19410111 11:48:47
OX-N-5950
The sound of strenuous grunting coming from the next room caused Cicero to nervously writhe and rock in her chair as she politely waited for LaGrange to finish lighting her cigarette. Knowing the origin of the noises didn't help her discomfort, and she understood that the arrangement was as good as it could be for her to keep a watch over her brother without having to directly monitor him every waking moment, but hearing nothing but those primal grunts echo in their room still made her uncomfortable.
"Has your sleep improved any since last week?" As usual, LaGrange's method of exchanging pleasantries with someone who she considered familiar came without the common opening banter.
"What? Oh, uh, a little, yeah. Even though we know what the business is, some things can still manage to be a surprise."
"So true. So listen, I have a plan that I want you to think about here. I'm sorry that this may seem rude and direct but you know how things move now, and you know they're making their plans now too."
"OK. What do you have in mind?"
Here, LaGrange wanted to take a moment to build up to the proposal, as to ensure that the justification would make Cicero inclined to see the inarguable logic behind it.
"I think you should take a long look at yourself, and who you are, and what you have done for your family and this city. I mean, what other woman do you know of that has the weapon you do, and the training to go with it? What other woman goes out and maintains contacts like me and others for the sake of your trade? You stand here today not broken or distraught, but ready to work. You know this business. You've been in this business. You've done the work. So the big question is - who's going to run the show now?"
"... are you trying to say that it should be me?" Cicero's response did carry earnest surprise, and the discomfort from before the conversation now extended to her hearing LaGrange speak of her weapon training and use in the open. It wasn't something that she wanted to have discussed so freely. Moreover, she didn't appreciate having this kind of decision be thrust upon her, despite any kind of feeling she had before in which she envisioned herself being the actual boss. But she understood that was all it was in her head - a fantasy. "It, it wouldn't work. If they tried to install me, most all of the men would flat out reject it."
"Sure the men would reject it - at first. That's when you do what you know needs to be done and straighten the kinks out, and get the ship back on track. Besides, you got the women on your side basically already. You know I'd support you any way that I can, and that's nothing small, if I say so myself. And I know others I can ask to join you right off. Y'know that showtunes girl that's all over the rags now, Helen Allgera? I've heard things about her. I might be able to get her to help us out, directly. I know other people. I got my brother over there, and you know he won't tolerate disrespect of anyone to me."
"Right, you're right there."
"And I ask again - who else are they going to ask? His son is still too young and might not be respected all the same. And your brother? He's out of the game... not in it like you are. You really are the best choice for it out of your family. It is you."
LaGrange's words stirred deeply into her heart. It was all true. If this legacy were to continue, it really did seem best for it to be done under her hands after all. Nobody else was ready.
"I think you might be right." Cicero said this with a nod after further silent contemplation.
"Yeah, you think about it, darlin." LaGrange smiled warmly in response. Everything she wanted now seemed to be falling into place. With a drag of her cigarette, she envisioned her new position of authority and how she and her brother could finally have the weapons to wield it.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
19290115 21:20:43
19290115 21:20:43
FQ-S-4344
"Hi. Tell your friend that we're here to collect."
"Uh, sure, hold on."
Pulaski nodded politely and stepped back from the door to wait. Kedzie remained at his right and continued to stare into the corner of the house where the doorway met the protruding bay window, and stood at an angle to help keep himself concealed to the visibilty from the sidewalk out in front. The effort wasn't particularly necessary, as it was dark and cold, with nobody walking near and only a few cars infrequently driving past. They both heard a multitude of hurried footsteps rumble from within the house while they waited.
"Hm. Think that's a welcoming party for us?" Pulaski asked this with a hint of amusement.
"Would they be that stupid? They made no attempt to keep quiet."
"Eh, I wouldn't put it past these guys."
"Maybe it's different now that there's two of us here."
Pulaski silently nodded in agreement, then resumed studying the outside porch in boredom while they awaited a response. There were visible flakes of white paint that were peeled away from the window frames and were ready to fall off with the touch of a finger. The flag hostler that was hammered in at the side of the doorway shown an accumulation of rust around the nails which held it in place. A spider sat in the center of a web which was strung between the outer wall and the light fixture which hung over the side of the door. After a few minutes, the door finally cracked open again with the same person at the other end who had addressed them earlier.
"Uh he say that he only got twenty now, and that if you want it all you should come back after this Friday. Othawise I got the twenty for you."
Kedzie grinned after hearing this. Now he understood.
"OK, pal, look. That ain't a good answer. Now, we're comin in, whether you let us or not, so can we be gentlemen about this?" Pulaski let his right hand fall to his side and hover over the scabbard as he waited for an answer.
"Uh OK, all right."
The man walked away and went up one stair on the stairway immediately to the entrance's right to allow them in. The smell of growing marijuana plants struck them immediately as they entered the house, which caused Kedzie to cough with surprise a few times. Pulaski looked to his left and saw an undecorated and unfurnished room set a stark contrast to the kitchen table in the center of it, upon which a large pile of green leaves rested at one end and several white rolled joints sat next to it. He then proceeded to the kitchen, still having his hand hover over his right side.
"Greg!" Albert greeted him from the kitchen with a tone of congeniality. He remained seated at a table where a steaming pot of coffee sat upon a trivet, as well as a few beer bottles. Albert had one of them opened and next to him. "You didn't have to come in, didn't my friend tell you? You could have just taken that twenty now and come back later."
"Al, this is three weeks that you haven't paid full. I can see that you're still doing fine out there, so quit shitting me. You're already juiced out. I'm not being unreasonable, here."
Albert tapped his beer bottle upon the surface of the table three times, with enough force to make the tone echo beyond the small kitchen walls. Immediately after that, Kedzie heard the sound of carefully treaded footsteps approach from behind them both. He grinned again. They really were that stupid.
"Naw, see, I don't think you are so much, but I don't think you listenin to me. So if this is all you gonna do, you can just get the fuck outta my house and come back when you ready."
"And what if we don't?" Pulaski asked this without yet hearing the people approaching from behind.
Kedzie immediately kicked a leg backward and felt it make contact with a body behind him. He then turned around and swung a fist behind Pulaski's head and struck the man who was approaching behind him. The strike caused Pulaski to spin around, which gave Albert the opportunity to quickly stand up and grab the pot of coffee on the table and thrust the contents of it forward to land upon Pulaski's back and neck. Kedzie kept his focus on the two men and curled a hand around the necks of each of them and forcefully smashed their faces into each other. One man let something drop to the ground after the third strike, and another let something go after the fifth. Pulaski growled in pain and turned in time to see a beer bottle thrown at him by Albert, which glanced off of his torso and landed on the floor without breaking. Pulaski snapped his sword into action and grasped it with both hands, and held it at the ready to attack Albert. Before he could step forward to do so, though, Kedzie let one of the two men in his hands drop to the ground and used both hands to grapple the other man, then threw his body into the air past Pulaski and watched him land on the kitchen floor, then slide into the kitchen table and knock it over before it collided into Albert's legs. Kedzie deftly knelt down to pick up the fallen beer bottle while closing in on Albert, then smashed the glass bottle onto his forehead. Before the shards of glass hit the ground, Kezdie wrapped his hands around Albert's face and thrust it forward while raising his knee into the air. He kept his grasp of Albert's face while walking behind him before smashing his brow into the edge of the kitchen counter.
Albert was released and dropped limply to the ground. Kedzie reached into his pants pocket and found a wallet with more than ten twenty dollar bills inside. Kedzie took five of them and casually threw the wallet back to the ground.
FQ-S-4344
"Hi. Tell your friend that we're here to collect."
"Uh, sure, hold on."
Pulaski nodded politely and stepped back from the door to wait. Kedzie remained at his right and continued to stare into the corner of the house where the doorway met the protruding bay window, and stood at an angle to help keep himself concealed to the visibilty from the sidewalk out in front. The effort wasn't particularly necessary, as it was dark and cold, with nobody walking near and only a few cars infrequently driving past. They both heard a multitude of hurried footsteps rumble from within the house while they waited.
"Hm. Think that's a welcoming party for us?" Pulaski asked this with a hint of amusement.
"Would they be that stupid? They made no attempt to keep quiet."
"Eh, I wouldn't put it past these guys."
"Maybe it's different now that there's two of us here."
Pulaski silently nodded in agreement, then resumed studying the outside porch in boredom while they awaited a response. There were visible flakes of white paint that were peeled away from the window frames and were ready to fall off with the touch of a finger. The flag hostler that was hammered in at the side of the doorway shown an accumulation of rust around the nails which held it in place. A spider sat in the center of a web which was strung between the outer wall and the light fixture which hung over the side of the door. After a few minutes, the door finally cracked open again with the same person at the other end who had addressed them earlier.
"Uh he say that he only got twenty now, and that if you want it all you should come back after this Friday. Othawise I got the twenty for you."
Kedzie grinned after hearing this. Now he understood.
"OK, pal, look. That ain't a good answer. Now, we're comin in, whether you let us or not, so can we be gentlemen about this?" Pulaski let his right hand fall to his side and hover over the scabbard as he waited for an answer.
"Uh OK, all right."
The man walked away and went up one stair on the stairway immediately to the entrance's right to allow them in. The smell of growing marijuana plants struck them immediately as they entered the house, which caused Kedzie to cough with surprise a few times. Pulaski looked to his left and saw an undecorated and unfurnished room set a stark contrast to the kitchen table in the center of it, upon which a large pile of green leaves rested at one end and several white rolled joints sat next to it. He then proceeded to the kitchen, still having his hand hover over his right side.
"Greg!" Albert greeted him from the kitchen with a tone of congeniality. He remained seated at a table where a steaming pot of coffee sat upon a trivet, as well as a few beer bottles. Albert had one of them opened and next to him. "You didn't have to come in, didn't my friend tell you? You could have just taken that twenty now and come back later."
"Al, this is three weeks that you haven't paid full. I can see that you're still doing fine out there, so quit shitting me. You're already juiced out. I'm not being unreasonable, here."
Albert tapped his beer bottle upon the surface of the table three times, with enough force to make the tone echo beyond the small kitchen walls. Immediately after that, Kedzie heard the sound of carefully treaded footsteps approach from behind them both. He grinned again. They really were that stupid.
"Naw, see, I don't think you are so much, but I don't think you listenin to me. So if this is all you gonna do, you can just get the fuck outta my house and come back when you ready."
"And what if we don't?" Pulaski asked this without yet hearing the people approaching from behind.
Kedzie immediately kicked a leg backward and felt it make contact with a body behind him. He then turned around and swung a fist behind Pulaski's head and struck the man who was approaching behind him. The strike caused Pulaski to spin around, which gave Albert the opportunity to quickly stand up and grab the pot of coffee on the table and thrust the contents of it forward to land upon Pulaski's back and neck. Kedzie kept his focus on the two men and curled a hand around the necks of each of them and forcefully smashed their faces into each other. One man let something drop to the ground after the third strike, and another let something go after the fifth. Pulaski growled in pain and turned in time to see a beer bottle thrown at him by Albert, which glanced off of his torso and landed on the floor without breaking. Pulaski snapped his sword into action and grasped it with both hands, and held it at the ready to attack Albert. Before he could step forward to do so, though, Kedzie let one of the two men in his hands drop to the ground and used both hands to grapple the other man, then threw his body into the air past Pulaski and watched him land on the kitchen floor, then slide into the kitchen table and knock it over before it collided into Albert's legs. Kedzie deftly knelt down to pick up the fallen beer bottle while closing in on Albert, then smashed the glass bottle onto his forehead. Before the shards of glass hit the ground, Kezdie wrapped his hands around Albert's face and thrust it forward while raising his knee into the air. He kept his grasp of Albert's face while walking behind him before smashing his brow into the edge of the kitchen counter.
Albert was released and dropped limply to the ground. Kedzie reached into his pants pocket and found a wallet with more than ten twenty dollar bills inside. Kedzie took five of them and casually threw the wallet back to the ground.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
18940912 15:59:20
18940912 15:59:20
MK-S-4798
Richard kept his nose pointed slightly downwards to the table so that he didn't allow the direct light of the candle flame to blind his vision. All the while, he attentively held the crayon so its end would balance between the flame and twirled it between his fingers so that he could keep the bubble of melted wax collected.
"Don't let too much melt. Be patient and do it in small parts every time." Melissa kept her focus attentively upon her son throughout this exercise.
"Okay, momma. I know."
Despite saying as much, Richard continued to hold the crayon in the flame, and delighted to watch the solid become liquid before his eyes. He loved the smell of melted wax which now filled the dining room. When he heard his father begin to walk up, he finally removed the crayon and dabbed it onto the paper. Without checking to see how the paper absorbed the brown wax, he dashed away from his chair and rushed to greet him.
"Dad! You should see it, Mom's showing me how to draw mountains that really look like they are rocks, it's amazing!"
"Ha ha, is that so? Let me see."
Carbondale walked over to the table in Richard's wake and looked over his son's shoulder to see his work in progress. The child pointed to the space of white paper which had a brown boundary and one circular dab of the same color within it.
"This is gonna be the mountain, see? I'm drawing the Rocky Mountains. I gotta do it for school. It's really fun!"
"The Rockies, eh? Looking good." Carbondale gave his praise in a lazy voice while feeling the surface of the hardened dot of wax on the paper. He pinched his fingers afterward and felt how the residual wax changed their texture.
"It does look wonderful. I wanna go there some day. I wanna see mountains in person. It would be so much better than how it is here. How it's all flat here."
"Oh, Richard. Heh, if my Dad were to hear you say those things-"
"Oh don't you start about that." Melissa said this with a smirk. Carbondale didn't check her physical bearing nor pay attention to the command itself, but rather felt more compelled to say something after having her give that half hearted warning.
