6/6/66

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by JN Lenz


  There is little doubt that the disfigured end of his penis, the result of his father’s violent drunken cigar scalding attack, had played a big part in Clyde’s inability around the opposite sex. This disfigurement which happened at young age pushed Clyde to spend far more time hanging out with male friends, rather than making any female ones. The embarrassment and the visual horror Clyde feared he would inflict on some pretty young girl after being exposed to his disfigured penis, was just too great a risk for Clyde to take. At parties he would avoid conversations with many a pretty girl, beyond a hello and perhaps at best a bit of small talk.

  Instead Clyde would normally be found outside with the boys, smoking and drinking, long before any girl had her chance to latch onto him. This was not to say Clyde was an ugly man either. I guess other than showing him how to hunt, the only other thing his piece of shit parents ever provided Clyde with were his good looks. Up until recently and after the acquisition of the Funeral Home, Clyde would normally have several days of facial hair and bangs that hung low into his face.

  The once long haired version of the Marlboro man now had his hair cut short and his face clean shaven and smooth. The guy had barely begun his schooling, but he had learned enough from Fred to already become a damn good embalmer; the old lady looked pretty .That image of Clyde all cleaned up, neat and tidy, tending over the frail old ladies body. I would never forget how he looked that day, the new grim reaper of the old and the feeble.

  “You going to say something or are you just gonna stand there and stare?”

  “She looks good, you did a good job.”

  “Thanks I would continue to stand there and watch Clyde silently for what seemed like several minutes. Watching intently as he completed the make up on the old ladies face, neck and hands. Clyde had barely acknowledged me standing there other than to say everything went well while Fred and I were gone. After Clyde had finished the makeup, he pulled the sheet back up from around the old ladies torso back up to the base of her neck.

  One of the requests in old lady Preston’s pre arrangement had been that a dress would be sent from one of her favorite dress shops in Yorkville. The dress from the downtown Toronto shop had not yet arrived at the Funeral Home. There was nothing left for Clyde to do but roll her into the cool room; the dressing of the old lady would have to wait for the arrival of the dress.

  The box with the pearls and diamonds the old lady was to be buried with had already arrived from her Estate Lawyer. Clyde had already placed a fine Swiss diamond lined watch on her left wrist, along with an emerald pendant made of diamonds around her thin old neck. This was joined by two strands of pearls around her neck as requested precisely, in old lady Preston’s instructions.

  There was her mother’s large sapphire wedding ring on the left hand; one more ring would be located on her right hand. A diamond bracelet that rested on the wrist on her right arm completed the jewelry the old lady would take to her grave. The broach that also accompanied the jewels from the lawyer would need to be pinned on the dress when it arrived from Yorkville. I had decided to return back up to the main floor and the front section of the Funeral Home, after helping Clyde place old lady Preston back into the cold storage area. Clyde would spend his time cleaning the embalming room, in preparation for Mr. Barry’s body following his wife’s visit.

  I had ordered old lady Preston a top of the line casket from the Brucker Bros just as her pre arrangement had requested. The unit I placed the order for was a custom design with no standard pricing; I would double the price of before billing the estate. The service for old lady Preston was developing into a thick profit margin funeral. The casket would not arrive until next morning, so the old lady’s body would have to remain in the cold storage cellar for the evening. The cellar sat directly beneath the large covered verandah that covered one corner of the Funeral Home. Fred had said that Harold Barry’s wife Gladys would be coming by around eleven thirty.

  I thought it best to be close to the front entrance when she arrived. Sure enough, the front door opened just a few moments after I had arrived back in the large front Parlor. Entering through the lead glass front door of the Funeral Home was a very well dressed lady in here mid-fifties.

  Joyce Barry had well styled hair, and the small amount of makeup she wore was muted and well applied. She sported a three quarter length jacket, covered a stylish looking skirt and blouse outfit. It appeared that the good life had put a few extra pounds on Joyce but by no means was she fat, in fact she was still a good looking woman in consideration to her mid-fifties age.

  “Mrs. Barry I presume?” I asked, using a hushed soft voice

  “Yes, that’s correct. Please call me Joyce though” her voice was steady; I instantly had the sense that she was not a woman to break down easily. I sensed she was a bit of a tough bird.

  “So sad to hear of your loss, so sudden and unexpected I understand. If there is any blessing in all this was that Ken did not suffer in the end which happens to far too many of us I’m afraid. I know Fred is at the back in the office making sure he has everything ready and prepared to make this as easy as possible on you Joyce. Please let me show you the way back to the office Mrs. Barry and would you care for a coffee or a Tea perhaps?” I raise my left arm toward the office as we headed down the center hall pointing towards the office as I led the way.

  “No thank you on the tea or coffee, but thank you for being so helpful. It sure is a real relief to be able to place my trust here. I have known Fred for years, and I’m sure he will make this whole process as easy on me as possible.” her reply was followed by a slight smile; she was an attractive lady. I imagined once the grief had subsided, this woman would land on her feet quite easily.

