1

(0 replies, posted in Startling Stories)

Kansas City, I love this town, I guess it’s why I decided to stick around so long even when there was nothing left to justify it. killing my sister in self defense in 1999, disowned shortly thereafter, my friends dying in 2000 in very violent manners, so much happening in so little time

Pretty much from 2001 till the present things have been fairly regular. Two to four times a year I'm called up by agent because someone has a serious grievance that can't be settled in a court room so for a considerable fee they send me to the target, it cost extra if I have to find them and make it deader than hell, no other drama than that. Funny how life works out sometimes really.

It started at 1500 hours, that’s three in the afternoon for those not on twenty-four hour clocks. I was watching the A-Team on DVD when the doorbell rings. I know it isn’t anyone I know since the girls were still in class, and if it weren't they wouldn't use the doorbell and Heather normally calls first. So I got visitors, this is extremely rare for me so rare in fact that there maybe some trouble in my immediate future.

I walk down the stairs with a PPK in my left hand and hidden behind my leg as I open the front door. On the other side is a neighbor of mine. She moved in after the deputy on the other side of the street moved out.  She was one of those women who fretted over their appearance after having three children all of whom were the very apple of her eye and she was protective of them on the verge of being overbearing.

She had a smile on her face that told me to beware of what she had planned. She said hello to me and addressed me by my last name, putting mister in front of it. I had a feeling I was right about the whole immediate trouble thing, but to be honest since this was the second time in a year we ever met I felt it was no problem, yet.

So, I  moved behind the door slightly, slipped the pistol into my pocket, invited her in to the dining room and asked if there was anything she would like to drink. She said she was fine with Ice water so I got her some and a bottle of Harp for myself.

She stood there her eyes transfixed on the object on the table, a field stripped AR-15, perfectly legal but still something in her eyes seemed to tell me that I just as well have the Satanic Bible on my table. She shook the look in her eyes out and smiled at me, “I didn’t know you were a police officer.” She said.

“I’m not.” I replied.

The look in her eyes returned again. It was a hard look that you would get from someone if you told them that you supported Stalin. She would have been fine with the rifle if I was a copper but since I’m just a poor fucking civilian I cannot be trusted with firearms. I can tell this is the end of anything approaching pleasant between the two of us. At the very least this will mean that we ignore each other and she tells her children that I’m a bad, bad man and to not talk to Amy or Lita.  Which was probably for naught since I saw her eldest son casting glances at the both of them and I figure I'll have to give him the whole “She may be adopted but I still consider her one of mine” speech.  Worse case is that every time someone gets shot full of holes in Johnson County I get a visit from officer not so friendly because the soccer mom across the table from me calls the cops.

I ask what she came over for as polite as I could. She shakes her self out of her little paranoid delusion of me shooting up the neighborhood, and tells me why she’s here. She knows I’ve lived here nearly all my life, well over twenty years, she figures that I can be used as a mouth piece with the rest of the households on this dead end street, ten not counting her and I, that what this street needs is a homeowners’ association.

I almost choke on my beer trying to hold back the explosive laughter from the thought of me trying to propose, of all things, homeowners’ association, and the blood boiling rage of the fact that she thinks we need one.

“Why would I want to be in homeowners’ association?” I ask.

She replies simply, “To keep from lowering the tone of this fine neighborhood, to keep undesirable influences from creeping in.”

Right now I’m ecstatic that she didn’t take a beer because at that I would have tried to see if I could fit her into the bottle. Right now it would have to remain idle curiosity. I despise the thought of Homeowner’s associations. Having some Auschwitz Bitch leading a community of people with a beef about a neighbor that they either don’t like or seems shady. My gun collection would place me at the very top of this woman’s hit list. I can see where this is going.

First it starts with them coming by my house every two days or so to make certain that my grass is no more and no less than 2 inches high. Soon it leads to letter like this

“Dear Mrs. Thompson,

We regret to inform you that the Homeowners’ Association has decided to deny your request to get your daughter a dachshund puppy. Have you considered a goldfish?

Sincerely,


Mrs. Howard.
President Homeowners’ Association.
Now celebrating five years of allowing the Irish into our community.”

