When Rayford's Barbecue Got Hacked by ISIS

 
 
Rayford threw open the grease-stained back door and stormed out of the kitchen. "Wayne," he shouted. "Who in the tom shit is ISIS and what in the hell are doing they on my goddamn web site?"
Wayne looked up from the smoker. He squinted through the haze of smoke, holding a hickory log in one hand. "What?"
Rayford hooked a thumb inside the strap of his overalls. His hairy chest and the fat below it glistened in the steamy morning sun. "Did I stutter?"
Wayne forced himself to ignore the smell of sizzling pork fat so he could focus on Rayford. "No, I just...did you say ISIS?"
"I did."
"On our web site?"
"I did."
Wayne stared at Rayford, his brain refusing to put the two ideas together. He'd have been less surprised if the whole pig he'd just laid in the smoker kicked the metal lid open, stood up and flew away. "ISIS? On our web site?"
"Jesus Christ. Get your simple ass in here and see for yourself. I got it up in the office."
"The closet?"
"No, Wayne. In the office. It's an office, dammit." He glared at Wayne for a moment, then let his eyes drift up to the smoke rising into the air. "And the smoker needs two logs, not one. Ain't hot enough."
"It's fine."
"No, it ain't. It's almost barbecue time, ya'll"--he pointed at the smoker--"and the smoke says that smoker ain't hot enough."
Wayne bit his tongue to keep quiet. Rayford's slogan irritated him to no end. It's barbecue time, ya'll? He'd put it on his menus, his sign out front, and insisted Wayne put it all over his web site. It was so stupid.
"Fine," said Wayne. He just didn't want to hear that damn slogan again.
Rayford turned and stomped back inside.
Two logs? What a crock. As much a crock as this ISIS nonsense. Was he on some hidden camera show? He gripped the log in his hand, feeling its weight. He could smash a camera with it if had to. Were they hiding nearby, filming now?
The smoker sat fifteen feet off the back wall of the red brick building. The hickory wood stacked up against that same wall offered no place to hide. Further out in the parking lot past the smoker, their dumpster leaked trash juice onto the pavement. That's where they'd be.
He peeked through the open side door in the dumpster and saw no cameras. Had to be some kind of mistake. Had to be. Rayford didn't know shit from sunshine. And looking at the smoke to tell the smoker temperature? Come on. The log he had in his hand would be plenty. He pulled the laser thermometer from his pocket and checked the smoker's temperature.
"Shit."
He tossed the log in his hand into the smoker, got another one off the pile, threw it in and slammed the fire chamber door. He stood there fuming, watching smoke float up and across the parking lot towards Stevie's Swirls, the frozen yogurt place next door.
Wayne grinned. Rayford's extra log would have Stevie over here complaining about the smoke getting in his Blueberry Pomegranate Parfaits before lunch. Wayne went inside, content that he at least he had that to look forward to.
Rayford stood just inside the closet in the back of the kitchen. He pointed at the dusty desktop computer about to fall off the table crammed in the corner. "See?" he said.
"Not until you move." said Wayne. "Closet's only big enough for one of us."
"Office."
Wayne pointed to the cleaning supplies and paper products stacked next to the tiny desk. "Closet."
Rayford pointed to the M60 machine gun mounted on the wall over the computer. "You think I'd hang Bertha up in a closet? Daddy would dig his way out of his grave and come take her back if I did. It's my office, and don't you forget it."
Rayford swore Bertha had been his father's weapon in Vietnam. Clearly not true. Wayne doubted his Dad ever went to Vietnam, much less brought home an M60. He figured it was a replica.
Wayne slipped by him and sat in the rickety chair. It squealed in complaint, the weight of even his small frame was more than it wanted to bear. He squinted at the dim monitor. Sure enough, instead of the new web site he'd just finished for Rayford's Barbecue, the black flag of ISIS took up the page's header.
Wayne said, "What the..." He rubbed his eyes. What in the tom shit, indeed? Had to be some kind of a joke. What did ISIS care about a barbecue joint in Wilkesboro, North Carolina?
Below the flag, white text proclaimed the site had been 'Hacked by ISIS.' The next line read 'Death to Pork Purveyors.'
Wayne said, "How'd you know?"