  “Just right in here Mrs. Barry, sorry I mean Joyce. Fred? Joyce Barry is here.” I announced as I led Joyce into the back office, Fred immediately rose from behind the large mahogany desk. He walked around the near side of the desk to embrace first her hand, before the two both extended a quick hug. As I began to close the solid wooden door, Fred could be seen showing Joyce over to one of the two tall wing back leather chairs, which sat in front of the large desk.

  “Oh my dear Joyce, we are all going to miss Harold so much, it’s such a.” Fred’s voice tapered off then was reduced to a murmur as I closed the door completely behind me as I exited the room.

  Clyde emerged from the basement stairwell as I exited from the office as we stepped into the same hallway which led to the back stair case to our apartment above. “Is the wife of front room Harry in there” Clyde asks coldly as he passes me. I nod in lieu of a yes and point to the stairs.

  “I need some time to go down to the library and do some reading and research on toxins and chemicals, I guess if I leave now Fred can start on Mr. Barry after the wife leaves.” Clyde states to me as we open the door at the base of the stairwell and begin to climb up the stairs that would lead us leads directly to our apartment.

  “I want to be prepared to go again in three days, four days tops so we can get this cash together fast. These two services will be cleared out of here in the next three days anyway. I just need to figure out how to kill the others; I can’t do all of them in the same manner as old lady Preston. I would like to find the right cocktail and maybe stick them with in a syringe.”

  “If the numbers from the past few years hold, we should get four more calls in the next two weeks. If in that same time we can add five, shall we say incremental sales and this nightmare with Vito is more than behind us. You best do a couple of those out of town, don’t you think? Might avoid the fallout of a town wide death spree; there is only three nursing homes here you can basically target.” I replied as I watched Clyde riffle through the papers and clutter on the coffee table.

  “What are you looking for, are you listening at all?”

  “Wallet, I told you I need to do some research so I’m heading to the Library. I heard you four and two, already have a pair picked out from down in the city. Now I need to come up with some
alternative methods for my next murders. Besides you don’t need to tell me what I need to plan, I’m fully aware that some of the six deaths need to happen out of town. In fact it looks like number two will be out of town, I am looking at one of the pre arrangements on the short list that lives down in the city, and the guy is in his late eighties. Fred noted in the file the guy has leukemia and some other liver disease, plus a host of other shit so he is dying anyway”.

  Clyde was getting impatient as he talked, while still searching around the room for his wallet. He was correct about Fred’s clerical skills; they were chock with health and wellness updates. Fred would pack each file with details, it was a little surprising considering how disorganized the guys life was.

  ” Ahh haa! Here it is.” Clyde held the wallet up in victory.

  “The library is going to need some ID before I can get a card, I’m off. Can’t fill my mind with a pile of shit right now Jack, I need to focus. Don’t worry; just take care of everything you can on this end.” At that Clyde turned and disappeared down the stairs, I heard the back door of the funeral home slam seconds later. Clyde was bound for the local library; this was after all the pre personal computer age. Should we really be trying to accomplish so much so quickly, best stay to the original plan of six over six weeks I thought to myself after I watched Clyde drive out the lane in the old Ford pickup.

  The funeral of old lady Preston would take place three days after Clyde and I had picked her up at the Nursing Home. There would only be a few residents in attendance during either of the pair of visitations for old lady Preston. The deep Blue dress had arrived from the trendy Yorkville shop that first night she arrived at the Funeral Home. Fred would dress her and attach the broach to the left hand chest area of the dress.

  The old ladies funeral drew a greater number of residents than had taken the time to drop in for the visitation. As per old lady Preston’s instructions, there would be numerous flower arrangements in both the church and at the cemetery, all of which to be paid for by her estate. I had arranged to rent a full size limo, in an effort to double up on its expense against the charges to the estate.

  When I realized the car would be driving to the cemetery empty behind the hearse (as there were no living relatives present at the funeral), I invited the town mayor to take the limo to the cemetery. A small display of recognition that all her family had done for the town of Largo I thought. It’s getting charged to the estate regardless, someone might as well drive in it. Not to mention it never ever hurts to stay on the local politician’s favorable side.

  With no family of old lady Preston’s still living to provide a lengthily eulogy, the local United church minister would keep the service short and to the point. He thanked her for deep the commitment to the community through her generous donations, including those to the local parish of the United Church.

  The town’s residents and attendants to the funeral that day would have no idea that old lady Preston had bequeathed nearly her entire still substantial estate to the town. The gift would include large tracks of family owned land, held throughout the town. Along with the land she bequeathed several millions of dollars to various local charities, the local United Church and the municipality itself. In her typical fashion, it would later be revealed that she had very strict instructions on how the money was to be spent, including the logic behind the amount provided to each of the many benefactors.

  The sun shone brightly as we exited the funeral home that day with the beautiful casket which held old lady Preston. I had managed to find six younger and fit men attending the service that day who were willing to serve as pall bearers, why they were attending the old lady’s funeral I would not ask.

  The six men held the antique brass rail of the heavy wooden box as they carried Miss. Preston gracefully and evenly out to the back of the hearse. As the pall bearers brought the end of the casket to the wide opening on the back of the vehicle, Fred would appear at the end of the casket to direct the finely crafted box into the back of the Cadillac hearse.

