The Spy Devils by Joe Goldberg (top rated books of all time .TXT) 📕

The meeting stunned Peter, and he carried the feeling with him as he drove home.

He was zombie-driving—moving by habit with glazed eyes focused straight ahead. Because of that, he didn’t notice the car that pulled out behind him when he left Kirkwood. He didn’t check his mirrors to see if it was still there when he pulled off I-88 at the Naperville exit. He paid no attention when it parked on his street a block away.

An hour later, he didn’t see it pull behind his Uber and follow him to O’Hare.

Peter had made several mistakes.

36

Thunderlover

Kyiv, Ukraine

The pounding beat of the electro-dance music in Pavlo’s ears wasn’t as distracting as the tube-dressed blondes and brunettes shaking their way to any man who looked like he had money in his pocket. Clouds of perfume, hairspray, estrogen, and testosterone hung in the air. Like cats, they meowed their way along the crowded bar, lounges, and dance floor, looking for a treat.

“Buy me champagne. We need to have fun tonight. Drinks, and then you will take me to the private clubs,” they purred through red, or aqua, or green painted lips. They wiggled and giggled their way up to one man after another, rubbing their skin-tight dress all over the leg a horny tourist—who didn’t know what was happening—or a local—who was hoping something would.

Some were local girls legitimately out for a good time. Some were local girls legitimately looking for the drunken stooge to declare his love, marry her, and take her away to America, where she would leave him and start a new life. Most were ‘house whores,’ who were paid a few hryvnias for the number of champagne bottles they rung up on the guest’s bar tab.

Pavlo was there for none of that. A year ago, a girl looked at him with what he thought was lust, only to find out she wanted him to move so she could get to the women’s restroom. Tonight was different. Standing near the bar, he raised on his tiptoes trying in vain to look over the top of the hundreds of taller, gyrating people.

Pavlo had met her only two days ago during his regular nighttime troll through his array of X-rated web chat rooms, adult live porn sites, and dating and singles sites. Pavlo, AKA Thunderlover, was a premium member to them all. Thunderlover never paid or gave any sign-up information that could be stored in any centralized system. He just hacked into the sites and set up his own accounts.

Every night, either in his basement bunker or like tonight, from his own small apartment down the street from the bank, Pavlo would start his Thunderlover routine. First, he would rotate from one web chat site to another, looking for interesting conversations. At the dating sites, the pages were loaded with statuesque women in tight dresses, or less, bending into their idea of a seductive pose.

Around 3 a.m., he would log into the Ukraine singles sites. He liked the anonymity. He could have conversations without being seen. His fingers were Cyrano De Bergerac. The rest of him was a tree frog.

She popped up on Ukraine Omegle, saying she spoke German and English. The username, NEWGIRL, didn’t provide much detail for Thunderlover to decide whether to click the connect button.

NEW: Hi. (smiley emoji)

TL: Hi.

NEW: I (Heart emoji) UR name!

TL: (astonished face emoji) THX. Made it up.

NEW: I (heart) it. I’m German. New in Kyiv. I don’t speak Ukrainian—YET!

TL: I guessed that. LOL (laughing emoji). English is fine. (prayer hands)

NEW: R U in Kyiv?

TL: Yes. (thumbs up emoji) Born here (frowning emoji)

NEW: What do you do?

TL: (Computer emoji) U?

NEW: (Artist, palette paintbrush, framed picture emojis)

TL: (thumbs up)

NEW: ATM I’m looking for a job.

TL: Maybe I can help?

NEW: OMG that would be Gr8t. But I have to go. Talk L8R. (2 heart emojis)

Then she was gone. An apparition that Pavlo couldn’t believe was real. She was talking to him! She wanted to talk to him again! He had no idea what she looked like, and he didn’t care. He was sure she was different.

NEWGIRL.

It was such a beautiful name.

By mid-day, Pavlo dedicated one of his monitors exclusively to the chatroom—in case NEWGIRL logged in early. Every few seconds, for the next eight hours, he glanced at the screen. No NEWGIRL. The feeling of hope in his chest tensed like a kite string straining not to break. By 11 p.m., his hands shook so much with anxiety he had difficulty hitting the keyboard. By 1 a.m., the tears started to roll down his chubby cheeks.

At 1:35 a.m., his computer let out a ping. The quivers started in his hair, traveled through his body to his toes. Pavlo couldn’t contain the tremors. His heart was beating faster when he saw the name NEWGIRL on the screen.

NEW: Uthere?

NEW: Hello?

NEW: (teary-eyed emoji)

TL: Yes!!!!

NEW: HI!! (two thumbs up emojis)

TL: I have been waiting for you. I was worried.

NEW: Busy day. (walking person emoji). Getting settled. Sore (feet emoji).

TL: Any luck?

NEW: Yes, slow. I could use some help! Show me the nightlife! (beer, wine, martini, champagne bottle emojis)

During the next day, they typed progressively longer messages back and forth. The emojis became less frequent, except those that might coax an answer—prayer hands, winking yellow faces. Pavlo learned a lot.

NEWGIRL was in her mid-twenties and had moved a few weeks before from Berlin. NEWGIRL needed a new, fresh start after a bad relationship. She didn’t want to talk about it, and he didn’t ask. She was an artist. Oils and pencils.

She finally revealed that her name was Katinka, “but my friends call me Tinka.” Her parents were from Finland. Her father was in sales—computers, or something like that and always gone. Her mother was a bitch. Tinka was an only child. Lonely.

He told her he was too. Why did I say that?

It wasn’t all awkward. They shared jokes and their favorite things—Tinka liked chocolate. He said he liked it too, although that was a