The Carma Klown 14

Chapter 14

© 2013 by the author

Friday, ca. 2:30 p.m., June 11, 2010

“All of them?” Brady Wilson, the owner of Syswide, gulped in dismay.

Michael and Ellen Corwin had arrived at his office five minutes earlier. He had greeted them with trepidation and with a hesitant offer of help. “I didn’t expect to see you again, officers. I thought you had found all you needed the other day. We temporarily severed the link between our computers and the Police Department’s system. We’re working to purge the program now. We expect to be finished in an hour or so. When it’s fixed, we’ll restore the link. I assure you that we will fix the problem soon. Did you need more information? We’d be happy to supply it.”

Wilson was around fifty. He was somewhat more formally dressed than the other employees who worked in the main office of Syswide. Most of them never met customers and wore extremely casual clothes. Wilson wore a blue shirt, with a button-down collar, and chinos over a scuffed pair of black and white high-top basketball shoes. The bill of his old ballcap was pulled down so far over his forehead that it rested on the thick black plastic frame of his glasses. A thin fringe of graying hair escaped from the sides and back of the hair. Michael wondered briefly if the hat covered a bald spot. 

Only one of the chairs before his desk was clear. Wilson removed a stack of printouts from the other. He looked around for a place to put it. Every surface was covered with similar piles. He finally put it on the floor behind his desk and then motioned for Michael and Ellen to sit down. “Now, what can we do for you, officers?”

“We’ve uncovered more evidence that The Carma Klown is using your computers to upload videos.” Michael handed Wilson a sheet of paper detailing the municipal computers that The Carma Klown had used. Shortly before the uploads each had been accessed through the backdoors Syswide had installed in the systems. Michael also handed Wilson a record detailing the history of Syswide’s maintenance and diagnostic check-ups of each machine. Each had been serviced by several Syswide employees over a period of from one to four years. “We would like your people to check these intrusions to determine if someone at Syswide accessed these computers or whether an outsider hacked your computers in order to gain access to them.”

“Six computers?”

“So far. We are searching for other invasions.”

“I can assure you that no one can hack our systems. It’s just not possible.” Wilson looked as if he were about to start sweating profusely.

“Then it has to be one of your employees.”

“No, that’s just not possible. No one here would do anything like that.”  The contradiction hit Wilson even as he was speaking. “There has to be some other explanation.”

“It’s either an outside job or an inside one,” said Michael. He watched as the owner of Syswide struggled to determine which of the alternatives was worse—admitting that his company had been hacked and couldn’t guarantee the security of its customers’ computer systems or that he had a rogue employee who was abusing the customers’ trust.

“There has to be a third alternative. Maybe someone is altering the records on these computers to show that they were accessed through Syswide. Maybe he’s using some other way to get in and is just implicating us by leaving a false record.”

“That’s a possibility,” admitted Michael. “But if that’s what’s happening, there won’t be any record in your computers to show access. And, as you know, we did find a record of someone accessing the Police Department’s alert system through your computers. So, a quick check of your records is called for, I think. If there’s no sign that the access came through your computers, then we will direct our search elsewhere.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll get people on this immediately.” Wilson pulled out his phone. “Wait. If we do find that our computers were used to gain access, it’s still possible that our records have been falsified as well. It won’t prove that we were involved.”

“Well, it would prove that at the very least either an outsider or an insider falsified your records. Which brings us back to square one. The Carma Klown is using Syswide. Either way, we need to know, all of us need to know. It’s in your interests to help us clear this up.”

Wilson looked at the phone in his hand and then put it back in his pocket. “Come with me. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I hope you find this bastard, officers. I want him punished.”

Three hours later, Michael and Ellen left the Syswide offices. It hadn’t taken long to find that someone had accessed each of the computers through Syswide and then used those computers to upload the videos. The employee number used to open the backdoors did not match that of any current or former employee. A check of the program that governed the right of entry granted each employee to the computer systems of Syswide customers revealed that that particular number gave the user unrestricted access to all computers. There was no evidence that Syswide’s network had been entered from outside at the relevant times. It appeared to be an inside job.

Wilson’s reaction surprised Michael. He was furious. It struck Michael that anger was the common response to learning that the Carma Klown had involved one in his schemes. The Carma Klown had many fans, but none among those he was victimizing. When they left, Wilson was planning how to find the culprit. “How can I trust anyone until I find this guy?” he asked. “For all I know, the person I ask to help me might be The Carma Klown. It could be anyone.” Neither Michael nor Ellen could solve his dilemma.

