Digging Up New Business: The SwiftPad Takeover

By S. Lee Barckmann

Today business is about eyeballs on the screen. Narcissism is the shiny object that always attracts, and today it drives the bottom line. You have to be the star in your own show, and now, with the Internet social media sensation SwiftPad, there are new episodes about you each time you connect! A new girl in the Rose City has a plan to capture t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barckwords Publishing
• Release date: Sep 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781735251431

S. Lee Barckmann

Born and raised in the small Jersey Shore town of Barnegat NJ. Parents, Doris (Jones) and Bill Barckmann, both deceased. Two sisters, Liza and Laura. Moved to North Jersey suburb at 13 (1964). Went to University of Kansas, graduated (1973), degrees in Economics and History. Planned to be a writer, wrote much of the backstory later incorporated into the The SwiftPad Series. Worked in various capacities as laborer, heavy equipment operator, became a Land Surveyor (1977). Worked in a Civil Engineering office, managing business. Wrote articles, grant writer of social service agency, involved in local politics, Progressive "election mechanic" (Eugene Oregon). Went to China, (1984) as English teacher in Xian Medical college. The following year moved to Beijing to teach at Foreign Language Institute. Returned to the US (1987), married Mary Traeger, son Zach born (1988). Started a career in Information Technology, worked at a strip-mall Computer store. Worked for various companies and organizations as technical lead in various IT specialties, (networking, software development, computer security, systems management) Became a consultant with a tech start up, (2001). Retired from IBM (2014). Presently full time author

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An Apologetic Warning

To the City of Portland: I certainly can’t and don’t speak for the city. But I do love it, probably not for the usual reasons.

We have some yucky nastiness to deal with right off the bat, but we won’t dwell on that too much. It really isn’t that kind of story.

Other than that, any relationship to anything you might think you recognize in this story is a coincidence. It is just a fable.

The Management

Cast of Characters

Starring…

The Killer

His First Victims – Kathy Morton, Regina McKenzie

Kip Rehain (Chubby) – mid-forties, son of a rich Oregon logger

GG (Cynthia Oglethorpe) – late twenties, Computer programmer extraordinaire

Raleigh Highlooper – late fifties, Venture Capitalist

Jim Hunt – mid-forties, IT Professional

Mark Ruskin – GIP Consultant – Outsourcing Specialist

Tyler (Trek, Sebastian, OSWL, VAPOR) – of the CIA/NSA community, former colleague of Snowden

Stan – early twenties, Skateboarder, recent Anthropology Major

Elizabeth Kerns (Easy Girl) – late 30s, proprietor of the Easy Girl Bakery

Macy Ming Cosino – the Woman on the Bridge

Lance Petrovich – late 50s, detective, Richland, WA

Georgia Symaara – late 30s, detective, Richland, WA

Detective Ted Henderson – Portland PD Cop

Walt Rehain – Kip’s dad

Alice Hunt – Jim’s mom

The KEG Staff (Northwest Consolidated Electric and Gas)

Frank DeFonzaro – CFO

George Robbins – CEO

Dick Swensson – Chairman of the Board, former CEO

Delores – General Secretary for the Board

Tom Freeberg – Proxy voter for the Habitat Group on the Board

Anaka Maheemi – CIO

Art Van Landingham – Chief of Operations

Angelica (Angie) – Jim’s boss and former lover

Jim’s Crew at the KEG

Lester – Network – smart but sloppy

Sonny – Server room tech – backups, general duty

Arlen – quiet as a brick

Knute – almost 70, fit and energetic

Rodney – Always with his briefcase, pants too tight and too short

Christine – Probably fucking Rodney

Steve Slater – Calls everybody sir or ma’am.

