What I am querying at this time:
First two chapters:
Prologue
What if I die and nobody cared? That is the question that itched at the brain. The thought lurked deep in their gray matter like a dull back pain, always present, never going away.
What if they die and I don’t care? What if I killed them, would anyone know? What if they die, would anyone care?
Chapter 1
Anthony Luigi Luciano Ricci lowered the window on his steel grey series 7 BMW. He flashed his legislature badge to the parking garage entrance on Commonwealth Avenue across from Soldiers Grove Park. It was nine-thirty in the morning at the beginning of September, two days after Labor Day. The first day back to work after he walked in two Labor Day parades. It was always important to walk so he could connect with the people who voted for him. If a politician rides in the back of a car they come off as pompous. At the end of the two parades his face hurt holding the smile for hours and the numerous times he faked laughing. During the parades most comments are respectful, and then there of those comments that are genially humorous. Most people may not like your political views but have respect for their position, and most people are not terribly confrontational. Then, there is a minority of folks that figure that since they pay taxes, they can be ignorant and degrading in what they say. In those moments Anthony remembers advice he got before he became an elected member of the Pennsylvania House of Representatives when he first started to be a wrestling referee. The advice came from Marc Bartlebaugh when he spoke about fans who would confront you over a call. The advice was simple and to the point, as Marc usually was, he said never get into a pissing contest with a skunk. It is a skill that Anthony was able to master as a referee or as referees refer to themselves, an official. It was a special talent politicians need to have when someone says something so offensive, then smile and move on. The temptation is to beat their face to a pulp.
The gate lifted and Anthony glided forward to the security guard to identify himself. The identification was unnecessary, Anthony extended his hand from the window, “Hey Chuck how’s it shaking?”
“Good morning, Congressman, I can’t complain. The sun is shining and I’m away from my wife for the next eight hours. You can’t beat that,” Chuck laughed.
These conversations are repeated every day. When Chuck gets a good laugh from his joke, he will use it all day. Chuck has a great job. He is part of the Capital Police and is stationed where the members of the Pennsylvania house and senate park. Along with what Chuck calls the split asses. Those are the administrative assistances who just happen to be extremely hot women. They are the ones that are the personal assistance for the congressmen and senators. There are perks to having power, and arm candy is one of those. Along with other fringe benefits. Chuck’s been around long enough to know who he can be friendly with and who he just needs to say yes sir too.
Anthony was someone he could joke with, “That’s why I’m not married,” Anthony joked, “You better watch what you say. If Liz finds out what you said that she will kick your ass.”
Anthony was a good politician because he had intangible soft people skills. He also had the ability to remember details about almost all of those he meets. Including Chuck, whose wife is Elizabeth. He could see Cuck still laughing in the rear-view mirror when he turned the corner and guided his BMW into the slot marked Ricci. The spot was next to the one marked Brown which was a bit closer to the door. When Anthony exited the car, he slipped on his suit jacket. A Dark charcoal that accented Anthony’s physique perfectly with a crisp white shirt with cufflinks with a R in a script font. You could use his Dior classic Oxford shoes as a mirror, the shine was so brilliant.
Anthony avoided wearing a pinstripe suit, he thought it too stereotypical mobster appearance for an Italian man to wear. As it was without anyone asking his name, he looked every bit Italian. An advantage he enjoyed using. At six-foot three with a thick mane of perfectly manicured hair and olive skin when he walked in the hallways of the Capitol building every woman’s head turned. It didn’t hurt that he had less than five percent body fat.
Anthony loved walking through the Capital building. On October 4, 1906, when President Theodore Roosevelt attended the dedication of the building, he said, “This is the handsomest building I ever saw.” Anthony exited the garage and went onto the glossy red brick floor of the Capital building. The floor resembled cobblestone. Anthony’s shoes clicked loudly as he paced towards his office in the older part of the building. Being part of the minority party, his office was smaller than those in the newer East Wing, Anthony liked the history of his office, not the lousy heat and drafty two-hundred-year-old windows.
Among his peer representatives Anthony had just a select few that he called his friend. Despite his reputation as a party guy, he seldom socialized with other representatives. Some of the reasons were that he didn’t actively look like he was part of the after-hours crowd. What wasn’t spoken by anyone was that he wasn’t invited. Certainly, there was jealousy amongst his peers. Anthony’s district was in the capital city and given his classic looks and charisma he was always the first choice of news reporters. And there is nothing like a little air time to make every ego in the representatives’ room resent you. Anthony projected an image of what he wanted people to see. He knew that if he projected himself as a playboy no one would look any deeper and know his secret.
