19380828 01:40:32

19380828 01:40:32

QH-N-5448

Her deliberation in opening the door and removing the key from the lock and her shoes from her feet was more for concern of her afflicted stability rather than ensuring that she didn't make too much noise. John was indeed audibly asleep, and his snores echoed from the upstairs bedroom down the stairwell with enough volume and contrast against the otherwise silent house to shock her senses into higher functionality. Other days, she would have become angry at having to endure such loudness, but today she merely softly laughed to herself as it reverberated in the foyer. Her ticket out of here had indeed arrived, though the date wasn't quite settled yet.
Helen walked over to the kitchen faucet in her bare feet and poured herself some water in a white coffee mug, then brought it to the table. She pinched the top of a seat with two fingers and lightly pulled it away so that she could finally sit down and stretch her legs out while finally being off of her feet.
This gave her time to recollect everything that had happened at the cast party.
Davenport. Carl Davenport was his name. The owner of Arcadia, where they were playing, and a few others. Did he say he had the new Aurora on O and 60th as well? She knew it to be a huge hall, and didn't recall anyone else's name being mentioned as the owner. Whatever. Carl was who got Peter Mullins into the business. Carl held these places because he had an eye for the talent - so why shouldn't he have taken notice of herself? There was a gold band on his right hand, but he rarely kept it out in the open and it was plain. So that means that he's probably had it a while - well, that or it's something that was handed down from a prior generation to him for his use. Hopefully the latter was the case, though taking care of the former probably wouldn't be too much of an issue. Especially with how he kept looking over to her when she broke off to take trips to the bathroom. He didn't seem to do that with anyone else there, not that she thought that there really was much of an arguable better choice. No, it seemed pretty clear that she'd be able to get him tamed if she wanted, but that would have to wait. She wasn't going to succumb to the will of some senior, even if he wasn't that bad looking, just to become an easy lay and yet another whore earmarked in his book for him to recall once in a blue moon. Carl owned property. Carl owned people. Now was no better chance for her to become not merely another item marked as owned on his list - it was time for her to become a co-owner. How soon? Well, probably some time after the play ends its first week or half-month run, hopefully enough profit is shown that she can catch him on his good graces. As long as that happens, all she'd have to do is play up how it was all possible thanks to him. It would be as simple as stroking the ego. Otherwise, she'd have to have a plan in place if things happen to go south with the production. Maybe she'll get someone fired on the pretense that it was that person's poor work which held it all down.  She mused at the thought of using that lien of logic to be about to oust Elisa from the production.
After making that contemplation, she looked around the kitchen and noticed that she began to feel a bit of pity for John. As far as she could tell, he was as faithful to her as he was supportive, and he was able to maintain this small house on his own earnings before she moved in, so it's not like he was a complete bum. She could easily think of worse people to be with and places to be. But she had now considered that this station in her life had served its purpose and that it was time to move on. The thought of settling down with a daily laborer like John, someone who suffered in the daily grind only to wake up and come home and drink a few beers and repeat the next day, someone who really didn't have the eye or ear for the finer arts, someone who had no desire for or understanding of a night life; she felt that these were all fine things for a woman who was less than her. That's the kind of man who might be a halfway decent father to a few children, and that's the kind of man that she had no interest in remaining with for the rest of her life. If she had any doubt about it, all she had to do was close her eyes and listen to the snoring.

18740512 22:02:33

(note - previous entry dated 18640512 06:44:19 has been revised to 18740512 06:44:19)

18740512 22:02:33

LA-N-0800

"Mister Isaac Garrey is requesting to see you now."
"Oh, now he shows up? All right then." Carbondale nodded to the waitress and flipped his hand upward and away from his body. She dutifully turned away and went to summon the gentleman to the table. "Keep en eye up. There was some pressure earlier today."
"Oh, this was the wagon?" Venedy positioned the hilt of his sheathed sword against the side of his lap after asking. Carbondale nodded silently in response.
Isaac Garrey walked over to the table in stiffly exaggerated steps and swings of his arms. His hat was still on his head, and his face formed a frown with enough strength to cast shadows over half of it under the dim light of the room. Carbondale extended a palm to motion to the open chair across from where he was seated, but Isaac remained standing as he spoke out.
"You had no right to do that. None!"
Carbondale tilted his head to his side and narrowed his eyes as he stabbed his opened hand to the chair twice more. Issac became agitated enough to contort his head from side to side as he murmured an angry mumble of words and pulled the chair back enough for him to sit at the table.
"Take your hat off and relax. Show some respect." Venedy kept his body otherwise motionless and his stare upon Isaac as he issued the command.
"You. You listen to me." Isaac curled his hat into his fist and threw it upon the side of the table in front of him. "That boy, he was a good kid. I just took him on a few months ago. I watched him grow up for the last ten years. His parents, that family. They were with me that long. The look on their faces as they asked me about their son."
"Look. Let's start from the beginning." Carbondale placed the cigar he held between his fingertips at the side of the ashtray in the middle of the table before continuing to speak. "You're talking about your delivery driver Matthew right? The eighteen year old man, right? Not a boy?"
"Yes, him, yes."
"OK. Now, what did his parents ask you about? What did they say about his son?"
"They. They asked me if I had heard the same thing that the police told them, that Matthew was missing."
"Missing, yes. That's what I thought. So maybe-"
"No, cut the bullshit. He ain't missing. He's gone. You know it, and I know it."
"I know it? Isaac - no, I don't know it. I don't know it at all. Do you know it?" Carbondale turned his head to his left to ask this of Venedy, and he silently shook his head in response. "What's your proof? Did you go to the morgue? Did you see a report of deceased persons for the day?"
"No, I didn't, but-"
"And the wagon you're missing. Did you see that at all? That might have some evidence of a kind of incident that you're implying. Did you see that at all?"
"No! But God damn it-"
"So this is what we have, here. You come to me saying that something has happened to someone - and that I was somehow responsible for this thing to have happened, and you have no proof at all that any such thing happened, nor that I caused it to happen. So now let me ask - what are you doing here?" Carbondale took the cigar from the ashtray and imbibed an amount of smoke large enough to coat the whole area of the table as he breathed out. "Why are you wasting my time with this shit?"
"This is rich, this is fucking rich." Isaac laughed out loud as he shook his head. "How can you look me in the face and just lie, lie, lie through your teeth like that?"
"Hm, y'know what? That's the same question I asked myself all these times when I asked for you to pay off your juice. The same fucking question."
"I told you! How many times did I tell you that I was good for-"
"No, how about this - you wanna know the answer to that question? How I'm able to lie to you? It's the same answer for how you were able to lie to those parents you just talked about, when they came to you. There's your answer."
"What? I was fully honest with them. They asked me if I knew their son to be missing and I said I didn't know."
"I'm sure you did, Isaac. But that's not what you told me as you sat down here. You told me that you did know what happened to him, didn't you."
"But, well, yeah, but I-"
"All right then. I'm glad we got that settled. Can we next get to settling your debt to me, then? When can we do that?"

