Image courtesy of Stuart Miles at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Samantha kicked back on the couch with her feet resting on the coffee table. Thirty minutes passed since Jamie called and Samantha was thoroughly enjoying every minute.
I can’t believe he’s buying this. A soft giggled escaped from her throat and she coughed to cover it up.
“Has your computer finished booting up yet?” Jamie was growing more and more agitated as time progressed.
First, Samantha told him her computer was booting up. Then she told him her computer locked up while she was trying to login to the Internet. After that, she told him she received the blue screen of death and she needed to reboot.
He is one determined phisher. Samantha filed down the rough edges of her fingernails.
Jamie from Microsoft, allegedly, took time out of his busy day to call Samantha and let her know the Windows department detected a virus on her computer.
“If you’d be so kind as to login to your computer, I’ll install a special edition of antivirus software on your computer to remove it.”
Samantha knew better. Microsoft doesn’t have the staff or the budget to call every client in the freaking world to remove viruses from their computers. Jamie was, indeed, a phisher and Samantha enjoyed messing with him.
Samantha pulled out a small jar of purple nail polish and unscrewed the lid, dabbing the brush up and down several times before applying it to her toe nails.
“I haven’t got all day, Miss.”
Samantha all but forgot he was waiting on her response. That’s what he gets.
“Sorry,” she began. “If this is a bad time for you to hack into my computer and steal my financial information, you can call back at another time.”
“Did I stutter?” Samantha bent over her knees, blowing on her toe nails to dry the polish.
“Are you even by your computer?”
“Nope.” That was the first truthful thing Samantha said to him since he called. Her computer was upstairs in her bedroom.
“You’ve been jerking me around this whole time?”
“You’re not one to complain, Mr. Hacker-Man.”
“You are a horrible woman!” The verbal abuse continued with a number of colorful expletives.
“Hey, now!” Samantha began applying nail polish to her other foot. “The last man who spoke to me like that disappeared. I’d watch it if I were you.”
“I’m not scared of you.” Jamie’s thick accent was filled with animosity.
“You should be.” She wondered what his reaction to this would be. “I’m a person of interest in the disappearance of my husband.”
“Oh yeah,” he began, “then I am John F. Kennedy, back from the dead.”
Samantha pursed her lips, tilting her head to one side. “How’s your head, Mr. President?”
“I don’t have time for this!”
Samantha rolled her eyes. Unfortunately for Jamie, his temper proved he wasn’t legitimate customer service. A legitimate customer service person would’ve given up a long time ago.
“Give it up, dude. You’re a fake and I know it.”
“How? How do you know? How. Do. You. Know?”
A knock on the door pulled Samantha’s attention away from the phone. The ringing doorbell followed close behind. Samantha walked toward the door on her heels. Her toes were spread wide.
“Because Microsoft wouldn’t call people to tell them they have a virus.” Samantha opened the door, momentarily blinded by the bright light.
Samantha lowered the phone to her waist before Jamie could finish.
“Samantha Walker?” A plain-clothed police officer stood in front of her holding out a badge. Two uniformed officers stood behind him.
“Yes,” Samantha stammered.
“We have a warrant for your arrest. Please come out here.”
Samantha stepped outside her door. This was the moment she was waiting for.
The detective removed the phone from her hands, placing them behind her back. She cringed as she felt the cold metal of the handcuffs dig into her skin, sending goose bumps up her arms.
“You’re under arrest for the murder of your husband, John Walker.”
They found him.