357 What a Mess I Am

Driving that shitty old pick up truck home, I did not feel good about myself. I knew that I had stepped over a line inside that bar. I didn’t do it for a purpose. I wasn’t trying to find out who sold shit out of the back door. I wasn’t trying to gain acceptance into that group. No, I did it just to see how it felt to do it. That was totally an act of immorality, for the sake being immoral. Maybe they were right at the farm. Maybe I had no human emotions or judgment left. Maybe I had become just a fucking machine.

I would have to come to some kind of understanding of my new self, or I was likely to have a robo breakdown. What the hell that would be like, I had no idea. Probably no one else did either. At that moment I would bet the farm wished they had stopped at the Eve version.

I reminded myself that I had a job to do, so I put all those feelings in the ‘deal with it later’ box and buried it in the back of my circuits or where ever it was stored. I maneuvered the truck down the highway, then into the alley behind my townhouse.

I was disgusted with myself, but that couldn’t have any effect on my thinking or actions. In other human terms, I had to forgive myself now, and try to resolve it later. I did just that. Sitting at the foot of my bed and looking out over the street. I just said to myself, “You have done worse girl. Maybe this is the worst thing you have done to yourself, but by far it isn’t the worst thing you have done overall. You will get past the self loathing, you always have. Put it behind you and get your eye back on the job at hand.” And I did just that.

I sat there looking at the occasional cop car, or work truck roll past my window and I charged my power pack. After I got to the full stage, I switched to the MP3 player and listened to classical music till dawn. I had no idea to who or what I was listening, but it was nice music. I had downloaded something called ‘Classical Music 4 Five AM.” That title would never do for an album cover, but it was a nice sound at 5AM.

At 8AM on a dreary Saturday morning with a light mist, I took the bike to breakfast. I wore my special rain suit, and I was grateful that I didn’t have a fancy hairdo to worry about. That rain didn’t do the Gunny’s bike any good, but I really wanted to get out and try to wash the stink of the night before off my soul. If a roboslut had a soul, that is. Okay I at least had the old Maxine’s bag of guilt.

I walked into Helen’s and there sat Carrie Thompson. Shit, I thought, that is all I need. Now and then a black patrol officer or a paramedic would come in with his white partner, but black cops or medics sitting alone were few and far between.

I had no idea why, because if anyone of any race or gender got treated badly there would be hell to pay. If the other patrons didn’t stop it, Helen would have everyone’s ass. It was pretty clear to everyone that the Sit Down was open just for the cops, firemen, and medical people of the town. If they fucked it up, Helen would close it.

She could make just as much money with a truck parked outside city hall or outside the hospital and everyone knew it. The sit down had been my idea, so I also had an interest in it staying open.

“So good morning Detective Thompson,” I said sitting down. I was pretty damn sure she was waiting for me.

“So Ms. Stone, I see you rode that bicycle in the fucking rain. Are you crazy or just a Masochist?” she asked.

“There are people who come don’t on either side of that question. It just depends on who you ask.” I said.

“I asked you,” she replied in true cop fashion.

“I’m trying to do my penitence,” I suggested.

“Oh and what have you done that you need to repent?” she asked.

“Fucked half the guys in a biker bar last night,” I said.

“Okay, don’t tell me. What I really came to ask is what you have in mind for my Uncle Jerome?” Thompson did not look pleasant at all.

“I don’t plan to kill him and I don’t plan to frame him for anything, other than that I really can’t say. Now you tell me, do you plan to warn him?” I asked while looking her dead in the eye. “Because if you do, you could get one of my people hurt and I would take that very personally.”

“Did you just threaten a police officer?” she asked.

“Did that sound like a threat. I thought it was a warning. You do know that I tape record everything anyone says to me. If anything happens to my operative, who will be operating under my PI license, I will play this conversation for the chief of police. Now that was a threat.” I said.

“You really are a bitch,” she said.

“If being a bitch was a crime, you and I could share a cell.” I said it while I smiled at her. It did not appear that I would be enjoying the same relationship with the Aster PD as I had before Blevins retired. Oh well, you play the hand life deals you, I thought.

My rain suit wasn’t plastic it was a lightweight but fleece lined nylon type product. It also had a thin coat of a rubber like material applied to the outside of it. It was in other words expensive as hell, but it would seem warm to the average person. The pant legs were tight enough, so that I had to zip and unzip them to get in and out of it.

I mention that because when I got to the mall, I took the five minutes required to remove the pants and pull over top. The pull over was large enough so that it just slipped off.

Since I had spent time in the Sit Down talking to Carrie Thompson, I was way warm. The creator in all his wisdom had arranged it so that some of the water in the disposal reservoir excreted through my skin. In other words I did what every woman hates to do. I would sweat like a real person. Not one of his better ideas, as far as I was concerned. I removed the top when I got to the mall to discover that I was damp inside my tee. Fortunately my chemise soaked up enough so that there were just a few stains, and they weren’t anywhere embarrassing.

I wore middle school gym shorts with the colors of the Aster middle school. And a matching Tee shirt from their basketball team. I had the number 16 on my tee. I bought the outfit from the First Baptist Church’s yard sale the month before. Yes I love yard sales, I admit it.

Anyway there I was in the slightly cool mall hustling around in my basketball outfit. I would bet my ass that it was a boys outfit, even though there were no buttons or other clues. Even in the very skimpy outfit, I had a box opener in the waist band. That particular box opener had a clip on the handle. I expect it was so that the store clerk could keep up with it. It worked well for me to do the same. I knew exactly where it was at all times.

I hustled around my three miles and was putting the funky rain suit back on when Dancer walked up. “Maxine don’t let anything happen to Simon Jerrod please,” she said.

“He isn’t your son, is he?” I asked just to get under her skin.