"Stevie came by a minute ago to make sure the smoker didn't get to smoky during lunch." He snorted. "He showed me. Who's ISIS?"
"You never heard of ISIS?" asked Wayne.
"Can't say I have. What are they, vegetarians or some shit?"
"Vegetarians? No, Rayford, they're a group in Syria and Iraq..." Who was he kidding? Rayford didn't even know Syria was a country. "They're uh, they're terrorists."
"Why'd they hack my web site?"
Wayne shrugged. "Got no clue."
Rayford pointed at the monitor. "Can you fix it?"
Wayne said, "Of course."
"Well?" Rayford made typing motions with both hands. "Fix it."
From out in the restaurant, the bell over the front door rang, announcing a customer walking into the dining room.
"Lickety split, hear me?" said Rayford. He headed up front, mumbling about the "stupid ass internet."
Wayne's first call was to the hosting company. By the time Rayford returned from the front, they'd replaced the site with a holding page.
Through a mouthful of bacon biscuit Rayford said, "Stevie came back for breakfast." He laughed and shook his head. "Wanted to know if we could turn the smoke down."
"And?"
"I told him we'd use that no-smoke wood."
"In the smoker?"
"Uh-huh."
"And he believed that?"
"He's dumber than a bucket of hair, so yeah. He did." Rayford shrugged. "Anyway, he said ISIS is meaner than a grizzly bear that wiped its ass with a porcupine."
"I've been thinking. I don't think this was really ISIS."
Rayford chewed his biscuit like a cow working trigonometry. "He says they set people on fire. Then they cut their heads off."
Wayne huffed. "Rayford, why would ISIS want to hack our site?"
"You think it's the beginning of an invasion?" He finally swallowed. "Like something out of Red Dawn?"
Wayne shook his head. "The hosting company said--"
"It'd be crazy if they parachuted in on camels."
"Rayford. It wasn't ISIS."
"Then who? You think they hired out a pro? Like maybe the Geek Squad? Those bastards might look like Jehovah's Witnesses, but they know computers."
"They didn't have to ha--"
"You'd think the Geek Squad would be on our side."
"Rayford."
"What?"
"They didn't hack a thing."
"How'd they do it?"
"They logged into the admin panel."
"They hacked the admin?"
Wayne sighed. "Remember how I told you to change your password?"
"Yeah. And I did."
"You changed it to 'password'."
"Damn straight"--he tapped his temple--"hidin' in plain sight."
Wayne couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Yeah. Well I changed it." Wayne pulled a napkin from the stack beside him and wrote out Rayford's new password. He passed it to Rayford, biting his tongue.
Rayford squinted at it. "How am I supposed to remember this shit?" He read the letters, one at a time. "r-4-Y-4-r-d-7-h-3-r-3-7-4-r-d? Doesn't make sense."
"Just hang on to the napkin. Or ask me."
"You best not forget." He tucked the napkin in his pocket. "I'll get the baked beans going."
"I can do that."
"Nah. People get all farty when you make 'em. My way's better. You just lock that site up. I'm on the beans." Rayford hitched up his overalls and left Wayne alone in the office-closet.
 
 
By the time they'd switched from serving breakfast to lunch, Wayne had added a security plug-in, double checked all the site passwords and backdoors, and restored their web site from a recent backup. He was in the kitchen chopping pork butts into barbecue when he heard Rayford holler from the front.
"Wayne! They got our Facebook!"
No way. He pushed through the double doors between the kitchen and the serving counter.
Rayford held up a phone covered in stick-on pink jewels. A skinny high-school girl stood on the other side of the counter, arms crossed and a sour look on her face.
"Hey. Give it back."
"Hold on a minute, Stormy," said Rayford. He held the phone out to Wayne. "See?" Rayford's eyes were wide, he looked close to complete panic. "They got our Facebook too, Wayne. They hacked our goddamn Facebook."
"Hold on a second," said Wayne.
"You know what this means, don't you?"
Stormy stomped her foot. "Give it back." On cue, it chirped to announce someone, somewhere, had sent her something.
Wayne held up a hand towards her. "Calm down"--he switched his focus to Rayford--"you too. Just calm down."
Rayford didn't. "Camels from the sky. They're dropping in on fucking camels from the sky. They're gonna' chop our heads off and set us on fire."
