I was going to be hungry anyways. Anna bought them their food. I watched her. She was stiff backed and trying to keep her distance. All her body language screamed rigidity and fear. They were talking to her. A lot quieter now but it wasn't anything good. Watching pinheads face told me that. He was talking shit and probably getting a hard on doing it. Thats when I saw the other one go for the grope. Anna jerked back, called him a faggot in Spanish, and hit him.
He came up and out of the booth like a rocket and punched her in the chest. That knocked her back and into the tables running down the center of the restaurant floor. I heard her cry of pain and saw the other pinhead grin. I looked at my watch and saw I had time to kill before my meeting with my client. I ate another fry, wiped my mouth, and stood up.
The pinhead who hit her was standing up and was in her face screaming bad shit. I really don't like it when people scream. Especially when it's bad shit like that. I got up out of my booth with my spoon and fork in hand. I slipped the fork into my back pocket and kept the spoon in my left hand.
They saw me coming. About this time stepfather came running out of the kitchen with his big chicken chopping cleaver. The pinhead who was facing me hadn't moved. He was just sitting, grinning, an eating chicken. As far as he was concerned it was show time. He twisted around a bit and told stepfather "Get your ass back in the kitchen you illegal fuck." Then he flashed a badge. That froze stepfather in place. I kept coming. As I did I tapped the spoon on each booth as I passed it and then flipped it up in the air and caught it.
The pinhead who was in Anna's face dug under his shirt and came up with a semi automatic handgun. No surprise there. I grinned at him and kept walking. He yelled at me "Sit your fucking ass back down." I shook my head and told him "You going to fuck her? Because if you don't I will." I was almost to him. Two taps and three flips and we would be face to face. What I said jammed his mind. I ignored what I saw pass over Anna's face out of the corner of my eye. I kept coming an ignored the weapon. Instead I looked into pinheads eyes and watched as he smiled. He thought we were kin. We weren't.
The last step to him was a spoon flip. It went a little higher than the other flips. He looked up to watch it. I caught it a little higher up than the others. It was a bit of a reach. Not to much. I'm tall and have long arms. I caught it by the spoon part with the handle extended from my hand. I drove that downward into his eye. Deep. Then I shoved him hard with my right hand and let the left hand which had held the spoon continue down into the arm that was holding the gun extended. He dropped the gun. Not as much because of the force of forearm hitting. Rather it was the desire to pluck the spoon out of his eye. Perfectly understandable I suppose. The scream was too.
He went down. I watched as he fell backwards out of the corner of my eye. Unfortunately it wasn't face first. The other pinhead was looking up at me. I liked the surprise I saw appear in his eyes. I was going to like the pain even better. Stepfather decided his moment had arrived. He came charging up screaming bad shit too. At least his was in Spanish which made it more tolerable for me. Then he buried the chicken cleaver in our remaining diners head. That done he stepped back, looked down at pinhead spasm and jerk, and then whispered "Oh shit."
"Nah. It's cool." I told him. I pulled the fork from my back pocket and drove it into neck. "See." I told him. "He's done."
Nobody got the punch line. I figured it was a cultural thing. I picked the badge he had flashed off the tabletop and showed it to Anna. "It's a Special Security badge. These guys aren't cops." Both of them were just staring at me. I sighed and told Anna "You might want to go lock the front door and put out the closed sign." While she walked towards the door I helped myself to some of the fries an asked stepfather "You wouldn't have a walk-in freezer would you?"
Monday, July 12, 2010
The Mover - Part 1e
I had a feeling that my lunch was going to be interrupted by these pinheads. Anna had brought me my silverware wrapped up in a napkin along with my Dr. Pepper. I set the silverware wrapped in a napkin in the center of the table and played Spin the Silverware. That got boring really quick so I decided to consult the gods and goddesses. I set the silverware in front of me again and said to myself "Oh great god and goddess of cutlery please point up for yes and down for no. Am I going to have to hurt these pinheads?" I spun it and got a "Yes." "Hmmmm" I thought "About what I expected but who can trust just one spin? I mean it could have been a fluke or maybe they had some other pinheads in mind. Deep are the mysteries of the universe. So I spun them again. Then again. Three "Yes's." Well hard to argue with that. I thought "Maybe I should ask for her to box it up to go." The decision was made for me.
