101 People to Kill Before I Die

by Anthony O'Connor

  The Australian Reserve Bank is supposedly independent of the government of the day. But it was created that way legislatively to ensure that the 'right people' maintained control over it. This was done to protect it from the depredations of lesser parties who obviously could not be trusted - and might be in power briefly, from time to time. So how does all this work really? Do they fully understand it themselves? Or even need to? If you can't see and smell the skunk in the chicken house in all of this then you're just not paying attention. Or maybe you're just one of the skunks or would like to be.

  A lot of countries have schemes more or less like ours. They all smell. The United States has a distinctly different scheme. Vastly worse! It stinks to the high heavens. Over there the Federal Reserve prints the money and loans it to the government of the day. This creates vast unpayable debt and the need for substantial regular interest payments. But! And this is the truly astonishing bit. The Federal Reserve is a privately-owned consortium of bankers and businessmen. In effect, they end up with a ten to twenty percent stake in everything, just for printing the money - buckets of ink and masses of paper - and ‘loaning’ it to the government. Or these days it’s all just codes in a computer, created at virtually no cost and transferred around easily and instantly. This one is the biggest con job in all of history, by far. Makes the Global Financial Crisis look like a small case of petty theft. I cannot believe anyone could have been so fucking stupid as to let it happen. Of course, the politicians of the day, back in the 1910s and 1920s, were bribed or coerced. A few sceptics and dissenters were gotten rid of - in one way or another. It was all carefully planned and executed over many years. And now, decades later, there's jack-shit anyone can do about it, ever. Just try and see what happens to you. That’s why they really killed Kennedy.

  What got me thinking about all of this was the next target on my list, Andrew Carter, my former bank manager - the fat fuck who foreclosed on my mortgage when I went to prison. But when I started looking for him I quickly discovered that he was dead already. Died of a heart attack, two years ago. Well, that was fucking inconvenient for me. I could have just crossed him off the list and moved on to the next one. But I'd built up some anger about bankers and banking. I wasn't the only poor bastard getting shafted by those fuckers over the years. I felt like doing something. Making a statement. Something broader and more abstract in scope. I was in a vengeful, vendetta kind of mood. Obviously!

  In Australia, there are four major commercial banks: The Commonwealth Bank, Westpac, the National Australia Bank (NAB), and the Australia New Zealand Bank (ANZ). Their CEOs are Mr. Andrew Abernathey, Mr. Billy Bennet, Mr. Chuck Charleston and Mrs. Debra Dawson. Abernathey, Bennet and Charleston live in Toorak - one of Melbourne's most affluent suburbs. Dawson lives in Prahran which is the suburb next to it - also very affluent. I decided that in one night I was going to kill all four of them. Now the CEOs are not the top of the food chain, but the structure and occupancy of the levels beyond them are murky and deliberately obscure. So the CEOs would have to do.

  It would take careful planning - not the least of which was finding a night where they would all be at home. But as I've said before it's amazing what you can find on the internet - with only moderate hacking skills and the right set of tools. For example, all of these people had very detailed personal schedules maintained by executive assistants - on supposedly secure networks. I would do the research, I would wait for as long as I needed to. I'd already decided on my weapon of choice. The garrote. I'd made one out of piano wire and a couple of sticks. It would be simple, effective, and reasonably quick. This was not for their benefit but for the ease of my escape. All things considered it just felt right. Up close and personal. I know I was going beyond pure vengeance in undertaking this. I was making a political statement. So! What the fuck! Why not! There was however one thing I didn't consider or anticipate. So far, I'd killed a thieving elderly couple, a gangster's son, a couple of politicians and their guards, a pot-head ex-con, and a handful of tailgaters. A lot of people were after me already but I had no idea what a gigantic fucking shit-storm I would call down on myself by knocking off four bankers.

  It took me a couple of days to find all the information I needed. I got lucky. According to their schedules they would all be home on the coming Saturday night. Saturday would be the night. I would be ready for it. Now I just had to wait.

  While I was working on this I kept myself amused playing with Natasha. She was happy enough after our explorations of the Kama Sutra on the Saturday night but by late Sunday morning she was bored again. She kept hovering around me trying to distract me from my research, begging for sex. She'd gone back to wearing just the skimpy pink panties and nothing else. It would have been very fucking hard to say no, so at first, I didn’t even try. She wanted to explore some more of the positions in the Kama Sutra. Once the initial novelty wore off I could see very little point in doing it on one leg, upside down, inside out … whatever. It was difficult and physically demanding. You get a good stretch and a bit of a workout, I'll pay that. But in my opinion, it just got in the way, impeding one's ability to focus on what was truly important. Basically friction. Flesh on Flesh. In all the right places.

  Natasha then got it into her head that she wanted to start having a look at Tantric Sex. She had downloaded a book 'Tantric Sex for Beginners' and had been reading through it quite eagerly. The first exercise recommended by the book was seven days of abstinence. Complete chastity. She suggested this to me on the Sunday afternoon. I laughed at her quite openly.

  "You won't be able to do that."

