Mr Computer Cleaner Ch. 02

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Dio meets Carra's displeased parents.
15.9k words
4.65
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Part 2 of the 7 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 12/27/2006
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The setting is a small city in New Zealand. The hero has an odd name, the reason for which is explained as it his less than a smooth journey into adulthood. Dio falls into an usual occupation that connects him to an assortment of offbeat characters and soon it becomes apparent that Dio is enjoying a life richer in many ways than most people around him. It appears that when he's between girlfriends two married females from schooldays are available to handle his needs whenever it suits. Dio is between girlfriends when he meets a damsel in distress on the roadside, with a puncture to her mom's car. Dio helps out and the twenty year old Carra invites him to accompany her to a function. They forget to exchange addresses but smart Carra wakes up during the night and the image of his email address on the side of his ute comes to mind; so she emails Dio.

*

Dio Wellington, self-employed under the business name of Mr Computer Cleaner was delirious that the young woman from last night had miraculously come into possession of his address and has emailed him. Pleased at her initiative he looked at her name on the email: Carra with a C, not a K, and two R's; he must remember that. He wondered if she really thought that he, ten plus years older that she, was likeable. He thought she was – totally, and a very bright girl!

Dio left on his first call, loudly humming 'You Are So Beautiful' well knowing why that song had jumped into his mind.

Fiona Stokes, 3 Brightside Apartments, 13 Smith Road

It was a ground floor apartment so Dio knocked on the door that opened to a small patio.

"Enter the passage through the foyer, you fool," called a woman. "And stand in front of the video camera so I get a clear view of you before letting you in."

Oh, the charming Miss or Mrs Stokes, waking up with a sore head after hitting the gin bottle last night. Well, grumpy Miss/Mrs Stokes can Dr Helpdesk remove your spleen while removing filth from your computer, you temperamental lady.

Walking to the foyer Dio wondered why all of his calls were from people of European origins. Where were the Indians, Turks, Pacific Islanders, Laplanders, Maoris and Egyptians with filth-on-my-computer problems? Perhaps it was a culturally sensitive issue, with Indians requiring an Indian Helpdesk man, and Laplanders requiring a Helpdesk man who made house calls by sled and Islanders would only want a tribally-acceptable technician to call. Either that or else they were not into filth, but wasn't filth endemic in the culture of some people of Indian, Turkish, English or Egyptian origin?

Perhaps the answer was that pretty pornographic images were just that – pretty images, and appealed to some minorities of every race.

Wow, he thought; what inspirational thinking, standing in front of the high-mounted camera, waiting to be beamed up.

"Who are you?"

"Dio from Helpdesk; you called me."

"I did. Dio's a funny name."

"My mom would have bopped you one for saying that."

"Cheeky bugger, aren't you; confirms you are who you say you are; rapists have no humor."

"I wouldn't guarantee that's a correct assumption."

"Do you want to come in or not?"

"Please yourself."

"My, you really are a cheeky bugger. As Clint Eastwood says, 'Make my day'."

A buzzer sounded and the door opened.

"I'm up here in the lounge which is my bedroom."

She wasn't really old, about forty-five but there was an empty gin bottle beside her and she told him to call her Fiona.

"Been in a bit of trouble?" he asked kindly.

"Yeah, had a hip done last year and the other a while ago. The first replacement went brilliantly but this one's turned to shit, and now I have back problems as well, so currently I spend most of the day in bed and go to the bathroom on this chariot," she said, patting a very basic looking wheelchair beside her bed.

"That's bad luck."

"Perhaps it is, but I gave my body a pounding when I was young and now am paying for it." She waved her hand at one of the walls.

Dio looked at the multitude of photographs. This woman appeared to have done everything – a child ballerina, a gymnast as a teenager, a hurdler as a young woman and then she diversified into mountaineering, riding with the hunt and show jumping. Ribbons were pinned to the wall and the glass cabinet below was filled with cups and silver mugs and trays.

"I went hell-for-leather at everything, and tried to do my very best," she said. "In the process I even wore out two husbands, making the mistake each time of marrying older men as they were the ones with the money. Nowadays, of course, many young women are really wealthy from their own endeavors. Anyway, you are not here to learn my life story."