Anna came back out of the kitchen with my lunch. She made sure she kept the row of tables going down the center between her and the pinheads. I watched her approach. She was smiling but she wasn't fooling me. The pinheads were upset and voicing it. I heard "Hey What the fuck is up with that? We were here first!" They were staring at us while she set my plate down. She gave me a quick tight lipped smile and muttered "I'll be back after I feed these assholes."
I reached out and touched her quickly and then pulled my hand away just as quickly when I saw her reaction. I told her "It's okay. Don't worry." She just shook her head and headed back to the kitchen. The pinhead with his back to me yelled after her "You're hot mami! The one facing me yelled "You got a problem?" I shook my head "No" and ripped into my chicken. Anna had remembered to bring extra of the hot green jalapeno and mayo sauce that I loved. I ate fast. I figured the pinheads had maybe five minutes to live and I wanted to send them on their way and not have to feel hungry thirty minutes later.
Anna came back out of the kitchen with my lunch. She made sure she kept the row of tables going down the center between her and the pinheads. I watched her approach. She was smiling but she wasn't fooling me. The pinheads were upset and voicing it. I heard "Hey What the fuck is up with that? We were here first!" They were staring at us while she set my plate down. She gave me a quick tight lipped smile and muttered "I'll be back after I feed these assholes."
I reached out and touched her quickly and then pulled my hand away just as quickly when I saw her reaction. I told her "It's okay. Don't worry." She just shook her head and headed back to the kitchen. The pinhead with his back to me yelled after her "You're hot mami! The one facing me yelled "You got a problem?" I shook my head "No" and ripped into my chicken. Anna had remembered to bring extra of the hot green jalapeno and mayo sauce that I loved. I ate fast. I figured the pinheads had maybe five minutes to live and I wanted to send them on their way and not have to feel hungry thirty minutes later.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
The Mover - Part 1d
Anna came rushing out of the kitchen about a minute after the two began pounding on the table, laughing, and yelling "Service! Service!" The TV was set to the news and CNN was doing a special on "The Dying Ocean." Fortunately from what I could read off the close captioning it wasn't dead everywhere yet and new technology may soon even be able to reclaim the cesspool of toxins and death that was the Gulf of Mexico. "That's a relief" I thought. "Thank god for the concern an ingenuity of the chemical companies." Yes, I snarked myself. There wasn't anyone else I could share my humor with.
Apparently the Mediterranean was also dying along with a few other bodies of water I had never heard of including some lake in Africa. I knew the Africans were screwed unless they found oil nearby sometime soon. In America nobody gave a shit about Africa. Hell, most Americans couldn't even find Mississippi on a state map including half the people who lived there. I figured I better start eating seafood more often before it disappeared.
Anna had seen me and shot me a quick smile while she tended to the two clowns. They were giving her shit and checking out her tits at the same time. Anna was well endowed. Actually she was damn near beautiful. They were keeping their hands to themselves so far and her stepfather had come out of the kitchen to glower at them. They had noticed and laughed even harder. She took their order and came by my table.
"Hey Dalton. What you going to have?" Then she laughed. She laughed because I ordered the same thing each time. Fries, a quarter chicken, an a Dr. Pepper. Why change if you found something good was how I saw it. Not everybody thought that way.
"Hi Anna. The usual." I never asked her if I had messages. She either told me or didn't. "Everything all right?" I didn't mean with the cell phone and she knew it.
"Ah Poppy. Don't worry. It's nothing." She smiled at me again and added "I'll be back."
She headed back towards the kitchen and as she passed the clowns, the one with his back to me stuck his hand out as she passed and groped some air. They thought that was pretty funny. Anna pretended not to notice and kept going. "Smart girl" I thought.
The one facing me checked my reaction and I stone faced him. He said something to the one who had his back to me. He thought he was whispering. He wasn't. He told him "I don't think he liked that." I saw the other one look over the booth seat at me. Like a gopher he popped up quick and then disappeared. I didn't hear what he told his partner in reply but I could make a guess after the quick burst of laughter that followed it. The one watching me said "Maybe he wants some too!" They were cracking themselves up over there.