  She pouted, replying obstinately,

  "Yes I can. I can if you can. And after that. The second exercise. It'll blow your mind honey."

  She was challenging me - to a kind of duel. I couldn't not accept. I smiled at her.

  "OK. You're on then. Seven days."

  We smiled at each other. Of course, by wearing nothing but the pink panties she already had a considerable tactical advantage over me. But I was determined to be strong. Sure, it was a battle - but it was one I was going to win. Somehow.

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  Jack Williams was sitting in his temporary office in the Russel Street Police Complex. It was Monday morning. He looked out the window, the one without the view. He found himself staring at the face of the building opposite. He was feeling frustrated. He was making very little progress in tracking down Brian. He'd found out that one of the protective services officers guarding the Premier and the US. Ambassador, was Barry Robertson. He had been Brian's parole officer for a year. This was a relationship that was often less than amicable. So, Robertson had probably been Brian's actual target. Smart move! Hiding the real target amidst such high-profile collateral. Clever. Brian had always been good at tactics. He just wasn’t ruthless enough or dishonest enough to ever really get anywhere with it, unlike himself.

  Jack had become very conscious of the fact that he had to be one of Brian's targets. Brian was obviously on a revenge kick. Jack wondered what had finally kicked it off. He was not too surprised that it was happening. Brian had always had a temper and a sour outlook on life. Something that was not readily improved by prison, divorce, home foreclosure, and bankruptcy. He knew Brian had to be stopped and stopped hard or he, Jack Williams, was the next body on a slab in the morgue. He'd seen some of them there the other day, the slain protective services officers. God dam depressing. He'd found one possible opening in Brian's uncle, Charlie Samuals. Done some research on him. He made a call to Svetlana Araknilova. She answered immediately,

  "Yes."

  Jack detested the woman thoroughly, despite her looks. He knew just how dangerous she was. He spoke carefully,

  "I've got some information for you."

  A silky reply came from the other end.

  "And what would that be?"

  Jack almost shuddered. Jesus Christ there was something about the fucking bitch that made his skin crawl. He made an effort
to stay calm. He explained,

  "Brian has an Uncle. Charlie Samuals. Ten years older than him. Fifty-five. He probably knows where Brian is. Most likely sold him the weapons he's got. But be careful he's tough."

  Another reply came back, slowly and dangerously,

  "How so?"

  Jack tried to ignore her. He knew she was deliberately provoking him. He said,

  "Used to be military. Special forces. A captain in the SAS. So, don’t fuck with him."

  Svetlana replied,

  "Hmmm. Sounds yummy. Maybe I will."

  Jack spoke back sharply,

  "Yeah right! I'll text you his address, and some other details I have."

  Then he hung up.

  Next Jack put in a call to Boris and Vadim. Boris answered sharply,

  "Yes. What do you want?"

  Jack replied,

  "I have some details on Brian's uncle, Charlie Samuals. They're close. Charlie will know where he is. Probably sold weapons to him. I'll text you the address, a few details. You should check him out."

  Boris sounded pleased. He said,

  "Good. We need something to go on."

  Jack was tempted not to warn them, but decided against it. He could have them killed later. The immediate priority was Brian. The more people he had hunting him the better. He added,

  "Be careful he's ex-military, special forces, SAS."

  Boris snorted,

  "Bunch of pussies. Don't worry, we eat SAS for breakfast. We'll take care of him. And then Brian too."

  Jack grunted,

  "Good. Let me know when it’s all done."

  Boris sounded cynical. He replied,

  "Oh yeah, sure we will."

  Then he hung up.

  Boris and Vadim went immediately to the address that Jack Williams sent them. Svetlana Araknilova had got there first. They didn’t want her to see them. They knew that she was in Melbourne to kill them too when she got to it. Vadim wanted to attack and God knows what else. Here and now. Boris calmed him down. He knew how dangerous she was. Many had tried to kill her. They were all dead. It paid to be cautious. They stayed in their car, parked a safe distance down the street and just watched as she slowly and carefully moved in on the house. She went inside. They waited. Nothing happened. She came out, went to her own car and then just drove off. OK. Charlie Samuals wasn’t home. They'd have to come back later. But then so would she.

  When they got back to the hotel at around 6:00 PM they saw Brian Samuals in the distance. They were at the entrance to the Hotel Lobby. He was up one level on the second floor, coming out of the Casino. They started running. Which wasn’t smart. He noticed them immediately and sped off in the opposite direction. They didn’t catch sight of him again, though they walked through the Casino a few times, up and down corridors at various levels, and outside along the Yarra Promenade beside the river. Nothing. But they were sure now that he was in one of the hotels. This gave them a chance. All they had to do was to identify which of the hotel staff would be useful to them and ‘politely’ encourage them to help. The room maids, maybe one of the security guys, someone from the front desk. Any of these could easily be persuaded, one way or another, to help them search the rooms. It was a big complex though. Three separate hotels. It would take some time.

