “Exactly. Though I can’t help looking at the new Toyotas.” He heaved a sigh. “Mom’s been trying to persuade Dad to use some of the money, but he doesn’t want us to touch a cent.”

  “What is he waiting for?”

  “Federal agents to show up on our doorstep? The IRS? Who knows?

  Anyhow,” he glanced over at Kateri. “I’m so glad you’re here. You couldn’t have picked a better time to visit. It’s very interesting at home just now.”

  “Kateri,” Mrs. O’Donnell leaned forward on her crutches and took Kateri’s hands. “I’m so glad to finally meet you face to face.”

  “Thanks. Same here, Mrs. O’Donnell,” Kateri said, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “Call me Kitty. That’s what Alan calls me.” Mrs. O’Donnell was in her fifties, Irish-faced with freckled cheeks. Kateri, who had already seen enough coiffed and manicured Northern Virginians, liked that Alex’s mom’s short blond hair was streaked with gray. Although her legs were frail, Mrs. O’Donnell’s shoulders and arms were strong, showing that even on crutches, she kept herself active. The wooden crutches were decorated with shiny painted flowers, with plaid fabric covering the tops.

  “The wheelchair doesn’t fit well in this small house,” Kitty said. “So I use my wooden legs, as I call them. Couldn’t get around without them. And they keep me upright and off my duff, which is a good thing. My two younger boys are helping out at our parish’s summer festival, but they’ll be back later.” She glanced out the door. “And here’s my husband Alan. He must have beaten the traffic today.”

  Mr. O’Donnell had just driven up in a battered car that resembled Alex’s red one, except that it was green. Kateri watched as a heavyset bearded man got out of the car and came slowly up the walk. Even though he was smiling, she could sense that he was burdened by some secret.

  He knows, she thought. He knows where that money came from. Did he—steal it? She knew from Alex that Mr. O’Donnell was a computer genius who could hack into almost any computer. But would he have stolen money?

  This thought certainly cast an odd aura over the “meeting the parents”

  moment, as Kateri shook hands with him and exchanged pleasantries. He seemed pleased to meet her, but preoccupied. Guilty?

  “So, Kateri,” Mr. O’Donnell said heartily. “Does anyone ever call you Kat?”

  “Sometimes,” she said, shooting a glance at Alex, the usual culprit.

  He put his head to one side. “I call my wife Kitty, so that’s just too funny.

  Driving home, it occurred to me that while you’re here, we’ll have a Kitty and a Kat in the house.”

  The men hooted with laughter, but Mrs. O’Donnell only rolled her eyes in a gesture that Kateri found comfortingly familiar. “See what I have to put up with?

  How about I show you the house?”

  It wasn’t much of a house to show. Two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen.

  But it was probably all that the O’Donnells could afford. Kateri guessed that this part of Virginia was as overpriced as New Jersey. And the house was cluttered with a jumble of necessities and knickknacks, both Western and Eastern, which made it seem more crowded. Mr. O’Donnell followed them around, pointing out curiosities in the rooms.

  “We got those nunchucks on a trip to Korea,” he said, indicating two black tubes dangling from a chain looped around a bedroom door. “They’re pretty hard to use—unless you know what you’re doing, you usually end up just hitting yourself in the face with them.”

  “And this is the bathroom,” Mrs. O’Donnell pushed open a white door to reveal a narrow room in lavender tile hung with lots of mobiles and paintings.

  “Isn’t the color hideous? It was
like this when we got it. Alex says we should play along and paint the top of the wall yellow so that it looks like an Easter egg.”

  Mr. O’Donnell pointed to the hangings on the wall. “See those bamboo scrolls? Kitty and I got those from a tea shop on Okinawa in Japan. We hung out at the shop all the time when I was stationed overseas, and the owner presented them to us when he heard we were being transferred stateside. I don’t suppose you can read them?”

  “No,” said Kateri, repressing her sarcasm with difficulty. “I’m Vietnamese.

  They’re, uh, very different languages.”

  “‘Long life, prosperity, and luck,’” Mr. O’Donnell translated, undeterred.

  “Beautifully done, eh? I love the brushstrokes. I believe the owner did them himself. What a culture!”

  “Alex was born in Japan—did he tell you?” Kitty maneuvered out of the bathroom on her crutches with surprising fluidity. “This is the kitchen. It’s terribly small but that actually helps when I can’t move around so easily.”

  “No, he didn’t tell me he was born in Japan,” Kateri said, following her.

  With Mrs. O’Donnell, Mr. O’Donnell, and herself standing in the cluttered kitchen, the room was unbearably crowded. Every surface was packed with dishes, cookbooks, utensils, canisters, and small appliances.

  “I’m still a U.S. citizen. I was born on the Army base in Okinawa,” Alex said, leaning on the doorpost. “Does it explain too much?”

  Again, Kateri felt she should suppress her sarcasm. Negative humor comes from hell. Send it back, her mom was always saying. “Somewhat,” she managed to say. “We usually eat on the screened porch,” Mrs. O’Donnell said. The porch had storm windows enclosing it, and a brick floor half-covered with a floppy Asian carpet. There were still dishes from the last meal on the brick-red painted table. “I don’t know what we’d do without it. We’d be really crammed into this house otherwise.”

  Kateri was thinking that the house would be so much less crammed if there was less stuff around, but she couldn’t say that. She guessed that it was probably difficult enough for Mrs. O’Donnell to clean the house on crutches, let alone declutter.