18740512 06:44:19

18740512 06:44:19

North 84th Street, Q block, eastbound

When he saw the freight wagon approaching, Exeter instinctively turned his back to the roadway and nodded his head downward as he went through the motions to tend to his horse. With that temporary glance, he was able to confirm that the rider was indeed a younger man, something of a teenager, and that he was taking his time in bringing the shipment to Garrey's Wholesale. Once it was close enough for him to hear it, the pace of the horse was a light trot which was no faster than a heartbeat, and the wagon's wheels creaked along in its wake. Once it had fully past him, Exeter looked around the street to see what kind of crowd he would have to keep in mind, and saw that there were few other people in the open at this point of the morning. He let a few more moments pass before he removed the horse's tether from the post and climbed into the saddle. A sharp click from his mouth compelled the horse to back up, and his hand on the girdle directed it to curve out and eventually face the freight wagon. He brought the horse to a pause, and took the moment of stasis to gather his wits. He would have one chance to get this to work, and that chance was better to do before he would be in the middle of the next intersection with QA street.
Exeter kicked the sides of his heels into the horse's body and smacked its hide with his sheathed sword. The horse sprang forward and dashed as quickly as its legs could muster. Exeter commanded the sword to appear and the sheathing folded around and curled into the blade. He held the sword against his body with the point facing to his left, and he approached the wagon from its left side. The distance between the quickly shrank, and Exeter flexed his grip around the sword as he approached the front of the wagon. Finally, he was within sight of the seat and looked to his right; in the brief moment that their eyes made contact, he saw the young man staring back at him. Exeter swung his right arm to his right. The sword cleanly cut through the man's neck and left a trail of blood specks on the blade which dripped onto the rear quarters of the horse as he finished the swing.
Both horses came to a sudden stop with a noisy protest coming from Exeter's ride as he snapped the reins back with his left hand and resheathed the sword with his right. He quickly dismounted, dashed to the saddlebag, and withdrew the two garment bags from within. He walked over to the stopped wagon and noticed that the man's head had managed to fall to the ground, and was laying near the footstep to the riding cab where his headless body was lying in a sunken heap towards the center of the compartment. Exeter gingerly picked the head up by a tuft of hair that he could grasp with his fingers and tossed it upwards towards the body before he climbed aboard. The head spun in the air which caused the hair to flail out before it landed on top of the body. Exeter wasted no time in placing the first garment bag at the feet of the fallen man and curled the opening of the sack around its feet so that he could make quick work of wrapping the bag around the body, and eventually managed to do so after taking some moments to pause and sharply pull at the opening of the bag to force the body to collect itself inside. Once the body and head were fully within the first bag, he opened the second bag to wrap around the top of it and stabbed his fingers around the body's weight to complete the concealment. Exeter looked to the bottom of the bag and saw no pool of blood dripping through the floor of the cab or collecting at the body's feet. He assumed that the towels that he had placed in bags beforehand were doing their job to contain the leaking blood, but he wasn't about to inspect his handiwork to confirm that suspicion. He stepped down from the cab and went over to his horse; after a pat on its head and a scratch behind the ears, which he did with the back of his hand rather than the blood soaked fingertips, he pointed to its rear and called out "Go!". The horse followed the command and went about to return from the post where they were at just earlier.
Exeter resumed his seat inside the cab of the freight wagon and looked around in front of him as he prepared to take control. He noticed two men who were visible in the open; one was directly in front of him at the same side of the road and in front of a store, and another was across the road to his left. Both of the men turned their heads away once they noticed that he was looking at them. Exeter also took a moment to inspect the windows of the upper floors of the buildings within sight and didn't notice anyone standing to spectate or any curtains which were out of position. He looked to his side and noticed a streak of blood had splattered on the front facing of the wagon; in response, he tugged at the top garment bag and wiped the blood around until it had smeared into a faint swirl that was not easily visible despite the white coat of paint lying underneath.

19200917 20:12:53

19200917 20:12:53

PV-S-7035

Thomas Naragansett watched the fire curl around the glowing logs in the pit and sighed in boredom. Around the fire, the mothers sat, some with infant children held close to their bodies, as they faced each other and spoke of their children's progress in school or news that they've heard about the horrific Wall Street Bombing. The other children seemed to be more captivated by the fire itself, and entertained themselves by holding sticks into the flame until they were glowing red so that they could swing it around in the air, or attempting to roast a marshmallow in the flames. All while this was happening, Thomas sat and silently spectated it all alone. He looked back towards the house, then turned away to look over to the garage and saw his father standing there with a few other men as they stood in a circle around a car within the interior. It was a 1920 Ford Model T Roadster. He figured that he had nothing better to do while he was there and decided to get up and approach the four men at the garage. When he was within a few feet of the car, his footstep landed upon a fallen tree branch which snapped under his weight; the sound caused one of the men to snap his head towards Thomas in surprise. The initial look of shock quickly changed to an earnest smile when he saw the child approaching and spoke out to him.
"Hey Tom, what's up? Fire too hot for ya?" The man who asked this was their next door neighbor, Chris Renault.
"Eh, too dull."
"Dull?" Chris blinked twice, then turned to call out to Thomas's father. "Stan, your kid thinks a fire pit is dull, you hear that? I ain't never heard a kid say that before. I didn't when I was his age."
"Yeah, maybe he just wants us to toss some gas on there or something, that'll light things up, right?"
The other men laughed in response, and Thomas grinned nervously and turned his gaze to the ground.
"Say, Stan, how about we put your theorem to the test, eh?"
"What's that, Chris?"
"What you said about the new locks on the Roadster here."
"Oh.. uh, hm. Yeah, y'know what, why not? C'mere, and take this." Stan gestured to his son to walk over to the side of the car while he walked to the front of the vehicle, where a metal tool was lying upon its side. Stan snapped the tool up into his hands and walked over to Thomas to hand it to him as they stood at the side of the car.
"All right, so here." Stan opened the door, reached inside to slide the lock down, then slammed the door shut. He pulled at the handle to ensure that the door was locked tightly closed. "Now, take that, and slide it down at the window there, side it down into the door, and reach for the lock handle. Once you feel it catch, you can pull up and open the door, just like that. Try it."
"Um, all right." Thomas cautiously guided the tool upwards with one hand grabbing under the other until just the tip of it hung beneath his dual handed grip. He felt the tension increase within his body as his father and the other men watched intently as he positioned the tool against the car door window. He placed the metallic edge against the side of the window and began to slide down, but had to correct himself a few times before the thin edge was wedged between the surface of the glass and the rubber liner which held the window in place. Thomas gently guided the tool to slide down into the car and then tried to pull upwards with it after sending it downward for a few lengths. When he pulled up, the sound of scraping came from an area above the handle.
"Just a bit more." Stan's words of assurance was coolly confident. "Get under the handle so that you can pull up on the mechanism. You'll feel it in your fingers when the tool has it in place."
Thomas silently nodded and resumed sending the tip of the tool further down into the inside of the car door, and felt resistance against his pushing within a few moments. He instinctively tilted the tool to compel the tip to slide further down at an angle, and straightened himself out once he had the freedom to continue the push for a few more inches. He slowly pulled up until he heard the tip click against something within the door. Thomas hesitated for a moment, then pulled the tool upward with a sharp draw. There was a different kind of click which came within the door as the tool traveled upward only a small distance. Stan reached over his son's shoulder to press the button on the door handle, and pulled at the door. It opened. Thomas smiled warmly as the other men cheered at his success.

18580301 10:00:00

18580301 10:00:00

HSF #1.0065

D1 reporting progress on weaponry request. A telescoping facsimile of the Starr carbine has been achieved, in respect only of contraction of the barrel - the fully extended length of 21 inches can now be contracted to a dimension of 2.5 inches with the activation of a trigger. The resultant net difference in weapon length is 37.5 inches unaltered, and 19 inches contracted. Trials of 100 rounds fired with the rifle with contraction and protraction activated after each shot has yielded acceptable results with no degradation of performance which is significantly different than the control unaltered Starr carbine.

While the target has been achieved within the projected time frame and the reduction of weapon length is significant, it is of our opinion that this device is not presently advantageous over the unaltered rifle. The firing mechanism still requires each shot to be individually loaded by hand with the paper cartridge system, which essentially nullifies the utility of this weapon beyond a single shot. The present weapon also retains its shoulder support in its original state, which also severely reduces its efficacy in being an object which can be concealed. P3 suggests a telescoping shoulder support to be developed if this weapon is to be requested for further development. Further research and design would be desirable to make the fully contracted rifle take an appearance of something which resembles another tangible item; the current most common suggestion, on the basis of the contracted rifle's physical dimension and property (both current and proposed), is to have the object take the form of a tin can, as is used for food preservation.

A similar telescoping mechanism was attempted with a prototyped Remington New Model, which was forged on the basis of leaked production information, but the reduction of barrel length was not as significant; its 8 inch barrel length could also only be reduced to 2.5 inches, which would result in the entire handgun having a length of 8 inches. In our opinion, this reduction is not a particularly significant reduction of weapon length.

