There were four steps required to complete the task and Pete thought he had each of them down pat. Unfortunately he had them mixed up, missing the vital one and was well screwed as well. He wanted to be wealthy, respected, loved and honoured. All he got was 25 years with a non parole period of 12. He got love but not the type he ever thought he’d endure. The mention of gay sex in jail or elsewhere was often sprinkled through Henry’s writing. This was to be a murder of crows and a hold up.
The mention of gay sex in jail or elsewhere was often sprinkled through Henry’s writing. Unsure why, he was straight, but he used cliches such as “man love”, “the love that shouldn’t be spoken of” in his writing as a tool – a lot. He wasn’t trying for the double entendre, Benny Hill type tool, just a tool.
He had no use for real tools. He was the furtherest away from being a handyman as any man ( or woman ) could get. He had tried, but found his less than perfect results, lack of experience and inadequate tools a constant source of frustration. No double entendre here of course!
Henry did try though, he tried over the years and screamed after each lame arse attempt to never try again. He’d been forced to listen to people talking endlessly about their tools, their choice, their joy and the satisfaction of working with one’s hands to complete a task.
“Can I actually write anything without it being a double entendre?” .. Henry thought as he often did, when typing.
“Can I actually write a story that has clear direction, a plot, interesting characters and loads of realistic, somewhat optimistically successful sexual activity. Nearly normal vanilla sex, with some extra players joining in from time to time, wild, sweaty, oiled up, revealing of the beast within – sex.
Henry thought that this very long sentence was too good to waste on talking to himself – so he typed it out. Where could he use such a sentence, was he going to write some soft or mummy porn, or send some letters into Penthouse magazine. Did they still publish that stuff. The wild ride he used to read 43 odd years ago. The self satisfaction and forced clean up those letters brought out, really came home to him.
Henry sat at his desk and thought … “What’s next, what do I write about now? .. Can this vein proceed to a conclusion, or maybe start a flow of ideas?”
The sitting at the desk and talking to himself was interrupted by a murder of crows, screaming, flying, fighting and screaming some more, just outside his backyard. The frightful noise would wake the dead and certainly disturb those who weren’t yet so. The reason for this onslaught of terrible noise seemed to be an invasion of smaller birds seeking refuge or dinner in the crow’s nests. This multi layered range of grass, twigs and sticks were perched on the mobile phone tower, which sat proudly in the shopping centre car-park.
Henry’s backyard was the large section of an odd shaped triangle, which shared a boundary fence with the shopping centre and a service station. The garden ( if it could be called that ) consisted of only the strongest plants. Plants that had survived neglect, the rock hard clay soil and the complete lack of interest offered by Henry.
The crows sometimes flew into this green grassy “no plant to speak of space” to find bugs. Henry’s two dogs kept them away, even when the birds swooped down and attacked them. The noise during this natural interaction was nothing to the noise going on during today’s crow turf war.
Ok .. Henry had his smoke, pondered the description – a murder of crows, went back inside, inside were he was safe and free of the silliness going on outside. After opening a window, stripping down to his inadequately utilised sport shorts he started typing again.
Peter had actioned some hard worn research, which placed him at the right place at the right time. All good except that he was with the wrong people. The crew he’d booked had not turned up, despite being paid. They had sent two other low life weirdos along to fill in. Unbeknownst to Pete, one of the two, namely the second one had a close connection to the Police. Ally was in fact an undercover Police officer. Interestingly for Pete, the one of the two, Sam was also an undercover Police officer, but did know that number two was as well.
This concentrated confusion and disorganised subterfuge did nothing but hurt Pete’s chances of success. He got out of his van at the prearranged time and flagged down the truck. Pretending to be the store manager – faking an emergency with his mad waving, flagging and coordinated uniform. This truck was a dark blue Ford transit – built like an armoured truck but disguised as a fruit delivery vehicle.
The owner of the security company did this with every new vehicle nowadays. Not all fruit, he did some butchers, some florist and some laundry. The armoured nature was very cleverly disguised and so to the casual observer, just another Ford going about its business. Its business today was transporting 8 million dollars worth of the easily managed “Euro 500” notes. The store stop over was a routine stop. A stop the bosses thought they could get away with on their way to the bank’s vault.
It turned out that two separate sections of the State Police had placed an officer in the crew that joined Pete. Their task was to make sure that Pete was stopped, that nobody get killed and the money be kept safe. In a safe and off the streets. Pete pulled out his assault riffle and aimed it at the truck. Number one grabbed his gun, as did number two.
They both aimed their respective weapons at Pete and screamed Police. It was unclear as to who was more shocked, one, two or Pete. It didn’t matter really because the ever alert truck crew saw all this weaponry and wild action and drove straight past. They hit their Police hotline panic button and sped past smiling at the chaos unfolding on the side of this access road.
More Police arrived in about 4 minutes. They found one and two and Pete all being held at gun point by each other and as confused as fuck. The shared laughs after they arrested Pete were loud and heartfelt, but the debrief between the two sections who’d sent two undercover officers was less so. It was a mess ….
Henry was distracted yet again, he went outside to enjoy the quiet of his backyard and contemplated how to bring some sex into this story he started. Maybe one is a woman and two is a man. Maybe they have sex in the car on the way back to the office. Maybe Pete has a wholesome three way with them.
“No! that’s just plain ridiculous.” .. as Henry spoke to himself yet again. He stayed outside for a while and thought some more thoughts.