Pfand XChapter 5
- 3 years ago
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"Sir?"
"What the fuck do you want?"
"There's a new video, Sir."
"Show it to me."
"Yes, Sir."
"Motherfucker!"
Furious, he grabbed the boy who was quivering at his feet, and tossed him off of the balcony. There was a long scream. Twenty-three floors was a long way to fall.
"I want that bastard stopped!"
"How, Sir?"
"Send the cops after him."
"They won't go after him after seeing that video, Sir."
"Have the President declare martial law. Have the Army do house to house searches if necessary."
"I'll see what I can do, Sir. I doubt he can do it."
"I want to hurt someone."
"Another boy, Sir?"
"No. Bring me Wilkins from yesterday's meeting. I'll teach that bastard to question me."
"Here, Sir?"
"No. I want to hurt him."
"I understand, Sir. I'll get your tools out."
Edited By TeNderLoin
Tom Farmer, with a frown on his face, grabbed the first of several envelopes that had arrived by private courier earlier that morning. The fact that they came by private courier, working for a Wache firm, was enough to let him know that the contents of the letters dealt with business of concern to the Pfand X. He had been getting a lot of letters, lately, and it was beginning to worry him. He opened the envelope knowing that it contained a second envelope containing the letter. The inner...
The conference table was filled with tired, worried faces. Events were moving at a faster pace than had been anticipated. Two months of releasing videos in which high level government employees were filmed taking bribes, or colluding to destroy the lives of honest citizens, had thrown the government into a frenzy. The alphabet agencies were taking a beating via backdoor channels, mostly via the internet. The press, which was fully under control, was refusing to air the videos. Carl Plante...
Tom Farmer looked around the living room. He was impressed with the look and feel of the room. It was the kind of room that made a person want to settle in a chair and read a book while listening to classical music. There were high backed leather chairs scattered around the room, with solid wooden tables beside them, and standing lamps to provide over the shoulder illumination. The walls were decorated with antique maps held within substantial wooden frames. Ceiling lights illuminated the...
The IRS agent looked at the folder and exhaled loudly. There was nothing there. "You were a college student in 2008." "Yes." "You earned $6431.23 at Wheeler Trucking." "Yes." Just as he had done when the 2005, 2006 and 2007 earnings had been stated, Jonathan Sharp said, "Any additional income recorded in your system may be a result of identity theft. If the name used and the number agrees with that of my client, then we request that an investigation into the crime of identity...
Tom stopped by the side-table and grabbed a plate. He moved down the table examining the array of food available and then grabbed an apple Danish. He glanced at the clock and then poured a cup of coffee. It was a thirty-one ounce cup and he filled it to the brim. After one more glance at the clock, he grabbed a second Danish, before carrying his late morning 'second breakfast' to the table. Following behind Tom at the table, the Innkeeper filled a large bowl with fresh fruit. After looking...
Carl Plante had just finished breakfast and was in the process of refilling his coffee cup when there was a knock on his apartment door. Upon answering it, he found an attractive woman standing there, holding a briefcase. She smiled at him expectantly. “Hello?” Carl said wondering what a woman was doing standing at his door first thing in the morning. Based on her conservative dress, his first thought was that she was some sort of religious doorknocker trying to save his soul. He looked...
Carl crouched behind the car, trying to be as small as possible. His heart was beating fast. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears. However, that sound did take a backseat to the gunshots that were going off all around him. He had once heard that a car wasn't really all that safe to hide behind. Most of the larger caliber bullets went through them, but were slowed down enough to really cause damage to the person hiding. His choices of cover had been rather limited, though. Namely, it...
After leaving for home from work early that evening, Tom Farmer pulled onto the exit ramp. The radio was playing a CD of his favorite opera. His little commuter car wasn't much to look at, but it had a very good stereo system installed in it. Tom had a singing voice that sounded a lot like a cat in heat, but he sang along anyway. Unlike a lot of commuters, Tom truly enjoyed the ride to and from his business. As the owner of a business, he didn't have a moment of peace during the day. There...
Silvia Farmer was seated in a visitor's chair next to the hospital bed, reading a romance novel. She was there, because an old friend of hers had said that her daughter had been drugged and beaten by a client, during a party. She watched the young woman sleeping, taking note of the visible injuries. For some reason, her gut instinct was that Gloria was far more important than met the eye. Gloria McQueen was a physical mess. Her left eye was swollen shut, and covered with a horrible swirl of...
Carl looked out over the audience that was staring back at him. Usually, at these kinds of engagements, there were people who recognized him and were extremely excited about meeting him. This evening, he was getting a much colder reception. It was as if they knew who he was, and resented that he was there. He was at a support group meeting of service men who were suffering from Gulf War Syndrome. It was an appropriate group, considering the video that he was going to show and hand out. A...
In the room of a small motel that was part of a regional motel chain, Carl watched television from the comfort of a new mattress that had been delivered along with himself. He looked over at Jennifer who was busy painting her toenails. The look of concentration on her face almost made him want to laugh. World leaders were falling all over the place and she was painting her toenails. There was something ironic about that. Carl said, "We make a good team." "I think so," Jennifer answered...
"Sir." "What?" "We have a report of an individual attempting to open a pickle plant." "What's the problem?" "His application for necessary zoning changes to build the factory was turned down by the city." "Great. Why are you telling me this?" "He showed up with a team of lawyers. They scared the crap out of the city council, who then reversed themselves and approved the zoning change." "Get a lawyer there to stop him on the next step in the approval process." "Yes,...
The chauffeur drove the sedan into the parking lot of the office building that housed the corporate headquarters of Plante Gourmet Pickles, Inc. It wasn't a particularly large building. It stood alone on the rather large piece of property. The property had been purchased in rather poor condition, but a Walde construction company had refurbished the building, while incorporating a number of security elements into it. It was, in many ways, an impressive building. Where it had once had a plain...
"Sir?" "What?" "The pickle factory situation has escalated." The man grabbed the blond's hair, and pulled her head away from his crotch. Ignoring her complaint about his rough treatment of her, he sat up. "What happened?" "They filed suit against the town council, and pushed for an emergency meeting. They won the suit. Our lawyer ended up looking like a fool. Their lawyer started spouting case law, and the city council folded. They gave permission to start...
"Sir?" "What?" "The farmer was on vacation, in Iceland, when the government folks went in to take them out. There's a shit storm in Washington over burning his house." "Damn it." "We haven't been able to stop the pickle guy." "Kill them. Kill them all." "Them? Who?" "That fucking farmer, and the pickle guy." "Yes, Sir." "Where's that fucking blond bitch?" "She's in the hospital." "Send in the red head." "Yes, Sir." "Make sure the blond dies."
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Carl stopped at the vat, opened the lid, and peered in at the pickles. The aroma of vinegar and spices tickled his nose. Some people didn't like the smell, but to him it conveyed a lot of information. He could tell just how far along in the pickling process a batch was, just by the smell. He could tell if it was a good batch or had gone bad. This batch smelled good. Using a pair of sampling tongs, he pulled out a medium sized pickle. The texture was firm and there wasn't a hint of...
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