Brigitte – big eyes, straight hair. Has filed a sexual discrimination suit

Larry Yang – Best worker on the team. From China

Lesbian DBAs (who are not a couple and are really in charge)

Janice – Pretty and Black

Rainey – Southern & Butch

SwiftPad Board members

Hariet Miller, Seb Madison, Michael Kendrick, Mitsuro Mansanato, Pete Hollingsworth, Cook Callahan

Also Featuring

Ken Oren – GIP VP – Big Data; Suzanne – GIP analyst; Persephone Jackson – Mark’s GIP boss; John – GIP Sales; Mary O’Hara – Crockett Group; Renate – East German (double?) spy, Spritzer; Heidi – (spy?), Quark

With…

Archimedes, Emma, Hadley and Rina – SwiftPad programmers; Judge Van Ritter – Lance’s friend; Sharon Rodriguez – VP of Bonneville Power; Heber Young – Walt Rehain’s accountant; Enrique – Walt’s foreman; Rosa – Walt’s housekeeper, Enrique’s wife; Portland DA; KOIN News Girl; FOX News Guy; Rich Dunner – Oregonian reporter,

Prologue

The killer explains his craft, giving us a Body of Work or two to Ponder

The first woman had worked with me at Bonneville Power. It was dumb luck I got away with it. It just happened, although I admit I had thought about it, and of course I planned it. I was just sort of daydreaming really, but got more and more specific in my mind about what I was going to do, as the days passed. I am not a deviant predator, and I am not sick or bent. I didn’t want to go to jail, which anyone would say was a normal and sane reaction. I am not suicidal or looking for martyrdom. I was not, and am not a monster. A monster is unthinking and unfeeling, and I am certainly not that!

Kathy thought I was funny and probably handsome. She told me she had received critical letters about environmental issues with the utility sub-station and she didn’t know how to answer them. When we talked, there was that undercurrent of flirting that both of us were too professional (or too shy) to openly acknowledge. I told her I helped design the station, which was not true. I was an IT guy, but I can read plans. Then she said she would get back to me for the structural details and might have other questions too.

But she didn’t contact me that day, so I waited for her as we were leaving work and I timidly asked her out for a drink. She said no, but in a nice way. I acted embarrassed (because I was) and apologized (to hide my anger at her for refusing my invitation). She touched my arm and smiled and said she would like to see the electrical transformer that I told her about. She said she had to answer the letters from the bird watchers. I said when the transformer is completed, they will hardly notice it, low impact, very unobtrusive. She handed me her keys and I drove her car to the site. This turn of events upset my plans because I expected we would take mine. However, it was a stroke of luck, because getting rid of her car later was what saved me from getting caught.

It was a beautiful isolated spot that overlooked the Columbia on the edge of the Yakima Delta Nature preserve. The hole was dug and the survey points showed precisely where the electrical box would be set. The wooden forms for the concrete were in place. As I stopped the car there was a nervous silence between us. She began to fidget with her purse and suggested we go get that drink, but it was too late, for me or her. I pulled her out of the car by her hair. Halfway out of the car she stopped struggling, although she continued to cry and beg me not to. But as I said, it was too late.

After we made love, I had to strangle her. At that point I had no other options. I buried her where the transformer was to be placed. The hole was dug, but I knew there was enough space for the concrete and the dirt that covered her. The rake and shovel were in the unlocked portable shed (as I knew they would be). I left the top rough and dirt clods strewn around the surrounding area. I knew that the next step was to tamp it down and compact it with a hand roller and then pour the concrete base. It was just an electrical box.

I drove her car away and left it on the street several blocks from my apartment. The next evening, Friday, I drove it to Seattle, wiped it down very thoroughly, parked it and took a bus back to Richland, through Spokane. I got back just before ten A.M., showered and crawled into bed, totally exhausted. But I knew I had left too many clues, and I really didn’t sleep.

I went over everything in my mind, trying to figure out what I had forgotten. I had been very scrupulous in not talking to her or showing any interest in her before that day so she would not tell her friends about me. But I worried she might have mentioned me to someone in the office. I was almost sure no one had seen us leave and was pretty sure no one had noticed us in the break room previously, but as each hour passed, I lay awake worrying more and more – about what, I wasn’t sure.