Stormy didn't calm down either. Whinier and louder, she said, "What if that's Scotty? What if that's my prom-posal and I miss it?"
Wayne ignored her and focused on Rayford. "Just listen a second Rayford. They--"
Rayford shook his head. "First our web site, then our Facebook? Shit, Wayne. Could the Geek Squad even pull that off?"
Stormy said, "What if he asks Jessie instead of me? Give. It. Baaaaaack," ending the last word in a shriek that Wayne thought might rupture his ear drums. He ripped the phone from Rayford's hand and tossed it to her. She spun on her heel and stomped out the front door.
Wayne took a deep breath. "Now. What was your Facebook password?"
"Same as all of them."
"Password, right?"
"You know it." Rayford winked. "Hiding in plain sight."
"I don't think that means what you...never mind. Look, they probably just guessed your password."
Rayford squinted at Wayne. "You think?"
"Yeah. I do. I'll fix it. Okay?"
Rayford nodded. "Okay."
Wayne went back to the closet to do just that. He reported the account compromised and got to the business of "un-hacking" it.
Ridiculous. He still had fifty pounds of barbecue to chop and three gallons of slaw to prep. Rayford's dumb ass and these assholes playing ISIS were going to ruin his whole day.
He removed the black flag photos, deleted all the fake comments, and un-liked all the faux-terror groups the hacker had connected to their page. He changed Rayford's password to the same l33t spelling of "Rayford the Retard" he'd used earlier and logged off.
There weren't any other digital properties to worry about, so Wayne went back to chopping barbecue. He'd just gotten into a rhythm when Rayford shoved Tarek through the kitchen doors. Rayford had the pistol he kept under the register pressed to the back of Tarek's head.
"What the hell, Rayford?" said Wayne.
"Ain't nobody chopping off my head."
Tarek held both hands in the air, his face a mask of terror. His eyes begged Wayne for help.
"Tarek eats here three days a week, Rayford."
Tarek nodded. Like it was some kind of password he said, "It's barbecue time, ya'll?"
"If that is his real name," said Rayford. He poked Tarek in the base of the skull with the barrel of his gun. "Well? Is it? Is that your real name, Ta-rek?"
Wayne put his face in his hands. "He's not even...he's from Virginia."
"So he says," said Rayford. "Could be his cover."
Tarek pleaded, "I was born in Danville."
Wayne said, "Put the gun down, okay?"
Rayford pointed at the cleaver in Wayne's hand. "You ought to chop him into barbecue. That'll show him."
"Rayford, listen," said Wayne. He set the cleaver down on the cutting board and held up his greasy hands. "This is getting out of control. Just put the gun down and let him go, okay?"
Rayford pursed his lips and squinted his eyes. "Or what?"
Wayne said, "Or you'll get arrested, that's what."
Tarek said, "Nobody needs to get arrested. This is all a big misunderstanding, okay?"
Wayne stepped forward. "Put the gun down."
Rayford said, "You sure he ain't ISIS?"
Wayne nodded. "Absolutely."
"How?"
Wayne said, "ISIS follows a strict interpretation of..." He paused. "They don't eat pork."
"Never?"
Wayne shook his head. "Never."
"And Tarek..."
"I'm not even a Muslim," said Tarek. "You were in my wedding, remember?"
Wayne said, "Tarek loves barbecue. Which is made of?"
Rayford looked at Tarek and said, "Huh." He jammed the gun into his back pocket and clapped Tarek on the back. "Well don't I feel like an asshole. My bad, buddy."
Tarek breathed a visible sigh of relief. But relief turned to doubt. Hurt creased his brow. "I thought we were friends, Rayford."
Rayford hung his head just a little. "Man, I'm sorry. It's all this stuff with ISIS. They got me acting nuttier than a peanut farmer's shit, ya' know?"
Tarek nodded, his face grave.
Rayford perked up. "Tell you what. Your lunch is on me."
Tarek held up his palm, "You don't have to do--"
Rayford cut him off, "Bullshit, I don't. One chopped plate with beans and white slaw coming up"--he wagged his finger--"no dessert, though. Banana pudding ain't never free."
Tarek seemed to be satisfied and the two men headed back out to the dining room. As the double doors swung open, Wayne caught a glimpse of curious faces waiting for gunshots.
