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It was a drawing of numbers at the first
party that decided whose turn it was going to be. I got that lucky
twelve which just happened to also be the good old Christmas Gala.
At least there was some consolation that my chance did come up during
the bingo jackpot and not the measly ten grand give away. But sounding
like Ebeneezer aside, who gives a damn about a million when it's
only a drop in a very large bucket? Yeah, I know a million dollars
is a lot of money, but compared to what? A Hundred? Sure. Twenty-five
thousand? Absolutely. Now let's just say compared to one point two
or three billion? I think not! You can see why this give away spree
had to be terminated. Most of the menfolk in my family on both sides
had lived well past a decent life expectancy, so at 72 there was
a good chance old Harry would give away more than just a negligible
wad of my future life of leisure. And these ass kissing family wannabes
were stealing that future right before my eyes.
That's why I did it. Not exactly a
show of Christmas spirit on my part, was it? But, money does that.
It drove Harry weird and got me to where I am today. Ah, greed,
the ultimate indulgence having the most inconsiderate side effects.
How did I do it? Well, all I needed
was a gimmick. A sleight of hand of my own and a good memory in
which I recalled my mother mentioning the fact that Harry got real
sick once, so sick that they all thought he was going to die, and
all from an allergic reaction to iodine and ammonia. If he wasn't
young and strong, and if there wasn't a doctor's office next door
to the sweater factory Harry would have been fertilizer long before
his first dividend check arrived. He'd cut himself and passed out
at the sight of his own blood. The doctor came over, poured some
of that tincture of iodine on the wound and snapped one of those
ammonia things under Harry's nose. The combination blew Harry's
neck up like a bullfrog's and he started suffocating. It took a
shot of adrenaline straight into his heart to keep him from exploding.
Now, you give a guy like me that sort of information and he can
turn a little knowledge into a really dangerous thing. A thing like
coating Harry's favorite deck of cards with a bit of iodine and
then a quick ammonia-dipped handshake and cardiac arrest can't be
far away. |
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It wasn't. There were a few gasps, the expected swelling, a drop
to the floor, a drop dead right before your eyes performance few
in attendance that night will ever forget. Harry was no longer young
enough or strong enough to prevent the final trick from going unturned.
And, there wasn't a doctor in the house, which didn't work out too
well for Harry, or myself it seems.
Yes, there was Uncle Harry all decked out
in his Santa suit, turning from old man pale to dead man ash and
never again a Ho Ho Ho to be uttered from those cracked ancient
lips again. He had given me gloves for Christmas. That's right!
All that money and he mail orders a pair of synthetic material gloves
without a lining!
Yeah, it was all so simple. Damn,
I sound like I'm some sort of criminal mastermind, don't I. The
perfect crime and all. Old man keels over. Plate of shrimp on the
table. Bottle of cleaning ammonia open in the kitchen. Write me
the check and get the hell out of my new, big, Dix Hills house!
Humbug!
Well, there's always a damned humbug
isn't there? Yeah I knew what I was doing all right. Criminal mastermind!
More like a half-witted, half-assed moron. That's me. That's Walter
King. Walter King, nephew to the late Harry King. Walter King, blood
relative. Walter King lying here in a coma, probably with shackles
around my ankles in case I decide to get up in the middle of the
night and grab the respirator and make an escape. King of crime,
that's what I am only this king didn't factor in the odds of blood
relatives sharing more than just receding hairlines. I didn't figure
I'd be allergic to the same things Harry was. Bright huh? By the
time Harry departed the living his nephew here was on the floor
beside him grabbing his neck and listening to his heart start beating
the national anthem. That shot of adrenaline came a tad bit late.
The brain had gone to that place where all conversations were now
one sided. Pick a card... any card. Doesn't matter. Wealth, poverty.
It's all the same under the stone. I've been here -wherever here
is- for a year now. They're pulling the plug tonight. Money ran
out I guess. Oh well, easy come, hard go. I guess a merry Christmas
isn't in the cards this year, is it?
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