  Driving the lead car in the trio of Cadillac’s, I would take old lady Preston back several of the large old structures around town that her grandfather had built well over one hundred years earlier. I would carry on through the down town’s main street before making my way to the cemetery. I pulled the first of the three black Cadillac’s just past the pair of Mausoleums, this to allow the hearse’s back door to align with the Mausoleums entrance.

  Old lady Preston would be placed to rest in the larger of the two Mausoleums, this was Largo’s primary cemetery, the only other in town being the small Roman Catholic cemetery adjacent to the church property. There would be a plaque made of bronze that would be affixed to the concrete seal that would be added to the end of her chamber following the end of the internment. Apart from the mayor only a handful of residents bothered in following the funeral procession to the cemetery for her internment into the mausoleum.

  By all accounts the service was a tremendous success, the inflated additional billings to the estate allowed for a profit of more than three hundred per cent above any other funeral service the Shackles Funeral Home had ever completed. Since the billing was directed to a large law firm located in Toronto, instead of one of the towns local small time lawyers, Fred would never be aware of the eye dropping up charges I had included on the final invoice.

  The Law Firm for the estate had a cheque to the Funeral Home in less than six days, without asking a single question about the charges. I kicked myself after it showed up so quickly, minus any total dispute. Perhaps I should have added a couple more grand, I thought to myself after opening the envelope and extracting the certified cheque. Hell, more profit than three typical funerals coming through this place in the last ten years, nice, nice indeed.

  This murderous plan of Clyde’s was proving to be more profitable than I first given it credit for, was murder this easy for everyone? I could remember asking myself back after that first murder, knowing there was no turning back on what the fact the pair of us had just become killers.

  Return to Table of Contents

  Chapter 5

  For the next two days as Fred and I set about handling the visiting and arrangements for Thursday’s funerals, we had received another call the day before old lady Preston’s funeral. The funeral for both the latest pick up and the burial of Ken Barry would both be taking place on the Thursday of that week. Clyde had returned back to the city to resume classes late Sunday evening.

  Toronto would be the location of his second murder target from the pre-arranged funeral files. Harry Winslow had grown up on the outskirts of the town of Largo on a dairy farm, his father died at a young age and being the only male in a family with three sisters Harry had been willed the family dairy farm. From the young age of nineteen, Harry turned that single dairy farm into a dairy empire on the eastern seaboard of the country. The business would develop from producing and delivering not only the milk but also various cheese and yogurt products on a massive scale.

  Having long ago moved his family and corporate offices into the city of Toronto, Harry Winslow resided in his Mansion in a northern area of the city known as the Hunt Club. Turned out Harry’s health was not as good as he once was and rarely left the Mansion for his companies head offices. They are located in a high rise glass tower on Eglington Avenue, the top of which bears Harry’s name. Under constant around the clock health and security care, Harry has been kept alive through regular daily dialysis and heavy medication. Despite his dire medical condition Harry still held firm control of his empire, all to the chagrin of his three siblings.

  Nigel the oldest and current CFO of the company longed for control of the business, but his youngest brother Brock who had recently been promoted to the VP role of Marketing had similar aspirations. Jeremy was the youngest of the three; he had no interest in the business, only the money that it could produce for him. Harry was forced to limit the funds which had been available to Jeremy, in an attempt to bring some contro
l to his spending and his partying.

  Clyde went directly to the College Library after his classes on the Monday. He would search through past local papers on anything that may shed more information about his next target, Harry Winslow. Recent articles on the man focused as much on his health as that of his vast empire, it was widely speculated that Harry was in very poor health. His last public meeting had been at a shareholder meeting, some sixteen months ago.

  For the past six years Harry had been shrouded from the outside world by his small inner circle of assistants, health professionals and his family. Harry’s handpicked Chief Executive Officer of the company would also visit Harry frequently at his mansion, he was the man the media would detail as the true head of day to day operations of the vast processing and Distribution Company.

  While at the library Clyde began to research medical journals and chemistry resource manuals in search of usable and accessible poisons and preferably the undetectable kind. Clyde realized any of this new found knowledge of poisons would be of little use in his next murder. If Harry truly had around the clock care, there would be no way for Clyde to get close enough to inject a poison into Harry. The media listed him as having one foot already in the grave, but they had been reporting the same thing for the last half a dozen years.

  After the library closed at eight pm, Clyde drove the old Ford Pickup truck out past the Mansion of Harry Winslow. The drive would take forty minutes, the only view of the Mansion Clyde would get was the tall iron gates. The gates blocked the lane that wound its way back to the front of the grand home.

  A six foot brick wall surrounded the road side exposure of the large estate property, through the gate Clyde could see that the drive was lined with a soft light from post mounted antique lanterns. The interlock drive wound its way back from the gate and disappeared into the heavily treed Estate. The large Mansion itself was barely distinguishable from the Iron Gate; the tall roof was barely visible nestled amongst the trees in the center of the well groomed mature grounds. Clyde looked at his watch which read nearly nine pm; a few of the great houses in the area had begun to turn their exterior and road side lamps on.

 

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