Chapter 40 - Final Performance II
I've mentioned about knives and making them before. I have a certain type of steel I mainly work with. I say mainly, because when I get my hands on any kind of cheap Damascus looking stuff? I make all kinds of shit out of that pretty stuff.
For this last job, I needed a number of things to come together. First of all, fishing was a thing for this old guy. Fishing, was possibly a good strike point. The only problem was, he seemed to go everywhere with one of his physically imposing younger relatives.
I pretended not to notice or be offended. I tracked them to a couple fishing locations. One of them in particular, seemed remote enough it could work. I had two issues, and if you take away my objective only one thing was left. I was slightly unwilling to kill the "innocent" bodyguard.
I sat and really thought about it, morality wise. I decided, that he was part of the overall organization that killed my precious Rain. He was no harmless member of the family, either. He held himself out to be a tough guy for the small time criminal structure that was left of what the family had once been.
In my view? Wanna be bullshit that never was. Or I guess I should say, never should have been. Other people ran some liquor or made wine and beer in the depression. Most managed somehow to not kill anyone over it, and furthermore retire from crime and all that when the depression finally ended.
I bought what for me was a regular purchase, pieces of steel you order and they arrive in the mail. It was a little thicker and wider than I normally bought for my bar stock as far as these purchases went, but I had a special purpose for this one. I now had a long piece of the thicker wider and heavier to play with.
About as wide or wider than a big Chinese machete, and a little thicker than that. I already knew it was the widest piece of bar stock I could get my hand comfortably around. I left wide spots comfortably above and below my hand and what space it needed. A little more for if I had gloves on, as well.
When I eventually wrap this knife, like all things I wrap a handle for? I'll carefully choose from my selection of cordage. Material, thickness, diameter. Its cut out to easily retain the wrapped handle. I drilled a little hole to pass the cord through after the wrapping is done and it will secure it. I leave extra off out the hole, and burn it with a lighter back to the steel. Voila. Its a blob that can't fit through the hole now. Its like a little custom plastic rivet.
Odd knife, like some I go in for at design time. As wide as could be comfortable in my hand, and a little longer to allow for gloves one day. Then the blade is designed similar. Not the longest blade and by far, but it is wide and a little bit thick. As long as the handle is, is the length of blade.
I went not only wide and thick, but double edged. It looks like a thin spear point, at least somewhat. The bottom had a nice slightly rounded off hard butt for a pommel to it. Wrapped with fairly thick black para cord, the cord goes as hard as wood around the new handle.
I used basically leather belt in bulk, its what you make belts and similar items out of. I simply cut two lengths off that contain my knife, and wrap the leather as tight as I possibly can with nothing in it. I have to force the knife down into the leather when I'm done, and it can be a real chore.
The leather if you get the knife in soon enough after initial compression? Takes a nice shape to the knife. What I think in my mind I made, from a design standpoint? A much thicker and wider than normal dagger. They tend to be a small handle, and small double blade. I widened and thickened that as a starting point, then chisel pointed out the end.
I want positive penetration. Hence, the weight and thickness, the heft in a normally short knife. The chisel point, works for strength puncturing, too. The double edge makes entry easier, and the weird wideness of the blade? Now shows its merit. Wound sizing. The blade is at least as wide, as a pack of smokes. A hair more, actually.
I'm willing to wait, until the chess pieces align themselves. I just wait on it, and when I see it? I can act freely. Knowing everything is in place, for a well thought out thing I need now only execute and put into motion.
I had my bait. You need good bait. For the governor? He couldn't resist the pull of his former active governor status he usually enjoyed. It made him too easy to lure out. To his own highway named after him. When he had seen his own statue, and shown how big it was? He needed no further encouragement. He "took over" and organized more press to show up.
Here? Fishing was my best chance to get the patriarch of the crime family. One single wanna be tough guy, for a bodyguard. I ingratiated myself to them fishing. Once I knew a certain remote spot, I happened along and didn't say a word. I just tossed my worm in, and took out a cold jug of red wine. Hey, I was the quiet guy sometimes fishing? They called me red wine, as a joke. I didn't talk much, I concentrated on fishing.