There was evidence all over: footprints, tire tracks, who knows what else. The tire tracks scared me most of all. By Friday afternoon the police were looking for her. This was of course years before I had built my access into the police communications system (that wouldn’t come for another ten years, after I moved to Portland) so I only knew about what they were doing from the local newspaper and TV. They found the car in Seattle Sunday afternoon, and that brought heat on the staff at Bonneville Power. They questioned everyone, and the detective in charge questioned all of the men, and it seemed he took special interest in me, because his questions were very brusque and aggressive. And, I really didn’t have an alibi, other than reading in bed.

But, as you must have guessed by now, I was never charged, although I suspected then and know now that they kept a file opened on me. I never made it into the FBI NCIC (National Crime Information Center) as a person of interest. (I had access for a little while, before they changed the lock.)

They never connected the transformer site with her disappearance. It was never a crime scene.

I didn’t begin to think about doing it again until I got to Portland. You think I am lying and that I could not wait four years without doing it again? Well, then you don’t know me. I am very disciplined. For me the memory of an event becomes bolder and clearer as time passes. It, for the most part, suffices. Anything can be overdone. The Epicurean principle of moderation in all things applies to everything of course, but after a while…

Anyway, I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t take my eyes off of Regina. I walked by her cubicle carefully, head down, not too fast or too slow, staying out of sight, never looking directly at her or anyone else. I walked by the construction site early in the morning, watching, noticing who arrived first and when. Sometimes I would leave work early and notice who left first, noting the progress they made each night, watching who locked up and when. As the work on the station progressed it inflamed my imagination; it was just like before, I thought. I walked down to the construction office on the sixth floor and figured out the pecking order of the staff. I watched as they pulled the project plans from the rack. Sometimes I would see the crew chief talking to the engineers or the inspectors. I noticed where he sat. The crew chief had a set of keys and I noted where he kept them.

Getting her to go out to the lake was easy. It was the same drill, shy flirting, meek, never letting her know that I knew everything about her. Led her to the subject slowly. Have you ever seen a liquid natural gas pump station? That technology is going to be the company’s bread and butter…Let’s take a look at the utility vault… No hesitation, her eyes lit up. I could tell it wasn’t the technology that interested her…

It was dark and deserted and I didn’t even need to rape her. I was always surprised how attracted women were to me. She wore a skirt, and as I started taking her panties off, she lifted her derriere to make it easier. I have to admit, that got me angry. Her animal desire shocked and disgusted me, to be honest. It affected my…I suddenly was not ready, as they say on TV. So I started to beat her. But then it was good. Very good.

When I finished I strangled her slowly. I let her recover her breath and beg. Then I fucked…I really fucked her! It was the greatest experience of my life; the release was total. I came like a fire hose and then finished the job.

I unlocked the gate and carried her in. They had even left shovels and rakes out for me again. It took me ten minutes and she disappeared under the ground and concrete, above the utility vault.

Chapter 1

Kip, an Alternative Energy business failure, goes to JAVAPALOOSA, and takes a Picture

Kipling (Chubby) Rehain didn’t know much about what made computers work or how, after he typed a URL in the top of a web browser, it would almost instantly find the website. He liked to search Google for whatever he was thinking about and would chase the links around the web, and get lost finding other things, whether they were related or not. He didn’t understand the IT business either, and had only recently learned that IT meant Information Technology but thought that it was something he could learn easily, with a little bit of study, because his whole life was about information.

