A Glibertarians Exclusive – The Deal, Part II
May 1937 – St. Paul, Minnesota
Ad Wolgast looked across the diner table at the two Hungarians sitting opposite he and Penny Fredricks. He didn’t like the looks of them, but Ad didn’t like the looks of much of anyone other than Penny, so that wasn’t anything unusual.
“Dominik and Jacab Szabo,” Penny had told him the night before, “are brothers. They don’t look like much, but they’re steady. I’ve worked with them once or twice.”
“Just worked with them?” Ad and Penny had been sitting on another cheap bed in another cheap motel, this one in St. Paul, Minnesota. The cheapness of the bed hadn’t prevented them from giving the mattress a damn good workout only minutes before; they both sat up in the bed now, naked and sweaty, discussing the next day’s planned meeting with the Hungarians.
“Don’t get jealous, lover,” Penny said, laying a hand on Ad’s thigh. “I said I worked with them. I didn’t say I worked with them. They’re steady, but they’re still wops. Hell, you can smell them coming a block away. But for this, I think we can count on them.”
Fucking Hungarians, Ad thought.
Now, sitting in the diner with a half-eaten hamburger and a cup of coffee in front of him, he looked at the Szabo brothers and thought the same thing: Fucking Hungarians. He knew he was being irrational. But somehow, where the brothers were concerned, he couldn’t make the irrational dislike override the thinking part of his brain.
What Penny hadn’t told him about Dominik and Jacab Szabo was that they were identical twins. Both were unassuming at first glance – about five-six, stocky, swarthy, with unkempt, curly black hair. They wore identical trousers and garish green and yellow checked jackets. Both brothers gave off an overwhelming smell of cinnamon hair pomade.
When Ad had commented on the jackets, Dominik – or was it Jacab? One of the brothers had grinned and said, “Bad, yes? People see us, they remember the coat, not our face.” His use of the singular was appropriate; when the Szabo brothers were born identical twins, they grew up, well, identical.
Ad didn’t trust himself to comment on the pomade.
“Do you have the hardware I asked you about?” Penny asked.
“In trunk of car,” one of them said. “About six blocks from here. In an alley behind a grocery. Grocery is closed. Nobody goes back there.”
“Shall we go take a look?”
“Let me finish my sandwich,” Ad groused. He’d paid for the damn thing, he figured he may as well eat it. With the others staring at him, he wolfed the rest of the hamburger, drained the coffee, wiped his mouth with a napkin. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
They walked down the sidewalk, the Hungarian twins leading the way. It was late, the sun’s rays struck low from the west, casting long shadows up and down the east-west street. Six blocks, and they turned into an alley. A 1931 Packard was parked next to a row of trash bins.
“Here,” one of the twins said, producing a key. He unlocked the trunk. Ad stepped forward, looking inside…
“Whoa,” he breathed.
Laying in the trunk was a wooden box containing two Colt Official Police revolvers and a box of cartridges, and next to the box a 12-gauge double with the barrels cut down to about sixteen inches. But what had really caught Ad’s gaze was the fourth piece: A 1921 Thompson with a hundred-round drum.
“Good for intimidate the customer, yes?” One of the Hungarians slapped Ad on the back. “That be your piece, I think. The lady can have shotgun. Jacab and me, we take revolvers, we do carrying. You do intimidate. The lady, she covers our backs.”
“How much ammo do you have for it?” Ad looked around to make sure nobody was watching, then picked up the ‘Chicago typewriter’ and hefted it – it was heavy as hell, but he was sure it would intimidate, just as the Hungarians said it would.
“One drum, that’s all. That should be plenty, eh? A hundred bullets? No problem, plenty ammo.”
“Well,” Ad mused, “with any luck, we won’t need to fire a shot.”
“But you will if you have to?” Penny asked. She had picked up the shotgun and was examining it with a critical eye.
“I spent six years in McAlester for armed robbery,” Ad snapped at her. “Just got out a week ago, remember? And because you took off on me in the middle of the last job in case you forgot. I’d rather not get set in the electric chair for killing some old man, no matter how rich the bastard is.”
Penny put the shotgun back in the Packard’s trunk. “Look, lover, you’d better be committed to this deal. If we go through, we go through, all the way, you got that? I can always find someone else to partner up with, you know.”
Ad shook his head. “No,” he said. The last thing he wanted was Penny getting itchy feet; despite himself, he was still as taken with her as ever. “No, I don’t want you to do that. I’m just getting nervous, that’s all. I barely been out of the can a week, you know, and here we are planning another deal.” He placed the Thompson carefully back into the Packard and closed the trunk. “All right? I’m nervous. I’ll get over it.”
Penny patted Ad’s arm. “I know. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
She turned to the Hungarians. “We’ll meet, then, in Wisconsin. Just like we planned. You boys have the time and place down, right?
The Szabo twins nodded, grinning. “Igen édesem,” one of them said. “Yes.”
“Good. We’ll see you in two weeks, then.”
Ad and Penny headed back for the sidewalk as the Hungarians climbed in the Packard and drove off down the alley. “Sorry about biting your head off back there,” Ad felt compelled to say. He looked at Penny and grinned. “Guess I ain’t quite used to being out yet. Still feels like a bull or a yard snitch is looking over my shoulder.”