Rayford boomed, "Ya'll calm down now, me and Tarek was just chit-chattin' about my new pistol."
One of the diners said, "Uh, I called the police."
Rayford turned and shouted back to Wayne, "Hey! Look out for Billy. We can see what kind of countermeasures he's got planned."
Countermeasures? Wayne shook his head. Idiot. He moved on to mixing up slaw in a bucket. A few minutes later, he say Billy park his patrol car out back through the building's back window. Out of courtesy--or maybe because he was Rayford's cousin--he came in through the back door.
The just-chopped barbecue sat in metal steam table pans at the far end of the table. Billy stopped there and picked a chunk from one of the pans.
"Wayne," said Billy. He tossed the chunk into his mouth.
Wayne nodded. "Billy."
He chewed and swallowed the pork. "Rayford's still got it."
"That's about all he's got."
"He didn't shoot nobody, did he?"
Wayne shook his head. "Nah. I think Tarek's out there finishing lunch now."
"Well then what the hell was he doing?"
"It's this ISIS thing. It's got him all twisted up."
Billy leaned forward, more alert. "ISIS?"
"I mean, I don't think it's really ISIS." Billy scooped a quart of mayonnaise into the slaw bucket. "But somebody's been putting ISIS flags all over our web site and our Facebook. Saying we've been 'hacked by ISIS.' You ask me it's some kids, or some dumbass prank."
Billy shook his head. "ISIS. In Wilkesboro, North Carolina."
"I really don't think it's ISIS, Billy. Why would they care about us?"
Billy rested a hand on his pistol and squinted at Wayne. "You think we need to call the FBI? Or the CIA?"
Him too? Morons. And this moron had a gun and a license to shoot people with it. Wayne shook his head. "There is no way in hell that ISIS is going to--"
An explosion from out back cut off Wayne's sentence, blew out the back window of the building, and knocked them both to the ground. The table followed, spilling slaw and barbecue all over Wayne, Billy, and the kitchen floor.
Wayne's ears rang and screams erupted from the dining room out front.
Still dazed, Billy drew his gun and attempted to take a defensive position with the overturned table between him and the back door. But, since there isn't a no-slip floor made that's can get a man traction while standing on hot, greasy barbecue, Billy's feet slid out from under him and he fell on his ass.
Rayford somersaulted through the kitchen door, gun drawn. He likely intending to come up firing, or at least end up on his feet with his gun pointed towards the back door. His feet came down in a pile of freshly mayonnaised slaw, and he ended up next to Billy and in the same position.
Wayne carefully gripped the edge of the table with both hands, raising himself up just enough to survey the damage. Billy and Rayford sat up, their backs to the metal table. Black greasy smoke rolled off what was left of the smoker while Billy's patrol car burned next to it. Burnt pork and gasoline hung in the air. Chunks of broken glass littered the kitchen. The fire hadn't spread to the wood pile yet, but it wouldn't be long before it did.
Wayne said, "Billy, can you radio the fire department? Your car's on fire. Smoker too."
Rayford said, "Fire department my ass. You better call in the SWAT Team. They bombed our smoker."
Billy said, "You sure it wasn't the propane tank?"
Rayford scoffed, "You know damn well Rayford's Barbecue is one-hundred percent hickory smoked."
Wayne said, "Uh, Rayford."
Rayford said, "They got our web site, our Facebook, and they bombed our smoker. Shit, Billy, they might be coming in the front door right now." He pulled back the slide on his pistol, checking the chamber to make sure it held a round.
Wayne said, "Rayford."
Rayford's voice continued to rise. "Billy, you better call in backup A-S-A-fucking-P. Get on that radio and you--."
Wayne yelled, "Rayford!"
Rayford snapped his head around to look at Wayne. "What?"
"The starter."
"Huh?"
"There's a propane starter on the smoker, remember?"
Rayford breathed heavy through his nose. "Since when?"
"Since last year. Since I put it on there."
Rayford stood still for a moment. He said, "Oh yeah. There is." He turned back to Billy. "Well. Might have been the propane tank. I guess you can belay that radio call. At least until we figure out exactly what we're dealing with."
Billy said, "My patrol car is on fire, Rayford. I ain't belaying shit."
"Yeah, I guess it is, ain't it?" said Rayford.
