Chapter 1: T-MawMature

After a botched robbery a woman is dead with a thousand diamonds in her mouth, a man in a yacht has gone missing, and the only lead happens to be insane.


“My gums were sour, and tender. Every damn inch. It was the tenth one in all of my life and this was the only way I knew how to cope with it, you know. I had put in 5 pouched of wintergreen dip. Yes, the sort that gives you mouth cancer, bad breath, and yellow teeth. I’ve heard it all before. But that doesn’t matter too much does it? Should it even? Yeah so, there I was, sweaty and smacking away at the little baggies in my mouth. There were still about 2 hours before anything of the NAME would actually be taking place and still I couldn’t get myself to leave the room. Even to grab some fresh air or ride around for a half hour, maybe pick up one of those crab cake sandwiches my neighbor Damien keeps telling me about. He’s always barging in, in account that my lock has been broken for the past 8 months which isn’t any fault of mine considering I have called the maintenance man about 18 times. Anyway he’s always telling me to head over to Cardin Grooves and pick up one of their crab cake sandwiches. Or, if it’s too much trouble he tells me that he can go get one for me. He’s a nice guy Damien, and at most times when I’m hungry I do think of heading over to Cardin Grooves to get one of those sandwiches. But every time he comes in, he’s always fumbling around with my things, you know. It would be bearable if it was out of admiration or even a fleeting sense of interest, but no, it’s out of Damien not being able to cope with situation that he put himself in. Because he has 1. Intruded on my place and 2. Is able to comprehend my passive aggression towards him, he finds that he has lost control of his hands. Then, in the tenth attempt, in the week mind you, of getting me to grab some god damn crab cake, he will start fondling  my pictures, keys, cellphone, magazines, books, and switch blade, while pitching the idea. The switchblade is what really gets me nervous. It’s always those goddamn crab cake sandwiches too, as if he eats nothing else. Hell that might actually be all he eats for all I know. Some variety would be nice Damien, godammit, you one trick pony. He moved in about 6 months ago, with Margery. She’s his aid, his mental aid that is, you know. Damien suffers from severe Autism and a small bit of Schizophrenia. That’s why he’s a nice guy enough, I just wished he would be able to come into my room without touching my things and making an ass out of himself. It’s probably best I hadn’t eaten the crab cake sandwich though, before the heist that is. It would have all came up at some point.


There I was, sitting in my room, TV off, computer off, lights off, and letting my thoughts melt. I was trying to distract myself from thinking too much about the NAME, because it was the biggest one we had ever tried to do. I was sweating pretty badly and Damien had just come in about 30 minutes ago talking about his crab cakes. So that was still fresh in my mind, heading out and grabbing some of that crab cake. But then I started thinking about Margery, the nurse and her curves because she was the last person I had seen that day besides Damien. She was pretty enough, I think, though a bit on the chubby side. It really showed in her bottom, her ass, but I like a girl with a little bit on that side you know. Something to grab onto and push onto from time to time. She was nice enough too, always dealing with Damien’s bullshit. He probably touched all of her things and talked about who knows what to her. Whoa, that Margery really made me think. And think. And think. It wasn’t enough though, the NAME was still in my mind, like an itch you have right before you get to sleep. I kept thinking about the heist and Margery and Damien, the maintenance man, the itch on my side, the computer, Clutch, Clutch’s fucking teeth, my sweat, Santra’s new boob job, the man in the glass submarine, the mech- Oh, I’m sorry. I always start rambling, you know. Especially when I talk about what I was thinking or doing, I was rambling a bit. Then and right now I guess, I apologize. You want to know about the heist, right? Well it all had to do with that fucking girl Santra and her goddamn boob job. You don’t think it was anything else do you? The money sure, yeah, but the tits were the thing that did it. They were the reason why Clutch even fucking agreed to any of it, you know. Those fucking tits, they had him slobbering the moment she came in. I saw it in his eyes right then and there. They had me going to for a minute, right before she opened her mouth and started talking to us like we were on a leash. Boy does that turn me off, you know, when a girl gets sloppy like that. Always fucking asking for respect than dishing out that goddamn bullshit all the time. With her fucking tits too. Clutch will tell you all about them, those tits soon enough. And if he won’t then I can tell you about them. She got them did at that plastic surgery place off the Wells Walk and Bortundra, next to that Yokuzuna Sushi the one with the huge sumo wrestler statue out in the front. Great place to eat by the way, the owners a fucking man’s man, you know. But yeah, she got them done there, for 8,000 fucking dollars. The only reason why I know that, and don't think of me as some snoop who has to know all that kind of stuff because I’m not, the reason was Roofer kept fucking spouting away that nonsense. Don’t ask me where he got that information from cause’ I don’t want to know, but he knew confident enough. Roofer didn’t lie much either, and he didn’t care for those tits as much as Clutch did. He’s a better guy you know. At the heist business too, not just as a person. But he knew how much she paid somehow and wouldn’t shut up about it. The moment she called us in, she called us her “boys” like as if she owned us or something. On a leash I tell you, she thought anyway. Then she was always talking about that submarine and that man inside of it, the glass one. No not the man, he was made of flesh like you and me. The submarine was glass, you know right. I always forget his name. Dortmund or something like that. Dartright, maybe? I don’t remember, and it doesn’t really matter, does it? He’s dead now anyway.