18820109 13:44:19

18820109 13:44:19

XV-N-3540

Exeter entered the lobby and was gratified to see that the instructions were followed. The man sat with his back to the entrance and alone at the table with only a single newspaper on top of it, positioned as if it was for a person seated across from him. His brown and scraggly hair matched the hue of his dusty jacket. Exeter approached the bar while maintaining a distance from the point and making sure to not look over and make eye contact with the man beforehand. Once he stood at the bar, he held up two fingers to the bartender, and the silent request was obeyed. He hunched over and shuffled his hands invisibly under the surface of the bar until he held up both hands with one mug full of beer in each and brought them up to be served. Exeter left a silver buck coin face up on the bar before taking the mugs over to meet the man. He maintained his distant stare for a few seconds after Exeter sat down across from him, and physically jerked his head in surprise when he realized that the meeting was now underway.
"R, is it?"
"Uh, oh! Oh yes, yes it is, pleased to meet you. I am indeed as you say." He sat up out of his chair and extended an open hand across the table. "I am Roderick. Roderick M-"
"Sh! I got it!" With the quickness of a blink, Exeter grasped and released Roderick's hand.
"Um yes, then, yes, very good. Heh." Roderick sunk back into his seat with his chin nodded to his chest in nervous embarrassment.
"Relax, friend. Take a drink if it helps."
Roderick heard the word "friend" used, but the curt and gravely tone of his voice wasn't very reassuring. He felt obliged to follow through on the suggestion to drink and took the mug up to his lips with both hands and took a generous swig into his mouth. The beer was a heavy wheat with a flavor that strongly lingered.
"Good. Now, I know why you sought me out. Well, generally, that is. Rates vary on the mark."
"Oh, well, this is, this is in fact not that exact kind of request that I'm making, no. See, I came here with the desire for instruction on the act. I will be the actor."
"Oh, will now you? This seems to be a rather long way to go just for that kind of tutelage."
"Um, this city also happens to be on the way to my final destination. I intend to go to England."
"Really? Even more interesting. Heh, who are you looking to meet? Her Majesty?"
Roderick responded by quickly nodding twice.
"Seriously. Honestly?" Exeter took a moment to take a drink of his own to give time for further response to come, and it didn't. "Well then. I guess I can see why you want to get this right. Not that it's my business, but why her?"
"I. I labored for years over a series of stanzas, to commemorate her reign. I spent countless days pouring my soul into those words. When I felt I had given the best product which the Lord and Providence could inspire in me, I sent it away for her to read. She did, and she even sent me a response. But the response-", Roderick struggled to speak further as tears began to collect and stream from the corners of his eyes, "- the response, was so cruel and rude. It was an insult of the highest order and against all that I had done. I will never forgive-"
"Yeah, I understand, I got it, all right." Exeter compelled Roderick to cease his story with a wave of his hand. "So uh, anyway, how do you plan to get close enough?"
"Well, good sir, I have been practicing using a pistol from that moment, and I reckon my aim to be accurate at one hundred yards. If I can-"
"All right, look. First of all, I'm sorry to inform you that I actually don't use firearms. I have other tools that I use, yes. But in your case, you want to use the element of surprise to assuredly make your strike count. Now, you'll need to plan-"
"Excuse me, but you say you never use a gun? At all? Yet, I was assured of your reputation as-"
"That's something you'll have to trust me on, for now."
"Oh, this is most troubling. Most awful. I don't know if I can trust myself to keep a cool head if I were to attempt something physical in nature. I was intending to keep distance all along."
"All right, fine. Let me walk you through some steps which might help you out anyway."
"Very well."
Exeter spent the next hour going over points of stealth, surprise, mapping, and planning with Roderick, and gave an earnest effort to instill some of his wisdom; but he didn't expect any of it to take hold. The main paid him for his time so he didn't feel that it was particularly wasted in this instance, but he couldn't help but to feel annoyed at having to do all of this for someone who intended to kill an actual Queen because she insulted someone's poetry.

18820331 10:00:00

18820331 10:00:00

BA-S-9777

HSF #25.0273

Doctor V3 reporting on Solitary Unit Type 2.

Today marks completion of one full month (744 hours) of observation and care of test subjects within the cell, using a total temperature variance of ten degrees Fahrenheit. Results are favorable and show little amount of variance. Throughout the period we had no incidents of test subject non compliance or injury. Observers were physically present to monitor subjects every twelve hours or less, as verified in logs.

Common settings: 512 cubic foot room, one toilet, one bed (twin mattress size), one Bible, one bathroom scale, one plaster cast around patient's right arm, one pulse diode held underneath cast. 70% humidity. One gallon of food solution diffused in air.

All items were made of identical construction when possible.


Test Subject 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Air temperature 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99

Daily Readings

Pulse, BPM, high 98 91 88 105 101 103 99 92 115 119

Pulse, BPM, low 61 60 60 63 62 60 59 61 65 76

Pulse, BPM, average 83 85 78 89 84 82 77 81 92 98

Urine, quart, high 0.98 0.99 0.98 0.97 1.02 0.89 0.88 0.91 0.84 0.81

Urine, quart, low 0.78 0.77 0.78 0.75 0.72 0.71 0.68 0.64 0.61 0.58

Urine, quart, average 0.86 0.84 0.84 0.83 0.79 0.75 0.71 0.72 0.69 0.65

Sleep, hours, high 10.5 9.75 11.25 9.5 8.75 9.0 8.5 7.75 7.5 7.25

Sleep, hours, low 7.0 7.5 8.0 7.25 6.75 5.5 5.75 5.0 4.75 3.75

Sleep, hours, average 7.75 8.25 8.5 7.5 7.25 6.75 6.5 5.5 5.25 4.25

Weight, pounds, high 120 143 118 136 154 138 127 108 114 131

Weight, pounds, low 106 137 102 122 148 125 123 99 101 118

Weight, pounds, average 112 141 111 124 151 133 124 103 107 124


Based on these findings, continued study in temperatures exceeding 99 degrees is not recommended, as the trends appear to be consistently applicable, and there would be more risk of injury to the test patients if the temperature would be become exceedingly variable. My recommendation for future study and experimentation in this project is to place the final variance on the amount of food solution to be distributed across a control temperature.

18360114 16:48:06

18360114 16:48:06

"Jesse, keep an eye on the soup. Frederic, come with me."
"Yessir." Jesse acknowledged the command by saying this and pulling a chair up to the stove.
Daron tied the wool scarf tightly around his neck before standing at the side of the door to hold it open. He nodded to Frederic, who hurriedly stepped out into the snow while tightening the straps around his coat.
"Where are we going?"
"Out." Daron vigorously slammed the door to the cabin shut with the answer. He walked ahead of Frederic and led the way to the side of the barn where the two horses were idly standing, then leaned against the east facing wall to shield against the wind. He addressed Frederic once stood at his side.
"I'm sorry to ask this of you, Frederic, but this situation has come up all the sudden and the best way it can be over is with your help. I'm expecting your refusal."
"Mr. Hoobler, I already mentioned that I would help you a few hours ago, as I have before, surely that shows-"
"This is different. Those children in there that you haven't seen before, Saul and Marian, their mother is gone at the moment. She left from here in search of her husband. She won't find him because her husband was here, and I killed him."
"Oh! Oh my God! How could you have ever-"
"It was self defense, Frederic. He had a plan to kill us in the middle of the night. I woke to find him strangling Jesse. His plan was to kill us both. That's why he sent for his family to come now, to come later on. She didn't expect to find anyone but her husband here."
"Oh, that is dreadful! How terrible."
"It is, but what's worse is that I didn't know how to tell her that this had happened. I didn't even tell her that he died. I didn't think of a way to make a story about it that would hold up."
"So, what? You're asking me to concoct a story that would conceal the man's death?"
"Not quite, no. I'm not sure that's needed, really. What I am asking for, though, is a way to make it appear that the man's death was official and recorded. Something which I could show to her that she would see as official confirmation of his death."
"Very well, so you're asking me to obtain a forgery." Frederic exhaled derisively with stating that confirmation. "This is worse and more difficult to do, you realize."
"It is, yes, but I already gave a tale about him being injured and laid up at a hospital in Baltimore. All that needs to be gotten is a death certificate from somewhere in Baltimore, and that will be enough for me to work with."
"Ugh, that's terrible."
"Well what in the hell else could I do? I had to say something! I couldn't just say he vanished like a ghost!"
"You could have told the truth about what the man tried to do and-"
"And then what? Have her live with me for a few weeks being absolutely despondent and shacked up with the man who killed her husband? With her children there too? She's stuck here otherwise! We're all stuck here, at least until Spring. I didn't see me having any other choice! And look, can't you ask around to have someone do it? Of course I would supply the fee, and the only reason that I'm asking is because you're the only person who has the ability to do this."
"This... this is abominable! You're essentially asking me to be an accomplice to your murder!"
"Well." Daron shook his head and laughed before he continued to speak. "This is about what I expected. I had to ask, all the same."
"... I. I'll have to make a long deliberation on this, Daron. Nor can I guarantee that I can ultimately help even if I agree to assist you. I can at least appreciate the difficulty of your situation but what you're asking of me is certainly amoral in several dimensions." Frederic stated this with a tone of defeat and resignation.
"That's the most I can ask of you, Frederic."

