Authors: Cloud Buchholz
He studied the life of the man driving the truck hoping to derive an equation that would explain the events. After months of work, he decided more data was needed. He expanded his study to incorporate the entire city, eventually the country, and finally the world. Years passed. He diligently and unapologetically shattered established theories of probability and physics. Though his work was revolutionary, he refused to publish it for none of it contained the answers he craved.
After nearly ten years he had devised an equation, both simplistic and elegant, that mapped probable eventualities on a macroscopic scale. This equation, like his earlier work, would fail to restore the vitality of his heart. It would, however, have an alternately catastrophic effect. For in the fluidity of his numbers, the Wall Street mogul discovered a demoralizing pattern. His presumption involved the fluctuation of capital into and out of stagnant economic locations – specifically how resources such as water, real estate, fuel, and electricity could be manipulated and often withheld to control the behavior of seemingly helpless citizens.
He used the life of the man driving the truck as a case study, though how the Wall Street mogul linked bank executives with the death of his first love and daughter is, and always will be, a mystery. His rage and decisive revenge was quite clear, both to the bank executives and the authorities.
After his unnerving discovery, he sold all his assets and withdrew his money from the several banks he had invested in. He stuffed the $500,000 stacks into pillow cases and drove them to his secluded cabin. They resided there with him as he sent his death boxes to the prestigious banks across North America.
He had begun the construction of his eighth gift when the knocking hand of Francis Darling interrupted his concentration. He did not plan on opening the door, but an emotion overtook him when he spied the faultless Clover Collette through his peep hole. Her perfect aesthetics fascinated him and he felt at once excited. It was as if his equation had taken form as a fleshy body. He wished to study her more closely and so he ushered them both in and poured each a bowl of soup.
Over the years, Clover had grown accustomed to strangers gawking at her and in fact thought it was a kind of politeness, much like shaking hands, so, when the mountain man stared deeply and unyieldingly at her, she stared back. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him so candidly. He was at once reminded of the young girl on his doorstep claiming to be his daughter. He could not explain this moment of whimsy or the tears that gathered along the creases of his face, and he suddenly feared his equation might fail him once more.
He quickly finished his package and left the cabin hoping to escape the pain that could not be bandaged with mathematics. Clover and Francis would not see or hear from the mountain man again, for exactly one hour and thirty-four minutes later he was swiftly apprehended by the authorities as he approached the front counter of the Post Office. He was sentenced and sent to prison, dying there three years after his trial. He never spoke of his cabin in the woods and in fact, to the dismay of the media, he did not speak at all, dying in silence and very much alone.
Clover and Francis would never learn of these events, nor would they begrudge the mountain man, who was once a Wall Street mogul, as the rest of the world did. For seven days they guessed at their host’s whereabouts, but on the eighth day they said a silent prayer for him and began living in the cabin as if it was their own.
The mountain man had amassed a wide variety of food and supplies which allowed Clover and Francis to live quite happily and in solitude for over a year; during which time, their love blossomed into something mature and lasting.
On a particularly cold winter night, when the generator had failed to start, Francis was forced to arrange and light a handful of candles. He neither cared for the fire or the smell, but he found the flickering light to be quite romantic and upon seeing Clover he immediately took her in his arms and kissed her. She could not resist the euphoric feeling she associated with his lips, and immediately kissed him back. They quickly disrobed and stood naked, for the first time, in front of one another. Their love couldn’t have been more genuine – their knowledge and skill, however, was anything but proficient. Francis, having spent the majority of his days working in a small office or attempting to calm his agitated mother, knew very little about sex. Clover, given her isolation, knew even less.
Francis had seen a number of couples kiss before and he felt quite comfortable with the act so, for nearly an hour, the only body parts that touched were their slightly parted lips. Growing bolder, he pulled their bodies closer together – to the point of touching – though what action occurred afterward, he wasn’t sure and so he simply held her tighter.
Clover, excited and slightly startled by the naughtiness of being naked, suddenly recalled the man in the back of the truck who fled after seeing her. She wondered if Francis, like the man, would find her disgusting. She felt the urge to flee, but before she could stand, Francis wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tightly. They remained in that embrace until the sweat from their bodies mingled into one and they could no longer tell what body parts belonged to whom.
As the night progressed and the candles dimmed, the young couple would learn, through a series of affectionate and awkward gestures, how to make love – much like a child bending jigsaw pieces to fit a puzzle. It would not be the last of their lovemaking, though it would be the first and only act resulting in a child.
During the spring months, when Clover’s belly had grown large, she complained of pains in her back and legs. These pains she attributed to the lumpy mattress that had once belonged to the mountain man. Francis, diligently doting on his wife, hurried to alleviate her problem, but on closer inspection, he realized the mattress was not in fact a mattress, but a bundle of pillow cases tied together. Within each pillow case was the exact sum of $500,000.
Francis, deciding Clover’s health was all important, flung two pillow cases over his shoulder and, taking his wife’s hand, left the cabin immediately. They walked nearly a full day until reaching a small bank in a small plaza of a small city. Francis informed the teller of his intent to open a new account, but before he could show her the money, five masked gunmen entered, demanding to make a withdrawal – that is to say, they were robbing the place.
