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Frankie V's blog
Chapter 3: Fish love the color red.
Chapter 3: Fish love the color red.
Pierre Vannier was not a complicated man it just seems complications always found him but gowning up in the back county of northern Quebec hunting and fishing he not only learned valuable survival skills but the art of patients as well.
Growing up in the back country honed Pierre's survival skills but nothing prepared him for the Euro-Russian wars which started shortly after the financial melt-down.
He had joined the French infantry due to family living in Picardy. Disillusioned after the war he found himself scrounging for food in Paris with a few of the survivors from his platoon. He'd thought about joining the UTRT but after the war he just couldn't stomach any kind of military organization. He was too old and bitter to help defend a bunch of naive civilian sheep.
Having enough Pierre decided to return to his beloved woods in northern Quebec and to the hunting grounds he knew so well and as luck would have it one of his long time friends, Ducky, was making flights to New York to bring the fat cats French cuisine and wine that only the French could make.
It was not a fun flight as Pierre had to hide in the unheated cargo hold but was not his first time having to deal with the cold but he hoped that no one notices the nibble here and there from the French pastries.
The only thing Pierre Vannier liked better then fresh French baked goods is a good scotch and even the air and smells around him tasted with flavor that help make the flight bearable.
Landing in upper New York Pierre was able to make his way out of the cargo bay undetected. UTRT has a habit of shooting first and asking question later and although he was a big man, at 6ft 3in, he still could move with grace even with a full pack on his back and was able to make his way to and over the 12 foot fence that surrounded the airport with ease.
Checking his map he figured there was two ways to go. Over the mountain ranges and back roads running along the boarder or take the direct route along the road ways using the travel papers he hopes are still active. OK there is only one way to do this as he pulls a coin from his pocket to let random chance decide.
Heads roads, tails border line.
There were few cars on the roads that night, which was a good thing for Pierre as those who could still afford to drive are not of the charitable nature, and with the high grass running along side it was a quick hop to cover when he saw the lights and heard the engine of the on coming traffic.
This is where Pierre Vannier meet Sarah Terror for the first time as he came around the corner and saw by the light of the glass inclosed bus shelter a fur ball of red laying the whoop ass down on a couple of rednecks thinking that they had discovered the opportunity for a good time.
For a moment Pierre was inclined to lend a hand but by the way things were going it would all be over before he even got there so he figured he would malinger on over and pay his respects.
Sarah heard the scuff of boot on pavement even before turning around and hunched down enough to hide the tire iron from view.
“AND what do you want?”
Just as he breaks into the light of the over head lamp post Sarah could see what was clearly a kind smile that she has not seen in a long time.
“Just to say hello”
“My name is Pierre whats yours?”
Sarah has always had the gift of being able to read people as to their true intentions. Her father use to call here a living, breathing, walking talking lie detector and not once has she even been proven wrong.
As quick as she jumped into attack mod Sarah drops the tire iron, squares herself up and becomes the proper lady.
“Sarah, Sarah Terror of New York”
“Well Sarah, Sarah Terror of New York what are you doing here in a bus shelter”
“ It was the only shelter I could find and they are saying its going to rain tonight”
“Well if you like I know of an abandoned bomb shelter left over from the late 60's just a few miles up the road and your more than welcome to join me”
Sarah give the big man another going over and although intimidating in size determined to be harmless enough.
“OK”
As they start walking to the north Sarah stops.
“OH wait a second”
She runs back to the shelter and picks up what looks to be a toy and runs back to where Pierre is waiting.
“Whats up with the monkey?” Pierre says with a smile
“It's the only thing I could grab when they tossed me out of my house”
“Well then the monkey comes with us”
Pulling the loaf of French bread he stole from the cargo plane from his pack he breaks off a piece and hands half to Sarah
“OH yummie”
Sarah pops the toy monkey onto the top Pierre's pack putting her free arm though his and at the same time accepting the kind offer.
“Frenchie this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship”
“What's up with the eye?”
“Fishing accident...revenge for the monkey remark right?”