What was left of the conversation was me telling her that I wasn’t going to participate in this experiment in fascism and I could get enough arguments against Homeowner’s Associations to turn her into a pariah. She left the house, and was probably envisioning my downfall and my reaction when she would sell my house and take the money for herself. And I was envisioning burning her house down if she tried it.

I had little time to worry about that though. I had to get to work.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was 2000 hours, which was nighttime in Kansas City during October. And this time I had company. He’s a hitter out of New York State by the name of Daniel Gold. Yeah, he expects me to believe that’s his real name. He’s one of those guys who believes he needs a gimmick, in his case it’s in the cost of the hit, a million dollars a bullet. He was someone who believed he had to super sophisticated. I swear that if he could he’d resurrect Fredrick Chopin and have him compose theme music for this guy and then put it on his razor thin cell phone.

I really despise this prick.

He spent fifteen minuets complaining about “this mid-western rabble.” To shut him the Hell up I put in some Clancy Brothers. Apparently Dan Gold doesn't appreciate Irish songs of Drinking and Blackguarding. He sat there for the rest of the half-hour we were stuck together waiting for our target to arrive. Like I said, this Yutz thinks the only thing that should touch his ears is nothing but 17th century Piano Concertos. So imagine his relief when Tom “Wrong hands” shows up.

In Daniel’s view Tom is nothing more than a man with a genetic deformity, something fixed with a nice application of selective breeding. I’m nothing more than Archie Bunker and just in the way, maybe take out a couple of the bodyguards while he gets the glory of putting Mr. Wrong Hands on Ice.

I know better. Our target isn’t called Wrong Hands Just because his hands have that deformity that make them look like lobster claws. Well, admittedly that was the main cause, and I didn’t know what the other possible reasons there were, but the parka he was wearing and the bandana over his face were pretty good clues to me, but what ever the reason it was enough to warrant an appearance by me. To me if Daniel Gold here was to serve a reason, it was to be a distraction or maybe to be walking Kevlar

Four other fellows and a girl got out of the car with him and they went into the same apartment building. It stood to reason that they were all in the same gang as Wrong Hands, save for the girl who I assume was offering affection by the hour.  Seeing this we got out of the car, and made our way into the low rent apartment complex.

We walk into the apartment building and we got into the elevator.  Game time, we pull our suppressed pistols from our holsters and hide them behind briefcases. At first glance Danny and I just look like we're a couple of lawyers coming to visit Tommy on what ever business it is lawyers have with scumbag criminals.  We get out on the floor Wrong Hands was on, and we walked up to the door at the end of the hall. Standing in front of the doorway was two gang-bangers. I don’t feel too bad about what’s coming to them. They’re the slime of the Earth other wise I wouldn’t have been given the go ahead to put them on ice as well. You'd be amazed how being incredibly picky on who you shoot keeps you out of all manner of unpleasantness


They come forward to stop us, as if it was moving on it’s own my hand brings my pistol up at a natural pace, and I shoot the first one in the face, the sound suppressor on my USP makes a whisper of my kill. The second one gets two to the chest from the same USP. I don’t stop to acknowledge the hit man that was sent to assist me in this kill. I just kick the door open and see three more dead men sitting on a couch watching a Chiefs game. Danny gets off one round and I get the other two.

We were both scanning the room for Tommy “Wrong Hands” when we hear a dull thud from another room.  Danny notions over to me and we follow the sound, as we get closer we can hear a crunching sound from the room, Dan Gold gives me a look that said “What the hell is that?”  I put down the briefcase and ready the pistol in my hands and motion for him to just kick the door in.

After the door was kicked open Danny boy there had the same experience that I did back in 2000.  In my case I was looking for a friend at KU and I was attacked by a vampire, I got away after emptying my revolver into her twice and running away, but for Danny Gold, this was the first time he saw the mask slip off reality.  Tommy “Wrong Hands” had wrong hands alright.  Six of them, each attached to a different arm.  His body was covered in bristly hair that stood on end, rather it was always that way or they got that way in surprise to make him look bigger I didn't know, but I think what really got Danny's attention was the mandibles on his face that were shoving an arm from the girl we saw before into a mouth full of sharp teeth.

When reality shows her real face it is to say the least a shock to the system.  The reaction people have can be different for every one, in my case it was a reaction to kill, and when that didn't work, I ran, for Danny though he froze up.  His mind couldn't take what was happening in front of his eyes, and while he and Tommy locked eyes I stepped in and putting two hollow points into Tommy's chest and one between his eyes finished the job.