"Richard, listen. You'll go places, sure. You'll be able to go lots of places in this world. And when you do, you'll see that what we got here is pretty good too. Trust me on this. When I was your age.. when I was a baby, see, us folks going to the Rockies at that time woulda been bad. The States said that we weren't citizens. My Dad... Granpda, he'd remind me about this all the time. He never let that go. I doubt he's the only one who still hangs on. So if you wanna see mountains, we can see mountains some day, sure. But there's more mountains than the Rockies, right?"
"Um, OK Dad. I hope we go see mountains soon."
"Hm, maybe we will."
MK-S-4798
Richard kept his nose pointed slightly downwards to the table so that he didn't allow the direct light of the candle flame to blind his vision. All the while, he attentively held the crayon so its end would balance between the flame and twirled it between his fingers so that he could keep the bubble of melted wax collected.
"Don't let too much melt. Be patient and do it in small parts every time." Melissa kept her focus attentively upon her son throughout this exercise.
"Okay, momma. I know."
Despite saying as much, Richard continued to hold the crayon in the flame, and delighted to watch the solid become liquid before his eyes. He loved the smell of melted wax which now filled the dining room. When he heard his father begin to walk up, he finally removed the crayon and dabbed it onto the paper. Without checking to see how the paper absorbed the brown wax, he dashed away from his chair and rushed to greet him.
"Dad! You should see it, Mom's showing me how to draw mountains that really look like they are rocks, it's amazing!"
"Ha ha, is that so? Let me see."
Carbondale walked over to the table in Richard's wake and looked over his son's shoulder to see his work in progress. The child pointed to the space of white paper which had a brown boundary and one circular dab of the same color within it.
"This is gonna be the mountain, see? I'm drawing the Rocky Mountains. I gotta do it for school. It's really fun!"
"The Rockies, eh? Looking good." Carbondale gave his praise in a lazy voice while feeling the surface of the hardened dot of wax on the paper. He pinched his fingers afterward and felt how the residual wax changed their texture.
"It does look wonderful. I wanna go there some day. I wanna see mountains in person. It would be so much better than how it is here. How it's all flat here."
"Oh, Richard. Heh, if my Dad were to hear you say those things-"
"Oh don't you start about that." Melissa said this with a smirk. Carbondale didn't check her physical bearing nor pay attention to the command itself, but rather felt more compelled to say something after having her give that half hearted warning.
"Richard, listen. You'll go places, sure. You'll be able to go lots of places in this world. And when you do, you'll see that what we got here is pretty good too. Trust me on this. When I was your age.. when I was a baby, see, us folks going to the Rockies at that time woulda been bad. The States said that we weren't citizens. My Dad... Granpda, he'd remind me about this all the time. He never let that go. I doubt he's the only one who still hangs on. So if you wanna see mountains, we can see mountains some day, sure. But there's more mountains than the Rockies, right?"
"Um, OK Dad. I hope we go see mountains soon."
"Hm, maybe we will."
Friday, August 23, 2013
18570505 03:46:11
18570505 03:46:11
The letter, which Daron had left behind on a writing desk in his house, was dated as sent on the First of May and read as follows:
"First delivery shall arrive on the upcoming Fifth. Just after Midnight. Be sure to have a regiment of men ready to a massive portion of earth and clay immediately when we reach you. At least one hundred would all be put to use if you can arrange for it. B."
Daron stood ready at a high platform above the unloading area in anticipation for the arrival, while his team of one hundred fifty men stood in wait below. Some men idly walked about in place, and others leanined upon their shovels, all talking happily in anticipation of the work they were about to receive. Finally, he heard the steady high pitched grind of steel become stronger as the train inched its way towards the destination; within minutes, he saw the light of the lead engine pierce through the darkness and show itself to be a few lengths away from the entrance of the warehouse. It was at this point when one of the men of the team climbed up to stand beside Daron - he was the one who would indicate to the conductor to move forward when the cars were emptied. The two shook hands when they stood side by side.
The train finally came to a point where it was signaled to stop, and the carriage of the first car was pried open to allow the dirt and earth within it to spill onto the now moving conveyor belts. The men who stood ready at this reception area were at one end of a length of a few dozen yards of conveyor belt and used their shovels to guide the material from the rail cars, while at the other end more men stood in wait to receive the dirt from the belt and move it manually to the sides for further collection and distribution. The two men at the top platform watched the dirt drain away from the rail car, at which point the man at Daron's side yelled out, which signaled for the next car to approach for unloading.
After the second rail car was opened for unloading, Daron removed himself from the platform and walked to the outside of the warehouse, where he saw Bureau walking towards him. The two met with hands outstretched and grins as wide as their mouths could stretch. Despite being far removed from all of the activity, the two still had to nearly shout at each other to be heard.
"It's done, old man."
"So it is. I never would have dreamed."
The letter, which Daron had left behind on a writing desk in his house, was dated as sent on the First of May and read as follows:
"First delivery shall arrive on the upcoming Fifth. Just after Midnight. Be sure to have a regiment of men ready to a massive portion of earth and clay immediately when we reach you. At least one hundred would all be put to use if you can arrange for it. B."
Daron stood ready at a high platform above the unloading area in anticipation for the arrival, while his team of one hundred fifty men stood in wait below. Some men idly walked about in place, and others leanined upon their shovels, all talking happily in anticipation of the work they were about to receive. Finally, he heard the steady high pitched grind of steel become stronger as the train inched its way towards the destination; within minutes, he saw the light of the lead engine pierce through the darkness and show itself to be a few lengths away from the entrance of the warehouse. It was at this point when one of the men of the team climbed up to stand beside Daron - he was the one who would indicate to the conductor to move forward when the cars were emptied. The two shook hands when they stood side by side.
The train finally came to a point where it was signaled to stop, and the carriage of the first car was pried open to allow the dirt and earth within it to spill onto the now moving conveyor belts. The men who stood ready at this reception area were at one end of a length of a few dozen yards of conveyor belt and used their shovels to guide the material from the rail cars, while at the other end more men stood in wait to receive the dirt from the belt and move it manually to the sides for further collection and distribution. The two men at the top platform watched the dirt drain away from the rail car, at which point the man at Daron's side yelled out, which signaled for the next car to approach for unloading.
After the second rail car was opened for unloading, Daron removed himself from the platform and walked to the outside of the warehouse, where he saw Bureau walking towards him. The two met with hands outstretched and grins as wide as their mouths could stretch. Despite being far removed from all of the activity, the two still had to nearly shout at each other to be heard.
"It's done, old man."
"So it is. I never would have dreamed."
Thursday, August 22, 2013
18570309 17:22:19
18570309 17:22:19
"What the hell you smilin for? Makes me nervous when you do that and I don't know why." After saying this, Cook pointed to the ash tray where the lit cigar sat. Bureau responded by pulling a fresh cigar out of the front pocket of his suit coat and placing it on the table next to the tray. Cook nodded and used a match from the box on the table to light it.
"Oh, I think we have an opportunity on our hands here. Tell me, what have you heard from the states lately?"
"Uh, what about em? They got their new president, he made that speech jus a few ago. What else is there?"
"Well, here, you can see for yourself here." Bureau said this while pointing directly down upon the newspaper which was folded in front of him on the table. "They just made a decision. A court decision. It came on the sixth, just last Friday. It's called Scott versus Sanford. You know what they said?"
"No? No, I don't."
"You wouldn't believe it. You wouldn't guess in a lifetime. They actually said that you people can't be citizens of a state. They actually said that. The Chief Judge said that."
Cook was stunned into a fixed state of shock enough that the cigar tipped from the edge of his mouth and landed upon the table, then bounced and fell into his lap before he flinched and quickly recovered it from his body before it burned a hole through his clothes. He placed the burning roll at the end of the ashtray after making the recovery.
"Really?"
"Yep."
"No, I mean - really?"
"Yes, really. You can read it here if you want."
"Even if they're free? Even if they paid to be free?"
"Yes and yes. They mean it. All of you can't be citizens. Ever."
"They have got to be the dumbest bunch of shit eaters in the world." It took a long moment for Cook to say this much in response. He felt the blood in his body run cold and shivers overtake his skin as he considered the full implication of that kind of judgment. Less than a feeling of relief that he wasn't affected by the decision was the rage swelling up within him over the institution which would make that kind of decision. How could they live with that verdict? How could any of his fellow brothers tolerate to be there a minute longer now? His mind raced from one question to the next until Bureau spoke again and snapped him out of it.
"So, do you know why I say this is an opportunity?"
"Um, uh... no, I. I can't say I really do, no. You'll have to tell me."
"Watch what's going to happen because of this. All that expansion that they're doing now, out to Kansas and further on. It's already getting strained by how the grain market has been compared to years ago. The banks have been putting out much more credit than they can handle for years. Now with this, nobody's going to be sure which of those places will hold slaves or not. You just watch as all those railroads reaching out west and cities going up there come to a sudden stop."
"Um, yeah. Yeah, you're right." Cook was still heavily distracted by the news and gave a response mostly out of politeness.
"So that means that the banks that have been supporting all of this are going to be hurting soon. Hurting very badly very soon. We've all talked about wanting to make this town bigger. I think this is our chance. I think if we find the right bank to back it with our gold, we can really make this place grow. I think we can expand out into our aquatic limit, much like New York did so long ago."
"Oh. Oh, yeah, that would be ideal, yeah. I can see that now."
"Speak of this to your father, won't you? On the subject of New York, I'll need to make a trip out there to arrange this if it has his approval."
"Um. Sure. Yeah, I'll go do that. OK."
Cook left the saloon without taking his cigar with him. He proceeded to Daron's house with his head filled of visions of going to the states' capital and finding the men who made this judgment so that he could physically retaliate against them. He kept a stoic face while envisioning acts of torture upon those judges.
"What the hell you smilin for? Makes me nervous when you do that and I don't know why." After saying this, Cook pointed to the ash tray where the lit cigar sat. Bureau responded by pulling a fresh cigar out of the front pocket of his suit coat and placing it on the table next to the tray. Cook nodded and used a match from the box on the table to light it.
"Oh, I think we have an opportunity on our hands here. Tell me, what have you heard from the states lately?"
"Uh, what about em? They got their new president, he made that speech jus a few ago. What else is there?"
"Well, here, you can see for yourself here." Bureau said this while pointing directly down upon the newspaper which was folded in front of him on the table. "They just made a decision. A court decision. It came on the sixth, just last Friday. It's called Scott versus Sanford. You know what they said?"
"No? No, I don't."
"You wouldn't believe it. You wouldn't guess in a lifetime. They actually said that you people can't be citizens of a state. They actually said that. The Chief Judge said that."
Cook was stunned into a fixed state of shock enough that the cigar tipped from the edge of his mouth and landed upon the table, then bounced and fell into his lap before he flinched and quickly recovered it from his body before it burned a hole through his clothes. He placed the burning roll at the end of the ashtray after making the recovery.
"Really?"
"Yep."
"No, I mean - really?"
"Yes, really. You can read it here if you want."
"Even if they're free? Even if they paid to be free?"
"Yes and yes. They mean it. All of you can't be citizens. Ever."
"They have got to be the dumbest bunch of shit eaters in the world." It took a long moment for Cook to say this much in response. He felt the blood in his body run cold and shivers overtake his skin as he considered the full implication of that kind of judgment. Less than a feeling of relief that he wasn't affected by the decision was the rage swelling up within him over the institution which would make that kind of decision. How could they live with that verdict? How could any of his fellow brothers tolerate to be there a minute longer now? His mind raced from one question to the next until Bureau spoke again and snapped him out of it.
"So, do you know why I say this is an opportunity?"
"Um, uh... no, I. I can't say I really do, no. You'll have to tell me."
"Watch what's going to happen because of this. All that expansion that they're doing now, out to Kansas and further on. It's already getting strained by how the grain market has been compared to years ago. The banks have been putting out much more credit than they can handle for years. Now with this, nobody's going to be sure which of those places will hold slaves or not. You just watch as all those railroads reaching out west and cities going up there come to a sudden stop."
"Um, yeah. Yeah, you're right." Cook was still heavily distracted by the news and gave a response mostly out of politeness.
"So that means that the banks that have been supporting all of this are going to be hurting soon. Hurting very badly very soon. We've all talked about wanting to make this town bigger. I think this is our chance. I think if we find the right bank to back it with our gold, we can really make this place grow. I think we can expand out into our aquatic limit, much like New York did so long ago."
"Oh. Oh, yeah, that would be ideal, yeah. I can see that now."
"Speak of this to your father, won't you? On the subject of New York, I'll need to make a trip out there to arrange this if it has his approval."
"Um. Sure. Yeah, I'll go do that. OK."
Cook left the saloon without taking his cigar with him. He proceeded to Daron's house with his head filled of visions of going to the states' capital and finding the men who made this judgment so that he could physically retaliate against them. He kept a stoic face while envisioning acts of torture upon those judges.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
19281122 03:08:29
19281122 03:08:29
JA-S-9600
Snap the carriage into place, line the pipe into the die, clamp the carriage jaws around the exposed pipe, press the button to drag the tube through the die, catch the tube once it's out of the die, let it drop to the bin, press the other button to send the carriage back. Repeat, repeat, repeat. The redundancy of the job never directly bothered William before; he understood that the job required him to do a single task repeatedly, and that it would provide little in the way of mental stimulation. But after having that Tuesday come and pass, and after resuming the work after this lunch break, the bleak present and future of an ordinary life with an ordinary job such as this hit his mind with a sudden impact. The distinct tinge of heated and pressed metal somehow was more pronounced, even over the cigarette smoke which he breathed in and out. The rhythm of the draw bench carriage sliding towards and away from him, and of the pipes straining through the die and falling to the receptacle, remained echoing in his ears with a more ponderous reverberation. The only way he managed to divert himself from these sensations was to contemplate the lunch break had just returned from, where he got to hear the same banter about children and wives by the other employees. The same banter by men who had been here for ten years, or twenty, or more. They were here, then they went home and drank, then they would see their wives and children sometime in between, and that was it - that was the totality of their existence. There was no aspiration of new heights to be found here. Is that just as well? All these men sought to do was provide a home and support for their family, and working here was their way to do it. Is there any realistic expectation for anything different?