I didn't go right in for a real relationship with my quarry. I let the old man recognize me, out for coffee at some local diner in that small town. His house property sort of straddled the valley that physically separated that town's limits from the next in that spot. That next town over, was where the little greasy spoon morning diner the old man liked was.
I never asked, but picked up in my own silence from other lips to other ears. That when younger, he had been the numbers guy. Which of course made it so he knew simply everybody.
Everyone, mostly the men but some women as well... like the football and other sports betting slips. Football is just the most popular. The guy that can go get football slips, and get them in and distribute them... then see the winners actually get paid? That, is a really cool guy to have around. And if you don't have one of these rare gems, you wish you had one and you go looking.
Anyone with a calculator can run a simple numbers racket. The state, this state, and indeed every state in the union I believe... runs the daily three digit lottery. I mean, if the Mormons don't run one? Fuck them, but everyone else seems to.
There's three numbers to pick, 000 through 999. Your odds, no matter what you think your odds are, by whatever mental gymnastics you like to use... do not change. You have exactly one in a thousand chance of correctly predicting tomorrow's three digit lottery. The state? Pays 500 to one.
If you pay 600 to one, everyone in town will play the daily number with you, provided you have a reputation for chasing them down and putting a little wad in their hand when they win. You don't even have to ask.
That means, that for every thousand dollars ever spent on the daily number that you take in on, you make 400 bucks of it. Some of these little operators run daily numbers and football slips in a loose network of nearby small towns. When young, this had been him. When he was young, a couple hundred bucks a week was a really decent paying job to have, and all he had to do was write names and numbers down in a little notebook. You had to bet in one dollar increments.
I let him recognize me, at the coffee shop. Hey, I'm that quiet guy. I'm now simply "Red", short for... red wine. He even brings up the fishing. And so I say, in quiet conversation. My buddies? All think I'm nuts. But I know this works. I'm going to make an ice house, and go ice fishing.
The old guy says he went ice fishing a couple times when younger, but... squatting around a hole in the ice gets old quick. I agreed. I was going to use foam panels, and a little heater. With the foam panels sealed tight? It would be toasty.
Because ice fishing happens straight down, you can seal up your little ice house as tight as you can. You don't need casting room. I showed the old man a video, of a thermometer I made. I had it 72 degrees, and I claimed it was below 20 outside, at night.
The old man gets it in his head, that if going fishing in the middle of winter, can be conducted at 70 degrees? He had to see this. And, true to my word? I had eight foot foam panels in little aluminum channels and I made a light but big room out of it. When you slid the last panel down for the door access? The tiny heater was surprisingly effective. You could get into a T shirt, if no one had to go outside with bathroom as a prime example.
Disposable foam coolers of ice, with the little jugs of red wine. Remember, its warm in here. We want the wine chilled. I had sandwiches and other snacks.
The old man went out for one of his old man bathroom breaks. He sat back down. He asked where his young relative was. Basically, he's noticing his bodyguard isn't around. I'm just sitting here fishing, though. I already caught two carp using corn out of a can on a hook, and I filleted them both.
"He said something about, I think take a leak. I assume that means take a piss."
The old man agreed it did. We even bullshitted about just that. We did all have separate stations to shit or piss out there. The old man wasn't real suspicious yet about his missing friend, but he would get there. It was a matter of time.
He eventually wondered aloud yet again, where he was.
"Can I ask you a question. If I may."
"Sure, Red. Go ahead."
"If he doesn't come back. What then. I ask, hmm. Philosophically, and all."
"You never talk much. Now? You're a philosopher."
"So what if I am."
"No big deal, I guess. Wow. I can't get over what your carp fillets look like. If I didn't watch you, cut them up? I'd never believe it."
"Telling you. You learn how little needs cut off it, and what the mud vein is and isn't? Man, you never had such a good breaded giant fish sandwich."
I finished with my only tag line, that Red Wine, or just Red had. I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill you.
He giggles, he's heard me use the phrase before.
Hell. I expected the old man to have a gun on him. Taking his little bullshit crime boss deal all seriously and all. But my little discrete black wand? Had a steady green. The green blinked when any possible metal hit registered.
"I'll ask again. What if, he just didn't come back."