“Yup”
It never did rain that night and the broken down bomb shelter over the years grew from one room to two to three to more rooms that they knew what to do with. They even had guest rooms even though the chances of a visit were slim as Sarah and Pierre became their own family. Sarah was always joking that they had so much room they should convert one to an indoor swimming pool but since even collecting rain water was illegal collecting enough to fill a swimming pool would seem to be a bit wasteful.
Even Pierre was happier than he was back in Quebec and he loved doing all of the building while Sarah did all the scrounging. The perfect arrangement that one could count on the other to have their back and Sarah was no push over if it came down to a bar fight.
It was one of those evenings Pierre set aside each month to get his fishing tackle ready for the week he would spend at the lake he found twenty miles away that would take the better part of the day to get to. Like all things it took papers to just go fishing and Pierre was sure that the ones he had gotten while in France would be of little use.
Be as it may he enjoyed making his own fly’s from the bits and pieces he could collect and put into the little leather bag he always carried. Sarah found them pretty and Pierre did not have the nerve to tell Sarah that they really love the bright red ones. He's sure she would be forgiving as she loved fresh trout as much as he did but why take the chance?
Sarah picked that moment of solitude to make her entrance as she always does. Been forever but she still owns the room that requires the grand entrance and a metal door if it does anything besides close she uses it well as an instrument to trumpet out her return.
“BANG:”
“Frenchieeeeeee you should see all the good stuff I got”. As she drop the big box of stuff right in the middle of Pierre's collection of bits and pieces.
“I even got something for youuuuu”
OK when Sarah says she has something for you it's not just anything. Every time Pierre hears those words, and more so if she calls him Frenchie first, it's something worth your undivided attention that even his now displaced bits and pieces could not distract from.
Sarah reaching over the table like some kind of splunker she pulls off the top the unquestionable shape of a bottle wrapped in newspaper and presents it to Pierre like presenting a new born to it's father for the very fist time.
Pierre carefully pulls back the news pint to reveal the unmistakable words Scotch Whiskey.
“Sarah where did you get this?”
“I traded it for some of your fishing tackle, you know all those fancy red ones you say the fish go nuts for”
Pierre was obliviously displaying a shocked expression as Sarah was was doing a very good job of a drop jaw bugged eyed Pierre impression right back.
“Well to morn the loss I think I'll have a drink, read my newspaper and try to forget, would you be so kind as to fetch my slippers and pipe?”
The thwack to the back of the head was unmistakable sound of a wet kitchen dish cloth and the smug “no you didn’t” expression on Sarah's face, that can only be achieve through years of training as a mother, would have been more that enough to put Pierre in his place.....except for the trailing Irish giggle letting him off the hook...yet again.
“OK then back to work”
Pierre cracks open the cap of the newly acquired bottle of Scotch Whiskey and pours out the customary three fingers worth and settles in to read the accompanying newspaper.
“Says here that after the lighting storm last week the power substation is still out of action and will not be back on line until next week”
“Aw so sad... as Sarah pokes her head around the pantry door with the obvious sarcastic pouty face”
“Two new districts were fenced off”
“How many does that make now”, “Twenty Seven”
Sarah walks back into the kitchen and begins sorting out the rest of the goods from the big box on the table. Made a bit of a racket as it seems Sarah also scored a few pots and pans to add to her already extensive collection of cook wear.
“OK this is interesting New York is getting a new governor next week”
“You mean galactic overload don't you? They don't vote for these guys anymore and it's the fat cats who put them”
Sarah pulls the fake cough routine to indicate yet another sarcastic shot
“into office”
“Who is this guy anyways?”
“Some guy named Robert W Baxter-Kaneen“
“So what did mister hody pody do to get such a cherry gig?”
“Well seems he ran a company called NewCorp but I don't know why that would put him first in line. I mean wasn't NewCorp one of the big guys that crashed and burned big time?”
The silence was deafening. The crashing and banging had stopped like someone turning off a radio and as Pierre turned to see who pulled the plug he saw the look in Sarah's face that he only saw once before that included a tire iron at the ready.
“Sarah?”