I apologize for not making much sense, sir. I just can’t get my head wrapped around that goddamn heist without sweating too much. I don’t know why I can’t just get it out of me, cause’ back at my apartment with Damien and Margery that’s all I could think about. But now, now that it’s over I can’t get my head around it at all. I barely even remember it, you know. I have a problem with that, my thoughts always get jumbled up like this. I apologize, I know I promised to tell you all about it, to get those fucking goons who killed that woman and that man in the submarine you know. But it doesn’t make much sense does it, the heist that is, anymore. But I swear it happened, hell you know about it. That’s why I’m here right? RIGHT!? Yeah yeah. At Least you know that woman died, that much you guys know. You’ve got to be patient with me. I remember Roofer loved her, he cried because she was dead. Whatever you do don’t put Roofer on the chair please, he’s lost a good deal. Not just from the NAME though, he’d lost a lot before I even met him.  He’s a good guy really, he’s the best guy around. This business makes you know all these shitheads who don’t know what they’re talking about. Everyone’s all on and on about the take, the ways it’s gonna be split, and all that nonsense. But Roofer always got that stuff out of the way in his head before it all happens. Making sure everyone's safe and all that, all caught up and in the know. Maybe that’s why he knew about that tit job, because he wanted nothing to be a secret. It was a dumb thing to spill out but I can’t argue that it wasn’t fact. And the more facts you know, especially about the heist you’re doing, the better for everyone. Clutch could never think that clear, for NAME or otherwise, he was always pestering himself about the money and the cut and the share, equipment we had and all that nonsense. I was the one who made all those things, the equipment that is, and I didn’t really care for it as much as he did. People dig their own holes, you know. He always told me I was a great guy for building all the detectors, the goggles, the sticky pads we used for coverage, and all the other things, which when I first met him I thought he might have been being honest. The more I got to know him, the more we worked together, I began to figure out it wasn’t me that he appreciated as much as he appreciated the goddamn automated glass cutters I made. They’re not that hard to figure out if you take some time to learn circuitry and some simple engineering. But Clutch cared so much about the things, you know. God it got my stomach tugging in eight different directions thinking about Clutch and his fucking teeth, and the things he said. Before the heist, in my room, I kept thinking about him saying “you’re the man.” It was not in any way, in any sort of way I could look at it, genuine. That made me sweat more than anything, and I swear to you if I could get a mapping out of the whole thing, the heist that is, I could prove to you if he had just never said those words “you’re the man” that woman wouldn't be dead. He said it like it was some stamp he gave everyone. I could never make that map though, I just get caught up with myself. It isn’t all nonsense, I hope, because I swear it makes sense all this stuff, even if right now I can’t figure it all out. I always forget her name too. That woman who died. It starts with a C. Carly, Catie even? I can’t remember, I apologize. It’ll come back to me though, some time, and I’ll be sure to tell you all of everything. She was really beautiful, inside and out you know. Roofer could tell too, he knew it instantly, I think that’s when he fell in love. He told me all about it, how he fell in love and all that, but that doesn’t matter right now. To tell you the truth, I can’t even remember when he told me, but I’m sure if I back track enough, if I can get all of this out of me, I could get around to telling you. All of it, to all of you guys, to get those assholes. They killed her, I swear. And that man in the glass submarine.