William asked these questions to himself, as one more tube after another fell into the pile and gave a sonorous clang when they landed. Ping. Houses are sold for thousands, businesses earn thousands, the owner of the corporation ears thousands upon thousands, and he and his immediate coworkers endure this same task into the endless future for relative pennies. Ping. He had seen disparity, he had seen the social divide over wealth, and he tried to take matters into his own hands. Ping. When he did it, he felt like he was doing something which fulfilled his need to have an answer for these perceptions. Ping. Those other men on the floor, if they cared about any of this, they did nothing to change it. They essentially deserved their fates. Ping. What if he left, and took his family with him; would things be any different anywhere else? In America of all places? Not likely. Ping. Compared to this, he thought that he felt so much more alive when he did those raids. Ping. It would seem that he would be doing the bidding of a criminal - but it would still be him doing what he had just enjoyed doing the most already. They aren't anarchists, and they have a structure to their work, don't they? Ping.
The emptiness of the factory echoed stronger in his head. The carriage returned to his side and he reflexively reached out to grab it, but had no pipe ready to be drawn and instead simply stood there motionless. Finally, it became too much for him to bear.
William Humeski decided to make the call next Tuesday. He nodded and resumed working, knowing that he would be quitting tomorrow.
JA-S-9600
Snap the carriage into place, line the pipe into the die, clamp the carriage jaws around the exposed pipe, press the button to drag the tube through the die, catch the tube once it's out of the die, let it drop to the bin, press the other button to send the carriage back. Repeat, repeat, repeat. The redundancy of the job never directly bothered William before; he understood that the job required him to do a single task repeatedly, and that it would provide little in the way of mental stimulation. But after having that Tuesday come and pass, and after resuming the work after this lunch break, the bleak present and future of an ordinary life with an ordinary job such as this hit his mind with a sudden impact. The distinct tinge of heated and pressed metal somehow was more pronounced, even over the cigarette smoke which he breathed in and out. The rhythm of the draw bench carriage sliding towards and away from him, and of the pipes straining through the die and falling to the receptacle, remained echoing in his ears with a more ponderous reverberation. The only way he managed to divert himself from these sensations was to contemplate the lunch break had just returned from, where he got to hear the same banter about children and wives by the other employees. The same banter by men who had been here for ten years, or twenty, or more. They were here, then they went home and drank, then they would see their wives and children sometime in between, and that was it - that was the totality of their existence. There was no aspiration of new heights to be found here. Is that just as well? All these men sought to do was provide a home and support for their family, and working here was their way to do it. Is there any realistic expectation for anything different?
William asked these questions to himself, as one more tube after another fell into the pile and gave a sonorous clang when they landed. Ping. Houses are sold for thousands, businesses earn thousands, the owner of the corporation ears thousands upon thousands, and he and his immediate coworkers endure this same task into the endless future for relative pennies. Ping. He had seen disparity, he had seen the social divide over wealth, and he tried to take matters into his own hands. Ping. When he did it, he felt like he was doing something which fulfilled his need to have an answer for these perceptions. Ping. Those other men on the floor, if they cared about any of this, they did nothing to change it. They essentially deserved their fates. Ping. What if he left, and took his family with him; would things be any different anywhere else? In America of all places? Not likely. Ping. Compared to this, he thought that he felt so much more alive when he did those raids. Ping. It would seem that he would be doing the bidding of a criminal - but it would still be him doing what he had just enjoyed doing the most already. They aren't anarchists, and they have a structure to their work, don't they? Ping.
The emptiness of the factory echoed stronger in his head. The carriage returned to his side and he reflexively reached out to grab it, but had no pipe ready to be drawn and instead simply stood there motionless. Finally, it became too much for him to bear.
William Humeski decided to make the call next Tuesday. He nodded and resumed working, knowing that he would be quitting tomorrow.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
19281128 17:47:09
19281128 17:47:09
AD-S-1640
The door buzzed open between the second and third time that Pulaski knocked upon the fogged glass set within the door frame. The otherwise darkened hallway beyond the door was illuminated by the light which came from the room at his right. He entered the room and was glad to see his his host standing and waiting for him, though the large smile on his face was unexpected.
"Good evening, sir." Pulaski offered his hand to shake.
"Yes, yes, glad you're here." Torrence actually had an air of giddiness in his voice. Pulaski saw this mood in him so infrequently that he was starting to become a bit concerned for the topic at hand. He took to the empty chair in front of the desk as Torrence returned to his seat at the opposite side.
"So if I didn't know any better, I'd think that you just got done rolling up with a pair of sisters. What's the news?"
"The news is that he called and that he accepted to join us. We got a new man in our ranks. And this guy, I think he'll have a bright future with us. And I think you're one of the best guys I got to show him the ropes and things that we do."
"Huh, really? OK. But now you're talkin like he isn't going to be one of my boys - so he'll be one of yours then?"
"Yep yep. This guy... he's somethin else. He's, well. Like how some folk would call someone a loose cannon - well this guy is a Goddamned loose company. But that's just his ways, see, behind that he's a honest soldier of the Lord. A white knight like a saint, you'll think. You'll see soon enough."
"Wait, you're serious?" Pulaski nearly snarled his teeth when he asked this in a sneer. "This guy you got is some sort of lunatic Christian Soldier of the Church or some shit? And you want me to be his teacher? Me? Is there a gas leak in here?"
"Ha ha, yes I mean it, yes I want you to help him settle in. See, you're closer to his age and you get along with basically everyone when you feel like it. Like you said before, you got that easy air to you. And you right about that. Most of the other folk, I'm not ... I think there's more of a chance that anyone else might rub him the wrong way. And you don't want to rub this guy the wrong way." Torrence dropped the smile on his face when he stated the last sentence.
"Yeah you say that and mention that he's some holy roller shithead. How the fuck am I supposed to make my normal rounds with a guy like that in tow? That ain't gonna work."
"Let some of your men like Kolmar take duties for a bit. And you right though, yes, there are some areas this guy don't need to be. Basically any of the hen houses, for starters. You'll mainly be doin things to have him be seen with you and going to do things like collecting on wheels and such. He won't need no exposure to the fun stuff until I tell him to go."
"Swell. Just what I need. I hope you're right about this, boss. You sure he's gonna be worth it?"
"Look. I've seen what this guy can do when he's against me. If he can do the same for me, we're gonna ... we won't have so many repeat offenders. Believe it. This guy is a terror, and he straight up believes that the will of the Lord Almighty burns within him. And hey, if that's his fuel, if that's what gets him to make the results that I've seen, then he can call himself the thirteenth fucking apostle for all I care."
"Hah, fair enough there. I still can't say I feel so lucky being the guy chosen for doing this, though. Oh well, I'll live, I guess." Pulaski sighed in resignation after saying this. "So what's this guy's name, then?"
"William. And no, not Bill. William."
AD-S-1640
The door buzzed open between the second and third time that Pulaski knocked upon the fogged glass set within the door frame. The otherwise darkened hallway beyond the door was illuminated by the light which came from the room at his right. He entered the room and was glad to see his his host standing and waiting for him, though the large smile on his face was unexpected.
"Good evening, sir." Pulaski offered his hand to shake.
"Yes, yes, glad you're here." Torrence actually had an air of giddiness in his voice. Pulaski saw this mood in him so infrequently that he was starting to become a bit concerned for the topic at hand. He took to the empty chair in front of the desk as Torrence returned to his seat at the opposite side.
"So if I didn't know any better, I'd think that you just got done rolling up with a pair of sisters. What's the news?"
"The news is that he called and that he accepted to join us. We got a new man in our ranks. And this guy, I think he'll have a bright future with us. And I think you're one of the best guys I got to show him the ropes and things that we do."
"Huh, really? OK. But now you're talkin like he isn't going to be one of my boys - so he'll be one of yours then?"
"Yep yep. This guy... he's somethin else. He's, well. Like how some folk would call someone a loose cannon - well this guy is a Goddamned loose company. But that's just his ways, see, behind that he's a honest soldier of the Lord. A white knight like a saint, you'll think. You'll see soon enough."
"Wait, you're serious?" Pulaski nearly snarled his teeth when he asked this in a sneer. "This guy you got is some sort of lunatic Christian Soldier of the Church or some shit? And you want me to be his teacher? Me? Is there a gas leak in here?"
"Ha ha, yes I mean it, yes I want you to help him settle in. See, you're closer to his age and you get along with basically everyone when you feel like it. Like you said before, you got that easy air to you. And you right about that. Most of the other folk, I'm not ... I think there's more of a chance that anyone else might rub him the wrong way. And you don't want to rub this guy the wrong way." Torrence dropped the smile on his face when he stated the last sentence.
"Yeah you say that and mention that he's some holy roller shithead. How the fuck am I supposed to make my normal rounds with a guy like that in tow? That ain't gonna work."
"Let some of your men like Kolmar take duties for a bit. And you right though, yes, there are some areas this guy don't need to be. Basically any of the hen houses, for starters. You'll mainly be doin things to have him be seen with you and going to do things like collecting on wheels and such. He won't need no exposure to the fun stuff until I tell him to go."
"Swell. Just what I need. I hope you're right about this, boss. You sure he's gonna be worth it?"
"Look. I've seen what this guy can do when he's against me. If he can do the same for me, we're gonna ... we won't have so many repeat offenders. Believe it. This guy is a terror, and he straight up believes that the will of the Lord Almighty burns within him. And hey, if that's his fuel, if that's what gets him to make the results that I've seen, then he can call himself the thirteenth fucking apostle for all I care."
"Hah, fair enough there. I still can't say I feel so lucky being the guy chosen for doing this, though. Oh well, I'll live, I guess." Pulaski sighed in resignation after saying this. "So what's this guy's name, then?"
"William. And no, not Bill. William."
Friday, August 16, 2013
19160723 08:56:18
19160723 08:56:18
CF-N-7600
While the rest of the congregation filed out in orderly fashion with the end of the mass at hand, the Humeski family remained seated at their pew; Mary politely smiled and Greg nodded as their neighbors walked past and elicited a salutation. William, to the contrary, remained motionless and unresponsive while waiting for the crowd to exit the church. He rehearsed the lines he was about to say within his mind, and he contemplated the various ways in which the responses from the priest could go. Perhaps his response would be no different than what his dad already told him, that it was best to not challenge the policeman; perhaps he would be reprimanded for not doing more to help the man who was thrown from the second story; perhaps he will be told that he should have consulted another policeman. Perhaps the priest will tell him that the confessional booth is not the proper place to discuss a question of this nature. William didn't know what to expect, and this uncertainty was reflected in the nervousness which he felt reverberate throughout his body. The tension boiled ever stronger within him as he felt the seconds pass by like minutes in anticipation of his chance to speak. After the third time in doing so, he turned to his side to look over at the light above the doorway and now saw it alight. It was time. William looked over to his father, and, with a nod of acknowledgement from him, stood up to walk over to the door. He entered into the darkened chamber and knelt upon the padded board.
"Слава Отцю, і Сину, і Святому Духу." William hoped that stating this much in native speech would give respect to the father and set a proper tone for the discussion.
"Амінь."
He wasn't able to discern who it was that responded from the single word alone, but he quickly refocused on his intended purpose and didn't contemplate that question further.
"Father. I'm not here to make a confession. In truth, I wanted to ask for your answer to a question I have. Is that OK?"
"Так, продовжуйте." He stated this without a delay. William felt a bit relieved by this much alone.
"I saw something happen recently, and I am very troubled by it. I heard a crash of glass, and turned to see a man fall through a window - from the second floor window - and land on the street below. While he laid there, another man came out from the building and started to beat and injure him further. All while this was happening, there was a policeman behind me who watched the whole thing. He then spoke to the man who was punching the man on the ground, and they said a bit to each other and then walked away. Meanwhile, the man who fell through the window was left there on the street."
"What did you do then?"
"I, well, I went over to the man there and I asked him if I could help. And he didn't say anything. He just kept groaning and wheezing out. And I reached a hand out to him to try to help him at least sit upright, and I told him he could take my hand, and then the policeman actually yelled at me. He... he told me to just, leave him alone. That he'd be OK and that I should leave him alone. And, well, I mean, he was a policeman. A policeman told me to do that. So, I felt like I had to do what he said. I didn't want to get in trouble or anything. So I didn't know what else I could do, so I walked away and left him lying there in the street. Did I do the right thing, father? Is it OK that I did that?"
"Hm." The priest hummed the syllable a few times, letting the noise hang in the otherwise silent air in the chamber. "Hm, that is a difficult situation, yes." The priest continued to contemplate an answer. William began to feel increasingly nervous again as he waited for this answer to finally be stated. After considering the question for nearly a full minute, the priest responded.
"Listen - there are two main issues to consider here. First. The will of the Father is bestowed upon all of us, and there is nothing which happens without His reason. Perhaps this man who fell truly was someone who had committed a terrible sin of some kind, and this kind of retaliation - not to say that it should be condoned, mind you - but this kind of retaliation was a natural result of that kind of sin. It is a possibility that this policeman recognized that victim as such a sinner and felt no need to provide aid to someone so wicked. Now, allow me to ask; when you reached out to this man, did he instantly grasp your hand in response?"