After all, he had learned enough to get into the alternative energy business in the early nineties, before it took off. Back then, Kip had still been in his early twenties, and his father still believed in him and helped convince some of his rich friends to invest in Kip’s pilot project for tidal energy. A Croatian (or possibly Serbian, Kip was never clear on that point) engineering student designed the key piece of the technology, an anchored ocean buoy with a little turbine in the middle that was chained by a power cable to other buoys. The drunken Yugoslav thought it up at a late night poker party in Corvallis, after he ended up in the hole for a couple of thousand, and agreed to complete the proposal and design and give it to Kip in lieu of payment.

About three months after that, Kip met an Australian sailplane pilot in a sauna at a private folk music luau on a goat farm near the mouth of the Columbia River. After deep discussions that went on all night by the fire, where they consumed more than just the pig, they established a company to sell the floating buoy idea, along with a plan for a modular and flexible geodesic solar panel. They even got a loan from a local public utility district for prototypes. But the solar panel prototype set fire to the attached goat barn (even though the sun wasn’t out at the time), and the buoy’s turbine made it so top heavy that it didn’t float upright. The money plug was pulled soon after that and the Australian went back to Perth.

After that Kip did not see his father very often, but inexplicably, he allowed Kip to tap into his trust fund occasionally, and that was what he lived on.

This is all by way of explanation, because in October of 2013, Kip found himself in a coffee shop in the Portland’s Pearl District at about 11:30 in the morning, tired and a bit hung over. He had taken over a table as far from the service counter as he could, against the wall, with his usual accouterments spread out, his stained and weathered leather book bag, with his soft, dark pencils and big erasers at the ready, his rag paper sketch pad, and notebook, and the book –The Idiot’s Guide to IT Start-Ups – which he had found not to be as simple as the title promised. Information Technology was definitely the business he wanted to be in, but he still used the computers in the public kiosk at the library because he didn’t have a laptop and his phone was not particularly smart; all he ever did with it was talk and text.

Kip had the passion and the brains to be successful at almost anything he put his mind to, but he could never finish anything he started, which was a problem. He read constantly and knew something about almost everything. But that aside, almost everyone who knew him agreed he was a wonderful person to have as a friend, that he was fun and generous, insightful into people, kind, and usually very polite and solicitous, especially to people who he could see were hurting in some way. He seemed to know everybody in Portland and maybe, because he was older than most of his friends and had a deep resounding voice, everyone he knew respected him and often came to him for advice. At least five or six people thought of him as their best friend and would do anything for him.

In any event, he was sitting at the table in the coffee shop, doodling on his sketch pad, when he gazed up at a bulletin board right next to him, and as he reached for some change in his pocket to buy another cup of coffee (and a Danish if there was enough change) he noticed a poster tacked up on the board. He recognized it as computer gibberish.

It was titled The Emerald Empire Java Collective, and it was some kind of happening at the Mission Theater in northwest Portland. The Mission Theater, a former union hall, built with solid red brick, was owned by an Oregon brew-pub chain, McMenamins. Various organizations often rented it for alternative type affairs, writers or activists would occasionally speak there, sometimes there would be music or dance performances, and they served great beer and bar food. Kip looked at the poster for a long time, and was not completely sure JAVAPALOOZA wasn’t some come-on for starting your own coffee shop.

Two nights later when he arrived at the Mission Theater, he quickly discovered his first instinct had been correct, it was some kind of Nerd Fest, and that Java was a computer language. The vibe in the room was good, and the people seemed pretty hip and there was free coffee too, so he stayed around and just let things happen, to see what was going on.

Kip sat in the corner in the darkened former union hall. A young man in dark-rimmed, slightly tinted glasses, wearing a heavily starched, plaid shirt, buttoned only at the top (like a Mexican gangbanger) and new jeans rolled up above black boots, was talking about Java programming, which made absolutely no sense to Kip. He noticed a girl who looked slightly bored, and who seemed just about ready to pack up and go. She had sly, hidden beauty and long dark hair, too dark to be her real color, he thought, braided into thick pigtails, with frayed, uneven ends. She had eyes like moons. She couldn’t have been over 25. Kip pulled out his Leica and without a thought in his head, shot her. The slight flash startled a few people, and by the time he put his camera back in its holster, she was up and over him, right in his face.