"Bed is not a choice place for someone with your background," said Dio, wanting to display sympathy.

"Listen, if you're going to feel sorry for me, piss off now and take your money."

"What's the problem on your computer Fiona?"

"Well, this may be a bit embarrassing for you but not me. My second husband was French, in love with his own body. So we used to photograph and film his very good physique for a man of his age, and then the cameras later turned on me and eventually we got into recording ourselves having sex together; you know, like big kids."

Dio didn't understand that last comment except that she may have meant they indulged in immature behavior.

"Many people say if you've got it, flaunt it," he said helpfully.

"Yeah, I thought so too. But now I want all of this stuff off the big box because I want to trade it in for a laptop. I was slightly famous, you know as I competed at two Commonwealth Games so imagine what the Sunday papers would do if some of these images got into their hands! My parents are still alive – mum was high up in church work, so imagine her embarrassment!"

"Right, I suggest we put everything you want onto CDs and then I totally clean your computer including all hard drives."

"Sounds good to me."

Dio placed his clean-up disk into the CD drive and selecting a number of tools to load. "I'm ready; tell me where to find the so-called filth. I'd like to have a look at some of the still images or if you wish I can totally delete them sight unseen."

"Why would you want to look? I am not very developed in the breasts department."

"I suspect that in your younger days you had a beautiful body, and what you said about your late husband he must have been in rather good shape if he admired himself."

"Well, better than average I do declare, but self-adoration is a bit like a disease, you know – a mental disease."

"I know, but what's your verdict?"

"Take a gander, but don't be too long about it. And don't salivate down your chin – I'll be watching you."

"An aficionado like me would not do such a thing," replied Dio sharply.

"Oh my, what a big word. Well, are you going to look? Look in 'Summer Striptease' for some of the better ones of me and in 'Kitchen Table' which shows Maurice and me really getting into it. On those occasions we had a camera on a tripod and I would trip the shutters with a little radio device in my hand. Sometimes of course I would get so carried away that I would forget to press the button."

Dio thought they were beautiful pictures of her but unrestrained sex on the kitchen table was a little too much over the top for his taste. It was definitely pornographic.

"What do you think?"

"Ah, kitchen sex is a bit too beyond my tastes, but those photographs of you – they're wonderful. A collector would pay heaps for a set of those, big money if the set was guaranteed exclusive."

"Not interested. I don't want some old rich creep playing with himself while flicking through photographs of me."

"I think you should keep some of these – in the future you may wish to remember how it was," Dio urged. "I really do recommend that you do this. I can save them as encrypted files on to CD that can only be opened by the person or persons possessing the password."

"Very well, but what if I forget the password?"

"What was your private nickname for your second husband?"

"Oh my God, how embarrassing – Big Willie."

"Are you likely to forget that nickname?"

"Not until my memory totally collapses."

"Good, then that will be the password. If you wish to assure yourself of total privacy, never write that nickname down. Just rely on your memory; some memories are indelible."

One hour and forty-four minutes after his arrival, Dio had everything saved on CD and then wiped the disks and reinstalled the operating system and reloaded her other software and personal files. He made them coffee, relieved to hear that in a fortnight Fiona would have her right hip replacement re-done.

As he was leaving he promised he would call within a few weeks to see how she was getting on. He grinned, saying that his password when standing at the door would be 'Kitchen Table'.

"Be off, you young sex-o," admonished Fiona, laughing.

Bambi Brazil, caravan, back of house 39 Hay Paddock Street

Dio got it right for a change, thinking the obvious that the woman at this address with a name like Bambi Brazil was likely to be a stripper, a big breasted stripper. She was.

"Hi, I'm Bambi," she said, and just like in the movies was dressed in a thin housecoat and extended a hand languidly in greeting. The hand was cool to hold.

"Come in," she invited.

Dio promised himself to keep on his best behavior; she was gorgeous.

"What's the problem?"

She looked at Dio. "My worst problem is my parents, especially dad. When he and his hoon friends came to the club all liquored up he went berserk when he saw me doing my dance in a gold cage. 'Get dressed and get yourself home', he shouted at me. I watched, professionally unmoved, as two of our security guys bundled him out of the door. It wasn't a pretty sight because he began swinging punches so they man-handled him."