Before his time as a Pennsylvania House Representative and after an illustrious college D1 wrestling career Anthony decided to forgo further pursuit of international wrestling and enlisted in military where he thrived as an intelligence officer. Anthony was deployed for the Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe working at the Joint Force Command in Naples (JFC Naples). Working for NATO the responsibility for the Allied Forces of Southern Europe and beyond is to combat aggression covertly by whatever means necessary in the defense of NATO territory and forces. His commanding officer from the assignment in Naples, Larry Stevens eventually became the head of the Pennsylvania State police and tapped Anthony to work as a Special Agent for the State Police doing mostly undercover work that by its nature was dangerous.
For the last six months Anthony had been doing one job, that of the representative of the people who elected him. As nice as it was to have a break from undercover work, he knew that it wouldn’t be long before something happens, it always does. In this morning, he was enjoying strolling through the capital and enjoying the sights.
He came up to a group of administrative assistants and smiled, “Good morning, ladies,” he said with his best smile and stopped to give them the impression that he cared about what they were doing. There were two distinct types of administrative assistants, one that was serious and wanted to move up the political ladder. Those he wouldn’t bother with. Then there were the others who were drawn to power, those are the ones that are ripe. After the Monica Lewinsky scandal for the rest of that summers her hairstyle could be seen on most women who crave to be close to power. It was like those women put a neon sign on their back, pick me.
“Yo, Anthony.,” representative Steve Zebretski called from across hallway. Steve is in the house representing a rural area about twenty miles north of Scranton. Being Italian Anthony normally gets two kinds of greetings, the one Steve used, the yo from Rocky or the how you doin from Joey Tribbiani from Friends.
“What’s up boss?”
“I wanted to make sure you are with us of HB-217,” Steve answered, “We’re not gonna win but we need to stick together.”
Steve Zebretski was a diligent and dedicated state representative. He cared deeply about his work for the people. Anthony cared about getting elected again, “I’m all over it Steve, don’t worry I got your back.”
Anthony knew the role he played. He was a solid vote for his party. If he voted the way his party wanted him to vote he knew there would never be a primary opponent. The party would stop anyone from running against him. His seat was in a heavily gerrymandered district thanks to the majority party which meant that it would be almost impossible for someone in the majority party to beat him in a district that was seventy-five percent of his party.
Strutting along the hallway Anthony walked like he owned the place. He made a point of giving a cordial wave to those he knew casually and firm handshake to those he knew personally. He made the time to thank Dave for his tireless work as the clock winder for the Commonwealth. Dave’s job is to walk around the halls of the capital with his trusty ladder and wind each of the antique clocks in the commonwealth complex. Dave worked for the Commonwealth for more than thirty years. After all that time he earns an incredibly good salary and nice pension for putting a key in a hole and winding a clock.
Once in his office Anthony could let down his guard, he walked to the room next to his office where his Office Manager worked. Denise Brown could not be mistaken for one of the young attractive assistants. She was in her mid-fifties with a medium frame and presented a mature beauty. She had long dark brunette hair with streaks of white. While Anthony was able to have more than his share of women he did not socialize in his office, the people in his office were there to help his stay in office. And there was no better conductor for the orchestra in his office than Denise. For her age Denise was attractive but that isn’t why she is Anthony’s Office Manager. Denise runs the Anthony Ricci show. She is the most competent person Anthony has ever known.
Anthony stopped in the middle of the open office to admire his crew. Everyone was working on something. Many were likely engaged in assisting Anthony’s constituents with navigating governmental procedures. Anthony recognized that each individual he supported represented a potential vote.
Denise lifted her head from the computer when Anthony walked into her personal office, she checked the time on the computer, “It’s ten till ten, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ve got time don’t I,” Anthony answered, “I always check in here first.”
“The vote for HB-217 starts in ten minutes, you want to get there and vote early and get the hell out of there.” Denise scolded.
Most representatives would resent such an intelligent strong-willed woman like Denise, Anthony loved it, “Am I a yes or no on HB-217?”