You can’t do that. You have to erase that right now, she said. She was taller than he had first thought and was wearing an oversized, ugly black sweater, a tight black skirt, black tights and Chuck Taylor high-top sneakers. Her eye makeup was probably intended to make her look ghoulish, but her raccoon eyes couldn’t completely hide the coquettish, slightly vulnerable, All-American girl behind it all.

I can’t delete it. This is a real camera, not some digital piece of…, he paused, looked at her, and broke out into a Hollywood smile. Are you going to make me rip out my film?

You can’t take a picture of me. End of discussion. I will make you sorry if you don’t get rid of it, and prove to me that it’s gone.

I can’t destroy the roll; I have too many shots I want to keep.

I don’t care, she said. They were both pretty calm and she continued to stare at him. Part of the calm was Kip’s smile and charisma. His eyes sparkled and did not contain a hint of threat or malice and she saw that. But she was insistent.

What do I call you? Little Orphan Elvira?

She smiled. Elvira. Good guess, I used to be Goth Girl. So call me GeeGee.

Gigi? asked Kip.

That is what I said, GG, she said. In fact that was what everyone called her. No one in Portland, as far as she knew, knew her real name. They continued to stare at one another.

A guy with thick, flaxy, bleached-out hair, complementing a too-perfect dark tan, approached them. He was wearing polished leather boots, narrow faded jeans with no belt, and a hand-stitched off-white linen shirt. He had the craggy face of an aging soap opera star. It’s the Code Queen! he exclaimed, drawing curious looks from those around her. He was Raleigh Highlooper, tech entrepreneur and the MC of the Javapalooza. He had just come down from introducing the Java gangbanger, who was now talking about multiple inheritance techniques, which Kip thought must have something to do with genetics. As Raleigh approached GG, he held out both of his hands as though pleading, as if to say, What, no hug? GG reluctantly nodded to him.

I saw you do that, man, he said, frowning, turning to Kip. That is very uncool. Very uncool. Come on, man, you know you can’t take pictures of people here without permission. This is a private affair and a safe place…for everyone! We have an unspoken code. He looked at GG for affirmation, but she remained impassive. You can’t be here if you don’t respect people’s privacy, especially women. Everyone knows what I am talking about! It’s creepy and invasive. You are not a programmer are you? Why are you here? GG, is he bothering you?

Hello Raleigh, GG said, glancing at him, then back to Kip. No, it’s OK.

Kip, who had worked as a choker setter on his father’s logging operation and could be a tough guy, if the occasion required it, smiled hard at Raleigh. Not threatening, just confident. I am putting together an IT company, he said. But you are right, I don’t program. I am looking for programmers.

Raleigh half rolled his eyes, looked at GG, and put his hands out again, but when she still didn’t respond, he shrugged as if to say it’s OK. He pulled an embossed business card out of the air with a nonchalant magician’s flair, and offered it to GG. I don’t remember if I ever gave you my card. It read, Raleigh Highlooper, AdVenture Capitalist.

She looked at it but didn’t take it. I think I have one from last time, she said.

I’ve seen you here at least twice, but we have never talked, he said to GG. Which was no accident because GG had avoided him. She had watched him try to recruit programmers with big promises of money and wild, hedonistic work environments, but no one she knew ever vouched for him.

We were just leaving, she said, looking at Kip, right? Raleigh made a pained, squinty face and turned away and then waved at a young man who called his name from across the room.

Hold on, Gee, said Kip, quickly assuming an air of comfortable familiarity. She realized, to her complete surprise, that she trusted Kip, even though he had taken her picture and she knew nothing about him. I’ve seen you around, what’s your story? Kip asked Raleigh in his deep authoritative radio voice.

Well…, Raleigh smiled as he looked knowingly at GG. What is that thing? he asked looking at Kip’s camera. Some kind of stone-aged Etch-a-Sketch?

