Double Tuesday
>To George “Locomotive” Fenamore, wherever he is at present, I sadly bequeath the locked steel box number 412 from my private vault at the Manhattan Citibank Depository. The box is not to be opened until he deems it absolutely necessary, or until my comrade manages to successfully “survive” another Double Tuesday. I pray the darkness ends for you someday.
>To the executor of my will, Nadja Daviar, I grant full disposition of the other fifteen boxes marked for George Fenamore, or his descendants, should any of them ever ask. If not, upon your own demise, they are to be summarily destroyed UNOPENED in the main microwave blast furnace of Bethlehem Steel, Pa
>To Bethlehem Steel, I leave 2 million nuyen for the purpose of immediate destruction of fifteen boxes, UNOPENED, when and if they are delivered to the main furnace crew boss, and the additional amount of 500,000 nuyen to the crew boss as danger money to be distributed to his crew in the event of injuries resulting from this task. If the task is accomplished without mishap, the crew boss may keep the full amount or disburse it as he wishes.
>D. Will Testament
Transmitted: ERROR:ERROR:ERROR ERROR/ERROR/ERROR
This story starts in the little town of Mason City, which is a dinky town in the middle of northern Iowa. The pleasant elderly people of this town are just that, pleasant and elderly. Any self-respecting criminal would have passed this community of the aged up without a second glance: The elderly either have no wealth or guard it with a few to many firearms. Both are sever allergies to thieves and criminals. The criminal in this story however has long lost the respect for himself along with the map to tell him that this is not Des Moines, which is a larger city with a certain bank holding 900,000 in cash funds. From as unlikely as reaching for a dropped pen while the ‘Welcome to Mason City’ sign whooshed by at fifty-five, to the humorous telling of pulling up to the only West fifth and main building in Mason City, the clone address for the Des Moines Bank. To top it all off, as if the gods needed that extra laugh to make their eternity, the Carl’s Bingo club which resided at West Fifth and Main not only used to be a United Federal Bank but also was having its sign cleaned, leaving the copper plated ‘U.F. BANK’ letters standing bold. One might think that our hero’s luck is more than over do for a good streak to last him a lifetime. Fates need to laugh every once in a decade and sitcoms just haven’t done it since the Greek plays and thus when our unlucky hero George Fenamore steps out of his plain black Land Rover M2046 SUV, complete with gas guzzling power plant, it is only fitting that he notices four other Land Rover M2064 SUV’s with missing license plates. The choice of vehicle for this criminal heist by his comrades was the black, unlicensed, soccer mom assault vehicle the Land Rover M2064 SUV. These particular four SUV’s however do not belong to criminals, but the Carl’s Bingo Club top four winners of the night further confusing our hero about his setting.
As fate would have it, or Fates depending, our intrepid and confused George Fenamore was the opening act to the opera of theft. Leading in the front door with his Ares Armtech Predator Heavy Pistol George Fenamore raised the muzzle of his firearm and fired the chambered round into the ceiling. “Alright! Faces on the ground, hoop in the air fragfaces!” Considering that approximately four fifths of the Carl’s Bingo Club players attending tonight to win one of the four Land Rover M2046 SUV’s were considered clinically deaf and because of this factor the patrons of Carl’s Bingo Club were forced to stare attentively at the holo-projection of the numbers as they rolled out. Of those eighty percent of patrons that were deaf nearly one third were legally blind as well. Of that small one third of four fifth a single man closing in on his ninety fifth birthday stood up, flagging his bingo card chip like a battle standard and his battle cry soon followed.
“BINGO!” The old man named Ronald Wimsly pronounced, interpreting the gunshot as a similar, to his hearing impaired ears, light beep of his handicap bingo board which beeped only if the player had achieved a certified bingo. Being the fourth and final victor of this hair raising game of Elderly Bingo the senior crowd realized that no more Land Rovers would be available and decided, in mob unison, to storm the front door in mad attempts to take the Land Rovers. Walking canes and breathers were scattered as the senile citizens rushed to the doors. Unluckily for George Fenamore he was standing in that single doorway watching crazed disabled and inane people try and attack him.
Any criminal or even any intelligent person would step out of the way of this crowd, and George is no ones fool. However, as George turned to spin out of the way he realized that the entire front entrance parking lot now held fifteen Heavy Arms Ares Security forces, all equipped with the latest in Hooligan Disabling Weaponry. Each of the officers had a pair of non-standard issue large reflective sunglasses hiding cold blue eyes under blond yellow hair. It was at this exact moment that George E. Fenamore could hear Wanger’s Ride of the Valkyries just off in the distance and George Fenamore knew right then that if it rained it could be only one thing: God pissing his clouds laughing.