“Holy shit, you’re a damn no. No, you vote no. Do I have to write that on your hand. Now go vote you jackass, I know you’re pulling my chain.”
Anthony chuckled and straightened his tie and left the office as quickly as he came in. Walking to the House Chamber he thought, I’m a no on HB-217. I won’t tell Denise I didn’t remember. At seven, after ten Anthony entered the house floor and made his way to his desk. He was stopped by Zebretski, “I appreciated your support on this one. We won’t have enough no votes to stop the vote, but we can make a point.”
Relieved that Denise had him voting with Steve, “You can always count on me. Now let me go and vote here. There are things I need to attend too.”
Anthony didn’t sit at his desk, he opened the voting device and pressed No. He turned and walked out the shortest way from the chamber. He thought as he closed the doors behind him. This is the best job in the world. All I have to do is place the right votes and keep my nose clean and not piss off the party and I got a job for life.
Chapter 2
The atrocity. Fresh is the mind as it was thirteen years ago. Ever since that night when the world ended for them, they started to plot revenge.
Now, the first one will fall but he will not be the last. All must pay the price, or no one will pay.
Paster Trent Armstrong started the day as normal. Trent was a fifty-two-year-old balding man. He stands almost six feet tall and at two-hundred sixty pounds it is obvious that over the years he is exceptionally soft around the middle. His job does not help, he sits at a desk all day drinking coke and eating potato chips at a dead-end job working as a receiving clerk at the American Importers Trucking company. At the trucking company he is the nephew of Big Jim Armstrong where everyone including Trent knows the only reason, he has a job, even this menial job is because he is family.
Where Paster Trent Armstrong has status is at the Christian Fundamental Church of the Devine. He preaches the fundamentalists principals that women are to subject themselves to their husbands. Where men are superior, and women are expected to obey men in every way. He is not the main preacher. He became a paster in the church through his connections with his Uncle Jim. The process was easy, the church paid for the online class and gave him the answers to the test. In the afternoon he went from Trent to Paster Trent.
He hasn’t worked his way up to the big time preaching on Sunday morning for the television production that the church produces every Sunday. He has played a shepherd in the Christmas Eve extravaganza service. And he has worked his way into a special counsel that works covertly for the interests of the church. For the time being he preaches to families and children in the classrooms of the church campus on Wednesday evenings and Sunday afternoons.
Trent left his home and with his wife Charity with a grunt of “See you later.” He drove his eight-year-old Ford F150 to Starbucks a half a mile from his home and ordered his usual.
“Yea, can I get a bacon cheddar and egg sandwich, extra bacon. And a cinnamon caramel cream cold brew venti?”
He was driving from the drive through when his iPhone notified him that he had a message from a social media application that specializes in no questions asked sex hook ups. Trent exited the road and parked in the nearest parking lot, then stuffed the sandwich into his mouth dripping bacon juice on his face. He opened the app and found he received a message from GirlOnHerKnees, In town for a college thing, love to fuck you 😊.
Trent clicked on the name GirlOnHerKnees and looked at her picture, “The picture is hot.” The profile says she is nineteen and she currently lives in State College. What made Trent shift in his seat was under the profile where it said my limits, her answer was the back of my throat. Under status it said single and looking for older married men to have their way with me.
Her profile looked like it was legit and not a troll, and her picture looked too good not to reply. He thought, you are hot. Then decided not to type that, “Everyone must tell her that.”
Then he wrote, I was on my way to work but I’d love to meet?
GirlOnHerKnees wrote back immediately, I really really need it now, can you blow off work, then I can blow you off 😊.
A bead of sweat rolled from the back of Trent’s hair and down his neck. He shifted in his seat to adjust his pants. His hands trembled just a bit when he answered, “I own the company. Where are you, I will be there.
A perk from being the nephew of Big Jim Armstrong was that if he was late or didn’t show, nothing happened to him. It wouldn’t be the first time that Trent didn’t show for work for a hook up. And not the first time he lied to someone telling them he owned the company.
GirlOnHerKnees answered again very quickly, At the Dave’s Inn, room 138.
Dave’s Inn was a small motel owned by an independent operator about three miles from where Trent was parked. They played on the name association with a big chain, even the sign resembled the chain. From what Trent remembered it looked clean enough from the outside, certainly not a place that one would think was rented by the hour.
