Random Acts

by Franklin Horton

  Mohammed had several hundred social media accounts on dozens of the major sites. He used random names and random pictures stolen from other profiles. Sometimes he sent friend requests to hundreds of people a day knowing some would accept and allow him to mine their personal information. In fact, it was Mohammed who sent Victor that encouraging message under the name of SouthernRock4Ever. It was all part of the plan. Part of cultivating relationships. Part of the manipulation.

  Mohammed took off his headphones and dropped them on his desk.

  "Khebat!"

  Khebat was working in his own bedroom with headphones on. It took a moment for Mohammed to get his attention.

  "What is it?" Khebat said.

  "I want you to watch this video. This might be our person."

  Khebat watched the video in silence as Victor sought ideas from his nonexistent fans.

  "Show me some of his other work," Khebat said.

  Mohammed brought up some of Victor's other videos. Khebat simply shook his head. Even though he and Mohammed sometimes didn't understand American humor due to the cultural gap between their countries, it was clear these videos would not be funny in any culture. They were embarrassingly inane. Each joke, each prank, fell flat.

  "He's asking for ideas," Mohammed pointed out. "He's desperate for them, in fact. I’ve long suspected he was weak of character and desperately seeking attention. I’ve been growing a relationship with him and establishing familiarity under several accounts but this is where I need to put my focus. The video confirms it. He may be perfect."

  “Throw an idea at him,” Khebat said. “See what happens. What do you have to lose?”

  Mohammed had a flash of Machmud’s face as the burning oil was poured into his ear. He was well aware of what they had to lose and how painfully they might lose it.

  “Any suggestions?”

  “What about that flash mob thing you’ve been talking about?” Khebat suggested.

  “Perfect.”

  “And one more thing,” Khebat said.

  “What is it?”

  “I think you should go at him as a woman,” Khebat said. “He probably has very little experience with women. It will disarm him and lower his suspicions.”

  Mohammed nodded. Khebat was correct, and he knew just the profile to use.

  15

  After a couple of hours, the other employee showed up for work and Victor went to lunch. He went to a fast food place that had Wi-Fi and spent most the time on his phone. When he saw he had another private message, his first assumption was that it was SouthernRock4Ever again. He was wrong. When he opened the messaging tab he found the message was from someone new, a user named CamaroChick19.

  With so many negative comments on his video channel, Victor was hesitant to open the message. When he finally did, he was pleased to find it was similar in tone to SouthernRock4Ever’s message. It was almost too good to be true, to find another viewer who actually thought he was funny and enjoyed his videos.

  And it was a girl.

  “Dude, your shit is hilarious. I know some guys who game with you and they told me about your videos. Have you ever thought about organizing a flash mob and having it do something totally unexpected? People love flash mob videos, especially if they do something totally crazy. If you need ideas, I’m always up for chat.”

  Victor’s mind raced. A girl? A flash mob? Up for a chat?

  He sat frozen, a French fry dangling from his mouth like a Marlboro. He was intrigued by the idea of a flash mob. He knew what they were but had never paid any attention to them. They seemed like something popular people did and that wasn’t him. He was more of a background kind of guy or, as his character DeathMerchant6o6o6 preferred to say, he was a denizen of the shadows.

  When he got back to work, Victor let the other employee handle most of the regular tasks. He sat at the counter and watched videos on his phone, oblivious to the withering looks he received. The other clerk was pissed at Victor for not carrying his weight but Victor didn’t expect he’d say anything. The guy wasn’t very confrontational.

  Watching videos on social media was like falling down a wormhole. One video led to another, then another, and another. Next thing you knew, you’d spent hours watching videos and were a long way from where you started. The flash mob videos led to videos of other types of social and gang activity.

  He eventually landed on something called the knockout game. He was unfamiliar with it but the video had forty-two million views. If the owner of that channel had monetized the video, he was making bank every month just from people like Victor clicking on his video. Easy money. That was Victor’s idea of a future.

  He clicked on the video and it started with shaky camera footage of someone walking around a public street randomly filming people. In the distance was a downtown movie theater in an unidentified city. Patrons were lined up down the street, waiting to buy their tickets and get in. Then a yell went up.

  Victor couldn't understand what was said but it appeared to be the trigger for whatever type of flash mob activity was taking place. Except in this case it wasn't singing, dancing, or a wedding proposal. In this video, what was visible in the video clip, around a dozen young men randomly began punching the stranger closest to them, attempting to knock them out with a single punch.

  Although it was not fair fighting, that was not the goal. People were blindsided. Men, women, and the elderly were attacked with equal fervor. The only objective was dropping bodies on the ground by delivering a punch. Hopefully, with the victim knocked out cold.

  There was chaos. People were screaming and crying. Men were trying to defend their families but it was happening so quickly no one knew who to fight back against. The cameraman obviously knew this attack was going to happen, but was not actively participating. His laughter and catcalls indicated he was enjoying what was going on without throwing a single punch. Was he the organizer? Was he just someone who followed flash mob hashtags and knew this was going down?