Wayne offered Rayford a hand and he stood, taking in the damage.
Rayford said, "Let's get some water on that wood pile."
A small metal cylinder sailed through the smashed window. It bounced off the other side of the overturned table and rolled to a stop by the back door.
Rayford leaned forward, trying to make out what it was. He said, "Wayne, is that a--"
The fuse sticking out of one end sizzled as it burned, white hot. "Pipe bomb. That's a pipe bomb!" shouted Wayne as he dove for the floor, pulling Rayford down into the pile of barbecue and slaw with him.
The explosion blew the back door off its hinges and sent shrapnel spraying across the kitchen. The table protected the three men from the fragments, but the shelves filled with condiments and seasonings weren't so lucky. Plastic jugs of vinegar and mayonnaise exploded, covering the floor in a good start for slaw dressing.
"Propane starter my ass," said Rayford. "I knew it was ISIS." He shoved his pistol into Wayne's hand. "Cover me."
"Cover you? What the hell are you--"
Rayford slapped Wayne across the face. "We're under attack, goddammit. You point this end"--he jammed his finger into the barrel--"at the bad guys. Then you pull this"--he pointed out the trigger--"until it quits going bang. And keep your head down, got it?"
Wayne nodded. "Where are you going?" he said.
"To the office."
"The closet?"
Rayford's eyes got wide and he looked away for a second, his face turning red. "Are you fu--"
"Shhh," said Billy. He stuck his head around the corner of the table to look out the door. "I hear something."
Rayford motioned with his head for Wayne to take his position. His hands shaking, Wayne got to one knee and stuck the pistol up over the top of the table. Something moved in the smoke beyond the door. He shot it. Well, he shot at it. Kind of.
The gun kicked hard in his hand. The bullet hit a pot hanging from the rack of cooking tools on the back wall of the kitchen between the window and door. The pot rung like a bell and spun into the air.
Rayford slapped him on the ass. "Hell yeah. Feels better than a big shit on Sunday morning, don't it?"
Wayne nodded, his eyes still on the door. "Uh huh."
Rayford pulled two clips out of his pocket and handed them to Wayne. He leaned over to Billy. "Wayne won't hit a thing. He's laying down cover fire. You pick 'em off if they come through the door. I'm going to the"--he stuck his chin out at Wayne--"office to get Bertha. Ya' hear me? Office."
Billy said, "Got it."
"Heads down," said Rayford. He turned and made a rush for the closet. His feet slipped on the barbecue and slaw mixture covering the floor and he fell flat on his face as a barrage of bullets sailed over their heads.
Rayford and Wayne made eye contact. Rayford said, "See? Heads down." He belly-crawled the twenty feet between table and closet.
Wayne heard voices in the smoke. He fired towards them. He hoped there weren't any innocent bystanders outside, but if they were dumb enough to still be bystanding, the gene pool was better off without them.
Billy leaned over to Wayne and whispered "Bertha?"
As if to answer Billy's question, Rayford burst from the office, landing with his feet apart and sliding across the floor. He held his M60 Machine gun on his hip, firing out the back door and window.
"Eat shit, ya' haji bastards!" shouted Rayford as he fired. He slid to a stop behind the table and took a knee, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
Wayne's ears rung from the gunfire. Rayford seemed unfazed.
Billy said, "I called in. Backup is coming."
"They better hurry," said Rayford. "Might not be nothing left by the time they get here."
Billy said, "We can hold out, Rayford. You've got a machine gun."
"Of them," said Rayford. "Might not be nothing left of them." He got to his feet and shuffled out from behind the table, firing into the smoke as he went. "Get your asses up. Cover me!"
Billy and Wayne made eye contact. Wayne could see Billy wasn't thrilled with this plan, and he wasn't either, but by then Rayford was already up. Billy and Wayne both got up on one knee and shot into the smoke. Here and there gunshots answered. Bullets whizzed by Wayne's head. He fired faster, emptying his clip out the back window.
Rayford reached the back door and stood next to it, his back against the wall. Looking back at Wayne and Billy, he pointed at them, then at two spots next to the window.
Wayne shook his head. "No way."
Rayford pointed at him, then more forcefully at the same spot.
Wayne sighed. He went.
