Gunfight at the JD Corral

© 2024 by the author using the pen name UpperNorthLeft.

This story was submitted for the April Fools Day Story Contest 2024, and features characters from a previous longer story of mine, "Cyrano de BOTgerac", which is published on this site. This new short story takes place about 7 months after the events in Cyrano. The current story stands on its own, but will make more sense if one reads the longer story first.

Any sexual activity is between adults 18 years of age or older.

Special thanks to Jalibar62 for casting his editorial eye on this story and for spotting numerous comma catastrophes and other grammatical faux pas. He also suggested numerous tasty ideas and turns of phrase that improved the story greatly. Any remaining errata and mental lapses are all mine.

* * *

Chapter 1

I had just started my third lap around Seattle's Green Lake Park when I was stopped by the FBI.

I was ready to call it quits anyway. Chris Newton -- my exercise partner -- runs like a gazelle, and was setting a fairly zippy pace around the lake. I'm about 8 inches taller than he is, so from afar we probably look like Bambi being chased by Godzilla. I was getting tuckered, so I headed for the nearest park bench and plopped down. Chris raised his eyebrows, so I pointed to my phone, which blared out Bad Boys.

"Hello?"

"FBI. Please hold for John Kaminsky."

"FBI," I mouthed to Chris.

A few seconds later I heard, "TL, how're you doing?"

"Hey, John! What's up?"

I'm Tommy Lee Smithers, TL for short. John and I shared a bunch of computer classes back in college. I took them as part of my mechanical engineering degree. He had been a criminology major, and was now a special agent in the FBI Cyber Division.

"I'm calling about that tractor jailbreaking case you turned us on to last year. Someone's at it again."

"Did Dick Lester get an early release from prison?"

"Nope, and he's not up for parole for another 10 years."

Dick and one of his pissant friends had run a poorly thought-out protection racket on farmers around my hometown of Coon Rapids, Iowa. He would remotely VIN-lock their tractors via the web, and then charge the farmers a fee to remove the lock. My mad computer skillz had spotted some of their digital boot tracks on the local library WiFi network. Rather than kick their asses myself, I turned all of my data over to John. He and his colleagues subsequently collected enough evidence to convict Dick and his dick friend for several federal counts of computer fraud.

"OK, why are you calling me? Why don't you just send a cyber swat team back to Coon Rapids and catch them in the act?"

John sighed. "We're a bit swamped at the moment with some higher-profile cases. Also, the geographic distribution of the hacks is different -- Lester operated over several counties. These hacks are just centered around two towns: Carroll and Coon Rapids. Finally, no one has asked any of the farmers for money -- so far."

"So, what are you thinking? A copycat? Somebody's idea of a prank?"

"Maybe. If it's a real criminal conspiracy, we want to know about it. However, my spidey sense thinks that something else is going on. If it's just a bunch of kids bricking tractors, I don't want to rain down federal hellfire on their heads. Besides being disproportionate as heck, it would be terrible optics for the Bureau. Sooooo.... I was wondering if your CART cartel could have a quiet look around for me."

CART (Cuatro Amigos Research Team) consists of me and Chris and both of our wives. Together we have expertise in medicine, mechanical engineering, and AI. We consult on a wide variety of technological projects. This one sounded like it would be fun, so I said, "You'll pay our standard daily consulting fee, plus per diem and travel?"

"Sure, but your wide, Wookie ass is flying coach! So, is your team available?"

"Just a moment -- hold please while I check my calendar."

Chris looked wide-eyed. "Did you just put the FBI on hold?"

I snickered. "Relax -- it's my old pal John Kaminsky. Wanna spend a week or two in Coon Rapids at FBI expense?"

"Er, um, sure. What's the deets?"

"Tractor hackers strike again!"

"Sweet! I'm in."

I switched my phone off hold. "OK. John. Our wives are off at a medical meeting, but Chris Newton and I are available."

"Thanks, TL! I'll send you an encrypted link you can use to download the data we have so far on the latest hacks."

* * *

By now you might be wondering how someone could hack a tractor. Most folks don't realize that high-end tractors and combines have web-aware, onboard computers that monitor all sorts of crop-related data. They also scan for whether unauthorized repairs have been made. If such repairs or detected, the manufacturer can send a lock command across the internet and shut that vehicle down remotely. In theory, this is supposed to protect the customer from inferior parts or outright theft. In practice, it has also been used to protect manufacturer profits.