  Victor found it very intriguing that so many people had viewed the video. If he could make something similar, he could get a place of his own and not have to worry about paying rent to his mom. He could quit his job and spend all day making cool videos to earn even more money. Fuck having a job.

  The store phone began ringing on the counter beside Victor. He let it ring several times before he answered it. When he did, it was with the tone of someone both bored and interrupted from doing something preferable to answering the phone. Unfortunately, it was the store owner.

  "Took you long enough to answer the damn phone," his boss spouted.

  "I-I'm s-sorry," Victor stammered. “I was busy."

  "Bullshit!"

  "No, really, we've been slammed all day."

  "You dumb ass, are you forgetting I can log into your cameras any time? You been sitting on your can for two or three hours now. You haven't done shit all day."

  Victor shoved his phone in his pocket and stood up. He hated confrontation. It reminded him of his mother and the things she did when she was displeased with him. It pushed him to dark places and he lost control.

  "I’ll get to work right now, sir. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

  "You're damn right it won't happen again. You're fired. Get out of my store. I’ll mail you your last check minus the last three hours. I’m not paying you for playing on your fucking phone."

  "But—"

  The owner hung up. Victor was left standing there listening to a dead line. He continued to hold the phone and simmer. His mother would be furious. Even though he had the money to pay this month’s rent, she made it clear she would not allow him to live there if he did not have a job. She, in her own colorful and profane way, made it clear she would not subsidize “an underemployed navel-gazing layabout.”

  A wave of anger settled over him. Victor slammed the phone into the cradle with all his might. When one slam didn’t satisfy him, he slammed it several more times, trying his best to shatter it. It caught the attent
ion of the other employee working across the store, and the guy was staring at him with genuine fear.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  It was a stupid question.

  Victor stalked toward the front door. “You’re on your own. I fucking quit.”

  Victor stormed into the house and slammed the back door behind him. He immediately regretted it, hoping the noise didn’t invite his mother’s wrath. Too late. She was sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of Sanka.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “This ain’t a damn pool hall. You don’t come in my house raising hell like that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Victor said, staring at the floor. He didn’t want to look his mother in the eye. He didn’t want her to see he’d been crying, though the tears were of anger and frustration.

  “Don’t let it happen again,” she mumbled. “You’ll be sleeping at the train yard with the rest of the hobos and no fucking place to plug in your little computer toys.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  "Did you pick up my rent money?" Clara demanded.

  He had, in fact, remembered the rent money. He wouldn’t have dared come home without it. He fished it from his pocket and slapped it on the table in front of her. "Here you go."

  “What's with the attitude? Who peed in your cornflakes?"

  Victor was already gone, without even answering her. He went into the basement and closed the door behind him, clomping down the steps to his domain. He could hear his mother mumbling behind him but he did not respond. He was so angry he was afraid to remain in her presence, afraid the building rage would escape like a rodeo bull charging out the chute.

  He had never liked his boss. He was just one more person putting the screws to Victor. One more person keeping him from being whom and what he wanted to be. He would get even with that son of a bitch if it was the last thing he did. He ought to go to his house right now and kick his ass. Drag him out of the house and stomp him to death in front of his family. What if the guy fought back though?

  Victor had never been in a fight except in his games. He also didn’t want to get in any kind of trouble either because going to jail might limit his access to the internet. Was there some other way to get it done? Some way to make his boss suffer without getting in trouble?

  He wished he knew a hitman he could pay. Of course he didn’t have the money for anything like that anyway. Whatever he did, it would have to be cheap. Actually, it would have to be free in order for him to afford it. Then a thought stopped him in his tracks. He recalled the videos he had watched today, the very videos that resulted in his firing.

  The knockout game.

  Victor dropped heavily on his bed and got out his phone. It was nearly dead so he plugged it into the charger and opened one of his social media accounts. He wanted to read CamaroChick19’s message again. Before he could stop himself, he shot a message off to her.

  “Have you heard of the knockout game?”

  Victor dropped the phone beside him and sighed heavily, trying to push some of the tension out of his body. He wished he smoked, drank, or had some other vice that would relieve his anxiety. He didn't. Everything he enjoyed doing was online and didn't blow off steam the way he felt he needed to at that moment.

  He got up and paced the room. He grabbed an energy drink from his dorm-sized fridge but decided he was wound up enough and put it back. He heard a ding from his phone and picked it up.

  CamaroChick19 had already responded. “Just checked out the knockout game. That's some serious shit.”

  Victor thought about it for all of thirty seconds. “Hell fucking yeah it is.” He hit send.

  The reply was almost immediate.

  "Don’t do anything crazy. You have to be very careful. You don't want to do something like that from your own phone and your own social media accounts. If there is some kind of criminal investigation they might be able to track it back to you."