Michael had parked across the street from Syswide. He popped open the trunk of his car so that he and Ellen could stow the two boxes of paperwork they were bringing back to Midtown. Ellen put her box in first and then stepped away and casually surveyed the street while Michael arranged his box in the trunk.

“Michael, look. Isn’t that . . . ?”

Michael followed the direction of her outstretched finger. She was pointing at the building they had just left. “Oh, my god, it is.”

“It’s a close match at least.”

Both of them took out their phones and began snapping pictures of the building.

“If that’s the building in the video, then this has to be the building in which the videos were made.” Michael turned to look at the building opposite the Syswide offices. It dated from the same era as the Syswide building but appeared to be unoccupied. A heavy chain, secured by a padlock, was strung through the handles of the front door. Sheets of plywood covered the windows on the first and second floors. “Let’s get some pictures of this as well.”

*****

Friday, ca. 7:00 p.m., June 11, 2010

“He practically as good as said that I would head up this group.” Michael was so excited that he couldn’t stay still. He would sit down beside Jeff, and within a few seconds he would stand up again and begin pacing the room.

“Michael, that’s great. Your parents will be so proud of you.”

“Oh, don’t say anything to them. That’s the last thing I need—my mother hears this, and she’ll start thinking I’m going to be the next chief of police.”

“Maybe she’d be right.”

“No, don’t give her any ammunition. Once she gets an idea in her head, it stays there. I’ll wait till it’s a done deal to tell my parents.”  Michael stopped pacing and glanced at Jeff. His lover was wearing an old pair of jeans and a ratty T-shirt that had been washed so many times that its original color was lost. It was now somewhere between brown and green. Jeff’s arms were bent at the elbow and his fingers were laced behind his neck. His biceps and shoulder muscles bulged. Michael suddenly remembered the feel of the pelt of hair on Jeff’s forearms. It was almost as if he were touching it instead of just thinking about it. How soft and furlike it was, how hard the flesh under it.

Then he began remembering the other pleasures of Jeff’s body. How Jeff moved beneath his hands. How he tasted. How explosive he became. How it felt to have Jeff inside him. The tensions of the day, its frustrations, its small victories, the prospect of a promotion, his happiness. Suddenly he just had to be with Jeff. It took only a second for the glance to become lust.

Michael strode over to where Jeff sat on the sofa. He put his hand on Jeff’s shoulders and pushed him down until Jeff slid down on the couch so that his hips were just barely hooked on the edge of the seat. Michael unbuttoned the fly on Jeff’s jeans and then pulled them down and off Jeff’s legs, flinging them across the room. Jeff’s T-shirt quickly joined it on the floor.

Jeff wore a pair of red briefs. Tufts of black hair sprouted from beneath the edges of his underwear. He knew what was coming next—they had done this many times before—and he quickly became as horny as Michael. As Michael tore off his own clothes, Jeff’s cock grew hard and a wet patch of pre-cum appeared on the briefs. He spread his legs apart so that his briefs clung even more tightly to his cock and outlined the head as his erection pulled the foreskin back.

Michael knelt between Jeff’s legs and began licking the fabric covering Jeff’s cock. Jeff arched his body to lift his groin and push it against Michael’s mouth. The rasp of Michael’s tongue against his cock grew unbearable. It strained against his briefs. “Let me get these off,” he begged. “They’re too tight.”

“Quiet.” Michael grabbed the briefs by one side and pulled them up, releasing Jeff’s cock. Free of the confines of the briefs, it immediately sprung upward. Michael’s lips closed tightly around the head, and he began probing the piss slit with the tip of his tongue. His hands reached under Jeff’s hips and clawed at the waistband of Jeff’s briefs, pulling them down past Jeff’s balls.

Jeff lifted his legs, forcing Michael to stand up. He ripped off his briefs and tossed them aside. Michael’s mouth never left his cock the entire time. When he lowered his legs, Michael knelt back on the floor and sucked the entire length of Jeff’s cock into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as his mouth closed around Jeff’s cock. Jeff moaned as he thrust his cock into Michael throat.