Surprised you don’t remember it. It became popular just after the daguerreotype.

I remember a lot of things. Raleigh smiled, and looked at GG, I know you have asked around, looking for talent. If you’re serious, you should be thinking big. Raleigh shifted an eye toward Kip, who was unconsciously rubbing his knuckles.

GG grabbed Kip by the arm and started pulling gently.

I can help you, Raleigh persisted, relaxing his shoulders and taking a deep breath. He looked as if he were communing with an unseen muse, then turned back to GG. I don’t know what you have heard, but I am very plugged into venture cap money. I know Hariet Miller – personally. You know who she is right? Cascade Sportswear? She wants to invest locally. I am connected to several other wealthy investors, in addition to my own resources, which are substantial. So, I can pull together money. If you have an idea, and I think you do, so…let’s talk. Really, think about it. Ask around about me. I have made things happen. He looked dismissively at Kip. Here take my card, in case you lost it. He held it out again and this time she took it and nodded, noncommittally.

In fact, she had asked around about him, and she heard about two semi-solid gigs he promoted. One was a high-paying, long-term contract with unspecified overseas employers. The other, a web development project for what sounded like porno sites. But Raleigh did get around, and had been in the business a long time. His web bio said he used to do technical network consulting, and he had a long list of A-list companies he claimed to have worked at. GG knew she had to stop slamming doors in people’s faces if any of this was going to go anywhere.

Bring your friend, Raleigh said. Maybe we can use some old-time photos. Ciao.

Kip let GG lead him out of the hall.

Chapter 2

Jim wants to grab Wet snow from Mount Hood while explaining what a Union General has to say about Portland

The 737 flew across the eastern Oregon desert, from southeast to northwest, hitting the great Cascade mountain wall just above Bend, where it veered due north. The bright sun lit up the dry eastern side of the mountains, but dark clouds were piling up on the other side, in the rain forest of the Willamette Valley.

Jim could see it all from his window seat on the starboard side, first class. He hadn’t spoken to his neighbor, a young white boy with dreadlocks, who had been pounding down the complimentary vodka Collins the whole flight.

Going home? Jim asked, after ordering a Courvoisier cognac, which was his long-time pre-landing ritual.

No – first time in Portland. I can’t wait. You live there?

Well – I will. I used to and now I am going back.

Cool! My girlfriend goes to school there.

Where?

Lewis and Clark.

Nice school, said Jim. He had looked at the campus once in when he was in high school – but there would have been no way he could ever have afforded it back then.

Yeah – this trip is my birthday present to myself. Never been to Portland and never flown first class. I am going to surprise her – I am moving out here to be with her.

Oh – you haven’t told her?

No, man. We lived together in Boston. She graduated ahead of me and got into law school out here.

Jim smiled. So what are you going to do?

I’m going to hang out, man – do the Portland thing! Get some kind of gig, and take care of her, know what I am saying?

Jim smiled again. Check that out. They were coming up on Mount Hood. We’ll be heading into the Gorge.

Columbia Gorge, right?

Yep. They began the slow turn to the left, right next to the top of the mountain. It seemed close enough to reach out and grab some of the snow.

I can’t wait to get up there and do some boarding!

Snowpack is down again this year. Five years ago the whole upper half of the mountain in the winter would be covered with snow. Now – mostly just the top.

That’s messed up.

Yeah it is. One more time, he thought. One more trip and he would be done with traveling. Next week will be easy. Timed it just right, he thought. He resigned from GIP yesterday, effective in two weeks. He was quitting just as he finished his last project, so no one could be unhappy with him about leaving. He was going back to the power company, to a tame, low-stress job, home every night, and intended to enjoy the coming summer. Reconnect with family, friends…

In other words, Mom and Chubby. His mother was a shoo-in to be mayor of Corvallis later this year. She was the star