Anyway, there I was sitting in my room, sweating away, and chomping on that wintergreen. About an hour out, Clutch gave me call. He told me that the something had changed and that we had to meet up immediately if we were to pull the whole thing off. He told me that they were meeting at the usual place, out in the Isle’s. There we had set up a sort of meet up, deep in. There was an abandoned building from the 20’s which used to be a jail and a water treatment place. Unrelated times of course, could you imagine convicts fucking clearing water and that nonsense back in those times. It was a jail before it was a treatment place is what I’m getting at. After that, sometime in the 50’s or something, they changed it into a water treatment place. All that matters now is that it had been abandoned for quite some time. Until we set up shop that is, in that crumby old building. It’s off the river, deep into the isle, I could show you guys if you took me there. I’m bad with explaining directions, but if we were headed there in a car or something I could get there for sure. Hundred percent sure I could get you guys there, if you let me of course. But yeah, he told me that we were meeting up, and something had gone wrong. A “hiccup” he said. I could see his teeth through the call I swear. Smiling. Calling it a fucking “hiccup.” He told me to bring all of my things, and that they’d explain the problem when I got there. I agreed and that’s when he said it again, that thing that gets me going. I almost lost it there on the phone, I was already sweating so much. He said, “You’re the man” and then hung up. God, I’m sweating now just thinking about it. That motherfucker and his fucking words I swear to god he killed them. He’s the one you should put on that chair. Not Roofer. Anyway, I got my things together, even past my sweat and the dip in my mouth, I got all of my things into my duffel bag. I believe you guys found it, there at the hotel, with the camo print. No, it had the Vietnam print, the duffle bag that is, the one you guys found at the hotel. I fit everything in there, for everyone. In my duffle bag. I just can’t believe, my duffel bag you know. I left it there. At the hotel, there, I was the one. Me of all people left it there. For fucks sake how could I just leave it there? SO STUPID! FOR FUCKS SAKE! HOW COULD I HAVE LEFT IT THERE?”


“I apologize, I had to turn off the tape recorder for a second. I was getting real worked up but I’ve forgotten about it now, I think. I remember talking about the isle I’m pretty sure. Yes, had to be the isle I was talking about. Anyway I grabbed all of my things, the things that they needed, and put them all in my duffle and headed out. Out to my car. I don't necessarily have a driver’s license but I have never been pulled over my whole life. It’s true and if you don’t believe me then go ahead and look up my name on one of your computers there out in the lobby or in the office rooms you have and try to find me. Because you won’t. At Least not anything about my driving or having a license or anything. I haven’t gotten pulled over once, even when I’ve been drunk. And I drink and drive a lot you know, cause you have to get where you're going doesn’t matter how. That’s always been my saying, most definitely. You gotta get there, no matter what even if you don’t know where it is you’re going. You have to try and get there. Just try, you know. I never meant to drive with no license, but I did it. It wasn’t on purpose, I just didn’t have the time, but I tried to get where I was going. Didn’t matter if I was drunk or not, cause it usually doesn’t anyway. That piece of plastic in everyone's wallets, which stick out when you open them, it don’t really mean anything. It just tells them, and by “them” I guess I mean you all, it tells you all who I am and what I’ve done. But that doesn’t usually cut it when you’re trying to get to know someone. You gotta talk to them, you know, not just any old talk. You gotta spend time with someone to know um, not by talking down to them through a badge and such. You have to try and understand why someone might stammer, or not talk, or fidget, or grab some of your things from time to time, or sniffle every three minutes, or ruffle through their pockets for nothing in particular, you know. It isn’t as easy as just that card sometimes. That’s what I say anyway. Even if you don’t get to understand everyone, you gotta understand some people. Even if you hate them to death, like that shithead Clutch. But that’s why I appreciate what you all are letting me do here, though it may be a little unprecedented. I appreciate you guys letting me tell my side for a bit, so you can figure me out. I hope it all helps and I’m not just making up nonsense. I try not to speak to people because I always end up saying too much about something and people get lost. They get lost with me. I think that scares them, you know. That’s why I keep quiet most of the time. As hard as that might be to believe right now. I understand them, everyone. Every single person. I know they don’t need to hear this. But you’re letting me so I’m having a bit of fun. Not with you, I’m not trying to make you guys confused or anything. I’m having fun with myself, I’m getting it all out. You should try it sometime. Getting it ALL out you know. That’s important, I think.