With out a word Sarah left the room and returned a few moments later with an old shoe box that Pierre knew she kept under her bunk. Opening the box she pulled out a stack of papers and handed them to Pierre in silence.
Puzzled Pierre scanned each page one at a time and it did not take much to realize that it was the written history of Sarah's past. The eviction notice, the denial of claim, and even the papers authorizing the man with the gun to take her children all of them with the same letterhead stamp”NewCorp”.
With out seemingly moving her lips Sarah speaks in a hush tone.
“NewCorp was a shell company that all local and state services were feed into along with major investment banks channeling all their toxic assets through back door deals making them the major share holder”
“NewCorp was suppose to fail”
Pierre still scanning over the documents takes a sip of Scotch that does not taste as sweet as the first.
“So...what do you want to do about this Baxter-Kaneen guy?”
“Kill him...Kill him tonight”
“Aw Sarah that’s imposable governors are heavily protected more so than even the president since the crash”
“I know Frenchie...Everyone knows they are part of the one-percenters but unlike most we know where he's going to be. The governors mansion is the cherry in this pie”
Pierre knew Sarah well enough than when she says she is going to do something she always does and if he does not bring her down now all that will happen that night is Sarah getting killed and accomplishing nothing.
“OK” as Pierre places the papers back into he shoe box and hands it to Sarah.
“But we do it my way and only if I feel we can get away cleanly agreed?”
Sarah considers
“Promise?”
Pierre takes the last sip of Scotch that once again went down with the sweetness that he knew so well
“Promise”
It was a week later Pierre was walking the south bound connector and side rails and was the holding area for train shipments going to and from MBF which was a good area to look for useful metal items and even railroad spikes could be made into useful tools in Pierre's home build forge.
Something he had learned a while back is he could pop the auto close on a car if the locking bolt was not engaged and sometimes useful items could be found on cars someone forgot to lock.
Rounding the bend in the tracks Pierre spots such a car off to the side railing he knew would be hooked to the south bound and pulling the tool he made for such occasions out of his pocket he hooked it into the auto close.
“OK my pretty lest see whats behind door number one”
With a snap of the wrist the auto lock let loose opening the door as fast as it closes and out through the door pops the sneaker foot and leg of one Charles Jordan.
“OK”
Pierre reads the name on the sneaker.
“Lets get you out of here Charles”
Tossing the unconscious Charles over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes he also hooks the pack he found in the car over his other and heads back to the shelter.
Sarah was in the kitchen when Pierre got back and was not so much interested in the bag he tossed to the table but in the body he had over his shoulder.
“Who did you kill this time and why did you bring his body back here?”
Pierre starts down the hall towards one of the guest rooms.
“He's not dead just unconscious and I found him on the south bound, looks like the auto close got him on the back of the head”
“OH great now your bringing home strays but why him? I mean a dog would be nice but another mouth to feed?”
Pierre drops Charles into the bunk just as easily as he picked him up and points to the name on the sneaker.
“I think his name is Charles so watch over him until he wakes up while I check out his bag”
“OK OK” as Sarah perches herself on the foot of the bunk like a Vulture looking at it's next meal.
“But if he bites it can I have his sneakers?”
Pierre heads back down the hall towards the kitchen shaking his head and reaching his destination pulls the bag towards him and unzips halfway which was all that was needed for a familiar odor to escape and Pierre knew he did not need to search the bag because he already knew what was in it.
Be it myth, legend or fact this would not be an act of randomness but a decision to be made to either keep a promise or lie to keep a good thing going. All things consider Pierre was happy with what he had and had survived his own trial by fire during the Euro-Russian wars but Sarah was...family.
Crossing the kitchen Pierre pulls his old kit from the storage room and opens it up to make sure what he needs is still all there. Once assured he opens the bag the rest of the way and pulls out the bits and pieces he knew made up a standard UTRT kit.
Portable GPS
Med Pack
K-rations
empty MP5 magazines
And on it went until he pulled out the plastic wrapped brick of what looked like modeling clay.
With item in hand Pierre paused.
