Fish Farm by Walt Sautter (ereader for android TXT) 📖

in the mail for ten grand with a note that says ‘Good luck fishing. Some money for bait – Knotsy’. That’s about thirty or forty thou today. The envelope had no return address and I never heard from him again.
I cashed the check and that’s how “Larry’s Fishin’ Hole’ got started.”
“Man, that’s some story Larry!
And you never saw the guy again?” exclaimed Petey.
“Nope! Never! Never even got to thank him.” Larry replied in a some what solemn voice.
Again a brief silence fell.
“So why are you giving me this?” asked Jack holding out the wrapped, blood oozing finger.
“If I was you I’d get that back to that Fireman bunch. I’m pretty sure that would back ‘em off big time.”
Jack stared down at the bright red rag he was holding and replied.
Jack hesitated for a moment and then spoke.
“You know Larry, I think you’re right on” and he tore off another piece of cloth from the clothing pile, rewrapped the finger and pushed it into his pocket.
Then they continued their task. A red gush flew from the shoot out into the pond. The fish swarmed towards its landing spot and within minutes the water cleared and nothing remained.
Larry pulled over a hose, washed down the machine and threw the clothes pile into an old, rusty drum for burning.
It was done.
All three went back to Larry’s house for a beer.
The next morning Jack arose a went kitchen. He rifled through one of the cabinet drawers a pulled out several old Christmas gift tags from the clutter. He selected the one with an image of smiling Santa holding his finger “aside his nose”.
“Merry Christmas – Now back off. The People’s Army” he wrote on the tag.
He went into the bedroom, took the severed finger from its wrapping and tied the tag to the ring, then carefully rewrapped the finger.
He arrived at the Lunch Box and ordered his usual coffee and waited for Charlie to go into the kitchen. He took finger from his pocket and carefully placed in the sugar container on the table in the booth. Just the tip protruded out from underneath the sugar packets.
He quickly moved back to his stool at the counter and stared at the clock over the kitchen window.
Nine fifty-five!
Then he waited for their boisterous entry. He patience was soon rewarded. Ten o’clock on the dot, the door opened and in they came with the usual loud banter peppered with expletives, and minus DS of course.
All three slid into the booth continuing their noisy chatter.
Suddenly, a loud cry and all three jumped from their seats simultaneously.
“Holy funkin’ shit” yelled one as he pointed towards the table with the over turning sugar container lying on it and the finger, ring, Christmas tag and all lying next to it.
“What the fuck it that?” he continued.
Then they slow moved back towards the table to get a better look at the mutated object on the table.
Charlie rushed from the kitchen in response to the cries.
“Holy shit” he exclaimed with wide eyed amazement as he too viewed the severed appendage.
Jack turned on his stool to watch the show. On his face he wore a somber look while in his mind he wore a wide grin of amusement. He arose and quietly left the mayhem at the Lunch Box.
Jack felt a deep sense of pride. Although, some guilt over his actions periodically arose, ‘the ends justifies the means’ allowed him to dismiss the little remorse he bore. One prick dead and the entire community saved, it was no contest, he thought to himself. Was what he did wrong? God would have to decide that one. Right now, he was sure he had made the correct decision and he felt damn good about it.
Chapter 11
Several weeks passed and no reports of extortion were heard. It seems as if the Fireman had disappeared from the face of the Earth, or at least from the neighborhood. The darkness that had enveloped it seemed to have been lifted.
Although Jack felt great satisfaction about the demise of the Firemen and end of their parasitic hold, feelings of guilt had begun to creep over him. On several occasions, he had been awakened in the middle of the night by visions of his murderous act. As the weeks went on, self recrimination became more frequent but each time he was able to dismiss it with thoughts of the cleansing of the neighborhood that his act had accomplished.
He sat silently before the TV, paying little attention to its ramblings but instead, musing on his apparent success. A sense of self satisfaction mixed with guilt filled his thoughts.
Bang! Bang! A sharp knock rattled through the door. Jack sprang from his chair. He expected no visitors, especially at ten o’clock at night.
He hesitated.
Bang! Bang!
He slowly moved to the door and peered out through the peephole.
It was DFN at the door. Jack didn’t know his real name, just that he had overheard DS call him that many times at the Lunch Box. DS used to say that he was his “Dumb Fuckin’ Nigger” and so he called him DFN for short.
Jack pulled back from the peephole and called through the closed door.
“What do you want?”
“I just wanna talk, Man – just talk – nothin’ else.”
“Talk! Talk about what?”, Jack replied.
“Well if ya open this door I’ll tell ya. Can’t be talkin’ to no closed door out here.”
Jack paused for a moment and then peered back through the peephole.
“Take off your shirt” he commanded.
