I'm trying to write something "Serious"...
That means:
"Something that might have a chance of breaking into Print and making me some Cutter..."
Yes, bother a bunch of Vanity and "E" Book Publishers.
Fine for some...
At any rate—Posting online rapidly ruins my Self-Editing.
I skimp on rewriting, and post stuff that ought to be "Spiff-Canned" because I hate to disappoint my online readers.
Anyway, I find that I need a break to write something more "Formula".
I wanted to show someone with no preps making out like a Bandit...
You can't count on it—but it is Conceivable...
I did that nicely in CH 1.
Not sure what happens next.
New Chapters will be sporadic.
Wizard
Wizard’s phone rang. He let it ring a dozen times. Bill collectors rarely hung on past six, and then only if you’d gotten a reputation for waiting past the more common four rings.
Wizard picked up the phone intending to give someone a good piece of his mind.
“Persistent Pests!” He grumbled to himself. “What!” he shouted into the receiver.
“This is Evan. Can you come over for a few minutes?”
“Sorry Evan, I was expecting someone else.”
He was puzzled. Evan lived next door and he was on Dialysis. He often sunned himself in the back yard when it was pleasant. He liked to talk to Wizard’s Dogs through the fence and he often brought them treats.
It spoke volumes that Wizard permitted the man to feed his Dogs, having no concern that he might poison them.
Last summer, Evan had started talking to Wizard a bit—especially after Wizard’s arrest.
Evan was downright feeble. He did well to pull himself out to his favorite lawn chair. Wizard helped him occasionally with tasks that were easy for an able bodied man, but nigh impossible for an invalid.
But the man had never called on the phone.
*********** ************** **********
“The food riots stopped with cold weather,” Evan began without preamble.
The price of food and gasoline continued to rise slowly but inexorably. The Government pled with the populace to be patient, dabbled in rationing, price controls and martial law while printing beaucoup more money and whittling cautiously at entitlements.
As much as Wizard hated the Government, he couldn’t fault their current strategy. They were headed for gambler’s ruin and there was no “good” strategy left at this point.
“Last winter broke records for snow and cold weather, but spring seems to have come early—and the people are rioting in the streets again,” Evan continued.
“I hadn’t heard,” Wizard said.
“Don’t you watch television, listen to the radio, or look at the news online?” Evan asked.
He sounded both put out and amazed.
“Let me rephrase that,” Wizard said sourly. “I don’t follow the news because I don’t give a rat’s derrière what happens next. They can all go to Hell so far as I’m concerned.”
“But what about you?” Evan asked.
“The closest riots were in Chicago and Detroit last year. Now there are already riots in towns like Cincinnati, Louisville, Lexington, Indianapolis and St Louis—and many other medium-sized cities.
“They really mean it this time. There have already been instances of police cars turned over and Molotov cocktails being thrown. They’re going to declare martial law and it’s going to be the real deal this time,” Evan concluded.
“Skew them,” Wizard said indifferently.
“You know they’ll come for you. You’re on their troublemaker’s list,” Evan said.
“Good,” Wizard said. “Then I can die like a Warrior and blot out the shame of being caught unaware the first time they came for me.”
“Do you even have a Gun?”
“A couple, nothing to write home about. Hell, I did well to have a few Guns. I couldn’t afford to bury anything but a few cheapies.
“I have a Battle Axe though. With any luck, I can force them to shoot me before I close with them. If I’m really lucky, I might get one or two of them. That riot gear won’t stop a blow from an Axe with a four-foot handle,” Wizard said.
“Maybe you are crazy after all,” Evan said.
“Maybe. Sanity is over-rated,” Wizard said without offence.
“What if you had somewhere to go, and the means to get there?” Evan said.
Wizard shrugged indifferently.
“I used to be a hard core survivalist before my kidneys went south,” Evan said. “When my dialysis supplies give out, I’m done—but you might stand a chance. You’ve been good to me and I hate to see good Guns and gear go to waste.”
When Wizard heard the word “Gun” he immediately became interested in everything Evan had to say.
“I thought that would get your attention,” Evan said with a smile.
He rooted around in a closet momentarily—more for show, and to create suspense, since he’d been getting the gear together for some time.
Evan handed Wizard a Gunfighter belt with three heavy Revolvers on it. Given that one chose to carry three Revolvers and a big Bowie on a Gun belt, it was a Spartan and practical rig.