A high-pitched yell pierced the smoke. "Ay-lu-lu-lu-lu-lu-lu-lu-lu-lu!" Wayne could just make out the a man in a keffiyeh holding a gun. Good God. It was ISIS.
Rayford swung around and began firing out the door. The man fell over, silenced.
"I got him," Rayford said. "Got him right in his damn toweled head!" He shouted out the door, "How ya' like that, ya' bastards?"
Had Rayford actually got one? Billy pulled a pot off the nearby rack and held it up in the window. Nobody shot at it. He shrugged and set it down. He peeked again, and saw Billy's burning patrol car, what was left of their smoker, and a thick cloud of smoke. No camels, nobody else from ISIS.
Holding Bertha in one hand, Rayford grabbed a cleaver from the rack next to the door with other hand. He said, "Cover me Wayne. I'm gonna chop off his head."
Billy said, "Just hold on now, Rayford," but he was too late.
Rayford was out the door and into the smoke, firing as he went. He swung his machine gun back and forth, muzzle flashes lighting up his face as he fired until he ran out of bullets. A gust of wind cleared the view. Rayford had stopped to survey the parking lot, M60 in one hand and a cleaver in the other.
The man sat up and shot Rayford, he went down hard.
"Rayford!" shouted Wayne. He aimed and pulled the trigger. No good, his gun was empty. He looked at Billy, who shook his head.
"I'm out too," he said.
They watched as the man got up, holding his side. He pointed his gun at Rayford and started to make his way through the smoke.
Rayford was moving now, trying to drag himself back to the building. He wasn't going to make it, he was too far out.
The man limped closer, still pointing the gun at Rayford. Wayne had no bullets, no weapon, he couldn't help. Jesus. He grabbed a knife and a pot off the wall and started for the door.
What the hell was he doing? He stopped by the door frame and tried to talk himself forward. He peeked around the corner.
Three more steps and the man would be on top of Rayford.
That's when Tarek's Toyota Prius came flying through the parking lot, slamming into the man with the gun and sending him flying. The brakes squealed and Tarek jumped out.
He pointed a finger at the crumpled heap of a man. "Nobody fucks with my barbecue, you hear me!" He turned to Rayford. "I told you the Prius was silent but deadly." He nodded. "Oh yeah."
Looking both ways as they went, Wayne and Billy ran out to check on Rayford. The bullet had taken a chunk out of his outer thigh, but the wound didn't look fatal. Wayne pulled his shirt over his head and tied it around Rayford's leg. That was what you were supposed to do when somebody got shot, right?
Tarek had gone to make sure the gunman stayed down. He came running back, holding his gun. "You guys won't to believe this."
"What?" asked Rayford.
"Stevie's in ISIS."
"Huh?" said Wayne.
"It's Stevie," said Tarek. He pointed at Stevie's Swirls. "From next door."
Rayford said, "Well slap my ass and call me Susan. Fuckin' Stevie."
Billy said, "Stevie's in ISIS? Why would Stevie join--"
Wayne cut him off, "You think it was just cover so he could mess with us?"
Rayford squinted, thinking hard. "Is he dead?"
"Almost," said Tarek.
Rayford paused a moment, letting it sink in. He looked up at Wayne. "I don't even care. Ya'll help me up."
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Wayne said, "Just stay still, Rayford. The ambulance is coming. I can hear 'em coming."
Rayford tilted his head and said, "I figure we've got three, maybe four minutes before they get here."
"You just hang on, okay?" said Billy.
Rayford said, "The hell with that." He pointed at Wayne. "Get me some lighter fluid"--he pointed at Billy--"come on and help me up."
Wayne said, "Huh?"
Rayford reached over and grabbed his cleaver from where he dropped it earlier. "Stevie wants to play ISIS? We're gonna' play ISIS."
Wayne said, "What are you going to do?"
Billy helped Rayford to his feet.
"What do you think? I'm gonna chop his head off." He turned to Tarek, "Chuck some hickory logs on Billy's patrol car."
Wayne looked at Billy, who shrugged. Billy said, "I guess it's already on fire. A few more logs won't hurt."
Rayford nodded, a big grin smeared across his face. "Damn straight," he said. "You know what time it is?"
The three men stared back at him.
"It's barbecue time, ya'll!"

END