  They arrived back in their suite - suite 712 on the seventh floor - just before 7:00 PM. Unbeknownst to them Brian had arrived back in his suite - suite 725, just across the hall from them - only a few minutes earlier. He'd taken a detour, going back to Flinders Street for almost an hour, assuming they would be looking for him around the hotel. Svetlana Araknilova had arrived back in the hotel at 6:00 PM and went straight to her suite - suite 739 - just down the Hall on the other side. She didn’t see any of them and none of them saw her. It was inevitable that sooner or later two or more of them would collide with brutal and violent consequences.

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  Natasha caved after one day. Monday night. She took off her panties, sat naked on my lap, put her arms around me and said,

  "OK. You win. I can't do it. Let's fuck."

  But I had a surprise for her. Late in the afternoon I'd gone to the BSDM Sex shop in Little Flinders Street and purchased the chastity belt. It was risky going out but I just found the whole idea so highly amusing that I did it anyway. It turned out OK. I did catch a glimpse of the two Russian hit men and had to make a run for it. But they never really got close. Bit of a coincidence running into them again near the hotel. They must be staying in the same hotel or one of the other two in the Complex. I knew I had to be especially careful. But I only needed a few more days. Next week, after the Bank job, and then Jack Williams, I would move to the country, somewhere quiet. I had a target there too of course, Tommy Fucking Barton. Would have preferred to do Jack Williams last but there would be too much heat in Melbourne after the next one. Already was. I couldn’t come back once I left. After Tommy, I wasn’t sure. Natasha would certainly be happy to make the move. But I never forgot the cancer, sitting in the background, brooding, growing, sinister and evil, just waiting to cut me down. There would be no happy ending to this story … for anyone.

  I grinned at Natasha wickedly. This at least was going to be fun. I spoke to her quietly, encouragingly - but with a slightly mocking tone.

  "Natasha, sometimes we need a little help to accomplish our goals. To help us be strong enough."

  She knew something was up. She looked back at me uncertainly. She asked,

  "What do you mean?"

  I retrieved the chastity belt from the drawer. Showed it to her. She laughed as she screamed out,

  "You have got be fucking kidding me?"

  But she didn't object when I held her and started putting it on her. She resisted playfully, but no more than that. Giggling all the time. She seemed genuinely startled though when I snapped the lock shut and put the key in my pocket. She exclaimed,

  "What ...?"

  But that was it for her. I looked at her steadily, and simply said,

  "Six more days darling."

  She was still smiling, clearly amused but also not quite ready to believe what had just happened.

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  It was Wednesday now. I had three days to go until the bank job. I was like a kid waiting for Christmas - three sleeps to go. Four sleeps until my next root with Natasha. To tell you the truth I don’t know which one I wanted more. At first, I thought I'd just hang out with Natasha the whole time. We could watch a lot of movies together, and smoke some of the weed I'd liberated from Russel the pot-head. Get drunk. And this is exactly what we did. It was all right for a while. We both got high a few times, moderately intoxicated. We watched, 'Kill Bill' One and Two. Both of us were humming, 'Bang, Bang. My baby shot me down' for a while after that. Then we watched Rob Zombie's, 'The House of 1000 Corpses' and then the sequel, 'The Devil's Rejects.' I loved the evil clown though Natasha found him a bit terrifying. 'Did you have a bad dream honey? ... Oh 50/50'. Yeah that just about sums it all up for me. Fucking hilarious. I had a few good long talks with Natasha. She told me something of her life. She was only twenty-two. There wasn't a lot to tell. I gave her a few details of mine, but nothing significant. There wasn’t that much that was good to talk about. She managed to drag out of me that I'd been married and then divorced. She didn't push for details about Beatrice, which was fine by me. She did want to know everything about my beautiful young daughter Laetitia. Now that was the one thing in my life I was happy about. I loved Laetitia. Of course, Beatrice had totally turned her against me. Fucking cunt.

  I didn’t want to leave the hotel room again - until the next job on Saturday night. But after another day we were both starting to feel a bit cramped. Natasha asked me when we would make our escape - maybe go to Sydney or Brisbane. She thought it was just the Russians who were after us. Well it was only them after her. But a fucking lot more than just them were after me. I kept putting her off. Just a
little longer. Next week. I needed to get outside, do something. Kill someone. I still had a fucking list to get through. Natasha was starting to get grumpy. She'd put up with the chastity belt for a day or two then she started trying to arouse me. She rubbed herself against me whenever she could. She sat on my lap a lot. She didn’t bother wearing anything else - just the belt now. It looked like a tight little silver bikini bottom with a lock preventing removal. I started looking at her tits more than before. God, they were fucking beautiful, swaying gently as she moved around. And from behind my view of her ass was completely unimpeded. Oh man! But I was determined to be strong and quite frankly to win the bet. And as an added incentive we both had exercise two to look forward to. I drew the line at letting her lick my penis, which she tried to do on a couple of occasions. This would have given her an unbeatable advantage. Five seconds after that I would have been scrambling for the key. I'm not a fucking monk. Though if you read the old stories more closely you’ll find that they were all horny, licentious opportunists getting plenty of ass from the local peasant girls. They were not pure and holy and celibate. Nobody is. If anyone says they are they’re just fucking lying.