“Nothing like that, but he has had a hard life,” she suggested.

“I am going to personally be his backup out there. It’s the very best I can do sweetie. I don’t know that it will ease your mind, but it is the best I can do.” I said.

“Leon told him how dangerous it could be. He knows it is not a paper pushing job, but I still worry,” she said.

“I honestly don’t think it will be life threatening. I think he can handle anything else, or I wouldn’t put him in there.” I said

“I guess that will have to be good enough,” she said.

“If it were something you could do, I would put you in. Does that make it better,” I said.

“Not really, but thanks for letting me talk. I like your rain gear by the way. You look like cat woman.” she smiled for the first time.

“Yeah, it’s the look I had in mind. You know how I love rubber,” I said.

It was Saturday, but the weather just sucked, so there wouldn’t be any diversions at all. I knew how a teenager felt, since I needed something to get my mind off the drama in my head.

The best diversion I could come up with was to show the model house. I showed the Bluebird since we didn’t want to sell the Robin for a while. I must have shown that house five times to people who could not afford the down payment.

“You know I can buy almost any other house in town with no down payment or at least only a little down payment.” the young father said.

“Yes, I am sure of that. And I will not be one bit upset if you do just that. This project is not for everyone. The deal is that if you buy one of those houses, first you will need a Realtor. That is fine because you don’t pay him or her the seller does. But the seller is going to add her commission to the price of that house.

The Realtor is going to show you the largest house for which you qualify. It will make her commission more. Most of the banks in town will qualify you for a house, and just hope you can make the payments. At the time you apply you can make the payments. Usually it is just barely but that’s okay because on paper you are fine. Then your car goes and you have to add in a three or four hundred dollar car payment. Then your kid gets sick or your wife get pregnant again and you are no longer able to make that payment. You know the one that was based on your expenses at the time you bought the house. Tell me son, then what?”

He didn’t answer his wife was nodding her head. I knew that she wanted bigger and glitzier, so I didn’t say any more. The two of them left with the young man carrying the baby cradle like thing in his hand. I wished them luck, because they were the ones for whom I built the project. The town was full of them, so it was just a matter of time before someone came along who could swing it.

Of the first ten houses all of them had been sold except the four models. We were pre-selling the next ten on which work would begin Monday. I had thirty of the ninety houses purchased. When I sold twenty, I would arrange for thirty more. The contract was drawn so all I had to do was transfer the money and they were mine.

Saturday turned into Saturday night in spite of my best efforts to stop it. Everyone was doing something, but I decided to stay home and just do nothing at all. I was very good at just allowing time to pass. There was nothing I could really do until Monday.

I got a call from Peter around 9PM. He had the equipment purchased and would be programing it the next day. He and Sylvia had gone to some kind of dance thing at the Tryon Coliseum, so he had not worked on the phone things at all Saturday.

“You better have it working on Monday or you will regret having watched some chick in tights jump up and down,” I said.

After that call I was alone with my thoughts which weren’t all that deep. I relived a lot of my life and did the stupor thing looking out the window at the rain a lot as well. It was a pleasant evening.

About cindypress

sorry it is a mystery.
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8 Responses to 357 What a Mess I Am

  1. GaryDan says:

    Looks like the links to Larry’s Pics are broken.
    Ack….Maxine’s roomba 6000 is changing into a Sybian with a vagina… :-0
    I hope she can deal with the conflict that is brewing between her humanity (what’s left of it) and her borg.

  2. GaryDan says:

    Oops…Larry’s pic links are working now. Nice!!

  3. cindypress says:

    Yes it was me working with the pics inside the post no idea what was wrong but I did it twenty times before one took.

    The humanity reconciliation has to come sometime for sure but I need to put it off till she goes on vacations somewhere. Somewhere that she can have a complete meltdown without anyone knowing.

    • larryleather says:

      Maybe somewhere warm and tropical would be a nice change for Maxine. She can lounge on the beach somewhere. Wonder if her skin is programmed to tan?

      BTW, more of Maxine can be seen at http://leatherworksvideo.wordpress.com/

      • cindypress says:

        I checked all those out last night and I will be pulling from your library now and then if you dont mind. Sign them like you did the last one please so that you get credit/

      • Walt says:

        Great Pictures, Larry. I noticed the POW shirt. I have a POW flag flying beneath the American Flag on my flagpole.

        Here is a neat motorcycle for Max. Don’t fear the link, it is my own website and is safe.

      • larryleather says:

        Thanks Walt … I am actually working in a 3D Virtual World with an avatar I call Maxie (Maxine Stone was taken), some of the things I build/create others I buy from virtual stores or I go out into the ‘World’ like Max would and cruise around until I find a place that matches the story. I will have to record video of her and put it on my YouTube Channel. Much of what I am doing now is creating sets so I can create a Maxine comic book. I have created seperate avatars for the major players. Next will be capturing it and converting it to a Comic Book style.

        That motorcycle seat is great … I have been looking for a hammerless .38 … I may have to contact one of the weapons people and see if they can make one … If you happen to wander into SecondLife.com seach for MaxieStone … she’ll get back to you!

      • Walt says:

        Yes I mean to mention that maybe the holster idea on the motorcycle could somehow be transposed to her bicycle. But then again with her parking it outside the mall or other places it wouldn’t pay to leave the weapon there. But I just thought it fix Maxine.

        I bought a .38 Special but now wish I had bought a hammerless one. Also it only has 5 shots instead of 6. I had to settle for that because I could not cock the pistols that had magazines. Guess I’m getting weak in my old age.

        Oh the other hand, if “they are determined to get me” then I suppose it won’t matter how many shots I have in the pistol or the shotgun (holds 4 cartridges).

        Hollowpoints – For Those Who Care To Send The Very Best.

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