c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(2-24)
At first, the bargain struck with Kimmie Tickle worked flawlessly. She proved to be more skilled as a salesperson than her business partner. With a bubbly personality, and lots of local contacts in the realm of adult entertainment. Profits were split 60/40, in deference to Dremel Kongin having originated the online platform. He was a good steward, and reinvested most of his share in the business. So, they both prospered. New recruits for their roster of content creators meant that the operation far exceeded expectations. So many posts were available for review that additional storage had to be added to the servers.
The reclusive, computer engineer liked being anonymous. He was content to let his associate flaunt her assets in public, and handle personal interactions. The arrangement allowed him to hide out and work on new projects.
But as weeks and months passed, there were unexplained interruptions in service to the rural trailer enclave. Power would dip during periods of peak usage, or be cut altogether. A visible police presence persisted throughout every episode. With these issues becoming more common, he started to ponder relocating TrailerCakes to a new physical environment. Yet thoughts of doing so made him feel perplexed. Any spot nearer to populated areas would only increase his risk of discovery. He preferred to remain off the beaten path.
Kimmie finally interrupted his self-imposed exile, to protest about deteriorating conditions at Evergreen Estates. She called after one o’clock in the morning, on a Tuesday in July.
“Hey buddy! Things are getting spooky out here in Thompson Township. The Po-Po riding by, dudes in black sedans, all suited up, flashlights beaming in the dark. Y’all know anything about this shit? There ain’t been nothing on the news. The girls are getting antsy about putting things on their pages. We get dumbass kids knocking on the doors and windows at night. Weird noises on the phones, and images popping up in the middle of streaming shows. Likely, hackers playing around. What’s the deal? Yer supposed to be the damn techno freak. Explain this nonsense!”
Dremel had grown accustomed to sipping wine in the evenings. It helped him sleep restfully after being busy in his home office, in daylight hours. But her ranting made his head ache.
“Kim, I’ve got no idea about any of that. I run scans on our network all the time. Nothing odd comes up in the results. I had a friend from college say that the FBI was fooling around out there, once. I didn’t believe him. But maybe, who knows? Just maybe they are still peeking through the curtains...”
His attractive cohort rattled ice cubes in her drink glass.
“Look shithead, y’all are supposed to be keeping this under control. I don’t know a thing about yer electronic gizmos. I know about dancing on a stripper pole, and teasing customers for a good tip. Okay? Do yer damn job! Take care of this before it gets any worse!”
The squawking ultimatum sent him back to his station of monitors, and keyboard. He decided to make a more thorough inspection of the grid. Hotspots appeared as he searched all around the trailer park. In places where he never thought to dig, before. A command center was in use, just down Pine Trail Road, from the property entrance. When he hacked a police network in the township, and the sheriff’s office, details emerged of their cooperation with federal agents.
These revelations caused him to feel incredibly stupid. Hubris had tricked him into becoming a patsy. Prying eyes must have already seen what sins he was committing. He knocked over a bottle of Ferrante Pinot Grigio, while flailing his arms, and yelping like a wounded canine.
“I’m screwed! She’s screwed! We’re all screwed! We’re screwed!”
He showed up at the lot where his partner resided, around three o’clock in the morning. She was passed out on her sofa, wearing only a silk pajama top, and lace panties. The front entryway stood wide open. Country warbling sounded from a wi-fi speaker, on the entertainment center.
One footstep across the threshold had Kimmie awake and on her feet, however. Her instincts were sharp. She scratched and clawed at her unannounced visitor, before realizing his identity. This left him bloodied, and in retreat.
“WHAT’RE Y’ALL DOING IN MY TRAILER? WHAT THE HELL IS YER GAME, MOFO?”
Her feline paws did enough damage that Dremel had to wipe crimson and scar tissue from his face. But then, the attack was over. Fully conscious, his slumbering opposite stumbled back to the couch, and collapsed.
“I’m sorry dude, that was like a freaking nightmare! Y’all scared the crap outta me. I’ve been on edge with this weird stuff happening. Did y’all figure out who’s yanking our chain?”
Her friend nodded in the negative.
“Nah, I but confirmed that Stan Finkel was right about the bureau being here in the hinterland. He was another student in our college classes. They’ve got assets stationed across the road, just as he said. But why? People in this park cook up meth, they sell fentanyl, they do all kinds of insane things. Being dumb and poor makes you desperate. We’ve obeyed all the laws, though. There’s nothing on TrailerCakes that wouldn’t stand up to legal scrutiny, especially if some money changed hands. I’ve never had a desire to experience life in jail...”
Kimmie rubbed her eyes. Her leftover makeup had smeared enough that she looked like a raccoon.
“So, if that’s the case, then why is someone hassling me? Why are they messing with the internet, and the lights? And pounding on the walls?”
Dremel bowed his head. He had reached a conclusion that could not be logically refuted.
“Did you ever hear the old saying that two things can be true at the same time? Guys like Chris Cuomo like to use that line, on TV news shows. Well, I think that our erstwhile pal Stanley might be involved. He wanted a cut of the profit from my cyberspace venture. But I blew him off. Because he did it to me, first! So then, he tried to rattle me with talk of the government messing around. Now, I would say that it isn’t necessarily one or the other pulling strings. Everybody can be a player, right? It’s an open competition. The feds want to be sure taxes get paid. And palms get greased. Our fellow attendee at Tri-C wants to put his thumb on the scales. For a better deal on his end. Maybe there are more people involved. Like some of the women you signed up after I moved back to the city. Maybe their boyfriends or husbands. Maybe someone thought we were pissing on their shoes, and calling for rain...”
The young porn star was flummoxed and off balance.
“So, what does that mean, bruh? What are y’all gonna do about this mess?”
Her confidante folded his hands, and stared at stains on the carpeted floor.
“Say goodbye. This is it, we’re done. No more cakes for us, no more good times. We’ve made a boatload of cash here, it’ll last for a long while. I’m heading west. I’ve always wanted to live on the gold coast. How about you?”
The fiery femme hooked her arm in his, and curled up like a cat seeking favor.
“Wherever you go, I’m with you, Drem. You’re not such a nerd, after all! Let’s hit the road!”
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