In late October, my regular scanning of Westlaw and LexisNexis yielded an article about Justin Petersen’s most recent adventure. Sometimes the FBI will look the other way when a confidential informant doesn’t live by the book, but there are limits. It turned out that Kevin Poulsen’s associate Ron Austin, who’d been set up by Justin Petersen, was on a personal crusade to get even with the snitch and get his ass thrown back in jail. Austin found out where Justin was living—at the same Laurel Canyon Boulevard address that McGuire’s cell phone records had led me to. Justin was careless: he didn’t shred his notes before throwing them in the trash. Austin went Dumpster-diving at the house and uncovered evidence that Justin was still committing credit card fraud. He informed the FBI of his discovery.