19390722 16:38:05

19390722 16:38:05

IA-S-1600

Three innings were completed with the Baltimore Elite Giants leading the Daron Legion six runs to one. The former team's domination shown no sign of slowing down this afternoon. Torrence was not particularly pleased to see the game already in this condition.
"Shit, this keeps up, I'm gonna insist on plus three hundred for an opening line."
"Eh, I didn't even get a lot of action on my lines going up on two fifty today. You ought to be fine." Western gave his words a pronounced end with a swig from his beer cup.
"Yeah. You know what bothers me more right now? Did I tell you about Jeff?"
"That's your wife's friend's kid, right? The jerk? Yeah, what about him now?"
"Well see it was his birthday this week, and so Tricia takes it upon herself to bake a cake for him. Makes a real nice chocolate one, thick frosting and all. The day he's set to come over for the visit, he walks in the door, and we're all sittin there in the front room, me, Trish, and Mark, right? We're sitting there and he knocks and opens the door and walks right to Mark without so much as even saying hello to me or her, without even taking his shoes off at the door, and goes right to Mark to show off some god damned baseball card he just got."
"Yeah, that sounds like a jerk thing to do."
"Right, I'd say so. Later on, Trish calls them out from Mark's room to come to the table so that we can present the cake. We gather round and sing Happy Birthday to him and he just sorta nods towards the cake like he's trying to shut us all out, and afterwards he just walks off back to Mark's room without even saying 'excuse me' or thank you to my wife for the fucking cake. Completely oblivious. And now Trish, she doesn't say so out loud to her friend while she's there, but you can see it on her face that she's saddened by that. She put in all that time to do something nice, and for what? For what?"
"Lord. Doesn't he learn any manners from anywhere? His Mom? School? Anything?"
"Seems not. Of course, his Mom says it all sweet like 'Oh he was very happy to have the cake, I can tell' and buttering it all up, but I could smell the bullshit from her mouth as she spit it out. Oh, hah, on that note. I had to light a damn cigar every time that kid was near me after he shown up. I don't know how he bathes or whatever the fuck it is, but it isn't enough."
"Man, are you serious? I guess if you live with it you can't tell, but, heh, that's just scary to think about. That reminds me." Western took up a fresh cigar from the metallic holder inside his suit pocket and held a match under it for several seconds while he dragged the tobacco to life.
"Scarier to be around, trust me. And ain't it all fucked up. All the shit we deal with respect. If that kid was just someone on the street, I'd have reason to kick his ass just for being rude to me, much less making my wife feel like shit. Kid acts like that and can't even make eye contact with me when he speaks, and he walks around with his clothes all disheveled and looking like a fucking bum and basically smelling like a fucking bum, and because you're some kid who is a friend of the family, all I can do is bite my tongue and feel myself burn up inside."
"Why don't you at least call the kid out on his shit?"
"Sometimes I do, but I can't treat it like normal. I want to keep my wife's happiness in balance, and she insists that her and her friend talk about things on the side to try to address the really bad things. That's the whole basis behind all of this. It's more her problem than mine, technically. Sooner or later, though, that won't be the case, as long as he keeps coming around my place at least. Maybe sooner. I mean, shit, it wouldn't be an issue if whatever they talk about to fix the problems actually worked."

18370328 19:23:09

18370328 19:23:09

"Here! Come here!" Daron compelled him to come to the spot with a raspy whisper as he knocked against the wooden wall of the barn. He knocked again as he watched the outline of Doctor Adewa Kufo's body in the weak moonlight turn his head around from side to side. Finally, the man turned to face the wall from the other side and leaned his face against the wall in a failed attempt to confirm who was on the other side.
"Daron?"
"Hush! Turn your back to the wall and just answer the questions that I ask you."
"Understood." The Doctor did as instructed and leaned his body against the wall, causing a creak to emit from the aged planks. Daron sighed and shook his head. "I just wanted to make sure-"
"Yes, yes, fine, but no names. Ain't no secret if names are heard." Daron strained to keep his speech in a whisper and his words were delivered with enough rasp to compel him to cough.
"I suppose you're right." The Doctor was embarrassed to make that admission, and his voice reflected it.
"Just remember it. Anyways, reason I wanted you here is to tell you that some folks here got a story against you and your pal Garr. They want you out of here. I don't agree, but you need to make a reason that you should stay."
"Is it the Reverend?"
"Doesn't matter who. Bad enough you're not out there with the rest of us workin the crop. Folks think you just here to leech."
"That's unfortunate. Research takes time."
"Well one of em is sayin that you do experiments on dead babies, Doctor. This ain't just about how you spendin your time."
"Oh, what rubbish. It is the Reverend, then. They get one story about one person and-"
"Look, I just said it doesn't matter. What you gotta do is prove your worth here. What is your work now, then? What're you working on?"
"Well, Dr. Peterson and I were making experimental formulations for new feminine cosmetic products. We're trying to find better formulas for compounds which hydrate the flesh. We believe there to be a strong market for that."
"So, beauty products?"
"Yes, D-. Yes sir."
"All right. All right. I hear what you're sayin but you gotta change that now. Like right now. What's something you can do for something like our crops first, instead?"
"Uh, well, I uh... you must understand that neither Dr. Peterson or I are specialists in that kind of organic chemistry, and we just can't-"
"Hush, I don't care, I don't care. It don't matter. I'm trying to help you earn your stay here. You find a way to get our crops to stretch out, how to get us to grow more from the same plot, that'll shut them all up. You find a way to help feed all of us, ain't nobody gonna run you out. All right?"
"Um, yes, that would be true, yes, but, again, that will take some time to happen."
"Think beyond your job, Doctor. You gotta make your case and sell yourself like you got a new tonic. Make something up. I don't know what. New seed, new soil food, something, anything. Prove your worth. And do it as soon as possible. Do it and buy yourself some time, and earn your stay."
Doctor Kufo stood silent for a moment, with his gaze cast to the darkened ground in contemplation. The request did make sense, but he didn't understand how this situation had already come to conspire in this fashion. Why was it his task to give this instruction? Why did this accuser not face him or the other Doctor directly? Why was his mere hearsay enough to cause this all to occur? How soon would be soon enough to make some kind of new discovery be presented? What would be an acceptable justification? He quickly deduced that the most important variable to determine was the allowance of time.
"Sir, how much time will I have for this?"
The question was asked to nobody. Daron had slipped away from the barn while the Doctor was lost in thought.