Trent answered, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
The answer came back as Trent was putting his truck in drive, Door is open & I’m naked on the bed.
The normal trip would take ten minutes. Trent made it in five. His truck slid to a stop on the gravel parking lot in front of room 138 between a work van and a Honda Accord. He exhaled heavily and tried to will his erection to subside. Before leaving the truck Trent looked in every direction for anyone that might see him. There was no one out and about in the area so he brushed what was left of his hair with his fingers and got out of the truck and walked to the door.
Tentatively Trent tested the doorknob. A broad smile broke on his face when the knob turned with no resistance, “I’m gonna fuck a nineteen-year-old,” he whispered to himself when he opened the door and stepped inside.
His eyes blinded, walking in from the bright of the day to the dark of the room he rubbed them with his fingers excited to see what waited for him. Before the door closed, he felt the electric shock of a taser burn into his neck that dropped him to his knees. The next moment he felt a pinch in his arm. Before the pain of the taser subsided, his eyes rolled in the back of his head as he landed on his side. His eyes adjusted to the dark, he looked up before he passed out. Oh fuck, he thought as he lost consciousness.
The sound of water lapping gently to the island struck a rhythmed background to the work that is being done. Humming It’s a Wonderful World to accompany the lapping the worker set to the task at hand. A board that resembles an old ironing board with a set of legs missing rested with the square end touching the old wooden floor of the cabin and the tapered end resting on the one set of legs projected up at forty-five degrees.
In days almost forgotten the oasis on the island felt like a middle-class French Riviera. Coveted plots on land that had a view of the towers of three-mile island from their back door and the small river town of Goldsboro from the front have been passed down from generation to generation. The fortunate few who had a cabin on the island would come here on the weekends to get away from life a few miles away. A small boat is all that was needed to bring supplies for family cookouts and making memories. How superior they thought they were to the slugs of people who went to the public islands on the Susquehanna River. Where a half-broken picnic table and filthy corroded grill was the best, they could do if they were lucky.
Before they became teenagers the worker loved the weekly adventure of going to the island. Going exploring in the nearby woods and wetlands for frogs or bugs. Or to find a hidden treasure in the odd rock or something that washed up on the beach. By the time they hit their teens the worker grew bored with the weekly excursions that stole the weekend. The thought of another charred burger or hotdog and potato salad repulsed them. The teenage years for anyone would be rebellious times, and for the worker they were no different. Of course, their rebellion was limited by their very strict parents. They were limited to small victories such as reading books forbidden by their parents after they were supposed to be sleeping. Outwardly, they grew up in a perfect family. They and their siblings never engaged in normal sibling rivalry where anyone outside the family could see. Their parents always wear that Cheshire cat smile that to a trained eye knew was not real. Their parents believed that they were the ultimate authority over their children. Any deviation from their parents’ commands demanded swift and painful punishment. As they grew older, they realized they didn’t love their parents, when they thought about it, they didn’t even like them much. They obeyed them out of fear of punishment with no thought of affection.
This place once again has become an oasis. In their mid-thirties this cabin on the island became a refuge as it was in their pre-teen existence. A place to be alone, to escape oppression. A place to be secluded and work towards justice. The tool of choice for this task is a knife twelve inches in length with an orange handle on each end. This tool is specific to the task. The worker was using a tool that resembled a carving draw knife. The task at hand was a messy one but necessary. After applying the brain oils on the stretched skin on the fleshing beam to do its magic it was time to do the dirty work. In a chair with the board resting on their chest the worker used short quick strokes with the fleshing knife to remove fat from the hide.
Satisfied that all the fat had been removed from the hide and the scraps placed neatly in two buckets, the worker drew fresh water into a black tub. They mixed natural soap into the tub and swirled it around with a soft brush and placed the hides into the tub to soak to soften and wash away remnants of remaining blood.
Sweat clung to the worker’s shirt, they felt the sudden chill of the crisp September air as they carried two buckets of scraps across the lawn and between two oak trees that framed the back of the cottage towards the river’s edge. At the edge of the river, they walked between the opening of a line of Fraser Fir trees, their father planted them to use as Christmas trees but found he liked the added privacy from weekend gawkers who could not afford a cabin on the Susquehanna River. Between the trees the worker walked onto the worn grey wooden dock where their fourteen-foot Crestliner boat was docked. With two comfortable seats in the front as well as a steering wheel and a windshield this boat could be used for cruising the river or fishing. The forty-horsepower motor could get you where you wanted to go in a hurry.