  Victor thought about that. His first reaction was surprise that this girl was so adamant he not rush into anything, which was uncharacteristic of someone who was just a social media friend. Usually internet strangers were always up for encouraging people to do stupid things so they could be entertained by the results. Why should they care if a total stranger got into trouble or not? He wondered why she cared.

  "What do I need to do?" he asked. “How could I set it up safely?”

  Again, there was an immediate reply. "I can help you with that.”

  "I'm not sure how to organize a flash mob, especially a knockout game. How do you even do that?"

  "I can help you with that too. It’s just a matter of getting the right hashtags posted in the right places. There are people that follow and share those things. If the activity takes place close to them they go. It's as simple as that."

  Obviously CamaroChick19 knew more about flash mobs than Victor did. He should listen. "I would appreciate the help," he replied.

  "No biggie," CamaroChick19 replied. “Just don’t do anything until you hear back from me, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “No, I’m serious,” CamaroChick19 replied. “You promise?”

  Victor thought that was funny but agreed. It made him smile. There was something intimate about being asked to make a promise to this girl he didn’t know. It made him feel obligated to wait for her response, even though he didn’t know her at all. As he thought about it, he couldn’t recall that he had ever made a promise to a woman other than his mother in his entire life. This was new territory.

  "Give me a couple hours," CamaroChick19 said. “I can help you set this up. It won't ever be traceable back to you."

  “Make sure you get back with me,” Victor said. “I don’t want to wait too long.”

  “What’s your hurry? You want your video to be good, don’t you? It may take some time to plan it well.”

  “This isn’t about making a good video. This is about revenge.”

  “?!?!?!?!?!?!” CamaroChick19 replied.

  "I got fired today. My boss is a little bitch. I want to hand his ass to him and I want it on video.”

  "Dude, that is a fucking awful idea,” came the reply. “If you got fired, you’re the first person they’ll suspect.”

  “Then help me find a way that they can’t pin it on me.”

  “Dude, seriously. Do not make a move until we talk again.”

  Victor hesitated before responding. “Okay.”

  He laid back on his pillow. He hoped CamaroChick19 came through for him. It sounded like she was more interested in talking him out of it. That was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to strike while he was angry because the revenge would be most satisfying then. Hurting his boss was the only thing that would release the anger building inside him. If he didn’t find a way to release it, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

  He knew it wouldn’t be good.

  16

  Mohammed pushed himself away from his desk in frustration. He picked up a half-empty water bottle from the desk and hurled it across the room where it splattered against the wall.

  "Shit!" he bellowed.

  Khebat came running. "What is it, my brother?"

  "I have one prospect—one fucking prospect—now he's trying to go all Rambo on me. He's pissed off because he lost his job and wants to pull some crazy stunt to get even with his boss."

  "Why is that our problem?" Khebat asked.

  "It's a problem because it could get him locked up. If he's in jail or on the cops’ radar it will be a lot harder for him to do the things we need him to do. He needs to keep his nose clean. He needs to remain an unknown entity."

  Khebat shrugged. "When one works with the fragile and unstable, one should not be surprised when they crumble, nor that we cannot control the direction in which they fall."

  Mohammed frowned and gave his roommate a bitter look. "Your philosophical attitude is much appreciated at this moment. I'm sure it will be of comfort when the boiling
oil is poured in my anus. When I am fried from the inside out. I can only hope you find them as comforting when they come for you with the funnel and the oil."

  At the very mention of boiling oil Khebat’s expression changed. The full realization of what they were on the cusp of losing was dawning on him.

  Mohammed looked at his roommate hopefully. "Do you have any prospects? Anyone that might be actionable?"

  Khebat shook his head. "I have about forty guys who think I'm a Russian woman and who want to see pictures of me naked. Three want to marry me sight unseen. I have no one as far along as your Death Merchant. No one I could say I’ve developed a personal, familiar relationship with."

  "Then I have to make this work. I have to talk him off the ledge."

  A sudden banging on the front door got their attention. Rarely did anyone come to the door. The men exchanged a brief fearful glance and made their way into the living room. They lived in constant fear of the police closing in on them, but understood the police would not knock. They would kick down the door and black-clad soldiers would rush in with weapons.

  "Who is it?" Khebat asked.

  Mohammed went uncertainly to the door and peered through the peephole. The heavily muscled man in workman's clothes on the other side of the door did nothing to ease his panic. It could only mean one thing. He unlocked the door and swung it open.

  "Come in."

  The construction worker did as he was asked but said nothing. From his jacket pocket he retrieved a disposable cell phone. He punched in a number then hit send. He raised the phone to his ear and listened. When a voice on the other end answered the man handed the phone to Mohammed.

  Mohammed reluctantly raised the phone to his own ear. "Yes?"

  "What is a flash mob?" the voice asked.

  Miran.

  Mohammed’s bowels loosened at the familiar voice. The man from the warehouse. The man who wielded the boiling oil. Mohammed was instantly aware that, as they suspected, their activity was being closely monitored. Perhaps now even more closely after Machmud's failures.