18360114 13:29:17

18360114 13:29:17

The axe fell through the stump in a clean stroke, and when Daron had the blade driven into the wood he was able to see the three children run towards the cabin. Jesse held the door open for the Poole children and waved his free arm around in a circle, as if he was herding cattle into the opening. Once they were inside, he slammed the door shut and caused an echo to ripple throughout the surrounding woods. He wasted no time in dropping the axe and making his way to the cabin to join the children inside. When he entered, the two younger children were already out of sight, having concealed themselves underneath some of their blankets. Jesse had the gun readied on the table and a hatchet in his hand.
"How many?"
"Just one. On horse. No carriage. Wasn't fast, but he's on his way here for sure."
"All right. Forget that hatchet boy, get the shot ready. I've got to teach you how to load this thing next time."
"Yes sir." Jesse laid the hatchet on the table and grabbed the box of steel shot from the corner of the cabin. He pulled the box halfway open after placing it on the surface.
"Jesse, I'm scared!" Marian's voice was muffled from underneath the blanket over her body.
"Hush, all of you! Let me focus!" Daron's command silenced the room as he hunched his body near the window enough to permit the top of his head to peer over the bottom of the sill where he held the gun muzzle at the ready. The seconds slowly crept by as the silence was eventually broken up by an approaching gallop. Eventually, the rider was in sight of the cabin, and Daron focused his aim on the man in the black winter riding coat and raccoon skin hat. Daron curled his finger around the gun's trigger as the man dismounted. He stood on the ground and stood in place as he looked widely to his sides before cupping his hands around his mouth and called out into the open.
"Mister Daron Hoobler!"
Daron let his hand drift away from the rifle and slowly stood up in amazement. He recognized the voice.
"Is it really him?" Jesse asked this with a tone that reflected his surprise as well.
Daron held the rifle by the barrel in one hand as he opened the door and stepped outside of the cabin.
"Frederic! You have returned!"
"Oh, Daron! You are indeed here! How happy I am to see you here!" Frederic Allange walked over to Daron and took hold of his right hand with both of his own. The two men laughed out loud in mutual relief, then Daron quickly escorted Frederic to come inside the cabin with him. Frederic's face stiffened slightly as the odor of the cabin struck him, but he pushed the sensation out of his mind and stood inside with a face aglow with relief to see Daron and Jesse again.
"Please sit, Frederic. Jesse, go tend to his horse and lead it to the barn. Children, it is safe. This man is a friend."
Saul and Marian Poole began to pull the blanket off of their bodies, but sat prone and immobile upon seeing Frederic before them. Frederic likewise glanced at Daron with a hint of incredulity on his face.
"Are these yours, Daron?"
"No, no they're not, no, hah. There is an explanation. Their names are Saul and Marian."
"Ah, I see. Mister Saul, Miss Marian, it is a pleasure to meet you. Daron and I are friends." The two children did not have any response and remained frozen in place. Jesse promptly left the cabin and went to tend to the horse.
"Frederic, please sit, please. I never expected you to be here now, so much has happened."
"Well, that's what brought me here, Daron." Frederic sat opposite of Daron at the table and felt his body nearly give way as the worn wooden chair audibly strained from the weight. "Mm. I have returned to Baltimore some time ago and I have heard some men speaking around town."
"How so?"
"Well, you know how men concern themselves with the goings of your kind, and I was at a saloon in the late evening hours when men were more likely to speak freely. There was talk about the comings and goings of freed slaves and the like, and then I overhear one of them boast about an attack that was made this past fall. I hear one of the men say 'As long as we handle them like we did that negro down at the end of the coast, we'll be all right'. I ask for details and the man goes on to boast more, saying; 'We went down there, a whole lot of us, and we torched that negro's barn and house down, and we ruined him. He ran off like a chicken shit and we could have chased him, but it didn't matter, his place was ruined, he was done. We just as good as killed him.', and other men nodded solemnly and some even softly laughed about it. I soon discerned they were referring to here, but I wanted to verify it with my own eyes. I couldn't believe that you would have been done in. And indeed you haven't! But, oh, what a state you are in now. That house destroyed, and you left to twist in the wind. How despicable."
"Yes, well, it is a pitiful time, yes." Daron felt his anger begin to swell up within his body. "But pity doesn't keep us alive. We fought through it and here we are. And we still got a whole winter to get through yet."
"True, yes."
"And what of your words from last time, Frederic? Did you tell your brothers of this farm and the opportunity here? We did not see anyone of your kind come here after you left. Not once."
"So it seems. Perhaps my advertisements were misdirected or otherwise subdued. Daron, you must believe me when I say that I did send letters back to my country in earnest. Perhaps nobody there believed you had a chance."
"Well now you see me, now will you say that there is a chance yet? Now you see that I am alive, that I am still here, can you make that known?"
"I could, yes." Frederic nodded and began to contemplate the means in which he could communicate the present situation. "Perhaps I could speak to other people as well. People of your kind, particularly."

18370327 08:56:50

18370327 08:56:50

Daron lazily sauntered to his front door, despite the rhythm of the strikes becoming louder and not relenting in pace. This person was in a definite rush to see him. The fact that the knocking didn't stop became increasingly irritating to him, and that irritation descended into a kind of dread once he was able to see who was standing on the other side of the door. When he opened it, he kept his hand on door knob and didn't speak first.
"Mr. Hoobler, we need to speak."
"Very well, Reverend. Could you give me a moment to ready myself? I'll be making coffee, would you like some?"
"Nah, Mr. Hoobler, that won't be needed, and this will only take a moment. You don't even need to dress yourself proper Please just allow me a few moments to speak, that's all I request."
"As you wish." Daron wasn't awake enough to properly conceal the contempt in his voice.
He led Reverend Tarro to his kitchen and gestured to the cluttered wooden table with a hand, then walked over to the bucket on the ground to collect some water in a pot, then delicately laid the pot onto the stove to prepare it for boiling. Reverend Tarro didn't wait for Daron to sit at the table with him.
"Mr. Hoobler, I wish to speak with you about a few individuals who have apparently made arrangements to reside in this city, namely Doctors Adewa Kufo and Garr Peterson. If I'm not mistaken, you had the opportunity to speak with them directly once they had arrived here, yes?"
"I did, yes." He opened the door to the stove to throw some small twigs and leaves inside, which were subsequently ignited by a lit match. He continued to speak once he had sat down at the table opposite of the Reverend. "They are graduates of Fourah Bay, and they seem to have an equal desire to conduct scientific research as well as be good citizens here. I take it you have a different opinion of them?"
"Well, did they inform you about their reason for wanting to be here? Why they were essentially exiled from the States and had nowhere else they could go but here?"
"No, though it didn't occur to me to have done so."
"Mr. Hoobler, I'll leave these with you." Reverend Tarro leaned back in the wooden chair with enough weight to cause the frame to audibly creak from the strain as he dug into his pants pocket and pulled the paper out. "This is a page from a Christian journal which I subscribe to. A topic of note are the identification of persons who commit sins against the word of God in the supposed name of science and knowledge. Both of those men, both Kufo and Petereson, were named for their participation of a project in which they used materials from deceased human fetuses to conduct their work. This amoral and abhorrent action cannot be tolerated by anyone who calls themselves the followers of Jesus, such as yourself. These two men must be compelled to leave immediately."
"Reverend, I-"
"On the assumption that you agree with it, I can see it having that proclamation be stated in the paper and to be printed out for public record."
"Reverend, I think you might be hasty in this reaction, because-"
"Hasty? Read this paper! Read it! There is solid proof of their heinous crimes, and we cannot allow that here! We-"
"Reverend, your voice. Please."
The man glared through unblinking eyes and held a quiver in his jaw as he forced himself to remain quiet for the moment.
"Thank you. Now, Reverend, we need to consider that those men were once people like myself who had no other place to go. We also need to consider that the future of all mankind, and us within it, depend on our cultivation and expansion of knowledge. If we exile these men, we could set a dangerous tone that keeps other men like them out. If we foster them, we could gain an advantage over time."

