Page 126 of Antihero

“On what?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Josephine.”

“Fine!” The bowl clanked down along with the chopsticks. “You know how the rapist asshole fuckheads wore masks?”

“Yes.”

“So I’m running biometrics on, erh, visible body parts.”

“Meaning?”

“Penis-recognition technology.”

He blinked at her.

“I told you you didn’t want to know.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Penis prints? Evidently. It’s not a perfect science. But there are enough identifiers, like coloration, size, curvature, vein profusion—”

“Okay.” He waved her off. “Enough.”

“Oh, you’ve had enough? I’m gonna haveta boil my brain in a vat of rubbing alcohol.”

In a window mostly buried by others, a flurry of images rotated speedily. It was not a carousel of imagery he needed to see any more of.

“How are you going to search for ID matches?” he asked. “I assume there isn’t a national penis-print database.”

“There are so many jokes I could make right now, but I’d like the record to show that as a trained professional on a mission, I am the picture of restraint.”

“Joey.”

“I mean, the ‘Your Momma’ repertoire alone could land me a Netflix comedy special.”

“Josephine.”

“No, X. There is not a penis-print database.” She struggled to suppress a smile, failed. “But every asswipe like these rapists has surely sent out a bevy of dick pics in their day. Said texts can be intercepted under FISA or the Patriot Act, or by NSA operating under Executive Order 12333. Once that door’s open, it’s open. That’s the whole point. To be able to spy on everyone all the time. And Devine granting me temporary Devine status with the Brain means that I have illegal access to everything. Like: seriously, everything. It would be terrifying if I wasn’t using it for good.”

“By doing dick searches.”

“That’s the least flattering manner of phrasing, but yes.”

“How long for results?”

She shrugged, got back to munching. “It’s slow going. I mean, there are, like, more dick pics than atoms in the known universe. But you know what they say.”

“I do not.”

“You just need one dick to lead you to the other dicks.”

“Who says that, Joey?”

She mused. “No one, I suppose. But I’m looking to get you one ID. You can take it from there.”

The black box squawked in Evan’s hand, Devine’s voice pouring through: “If you want to see me, get down here. I’m about to head into the steam room.”