The old man gave me what I suppose was his best tough guy stare. There was one problem. He didn't look the part of the Guido tough guy, and if he ever once did? It had evaporated as he began to hit old age.
"I don't think this is funny. Now, I been giving you the benefit of the doubt. I mean, you're not from around here, you might not really know who I---"
"Oh, I know who you are. Mister important, and all that shit. Right?"
"Yeah."
"Now. Once again. What if, your... and lets just call him what he really is, you know? Your muscle. Pretend, if you have to, to understand the very concept. What... if... he... never... came... back."
He stopped. I guess he caught the implication.
"I think its dawning on you now. If your muscle just disappears, now. Go with that. Under exactly what circumstances would he disappear under, you know?"
"What are you saying."
"I think you know what I'm saying. I'm trying to be polite about it."
He didn't make a move to say anything right away.
"In fact. If someone needed to make a move on you, for instance. Would they not have to first dispose of your attack dog."
He just eyed me, worse than a rattlesnake.
"You see, you really are like the king. And in chess? Yeah, the king is the most important piece on the board. Its all about the king. But you know what? The king, as important as he is, is also relatively weak all by himself. The coup de grace, of finally dispatching the king, is actually rather anticlimactic."
"Why. Just, why."
"I won't lie to you. I was once in love, and I had a fiancee. And? Someone just up and killed her. In her own bathtub. It came from, we'll call it an organization. And you know what, it all kind of centers around gambling. You're not the first, trust me on that one, buddy. You might well be the last one, though."
"Really."
"Yeah. I'm in a generous mood. Your Guido buddy? He didn't know it was coming. That's me? Being nice."
"There any way I can buy my way out of this?"
"Nope. Money, isn't even a consideration. Tell you what. Lets have a drink first. What do you say. What's not great, about one last glass or two of red wine, eh?"
He grumbled, but really who could argue with the little extension.
I handed him a fresh little glass bottle of the homemade red wine, and he regarded it. I took him completely unaware. He's expecting some drink or two and some more one liners. I'm sure people go that route. I repeated what I had done to the muscle. My knife I made? The wide, thick one. I brought it down ass end as hard as I could, in a whipping backhand or back-fist motion. Its a fighting motion I've practiced before, to do it both accurately and faster and with more assurance. Here, I bring all that energy into my back-fist delivery. The butt of the knife dented his skull silently, and that just slumped the muscle over. I slapped him once or twice, but he was out cold. I just grabbed his heels and slid his head and shoulders into the hole, and... off he drifted, unconscious. Never saw it coming.
This guy, is now fixated on a point in time later. Handing him the bottle, somehow proves it and calms him, temporarily. He gets more chance to see if he can buy his way out, is what I'm guessing he thinks I'm holding out for. In his world? The right numbers, and anything happens.
But this is personal. I whipped a wicked fist and the butt of the same knife silently into him. When he expected me to come around and enjoy my what, my victory drink or two I had promised. Well? I lied. I dropped him like a light switch. He was easier to maneuver into the hole.
We're over about twenty feet of water, but there's actually a decent little current under the ice. Who knows exactly where they actually drown, or if the blow killed them. What's the difference. Likewise, where do they end up, and are they discovered... when. Who cares. Maybe someone else. I don't. I can't care.
As elaborate as my ice house seems to be? Its really simple. Every two foam panels, makes eight foot long and eight foot tall, of wall. A thin aluminum extruded with an H shape, slides between both to make the wall sixteen feet by sixteen feet. Because I had well planned this? I had the ninety degree C-shapes that made the perfect metal corners.
A light framework of aluminum channel that weighed nothing. The stuff you make the edges of summer screens out of, isn't far behind this light stuff. I found cheap Chinese tarps that just fit over them. I take a few screws out I replaced with pins and rings? I can dispose of the pesky thin foam panels in seconds. A squirt of lighter fluid, and up it goes like the Hindenburg Zeppelin. Bye bye, blood spatter experts.