Apparently the Mediterranean was also dying along with a few other bodies of water I had never heard of including some lake in Africa. I knew the Africans were screwed unless they found oil nearby sometime soon. In America nobody gave a shit about Africa. Hell, most Americans couldn't even find Mississippi on a state map including half the people who lived there. I figured I better start eating seafood more often before it disappeared.
Anna had seen me and shot me a quick smile while she tended to the two clowns. They were giving her shit and checking out her tits at the same time. Anna was well endowed. Actually she was damn near beautiful. They were keeping their hands to themselves so far and her stepfather had come out of the kitchen to glower at them. They had noticed and laughed even harder. She took their order and came by my table.
"Hey Dalton. What you going to have?" Then she laughed. She laughed because I ordered the same thing each time. Fries, a quarter chicken, an a Dr. Pepper. Why change if you found something good was how I saw it. Not everybody thought that way.
"Hi Anna. The usual." I never asked her if I had messages. She either told me or didn't. "Everything all right?" I didn't mean with the cell phone and she knew it.
"Ah Poppy. Don't worry. It's nothing." She smiled at me again and added "I'll be back."
She headed back towards the kitchen and as she passed the clowns, the one with his back to me stuck his hand out as she passed and groped some air. They thought that was pretty funny. Anna pretended not to notice and kept going. "Smart girl" I thought.
The one facing me checked my reaction and I stone faced him. He said something to the one who had his back to me. He thought he was whispering. He wasn't. He told him "I don't think he liked that." I saw the other one look over the booth seat at me. Like a gopher he popped up quick and then disappeared. I didn't hear what he told his partner in reply but I could make a guess after the quick burst of laughter that followed it. The one watching me said "Maybe he wants some too!" They were cracking themselves up over there.
The Mover - Part 1c
I lived in Arlington in the older part. Most of Arlington was old. A lot of the housing was built at least 50 years ago. I lived in an apartment building that was older than that. It was built of red brick, the universal brick color in this part of the world, and dated back to World War II. Supposedly it had been military housing back then. Now days the tenants were a mix of the leftover change from our adventures overseas, immigrants who made their women wear the abaya and Indians who should have made their women wear the abaya. There was the occasional Hispanic type but they had been fading along with the other minorities.
Replacing them were actual White people. It may have been 40 years since this many White people had lived in these apartments. That meant it was going to be time for me to go soon. White people, in my opinion, brought the cops and noise. You want quiet -- find an apartment complex full of illegals. Especially if anyone in authority came by. Your illegal type knew how to shut up and forget they ever knew English. The downside was they couldn't drive worth shit.
My cell phone was dead. It had been since I bought it. I used as a prop. So were my plastic badges. I hated cell phones just on general principle. I also had no one to call and I didn't want a number that could be tracked. Cell phone users might as well have a chip embedded in their body when it came to information collection and tracking. No thank you.
My clients when they wanted to reach me called a cell number. They got Anna the waitress. I gave her the money and she bought a Virgin Mobile cellphone. When it needed topping up I gave her money. When it rang she took a message. When I came by to eat which was every couple days she gave me the message. I gave her $40.00 a month to be my answering service. It worked out. She thought I was crazy but I also tipped well and paid on time so she overlooked it.
We would talk if she wasn't busy which was usually the case. Her Mom and stepfather ran the place. They were Honduran while Anna was the second child of five to be born in the United States. They thought I was crazy too but her Mom always made sure my plate was full when it came out of the kitchen. Anna had told me her Mom thought I was too skinny.
The restaurant was down the street from me. It was a chicken joint and was in between a Radio shack and an a empty storefront in the strip shopping center that faced Rt 50. Someone had rehabbed the outside five or six years ago and made it shiny and modern. The shiny was wearing off but it was still modern because it was mostly empty stores.