It sucks to have your car break down at a critical moment. It sucks a hundred times worse when some asshole bricks your tractor or combine during the planting or harvest seasons.

* * *

The timing for a trip to Coon Rapids was perfect. Chris's wife Roxanne and my wife Allison are both MDs. They were about to fly off to Steamboat Springs for a week-long, continuing medical education course on wilderness medicine. Chris is an MD too, but specializes in medical uses of AI, and was less excited about the treatment of backcountry injuries. As a mechanical engineer, I wasn't too interested in that either. However, the four of us do a lot of traveling together -- sometimes in the backwaters of the world, where modern medical care is unavailable. Chris and I are happy enough to have the girls go off and learn how to patch us up when one of our adventures goes pear-shaped.

* * *

Later that evening, Allison and I packed our bags for our separate trips. I raised my eyebrows at some of the things she was packing.

"Ski pants AND a bikini? What kind of medical meeting is this?"

"The kind where you sit in the dark for lectures from 7 am to noon. Then you go out and ski your buns off for the rest of the day. Then, you soak your buns and bun-adjacent parts in the hot tub. The bikini is for that part."

"Your hot tub is going to be very popular among the other doctors. You and Roxanne had better pack some muskets and cutlasses to repel borders." I leered and twirled my imaginary handlebar mustache. "Seriously, it sounds like a great meeting -- but a bit more decadent than our trip to Coon Rapids."

"How long will you be in Iowa?"

"Not sure. Depends on how long it takes us to track down the hackers. Could be a few weeks."

"Hmm... Our meeting ends on Saturday, March 30. Why don't Roxanne and I join you guys there and spend the following week catching up with your mom and Roxanne's folks?"

"Love to have you. Speaking of having you, I'm done packing and am facing a week-long sweetie drought. Care to help me slake my thirst for your charms?"

She zipped her bag shut and moved it to the floor. Then, with a sultry smile, she slipped off her dress and oozed onto the bed with her usual, languid, feline grace. "Slake me, baby. Slake me all night long."

After gaping at her for a moment, I ripped off my own clothing and wallowed onto the bed with somewhat less grace. We slaked our brains out until we were sated, and then fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

The four of us caught the light link rail to SeaTac early the next morning. After clearing security, we snogged for a bit with our sweeties, and then slogged off to our respective departure gates.

Chris and I caught an early morning flight to Des Moines via Chicago, and then drove a rental car out to Coon Rapids. Chris had downloaded the FBI data and imported it into his geographic information system software. He also downloaded several GIS files containing the boundaries of every farm in Iowa. He then ran all of this through a series of geostatistical algorithms, which burped out choropleth maps of the area showing all of the affected tractors.

We drove to my family's farm just outside of Coon Rapids, where we were met by my mom, Marcy. After dropping our bags in the guest rooms, we headed for the kitchen, where she bustled around, fixing us a late lunch. "Wonderful to see you boys again. Tell me more about why you're here."

I summarized what we knew about the tractor problem, and she was intrigued. "Just how hard is it to hack a tractor?"

I sighed. "Depressingly easy. All you need is its VIN -- the vehicle identification number. It's stamped right on the engine block. With the right software off the web, you can send a VIN-lock signal that shuts the tractor down remotely."

She nodded. "I'd heard the hacks had started up again. Interesting that no one's contacted the farmers to hit them up for money."

I said, "Yeah, that would be the obvious thing for a crook to do."

I affected my best Godfather accent. "Nice little farm ya got here. Be a real shame if something bad were to happen to your tractor. Maybe you should buy some insurance to keep that from happening..."

Mom rolled her eyes, and then said, "Another thing that strikes me is the timing. Anyone trying to extort money from a farmer would do it at a critical time, like when they start planting corn and soybeans here in mid-April. The fact that they are hacking tractors now makes me wonder if they are purposely trying to avoid planting season. It might take a farmer a day or two to get the lock removed. At the moment, that would be inconvenient, but not disastrous."

I said, "I see what you're saying. If someone isn't doing this for a malicious reason, who does that leave? Who do you think is behind this?"

