[Steven Lyle Jordan]

3: Lou Chow

I threw a quick glance at Gail, one of those “Thanks loads… you could’ve warned me in advance about really short guys and girls named Lou” looks. Gail didn’t bat an eye, though… and, I noticed, neither did our guests.

“Must be all that East Coast political correctness indoctrination,” Gail finally commented. “You handled your intro to Coyote Chow better than most.”

“Oh… that’s good to know,” I said sarcastically. “What’s next… do I have to talk to plants?”

“Naw, Fern’s too busy,” the guy came back without a beat, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Phil. Nice to meet you, Mike.”

“Likewise,” I replied, throwing a casual look around the place. “Nice digs. I now understand the second half of the name over the door… is there a significance to the first half?”

“Oh, yeah,” Lou replied. “That was my nickname when I used to work at a certain fairly-famous bar.”

To my credit, it didn’t take me long to put those pieces together. I’d seen the movie and everything. “You used to work at Coyote Ugly?”

“Yup,” she replied proudly. “I wore my hair wild then, real scruffy” she added, running her hand over her now-smooth-and-silky shoulder-length hair, “and after a bit, they started calling me Coyote Chow. It was funky… but it put me through college. And it’s got a certain recognition quality about it.”

“I’m hip,” I smiled. “So… what can I do for you?”

“I have a problem,” Lou said. “Some of our software designs are turning up in the hands of one of my competitors. It’s got to stop.”

“Any idea how it’s happening?” I asked.

“Of course I don’t,” Lou replied calmly. “If I did, someone would already have their knees broken, and I wouldn’t be talking to you.”

“Got it,” I nodded, filing that little tidbit away for future reference. You never knew when knowing a knee-breaker could come in handy, even if it was just for knowing who to avoid getting into an argument with. “I take it you think you can trust Phil?”

Lou and Phil exchanged glances, and I immediately knew the two of them were lovers. Which didn’t necessarily answer the question, but it told me what Lou was going to say next.

“Hell, no,” Lou said. “But I know where he buried the bodies, so he’s on my side.”

So, okay, I was wrong. The surprises I’d already had today should’ve been enough of a warning not to assume I knew everything.

“All right, then,” I said, trying to maintain the last vestiges of my confidence, “let’s go somewhere private and talk. Is there a Starbucks around here?”

Ten minutes and a grande double-shot skim milk espresso with room later, we were all sitting in the corner of the local Starbucks, and I was trying not to listen to the Joanie Mitchell CD playing over the PA. Not that I have a problem with Joanie Mitchell, per se, but I was really getting my fill of old music today, and at that point I would have paid good money to hear just one song by the Black-Eyed Peas.

First, I needed to know more about what Coyote Chow did. Through our conversation so far, I had already discovered that they were all recent grads that went into business together, with Lou in the lead thanks to her bar-earned bankroll. Name the three biggest Pacific tech schools, and more than one of their alums was in there somewhere. It also explained why the place looked like a 90210 set, beef- and cheesecake included.

The company was essentially in the business of designing software “containers” for other software. It was sort of like a Zip file, only not necessarily zipped… really, it was more like a vault that would hold the software until it was unlocked by a passcode. This would prevent just anybody accessing the software, a concern for software companies that were afraid of their product being copied and shared across the World Wide Web, spreading thousands or more copies of the software while they made profit off of only a few copies. It was a concern I could understand, of course, though the jury was still out as to how serious a problem it really was… yet. But most people in the software industry, especially those who had grown up sharing copies of early Microsoft and Adobe software, were positive that not only was the potential lost profit humungous, but in the future it would be gargantuan, and a means to control it had to be in place.

Most present methods involved web connections that would establish the identity of the software, and the ID of the computer running it, store that in a database, and allow the software to run as long as those values didn’t change. But not everyone had continuous web access, and very few people liked the idea of databases storing computer IDs (and who knew what else) out of their control. So other forms of verification were always being researched, and in this case, Coyote Chow was working on biometric solutions to the problem.

“So,” I asked for the sake of confirmation, “you are working with fingerprint recognition software right now, and encrypting the fingerprint into a passcode that is tough to spoof or copy?”

“To be accurate,” Lou replied confidently, “harder to break than would be practical in the overriding majority of cases.” She was hitting the nail squarely on the head. Security never has to be perfect, or even impossible to break: As long as most people using security figure it’s easier to just pay for it than to break it, it’s effective security. It was good to hear someone speaking of security who wasn’t thinking in impossible absolutes… that was the sign of pure idiocy, as it never worked out as intended, and in fact usually did more harm than good in false promises, customer dissatisfaction and damaged reputations.

“So,” I continued, “exactly who do you think is getting exactly what?”

“A company called Encrypt Keeper,” Phil replied, pausing from taking a sip from his latte to say it.

“Encrypt Keeper,” I repeated. “I guess the stylish name trend hasn’t been lost on you guys.”

“Well-said, M.D. Schitz,” Gail commented wryly. This got the expected reactions from Lou and Phil, to which I shrugged and turned my personalized Starbucks cup to face them. There, emblazoned in bright letters running from bottom to top, was my moniker for everyone to see.

“Moving on,” I urged.

“Encrypt Keeper,” Lou moved on, “recently presented to one of its clients an encryption application that clearly includes part of a design we came up with here. We found out through a mutual friend at that firm. This had happened once, two years ago, but we just assumed it was one of those coincidences. But since then, we had gone in a completely new direction, so there’s no way there’d be two such coincidences.”

“We’re in the middle of a big proof-of-concept project,” Phil added. “It involves combining all of our joint components into one system. We’ve got some big software hitters waiting for it. If we get pooned by Encrypt Keeper, we’ll lose the contracts, and it’ll be the end of us.”

“What do you think?” Lou asked.

“Well,” I said, “You’ve either being hacked… or you’ve got an internal leak. Unfortunately, if you continue on at standard operating procedure, it could take time figuring out which, and nailing them. I think what we need is a Trojan Horse.”

Gail looked at me. “You mean, like the virus?”

“Not necessarily,” I said. The Trojan virus was one of a few that were well-enough known to the layman… today, you could barely use the term “Trojan Horse” without someone thinking of the virus. So Gail’s reaction was understandable. “I’m thinking of the original reference, actually: Leaving something on your system that someone else can’t resist getting at.” I looked at Lou and Phil. “Did either of you tell anyone why Gail and I were coming by today?”

Lou and Phil exchanged glances, and Lou said, “No.”

“I assume they know Gail is a—”

I started to say “CPA,” but Gail cut me off when she said, “An old friend.” I looked at Gail, she looked back at me, and I had to mightily resist the urge to roll my eyes and sigh loudly enough for the baristas to hear me across the room. More secrets. For a sleepy vacation-type town, San Diego was proving to be as chock full of secrets as a gynecologist’s office in Washington. Or so I’ve been told. Overheard at a bar, really, but that’s beside the point.

“Okay,” I said finally. “Tell anyone who asks that I’m Gail’s new boyfriend, and was just along for the ride today. But expect me to come by, unannounced and unexpected, in, oh… two days. I’ll need some time to prepare my Trojan Horse.”

Lou and Phil nodded. “And then?” Lou asked.

“And then,” I replied, “I’ll show up to sell it to you.”