Michael straightened his arms and reached up Jeff’s body. He clutched Jeff’s pecs in his hands, digging his fingers deeply into the muscle. A sharp gasp escaped Jeff’s mouth. He grasped Michael’s head between his hands and held it tight as he lifted his legs and closed them around Michael’s torso, imprisoning Michael within his pleasure. His groin spasmed as he thrust repeatedly into Michael.

Michael pulled his head back and took a deep breath. He grabbed Jeff’s cock and held it upright. He positioned his ass over the head of Jeff’s cock and guided it into himself. Almost as soon as the head was inside him, he sat down, abruptly impaling himself on Jeff’s cock. They both groaned with pleasure—Jeff from the sudden tight wet pressure surrounding his cock and Michael from the sharp explosion of pain and pleasure that surged upward through his body.

Michael’s swollen cock beat against Jeff’s groin in time with Jeff’s thrusts into him. Their hands grabbed each other’s flesh. Each thrust of Jeff’s cock forced a grunt of pleasure from Michael’s throat. He tilted his head back, squeezed his eyes shut, and opened his mouth so wide it began to hurt, focusing all of his attention on Jeff’s cock.

Michael flexed his ass muscles to hold Jeff even more tightly. He could feel Jeff’s cock growing larger and harder within him. Jeff’s body began to shudder and tremble. He pressed his groin against Michael’s body, pushing his cock as deeply in as he could. Michael unconsciously recognized the start of Jeff’s orgasm and his body responded in kind. Both men cried out as the cum spurted out of their cocks.

Michael’s muscles were frozen in place from the strength of the orgasm. He could feel Jeff’s body heaving with the force of his deep, ragged breaths. Jeff’s cock remained inside him, not as long or hard as it had been seconds before, but still a source of pleasure radiating outward through his entire body. After a minute, he lowered his head and looked down at Jeff. His own cum had spattered all over Jeff’s stomach and chest. He stared at it for a moment and then he began massaging it with the tips of his fingers into Jeff’s sweaty body. He ran his cum-stained hands over Jeff’s hairy chest and then his own smoother body, marking his lover and himself with the smell of their sex.

A few moments later, he stood up, pulling himself off Jeff. He extended a hand and lifted Jeff off the sofa. Still clutching Jeff’s hand, he drew him into the bedroom. The two tumbled onto the bed in each other’s arms. For the first time since Michael had begun his assault on Jeff, they kissed. They fell asleep almost instantly, without speaking, without thought.

*****

Saturday, ca. 12:00 a.m., June 12, 2010

Parish Haydn IV was almost ready. He had received doses of both drugs and was completely docile. The drugs had made him totally obedient, ready to carry out any command, and capable of being reprogrammed in any direction. At the moment his body lay face-down on a gurney. The tattoo machine was putting the finishing touches on the new adornment to his left buttock, and he was receiving instructions through earphones on how to play his upcoming role in the video. He wore only black knee-length socks. His other clothes—a white shirt and a black suit coat and trousers hung from a nearby valet rack. A muted red tie with a faint pattern of gray chevrons was draped around the collar of the shirt. A pair of highly polished black oxfords sat on the floor. No underwear was visible.

The vacuous grin on Haydn’s face attested to the strength of the drug. One of the first suggestions programmed into his acquiescent mind had been that he would find the tattooing process as soothing and relaxing as a full-body massage. From time to time, little mewls of pleasure escaped from his lips as the needles pierced his skin.

The man known as The Carma Klown didn’t enjoy pain, and he always included instructions in the programming that made the participants find pleasure in the tattooing process. It would have been easy to make it very painful, but he didn’t like screams or faces screwed up in agony, bodies twisted into unnatural positions, an ass red and swollen from a lashing—those things disgusted him. Humiliation was one thing; sadism was quite another. He would leave that to others. He took no little pride in the fact that he treated his participants with more courtesy and concern than they deserved. If he had truly been intent on giving them a punishment to fit their crimes, they wouldn’t have survived.

The ink-injection arm on the tattoo machine lifted off Hadyn’s body, leaving behind the Carma Klown tattoo. Unfortunately, the man admitted to himself, the result was less than perfect. Hadyn wasn’t in ideal shape to get a tattoo. His aged flesh sagged, and when he stood up the tattoo would too. Still, the tattoo was not meant as an aesthetic statement. It was more like those “Kilroy was here” signs that used to be painted on stone escarpments along rural highways. Except this sign said in effect “The Carma Klown owns your ass.” His previous participants had proved so reluctant to show their tattoos after their video had appeared. He wondered if they had already begun having them lasered off. Perhaps he should tweet a message to that effect hashmarked The Carma Klown and start a rumor. He could easily find the name of a likely surgeon and pretend to be a nurse working in the doctor’s office. And he could distort one of the pictures of a real tattoo to make it look like the early stages of removal. There were so many possibilities. He would think about them later. For now he had other business to attend to.

