c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(3-26)
Oren Kronk had been in a salty mood ever since the rough encounter with his disabled, alcoholic neighbor. The old, shaggy hermit known as Townshend Lincoln. More damning than the cost of a new windshield for his jacked-up, Chevrolet rig, was the embarrassment of being bested by someone who could barely walk, see clearly, or function without a drink. He wanted more than revenge. A violent payback of some sort seemed proper. Yet everyone on their street knew the oddball contrarian, and kept him in view as he sat on his front porch. A direct attack would have been difficult to manage. Too many witnesses might spoil the escapade before it succeeded. But over the course of days and weeks, a new idea popped into his shaved head. He could target the bovine, Russian invader more easily. Because she left the park on most days, to work at her job in Middlefield. While gaming with partners on the internet, this dark notion blossomed even further. Artificial Intelligence could tip the scales in his favor, while leaving no trace of the actual crime, itself.
He created a free account on ConjureChat, a virtual depot with lots of creator tools. Then, secretly pilfered photos from a Facebook page that linked the foreign female and her American hosts. Soon, he was able to author a fake timeline, with manufactured images that corresponded. Seedy, salacious pics of her curvy figure in tight corsets, fishnet stockings, and stiletto heels. As a final dig at the immigrant dame, he added military troops and vehicles, in the background. Then, transferred this wealth of falsehoods to an adult site known as Southern Charms. A spot made for amateurs to show their wares, and tempt subscribers to pay for premium content.
The result was convincing, and nasty.
“I am Alexandra Ulre, your Communist mistress! Come to me now for much pleasure and fun! See as I romp with soldiers who fight in the patriotic war! See as I ride on their tanks with the beeg guns, wery beeg and hard! Long, beeg, and wery hard! I promise you good time!”
Lincoln had struggled with disability for years, since being forced to retire from his salaried position with a regional business combine. So, the use of a cellular phone provided help he needed to stay in touch with the outside world. More for the purpose of obtaining foods and beverages, than any social interaction. But when he received a bogus text, inviting him to visit SC and its mysterious members, that connectivity caused his heart to ache.
There on the screen were indelible images he could not erase from his memory. Still photos and short videos that troubled and disgusted him, greatly. Though he was no prude in moral terms, the thought that this new contact across the rustic boulevard had needed to engage willfully in such visual exploitation, simply to make a buck, turned his stomach.
He was waiting when she arrived home from the cheese factory, later that evening.
“What the hell ma’am? This ain’t easy to say, but, yer a gawdamn media whore now? Selling pictures of yer chubby, naked rump in short little skirts? I don’t believe it! I thought ya went to the St. Theodosius church on weekends, with yer kin! How’s that gonna sit with the priests there? Shit online travels, everybody sees it eventually. Ya done sold yer soul! I’m sick as hell about it! This is a freaking nightmare come true!”
Mockbina was confused by this verbal assault. She had barely been home long enough to unlock the front door.
“Link, you are crazy, or something? I know nothing you are saying. What peectures did you see? What kind of them? You must settle down first...”
His curvaceous friend narrowed her eyes, and huffed. Then continued.
“Who say that I am hoar? Who say this to you? I not pose for a camera. I not make leetle movies. I not dance for money. This is to me, not making sense. Are you drunk, maybe?”
Lincoln scratched his shaggy beard.
“I haven’t gotten round to raiding the whiskey cupboard yet, ma’am. Though it’d damn well be a help right now! I need a snort of joy juice! Some fool sent a message to my phone, today. It’s still there, see? Look at this nonsense. Now, I ain’t gonna judge ya or nothing, but dammit, if ya needed some extra coin, why not hit me up fer a loan? I’ve got dollar bills coming out of my ears lately. Some company from the boondocks sent me legal papers about rights on property in the hills that I inherited. Then the union for places where I worked years ago mailed out pension forms. That’s another chunk of change coming my way. I can do ya a solid, if that’s the need. Don’t bare yer ass fer perverts and freaks, it’s making a bargain ya won’t want to keep!”
The Russian widow stomped her feet, angrily. She grabbed the phone, then scrolled through pages on his device, and growled like a mama bear.
“LINK, THIS IS NOT DONE BY ME! IT LOOK MAYBE, LIKE CLOSE ENOUGH TO BE A SEESTER. BUT I NOT HAVE SUCH CLOTHES. THEY WOULD NEVER STRETCH SO FAR, I THINK! AND I NOT DANCE, MY FEET ARE TIRED FROM STANDING AT THE CHEESE MAKER. THE BIG MACHINES THAT STIR. THIS IS ACTUALLY NOT REAL TO ME! NOT REAL! NOT REAL!”
The weary loner nodded and lowered his head.
“Ma’am, I believe ya. But something stupid happened here. I can’t figure it out...”
Mockbina hardened her gaze, and handed back the phone.
“I have young cousin in Cleveland. He is how you say, a computer geek. Wery, wery smart kid, I think. I must speak to him, when family church happens. This I will do. I promise you Link. Let me ask. I will find out what happened then. I will find out and tell you. Then maybe you can have peace...”
The contrarian boozer gestured with gratitude, after pocketing his wireless wafer.
“And I reckon there’ll be peace in yer house as well. This is some messed-up shit!”
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