“A promise is a promise”
Pierre thought to himself as he walked back down the hall now hearing voices in conversation he knew Charles was awake..or Sarah was talking to herself.
Standing in the door all Pierre could see was the back of Sarah's head as she was still on her perch and Charles was obscured by the red head of hair that the fishes loved so much.
Last chance
“I went through his bag and there was not much of anything of interest except for this”
done.
Pierre Vannier was not a complicated man it just seems complications always found him but gowning up in the back county of northern Quebec hunting and fishing he not only learned valuable survival skills but the art of patients as well.
Growing up in the back country honed Pierre's survival skills but nothing prepared him for the Euro-Russian wars which started shortly after the financial melt-down.
He had joined the French infantry due to family living in Picardy. Disillusioned after the war he found himself scrounging for food in Paris with a few of the survivors from his platoon. He'd thought about joining the UTRT but after the war he just couldn't stomach any kind of military organization. He was too old and bitter to help defend a bunch of naive civilian sheep.
Having enough Pierre decided to return to his beloved woods in northern Quebec and to the hunting grounds he knew so well and as luck would have it one of his long time friends, Ducky, was making flights to New York to bring the fat cats French cuisine and wine that only the French could make.
It was not a fun flight as Pierre had to hide in the unheated cargo hold but was not his first time having to deal with the cold but he hoped that no one notices the nibble here and there from the French pastries.
The only thing Pierre Vannier liked better then fresh French baked goods is a good scotch and even the air and smells around him tasted with flavor that help make the flight bearable.
Landing in upper New York Pierre was able to make his way out of the cargo bay undetected. UTRT has a habit of shooting first and asking question later and although he was a big man, at 6ft 3in, he still could move with grace even with a full pack on his back and was able to make his way to and over the 12 foot fence that surrounded the airport with ease.
Checking his map he figured there was two ways to go. Over the mountain ranges and back roads running along the boarder or take the direct route along the road ways using the travel papers he hopes are still active. OK there is only one way to do this as he pulls a coin from his pocket to let random chance decide.
Heads roads, tails border line.
There were few cars on the roads that night, which was a good thing for Pierre as those who could still afford to drive are not of the charitable nature, and with the high grass running along side it was a quick hop to cover when he saw the lights and heard the engine of the on coming traffic.
This is where Pierre Vannier meet Sarah Terror for the first time as he came around the corner and saw by the light of the glass inclosed bus shelter a fur ball of red laying the whoop ass down on a couple of rednecks thinking that they had discovered the opportunity for a good time.
For a moment Pierre was inclined to lend a hand but by the way things were going it would all be over before he even got there so he figured he would malinger on over and pay his respects.
Sarah heard the scuff of boot on pavement even before turning around and hunched down enough to hide the tire iron from view.
“AND what do you want?”
Just as he breaks into the light of the over head lamp post Sarah could see what was clearly a kind smile that she has not seen in a long time.
“Just to say hello”
“My name is Pierre whats yours?”
Sarah has always had the gift of being able to read people as to their true intentions. Her father use to call here a living, breathing, walking talking lie detector and not once has she even been proven wrong.
As quick as she jumped into attack mod Sarah drops the tire iron, squares herself up and becomes the proper lady.
“Sarah, Sarah Terror of New York”
“Well Sarah, Sarah Terror of New York what are you doing here in a bus shelter”
“ It was the only shelter I could find and they are saying its going to rain tonight”
“Well if you like I know of an abandoned bomb shelter left over from the late 60's just a few miles up the road and your more than welcome to join me”
Sarah give the big man another going over and although intimidating in size determined to be harmless enough.
“OK”
As they start walking to the north Sarah stops.
“OH wait a second”
She runs back to the shelter and picks up what looks to be a toy and runs back to where Pierre is waiting.
“Whats up with the monkey?” Pierre says with a smile
“It's the only thing I could grab when they tossed me out of my house”
“Well then the monkey comes with us”
Pulling the loaf of French bread he stole from the cargo plane from his pack he breaks off a piece and hands half to Sarah
“OH yummie”
Sarah pops the toy monkey onto the top Pierre's pack putting her free arm though his and at the same time accepting the kind offer.
