c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(2-24)
After an unseasonably warm day in February, with everyone in the neighborhood enjoying summery outdoor activities, Evergreen Estates retreated into a rainy, seasonal gloom. The downpour began early, even before sunrise. Its persistence throughout the day dampened festive emotions that had arisen in the community of manufactured homes. Everyone felt seasonally depressed. Yet for Dremel Kongin, a wholly different mood was at work. One of intense motivation as he labored at his triad of computer screens in the home office.
The clean-cut, young, techno-geek was full of energy. He had been up all night, writing code and executing new programs. Each step in this virtual odyssey brought him closer to the fulfillment of a personal dream. A quantum leap froward, taken boldly and without remorse. After years languishing in failure and obscurity, he would finally prove his worth as a wizard of modern thinking. His brain would win what his body could not secure, by physical prowess alone. TrailerCakes was the key. It would unlock doors never opened previously. And deliver him into a world of rapture, renown and glory.
He would remain a nerdy nebbish, no longer.
When the website first went live, early on Friday morning, his skin turned prickly. He was giddy with anticipation. An address book for park members was already in his possession. Something obtained by snooping on the property manager’s terminal while she was away trying to collect rent money on overdue accounts. He had attached a tiny, plastic wafer to the back of her PC mainframe. A minimalist bit of spyware that worked magically. With e-mail information successfully obtained, he created a solicitation for the new platform. Then sent out advertising to all of the local members who were connected. His TikTok advertising video boasted images pilfered from other clips. By continuing to harvest data based on his results, he soon had a stash of more contacts filed away for future use.
The cake he had baked was beginning to rise.
Amber Zorcheski’s initial suggestion of a three-pronged approach to building the website made enough sense at first. But Dremel realized before long that few among the neighborhood’s male population wanted to participate. A certain measure of reluctance and shyness kept them from joining. Only a slight number of inhabitants who were interested in alternative lifestyles added to this scarce quantity of resources. But women who wanted to offer photos, videos-on-demand, and livestreamed content were numerous. He set the sign-up fee at $9.99 per month, a minimal cost of entry. With additional in-app charges where appropriate. An explosion of new members quickly overwhelmed his ability to supervise and moderate.
He had opened a new frontier. Now, this rowdy creation was beginning to evolve in real time. With such unbridled fury that he no longer remained in full control of the wild forces he had unleashed. Demons were loose upon the trailer park landscape.
Every day saw the total user count grow by a dozen. Then by a hundred, and finally, thousands more. The reach of his cyber-borne marvel spread all across Ohio, and the Midwest. Then, it moved outward in opposite directions, toward both continental coasts. Those familiar with OnlyFans and Patreon began to protest. This new platform was leaching away members at an alarming rate.
Eventually, Stan Finkel showed up at his door, on a Monday afternoon. He was carrying a briefcase stuffed with legal tender. This chum from bygone days had changed his style during their separation as friends. Now, the slightly-built hacker looked more like a mob figure than a college geek. He drove a sleek, black, BMW sedan. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarers.
A pounding knock at the front entrance announced his presence.
“Hey Drem! Open up, dammit! I should’ve called first, maybe. It’s been a long time since we talked one-to-one. But I’m here with a cash offer. I want to buy into your scheme, okay? You’ve convinced me after all. Hell, you’ve pretty much convinced the whole world, right now! Good job, brother! Sorry I blew you off before.”
His friend from yesteryear turned red in a fit of pique. He did not want to discuss the dealmaker’s impulsive query without more preparation, beforehand.
“Stanley, you’re an asshole! There, I said it! You laughed in my face when we were both just amateur kids. None of my ideas were worth your time. Now you want a piece of the action? That’s how it goes? Kiss my backside! As a matter of fact, kiss it two times!”
His lost associate put a shoulder to the door frame, causing it to split down the side. This gave him full entry into the boxcar dwelling.
“Look man, I’m not playing cat-and-mouse games. This is straight-up, a real proposal from my umm... business partners. You’re in deep, did you realize? There’s an FBI van parked across the road from this shithole junkyard. It’s in a thicket of weeds and brush. You never noticed that, right?”
Dremel broke out in a cold sweat. Beard stubble felt rough on his chin.
“FBI van? C’mon, are you trying to give me the heebie jeebies? That won’t do it, try again...”
Stan took out his phone, and clicked on the photos partition. He scrolled until a murky image of a plain, white Ram ProMaster filled the display.
“Does that convince you? He’s close enough to be intercepting signals and collecting gigabytes of data. I can always smell a rat, even one hiding out in the woods. That stink can’t be mistaken for anything else...”
Now there was a hint of panic in the voice of his former friend.
“You wait years to rekindle our bond. And come in here howling about a government agent keeping tabs on me? What gives with that? I don’t get it! I wouldn’t cut you into my deal if you had a gun in my face!”
His estranged associate sat the briefcase down on an end table by the sofa. He worked its security mechanism until the lid popped open. Inside were many bundles of $100 bills. The aroma of newly-minted certificates wafted upward like the signature of a fragrant floral display. This erased any doubt about his direct intentions.
“Take the payoff. I know you need investors. If you’ve got a stone in your craw about how I acted in the past, let it go. That’s water under the bridge. This cash will fortify your business. It’ll also make us partners again, real partners. I’ll throw some shade at the G-Man trying to listen in on your calls, and poke into your operation. Trust me, we’ve both grown up since sitting in a classroom at Tri-C...”
Dremel lowered his gaze, toward the carpet. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his belly. Nothing about this unexpected offer of a new business venture sounded appealing. Especially after so many years without any contact. He was struggling to maintain control over the sprawling, virtual empire of TrailerCakes, and the women who were eagerly showing their wares. And the thought of being under surveillance only caused him to be more concerned about the future.
How had everything turned sour, so quickly?
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