I walked in the door of the restaurant, "Enrico's Pollo." I had asked Anna but she had no idea who Enrico was, and headed for my usual booth which was as far away from the television as I could get. My booth was empty. Enrico's wasn't. Enrico's was set up with red vinyl covered booths back to back running the length of the wall that sat four people, two in each booth facing each other. The walls were paneled half way to the ceiling in dark brown wood. Between the booths were a row of tables that ran down the center of the restaurant with aisles on each side of them. I was pretty sure it had been an Italian place once upon a time.
In the booth closer to the kitchen right below the TV were two white guys. I didn't like them as soon as I saw them. Tattoo's, shaved heads, and metal in their faces an ears. That wasn't a big deal in itself but really pissed me off was that they were loud. I really hate loud people. Their table was empty of drinks and silverware which meant they must have just come in. I settled into my booth and watched them out of the corner of my eye while I pretended to watch the TV and waited for Anna to show up.
Replacing them were actual White people. It may have been 40 years since this many White people had lived in these apartments. That meant it was going to be time for me to go soon. White people, in my opinion, brought the cops and noise. You want quiet -- find an apartment complex full of illegals. Especially if anyone in authority came by. Your illegal type knew how to shut up and forget they ever knew English. The downside was they couldn't drive worth shit.
My cell phone was dead. It had been since I bought it. I used as a prop. So were my plastic badges. I hated cell phones just on general principle. I also had no one to call and I didn't want a number that could be tracked. Cell phone users might as well have a chip embedded in their body when it came to information collection and tracking. No thank you.
My clients when they wanted to reach me called a cell number. They got Anna the waitress. I gave her the money and she bought a Virgin Mobile cellphone. When it needed topping up I gave her money. When it rang she took a message. When I came by to eat which was every couple days she gave me the message. I gave her $40.00 a month to be my answering service. It worked out. She thought I was crazy but I also tipped well and paid on time so she overlooked it.
We would talk if she wasn't busy which was usually the case. Her Mom and stepfather ran the place. They were Honduran while Anna was the second child of five to be born in the United States. They thought I was crazy too but her Mom always made sure my plate was full when it came out of the kitchen. Anna had told me her Mom thought I was too skinny.
The restaurant was down the street from me. It was a chicken joint and was in between a Radio shack and an a empty storefront in the strip shopping center that faced Rt 50. Someone had rehabbed the outside five or six years ago and made it shiny and modern. The shiny was wearing off but it was still modern because it was mostly empty stores.
I walked in the door of the restaurant, "Enrico's Pollo." I had asked Anna but she had no idea who Enrico was, and headed for my usual booth which was as far away from the television as I could get. My booth was empty. Enrico's wasn't. Enrico's was set up with red vinyl covered booths back to back running the length of the wall that sat four people, two in each booth facing each other. The walls were paneled half way to the ceiling in dark brown wood. Between the booths were a row of tables that ran down the center of the restaurant with aisles on each side of them. I was pretty sure it had been an Italian place once upon a time.
In the booth closer to the kitchen right below the TV were two white guys. I didn't like them as soon as I saw them. Tattoo's, shaved heads, and metal in their faces an ears. That wasn't a big deal in itself but really pissed me off was that they were loud. I really hate loud people. Their table was empty of drinks and silverware which meant they must have just come in. I settled into my booth and watched them out of the corner of my eye while I pretended to watch the TV and waited for Anna to show up.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
The Mover - Part 1b
Today I have a potential client who wants discuss my services. We had arranged a meeting place and time a few days ago. Most of my clients like meetings. It's what they do for a living. Plus they get to size me up. You know, use their vaunted managerial ability to measure a fellow human being and determine their suitability for the task on hand. Assholes.
Sometimes I get someone who only wants to deal with me electronically. I don't roll that way homie. I want to be able to see them, sniff them, read their eyes and body language. Plus it helps keep them honest. It makes it more personal, especially if they decide not to pay.
One of the ways "They" have been able to get away with what they have done is denying accountability by buffering their evil with machines, their virtual walls, and telephone trees that sent you spinning over the line to people who can't understand you if you deviate from the script.
Our leaders who talked social engineering jargon to us and thought they were sharing the love. Their fiends feed us bullshit illusions over the wire in HD. Assholes all. Smug fuckers who had more in common with the desk jockeys of the German killing machine of the previous century. Number crunchers and planet destroyers.