19351005 09:22:05

19351005 09:22:05

MT-N-7316

"Helen! Get up already! It's almost ten!"
She mumbled to herself as she anchored her heels against the side of the bed to drag her body to its edge before sitting upward to remove herself from it. Her first instinct was to look over to the corner of the room by the window where she left the paper grocery sack from the night before. Her eyes weren't adjusted to the sunlight in the room so she couldn't tell if any of the blood on the clothes within the bag had seeped through. Her Mom now stood in the room with her back to it as she yelled at Helen for being out of the house overnight again and began to carry on about other complaints. The tone of her voice was the same as she used when she would get into extended altercations with her Dad through the long nights. Helen paid no attention to the ranting in the least. After what had happened last night, she knew that this was basically the last time that she could be in this house for a while - possibly forever, if her parents were evicted while she was gone - and she needed to quickly decide what she would take with her and how to go about making a grand exit. The drawers. She would empty the clothes in the drawers onto the paper sack so that she could scoop it up as she left. Where would this all go into? Not a suitcase. Not multiple paper bags, it had to be something singular and large. Nothing in her closet. Her parent's room? She suddenly remembered that there was a large drawstring laundry bag that was kept in the hall closet for when they needed to do laundromat runs. That would suffice. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she felt her Mom's voice fade away out of her consciousness. She focused on reaching that point of serenity again which she had found last night. It came.
"I have had it! I can't live here any more! I am sick and God damned tired of you screaming at me all the fucking time and fighting with Dad and being useless! That's what you are - useless! And you try to push it on me, you always have! Always! And I'm done!"
"Helen! You shall not speak to-"
"I will speak to you however the fuck I want now! I don't give a shit at all! At all!" Helen pushed her body against the finger that her mother pointed towards her as she began to spoke, and advanced upon her, which caused her mother to reflexively take a few steps backwards in retreat. Helen pressed her face against her mother's ear and growled as she spoke. "I'm done! I'm going to take these clothes and I am going to leave this shithole of a house and I will never see you again! Whatever I don't take, throw it out or sell it for more fucking booze for all I fucking care! Or cram it up your ass!" Helen then stepped to the side of her mother to reach for the top dresser drawer and snapped it free, but was unable to keep a hold on it before it fell to the ground and split at the corner seam before she was able to hold it upright and turn the contents upside down onto the paper sack. She grunted to steady herself as she took out the remaining drawers and was able to empty them with more control. Helen marched off to the hall closet, found the laundry bag on a shelf within it, and returned to her room. She stopped in the doorway to her room as she saw her mother staring back in the same position as she had left her, with her face having taken on an ashen pallor and her eyes becoming glazed and watery.
"How can you do this to me? How can you hurt me like this?" Her mother's question was spoken in a volume barely above a whisper and came through choked pockets of air within her throat. Helen felt her mind begin to slip and her throat to constrict upon itself for a brief moment after seeing her mother in this state. She realized that she still needed to work on controlling her emotions. Her eyes closed, then she curled her lips over her teeth and bit down as she squeezed her hands into fists with enough force to make them tremble. Helen forced herself to emit a gurgling growl which grew to a ragged scream.
"That's the question I wanted to ask you all of my fucking life! You and Dad hurt me every fucking night! Every night! Now get the fuck out of my way!" Helen threw the bag onto the pile of clothes, then pulled her mother to the side and knelt down to start shoving clothes into the bag as quickly as her hands could allow. She made a point to get the paper sack shoved into the laundry bag with her initial handful. The only sound in the room was the friction of the clothes being dragged and grabbed from the ground and shoved into the bag. Once it had ballooned and became full, Helen snapped the drawstring tight and held it over her shoulder as she stood upright. She strained under the weight and huffed breath through her nostrils to force her back to remain erect. She stood at the side of her mother and kept her head faced forward while she turned her eyes to the side to look upon her for the final time.
"Go fuck yourself." Helen hissed this insult through clenched teeth and felt droplets of spit fly from her lips as it came out. Her mother remained silently standing and unmoved, but two streams of tears had streaked down the sides of her cheeks. She made it through the front door and down the street with her scowl in place, but struggled to keep her composure once she had made it to the end of the block.

18360102 08:02:59

18360102 08:02:59

Mrs. Laurel Poole had just woke up from the worst night of sleep in her memory and stood at the side of the house which shielded her from the wind as she straddled over an iron kettle to urinate in it. After the grueling travel which she had to endure to get here, and after the experience of trying to sleep peacefully in the same single room as her two children and the two other strange males, and waking up to this kind of situation was a continued rub of salt upon her emotional wounds. Why would Whitney have ever insisted that she bring their family to this place when it didn't even have accommodations for women to excrete their waste? Did he not envision that this lack of privacy and containment, which would likely be acceptable to a group of relatively uncivilized males, be something to which she would instantly take offense to and object? She felt her body shiver from the exposure to the morning winter cold and struggled to maintain the position of her hands as it held the chamber pot. Laurel felt dismayed that her days of doing things like this were still not yet over. With the act over, she carefully lowered the pot to the ground, then hitched her dress upward as she stepped away and managed to keep her body and clothing from making contact with the waste. A walk of a few yards towards the start of the forest line was the length that she tolerated walking in the snow to find a place to dump the pot. She carried the empty container at her side with a full arm's distance away from her body.
She returned to the cabin to see her two children sitting with the two other males as they both held handfuls of yarn and sets of knitting needles, with the intent to instruct the children on the craft. Envisioning spending the entire day knitting with these strangers while trying to teach her own children how to do it pushed her discomfort to an extent that compelled her to speak out.
"Daron, I understand that you have given us the best comfort which you could provide, but without having my husband here with me, I cannot stand to remain here. This situation is not something that I had envisioned, nor something that I think my children nor I can cope with now. I think we must take our leave immediately so that I may find my husband in Baltimore."
He held his hands motionless in the air as he turned to look at her sternly.
"Mrs. Poole, surely you must understand that doing so would be the worst possible thing you could do. How do you propose to travel that kind of distance in this weather and without any means other than walking?"
"My children and I can make it to the next house by nightfall, and surely they would not turn away a single mother and her children."
"So you don't understand what I said to you yesterday. They will turn any negro away under any circumstance, or even worse, try to get you locked up and taken away. Jesse and I were left for dead here just months ago. It was assumed that with the house being destroyed, we were too. No mail service has come here since, nor has any other kind of visitor or person approached this area until you did yesterday. This is why we have to wait for Whitney to return. We have no other choice. If you leave, I fear that you will be arrested or even die."
"But if I remain here, I will go insane with waiting and become more disgusted with staying here by the day. I just urinated into a pot without having so much as a shack for shelter. This lack of privacy is deeply offensive to me, you must know."
"I know. This is all we can do in the middle of winter, all the same. All we can do is cope and wait for spring."
Silence filled the cabin. Laurel paced on her heels, leaning side to side as she rubbed her hands against her body over her crossed arms, in equal parts due to cold and unease. Daron came up with an offer after a few moments contemplation.
"Mrs. Poole, perhaps you could agree to this. Our horse is wanting exercise now, and you wish to go to Baltimore immediately. The fastest way this could be accomplished is if you were take the horse for the journey and leave your children here."
"L - leave? Leave my children here? Are you insane? How could I leave my children behind with someone who I don't know!"
"And how could I let you take my horse without having any way to guarantee you'll bring it back? Having your children with you would only slow you down as well. And since I know you'll return, and since I'll lack any means of escape without the horse myself, you'll know that I must remain here - and as long as I remain here, I must protect this cabin and all within it with my life. When I made the last trip with Whitney, I had to leave Jesse here alone for the weeks that I was gone. He is proof that I will uphold my word. Should you leave for Baltimore without them, I shall nurture and care for your children as if they were my own children."
"But." Laurel's face winced in making the decision. "But I have never left my children behind for more than a moment. They have always been at my side. I can't-"
"Well, if you can't leave them, then I suggest getting comfortable here and joining us in knitting, so that way we can all make enough quilts to better warm us at night."
Daron resumed positioning the needles within his hands, and Jesse followed suit. Her children sat silent and attentively as they watched them loop the strands of yarn within their fingers.
Laurel remained standing in place. She told herself that these were decent men, or at least one decent man, who had in fact helped to make this cabin and keep it safe as well as ensure that he and the boy had enough to eat to survive. They were doing what was necessary to survive the winter. Meanwhile, her desire to see her husband and confirm that he was indeed recuperating became insurmountable.
"Very well. I agree. I shall ride alone to Baltimore."
Daron turned to respond to her as he did moments ago.
"I'll gladly help you on your way."