"N, no. No he didn't."
"Right. He remained on the ground instead. It is possible that the man himself recognized that his wickedness has earned him his injury, and he ultimately felt that he deserved to suffer at that moment. Sometimes, you will see such men who are offered aid and refuse it, and the reason that they do so is because they acknowledge or believe that they do not deserve it. Sometimes this is justifiably so. Now, allow me another question for the second point. Was this man visibly on the verge of death when you spoke to him? Was he bleeding profusely? Was he crying out in agonizing pain?"
"No, he was not like that, no. He remained mostly still."
"Right. His life was not in immediate danger, and you saw as such. So this is my second point, and my way of saying that you did the right thing there. Had this man been on the brink of death, and all else equal, then no, you would not be justified in walking away from that dying man. In such a case, and you will know it to be so when you feel it within your heart, it would be your Christian duty to help such a man live, despite what anyone else says. If that kind of situation should ever befall you, you will need to remember that there may be a time such as this where you will need to defy immediate authority. Do not at all take this decision lightly, though. You must understand that you do not get to arbitrarily choose which laws to follow. You must understand that these kind of decisions will have consequences. Do you understand?"
"Um. I. Y, yes. Yes, I understand.
"Good. I am glad that you have asked this of me. I understand that this would have weighed heavily upon you. You have done the right thing. Іди з миром."
"Um, thank you, father." William promptly stood up and exited from the room.
Upon seeing him exit, his parents stood up at their pew and waited for him to return to them before they left the church. They remained silent until they walked through the outer doors and winced as they entered the sunlight.
"So, did you get your answer?"
"Um, yeah, I did, dad, yeah. I did."
"Well, good then." The conversation came to an abrupt end and they continued to walk in a perplexed silence. Both parents perceived that William wasn't fully satisfied with what had just happened. Despite being told by his father and the priest to the contrary, William still didn't understand how what he had witnessed and how he responded to it as ultimately being acceptable. Something still felt wrong about it within him.
CF-N-7600
While the rest of the congregation filed out in orderly fashion with the end of the mass at hand, the Humeski family remained seated at their pew; Mary politely smiled and Greg nodded as their neighbors walked past and elicited a salutation. William, to the contrary, remained motionless and unresponsive while waiting for the crowd to exit the church. He rehearsed the lines he was about to say within his mind, and he contemplated the various ways in which the responses from the priest could go. Perhaps his response would be no different than what his dad already told him, that it was best to not challenge the policeman; perhaps he would be reprimanded for not doing more to help the man who was thrown from the second story; perhaps he will be told that he should have consulted another policeman. Perhaps the priest will tell him that the confessional booth is not the proper place to discuss a question of this nature. William didn't know what to expect, and this uncertainty was reflected in the nervousness which he felt reverberate throughout his body. The tension boiled ever stronger within him as he felt the seconds pass by like minutes in anticipation of his chance to speak. After the third time in doing so, he turned to his side to look over at the light above the doorway and now saw it alight. It was time. William looked over to his father, and, with a nod of acknowledgement from him, stood up to walk over to the door. He entered into the darkened chamber and knelt upon the padded board.
"Слава Отцю, і Сину, і Святому Духу." William hoped that stating this much in native speech would give respect to the father and set a proper tone for the discussion.
"Амінь."
He wasn't able to discern who it was that responded from the single word alone, but he quickly refocused on his intended purpose and didn't contemplate that question further.
"Father. I'm not here to make a confession. In truth, I wanted to ask for your answer to a question I have. Is that OK?"
"Так, продовжуйте." He stated this without a delay. William felt a bit relieved by this much alone.
"I saw something happen recently, and I am very troubled by it. I heard a crash of glass, and turned to see a man fall through a window - from the second floor window - and land on the street below. While he laid there, another man came out from the building and started to beat and injure him further. All while this was happening, there was a policeman behind me who watched the whole thing. He then spoke to the man who was punching the man on the ground, and they said a bit to each other and then walked away. Meanwhile, the man who fell through the window was left there on the street."
"What did you do then?"
"I, well, I went over to the man there and I asked him if I could help. And he didn't say anything. He just kept groaning and wheezing out. And I reached a hand out to him to try to help him at least sit upright, and I told him he could take my hand, and then the policeman actually yelled at me. He... he told me to just, leave him alone. That he'd be OK and that I should leave him alone. And, well, I mean, he was a policeman. A policeman told me to do that. So, I felt like I had to do what he said. I didn't want to get in trouble or anything. So I didn't know what else I could do, so I walked away and left him lying there in the street. Did I do the right thing, father? Is it OK that I did that?"
"Hm." The priest hummed the syllable a few times, letting the noise hang in the otherwise silent air in the chamber. "Hm, that is a difficult situation, yes." The priest continued to contemplate an answer. William began to feel increasingly nervous again as he waited for this answer to finally be stated. After considering the question for nearly a full minute, the priest responded.
"Listen - there are two main issues to consider here. First. The will of the Father is bestowed upon all of us, and there is nothing which happens without His reason. Perhaps this man who fell truly was someone who had committed a terrible sin of some kind, and this kind of retaliation - not to say that it should be condoned, mind you - but this kind of retaliation was a natural result of that kind of sin. It is a possibility that this policeman recognized that victim as such a sinner and felt no need to provide aid to someone so wicked. Now, allow me to ask; when you reached out to this man, did he instantly grasp your hand in response?"
"N, no. No he didn't."
"Right. He remained on the ground instead. It is possible that the man himself recognized that his wickedness has earned him his injury, and he ultimately felt that he deserved to suffer at that moment. Sometimes, you will see such men who are offered aid and refuse it, and the reason that they do so is because they acknowledge or believe that they do not deserve it. Sometimes this is justifiably so. Now, allow me another question for the second point. Was this man visibly on the verge of death when you spoke to him? Was he bleeding profusely? Was he crying out in agonizing pain?"
"No, he was not like that, no. He remained mostly still."
"Right. His life was not in immediate danger, and you saw as such. So this is my second point, and my way of saying that you did the right thing there. Had this man been on the brink of death, and all else equal, then no, you would not be justified in walking away from that dying man. In such a case, and you will know it to be so when you feel it within your heart, it would be your Christian duty to help such a man live, despite what anyone else says. If that kind of situation should ever befall you, you will need to remember that there may be a time such as this where you will need to defy immediate authority. Do not at all take this decision lightly, though. You must understand that you do not get to arbitrarily choose which laws to follow. You must understand that these kind of decisions will have consequences. Do you understand?"
"Um. I. Y, yes. Yes, I understand.
"Good. I am glad that you have asked this of me. I understand that this would have weighed heavily upon you. You have done the right thing. Іди з миром."
"Um, thank you, father." William promptly stood up and exited from the room.
Upon seeing him exit, his parents stood up at their pew and waited for him to return to them before they left the church. They remained silent until they walked through the outer doors and winced as they entered the sunlight.
"So, did you get your answer?"
"Um, yeah, I did, dad, yeah. I did."
"Well, good then." The conversation came to an abrupt end and they continued to walk in a perplexed silence. Both parents perceived that William wasn't fully satisfied with what had just happened. Despite being told by his father and the priest to the contrary, William still didn't understand how what he had witnessed and how he responded to it as ultimately being acceptable. Something still felt wrong about it within him.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
18540620 14:40:30
18540620 14:40:30
"Oh, I've got to show you this, you've got to see this, look here, look. Look at this." Nick Oller pulled the folded newspaper from beneath his suit coat and placed it besides Bureau's mug, then proceeded to sit down at the table across from him.
After placing his fork onto the plate, he took the paper up and unfolded it with an initial sharp snap before laying it upon the table and patting it down to spread it out. He quickly scanned over one column to the next in search of something related to news about a ship or a sailing route, as he was sure that was the only kind of news which would make Nick so excited.
"So what am I looking at?" He asked the question as much to bring his fruitless search to an end as well as having a reason for Nick to speak and not visibly bounce in his seat as if he was a giddy schoolboy.
"Look at that third column there, look at that! They're calling it the Grand Eastern, and construction has begun on it. It's going to be incredible! It's going to be-"
"Six hundred feet, no kidding. Yeah, that's something there."
"It really is, isn't it? The amount of goods and passengers something like that could transport truly defies the imagination. In fact, I'm not sure if-"
"You want to have more of your port and dock space expanded to take a ship like this into the city." Bureau said this in a tone as dry as the steak from which he cut a piece and started to noisly chew.
"W, well of course. Should we not be prepared for something like this? I think it's fair to say that mercantile ships will not be getting smaller in size as the years progress, and if we're to remain competitive with New York and other cities, we'll need to assuredly have the means with which they can properly utilize our sea ports." Nick took a moment to look at Bureau and saw that he was busy chewing his food, which indicated to him that he wasn't particularly enthralled with the news or the proposal. "You don't think so?"
"Hm." Bureau did his best to conceal his exasperation with Nick's overtly positive manner before he swallowed his piece of steak and voiced his concerns. "I can see that being possible, yes, but this ship has such a grand shape that I'm not fully confident it will rise to its envisioned destiny. Remember what just happened with that Powhattan ship at Jersey. Is having that kind of disaster, but ten times more lethal and damaging, something that people are going to want to risk?"
"Well the city of Portland certainly thinks so. I've heard news that they're already making new construction to explicitly accommodate this new ship." Nick's retort was blunt and quick, as he wanted Bureau to understand what he perceived as the gravity of the situation as well as take his proposal more seriously.
"Are they? At what cost? Do you know?"
"I've uh. I've heard a figure of something around a hundred thousand. Maybe more."
"Ho, really? More than one hundred thousand. Phew. That's a rather substantial amount, yes. Heh. That's pretty courageous of that city to put so much backing behind one line too. I hope that doesn't bite them later. Anyway, if you-"
"I didn't come here expecting that much, no. That would be a ridiculous amount, I agree. But I think you know as well as anyone that improvements could stand to be made regardless, and I would think that even a receipt of half of a hundred-"
"How many points?" Now, Bureau was directly engaged and focused on the conversation. He kept his gaze upon Nick while he kept his fists rested upon the edge of the table.
"Eight."
Their present agreement was set at six percent.
"Hm. Eight for fifty is a bit steep. Hm. Hm. Well, let's just put it out there. I'll pass it on. Don't hold your breath though, Nick."
"Very well. Thank you." Nick stood up from his seat with a nod and made his way past Bureau, who nodded twice and summarily resumed his dinner as Nick walked behind him.
Nick Oller reached for a cigar within his suit coat and fumbled with the match as he attempted to strike it against the horse post. He sighed as he bent over to pick the match up and managed to get his cigar lit with the second attempt. He wasn't pleased with that result.
"Oh, I've got to show you this, you've got to see this, look here, look. Look at this." Nick Oller pulled the folded newspaper from beneath his suit coat and placed it besides Bureau's mug, then proceeded to sit down at the table across from him.
After placing his fork onto the plate, he took the paper up and unfolded it with an initial sharp snap before laying it upon the table and patting it down to spread it out. He quickly scanned over one column to the next in search of something related to news about a ship or a sailing route, as he was sure that was the only kind of news which would make Nick so excited.
"So what am I looking at?" He asked the question as much to bring his fruitless search to an end as well as having a reason for Nick to speak and not visibly bounce in his seat as if he was a giddy schoolboy.
"Look at that third column there, look at that! They're calling it the Grand Eastern, and construction has begun on it. It's going to be incredible! It's going to be-"
"Six hundred feet, no kidding. Yeah, that's something there."
"It really is, isn't it? The amount of goods and passengers something like that could transport truly defies the imagination. In fact, I'm not sure if-"
"You want to have more of your port and dock space expanded to take a ship like this into the city." Bureau said this in a tone as dry as the steak from which he cut a piece and started to noisly chew.
"W, well of course. Should we not be prepared for something like this? I think it's fair to say that mercantile ships will not be getting smaller in size as the years progress, and if we're to remain competitive with New York and other cities, we'll need to assuredly have the means with which they can properly utilize our sea ports." Nick took a moment to look at Bureau and saw that he was busy chewing his food, which indicated to him that he wasn't particularly enthralled with the news or the proposal. "You don't think so?"
"Hm." Bureau did his best to conceal his exasperation with Nick's overtly positive manner before he swallowed his piece of steak and voiced his concerns. "I can see that being possible, yes, but this ship has such a grand shape that I'm not fully confident it will rise to its envisioned destiny. Remember what just happened with that Powhattan ship at Jersey. Is having that kind of disaster, but ten times more lethal and damaging, something that people are going to want to risk?"
"Well the city of Portland certainly thinks so. I've heard news that they're already making new construction to explicitly accommodate this new ship." Nick's retort was blunt and quick, as he wanted Bureau to understand what he perceived as the gravity of the situation as well as take his proposal more seriously.
"Are they? At what cost? Do you know?"
"I've uh. I've heard a figure of something around a hundred thousand. Maybe more."
"Ho, really? More than one hundred thousand. Phew. That's a rather substantial amount, yes. Heh. That's pretty courageous of that city to put so much backing behind one line too. I hope that doesn't bite them later. Anyway, if you-"
"I didn't come here expecting that much, no. That would be a ridiculous amount, I agree. But I think you know as well as anyone that improvements could stand to be made regardless, and I would think that even a receipt of half of a hundred-"
"How many points?" Now, Bureau was directly engaged and focused on the conversation. He kept his gaze upon Nick while he kept his fists rested upon the edge of the table.
"Eight."
Their present agreement was set at six percent.
"Hm. Eight for fifty is a bit steep. Hm. Hm. Well, let's just put it out there. I'll pass it on. Don't hold your breath though, Nick."