“Please get dressed, Mr. Haydn. We’re ready to start making your video.”

Physically Parish Haydn IV may not have been his best selection, but in terms of deserving punishment, he was prime material. He was one of those most responsible for the 2008 financial crash and subsequent recession, and that was the reason he had been chosen. Still his body was repulsive. Haydn was as addicted to food as he was to money and possessions. His gluttony was omnivorous—money, food, possessions—he wanted them all in excess. And clearly he avoided exercise. Oh, well, the man thought, once I’ve made the video and checked it, I wouldn’t have to look at Haydn again. And my fans seem to like to feel superior to the participants. Haydn’s naked body would give them plenty to crow about.

In researching Haydn, the man had run across many pictures of him with his stunning young wife posed by his side, her hand resting on one of his forearms. He wondered how the wife could stand to look at Haydn. Was the money enough to make up for that grotesque, sagging, flabby mass that overhung his crotch and practically hid his genitals? Haydn must have to lift that roll of fat out of the way when he took a piss so that he could see what he was doing. Undoubtedly the wife would be among the first to thank The Carma Klown for exposing her husband’s true proclivities. Would there be more pictures of her standing beside Haydn? How long would it be before she ditched the ogre?

He had devised a new script for his next video. His fans’ reactions to the earlier videos had shown him where he was going wrong. It was, he reminded himself, all too easy to suppose that because his intent was clear to him, it would be clear to others. Well, live and learn, live and learn. It was an old and a trite saying, but that didn’t make it any the less true.

“Step this way, Mr. Haydn.”

The zombie cocktail of drugs had worked its usual magic. Haydn was a mindless, will-less, obedient robot. He would respond as he had been programmed to respond.

“Watch your step. Don’t trip on those electrical cords. Here’s your mark. Now stand here, and face the camera. When we begin recording, the red light on the front of the camera will come on. Right here. You see it? Good. Now you know your lines. Just speak them as you were instructed to.”

He checked the set one more time to make sure that everything he would need was ready and at hand. When he was satisfied, he clicked on the icon on his laptop to activate the camera. It was programmed to track Haydn’s movements and to respond in the way he had planned to showcase Haydn perfectly.

Haydn stared expectantly at the camera. He was waiting for his cue.

All was ready. He activated the voice alteration software and spoke into the microphone.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Parish Haydn IV.”

“What are you?”

“I am a criminal. I knowingly and fraudulently promoted and sold billions in high-risk financial instruments beginning in 2002 until just before the market crash in 2008. I pulled out just before the crash and cashed in all my holdings, knowing that this would worsen the crash when it came. When Congress authorized the bailout, I accepted hundreds of millions from the government, increasing my profits even more. Since then, I have devoted myself to increasing my wealth and preventing the government from enacting laws that would jeopardize my wealth. I am a corporate criminal. Tomorrow I will surrender to the authorities and provide documentation of my crimes. I will plead guilty to all charges brought against me.”

“What do you deserve?”

“Punishment.”

“Would you say that you have spent your lifetime fucking everyone?”

“Yes, that is a correct assessment.”

“What would be the proper punishment for someone who has spent his life fucking everyone else?”

“To be fucked.”

“But would anyone fuck you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am a worthless, pathetic, old faggot.”

“Yes, you are. And no one wants to fuck a worthless pathetic, old faggot, do they?”

“No.”

“So how do you get fucked, Parish Haydn IV?”

“I use dildos.”

“And you have brought a selection of your favorite dildos with you today, to share with us, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” The camera pulled back to show a table beside Haydn. It held an assortment of dildos in a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors. Haydn looked at them with longing. “Can I start using them now?”

“In a minute. We get to that soon enough. No need to be impatient. Now why don’t you pick out four of your favorites and show them to the viewers? Tell us why you like each of them.”