19380818 14:06:16

19380818 14:06:16

NW-N-5210

"Speak up! Please! Start over and speak up - I need to hear you from here!"
"My name is Brittany Nielsen! I am nineteen years old! I-" Here, her voice cracked, and she needed a moment to clear her throat and recuperate before continuing. "I deserve this part because I am willing to work as long as it takes to get the part right!"
"Thank you, yes thank you. Next please."
The stage call was not going very well in the opinion of Peter Mullins. Repeatedly asking for the girls to speak up was not especially new, but usually his request only needed to be said a few times before the rest of the girls understood the point and took it upon themselves to make their voices heard. Of this particular batch, though, there wasn't anyone who he had seen that made a distinct impression on him. One girl had a decent physical figure but was short in height. Another was comparatively the same and taller, but managed to look completely emotionless as she spoke her lines out - as if there was no passion behind her eyes. From one to the next he could give a two-word summary starting with "no" that would describe the fault of each one. No legs. No breasts. No voice. No passion. No control. The only light that he saw at the end of this abysmal group was this young lady who was due to speak at this moment. She was a lithe but healthy blonde with an ample bosom and above average height. Throughout the ordeal, she had managed to keep her eyes directed forward the entire time and did not divert her attention at the other girls as they may have happened to fumble in their speeches or otherwise show signs of boredom. This changed when he just had called for the next girl to speak. Upon hearing the command, she titled her head to face Peter directly, and did so with a determined glide of the neck as opposed to a snap. She also blinked and just as gracefully opened her eyes to make them appear to focus directly upon him before she spoke. Peter sat up and took notice of Helen Allegra.
"My name is Mary Yellowstone. I am twenty one years old. I deserve this part because I have several years of experience in other amateur shows, such as Line Call and Tribute to Tabaris. I have received acclaim for my performances there and elsewhere. I can bring that same professionalism to your production."
Her voice coated the entirety of the empty hall. Peter was able to hear it reverberate behind him. She managed to do with without any apparent strain in her speaking. The acclaim which she spoke of, and that he was aware of, did seem to be justified.
"Yes, I've heard of you, Mary. What was it like growing up with the name of Yellowstone?"
"I guess people always expected me to blow my top."
Her immediate response came with a sultry smile. A few other girls standing in line with her laughed along with Peter at the delivery. He supposed that he walked right into that one, and gave her the perfect chance to recite some kind of line that she had prepared to give at some point, but he was genuinely curious as to how she lived with the name, and couldn't resist but to feel charmed by her humor and strong stage presence.

19290117 08:38:15

19290117 08:38:15

KF-N-7313

Pulaski slowly waddled through the front living room with his body hunched inward as he wrapped his arms around himself to try to keep some head within the sweater. The lingering waddle became an expedited hobble once his feet touched the cold surface of the kitchen tile. When he made it to the table, he thrust his body down onto the chair with enough force to make it slightly skid backwards. He only allowed the tips of his heels to touch the floor as he clenched his eyes closed and strained to keep himself from shivering. Madeline came into the room behind him and was better clothed to deal with the coldness within the house - her feet had two layers of socks within the thick wool slippers, and she still had her full velvet pajama suit on underneath the outer robe. The routine started as soon as she reached the kitchen sink. Water was poured into the pot for coffee, and a pat of butter was set to melt in the black iron pan to prepare for cooking eggs. After extinguishing the match used to light the stove with a sharp puff of breath, she lazily watched the smoke curl and billow upwards, then turned to face her husband while leaning against the counter.
"Toast?"
"Mngh. Yeah. Two."
Madeline nodded and turned back to the counter to get some wheat bread from the corner shelf, pulled two pieces from the bag, and quickly spun the plastic wrap to close it. She cracked the eggs against the side of the pan, kept the yolks intact, and gave a few moments of lead time in cooking before she put another pat of butter down to prepare the frying of the toast.
"Ugh. Maddy, this year is already shaping up to be some some kind of weird shit, I can tell." After saying this, Pulaski reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table and tapped the bottom of it on the surface until a single stick protruded from the pack, which he eagerly took into his mouth and lit.
"Oh?" She kept her back turned to him and her attention on the food.
"Well I mean, it's like. I don't get what Torrence is thinking. At least as far as making me some kind of goddamned mentor to these new folks. I mean, shit, you know Ridgeland is a strange duck, yeah? Well this guy Kedzie, somehow he's even weirder. And somehow he manages to be a totally different weird. He's like, some kind of Jesus freak in a way. More like a Bible freak. I'm going to go nuts trying to do work with either of these guys."
Before responding, Madeline knelt down to view the gas flame under the pan to ensure that it was as low as possible so that the food would stay warm and not cook longer while waiting for the water to boil. Next came the preparation of the coffee in the strainer so that it could receive the water.
"Maybe it's as simple as the fact that you're the best kind of guy he's got who can handle oddballs like that."
"Phhhhhhhhew. I guess. Fuck I'm still cold. Still, though, how hard is it to get guys to work with who aren't freaks, eh? Just find more guys like me. I manage to do that just fine I think. Why's that so hard?"
"I don't know, honey. I'd guess he's got a plan of some kind worked out in his head, or at least has seen them do things that he thinks are valuable. Maybe that's all there is to it." The water just started to boil at this point. As quickly as she shut the gas off and took the pot away from the stove, she carefully guided the water trickle from the lip and ensured that there wasn't a single drop that splashed or spilled away. Madeline rubbed her hands together sporadically and looked about the room while waiting for the coffee to pour through. He sat in silence. She poured some coffee into a mug and brought it to the table, then left and returned with the food. Rather than sitting with him, she returned to the stove with the pan to prepare her own course.
Pulaski took the coffee mug first, and let a mouthful of the brew swish around in his cheeks before swallowing it down. He let out an exasperated sigh as he felt the warmth trickle over his body. This broke his silence.
"I mean, did I tell you about the other night? All I gotta say is, the guy didn't even want to drop me off in front of his place at the end of it. We're in the middle of night in fucking January and he says to stop somewhere by the prison and says that he'll walk. I mean what the fuck is that about? Isn't that the strangest shit you ever heard?"
"I can't explain that, no." Madeline laughed after saying this.