Daniel Gold was staring at the corpse in disbelief. Here’s a man who’s boasted over thirty hits and a freak of nature has him all shaken up. I pulled a white phosperous grenade out of the briefcase and toss it into the room with the dead creature “Common Danny boy, we best get the hell out of here.”
“Right.” Was all he managed to get out.  The grenade went off  as we walked into the hallway and began to set the apartment on fire.

“You know,” he said, “I was paid three million dollars for this job.”

I reply “I’m aware of that fact.”

“And I only made one shot, Which means I have to refund two million dollars.” He told me.

“Price of a gimmick I guess.” I said with a shrug.

“I have a high maintenance wife, and two kids going to the finest academy in New England.”

The feeling came over me, “Danny, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Sorry, but thus are the wages of sin.”

I spun around as he raised his pistol and fired a silenced round into his chest. He jerked back and saw the blood spread over his white shirt. He looked at in in shock like he couldn’t believe that a pistol Heller from Kansas could put a sophisticated shooter from the New York under.

He fell to the ground with a muted thud, and I left out of the building.

Daniel Gold confused arrogance with intelligence. As a result I’m sitting here with a glass of Vodka typing this story, while Daniel Gold made his Stanford wife into a Stanford widow and his two Stanford children are now with out a father. He lies tonight in the Hallway of an apartment building in Missouri.

But don’t feel bad for him. He made his decisions, and he suffered the consequences.

Good night and joy be with you,

The Kansas City Ice Machine

Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 816

2

(1 replies, posted in The Diogenes Club)

Well, of all the people I expected to see kicked off the planet today, Andy Griffith was not one of them.  Growing up he was always Matlock, that lawyer in the gray suit who more often than not got his client acquitted.  But as I grew older and more jaded, perhaps some would say more cynical, I grew to like him more as the sheriff Andy Taylor in the Andy Griffith Show.  To me he was what a peace officer should be.  At any rate I am sad to see someone who made me happy in my life pass away.

So, here's to you Andy Griffith, you made my life worthwhile.

As Always,

Colt Walker.

P.S.
Here is a bit of his comedic work, “What It Was, Was Football.”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I42JIgfnMYE

Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 756 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 811 Deprecated: Function create_function() is deprecated in /customers/e/e/2/ottens.co.uk/httpd.www/lounge/include/parser.php on line 816

3

(279 replies, posted in The Diogenes Club)

thewilbur wrote:

Is the truck an 18-wheeler?

That would be it exactly

thewilbur wrote:

Did he just park it wrong and walk away?

No, he parked it period.  If he wanted to park it to talk to the office people he should have parked in the lot.

thewilbur wrote:

When he came back to move it, did he forget how to interpret "Stop, Stop?"

I hope so because if he was ignoring me I was out there for no good reason.

thewilbur wrote:

Must be a new driver.

If he was new he would have had a coach with him.  No, what I had was a trucker who had no clue what he was doing, we get them all the time and and this was a minor issue.

4

(279 replies, posted in The Diogenes Club)

Hey pal, the guard shack is not the place to park your truck, I don't care what your beef or concern is with the office is parking your truck and trailer in front to the exit gate is not going to earn you any points.  We only have the one gate and we only have the one lane and rest assured the other truckers will not be sympathetic if you are between them and a deadline; they can only be on the road so many hours and if they go over it they are the ones who catch Hell regardless of who caused that problem.  And if you want the security guard to spot you when you back up, you best be able to understand every hand sign for stop, failing that you best know if his frantic arm waving means “wave off!” not “Keep backing up, you're doing a swell job!”

And when you jack knife your truck in the lot don't expect any sympathy because all you're going to get out of the other security guards, truck drivers, and the shag drivers is pointing and laughing because you're a dipshit and you don't know how to do your job.  The Management at the client sight is going to blame the guard who spotted you, so that is one in your favor, but your management will blame you so it balances out, and the guard who spotted you (Who has a lot of family in the trucking industry) will be sorely tempted to beat you to death with one of your load locks.  Learn to do your job buddy, or turn in your CDL and find another line of work.