Penny took Ad’s hand. She was smiling. “You sure got used to fucking again really quick.”
“Don’t need to get used to that,” Ad chuckled.
They had walked from their hotel to the meeting with the Hungarians. As they walked back, Ad noticed a small neighborhood bar, open but looking quiet – the rampant fun of partying during Prohibition had been replaced with the austerity of the Depression. But Ad still had most of his prison pay in his pocket. He stopped and hooked a thumb at the bar. “Whattya say to a beer?”
“Sure,” Penny shrugged. “Why not?”
They found a table to themselves, in the back, facing the door. One beer became several, as they quietly went over their target for what Ad thought of as ‘the deal.’
“Old guy’s almost seventy,” Penny told him again. “When Black Tuesday hit, he decided to take his money out of the bank. Keeps it in a strongbox hidden under the floorboards in his attic. Figures he’s safe, but it’s a big house in a quiet neighborhood, not too many other folks close by.”
“Thanks to your cousin, I guess,” Ad said.
“Yep. If she hadn’t been the guy’s housekeeper, we wouldn’t have a clue as to where he keeps his stash. Guess that’s worth cutting her in for ten percent.” Penny took a pull at her beer. “Bastard shouldn’t have hit her up. Old fucker like that should keep it in his pants.”
Ad thought about that. He sure hadn’t been keeping his in his pants lately, but then, Penny wasn’t really objecting to the attention, either. “I suppose,” he said, “we should get back to the hotel.”
“Don’t want to keep yours in your pants either, eh?” Penny smiled evilly. “Fine with me. Let’s go.”
Ad awoke that night, again, well after midnight. His head hurt; he was still getting accustomed to drinking again. He thought about going outside, but when he stood up, he could hear a hard rain beating down on the parking lot outside. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a train whistle.
He sat down in the room’s only chair and lit another cigarette. He looked over at Penny’s sleeping form, barely visible in the dark room.
Guess we’re two of a kind. Hope it lasts through this job. This time, if one of us breaks and runs, it won’t be me.
I wonder if this is what love is. I wonder if either of us deserve it.
***
We eat and we drink, we feel and we think
Far down the street we stray
I laugh and I cry and I’m haunted by
Things I never meant nor wished to say
The midnight rain follows the train
We all wear the same thorny crown
Soul to soul, our shadows roll
And I’ll be with you when the deal goes down
See Bob Dylan’s original video, featuring a young and rather delectable Scarlett Johannsen, here.
Great story, I’m thinking of the possibilities but none of mine seem plausible.
Now to wait another week.
Good job, thanks
“Rather” delectable?
Great chapter, Animal. Ad, however, is a retard.
Right? She’s downright fetching in a sundress. I’d like to be with her whether the deal goes down or not.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WL1HVuDc19A
Criminals make poor choices. News at 11.
On that note:
I hope this is a true story.
Because it is awesome.
One of the first recorded victims of “monologuing”?
I just discovered Razorfist last week. He’s incredible.
Seriously.
Dillinger famously said, “Never trust a woman or a machinegun,” and here Ad is trusting both…
I trust machineguns to go “bang” once. The rest is just gravy. Savory, delicious gravy.
Did y’all catch these? So pretty.
Ian shows Sig MKPS – https://youtu.be/UiUSGFN7KiU
Ian takes MKPS to the range – https://youtu.be/aLkpvWB3Ubk
Neat, I have never actually seen one of those in person.
That acronym makes me think “MarKuPS”
“Of course, being Swiss, the screws are held in by retaining screws, and are serialized.”
Hot gat.
1350 rounds per minute. That’s blazing for an SMG.
Right? But very little barrel climb. The police model reminds me of the rifles in Planet Of The Apes.
The nicest subgun I’ve ever shot (the one I most enjoyed shooting) is the Soviet PPSh-41. High rate of fire, very little muzzle climb, and a massive rooster tail of brass flying straight up in the air overhead. I’ve had the good fortune to shoot a lot of SMGs and it’s still my favorite.
I saw them. I want one.
And on the note of the woman: While I was reading this installment, I said to myself, “Penny is going to shank Ad”.
Good story Animal!
I’ve heard enough M60 bolts going *clunk* rather than *bangbangbang* to not trust that. Particularly on the first shot.
It is (was?) possible to install the M60 bolt/carrier in a position that would allow a single shot, after which the action became jammed badly enough to require disassembly to correct the problem. Bad design. I think it was corrected in later iterations of the design.
I believe so too, but the bolt riding forward on an empty chamber was the result of not properly loading it. It was easy to mess up and the belt looked like it was ready to go. Many an ambush has been initiated by *clunk*.
The main failing of the M60 was usually due to the ammo pawls. The assistant gunner was a key position.
Yes, the pack mule was a key position.
/former weapons squad puke who started on the ground floor
I feel pretty damn comfortable behind a Vickers or 1919.
What? It’s not like Penny would frame him up on a job and leave him hanging.