“Try it on. You are a very big man, but I wasn’t small in my prime. I think that it will fit you,” Evan said.
Wizard belted on the rig. It fit, but his belt hole was a couple spaces further out than Evan’s wear mark.
There was a Revolver on each hip, and one at the appendix cross-draw position favored by SASS shooters.
Wizard drew his right hip Revolver. Unlike the Cowboy Contest Revolvers, it was a double-action.
“That’s a Smith and Wesson model 27 .357 Magnum,” Evan said proudly.
“It has a custom trigger job—double action only. It has a five-inch Mag-Na-Ported barrel, spur-less trigger and round butt. It has Stag grips and it has been hard chromed. I know that you’d prefer nickel, but choosers cain’t be beggars,” Evan quipped.
“All three are identical,” Evan added.
Wizard checked each revolver in turn, and each was loaded.
“All Guns are always loaded,” Evan said proudly.
After unloading each Gun and trying its trigger-pull in turn, Wizard reloaded each Gun and replaced it in its holster.
Then he drew the two strong draw Guns and spun them as he returned them to their holsters.
“That’s a poor practice with loaded Guns,” Evan observed.
“Yes it is,” Wizard agreed indifferently.
“What do you think?” Evan asked.
“Nice Guns, but that’s a lot of steel to lug around,” Wizard said.
“I’m not through yet,” Evan said.
He gave Wizard an oversized shoulder bag. Inside was a Smith and Wesson model 17—A .22 LR. It had all the custom modifications of the .357s. It wasn’t meant for fast draw from the bag—just handy to pot-shoot small game when circumstances warranted.
The layout of the inside of the “possibles bag” was pretty rigid—like an electrician’s tool pouch. There were a half-dozen HKS speed-loaders in metal reinforced loops. Wizard could have fallen on the bag all day without damaging the speed-loaders.
There were even a couple speed-loaders for the 17. There were a half-dozen small knives of various shapes and sizes—skinners, all around outdoors knives and vicious hideouts.
Apparently Evan thought it very bad Medicine to be caught bladeless. There were fire-starting supplies and a few tools—including a space for a lock-picking set, in its own leather case within its appointed slot. There were needle nose pliers, a few Gunsmith tools and a wire-stripper, of all things.
There was a loop in the back of the pouch from whence a Norse Hawk Tomahawken rode.
Evan became downright minimalist when it came to a Rifle. He gave Wizard a “Scout Rifle”—a .308—built on a small Mauser action—forward mounted scope, aperture back-up sights, and eighteen-inch barrel—also Ported—but thankfully, the Gun still had a walnut stock.
“Promise me that you’ll wear this always, and not get into it until you really need a last-ditch survival kit,” Evan said.
Wizard nodded. The bag probably weighed two pounds. What was another two pounds on top of what Evan had already laden him with?
Evan showed Wizard the contents of his ALICE pack, well stocked with most every thing a man bugging out might need.
Then he got out a map and showed Wizard how to get to his retreat in some detail. Since there were a few neighbors, he took a couple pictures of himself and Wizard, and wrote out a deed transferring ownership to Wizard.
“There is just one more thing my friend. I’m gonna die hard when my dialysis is cut off…”
Wizard stood for a moment and considered. Then he gave his head a brief shake and walked past Evan towards the door.
Evan was sighing his disappointment when Wizard struck him from behind right in the medulla with the Tomahawken Evan had given him.
The blow should have been immediately fatal, but to eliminate all possibility of his friend suffering, Wizard made few deft cuts with a knife—to eliminate even the remotest chance of life remaining.
Wizard rooted around in Evan’s cupboards and added a few cans and bags of dried foods.
The house next to Evan’s on the far side had already burned down. Wizard was leaving, so he didn’t care if his house burned down.
He carefully arranged a pile of tinder and a clever mechanical time delay. A burning pyre would be a fitting funeral for his friend.
Response times were at an all-time high for the fire department. He doubted that anyone would care to check very carefully into Evan’s demise. The Laws had too many other concerns.
It wouldn’t help for the Laws to put out an APB on Wizard as a suspect in Evan’s killing…
On the other hand, if they caught him in possession of Firearms, he’d be neck-deep in trouble anyway. He wasn’t going to relinquish these Guns without a fight—so…
.....RVM45
That means:
"Something that might have a chance of breaking into Print and making me some Cutter..."