19280428 22:10:22

19280428 22:10:22

DV-N-7644

"What've I been up to? Well just yesterday, the two of us had one hell of a time with a visit closer to downtown, ain't that right?" Pulaski used the edge of his elbow to nudge Ridgeland into his body, which caused him to rock away in his seat and required him to regain his balance.
"Yeah, we had to find a way to g-"
"We go in there, see, and the bum's sittin there playin cards with his pals and all, and I can see that there's already a decent pot already built up, so they've been there for a while and were setting up for longer."
"How much do you figure was on the table then?" Dietrich always had his attention go directly to the figures of money whenever the stories hit upon the subject. It seemed like having the facts around this aspect established helped to give him some true understanding and appreciation for all of the other details.
"Maybe a couple hundred, even. I didn't get close enough to look it over, but at a glance there seemed to be a lot of bills piled up there and not too many of them being singles, no." Pulaski took a drag from the cigar and pursed his lips to exhale the white plume in a thin cone. "Shit, woulda been nice to just take that, heh, y'know?"
"Oh man, would thata been sweet, yeah! If I was you I woulda been thinkin of ways to just call that good there and swipe my arm off the table and take that all away - woop! Ha ha! Or hell, even sit down and join in and try to win it out of them. Man, a few hundred." Dietrich licked his lips and shook his head slowly. "That's a lot to be spending on cards."
"Right. So yeah we're there and this guy -", Pulaski turned his hand with the thumb extended to the side to indicate his partner, "- goes over and tells him that we're there to collect, and then the man walks right up to him and breathes down his throat and like towers over him, he was a big guy, yeah; and he tells him to fuck off. Now, at that point, I was thinking like you were, D, I was thinking to myself, 'Fuck this guy, we otta just rush him down and grab the pot and go', but instead, he keeps cool and stands there for a minute, and then finally asks if he's won enough from the cards to pay up. That sends him into a rage and his pals had to struggle to hold him down. Kid doesn't move a muscle the whole time, and stands there like a statue until he's back in the chair."
"Right, OK." Dietrich held a new cigar in his mouth and looked down at his chest, then began to pat his chest to remind himself where he kept his lighter. After two pats on his body, Ridgeland snapped his hand down upon Pulaski's lighter, which was on the table between them, and flicked the lighter away, causing it to slide across the table with just enough force to stop from falling over as it teetered on the edge. Dietrich blinked at the table and hesitantly nodded to Ridgeland before picking it up to light his cigar.
"So we're walking away and I'm waiting for him to say what we're gonna do, because I knew that wasn't the end of it. He says nothin, he walks over to the stairway mute like he is now, and I'm followin him and waiting to see what he does. He does this trick and makes some of the plumbing between the floors sound like it gets a knock."
"A trick?"
"Yeah, D, a trick."
"What kind of a trick?"
"Eh, y'know, he just knew where to give it a tap so the sound traveled. Y'know how hollow it is between floors there, sound just carries. But yeah, that's what he does, and I heard it rattling a ways away, then he says to me 'Follow my lead' and goes to the room one floor under where we just were. He knocks on the door and this old broad answers. He says that we're both plumbers and that we were sent to do the repairs on that pipe that just made that noise. She lets us in. We're in, and the first thing he does is get upon a chair and looks around the ceiling. The woman starts to look confused, probably thinking 'what's a plumber looking on the ceiling for?', and I see that and I pull her away and ask if she could possibly get some water, and let me watch how the tap pours. We get to the kitchen and that was all he needed. He puts his blade in place, pointing up at the ceiling, and then telescopes it upwards with such force that it breaks through and shoots all the way up to the next floor - right fucking underneath where the asshole was sitting. Soon as we hear commotion upstairs, we say that we couldn't find the problem in the woman's place and get out in a hurry. We got out of the place and waited around the corner for the other guys to clear out. Then, finally then, we went back upstairs and made the collection."
"Damn! Woo that's some crazy tale there, damn boys. What the hell kind of tool you got that can shoot through solid floors?"
"Oh, it's custom made." Ridgeland said this with a polite smile that he struggled to maintain throughout the embellished recanting.

19280427 19:29:38

19280427 19:29:38

EA-S-1200X0415

"We were sent here to collect. You owe for two months of dealing. You're at the point now where your weekly take may not pay the juice."
"You? You two white boys were sent here to collect? Who sent you two?"
"Carbondale." Ridgeland made no hesitation in giving that answer.
"Oh, he did now, did he. The C-man himself, heh." The other four men seated at the table smirked and softly laughed with hearing that moniker. "Well uh, I apologize for saying so, Mister Stick-in-the-ass, but if that man has something he wants to discuss, he can send someone other than you pale faced faggots over here to do it. You tell him I said that." Virgil then walked over to Ridgeland so that he could stand directly before him and impose his stature. He bowed his larger body down so that his face was less than an inch apart from Ridgeland's, and his body bent over enough to compel him to tilt his neck backward. "Now get the fuck out of here."
Virgil turned his back to them and leisurely made his way back to the open seat so that he could resume the poker game with his friends. The game quickly resumed once Virgil had his cards in his hand and asked who had the bet. Ridgeland studied the room while standing silently to watch the game transpire. He turned his chin downward to look at the edge of the doorway and brought his head up to study the distance that the men's table was from the entrance. There were two windows against the wall at the opposite side of the room, and he tilted his head slightly to face each one individually, and made a triangle layout in his mind with Virgil's seat at one end and the midpoints of the windows at the others. He took a moment to finalize the plan, then suddenly spoke out.
"Do you have enough winnings there to pay for a month now?"
"I told you to get the fuck out! Get out! Now!" As Virgil darted his body upward to stand up to Ridgeland and taunt him, two of his nearby friends reached their arms out towards Virgil and begged for him to simply sit down in an attempt to tell him to calm down. Their suggestion was heeded as Ridgeland promptly left the room, then walked past Pulaski as he headed towards the stairwell.
"Who's the landlord here?" Ridgeland asked this without specifically waiting for Pulaski to walk with him, nor faced him to ask the question directly to his face.
"What? The landlord? Erm, I uh, I don't-"
"OK well who financed this building, anything." Ridgeland quickly walked down the stairs, casting a sharp echo within the stairwell as he made his descent. "Someone important backed this building, right? Wasn't Pritte one of them?"
"Oh! Yeah, I think you're right, yeah. Yeah this seems like the kind of place he'd back. Why, what's that got to do with anything?"
"You'll see."
Ridgeland came to a sudden stop when he was in between the third and second floor. He reached into the pocket within his suit coat and brought the cigar case out into the open. He held his hand level to the area that would form the floor of the third level rooms. He let the cigar case deform and melt in his hand, commanding a thin strand to extend out. The strand pierced the sidewall of the floor. Ridgeland held his stance for a few seconds, then suddenly curled his fingers upward and kneaded the remainder of metal in his hand while feeling for the tension. Once he was satisfied with the resistance in the strand, he formed a fist and sharply jerked his hand to the side of his body in three sharp tugs. A few yards away, a faintly muffled striking of metal could be heard between the floor. He released his grip on the metal line and waited for it to collect within his hand before he raced back upstairs to the third floor and proceeded to Room 315. He knocked on the door, held his hat in his hands, and made a conscious effort to put a smile on his face as he waited for someone to answer. He was relieved to see a middle aged housewife stand at the other end of the opened door.
"Hello, ma'am, sorry to bother you, but we're some maintenance men that Mr. Marcel Pritte had just hired. Did you hear that noise in the pipes right now? We're trying to fix that."
"Oh, I see! Yes, I just heard that and it scared the daylights out of me! I never heard anything like that at all!" She bore an expression of genuine shock as she pressed her fingertips against her sternum.
"Hah, I can certainly believe that, ma'am. So, yes, since it was nearby, we need to investigate - would you please allow us in for a brief moment?"
"Certainly, yes. Come in."
Upon entering the apartment, Ridgeland first cast his eyes to the ceiling within the main living room and saw that the light fixture was basically in the same spot as in the other room. The windows within the opposite wall were also in the same location. Pulaski smiled and nodded while removing his hat. The woman smiled back meekly and closed the door behind Pulaski, and became inquisitive as she looked the two men over.
"Is someone else going to bring your tools?"
"Oh, they're downstairs, ma'am, we just need to investigate first so that we know which ones to get." Pulaski said this with a glib smile, then quickly blinked to look over at Ridgeland as he stood in the center of the room and held his arm upright. He saw a metallic glint briefly shine from underneath Ridgeland's hand. Pulaski suddenly placed his arms on the woman's shoulders to draw her attention to him and turn her to face away from the center of the room. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, hah! Where are my manners? My name is Joey, what may we call you?"
"Oh I'm uh, I'm Misses Deers."
That moment was enough.
Ridgeland closed his eyes and commanded the liquid metal to shoot directly up from his hand. The spike rushed upwards and easily pierced the ceiling, but then it slowed in its push upward beyond that point. Ridgeland grasped the metal tightly in his fist as he heard the scurrying of seats and excited yelling from the floor above him. He snapped his hand back to pull the metal towards him and immediately headed for the door.
"Problem's not here after all. Thank you, ma'am." Ridgeland smiled and replaced his hat as he walked through the door.
"Well! I guess we gotta go then, heh. Uh, thank you, Miss Deers." Pulaski hastily shook her hand and ran after Ridgeland, and wasn't able to catch up until they were both at the bottom of the stairway.