"Now for the piece de resistance" said Cotton as he led Dee Dee to the basement of his home. "You ever hear of the 'Santa Ana Video Security Enhancement Program' Mr. Dee?"
"Can't say that I've ever" responded the producer.
"Well feast your eyes on this."
Cotton drew back two solid oak doors and revealed his new inner sanctum; twenty or so seventy-five inch Samsung 4K ultra high definition curved panel smart television screens acting as computer monitors, each receiving and displaying different video feeds from all over the city of Santa Ana.
"What the hell..." exhaled Dee Dee.
"Originally the program allowed police to install about sixty cameras throughout Santa Ana so the Sheriff's department could monitor city street activity around-the-clock to capture video evidence to prosecute criminal suspects."
Cotton continued "But it's grown since 2015. A lot. Now the city has over 500 of their own video cameras installed all over the city PLUS they've networked in most of the independently operated commercial surveillance cameras. You know, stores, bars, office buildings and parking garages."
"No shit" said Dee Dee, still transfixed by the flashing monitors rotating through video feeds mated with the quiet hum of an air-conditioned server farm partially muted behind a glass partitioned wall.
"But I've done 'em one better" he smiled. "I've incorporated their own surveillance resources as well; cameras they have inside their own buildings. I can even get feeds from their dash and bodycams. I can watch the Watchers."
"No shit" said Dee Dee as the full impact of what Cotton was relaying washed over him.
"Plus I've tapped into every smart device inside the city. Ever hear of the Internet of Things? I can turn the camera on in phones and computers. If you've got smart appliances I can monitor and control them too. Hell, I can tap into your utility smart meter on your home and tell you how much electricity you're using; and even modify the data. Hang on."
Cotton pulled out a seat and sat down at a computer.
"Your recording studio is at 1524 East 103rd right?"
Dee Dee shook his head, amazed that the man he had taken as a hillbilly had the recall and intelligence of a Mensa member.
Cotton pointed to a screen.
"Watch".
In mere moments details of his recording studio displayed on screen. Photos. Security video feeds. Operating details. Individual office temperatures. Employee and visitor logs from that day.
"Now let's take a look at your electric usage."
"Damn Dee Dee. You burn through this stuff, don't you?"
Despite his attempts at modernization, a recording studio was pretty much an electricity black hole. Probably the biggest line item on his balance sheet beyond salaries.
"Let me fix that for you. I can modify your meter to record what, should we say half of what you're actually using? Then I'll go in and change the utility records for the past few years, so they'll be issuing you a refund."
"You can do that?" asked the record magnate.
"Hell yeah."
"Well, don't. The fact that you can even do that scares the hell out of me. I'm an honest man Cotton."
"I was hoping you'd say that Mr. Dee. I woulda been disappointed in you if you'd let me make the change."
"Then why.." he started.
"I need to know who I can trust" replied Cotton.
Dee Dee Shams relaxed. He hadn't realized how tense he had been, overwhelmed by the entire environment and possibilities before him.
"I'm gonna tell you what those, in the words of Sue Ellen, 'goddamn pepperbellies' asked me to do. And then I'm gonna tell you what Sue Ellen and I are gonna do. And I want your opinion. Cause I need someone honest to talk to and validate my intentions should this thing go south."
Just then, on the monitor to the right of the one on which he had been focused, a video of two sweaty, naked, well-toned women in the throws of passion with each other filled the seventy-two-inch screen.
Dee Dee's eyebrow raised towards Cotton, as he checked the source.
"That's the feed from Sheriff Helen WilsonWatson's computer screen. The woman sure does love her some girl-on-girl action" he said, shaking his head.
"C'mon Mr. Dee. Let's go upstairs and have a chat with the ladies."
With that the two men exited the room, closing the oak doors behind them.
YOU ARE READING
Neil Knight Private Dick
Mystery / ThrillerHe's relaxing in a hotel with his two dogs and a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle bourbon when she knocks on his door looking for help. For the next two months he connects with a hip hop record producer, a genius hillbilly coder and his MBA stripper wife...