She paused for a moment, and then said, "I think somebody's doing it as a joke or a prank. And, who's usually responsible for most of the silly pranks around here? Teenagers trying to impress other teenagers. I remember some of the stuff you got into at that age."

Chris raised his eyebrows at me.

I shook my head. "Moo--om!"

"Shall I tell Chris about the burping incident during the spelling bee?"

Chris's eyes lit up, and he said, "Yes! Please, Marcy -- tell me more."

"Tommy Lee here decided it would be really cool to chug a couple of cokes during a break, and then to burp-spell some of his words in the last round of the spelling bee."

"What happened?"

"Everybody laughed their asses off -- even the judges. One or two of the other contestants allegedly peed in their pants. However, there was no specific rule against burping, and he spelled all of his words correctly. So, he stayed in the contest, but he had totally destroyed the concentration of the other contestants. He ended up winning first place." She paused for a beat. "I can never hear the word 'eructation' now without remembering him burp-bellowing 'E - R - U...'"

Chris laughed. "That's hilarious!" Then he got a glint in his eye and said, "Would you consider your mighty belch to be a wide urp?"

I countered with, "Actually, it was soda pressing. But that's just my gut reaction."

This was met with a groan from the cheap seats, and then Mom continued her assault. "Tommy Lee has probably never told you about Hay Henge."

"Moo--om!"

Chris arched his eyebrows. "No, somehow that never came up."

"Someone built a full-scale replica of Stonehenge out of hay bales one night -- right in front of the high school. Who do you suppose did that?"

Chris thought that was pretty funny, too.

Then Mom slipped in her coup-de-grace. "He also probably didn't tell you about what he did before the Coon Rapids -- Baxter football game."

Chris said, "I don't believe he did. Say, TL, does Allison know about all of this stuff?"

I just shook my head and let out a weak, "Moo--om!"

She was in full stride now. "We used to pride ourselves on our beautiful grass football field -- one of the last fields in the state with natural turf. So, the week before the big game, TL and his buddies snuck into the stadium and applied fertilizer to some very specific parts of the field. They did this for several nights, and the groundskeepers never noticed a thing. It was pretty subtle from the ground, but pretty obvious from the bleachers when they turned on the big lights at dusk. Facing each grandstand were sets of 10-yard-tall letters of slightly greener grass, spelling out 'FUCK BAXTER!'"

Chris almost fell off his chair laughing. When he could finally breathe again, he asked, "What happened next?"

"It was too late to cancel the game, so they played on. After that, the groundskeepers spent weeks before the next home game literally fertilizing the fuck out of the field. That prank was what finally convinced the town to switch to artificial turf for the next football season."

Chris and Mom were now giggling helplessly. I growled out, "Bite me!" but they just laughed harder.

When they finally subsided, I said, "OK, Mom. How do you find out all of this stuff?"

"Dear, I'm a librarian. We know everything. Also, kids tend to forget we're even there, and start talking about all kinds of things in the library. You wouldn't believe some of the teen intrigues I've overheard while quietly re-shelving books."

I sighed. "Point made, Mom. OK, we will definitely keep teenage boys in mind as potential suspects. If that's the case, how should we proceed?"

Mom said, "I have a few ideas. I'll let you know in a day or two."

Mom doesn't know much about technology, but she does know people. In fact, she probably knows every family, farmer, clergy member, and teacher in our county. She just retired from the Coon Rapids Public Library, but is still on their board of directors. For local farm country intrigues, I'd put money on her personal intel network over any federal three-letter agency. Hmm... Maybe I should hit John Kaminsky up for per diem for Mom too.

Chapter 2

Chris and I went to work after lunch. We spent the rest of that afternoon and the next two days interviewing farmers. Most hadn't noticed any unusual activity around their farms. However, a few mentioned that their dogs barked a lot during the night that their tractors were hacked. One dog had even brought back a piece of someone's pants in his mouth.

I connected my laptop to the onboard computer of each tractor, and downloaded their system logs. Chris fed all of this new data into his GIS software. The updated maps showed that the VIN-lock commands were not being issued from one consistent location, but rather from just a few IP addresses scattered around the county. There wasn't too much I could do with that information at that moment. However, If the FBI really needed to pursue this, they could get a court order and link those IP addresses to specific homes or businesses.

We got back to Mom's farm one night to find that she had prepared a rather large feast.

I said, "Wow, Mom. Is all of this food for just Chris and me?"