Anyway I headed out to my car and fell into the seat and headed over to the isle. The drive isn’t so bad, it’s about fifteen minutes from my place, but I remember that drive in particular was cumbersome. Mostly because I had no idea what that “hiccup” clutch was talking about could have been. So many thoughts were racing through my head until I started imagining scenarios where I would have needed to make maybe one more glass cutter or another c4 charge. That got me really nervous and I couldn’t help but sweat until I drenched my clothes. I was dripping there in the car, all over the place I tell ya. I had the A/C all the way up too, it was freezing in there. That much I can admit, but I was still sweating so much, getting so cold, just thinking about that goddamn heist. I probably looked like a lunatic. But I made the drive out to the isle no problem, like I said. I always get there, no problems, no matter how much I sweat. I always get to where I’m going.


The thing about our little hide out in the isle is that there is some walking to be done to get to the actual building. To get to that old abandoned jail/water treatment place I was talking about earlier. It’s about a fifteen minute walk if you really hurry, you know, and at that point, being all sweaty and nervous, I ran there. I checked my watch, to see how long it would take me in this state I was in, of anxiety you know, for future reference. It took me only seven minutes, a new record in my book, to get past the long grass and find the path marked with the purple spray paint unicorn. The path is all uphill too, a good workout for the calves and hamstrings if you’re into those sorts of things. I was carrying my duffel bag, full of our stuff, too. If I didn’t have that damn duffel bag, I would have probably gotten there, to the building, much faster. Probably a minute or two off those seven minutes, but that doesn’t matter too much does it. That duffel bag, I swear there’s something wrong with it. It’s cursed like I said, I think it always has been. I bought it out in a flea market in New Jersey near Little Rock. It was at some church, the flea market, and the whole thing was great like all flea markets are. But that bag it was haunting you know, when I saw it I could feel it. But I needed a duffle bag, and I wasn’t going to go to some outlet mall or to a specialty place just to get one. I don’t need all that. Plus the flea market is a much more appropriate place for a person like me I think. No thrills you know, nothing unexpected. ‘Cept that bag that is, it was calling out I swear. I knew it was no good, but I needed to get it. To get to where I was going. To the heist that is, I needed it for the heist for sure! Some army man must have died with that bag, out in Vietnam, out in the Charlie, ‘cause I could feel it. The moment I picked it up, the weight that is, it was all wrong. Like someone was clinging on to it as if it was the last thing they had but they never really wanted. I could feel. I should have known then, to never get it. That cursed bag and its fucking luck. My luck. It was a bad mix, me and that goddamn bag. I should have known, for fucks sake. That poor woman, that man. Inside that goddamn submarine. They would have been fine if I hadn’t mixed with that bag, I know. Me and my luck, Charlie’s fucking words, and that bag brought this whole thing down, I’m sure of it. That poor woman. I wish I could remember her name. For fucks sake. Roofer, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Well, I was guessing then that it was no good, the bag, this scheme we had, the heist, the collective of all these things, but I had to get to where I was going you know. Roofer, you know that right, if you ever listen to this. Just don't take him to the chair please. Take me instead. I brought my own catalyst for this whole thing. I was a cause. FOR CHRIST SAKE!”


The End

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