Yes, bother a bunch of Vanity and "E" Book Publishers.
Fine for some...
At any rate—Posting online rapidly ruins my Self-Editing.
I skimp on rewriting, and post stuff that ought to be "Spiff-Canned" because I hate to disappoint my online readers.
Anyway, I find that I need a break to write something more "Formula".
I wanted to show someone with no preps making out like a Bandit...
You can't count on it—but it is Conceivable...
I did that nicely in CH 1.
Not sure what happens next.
New Chapters will be sporadic.
Wizard
Wizard’s phone rang. He let it ring a dozen times. Bill collectors rarely hung on past six, and then only if you’d gotten a reputation for waiting past the more common four rings.
Wizard picked up the phone intending to give someone a good piece of his mind.
“Persistent Pests!” He grumbled to himself. “What!” he shouted into the receiver.
“This is Evan. Can you come over for a few minutes?”
“Sorry Evan, I was expecting someone else.”
He was puzzled. Evan lived next door and he was on Dialysis. He often sunned himself in the back yard when it was pleasant. He liked to talk to Wizard’s Dogs through the fence and he often brought them treats.
It spoke volumes that Wizard permitted the man to feed his Dogs, having no concern that he might poison them.
Last summer, Evan had started talking to Wizard a bit—especially after Wizard’s arrest.
Evan was downright feeble. He did well to pull himself out to his favorite lawn chair. Wizard helped him occasionally with tasks that were easy for an able bodied man, but nigh impossible for an invalid.
But the man had never called on the phone.
*********** ************** **********
“The food riots stopped with cold weather,” Evan began without preamble.
The price of food and gasoline continued to rise slowly but inexorably. The Government pled with the populace to be patient, dabbled in rationing, price controls and martial law while printing beaucoup more money and whittling cautiously at entitlements.
As much as Wizard hated the Government, he couldn’t fault their current strategy. They were headed for gambler’s ruin and there was no “good” strategy left at this point.
“Last winter broke records for snow and cold weather, but spring seems to have come early—and the people are rioting in the streets again,” Evan continued.
“I hadn’t heard,” Wizard said.
“Don’t you watch television, listen to the radio, or look at the news online?” Evan asked.
He sounded both put out and amazed.
“Let me rephrase that,” Wizard said sourly. “I don’t follow the news because I don’t give a rat’s derrière what happens next. They can all go to Hell so far as I’m concerned.”
“But what about you?” Evan asked.
“The closest riots were in Chicago and Detroit last year. Now there are already riots in towns like Cincinnati, Louisville, Lexington, Indianapolis and St Louis—and many other medium-sized cities.
“They really mean it this time. There have already been instances of police cars turned over and Molotov cocktails being thrown. They’re going to declare martial law and it’s going to be the real deal this time,” Evan concluded.
“Skew them,” Wizard said indifferently.
“You know they’ll come for you. You’re on their troublemaker’s list,” Evan said.
“Good,” Wizard said. “Then I can die like a Warrior and blot out the shame of being caught unaware the first time they came for me.”
“Do you even have a Gun?”
“A couple, nothing to write home about. Hell, I did well to have a few Guns. I couldn’t afford to bury anything but a few cheapies.
“I have a Battle Axe though. With any luck, I can force them to shoot me before I close with them. If I’m really lucky, I might get one or two of them. That riot gear won’t stop a blow from an Axe with a four-foot handle,” Wizard said.
“Maybe you are crazy after all,” Evan said.
“Maybe. Sanity is over-rated,” Wizard said without offence.
“What if you had somewhere to go, and the means to get there?” Evan said.
Wizard shrugged indifferently.
“I used to be a hard core survivalist before my kidneys went south,” Evan said. “When my dialysis supplies give out, I’m done—but you might stand a chance. You’ve been good to me and I hate to see good Guns and gear go to waste.”
When Wizard heard the word “Gun” he immediately became interested in everything Evan had to say.
“I thought that would get your attention,” Evan said with a smile.
He rooted around in a closet momentarily—more for show, and to create suspense, since he’d been getting the gear together for some time.
Evan handed Wizard a Gunfighter belt with three heavy Revolvers on it. Given that one chose to carry three Revolvers and a big Bowie on a Gun belt, it was a Spartan and practical rig.