Dio guessed the rest and she nodded when he said: "You arrived home and all of your things were dumped on the porch and there was a note saying sleep in the caravan until you repent?"

"That's about it; although I'm not sure that repent is in dad's vocabulary. I think his note said until I returned to being a good girl."

"So, you are an orphan?"

"Not quite, mom cooks enough dinner for three people and while he's washing his hands she sneaks mine across to me. I don't go off to work until nine. I had told him that I worked night shift in a factory tinning cat food; I told him that because we don't have a cat so he would not be surprised that I wasn't bringing home free samples."

"Do you bring home any free samples from your present job?"

Bambi chuckled.

"You're a naughty boy, Mr Helpdesk. Dad only suspects I am getting drunk on liquor, high on drugs and sated with sex, but until recently nothing was further from the truth – the sex thing, I mean. I don't drink and I certainly don't do drugs. One night recently I did bring a sample home from work – Roland a male stripper who performs as the Laughing Policeman in our comedy slot. He helped himself and I fell for him; that's where we're at. He's looking for a larger flat and I'll move in with him."

"Well," Dio said, looking at his watch. "Let's move on, shall we?"

Bambi handed him the money, probably some of the hard-won money mused Dio, thrown into her cage by a couple of workers from the town's car assembly plant, leaving the kids to go without new shoes for yet another week.

"It's from my wages, not money thrown into the pit," she explained, as if reading his mind. "Constable Plod – that's his stage name like mine is Bambi – wants me to bring my computer with me because he doesn't have one. I have stuff on it I don't want him to see."

"Porn?"

"Good heavens no; pictures of me as a baby, pictures of me on the beach in the nude every summer from the age of two until about eleven – you know the kind of stuff; embarrassing family photos. Somewhere there are photos of dad kissing me – I don't want him seeing that because Constable Plod hates dad's guts for tossing me out of my home."

"I see – where are these pictures?"

"The ones I have found are in a file on d:drive called 'Annie's Lot' – you see my real name is Annie. So I want you to find all the others and put them in that file and then I wonder if you could save them on to a CD. My computer doesn't have a CD drive as you can see, but Constable Plod is going to buy one as he wants to play his mate's games and they have to be downloaded from CDs."

Dio zapped through his routine while Bambi collected her undies from the clothesline. When she returned she looked at the screen of the computer monitor and went scarlet.

"Oh my God, I though I had deleted all of those."

"You did, but my software found them in the recycle bin; naughty girl, you forgot to delete them from there."

"They're very rude, aren't they?"

"What, these? They are very explicit, very educational and very well done. They are good enough quality to be part of the core high school curriculum."

"These?"

"Yes."

"But parents would have a fit!"

"Yes, and that's the problem. The idea that teenagers should be aware of the '101 Ways to Copulate' is information parents wish to withhold from their children. It's a relic of mentality that has survived the times when most people believe the earth was flat. Tell me, Bambi, why did you download '101 Ways to Copulate'?"

"Well, as I grew older I was coming under more and more pressure to engage in sexual activity and I just wanted to make sure I was well educated about it."

The admission did not surprise Dio. "Did you ask your mother for advice?"

"Yes, she said I should lie down on the floor, legs apart, make sure my partner was wearing a condom, and then hug him as he lay down on me, and if I didn't enjoy what was happening then I should pretend I was and groan a bit and moan a lot."

"And that's all?"

"Yes."

"But why the floor?"

"I didn't ask."

"Now, do you see why I believe this quality production '101 Ways to Copulate' should be compulsory study for senior students at school."

"Yes I do, most definitely. Look, why don't you leave it on the computer. I am sure Constable Plod thinks there are only three ways."

She thought that was a great idea.

Bambi walked Dio out to his vehicle.

"Neat ute. You're a swell guy; nice to meet a bloke without all of the hang-ups like my father and his generation."

They shook hands, and Dio gave a couple of heavy thumps on the gas pedal before selecting second gear and flooring it, leaving Bambi happily waving to him shrouded in a blue haze from smoking tires.

Watching her disappear from view in his rear vision mirror, Dio sighed, and said aloud, "Her stupid father, isolating himself from a lovely young woman whose only defect is having a slightly kinky slant on life. Be kind to her, Constable Plod."