“What?” came the reply.
“Take off your shirt and turn your pockets inside out and turn around” Jack repeated.
“Okay, Man” and DFN removed his shirt and stared back into the peephole.
DFN complied with a scowl and stood before the door.
Jack went to the kitchen, took a large knife from the drawer, returned holding it and cracked open the door while bracing his foot and shoulder against it. Seeing no immediately response, he opened the door wider to admit DFN who entered carrying his shirt.
“Can I put my duds back on, Man?”
Jack nodded.
“So what’s this all about” asked Jack as DFN redressed himself.
“I wanna talk, Man about what happened to DS.”
“I don’t know” asked Jack.
“I didn’t even know that anything happened. And who is DS?” he continued.
“Come on Man, you don’t have ta bullshit me. I know you know what happened. I saw ya.”
Jack looked back at him with what he knew was a look of surprise. He was so startled by what he had just heard that he knew he could not have camouflaged his astonishment however he continued to try.
“What the hell are you talking about? Saw what?” he replied.
“You know god damn well. Didn’t I just say don’t bullshit me?”
Jack paused and thought for a minute.
“Alright, let me hear what you think you know.”
Man, what I do know is what I know.
Here’s how it goes.
Ya know the kid that ya sent with that note down to the Box. He was my little nephew and he knew damn well who you was even with that shitty disguise ya was wearin’. I told him not to tell anybody that he knew.
Then I decided to tell him to watch ya, real careful like.
He saw ya when ya carried DS up to his place. Now, I don’t know how DS got all fucked up like he was, but my boy did see ya carry him up. Then, after he saw ya leave he came and got me.
I went to his place, went in, and guess what? No DS!
Never did see the boy since, so what does that make a guy like me think?
Makes me think you had somethin’ to do with him goin’ disappeared. What would think if you was me?”
“If that’s what you think and that’s what you knew how come you never told the rest of your FM gang because if you did I’m sure they would have come for me by now?” Jack questioned.
“I hated that motherfucker. I just wished somebody woulda done him sooner. He raped my little sister when she was eleven. She told me about it. She wouldn’t tell anybody else cause he said he’d kill her and everybody else if she told and I’m sure he woulda. He was one mean dude.
After a while, he found out that I knew what he done. He got my sister alone one day and made her tell him that I knew. I guess he kinda felt that I knew somethin’ cause of the way I looked at him all the time. I just couldn’t help it if ya know what I mean, after what did.
Then, he put that Dumb Fuckin’ Nigger tag on me. I suppose that to make the rest of ‘em think I was stupid and anything I said wasn’t real just in case I went and told about what he done. That sure didn’t make me like him any better.”
“What’s your real name?” Jack interrupted.
“Clyde, Clyde Johnson” he replied.
“So why did you stay in the FM then”, asked Jack.
“You just didn’t quit FM Man. Quit them and you quit livin’ too.”
“So why are you here talking to me now then?”
“Well, I gotta give you some stars. After two of our guys disappeared and after we got the two notes, you kinda scared everybody out.
It’s one thing when you can see people comin’ up on ya and another when it comes outta nowhere and they just go outta sight.
And I gotta tell ya, when DS’s dead ass finger jumped outtalk that sugar that was tops, Man. That really scared the shit outta everybody including me.
That was great shit, Man.
Guys where startin’ talk ghost and spook shit and it freaked ‘em all out. That’s why they gave up the fire protection shit round here.
Me, I of course didn’t believe any of that silly shit cause I told you what I knew with you.
But, this was my chance to get out and I took it. I told ‘em all that I thought it was some kind spirit stuff and I was leavin’ and not one of ‘em tried to stop me or said any bad shit about me cause they was all more scared than I said I was.”
“So why are you here now?” answered Jack.
“I know DS always carried lots of cash around with him. Like I mean a stack of bennies, maybe a few grand. I’m sure he musta had it with him.
I think a piece of that should be mine, seein’ as I kinda saved ya a lotta hurt. I’m here to get it.”
Jack sat silently before replying.
‘What makes you think I’ve got it?”
“What makes me think ya don’t?” answered Clyde.
“You have to give me a little more time. I don’t have it right here” Jack replied.
Clyde paused and then spoke.
“I don’t really believe ya but I’m gonna give a little more but not much. I’ll be back tomorrow and don’t think ya be getting’ over on me. Just because I had that DNF tag hung on me don’t mean it’s true, cause it aint” said as he left.
Jack quickly bolted the door behind, went into the kitchen, got a stair and wedged it against the door knob. He then went back into the kitchen, took the money packet from the freezer and recounted it.
“Eighty-eight hundred. It’s still all there” he reassured himself, rewrapped it