“Try it on. You are a very big man, but I wasn’t small in my prime. I think that it will fit you,” Evan said.
Wizard belted on the rig. It fit, but his belt hole was a couple spaces further out than Evan’s wear mark.
There was a Revolver on each hip, and one at the appendix cross-draw position favored by SASS shooters.
Wizard drew his right hip Revolver. Unlike the Cowboy Contest Revolvers, it was a double-action.
“That’s a Smith and Wesson model 27 .357 Magnum,” Evan said proudly.
“It has a custom trigger job—double action only. It has a five-inch Mag-Na-Ported barrel, spur-less trigger and round butt. It has Stag grips and it has been hard chromed. I know that you’d prefer nickel, but choosers cain’t be beggars,” Evan quipped.
“All three are identical,” Evan added.
Wizard checked each revolver in turn, and each was loaded.
“All Guns are always loaded,” Evan said proudly.
After unloading each Gun and trying its trigger-pull in turn, Wizard reloaded each Gun and replaced it in its holster.
Then he drew the two strong draw Guns and spun them as he returned them to their holsters.
“That’s a poor practice with loaded Guns,” Evan observed.
“Yes it is,” Wizard agreed indifferently.
“What do you think?” Evan asked.
“Nice Guns, but that’s a lot of steel to lug around,” Wizard said.
“I’m not through yet,” Evan said.
He gave Wizard an oversized shoulder bag. Inside was a Smith and Wesson model 17—A .22 LR. It had all the custom modifications of the .357s. It wasn’t meant for fast draw from the bag—just handy to pot-shoot small game when circumstances warranted.
The layout of the inside of the “possibles bag” was pretty rigid—like an electrician’s tool pouch. There were a half-dozen HKS speed-loaders in metal reinforced loops. Wizard could have fallen on the bag all day without damaging the speed-loaders.
There were even a couple speed-loaders for the 17. There were a half-dozen small knives of various shapes and sizes—skinners, all around outdoors knives and vicious hideouts.
Apparently Evan thought it very bad Medicine to be caught bladeless. There were fire-starting supplies and a few tools—including a space for a lock-picking set, in its own leather case within its appointed slot. There were needle nose pliers, a few Gunsmith tools and a wire-stripper, of all things.
There was a loop in the back of the pouch from whence a Norse Hawk Tomahawken rode.
Evan became downright minimalist when it came to a Rifle. He gave Wizard a “Scout Rifle”—a .308—built on a small Mauser action—forward mounted scope, aperture back-up sights, and eighteen-inch barrel—also Ported—but thankfully, the Gun still had a walnut stock.
“Promise me that you’ll wear this always, and not get into it until you really need a last-ditch survival kit,” Evan said.
Wizard nodded. The bag probably weighed two pounds. What was another two pounds on top of what Evan had already laden him with?
Evan showed Wizard the contents of his ALICE pack, well stocked with most every thing a man bugging out might need.
Then he got out a map and showed Wizard how to get to his retreat in some detail. Since there were a few neighbors, he took a couple pictures of himself and Wizard, and wrote out a deed transferring ownership to Wizard.
“There is just one more thing my friend. I’m gonna die hard when my dialysis is cut off…”
Wizard stood for a moment and considered. Then he gave his head a brief shake and walked past Evan towards the door.
Evan was sighing his disappointment when Wizard struck him from behind right in the medulla with the Tomahawken Evan had given him.
The blow should have been immediately fatal, but to eliminate all possibility of his friend suffering, Wizard made few deft cuts with a knife—to eliminate even the remotest chance of life remaining.
Wizard rooted around in Evan’s cupboards and added a few cans and bags of dried foods.
The house next to Evan’s on the far side had already burned down. Wizard was leaving, so he didn’t care if his house burned down.
He carefully arranged a pile of tinder and a clever mechanical time delay. A burning pyre would be a fitting funeral for his friend.
Response times were at an all-time high for the fire department. He doubted that anyone would care to check very carefully into Evan’s demise. The Laws had too many other concerns.
It wouldn’t help for the Laws to put out an APB on Wizard as a suspect in Evan’s killing…
On the other hand, if they caught him in possession of Firearms, he’d be neck-deep in trouble anyway. He wasn’t going to relinquish these Guns without a fight—so…
.....RVM45