“Frenchie this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship”
“What's up with the eye?”
“Fishing accident...revenge for the monkey remark right?”
“Yup”
It never did rain that night and the broken down bomb shelter over the years grew from one room to two to three to more rooms that they knew what to do with. They even had guest rooms even though the chances of a visit were slim as Sarah and Pierre became their own family. Sarah was always joking that they had so much room they should convert one to an indoor swimming pool but since even collecting rain water was illegal collecting enough to fill a swimming pool would seem to be a bit wasteful.
Even Pierre was happier than he was back in Quebec and he loved doing all of the building while Sarah did all the scrounging. The perfect arrangement that one could count on the other to have their back and Sarah was no push over if it came down to a bar fight.
It was one of those evenings Pierre set aside each month to get his fishing tackle ready for the week he would spend at the lake he found twenty miles away that would take the better part of the day to get to. Like all things it took papers to just go fishing and Pierre was sure that the ones he had gotten while in France would be of little use.
Be as it may he enjoyed making his own fly’s from the bits and pieces he could collect and put into the little leather bag he always carried. Sarah found them pretty and Pierre did not have the nerve to tell Sarah that they really love the bright red ones. He's sure she would be forgiving as she loved fresh trout as much as he did but why take the chance?
Sarah picked that moment of solitude to make her entrance as she always does. Been forever but she still owns the room that requires the grand entrance and a metal door if it does anything besides close she uses it well as an instrument to trumpet out her return.
“BANG:”
“Frenchieeeeeee you should see all the good stuff I got”. As she drop the big box of stuff right in the middle of Pierre's collection of bits and pieces.
“I even got something for youuuuu”
OK when Sarah says she has something for you it's not just anything. Every time Pierre hears those words, and more so if she calls him Frenchie first, it's something worth your undivided attention that even his now displaced bits and pieces could not distract from.
Sarah reaching over the table like some kind of splunker she pulls off the top the unquestionable shape of a bottle wrapped in newspaper and presents it to Pierre like presenting a new born to it's father for the very fist time.
Pierre carefully pulls back the news pint to reveal the unmistakable words Scotch Whiskey.
“Sarah where did you get this?”
“I traded it for some of your fishing tackle, you know all those fancy red ones you say the fish go nuts for”
Pierre was obliviously displaying a shocked expression as Sarah was was doing a very good job of a drop jaw bugged eyed Pierre impression right back.
“Well to morn the loss I think I'll have a drink, read my newspaper and try to forget, would you be so kind as to fetch my slippers and pipe?”
The thwack to the back of the head was unmistakable sound of a wet kitchen dish cloth and the smug “no you didn’t” expression on Sarah's face, that can only be achieve through years of training as a mother, would have been more that enough to put Pierre in his place.....except for the trailing Irish giggle letting him off the hook...yet again.
“OK then back to work”
Pierre cracks open the cap of the newly acquired bottle of Scotch Whiskey and pours out the customary three fingers worth and settles in to read the accompanying newspaper.
“Says here that after the lighting storm last week the power substation is still out of action and will not be back on line until next week”
“Aw so sad... as Sarah pokes her head around the pantry door with the obvious sarcastic pouty face”
“Two new districts were fenced off”
“How many does that make now”, “Twenty Seven”
Sarah walks back into the kitchen and begins sorting out the rest of the goods from the big box on the table. Made a bit of a racket as it seems Sarah also scored a few pots and pans to add to her already extensive collection of cook wear.
“OK this is interesting New York is getting a new governor next week”
“You mean galactic overload don't you? They don't vote for these guys anymore and it's the fat cats who put them”
Sarah pulls the fake cough routine to indicate yet another sarcastic shot
“into office”
“Who is this guy anyways?”
“Some guy named Robert W Baxter-Kaneen“
“So what did mister hody pody do to get such a cherry gig?”
“Well seems he ran a company called NewCorp but I don't know why that would put him first in line. I mean wasn't NewCorp one of the big guys that crashed and burned big time?”