He had had to drop the vegetarian option. The session with the test subject he had found on Grindr had been a disaster. A visit to the local vegetable market had resulted in a bagful of potential natural dildos: carrots, one of those long Asian eggplants, parsnips, English cucumbers, and several humongous daikon, the white Japanese radish. He had so many vegetables that the Korean man who owned the store had asked what he was making. He wasn’t intending to use them as food, and for a moment he was at a loss for words. He couldn’t think of any dish that might incorporate all of them. “It’s for a photo shoot,” he finally blurted out. “They’re so colorful.” Which, of course, was only the truth, and it had satisfied the man, who said that he agreed and suggested that slicing a red cabbage in half would result in a beautiful image. Before the clerk could propose ways to photograph every vegetable in the store in the best light, he had mumbled something about this being an experiment. If it went well, he would be back for more. And that meant he would have to avoid that particular store in the future unless he wanted to discuss photography with the owner. Which was too bad, because it had the best selection of fruits and vegetables in the neighborhood.

He had peeled the root vegetables and sealed them carefully in plastic wrap. He left the leaves on some of the carrots and on one of the daikon. He would try both to see whether they worked better with or without leaves. In his mind’s eye, he could see the leaves dangling down. It would look like a tail, but he would have to check the video—sometimes these ideas didn’t work out well on tape. He put a box of disposable latex examination gloves in a gym bag with the vegetables, along with a large tube of lube. Both were left over from the seventh video. He would have to get more lube for the eighth video, and he put that on his shopping list. It hadn’t taken long to find someone on Grindr who wanted to be the bottom in an ass-play scene. In fact, there had been several possibilities. He had chosen the one who lived the farthest away and was willing to host.

The test subject had greeted him at the door wearing only a towel and a grin. As soon as the door had closed, the towel had come off. The grin had remained. The subject had been curious about what he was carrying in the bag. His reply, “Oh, a big surprise,” had been greeted with a simper. The subject then led him into the bedroom and immediately lay down on the bed, with his rump in the air. The man had put on a pair of examination gloves. The first drug was easily and quickly absorbed through the skin. He had put a few drops on his index finger and then applied it to the subject’s anus. It seemed an appropriate place under the circumstances. The drug needed about a minute to begin circulating through the blood stream and into the brain. When the test subject’s stopped talking and his eyes became unfocused, he gave him the second drug. That had to be taken orally, but the subject opened his mouth without hesitation when instructed to do so. He squirted the dose into the subject’s throat with an eyedropper, and the subject had swallowed it.

He waited for five minutes and then tested the subject’s responses. All was ready. He had the subject get on all fours and elevate his ass. He started with the carrots, since they were the smallest in diameter. He lubed one of them generously, told the subject to relax—that he would feel an enormous sensation of pleasure flowing into him—and then slowly eased the carrot into the subject’s anus until only an inch or so protruded. He quickly saw that this would not work. He wanted Haydn to use his hands to thrust the carrot in and out. But his fingers would obscure the carrot. Nor would there be much to hold on to. While he was considering if the problem could be overcome, another one became apparent. After he pushed the carrot in so that only the top end was visible, he let go of it. A few seconds later, the carrot shot out of the subject’s anus and landed on the floor. He didn’t bother to try a carrot with the leaves still on.

In short order he abandoned the idea of using the other vegetables. The parsnips had the same problem as the carrot. The eggplant wasn’t rigid enough. That left the cucumber and the daikon, both of which seemed long enough to give Haydn something to grasp and large enough to provide a visually effective image. Unfortunately, either the test subject had a particularly tight anus (which seemed unlikely given the number of times he claimed to have been fucked) or there was an inherent flaw in the use of vegetables as dildos. The cucumber was quickly reduced to mush. It dripped from the subject’s ass in a slimy mess. The daikon had proved more durable, but once the subject began thrusting it rapidly in and out, so much moisture had been exuded that it look like he had a waterfall coming out of his ass.

He told the subject to clean up and then he had him shove the used vegetables down the garbage disposal. The unused vegetables he had put in the man’s refrigerator—recompense for helping him with his researches. It had been an exasperating evening. And then he had had an inspiration. He was in the presence of an expert in “ass play.” So he asked the subject what he used. And the subject had shown him. The subject had led him back into the bedroom and pulled out a drawer in his tallboy. It was filled with dildos, butt plugs, and several items he could not identify. Many of them were still in their boxes, unused. There were more than enough of them for his needs, and he was able to fill his gym bag. So the evening had turned out well after all. He told the subject to forget everything that had happened and then left.

The dildos that the test subject had contributed were now arrayed on the table beside Haydn. . . .