"Very well. Thank you." Nick stood up from his seat with a nod and made his way past Bureau, who nodded twice and summarily resumed his dinner as Nick walked behind him.
Nick Oller reached for a cigar within his suit coat and fumbled with the match as he attempted to strike it against the horse post. He sighed as he bent over to pick the match up and managed to get his cigar lit with the second attempt. He wasn't pleased with that result.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
19160720 13:33:33
CA-N-7900
19160720 13:33:33
William Humeski felt that he was having one of the best days of the summer. The church's fishing excursion was a success for him, as he was able to get three large pikes on the day; the first of the three he was able to sell off to another boy for twenty cents, and the other two he could bring home to have for dinner. In the course of the morning, the two dimes seemed to burn their way through his pants pockets and weld themselves into his thighs. The relief came when he was able to go to the corner drug store and buy a few chocolate bars, which he made sure to tightly wrap separately so that they wouldn't smell too much like the fish when he put them together in the paper bag. A wide smile of satisfaction beamed from his face like the hot summer sun which blazed all around the buildings and street in his view. William was walking up to 80th and about to turn the corner to go west when he was startled by the sound of shattered glass.
He instinctively looked towards the street in the assumption that it was a car collision of some kind, but he soon saw the sun reflect in shards of glass as they rained down from the air above the sidewalk. Before he could blink and comprehend what he was looking at, he watched the man fall from the shattered window on the second floor and land upon his back with a forceful audible slap upon the pavement. William was transfixed and couldn't keep his eyes away from the man who slowly began to writhe upon the ground after being immobile for a moment after the impact. Suddenly, the first floor door to the building with the broken window flew open and another man dashed out of it; he then lept onto the fallen man and struck him repeatedly in the face with his fist.
"You gonna come back here now with your shit, asshole! You gonna do that now!" Exeter screamed the question loudly enough to make his voice echo over the few cars which were on the street.
William turned in place and looked around the entire city block in disbelief that he was bearing witness to this sequence of events. When he looked back again to the entrance of the corner drug store, he saw a policeman standing and watching the confrontation as well. What William found peculiar is that the policeman watched this without an expression of shock; his eyes were halfway open and he lazily chewed something in his mouth while he spectated the savage beating. William didn't understand what was happening. Why did this policeman just watch all of this as if it was normal? Wasn't he supposed to do something to stop this?
"This one is ours! You'll get worse than this if I see your nasty shit face here again!" After standing up to tower over the man and scream this at him, Exeter kicked at the man, which caused him to gently roll to the side and audibly wallow in pain.
He couldn't help but to speak to the policeman now.
"Aren't you supposed to do something?"
Without glancing towards William, the policeman spoke out.
"You OK there?"
"What?" Exeter snapped his attention away from the man to the officer in a glare, then quickly changed his countenance when he recognized who was speaking to him. "Oh, uh, hey John. Yeah I'm fine. I'm fine. This guy just needed a reminder. You all right?"
"Ayup."
"Good."
At that point, both men turned their backs to each other and walked in opposite directions. The injured man slowly writhed his body upon the ground until he was able to support his back against the curb, then held his body upright in that position so that he could breathe better.
William remained frozen in place for several minutes with his bag of fish and chocolate held loosely at his side. He tried and tried again, but he could not understand what he had just seen.
19160720 13:33:33
William Humeski felt that he was having one of the best days of the summer. The church's fishing excursion was a success for him, as he was able to get three large pikes on the day; the first of the three he was able to sell off to another boy for twenty cents, and the other two he could bring home to have for dinner. In the course of the morning, the two dimes seemed to burn their way through his pants pockets and weld themselves into his thighs. The relief came when he was able to go to the corner drug store and buy a few chocolate bars, which he made sure to tightly wrap separately so that they wouldn't smell too much like the fish when he put them together in the paper bag. A wide smile of satisfaction beamed from his face like the hot summer sun which blazed all around the buildings and street in his view. William was walking up to 80th and about to turn the corner to go west when he was startled by the sound of shattered glass.
He instinctively looked towards the street in the assumption that it was a car collision of some kind, but he soon saw the sun reflect in shards of glass as they rained down from the air above the sidewalk. Before he could blink and comprehend what he was looking at, he watched the man fall from the shattered window on the second floor and land upon his back with a forceful audible slap upon the pavement. William was transfixed and couldn't keep his eyes away from the man who slowly began to writhe upon the ground after being immobile for a moment after the impact. Suddenly, the first floor door to the building with the broken window flew open and another man dashed out of it; he then lept onto the fallen man and struck him repeatedly in the face with his fist.
"You gonna come back here now with your shit, asshole! You gonna do that now!" Exeter screamed the question loudly enough to make his voice echo over the few cars which were on the street.
William turned in place and looked around the entire city block in disbelief that he was bearing witness to this sequence of events. When he looked back again to the entrance of the corner drug store, he saw a policeman standing and watching the confrontation as well. What William found peculiar is that the policeman watched this without an expression of shock; his eyes were halfway open and he lazily chewed something in his mouth while he spectated the savage beating. William didn't understand what was happening. Why did this policeman just watch all of this as if it was normal? Wasn't he supposed to do something to stop this?
"This one is ours! You'll get worse than this if I see your nasty shit face here again!" After standing up to tower over the man and scream this at him, Exeter kicked at the man, which caused him to gently roll to the side and audibly wallow in pain.
He couldn't help but to speak to the policeman now.
"Aren't you supposed to do something?"
Without glancing towards William, the policeman spoke out.
"You OK there?"
"What?" Exeter snapped his attention away from the man to the officer in a glare, then quickly changed his countenance when he recognized who was speaking to him. "Oh, uh, hey John. Yeah I'm fine. I'm fine. This guy just needed a reminder. You all right?"
"Ayup."
"Good."
At that point, both men turned their backs to each other and walked in opposite directions. The injured man slowly writhed his body upon the ground until he was able to support his back against the curb, then held his body upright in that position so that he could breathe better.
William remained frozen in place for several minutes with his bag of fish and chocolate held loosely at his side. He tried and tried again, but he could not understand what he had just seen.
Monday, August 12, 2013
18581001 23:47:47
18581001 23:47:47
Tonight was one of those nights for Eugene Dobson. By now, everyone else knew to take in stride and far out of his path; the main issue was making the guess as to how he would react to the amount of alcohol that he would take in over the course of the evening. The kind of day he had at work seemed to have no bearing to indicate it one way or another, as some days he would have so much to complain about that he wouldn't take the time to get exceedingly drunk before he would retire for the day from exhaustion. Other nights were like these, where he had plenty of time to consume all that he could get his hands on and make it no secret to everyone else. Evicting Eugene was not an option, as there was nobody else who had the physical stature to do so. Turning him out to the open was also potentially dangerous, as there would be no way to predict what he would do - particularly with his fists. Likewise, there was no way to enforce a ban upon him and prevent the situation from arising again to begin with. As a result of all of these circumstances, Eugene now had his act in full swing. His raucous laugh echoed through the saloon's thin walls, and his jovial shoulder punches and shoves led to people reacting in pain or falling down, both of which would cause him to laugh more.
This was the moment that Cook was waiting for. While everyone else stared at Eugene in apprehension between their drinks, Cook stood up from his table and called out to him.
"Dobson. Enough with the bullshit. Enjoy your drink like a gentlemen, as the rest of us do."
Everyone in the room stared at Cook as silence fell upon the saloon. While he walked past a patron on a stool who wasn't directly in his way, Eugene pushed the man down to the ground in a firm thrust of his hands. Within a short moment, the two were standing eye to eye with a mere few inches in distance between them. He leaned over Cook while he glared at him.
"The hell you sayta me boy? You sayin that to me?"
"Yeah, I am. You need to stop your childish act now. It's enough."
Eugene squinted and let a smile slowly curl over his darkened teeth before he responded.
"Sure thing, friend. You gwanan stop me. Heh. You do that." He then reached to Cook's table and took up the filled mug that was on it, and lifted it to his mouth to guzzle it down.
This was what he waited for. Cook positioned the grip of his right hand to aim, and twisted the bracelet. The chain on the bracelet quickly disintegrated, then raced over his palm and composed itself into a solid rod. His aim was precise, and the thrust of the rod's tip struck against the bottom of Eugene's hand which held the mug. The unexpected and forceful strike caused Eugene to recoil backwards and release his grip, and he held his hands together in shock while the mug landed upon the wooden floor. Cook twisted the bracelet again and felt the rod disintegrate from his hand while he heard the spilled beer fizzle at his feet. Eugene, like the rest of the patrons, stared in bewilderment at Cook without understanding what had just happened. He attempted to think of something to say and touched his tongue against his teeth while he turned his head from side to side and blinking in disbelief. Finally, he let his rage take over and yelled out as he started to lunge towards Cook. Cook aimed his hand at the center of his body and twisted the bracelet again. The rod shot out straight from his body and struck at Eugene's chest just as he was about to be tackled. Cook stepped backwards as the impact caused Eugene to buckle over and fall to the floor upon his knees. Once more, he twisted the bracelet and allowed the metal to reform the chain which wrapped around his wrist as he watched Eugene cross his arms over his chest and cough in giant heaves after deep breaths.
Everyone in the saloon remained motionless and stared at Cook. No witness was able to understand what had just happened.
Tonight was one of those nights for Eugene Dobson. By now, everyone else knew to take in stride and far out of his path; the main issue was making the guess as to how he would react to the amount of alcohol that he would take in over the course of the evening. The kind of day he had at work seemed to have no bearing to indicate it one way or another, as some days he would have so much to complain about that he wouldn't take the time to get exceedingly drunk before he would retire for the day from exhaustion. Other nights were like these, where he had plenty of time to consume all that he could get his hands on and make it no secret to everyone else. Evicting Eugene was not an option, as there was nobody else who had the physical stature to do so. Turning him out to the open was also potentially dangerous, as there would be no way to predict what he would do - particularly with his fists. Likewise, there was no way to enforce a ban upon him and prevent the situation from arising again to begin with. As a result of all of these circumstances, Eugene now had his act in full swing. His raucous laugh echoed through the saloon's thin walls, and his jovial shoulder punches and shoves led to people reacting in pain or falling down, both of which would cause him to laugh more.
This was the moment that Cook was waiting for. While everyone else stared at Eugene in apprehension between their drinks, Cook stood up from his table and called out to him.
"Dobson. Enough with the bullshit. Enjoy your drink like a gentlemen, as the rest of us do."
Everyone in the room stared at Cook as silence fell upon the saloon. While he walked past a patron on a stool who wasn't directly in his way, Eugene pushed the man down to the ground in a firm thrust of his hands. Within a short moment, the two were standing eye to eye with a mere few inches in distance between them. He leaned over Cook while he glared at him.
"The hell you sayta me boy? You sayin that to me?"
"Yeah, I am. You need to stop your childish act now. It's enough."
Eugene squinted and let a smile slowly curl over his darkened teeth before he responded.
"Sure thing, friend. You gwanan stop me. Heh. You do that." He then reached to Cook's table and took up the filled mug that was on it, and lifted it to his mouth to guzzle it down.
This was what he waited for. Cook positioned the grip of his right hand to aim, and twisted the bracelet. The chain on the bracelet quickly disintegrated, then raced over his palm and composed itself into a solid rod. His aim was precise, and the thrust of the rod's tip struck against the bottom of Eugene's hand which held the mug. The unexpected and forceful strike caused Eugene to recoil backwards and release his grip, and he held his hands together in shock while the mug landed upon the wooden floor. Cook twisted the bracelet again and felt the rod disintegrate from his hand while he heard the spilled beer fizzle at his feet. Eugene, like the rest of the patrons, stared in bewilderment at Cook without understanding what had just happened. He attempted to think of something to say and touched his tongue against his teeth while he turned his head from side to side and blinking in disbelief. Finally, he let his rage take over and yelled out as he started to lunge towards Cook. Cook aimed his hand at the center of his body and twisted the bracelet again. The rod shot out straight from his body and struck at Eugene's chest just as he was about to be tackled. Cook stepped backwards as the impact caused Eugene to buckle over and fall to the floor upon his knees. Once more, he twisted the bracelet and allowed the metal to reform the chain which wrapped around his wrist as he watched Eugene cross his arms over his chest and cough in giant heaves after deep breaths.
Everyone in the saloon remained motionless and stared at Cook. No witness was able to understand what had just happened.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
18360101 14:35:10
18360101 14:35:10
Though there were more bodies within the small cabin, the interior did not feel any warmer to Daron or Jesse. The silence which now sat in accompaniment only aggravated Daron's internal tension and concern. He already made a mistake by admitting to an "accident" in respect of Whitney. Now he had to be ready to answer the questions which assuredly would be asked - What kind of accident? How recently did it happen? Where did he go? Did he have an expected time to return?
"Perhaps we should make a proper introduction."
"What? An- oh. Yes. Yes, that would be a good thing to do at first here, yes." Her proposition caught Daron off guard. "Well, as I had said, I am Daron Hoobler, and this here is Jesse. I am his guardian, not his father. Nice to meet you all. Jesse?"
"Nice to meet you." Jesse nodded his head after making the echo.
"Very well. I am Mrs. Laurel Poole, and with me is my elder son Saul and younger daughter Marian. He is four years of age and she is three."
"Saul Poole, nice to meet you. Marian Poole, nice to meet you as well. Jesse, I think what you ought to do is go about some pickin and have these children be with you, and see if maybe they can learn a bit or help hold a bucket or something. OK?"