I hiked a mile up the trail. Where I had an identical stack of the thin foam panels in the underbrush. I had my 4 corners and the several straight joining pieces. A little bag of the pins with rings that assembled it. The cheap Chinese tarps went up like the Hindenburg Zeppelin as well. I made a new setup in minutes. Within a few minutes more, I was once again down to my T shirt. Chemically perfectly ready to just shake my head no, why I hadn't seen an older guy and a younger guy, out ice fishing. All ready to explain. There's some guy or guys below me that way? And again up that way. I seen them. Never met them yet.
No one ever came to ask. Red wasn't any sort of big social guy, the relative few times he came around. A fake first name that quickly and easily turned into Red Wine, and finally the final form... just Red. Some guy that usually wore a ball-cap and a hoodie, and sunglasses. Quiet guy. Smiled a lot.
I was long gone and finally broke down my new ice cabin location. I checked that the previous hole was frozen solid, and the ice floor that was wet in the warm cabin when it was here, had refrozen. Goodbye, blood spatter geniuses. Leave your asses out of the equation. Time and water? Will wash the bodies of the already remote chance we exchanged DNA. We met outside in the winter cold snap, the colder the better for ice fishing. You want thick ice. The warmer I can make it inside the hut? The more luxurious I'm making it. I never touched one without gloves on, from the moment I met them.
Little things I never counted on? I like a certain brand of thin leather gloves. I've killed now more than once in them. Their claim to fame, and why they cost a few extra bucks? Leather, but so sensitive you can feel a dime and pick it up. Intended for cops doing pat downs. Great feel, like you don't have gloves on. What, so I have my lucky kill gloves I like? Whatever. Sue me. Like I said, weird little stuff.
I went to a new small town, as I think of going somewhere out of the blue. I wanted to find some new to me small grease spoon diner. The sort of place where breakfast was likely the big thing, but there were lots of other slow hours they milked and eked a living out of. I like to hit such a place, when its between rushes. The service you get then? Beyond compare. You're one of the only customers, and its normally busy. You easily get waited on hand and foot, with cheerful employees to boot. Best thing ever.
I can work just about any menu, anywhere to figure out something I figure I'll enjoy. I'm optimistic. If I can't shoot for the gourmet quality of it? I'll go for quantity and order it twice. Whatever it takes.
"Ma'am? I'm afraid I'm going to be a weird customer."
"Honey? If you only knew the crazies that ain't wrapped too tight that breeze through here? You'd be amazed. Then the lottery machine? I got an old man old lady numbers crowd comes here. Kinda seen it all. If you being weird, involves buying food and eating it, then paying for it? Be as weird as you want."
"How big are the sandwiches? I'm having a hard time choosing. Meatball, steak with the mushrooms. Unless a whole sandwich is usually for two people? I'm thinking, one of each."
"You want a meatball, and a steak with mushrooms."
"Yeah."
"Mushrooms cooked or fresh after."
"Cooked, if it ain't a big deal."
"Easiest. Want anything on your meatball?"
"I'll pay extra, for anchovies. Cooked. Anchovies on the steak, now that I think of it."
"15 minutes. Oven's still hot. You just want that coffee?"
"You got milkshakes?"
"Yeah."
"Strawberry, if you have it. Chocolate's fine if you don't. And if me throwing dollar bills at you, can get weird things thrown into that there blender? I'll toss the dollars."
"Honey? They're called tips. You throw money at me, what do you want in your shake."
"You got milk going warm, you wish you could use up?"
"Sure. Milk, you either throw some out, or you run out."
"There you go. Base, of real milk. Would otherwise go to waste. You got eggs?"
"We keep eggs out our ass."
"Crack a few eggs in there? The more the merrier. Ice cream? Sugar. Butter, vanilla. We'll play with it. I'll buy candy bars to blend in at the end. Don't care what it costs, let's just have fun making it. What do you say."
"Okay."
"Here. Here's ten bucks. Your tip. Bill me whatever you bill me. I'm kind of, you know, celebrating. I'm in a good mood."
"That's nice. What you celebrating."
"One of them long projects, the kind it takes forever? They got to end sometime, and mine finally did. I'm, for lack of a better word? Finally, free."
"Well good for you. Order dessert. The cheesecake is decent, if you aren't a cheesecake snob."
"I'll let you know after two sandwiches, and our special milkshake we haven't even tried to fit into that big metal blender."