Some retelling of this event would lead George in a climatic fight with the officers, where he runs up walls, cars, and the officers even as the shoot out occurs, ending with him getting shot thirteen times before falling to the ground dead. Other stories had him pull out a hand grenade, setting it off in the middle of the parking lot significantly reducing the world’s senior citizens population. There was even the odd,
>To the executor of my will, Nadja Daviar, I grant full disposition of the other fifteen boxes marked for George Fenamore, or his descendants, should any of them ever ask. If not, upon your own demise, they are to be summarily destroyed UNOPENED in the main microwave blast furnace of Bethlehem Steel, Pa
>To Bethlehem Steel, I leave 2 million nuyen for the purpose of immediate destruction of fifteen boxes, UNOPENED, when and if they are delivered to the main furnace crew boss, and the additional amount of 500,000 nuyen to the crew boss as danger money to be distributed to his crew in the event of injuries resulting from this task. If the task is accomplished without mishap, the crew boss may keep the full amount or disburse it as he wishes.
>D. Will Testament
Transmitted: ERROR:ERROR:ERROR ERROR/ERROR/ERROR
This story starts in the little town of Mason City, which is a dinky town in the middle of northern Iowa. The pleasant elderly people of this town are just that, pleasant and elderly. Any self-respecting criminal would have passed this community of the aged up without a second glance: The elderly either have no wealth or guard it with a few to many firearms. Both are sever allergies to thieves and criminals. The criminal in this story however has long lost the respect for himself along with the map to tell him that this is not Des Moines, which is a larger city with a certain bank holding 900,000 in cash funds. From as unlikely as reaching for a dropped pen while the ‘Welcome to Mason City’ sign whooshed by at fifty-five, to the humorous telling of pulling up to the only West fifth and main building in Mason City, the clone address for the Des Moines Bank. To top it all off, as if the gods needed that extra laugh to make their eternity, the Carl’s Bingo club which resided at West Fifth and Main not only used to be a United Federal Bank but also was having its sign cleaned, leaving the copper plated ‘U.F. BANK’ letters standing bold. One might think that our hero’s luck is more than over do for a good streak to last him a lifetime. Fates need to laugh every once in a decade and sitcoms just haven’t done it since the Greek plays and thus when our unlucky hero George Fenamore steps out of his plain black Land Rover M2046 SUV, complete with gas guzzling power plant, it is only fitting that he notices four other Land Rover M2064 SUV’s with missing license plates. The choice of vehicle for this criminal heist by his comrades was the black, unlicensed, soccer mom assault vehicle the Land Rover M2064 SUV. These particular four SUV’s however do not belong to criminals, but the Carl’s Bingo Club top four winners of the night further confusing our hero about his setting.
As fate would have it, or Fates depending, our intrepid and confused George Fenamore was the opening act to the opera of theft. Leading in the front door with his Ares Armtech Predator Heavy Pistol George Fenamore raised the muzzle of his firearm and fired the chambered round into the ceiling. “Alright! Faces on the ground, hoop in the air fragfaces!” Considering that approximately four fifths of the Carl’s Bingo Club players attending tonight to win one of the four Land Rover M2046 SUV’s were considered clinically deaf and because of this factor the patrons of Carl’s Bingo Club were forced to stare attentively at the holo-projection of the numbers as they rolled out. Of those eighty percent of patrons that were deaf nearly one third were legally blind as well. Of that small one third of four fifth a single man closing in on his ninety fifth birthday stood up, flagging his bingo card chip like a battle standard and his battle cry soon followed.
“BINGO!” The old man named Ronald Wimsly pronounced, interpreting the gunshot as a similar, to his hearing impaired ears, light beep of his handicap bingo board which beeped only if the player had achieved a certified bingo. Being the fourth and final victor of this hair raising game of Elderly Bingo the senior crowd realized that no more Land Rovers would be available and decided, in mob unison, to storm the front door in mad attempts to take the Land Rovers. Walking canes and breathers were scattered as the senile citizens rushed to the doors. Unluckily for George Fenamore he was standing in that single doorway watching crazed disabled and inane people try and attack him.
Any criminal or even any intelligent person would step out of the way of this crowd, and George is no ones fool. However, as George turned to spin out of the way he realized that the entire front entrance parking lot now held fifteen Heavy Arms Ares Security forces, all equipped with the latest in Hooligan Disabling Weaponry. Each of the officers had a pair of non-standard issue large reflective sunglasses hiding cold blue eyes under blond yellow hair. It was at this exact moment that George E. Fenamore could hear Wanger’s Ride of the Valkyries just off in the distance and George Fenamore knew right then that if it rained it could be only one thing: God pissing his clouds laughing.
Some retelling of this event would lead George in a climatic fight with the officers, where he runs up walls, cars, and the officers even as the shoot out occurs, ending with him getting shot thirteen times before falling to the ground dead. Other stories had him pull out a hand grenade, setting it off in the middle of the parking lot significantly reducing the world’s senior citizens population. There was even the odd,