"Yes sir." Jesse promptly sat up from the chair and went to the door to begin making preparations to go outside. The Poole children remained in place and stared at their mother until she smiled and motioned her hand over to Jesse, telling them that they should go help Jesse out. Daron sought to get a few more moments to ponder. He imagined himself saying lines like "His accident happened while they were harvesting. That's why there's little food." He sought to get more time.
"Jesse - tell the children what you're going to do now." Daron kept his gaze upon Jesse as he went over meticulous detail about the kinds of berries and grasses he was about to look for, and how to know which ones to pick. He nodded reflexively as pauses came in Jesse's speech. He spoke when the silence resumed. "Good. Go with the Lord, young man. You children too." Jesse nodded and opened the door to step out, then held it open for the children to slowly walk after him until they were out of the cabin.
"Mister Hoobler - is there a particular reason why you were so eager to send the children away just now? Is there something of grave importance which could not be stated in front of my children?"
"Oh! No, Mrs. Poole. Heavens I should hope not, no. It's just that sunset approaches quickly and food is already stretched thin for this winter, and-"
"Is my husband dead?"
"Mrs. Poole, I last saw your husband alive when he left from here more than a week ago. I pray for his recovery. What his health is at this instant I cannot say for sure."
"Has he sent you any notification of where he is currently staying?" Her frame became increasingly stiff as she asked the questions. Her lips pursed together as her vision narrowed, and she felt pressure in her mouth and jaw slowly accumulate.
"No, madam. Unfortunately we do not regularly receive mail here."
"what kind of injury did he sustain?"
"I did. I didn't directly see what happened, Mrs. Poole, but when he cried for help, he was injured to an extent that he could not stand up on his own power. He was chopping wood at the time.
Laurel turned her head to the side in sullen disbelief. She has never known Whitney to be inaccurate or unsafe with his use of tools.
tbc --->
Though there were more bodies within the small cabin, the interior did not feel any warmer to Daron or Jesse. The silence which now sat in accompaniment only aggravated Daron's internal tension and concern. He already made a mistake by admitting to an "accident" in respect of Whitney. Now he had to be ready to answer the questions which assuredly would be asked - What kind of accident? How recently did it happen? Where did he go? Did he have an expected time to return?
"Perhaps we should make a proper introduction."
"What? An- oh. Yes. Yes, that would be a good thing to do at first here, yes." Her proposition caught Daron off guard. "Well, as I had said, I am Daron Hoobler, and this here is Jesse. I am his guardian, not his father. Nice to meet you all. Jesse?"
"Nice to meet you." Jesse nodded his head after making the echo.
"Very well. I am Mrs. Laurel Poole, and with me is my elder son Saul and younger daughter Marian. He is four years of age and she is three."
"Saul Poole, nice to meet you. Marian Poole, nice to meet you as well. Jesse, I think what you ought to do is go about some pickin and have these children be with you, and see if maybe they can learn a bit or help hold a bucket or something. OK?"
"Yes sir." Jesse promptly sat up from the chair and went to the door to begin making preparations to go outside. The Poole children remained in place and stared at their mother until she smiled and motioned her hand over to Jesse, telling them that they should go help Jesse out. Daron sought to get a few more moments to ponder. He imagined himself saying lines like "His accident happened while they were harvesting. That's why there's little food." He sought to get more time.
"Jesse - tell the children what you're going to do now." Daron kept his gaze upon Jesse as he went over meticulous detail about the kinds of berries and grasses he was about to look for, and how to know which ones to pick. He nodded reflexively as pauses came in Jesse's speech. He spoke when the silence resumed. "Good. Go with the Lord, young man. You children too." Jesse nodded and opened the door to step out, then held it open for the children to slowly walk after him until they were out of the cabin.
"Mister Hoobler - is there a particular reason why you were so eager to send the children away just now? Is there something of grave importance which could not be stated in front of my children?"
"Oh! No, Mrs. Poole. Heavens I should hope not, no. It's just that sunset approaches quickly and food is already stretched thin for this winter, and-"
"Is my husband dead?"
"Mrs. Poole, I last saw your husband alive when he left from here more than a week ago. I pray for his recovery. What his health is at this instant I cannot say for sure."
"Has he sent you any notification of where he is currently staying?" Her frame became increasingly stiff as she asked the questions. Her lips pursed together as her vision narrowed, and she felt pressure in her mouth and jaw slowly accumulate.
"No, madam. Unfortunately we do not regularly receive mail here."
"what kind of injury did he sustain?"
"I did. I didn't directly see what happened, Mrs. Poole, but when he cried for help, he was injured to an extent that he could not stand up on his own power. He was chopping wood at the time.
Laurel turned her head to the side in sullen disbelief. She has never known Whitney to be inaccurate or unsafe with his use of tools.
tbc --->
Friday, August 9, 2013
19290902 09:21:48
EU-N-5040
19290902 09:21:48
His body gave the highest resistance when he first pulled the tethered bar down to his chest, and once he had finally pulled it close enough to make it physically touch his body, he held it there for several seconds, feeling the breath flush out of his nostrils as if he was trying to dislodge something inside. Ridgeland did in fact have the sensation that he wanted to cough or spit something up, but nothing came of it. If this was suffering from the amount of drinking that he did last night, he though the excuse to be surprising, as he was sure that he had taken more in on other nights without this kind of sensation, and he felt that he had balanced his alcohol with water. Both of these stipulations were in fact true, but he still felt groggy regardless. Finally, he summoned the will to relax his arm muscles to let the handlebar hover over his head, then pull it back down towards him in repeated strokes.
"You sure you don't want to just get some steam off first?" Roger sat still with the free weights resting on his sides upon the bench where he sat.
"No, Roger, I'm fine, I need to get myself going first before then."
"Yeah yeah OK, OK. Uhrm, what all did you do last night?"
"Nothin special." Ridgeland kept rhythm in pulling the handlebar down.
"Yeah? Who with? Was that one choir boy with you?"
Upon hearing the question, Ridgeland accidentally let the handlebar slip from his fingers, causing the counterweight to fall down in a harsh strike to the ground. He felt his teeth grind and roll around his lips before he answered.
"No. He got to go on vacation."
"Oh, hah, really? Wow. Gone gone on vacation? That never happens. I mean, I've never heard you bein able to take a break and get away somewhere."
"Right." Ridgeland's response here came as a grunt, as he did so while sitting up to reach for the handlebar and take it back down to him again.
"Heh. Wonder what makes him so special."
At this point, the two men resumed their exercises and said nothing more to each other for the next half hour until they agreed to retire to the steam room.
19290902 09:21:48
His body gave the highest resistance when he first pulled the tethered bar down to his chest, and once he had finally pulled it close enough to make it physically touch his body, he held it there for several seconds, feeling the breath flush out of his nostrils as if he was trying to dislodge something inside. Ridgeland did in fact have the sensation that he wanted to cough or spit something up, but nothing came of it. If this was suffering from the amount of drinking that he did last night, he though the excuse to be surprising, as he was sure that he had taken more in on other nights without this kind of sensation, and he felt that he had balanced his alcohol with water. Both of these stipulations were in fact true, but he still felt groggy regardless. Finally, he summoned the will to relax his arm muscles to let the handlebar hover over his head, then pull it back down towards him in repeated strokes.
"You sure you don't want to just get some steam off first?" Roger sat still with the free weights resting on his sides upon the bench where he sat.
"No, Roger, I'm fine, I need to get myself going first before then."
"Yeah yeah OK, OK. Uhrm, what all did you do last night?"
"Nothin special." Ridgeland kept rhythm in pulling the handlebar down.
"Yeah? Who with? Was that one choir boy with you?"
Upon hearing the question, Ridgeland accidentally let the handlebar slip from his fingers, causing the counterweight to fall down in a harsh strike to the ground. He felt his teeth grind and roll around his lips before he answered.
"No. He got to go on vacation."
"Oh, hah, really? Wow. Gone gone on vacation? That never happens. I mean, I've never heard you bein able to take a break and get away somewhere."
"Right." Ridgeland's response here came as a grunt, as he did so while sitting up to reach for the handlebar and take it back down to him again.
"Heh. Wonder what makes him so special."
At this point, the two men resumed their exercises and said nothing more to each other for the next half hour until they agreed to retire to the steam room.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
19290825 19:33:59
AD-S-1640
19290825 19:33:59
Torrence held the long black case in his left hand and flipped the top open away from himself with his right. A slight smile cracked upon the edges of Kedzie's lips. It was beautiful to finally see in front of him.
"It is done. Try it out."
Kezdie nodded and took the chained watch into his hands, holding the body in his right. He brushed his thumb against the button on its top to test its sensitivity, and he found it to have a minimal amount of give before the light force he applied was resisted. The gold chain which he laced between two fingertips was a fine mesh of tiny links with a width of an eighth of an inch.
He pressed the button. The force of the chain's motion sent the watch body to the base of his palm, while the hilt melted into composition in his hand. The chain fled from his fingertips and snapped into a blade which grew to thirty inches. Two edges formed at the sides of the sword while the hollow middle was held in place by an interweaving of chain that curved and overlapped each other like vines. He lazily motioned the blade with his wrist and found it to be no heavier than a few pounds; then he wrapped his left hand around his right, pulled the blade over his head, and swung down upon the concrete floor with all of his strength. A few sparks and splinters of concrete flew from the point of impact, and the blade resonated with an echoing tone. The tone went away when he pressed the button again and the blade disintegrated from its structure to become the thin gold chain once more.
"Looks good." Torrence's praise was genuine.
"I agree. But, as stated, I cannot use this until it is blessed." Kedzie kept his eyes upon Torrence after saying this and replacing the watch into the box.
"Yeah, I figured you was serious about that, heh."
19290825 19:33:59
Torrence held the long black case in his left hand and flipped the top open away from himself with his right. A slight smile cracked upon the edges of Kedzie's lips. It was beautiful to finally see in front of him.
"It is done. Try it out."
Kezdie nodded and took the chained watch into his hands, holding the body in his right. He brushed his thumb against the button on its top to test its sensitivity, and he found it to have a minimal amount of give before the light force he applied was resisted. The gold chain which he laced between two fingertips was a fine mesh of tiny links with a width of an eighth of an inch.
He pressed the button. The force of the chain's motion sent the watch body to the base of his palm, while the hilt melted into composition in his hand. The chain fled from his fingertips and snapped into a blade which grew to thirty inches. Two edges formed at the sides of the sword while the hollow middle was held in place by an interweaving of chain that curved and overlapped each other like vines. He lazily motioned the blade with his wrist and found it to be no heavier than a few pounds; then he wrapped his left hand around his right, pulled the blade over his head, and swung down upon the concrete floor with all of his strength. A few sparks and splinters of concrete flew from the point of impact, and the blade resonated with an echoing tone. The tone went away when he pressed the button again and the blade disintegrated from its structure to become the thin gold chain once more.
"Looks good." Torrence's praise was genuine.
"I agree. But, as stated, I cannot use this until it is blessed." Kedzie kept his eyes upon Torrence after saying this and replacing the watch into the box.
"Yeah, I figured you was serious about that, heh."
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
BP-S-0040
BP-S-0040
This location was first home to Wesley's Saloon and was built along with several other nearby businesses after the land was filled in 1846. Its prime location along the central road and lack of competing venues in its immediate vicinity helped to strengthen its business. The saloon was a low class establishment, which offered nothing in the way of entertainment or gaming, and drew regular patrons for having some of the cheapest beer and whiskey to be found in the city. Elmer Wesley figured that the local patrons would be among the poorer and working class citizens who were in that area in order to build and live in the newest houses and duplexes as they were being constructed nearby. After a generation, the neighborhood saw the lower class people leave for other developments and the commercial areas which shared the street began to serve more upscale clients. Elmer's son Nicholas wanted to reinvent the saloon to accommodate this new kind of business, and do so by completely upgrading and changing everything that the saloon had, including its name. Carbondale took this opportunity to have a direct hand in how the reinvented saloon would be furnished and presented. Nicholas originally proposed the new name of the bar to be "Mallard Green", but Carbondale compelled the name be changed to "Duck Green"; Carbondale stated that he felt the shorter name of "Duck" would make it more memorable to the public, but his private intent was to not have the location bear a name similar to that of Millard Fillmore. With the name settled, Nicholas permitted Duck Green to be a bar where "companion girls" would be part of the employed staff, and on hand with the intent to mingle with patrons as a means to compel them to stay and spend more money on food and drink. Duck Green became one of the many regular locations where The Runners would conduct business until 1953. At that point, the address block of BP-S-0000 through BP-S-0200 was purchased and razed to make way for the construction of the Bluepoint Tower, which opened in early 1955. A bar within the Bluepoint Tower was named Duck Green to commemorate the former bar which once stood there, but it was not owned by the Wesley family and only remained open under that name for two years. Since 1957, the business which remained in operation for the longest period of time in the location was a Bennigan's that operated from 1981 until 2008.
Testimonial:
"I worked at the Duck sometime around when the Depression hit the States. I was there before that October, actually, but I was getting tired of school and wanted to earn some money to help my father stay where we lived. I lied about my age when I went up for the job, and I got away with it - well, I want to say it's because of the pure charm I had at the time, sure, but I made sure I went in fighting by wearing a loose bra that I was able to stuff and push up when I went in for the interview. When Mr. Wesley sat and asked me questions I kept doing this thing where I'd sorta turn my torso to the side a bit when I would first speak, I'd sorta do this to give some dramaticism and weight to my figure, so I thought. Considering how I had to act there, I'm surprised he took me on after I was doing all of that. The place was nice, though, the place was very classy and moody with all hard, dark woods for the benches and tables, and lots of stained green glass and dark green fabrics for decorations on the walls and such. I remember that the plates and cups were all green glass too. The food was OK, but I remember most being served burgers and light lunch food as opposed to steaks. They were good though. Anyway, we were encouraged to wear all of a similar green when we worked, but the better gals who stuck around longer were able to get away with something as simple as a green blouse of even some green shoes. I know I was able to find some bright green heels that Nicholas liked a lot, and once he saw those he gave me the clear to work for the day. The best days was when I was assigned to men who were doing business meetings there. That happened a few times. And by best I just mean the pay, really, because some of those boys were just a hair trigger temper or were just so thick in the head that I had to just sit there with a fake smile for a few hours. Those times weren't hardly fun and all, but they were far better than the other usual work I did which was being a literal shoulder to cry on for those broke saps who came in during the 30s. I'm glad I worked there when I did, because it helped to save up enough money for me and my fiance to marry and move to a nice house in 1934. I never had a reason to go back there once I stopped working it, but I was still sad to hear it go in 54."