Sybil Rowe, 42 Cowslip Terrace

This call was to one of those expensive houses on the banks of the river that flowed beside the nor-eastern end of the town, flooding lower-lying properties on the flats when the '100-year' floods came every twenty-five years or so. The garage doors were open and Dio saw one space was empty – hubby was at work, he thought – next to that space were a blue Italian sports car and then a grunt looking ski boat.

"We're in the money, we're in the money," he said to himself softly, not at all jealous that these folk were well heeled.

It was the second thin housecoat of the day to be worn to the door. "I'm sorry," said the dyed-blonde forty-something. "You're caught me almost undressed."

"No problem ma'am, I take my clients as I find them."

"Ooh, you sound as if you are rather naughty," she said, taking a good look at Dio. "Why don't by come in and plant your butt on a kitchen stool and I'll make you a nice cup of coffee."

Dio did what he was told. Then something clicked. "Say, did you turn into High Street yesterday ignoring the compulsory stop and then boot your car towards the city centre?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I did get a ticket for speeding yesterday but the cop accepted my explanation that I stopped at the corner."

"Like hell you did."

"I know, but some men like it when women lie to them while looking so innocent. I had that guy really licking his lips."

"You were lucky."

"No I wasn't. He then turned officious and issued a speeding ticket. He said he couldn't let me off that because his video recorded my speed at forty-eight miles an hour. He said he would have clocked me higher but some dumb bastard in a red Holden pick-up got in the way. Was that a red ute I saw you come up in?" she asked, fluttering her eyes at Dio slightly.

"Er, yes, I suppose so."

"Don't you know what you drive?"

Dio flushed and then thought of something. "Of course, it's just that some women like men being a bit evasive at times."

"Ooh, I'm going to really like you," she said, moving up against him. "I'll sit right here next to you; it's a bit chilly, isn't it?"

She's moving in for the kill like an aging lioness, thought Dio. "Look, I'm flat stick. Let me take my coffee into the computer."

She didn't object and led him into the study where the computer with its wall-mounted 24 in LCD screen was located. The problem, said she, was that it was loaded with hundreds of photos of women with big breasts. After dinner her husband would go into the study and stay there all evening with the door close doing what he called research. By the time he came to bed she would be asleep and more often than not he was up and dressed in the morning before she awoke.

"Here's your money, now get rid of them!"

But there was a problem. "Whose computer is this?"

"My husband's."

"Sorry," said Dio, attempting to hand the money back. "It would be unethical and perhaps legally messy for me to remove items from your husband's computer without his authority."

Sybil looked as if she was going to throw a tantrum.

"Wait!" cried Dio anxiously. "I can instruct you and you can do the deletions. He won't sue his wife and even if he did no judge is going to convict a wife who was defending her territory by exterminating images of her competitors."

"But I don't know anything about computers except how to look at them," she said.

"I shall teach you – but look, please go and put some clothes on. You have been making me feel a little uncomfortable."

"Yes, of course. What would you like me to wear?"

"Jeans, a heavy sweater and ski gloves will be dandy," Dio joked. Sybil replied that jeans and the sweater were fine, but she didn't have ski gloves; could she wear gardening gloves instead? They laughed.

They worked as a team with Sybil wiping all the graphics that she wanted deleted. "He's going to rant and rave after dinner tonight when he comes in here to perv," she said nervously.

"If I were you, as soon as dinner is finished I'd go out for a drive and not come back for an hour. By then your husband sanity may have returned."

Jilli Smith, Backend Road

Dio looked up his client list and called Jilli's number. "You didn't give me the number of your property," Dio said, after introducing himself.

"You won't need it," she said. "Nobody else has built here yet. They don't like the name of the street but the developer is refusing to change the name, saying it commemorates the back boundary of the former farm – you know the back end of the farm? He believes retired farmers will buy the sections."

"I'll be with you in a few minutes," Dio said, and the woman sounded excited, replying "That's wonderful."

Dio couldn't believe it when seeing her standing at the door. His third client of the morning and she, too, was wearing a thin housecoat. What was this – National Housecoat Day? He noted there were two cars in the garage.