I took a deep breath. This was not where I wanted to go mentally. At least not right now. I relaxed my hands from the fists they had curled into and mentally stood down. I sat in my chair and practiced smiling. Happy smile on. Happy smile off. Happy smile on. Happy smile off. The others who were my first "They" had taught me that.
After five minutes of practicing Happy Face I was in a better place. I was hungry and decided to eat before the meet. I liked how that rhymed and said it over an over to myself as I got ready to go out into the world beyond my apartment door. I lived in a couple places. Actually I stayed in them. I didn't live in them. I didn't live anywhere because I didn't have a life. I didn't want one. If asked, which I never had been, I could of come up with some romantic, lone wolf of suburbia story that would sound good and maybe even tug at the targets heart and panty strings.
The truth was owning anything of value scared the hell out of me. Having a non portable home scared me. You owned to much stuff and you couldn't move. If you couldn't move then "They" could get to you. That wasn't going to happen.Not while I was alive.
Sometimes I get someone who only wants to deal with me electronically. I don't roll that way homie. I want to be able to see them, sniff them, read their eyes and body language. Plus it helps keep them honest. It makes it more personal, especially if they decide not to pay.
One of the ways "They" have been able to get away with what they have done is denying accountability by buffering their evil with machines, their virtual walls, and telephone trees that sent you spinning over the line to people who can't understand you if you deviate from the script.
Our leaders who talked social engineering jargon to us and thought they were sharing the love. Their fiends feed us bullshit illusions over the wire in HD. Assholes all. Smug fuckers who had more in common with the desk jockeys of the German killing machine of the previous century. Number crunchers and planet destroyers.
I took a deep breath. This was not where I wanted to go mentally. At least not right now. I relaxed my hands from the fists they had curled into and mentally stood down. I sat in my chair and practiced smiling. Happy smile on. Happy smile off. Happy smile on. Happy smile off. The others who were my first "They" had taught me that.
After five minutes of practicing Happy Face I was in a better place. I was hungry and decided to eat before the meet. I liked how that rhymed and said it over an over to myself as I got ready to go out into the world beyond my apartment door. I lived in a couple places. Actually I stayed in them. I didn't live in them. I didn't live anywhere because I didn't have a life. I didn't want one. If asked, which I never had been, I could of come up with some romantic, lone wolf of suburbia story that would sound good and maybe even tug at the targets heart and panty strings.
The truth was owning anything of value scared the hell out of me. Having a non portable home scared me. You owned to much stuff and you couldn't move. If you couldn't move then "They" could get to you. That wasn't going to happen.Not while I was alive.
The Mover - Part 1A
I'm not the only one in DC that does this kind of work. Word gets around. You learn what is expected by the client which is usually driven by the location. I work a certain type of area an income level. The lower the market value of house, the more blunt the methods and people. I'm a niche player just like the marketing people suggest. It's easier and it fits me. That's probably how I ended up doing this. It didn't require any change on my part. I don't change who I am to please other people. That's one of my rules.
It may be conceit on my part but I like to think I am one of the classier players in my market. It helps to bring in the clients. I'm a Mover in what was the 700,000 to 1.5 million range of houses. What is classier? In my case it means I look like someone who bought a house in that price range and neighborhood. I don't look like I fell off the stage or out of a video. No tat's, piercings, and the hair is kept corporate/military short and clean. My ride fits the area's I work, usually a Lexus, or if I am going nondescript -- a BMW. I dress corporate casual. Usually I have a phone clipped to my belt and a bogus but authentic looking corporate plastic ID hung on it to.
That doesn't sound very intimidating does it? That's because I am not standing in front of you and focusing my attention exclusively on you. You see I know I am insane and it does not take much effort on my part to convey that to others. I call it dropping the mask. It's one of the reasons I wear sunglasses a lot. They help to keep the mask in place.
Usually I stay in my head and LOOK. You see I know the End Times are here and I am glad. Very glad indeed. I have a personal mission. I LOOK and I wait. I am not sure what it is but I know I will recognize it just as it will recognize me. I am so very, very angry about what has happened. I try not to think about what makes me angry because just doing it makes me even angrier. Scary angry. Non functioning angry. Stupid angry. One thing I am not is stupid. Not anymore. I am going to hurt them. Yes I am.