- Cecilia Torres, 19120816 - 19681203
This location was first home to Wesley's Saloon and was built along with several other nearby businesses after the land was filled in 1846. Its prime location along the central road and lack of competing venues in its immediate vicinity helped to strengthen its business. The saloon was a low class establishment, which offered nothing in the way of entertainment or gaming, and drew regular patrons for having some of the cheapest beer and whiskey to be found in the city. Elmer Wesley figured that the local patrons would be among the poorer and working class citizens who were in that area in order to build and live in the newest houses and duplexes as they were being constructed nearby. After a generation, the neighborhood saw the lower class people leave for other developments and the commercial areas which shared the street began to serve more upscale clients. Elmer's son Nicholas wanted to reinvent the saloon to accommodate this new kind of business, and do so by completely upgrading and changing everything that the saloon had, including its name. Carbondale took this opportunity to have a direct hand in how the reinvented saloon would be furnished and presented. Nicholas originally proposed the new name of the bar to be "Mallard Green", but Carbondale compelled the name be changed to "Duck Green"; Carbondale stated that he felt the shorter name of "Duck" would make it more memorable to the public, but his private intent was to not have the location bear a name similar to that of Millard Fillmore. With the name settled, Nicholas permitted Duck Green to be a bar where "companion girls" would be part of the employed staff, and on hand with the intent to mingle with patrons as a means to compel them to stay and spend more money on food and drink. Duck Green became one of the many regular locations where The Runners would conduct business until 1953. At that point, the address block of BP-S-0000 through BP-S-0200 was purchased and razed to make way for the construction of the Bluepoint Tower, which opened in early 1955. A bar within the Bluepoint Tower was named Duck Green to commemorate the former bar which once stood there, but it was not owned by the Wesley family and only remained open under that name for two years. Since 1957, the business which remained in operation for the longest period of time in the location was a Bennigan's that operated from 1981 until 2008.
Testimonial:
"I worked at the Duck sometime around when the Depression hit the States. I was there before that October, actually, but I was getting tired of school and wanted to earn some money to help my father stay where we lived. I lied about my age when I went up for the job, and I got away with it - well, I want to say it's because of the pure charm I had at the time, sure, but I made sure I went in fighting by wearing a loose bra that I was able to stuff and push up when I went in for the interview. When Mr. Wesley sat and asked me questions I kept doing this thing where I'd sorta turn my torso to the side a bit when I would first speak, I'd sorta do this to give some dramaticism and weight to my figure, so I thought. Considering how I had to act there, I'm surprised he took me on after I was doing all of that. The place was nice, though, the place was very classy and moody with all hard, dark woods for the benches and tables, and lots of stained green glass and dark green fabrics for decorations on the walls and such. I remember that the plates and cups were all green glass too. The food was OK, but I remember most being served burgers and light lunch food as opposed to steaks. They were good though. Anyway, we were encouraged to wear all of a similar green when we worked, but the better gals who stuck around longer were able to get away with something as simple as a green blouse of even some green shoes. I know I was able to find some bright green heels that Nicholas liked a lot, and once he saw those he gave me the clear to work for the day. The best days was when I was assigned to men who were doing business meetings there. That happened a few times. And by best I just mean the pay, really, because some of those boys were just a hair trigger temper or were just so thick in the head that I had to just sit there with a fake smile for a few hours. Those times weren't hardly fun and all, but they were far better than the other usual work I did which was being a literal shoulder to cry on for those broke saps who came in during the 30s. I'm glad I worked there when I did, because it helped to save up enough money for me and my fiance to marry and move to a nice house in 1934. I never had a reason to go back there once I stopped working it, but I was still sad to hear it go in 54."
- Cecilia Torres, 19120816 - 19681203
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
19290111 23:38:54
19290111 23:38:54
BP-S-0040
By the time the fourth contact left from the table, Kedzie had become exceedingly bored of the procession. The lady who was set up to be seated with him began to irritate him as much as anything else; no, she wasn't offensive or disrespectful, and she was truthfully rather attractive, but he couldn't continue to find new topics of conversation which weren't too provocative and which she could actually engage in with him. With knowing that she had little in the way of long term plans beyond getting married and raising some children, and possibly move to one of the nicer homes being built towards the south of the city, she had nothing else to say. He resisted from asking too much about her spiritual feelings when the discussion came to a stand still after he merely asked what she intended to do in order to consider herself to be "content". As the periods of silence grew longer, he found more opportunity to drink water. Finally, biology did its part to compel him to leave for a moment.
"If you'll excuse me, Cecilia. I'll return shortly."
She stared back for a moment before responding with a simple "Uh, OK", which came before a smile. He nodded and turned to walk towards the bathroom.
"Is he always like this?" There was a tinge of venom in her voice as Cecilia asked that to the other couple at the table.
"Hah, as far as I can tell, yeah. I mean I ain't seen him be any different. That's what being a good boy Christian all your life will do to you. Well, sometimes."
"Maybe the ones who got uh, touched by the faith. Heh. I mean, I know plenty of Christian boys who are normal like you. This guy just acts like he's got a stick up his ass." Rebecca took a long drag from her cigarette after saying this, then pivoted her mouth to the side to let the smoke exit upwards.
"Oh, come on now, don't read that into him. As far as I can tell, he just has that kind of attitude. Nothing more." Pulaski said this while pushing the edge of the beer bottle cap into the surface of the table, with the intent of compressing the edges towards the center, but only managing to leave a visible dent in the wooden surface.
"With the way he's acting, I don't know why you even wanted to bring him over here. He could have stayed home if he didn't want to be friendlier. Well, I mean, nicer. ... OK, I mean, just, so serious. So drab. I feel like he's gonna snap in a moment. Why'd you even bring him along?" Cecilia asked this while reaching over the table to take one of the cigarettes from Rebecca's holder.
"Doctor's orders." Pulaski gave this answer with a gentle laugh before he took the whisky shot in a quick flick of the wrist.
"For you or for him?" Rebecca continued to speak after Cecilia laughed loudly at this response. "And if he's here to try to learn things from you, he's got a long way to go yet. I don't see how anyone will want to deal with a man like that."
"Actually, that's pretty much exactly why he is here."
BP-S-0040
By the time the fourth contact left from the table, Kedzie had become exceedingly bored of the procession. The lady who was set up to be seated with him began to irritate him as much as anything else; no, she wasn't offensive or disrespectful, and she was truthfully rather attractive, but he couldn't continue to find new topics of conversation which weren't too provocative and which she could actually engage in with him. With knowing that she had little in the way of long term plans beyond getting married and raising some children, and possibly move to one of the nicer homes being built towards the south of the city, she had nothing else to say. He resisted from asking too much about her spiritual feelings when the discussion came to a stand still after he merely asked what she intended to do in order to consider herself to be "content". As the periods of silence grew longer, he found more opportunity to drink water. Finally, biology did its part to compel him to leave for a moment.
"If you'll excuse me, Cecilia. I'll return shortly."
She stared back for a moment before responding with a simple "Uh, OK", which came before a smile. He nodded and turned to walk towards the bathroom.
"Is he always like this?" There was a tinge of venom in her voice as Cecilia asked that to the other couple at the table.
"Hah, as far as I can tell, yeah. I mean I ain't seen him be any different. That's what being a good boy Christian all your life will do to you. Well, sometimes."
"Maybe the ones who got uh, touched by the faith. Heh. I mean, I know plenty of Christian boys who are normal like you. This guy just acts like he's got a stick up his ass." Rebecca took a long drag from her cigarette after saying this, then pivoted her mouth to the side to let the smoke exit upwards.
"Oh, come on now, don't read that into him. As far as I can tell, he just has that kind of attitude. Nothing more." Pulaski said this while pushing the edge of the beer bottle cap into the surface of the table, with the intent of compressing the edges towards the center, but only managing to leave a visible dent in the wooden surface.
"With the way he's acting, I don't know why you even wanted to bring him over here. He could have stayed home if he didn't want to be friendlier. Well, I mean, nicer. ... OK, I mean, just, so serious. So drab. I feel like he's gonna snap in a moment. Why'd you even bring him along?" Cecilia asked this while reaching over the table to take one of the cigarettes from Rebecca's holder.
"Doctor's orders." Pulaski gave this answer with a gentle laugh before he took the whisky shot in a quick flick of the wrist.
"For you or for him?" Rebecca continued to speak after Cecilia laughed loudly at this response. "And if he's here to try to learn things from you, he's got a long way to go yet. I don't see how anyone will want to deal with a man like that."
"Actually, that's pretty much exactly why he is here."
Sunday, August 4, 2013
RZ-S-6800
RZ-S-6800
Rosalina Bakery began operation here on April 11 1904. Construction for the original warehouse facility was initiated and ratified by the Judges in late 1903, and their desire to do so was to have an internal source to supply the increased demand for the new breakfast cereal products. Carbondale sent Niles to visit the Postum Cereals plant in Battle Creek, Michigan in October of 1903 and record any information which he could obtain about the manufacturing process. The internal machinery structure was built to mimic the specifications which Niles obtained. The original wheat flake cereal packaging featured a story of the company's namesake, Rosalina Garza, which read as follows:
"A Loving Mother's cereal made for your health and happiness - The key to an invigorating breakfast and a healthy living is to ensure that you receive the finest of grains and the fortification of nutrients. Breakfast cereals are the optimal supplement to your daily dietary needs. Rosalina Garza was inspired to make her own recipe to create these cereal flakes, and its taste was so flavorful that her sons and daughters spread the word and shared the cereal with their neighbors. Her reputable breakfast flakes were soon desired by scores of people, and Rosalina's family now operates an entire processing facility so that her beloved cereal can be made for all who wish to enjoy her breakfast specialty and a healthier living. Mrs. Garza is proud to be a part of your family's morning tradition."
Underneath this text was a picture of a middle aged Hispanic woman. The woman's actual name was Christina Reyes, and she was selected by Carbondale after he came across her as she was leaving from attending Sunday service at Saint Boniface Holy Church. She was brought to a staged kitchen set, where she was paid $20 for a four hour photography session and given strict orders to never disclose her involvement.
Through the years, the bakery diversified into the production of various cereals and grain products; one particularly strong product which it started to make in 1951 was a granola bar which had a top layer of caramel and was fully covered in chocolate. DHSF helped to develop and supply several ingredient supplements which were used to reduce production costs and put less strain on the demand for raw ingredients. Since the early 1920s, many of the bakery's commercial goods had some amount of paper pulp and other wood byproducts used for their production. As of 2010, its "Dulce de la Sol" line of granola bars, which are marketed as an analog to a candy bar, contain 11% wood pulp and carries a 37% profit margin for the company.
The original structure was of a simple rectangular construction and measured fourteen feet in a single story and was accented by windows which were eight feet tall. The original full staff numbered fifteen workers and one bay door for truck access. Corner decorations on the building consisted of simple orthogonal colored brick arrangement. This facility stands today as the bakery's reception center and HR office. The current bakery plant which stands behind the original facility covers sixteen thousand square feet over two stories and was built in 1949.
Rosalina Bakery began operation here on April 11 1904. Construction for the original warehouse facility was initiated and ratified by the Judges in late 1903, and their desire to do so was to have an internal source to supply the increased demand for the new breakfast cereal products. Carbondale sent Niles to visit the Postum Cereals plant in Battle Creek, Michigan in October of 1903 and record any information which he could obtain about the manufacturing process. The internal machinery structure was built to mimic the specifications which Niles obtained. The original wheat flake cereal packaging featured a story of the company's namesake, Rosalina Garza, which read as follows:
"A Loving Mother's cereal made for your health and happiness - The key to an invigorating breakfast and a healthy living is to ensure that you receive the finest of grains and the fortification of nutrients. Breakfast cereals are the optimal supplement to your daily dietary needs. Rosalina Garza was inspired to make her own recipe to create these cereal flakes, and its taste was so flavorful that her sons and daughters spread the word and shared the cereal with their neighbors. Her reputable breakfast flakes were soon desired by scores of people, and Rosalina's family now operates an entire processing facility so that her beloved cereal can be made for all who wish to enjoy her breakfast specialty and a healthier living. Mrs. Garza is proud to be a part of your family's morning tradition."
Underneath this text was a picture of a middle aged Hispanic woman. The woman's actual name was Christina Reyes, and she was selected by Carbondale after he came across her as she was leaving from attending Sunday service at Saint Boniface Holy Church. She was brought to a staged kitchen set, where she was paid $20 for a four hour photography session and given strict orders to never disclose her involvement.
Through the years, the bakery diversified into the production of various cereals and grain products; one particularly strong product which it started to make in 1951 was a granola bar which had a top layer of caramel and was fully covered in chocolate. DHSF helped to develop and supply several ingredient supplements which were used to reduce production costs and put less strain on the demand for raw ingredients. Since the early 1920s, many of the bakery's commercial goods had some amount of paper pulp and other wood byproducts used for their production. As of 2010, its "Dulce de la Sol" line of granola bars, which are marketed as an analog to a candy bar, contain 11% wood pulp and carries a 37% profit margin for the company.