The five gunmen were in fact brothers – or more exactly, they shared the same mother. Not one of them knew the name or location of their father. The only concrete fact was that not one of their fathers was the same man. Their mother, who had spent her childhood dancing naked in a fenceless backyard, discovered the same act, if done near a long metal pole, could provide a substantial income. She made this discovery one night when she stole away in the back of her father’s car. Her father had an affinity for sex, alcohol, and public acts of indecency – that’s not to say he was a bad father, for he wasn’t. He, like his daughter, possessed a loose and wandering spirit which experienced the world in a free and feverously wonderful way. He had done his best to shield his daughter from such predilections, but her curiosity overcame his precautions and he unknowingly led her to a nudie bar on the outskirts of town.
When she spotted a group of beautiful and glittering women, she slipped out of the car and followed them into a back entrance. She was mesmerized by the incredible outfits they wore and how comfortably they wore them. The way they danced was inspiring and the young girl, unencumbered by moral taxation, fell in love with the nudie bar on the outskirts of town.
Her father, having gotten drunk and handsy with the half-naked girls, was relieved of his money and thrown out. If his decency had lasted only a few minutes longer, he would have discovered his young daughter dancing on stage in her underwear. The sex-starved men were amused and suddenly struck with a sense of adulation and love – a sense they had never linked with the nudie bar, or in fact experienced for quite some time. Their devotion to the young girl was unanimous and unwavering.
One of the exotic dancers would help the young girl dress and later drive her home, but for the young girl, the night was a revelation. She would return to the nudie bar years later, claiming the same applause and adulation she had as a child. Her eagerness and unrestrainable joy would make her one of the most successful dancers in the state. She loved everyone she met to the fullest of her soul’s capacity, both men and women – a choice which only helped to kindle her popularity. Her abundantly liberating love would quickly lead to the births of her five sons.
Though her exotic dancing career was successful, her income just barely supported the needs of her five children, so when a disgruntled and drunk patron beat her after she politely refused to get in his car, she would not have the money to fix her disfigured face or scarred body. Her five sons, the oldest twenty-five, had acquired a small sum of money, but it would not be enough to cover even the most needed surgeries.
The patrons, still very much in love with her, had little interest in seeing her dance and her successful career was quickly lost as well as the money it provided. Financially ruined and physically grotesque, she never lost her joy for life or her passion to love. She would return to the nudie bar briefly to work behind the counter serving alcohol and appetizers, but she would never dance again except in the privacy of her own home.
The disgruntled and drunk patron, now sober, would return to the nudie bar to discover what he had done. His guilt overtook him. He withdrew all the money he possessed and, after giving it to the woman, he hung himself from the rafters in his garage. In his Will, he left all his possessions to the woman and her five sons. Though the sum was considerable, not even it was enough to pay the medical bills required to restore the woman’s beauty.
It was at this desperate stage that the five sons devised a plan. They first attempted to get a loan from the bank, but given their age and lack of credit, they were sadly and immediately declined. With their hopes quickly diminishing, they took the little money they had left and bought black masks, cowboy hats, and a matching set of guns – an act of continuity that would bolster their resolve and also give them the name:
The Five Desperados
.
Their politeness and old fashioned charm made them an immediate success with the media – the authorities, however, felt quite the opposite. After the fourth bank had been courteously drained of its funds, the police began heavily defending the remaining reserves. Four to seven armed officers escorted the reserves until they were safely and securely within each respective vault.
Clover and Francis, while waiting for a teller, counted six officers in the corner with a large lead dolly. The officers, armed with assault rifles and mustaches, vigilantly guarded the box. It was at this exact moment, and very unaware, that
The Five Desperados
pushed through the doors of the bank. They immediately saw the uniformed officers, and the youngest brother, in an overzealous moment of fear, fired a warning shot into the ceiling. The bullet, meant to insight paralysis but remain harmless, excelled at the first, but failed at the latter, for the youngest brother was unaware of the bank’s second story offices.
The bank manager had made an unfortunate habit of smoking a single cigarette in his office while the other employees had gone out to lunch. His act of silent defiance would prove fatal when the wandering bullet penetrated his leg, chest, and brain. The medical examiner would describe his death as immediate, but the manager would take exactly three and a half minutes to die, just long enough for him to watch his cigarette burn up inches out of reach. His last thought would not be about his wife or his two sons, but instead his eyes and mind would linger on the burnt carpet of his well manicured office.
When his heart had finally ceased to beat, enough blood had gathered that it began to trickle from the first floor ceiling. The first drop hit Clover’s head. The second, third, and fourth hit her pregnant belly. The second oldest brother, already uncomfortable holding a gun, saw the blood and was overcome with guilt for he thought the pregnant woman had been shot. He hurried to save her, but almost a foot before reaching her; he dropped to his knees and begged for forgiveness.
Since the age of fourteen, he had fallen under the assumption that the local Catholic priest, who had since been promoted to bishop, was in fact his father. He had no empirical evidence confirming his suspicion, but like his supposed father, he decided to rely on faith. He prayed everyday for a sign and when he could not find one, he prayed harder. His diligence was soon interrupted when his mother was severely beaten, and he, like his brothers, quickly forgot the past to consider their mother’s future.
He did not think of the priest who might be his father again until that day when he saw the bloody image of Jesus painted, miraculously, on the pregnant woman’s belly. How she could stand after getting shot was a miracle in itself and he knew his sign and hopes had been realized. He immediately decided to surrender to a power that was greater than himself.
Neither Clover, Francis, or the authorities would learn the reason for the man’s sudden surrender. His brothers pleaded and pulled at him, but he would not move, and they were forced to flee without him. The police would immediately arrest him and he would fully cooperate and confess to everything, not lying, but also not implicating his brothers. He would spend twenty years in prison preaching the virtues of Jesus Christ and daily praying for the salvation and safety of his saint, Clover Darling.