It may be conceit on my part but I like to think I am one of the classier players in my market. It helps to bring in the clients. I'm a Mover in what was the 700,000 to 1.5 million range of houses. What is classier? In my case it means I look like someone who bought a house in that price range and neighborhood. I don't look like I fell off the stage or out of a video. No tat's, piercings, and the hair is kept corporate/military short and clean. My ride fits the area's I work, usually a Lexus, or if I am going nondescript -- a BMW. I dress corporate casual. Usually I have a phone clipped to my belt and a bogus but authentic looking corporate plastic ID hung on it to.
That doesn't sound very intimidating does it? That's because I am not standing in front of you and focusing my attention exclusively on you. You see I know I am insane and it does not take much effort on my part to convey that to others. I call it dropping the mask. It's one of the reasons I wear sunglasses a lot. They help to keep the mask in place.
Usually I stay in my head and LOOK. You see I know the End Times are here and I am glad. Very glad indeed. I have a personal mission. I LOOK and I wait. I am not sure what it is but I know I will recognize it just as it will recognize me. I am so very, very angry about what has happened. I try not to think about what makes me angry because just doing it makes me even angrier. Scary angry. Non functioning angry. Stupid angry. One thing I am not is stupid. Not anymore. I am going to hurt them. Yes I am.
Friday, July 9, 2010
The Mover
My job title is "Mover." My job description? I move people out of where they live. Always for a fee. The reason is usually not that important. At least to me. I listen politely when who ever hires me tells me the "Why." Rather I attempt too. Usually it's self serving drivel that makes me want to hurt the speaker about two thirds of the way through. I try to mask that most times. Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I don't. When I don't they tend to wind it up faster. Unless they are idiots. There is a lot of idiots in this world. That was never a surprise to me. What was surprising was finding out how many of them have money.
The people I move don't usually want to move. That's their problem. Usually, not always, but usually, they are squatters or something close to that who have pissed off their neighbors enough to hire someone like me. Sometimes it not the neighbors. It's a representative of some company, a company far downstream of the one who wants it done. Most of the time they are buying my reputation for success. They are careful not to suggest how I do it. There are still laws and a legal system. Not much of one but it's still out there. Sometimes I think it's more memory than reality these days.
Why do I say that? Because of the shit I and the people I work for get away with. Thats why. I also know that is just the tip of the iceberg too. I don't kid myself. I'm not the biggest predator out here by any means. Some of what I hear and see tell me that there are some serious monsters out there ripping chunks of flesh off the animal we called "community" and "nation" in school. Do I care? Sometimes.
Most of the time I am just trying to make it. I may not buy into the illusion that everything is going to get better. I see what happens in the shadows better than most. Does that make me better? I don't think so. You see even I don't like looking to deep in the shadows myself. There is some scary shit mutating out here. I just want to avoid it. I don't want to draw its attention. I know if there is people like me for hire than there has to be people who "Move" people like me out there too.
The people I move don't usually want to move. That's their problem. Usually, not always, but usually, they are squatters or something close to that who have pissed off their neighbors enough to hire someone like me. Sometimes it not the neighbors. It's a representative of some company, a company far downstream of the one who wants it done. Most of the time they are buying my reputation for success. They are careful not to suggest how I do it. There are still laws and a legal system. Not much of one but it's still out there. Sometimes I think it's more memory than reality these days.
Why do I say that? Because of the shit I and the people I work for get away with. Thats why. I also know that is just the tip of the iceberg too. I don't kid myself. I'm not the biggest predator out here by any means. Some of what I hear and see tell me that there are some serious monsters out there ripping chunks of flesh off the animal we called "community" and "nation" in school. Do I care? Sometimes.
Most of the time I am just trying to make it. I may not buy into the illusion that everything is going to get better. I see what happens in the shadows better than most. Does that make me better? I don't think so. You see even I don't like looking to deep in the shadows myself. There is some scary shit mutating out here. I just want to avoid it. I don't want to draw its attention. I know if there is people like me for hire than there has to be people who "Move" people like me out there too.
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