The original structure was of a simple rectangular construction and measured fourteen feet in a single story and was accented by windows which were eight feet tall. The original full staff numbered fifteen workers and one bay door for truck access. Corner decorations on the building consisted of simple orthogonal colored brick arrangement. This facility stands today as the bakery's reception center and HR office. The current bakery plant which stands behind the original facility covers sixteen thousand square feet over two stories and was built in 1949.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
19281117 20:52:27
19281117 20:52:27
BF-S-2588
(earlier - confrontations due to articles which showcase notorious business owners)
"And now the phone line is cut."
"All right. That should be his last move. Wait for it, guys."
---
William kept his back to the fence as he stepped away from the freshly cut wire which clung to the side of the house. After completing a walk around one side, to the back, to the other where he now stood, he didn't see or hear anything move from inside. He didn't see a car parked in front, so it was possible that the family was out for the moment; but it was a bit late on a Saturday evening, and the report said that he was married and had a child of only a few years, so it seemed slightly strange for them to be absent. He quickly came to figure that it didn't matter, as doing quick in-and-out punches were just as effective without getting into the messy human entanglements. With that, he nodded to himself while wrapping the brown scarf around his face and walking back to the rear door. He drew the thin knife from his pocket and slid the tip of it into the narrow gap between the door and its frame, and ran down the length until he came to the latch. He turned his head wide to both sides to ensure that nobody watched him as he manged to push the latch back and wiggle the door loose. He then took hold of the sledgehammer that he had laid on the side of the door and leaned against it to slowly open it. With great deliberation, he pushed the door open just enough for his body to slide in, and he tucked himself into the corner of the entrance and looked around inside as he gingerly closed the door to his side. A flight of stairs upwards was to his left, and another flight down to a dark basement was to his right. The layout was typical. Here, he took another moment to lay in wait to ready his nerves and ensure that his suspicions of the house being empty were correct. Everything remained silent and still. After a few long seconds, he grasped the sledgehammer tightly, drew in a sharp breath through his nose, and then charged up the stairs. William only made it a few steps into the kitchen when he saw that the house was empty of interior decoration and furnishings, and immediately feared that he was trapped. The hairs stood upright on the back of his neck as he heard footsteps come towards him from the basement stairwell. He ran in the opposite direction towards the front of the house when two tall men in long brown coats appeared before him. They each had their hands on a long piece of rope.
"Drop the hammer or you're dead." The command came from the man on William's right.
He did not charge at them, and let the hammer slide between his fingers to the ground as he leaned his body forward and pressed his weight against the tool. As he did this, he put his eyes to the ground and waited for them to come closer. The man was about to speak again, and simply ask for him to go with them, when William suddenly grabbed the hammer and thrust it at the man's legs. He hit under the kneecap, which caused him to buckle. The other man holding the rope managed to only take a step back before William had dropped the hammer and took both of their heads into his hands; from there, he clapped his hands inward and smashed their faces into each other. They stood stunned long enough for William to smash their faces twice more in quick strikes before they began to stagger and fall away. Just as William was ready to turn around, he saw another rope fly over his head and fall in front of him before it twisted around his legs. The rope pulled backwards and William landed face first upon the tile floor. He felt a man kneel upon him and proceed to tie his hands behind his body as another set of hands worked to secure his feet.
"Get your pansy asses up and let's get this guy seated."
The knee remained pressed against William's back until the two men regained their wits and stood up. William twisted and contorted his body from side to side without any effect. Only once the two men stood at William's side and each held one his arms did the man remove himself off of William's back. They remained unseen as they picked up his legs, and it was in this formation that the four men lifted him up and carried him over to the front living room. The chair had more rope on the floor beside it, and once William was seated upon it and tied down to it did he see that the chair faced an indoor folding screen. A voice then came from behind it.
"William Humeski. You've made a name for yourself in short order. We've noticed you."
"Good for you. You gonna come from back there and kill me now? Or are you going to have these cowards do it for you?"
"Kill? Well, that depends. See, I'm curious for your answer. And only the truth, mind you. You're in no place to bullshit me, understand?"
William snarled and licked at the blood which dripped down from his nose onto his lips. The voice continued.
"This is at least the sixth target you intended to hit. Your pattern is clear. And, see, the only thing I don't know is why. Why are you doing this. I had someone pay a visit to your place while you put your time in over at Sulley's plant. You're not doing this for gain. So what in the world is your motive here, William?"
"I do this for righteousness. These people are wicked and I will destroy that which they have obtained through wickedness."
"Really? No bullshit?" The man asked this after an extended laugh.
"Kill me if you doubt me."
"No," the man responded after an extended silence "I won't be doing that. Instead, let me ask something more - suppose I told you we are the rules of this city. Instead of this activity, would you care to extend your willingness to fight for righteousness with us instead?"
"Perhaps I would."
"Good," said Torrence with a laugh. "Good."
BF-S-2588
(earlier - confrontations due to articles which showcase notorious business owners)
"And now the phone line is cut."
"All right. That should be his last move. Wait for it, guys."
---
William kept his back to the fence as he stepped away from the freshly cut wire which clung to the side of the house. After completing a walk around one side, to the back, to the other where he now stood, he didn't see or hear anything move from inside. He didn't see a car parked in front, so it was possible that the family was out for the moment; but it was a bit late on a Saturday evening, and the report said that he was married and had a child of only a few years, so it seemed slightly strange for them to be absent. He quickly came to figure that it didn't matter, as doing quick in-and-out punches were just as effective without getting into the messy human entanglements. With that, he nodded to himself while wrapping the brown scarf around his face and walking back to the rear door. He drew the thin knife from his pocket and slid the tip of it into the narrow gap between the door and its frame, and ran down the length until he came to the latch. He turned his head wide to both sides to ensure that nobody watched him as he manged to push the latch back and wiggle the door loose. He then took hold of the sledgehammer that he had laid on the side of the door and leaned against it to slowly open it. With great deliberation, he pushed the door open just enough for his body to slide in, and he tucked himself into the corner of the entrance and looked around inside as he gingerly closed the door to his side. A flight of stairs upwards was to his left, and another flight down to a dark basement was to his right. The layout was typical. Here, he took another moment to lay in wait to ready his nerves and ensure that his suspicions of the house being empty were correct. Everything remained silent and still. After a few long seconds, he grasped the sledgehammer tightly, drew in a sharp breath through his nose, and then charged up the stairs. William only made it a few steps into the kitchen when he saw that the house was empty of interior decoration and furnishings, and immediately feared that he was trapped. The hairs stood upright on the back of his neck as he heard footsteps come towards him from the basement stairwell. He ran in the opposite direction towards the front of the house when two tall men in long brown coats appeared before him. They each had their hands on a long piece of rope.
"Drop the hammer or you're dead." The command came from the man on William's right.
He did not charge at them, and let the hammer slide between his fingers to the ground as he leaned his body forward and pressed his weight against the tool. As he did this, he put his eyes to the ground and waited for them to come closer. The man was about to speak again, and simply ask for him to go with them, when William suddenly grabbed the hammer and thrust it at the man's legs. He hit under the kneecap, which caused him to buckle. The other man holding the rope managed to only take a step back before William had dropped the hammer and took both of their heads into his hands; from there, he clapped his hands inward and smashed their faces into each other. They stood stunned long enough for William to smash their faces twice more in quick strikes before they began to stagger and fall away. Just as William was ready to turn around, he saw another rope fly over his head and fall in front of him before it twisted around his legs. The rope pulled backwards and William landed face first upon the tile floor. He felt a man kneel upon him and proceed to tie his hands behind his body as another set of hands worked to secure his feet.
"Get your pansy asses up and let's get this guy seated."
The knee remained pressed against William's back until the two men regained their wits and stood up. William twisted and contorted his body from side to side without any effect. Only once the two men stood at William's side and each held one his arms did the man remove himself off of William's back. They remained unseen as they picked up his legs, and it was in this formation that the four men lifted him up and carried him over to the front living room. The chair had more rope on the floor beside it, and once William was seated upon it and tied down to it did he see that the chair faced an indoor folding screen. A voice then came from behind it.
"William Humeski. You've made a name for yourself in short order. We've noticed you."
"Good for you. You gonna come from back there and kill me now? Or are you going to have these cowards do it for you?"
"Kill? Well, that depends. See, I'm curious for your answer. And only the truth, mind you. You're in no place to bullshit me, understand?"
William snarled and licked at the blood which dripped down from his nose onto his lips. The voice continued.
"This is at least the sixth target you intended to hit. Your pattern is clear. And, see, the only thing I don't know is why. Why are you doing this. I had someone pay a visit to your place while you put your time in over at Sulley's plant. You're not doing this for gain. So what in the world is your motive here, William?"
"I do this for righteousness. These people are wicked and I will destroy that which they have obtained through wickedness."
"Really? No bullshit?" The man asked this after an extended laugh.
"Kill me if you doubt me."
"No," the man responded after an extended silence "I won't be doing that. Instead, let me ask something more - suppose I told you we are the rules of this city. Instead of this activity, would you care to extend your willingness to fight for righteousness with us instead?"
"Perhaps I would."
"Good," said Torrence with a laugh. "Good."
Friday, August 2, 2013
19150319 18:41:08
CQ-N-8257
19150319 18:41:08
"OK Dad, I think I'm ready."
Gregory Humeski looked his soon over and gave a nod to reassure his son, but he still didn't understand what exactly he was trying to do. He reconsidered and realized that perhaps the question of what he was trying to accomplish would be more accurate. There he stood with the handle of the red wagon tied with a length of rope to his waist, and a stack of twelve cinder blocks in the payload. His son wanted to do some kind of exercising sprints here, sure - but why? It wasn't for any kind of school assignment or something that he wanted to do in reaction to another friend doing the same. Greg stood there with a beer in one hand and a pocketwatch in the other while wondering where his son even got this idea from. When William spoke to him, he quickly snapped back to attention.
"So OK, you said about seven houses away should be good, right? So first I'm going to go empty, and you'll time me. Uh. How will, uh. Oh uh what I'll do is yell 'go' when I'm ready to go so that you know when to start timing me."
"No, no Will, that's backwards. We'll do this like the they do in the Olympics. Sort of. You go down there and be ready, and when I yell 'go' to you is when you start. And the stop line is right where you're standing, yes?"
"Yep!"
"All right, well, get ready I guess." Greg couldn't help but shake his head and softly laugh as he watched his son drag the loaded cart to the intended starting point. Once he reached the spot, William started to remove the cinder blocks one at a time; Greg yelled at him to put the blocks on the sidewalk after he placed the first one in the yard nearby. Once the wagon was cleared, Greg heard him should "OK" in the distance. He looked to the watch and waited for the second hand to complete the lap to the 12 marker.
"Go!"
William took off in a mad dash and the rope snapped the wagon in tow behind him. It wasn't long until the wheels lost track and the cart flipped over to its side, but William continued to run as fast as he can. The street echoed with the sound of metal scraping against concrete as he careened towards his father. He finally crossed the line.
Gregory looked to his son with his brow furrowed in perplexity after he marked the count on the watch when he crossed.
"Sixteen seconds. Not too bad."
"OK. OK." William stated this acknowledgement after getting the wagon back on its wheels and walking back towards the cinder blocks with bated breath. Once there, he placed two inside the wagon, then stood still and stared back at his father to show his being ready.
(continued with doubling of time, &c.)
19150319 18:41:08
"OK Dad, I think I'm ready."
Gregory Humeski looked his soon over and gave a nod to reassure his son, but he still didn't understand what exactly he was trying to do. He reconsidered and realized that perhaps the question of what he was trying to accomplish would be more accurate. There he stood with the handle of the red wagon tied with a length of rope to his waist, and a stack of twelve cinder blocks in the payload. His son wanted to do some kind of exercising sprints here, sure - but why? It wasn't for any kind of school assignment or something that he wanted to do in reaction to another friend doing the same. Greg stood there with a beer in one hand and a pocketwatch in the other while wondering where his son even got this idea from. When William spoke to him, he quickly snapped back to attention.
"So OK, you said about seven houses away should be good, right? So first I'm going to go empty, and you'll time me. Uh. How will, uh. Oh uh what I'll do is yell 'go' when I'm ready to go so that you know when to start timing me."
"No, no Will, that's backwards. We'll do this like the they do in the Olympics. Sort of. You go down there and be ready, and when I yell 'go' to you is when you start. And the stop line is right where you're standing, yes?"
"Yep!"
"All right, well, get ready I guess." Greg couldn't help but shake his head and softly laugh as he watched his son drag the loaded cart to the intended starting point. Once he reached the spot, William started to remove the cinder blocks one at a time; Greg yelled at him to put the blocks on the sidewalk after he placed the first one in the yard nearby. Once the wagon was cleared, Greg heard him should "OK" in the distance. He looked to the watch and waited for the second hand to complete the lap to the 12 marker.
"Go!"
William took off in a mad dash and the rope snapped the wagon in tow behind him. It wasn't long until the wheels lost track and the cart flipped over to its side, but William continued to run as fast as he can. The street echoed with the sound of metal scraping against concrete as he careened towards his father. He finally crossed the line.
Gregory looked to his son with his brow furrowed in perplexity after he marked the count on the watch when he crossed.
"Sixteen seconds. Not too bad."
"OK. OK." William stated this acknowledgement after getting the wagon back on its wheels and walking back towards the cinder blocks with bated breath. Once there, he placed two inside the wagon, then stood still and stared back at his father to show his being ready.
(continued with doubling of time, &c.)
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