"Some of it, but I've also invited your cousin Lily over for dinner tonight."

Lily arrived about 6:30. Chris and I hadn't seen her since our double wedding in Coon Rapids last July, so we had fun catching up with her. Lily was now a senior, and was still obsessed with STEM. We had a nice chat about women in engineering, and she was fascinated to hear about Chris and Roxanne's work with medical AI.

After a great dinner and slabs of fresh apple pie, Mom asked Lily, "Who is your date for the prom, dear?"

"I don't have one yet."

"I thought you were dating that nice boy Jason from up in Carroll."

"Um, we date, but we haven't committed to prom yet."

Mom went on to ask about a number of Lily's closest friends. By coincidence, it turned out that several of them did not yet have prom dates either.

"Goodness, aren't you all waiting 'til the last minute? The big dance is just 6 weeks away. In my day most couples were all booked up by February."

"Things are different now. Sometimes we just go to dances as a group, and hang out with everyone."

"Really? That's a lot different from last year. All you and your friends could talk about for months was who was going to prom with whom."

Mom continued. "You didn't seem so blasé about 'everybody hanging out with everybody' when Jason took that other girl to the movies a few months ago."

"That was his cousin from Chicago!"

"Yes, but you didn't know that at the time. Your mom said you were pretty irked with him at first."

Lily sighed. "OK, OK! So I like Jason."

"And you're taking the chance that someone else will ask him to prom this year before you do? Hmm..."

She was squirming slightly under Mom's level gaze. Having spent my own time growing up in the crosshairs of Mom's interrogations, I did not envy Lily.

Mom said, "Even if you do lock in Jason for the prom, it's going to be hard to book a motel room at this late date."

Lily looked like she was about to shit. "Aunt Marcy!"

"That's what we did in my day, girl. Tommy Lee's late father and I spent a few fine hours after prom down in Guthrie at the Shady Glen Inn. I still smile every time I drive by that place."

OK, by now I was squirming as much as Lily. TMI, Mom! TMI!

"Don't look so shocked, dears."

She looked at both Lily and me when she said this. I should point out that Mom only looks like a mild-mannered librarian. This superficial veneer conceals an earthy, ribald, and occasionally profane core. She uncloaks these attributes from time to time, and it greatly unsettles her younger relatives.

She turned back to Lily. "This is a small town, dear. All of your parents were young once, and we had our own rites of passage. Now that you're all 18, it's your turn. We parents talk to each other, and have a pretty good idea who will be where and with whom after the prom. We're all thrilled for you."

Mom paused. "But, instead of already being paired off with someone special for that night, I'm surprised at how many of you still seem to be uncommitted."

Mom looked thoughtful. Then, with a gleam in her eye, she dropped her next bombshell. "Does this have anything to do with... 'The Tournament'?"

Lily's jaw dropped, and she turned as pale as the average Seattleite in midwinter.

Mom said, "Yes, I know about that, dear. Care to explain?"

It took a moment for Lily's speech center to reboot. "Does... does my mom know?"

"Not yet, dear. Whether I tell her really depends on what you tell me now."

Chris and I continued to STFU, and let Mom roll on with her inquisition. Geeze -- I thought I got away with a lot of shit when I was growing up. But I was now wondering -- did I really? Mom scares me sometimes.

Mom continued her gentle but relentless probing, and Lily's story gradually emerged. Her class had read Walter Scott's Ivanhoe in senior English class. A group of Lily's friends were really enamored with the idea of knights jousting for the honor of choosing the Queen of the Tournament. The kids thought that sounded a lot more romantic than their usual awkward maneuvers for getting prom dates.

The kids then spent a LOT of their after-school time trying to figure out how they could pull this off. Slowly but surely, romantic theory fell to hard practicalities. Although there are plenty of horses in Iowa, who knew how to joust? Besides, no one really wanted to get killed over a prom date.

Slaying a dragon sounded romantic, but Iowa doesn't have a lot of actual dragons these days. While the kids were lamenting this, someone hatched the idea of slaying a dragon surrogate that is present on every farm in Iowa: a tractor. Someone remembered the story of the tractor-hacking ring busted by the FBI last year. In the kids' minds, this sounded ideal. A few farmers would be inconvenienced for a few days, but otherwise, no harm done!