At the end of the small dock the worker released the first bucket of fat and blood into the river and watched the contents vanish into the murky brown water. They rinsed any trace of blood from the bucket and repeated the process with the next. A plastic chair screwed to the dock provided a resting spot to drink in the cool air and enjoy the wind moving through the tree limbs making them dance. They smiled remembering a folklore repeated by their fun uncle, the one everyone has in their family. The one who is a bachelor with no children and as free as a soul as you can imagine. Their Uncle Sam was the one who gave them their first motorcycle ride when they were ten years old, to the anger of their father.
“I bet Bessie will enjoy the meal I dumped into the river,” they said to no one.
The story goes that a mud catfish got a dose of radiation during the Three Mile Island disaster in April of 1979. The radiation made it grow to more than thirty feet and still roams the river close to the Three Mile Island. Supposedly, fish can not satisfy the mud cat’s appetite, so he feeds on children who swim in his domain. They laughed at the naivete of their youth, the one summer swimming in the river was a very nervous experience. All anyone had to do was brush a submerged tree branch to evacuate everyone from the water.
With the buckets stacked within each other the worker slid into the plastic Adirondack chair on the dock and allowed the cool breeze to dry the sweat from their body. After thirty minutes they figured that the clean water and soap had done its job to soften the hide and remove and remnants.
Once inside the cabin they gently brushed the now soft hides removing the stubborn fat that clung to the hide. The work went faster than they anticipated, in a little over an hour the worker draped the two sections of hide over a rack to inspect their work. Satisfied that their work was good, they started to punch holes around the perimeter of the hides. Using twine, they tied a quick fishing knot and slipped the untied ends through holes drilled in a wooden rack. One by one, they tied the end of the twine to each hole in the hides until they had two racks with a hide stretched tight. It would take a few days to finish tanning the hides before they could be used.
The work had been completed the same day. It was necessary to make certain the hide turned out right the skin had to be removed within a few hours of the kill. If the fat remained for any length of time the hide would be ruined. Darkness had just started to blanket the island and with all the blinds tucked tightly against the windows all that illuminated the cabin were two bare sixty-watt bulbs on old lights brought from home.
One task remained for the day. Before embarking on the last step, the worker went into the small kitchen and made a rewarding ham and cheese sandwich and pulled an ice-cold iced tea from the refrigerator. Sitting on a couch that once resided in their father’s house they drank a large gulp from the tea. Before now they didn’t realize how hungry they were, after a large bite from the sandwich to satisfy that hunger, they admired the work. Like any job, using the correct tool for the application is key. The skinning knife they used was than ten inches from the pommel to the point. The blade had a half-moon shape and razor sharp. The entire blade measures a little over five inches. It allowed the worker to shape the cut into the skin and extract it with almost no plunging which cut down on the amount of blood spilled.
Glistening against the bare bulb the hides had already started to look perfect. Hanging by the neck from the central rafter a naked man dangled with two distinct squares of skin removed, one from each buttock.
The day had turned from blue to gray, the twilight hour signaling the time to complete the last task of the day. Releasing the knot holding the man and using a pulley system the worker slowly lowered the body into a wheel barrel lined with a sturdy tarp. With great effort they maneuvered the wheelbarrow off the small porch down the temporary ramp they constructed with spare lumber to the front yard.
Using the cover of twilight and the Douglas Fir trees the worker navigated to the pier. They drew the line holding the Crestliner as tight as possible to the dock and secured the boat. Using the tarp, they rolled the dead man onto the boat, the sides of the boat concealing the man. At this time of the day and year there is almost no traffic on the river.
They turned on the lights at either end of the boat and started along Shelly Island on the Goldsboro side down river along a route they had traveled so many times that they didn’t need daylight to miss all the low spots in the river. Just past the southern tip of Shelly Island where the water runs deep the worker lowered the throttle and put the Mercury forty- horsepower motor in neutral, to hold their position.
Unceremoniously, the worker attached the tarp to cleats on the side of the boat, then lifting the opposite end of the tarp they raised the body up and over the side. As the body vanished into the depths of the Susquehanna River the worker laughed, “Goodbye, watch out for Bessie.”
Mike Settino 