Great story so far, but I agree with Tundra about Ad’s decision making abilities.
Surprised Penny didn’t find Ole and Sven in 1937 St Paul.
I can hear the argument over which would carry the shotgun.
That streetcar was the Fourscores’ second car at that time.
Sven and Ole aren’t criminals though, are they?
They would have been misled by a pretty face and the promise of lutefisk and beer when the games was over.
That’s wily Lena again.
I’m hooked. I suspect this won’t turn out well for our intrepid heroes, and am looking forward to finding out exactly how it goes down.
same here. Good stuff, as usual.
Blah blah blah Putin Price Hike blah blah blah blah blah.
Go fuck yourself Strawberry.
Look at the body language. This is the definition of “short timer”.
I like at the beginning, she goes with the “it would have been much worse except for what we did” BS.
From the replies
https://twitter.com/lance_a_wilkins/status/1513574196235825152?s=21&t=ZOQVSjRm6M1mFRDbrNlb-w
Leaving aside the spring 2020 price crash, the fit line for the rest of covid (really rest of Trump’s term) is almost a match for the fit line for the Trump period.
This is what a total lack of leadership looks like. Instead of taking any type of ownership of any problem, it’s “That isn’t happening.” “Ok it’s happening, but it’s not that bad and it’s temporary.” “Ok it’s happening and it’s bad, you’ll just have to deal with it. Also it’s not our fault.” A good leader takes charge whether they caused the problem or not. I have zero respect for these people.
Not just “it’s not our fault” she says “because of the actions we have taken, we are in a better place.”
Reminds me of “Thank god for the vax, because of it, my COVID was mild.”
I think the technical term for this is ‘being a tool.’
The obfuscations I’ve come to expect from these types.
It’s the flat-out lying, over and over every day, that’s galling.
Daily Quordle 77
6️⃣7️⃣
4️⃣3️⃣
quordle.com
⬜⬜⬜?? ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜
⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜?⬜⬜
⬜⬜?⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜
⬜⬜⬜⬜? ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜
⬜?⬜⬜⬜ ?⬜⬜⬜?
????? ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜
⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ?????
⬜⬜?⬜? ?⬜⬜⬜⬜
⬜⬜⬜⬜? ?⬜⬜⬜?
⬜⬜⬜?⬜ ?????
????? ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
Looks like Sean and I are going to tie for the win.
#waffle80 4/5
?????
?⭐?⭐?
?????
?⭐?⭐?
?????
? streak: 1
wafflegame.net
Daily Quordle 77
8️⃣4️⃣
6️⃣5️⃣
Quordle Quotidien 77
7️⃣6️⃣
4️⃣8️⃣
fr.quordle.com
?⬜⬜⬜? ?⬜?⬜?
⬜⬜⬜⬜? ?⬜⬜⬜?
??⬜⬜? ?⬜⬜⬜?
⬜?⬜⬜? ?⬜⬜⬜?
⬜⬜⬜?? ?⬜???
⬜⬜??? ?????
????? ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
⬜⬜⬜?? ?⬜?⬜⬜
?⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜??
??⬜?⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜?
????? ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜
⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬜⬜?⬜?
⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬜?⬜⬜?
⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬜⬜⬜⬜?
⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ?????
Returning to defend my crown against my incredible powerhouse competition!
Daily Quordle 77
6️⃣7️⃣
8️⃣4️⃣
Guy shows Jeff Toobin how it’s done!
NYCHA Admin Suspended After Apparent Sexual Acts on Work Video Conference
Selfless public servants, ladies and gentlemen.
Plus paid healthcare and pension.
None of those pesky corporate health care costs or 401(k) contributions like us regular corporate folk.
34 fucking years. Any guesses as to how much that person has accomplished over that time?
He’s cashed a lot of paychecks and built up a nice pension?
“By the end of Wednesday, NYCHA had suspended Tolozano without pay for 30 days while it looks into firing him.”
Bet they fuckup thr discipline and he ends up suing the city and making even more off thr taxpayers he ‘serves’
For some reason I’m imagining a Tom Jones concert.
I’ve posted this before, but it’s relevant here. And frightening.
and frightening
You misspelled “glorious”.
Ow my balls.
Buffalo cops who shoved 75-year-old BLM protester cleared of wrongdoing
Mask mandate: Philadelphia reinstates indoor mandate as Covid-19 cases rise
Until half of politicians and public health officials are executed, it won’t end.
Super serious.
Either it’s worth doing immediately without notice, or it’s not worth doing.
Sigh. You know New York isn’t going to want to be upstaged by fucking Philadelphia.
Barf.
https://www.klfy.com/national/1-dead-after-goose-causes-pennsylvania-motorcycle-crash/
Hate birds.
I assume the Hate Bird survived. Impressive.
Serialize all Canada Goose and require background checks before they’re allowed to fly. That’s how you do it right, Brandon?
That fuck stick is issuing regulations to require background checks and serialization of uppers now. And requiring dealers to maintain records indefinitely and turn them over to the ATF when they close up shot. No more twenty year sunset.
How the fuck does a final rule get issued without public comment or notice of proposed rule making?
Fuck me, wrong post.