5

(279 replies, posted in The Diogenes Club)

So before I started work today at that soul crushing site where happiness and hope both go to die by way of a murder/suicide pact, I talked to the supervisor about the paper, and he had told me that yes indeed it was a rough draft and admitted that yes it was probably a poor choice of words and he would rewrite it, the security would be happier if he scraped that damned paper all together.

6

(279 replies, posted in The Diogenes Club)

I just started working security for a major food processing plant, that has a new site supervisor, he's been at the job for three weeks now and I think he only got the job because he knows someone in the security company I work for.  Now both are very large companies and tI just started working security for a major food processing plant, that has a new site supervisor, he's been at the job for three weeks now and I think he only got the job because he knows someone in the security company I work for. Now both are very large companies and the larger the company is the loopier the rules get, the job is hand written paperwork heavy and fairly redundant. This slows things down and lines start to form and for someone like me who was raised to believe that a line is a sign of failure the job is to say the least very stressful. On that note I have started to understand that 5 minutes is that standard process time and if the truck drivers didn't want to sit in a line they would have chosen a better time to be there, so this rant is not about that.

That was sitting up the scene, here's my beef, the site supervisor hands me some papers and it has my name on it. I have taken a look at it and right now I hope it is a rough draft with somewhat badly chosen words, because when I took a look it I was ready to challenge my supervisor to a duel. What got me riled up is section 4 titled professionalism and the wording in a couple of subsections. I'm going to paraphrase section 4a

4 a. Your goals are less important than the company's and the sites. Serve both no matter the cost of your own personal welfare.

I'd like to have that clarified if possible. Does this mean I can't look for a another job? Does it mean that if there is an opportunity to make more money somewhere that means I miss a day or two of work I can't do it? Does it mean I have to take a bullet for someone? I would like some clarification because if it is I have unfortunate information for you. I analyze jobs the same way I analyze relationships, the amount of joy I get weighed against the amount of crap you throw my way. If the sex is great but I have to deal with your parents every day look for a new boyfriend, if I find a job with better pay and less paperwork, look for a replacement. I don't want to get fired on a technicality so you can say you terminated my employment as opposed to saying I quit so the company can look good. I mean Hell's bells you can just say I quit you don't have to tell the other company anything other than that.

The other problem I have is from section 4c. That one is a particular problem for me because it sounds like a particular power trip and a failure to realize what private security is. I will paraphrase segment 4c.

4c. Preform orders as quickly as you can. Follow orders first and ask questions later follow both letter and intent of the orders.

Let's back that train of thought up to the last station shall we? I would like to know that that means. Because I am not I repeat NOT following an illegal order. Because if you hypothetically kill a hooker I am not helping you bury the body on duty. And in that vein if the order is illegal I will not follow it, full stop end of story. You give me an illegal order I will call the company and I will report your ass after I have (if I can) dealt with you in any legal manner possible. I will notdo your dirty deeds for you no matter what the cost to me.

This sounds like something I would hear on Coast to Coast AM, at least back when Art Bell was the host.  It's creepy as Hell and one heck of a good story.  Good find.

8

(7 replies, posted in The Diogenes Club)

I hope every one had a Merry Christmas, got some neat things, had a good time with loved ones, and had a good meal on top of that.

9

(4 replies, posted in Café Metropole)

I've seen a total of perhaps 3 Webley revolvers in my time, mostly on consignment, or in a Cabela's Gun Library ranging in prices between “Really, that much?  What's wrong with it?”  to “Ya know, the kid can always go to a trade school”.  I never bought one though, either I couldn't afford it, or I didn't want to hunt down .455 Webley ammo, or getting it chambered in .45 Auto Rim seemed like an expensive proposition. 

I have one of those Uberti replicas, they're good revolvers, only had to have it serviced once when the mainspring went weak and a screw kept coming lose.  One of these days I might have more work done on it, like a coiled mainspring instead of a flat one, improve the timing things like that.

10

(4 replies, posted in Café Metropole)

I would like to know where you're going with this line of thought, pilgrim, before I answer it.  Do you want to know what happened to it in the post-war era?  If that is the case then there are probably a few people here who can give you an answer.  If you want to know how to get one on the civilian market then there are a couple of people here who can tell you how to get one.  But before I can give you an answer I need to know where you're going with this one.