The Maltese Virus

By Lincoln Spector

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The night was as bad as the Blue Screen of Death. I was returning to the office after cleaning out a client's hard drive. It's amazing what you can do with some turpentine and an old toothbrush.

The name is Rowe. Mac Rowe. Private consultant.

When I got there, I found a nervous-looking gent pacing the hall.

"Mr. Rowe?" he asked. He was scared. Scared like a man facing Dell's Technical Support--and Symantec's.

"That's me."

"I need your help, Mr. Rowe. I'm in a horrible fix. The mob thinks I stole their money, someone's trying to blackmail me, and my wife is plotting to kill me."

I shrugged. "We all have problems."

"And I..." He paused, as if trying to gain the courage to complete the thought. "...I can't get Windows to run properly."

Poor sap. Some guys have horrible luck. I unlocked the door and we entered my office. Feeling sorry for the sucker, I produced a bottle of bourbon, filled two shot glasses, and drank them down.

"My computer hates me. Every time I turn it on, it takes 1- to 15 minutes to boot, then seven minutes to bring up the Start menu and a minute and a half to register a keystroke. Meanwhile, a pop-up keeps telling me that I'm infected with something called W32.Hammet.H@Chandler, although my doctor gave me a clean bill of health."

I named a price. He gave me his name, Abe Goestly, and his address. I promised I'd get to him the next day, showed him out, and left for some shuteye.

But I found trouble--Pundy and Dolhaus--waiting in my apartment. I'd had run-ins with these two, before--a couple of tough plainclothes techies from Beltway Computers. >p>"Hello, Mac," said Pundy. "I understand you've agreed to help Abe Goestly. You know that his computer is a Beltway?"

"What's it to you?" I asked.

This made Dolhaus angry. "You mess with Beltway Computers and you're ours! We'll take away your license! We'll take away your broadband! We'll take away your two front teeth!"

"Pull your dog off me!" I ordered Pundy. "You've got nothing on me and you never will.

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