The silence was deafening. The crashing and banging had stopped like someone turning off a radio and as Pierre turned to see who pulled the plug he saw the look in Sarah's face that he only saw once before that included a tire iron at the ready.
“Sarah?”
With out a word Sarah left the room and returned a few moments later with an old shoe box that Pierre knew she kept under her bunk. Opening the box she pulled out a stack of papers and handed them to Pierre in silence.
Puzzled Pierre scanned each page one at a time and it did not take much to realize that it was the written history of Sarah's past. The eviction notice, the denial of claim, and even the papers authorizing the man with the gun to take her children all of them with the same letterhead stamp”NewCorp”.
With out seemingly moving her lips Sarah speaks in a hush tone.
“NewCorp was a shell company that all local and state services were feed into along with major investment banks channeling all their toxic assets through back door deals making them the major share holder”
“NewCorp was suppose to fail”
Pierre still scanning over the documents takes a sip of Scotch that does not taste as sweet as the first.
“So...what do you want to do about this Baxter-Kaneen guy?”
“Kill him...Kill him tonight”
“Aw Sarah that’s imposable governors are heavily protected more so than even the president since the crash”
“I know Frenchie...Everyone knows they are part of the one-percenters but unlike most we know where he's going to be. The governors mansion is the cherry in this pie”
Pierre knew Sarah well enough than when she says she is going to do something she always does and if he does not bring her down now all that will happen that night is Sarah getting killed and accomplishing nothing.
“OK” as Pierre places the papers back into he shoe box and hands it to Sarah.
“But we do it my way and only if I feel we can get away cleanly agreed?”
Sarah considers
“Promise?”
Pierre takes the last sip of Scotch that once again went down with the sweetness that he knew so well
“Promise”
It was a week later Pierre was walking the south bound connector and side rails and was the holding area for train shipments going to and from MBF which was a good area to look for useful metal items and even railroad spikes could be made into useful tools in Pierre's home build forge.
Something he had learned a while back is he could pop the auto close on a car if the locking bolt was not engaged and sometimes useful items could be found on cars someone forgot to lock.
Rounding the bend in the tracks Pierre spots such a car off to the side railing he knew would be hooked to the south bound and pulling the tool he made for such occasions out of his pocket he hooked it into the auto close.
“OK my pretty lest see whats behind door number one”
With a snap of the wrist the auto lock let loose opening the door as fast as it closes and out through the door pops the sneaker foot and leg of one Charles Jordan.
“OK”
Pierre reads the name on the sneaker.
“Lets get you out of here Charles”
Tossing the unconscious Charles over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes he also hooks the pack he found in the car over his other and heads back to the shelter.
Sarah was in the kitchen when Pierre got back and was not so much interested in the bag he tossed to the table but in the body he had over his shoulder.
“Who did you kill this time and why did you bring his body back here?”
Pierre starts down the hall towards one of the guest rooms.
“He's not dead just unconscious and I found him on the south bound, looks like the auto close got him on the back of the head”
“OH great now your bringing home strays but why him? I mean a dog would be nice but another mouth to feed?”
Pierre drops Charles into the bunk just as easily as he picked him up and points to the name on the sneaker.
“I think his name is Charles so watch over him until he wakes up while I check out his bag”
“OK OK” as Sarah perches herself on the foot of the bunk like a Vulture looking at it's next meal.
“But if he bites it can I have his sneakers?”
Pierre heads back down the hall towards the kitchen shaking his head and reaching his destination pulls the bag towards him and unzips halfway which was all that was needed for a familiar odor to escape and Pierre knew he did not need to search the bag because he already knew what was in it.
Be it myth, legend or fact this would not be an act of randomness but a decision to be made to either keep a promise or lie to keep a good thing going. All things consider Pierre was happy with what he had and had survived his own trial by fire during the Euro-Russian wars but Sarah was...family.
Crossing the kitchen Pierre pulls his old kit from the storage room and opens it up to make sure what he needs is still all there. Once assured he opens the bag the rest of the way and pulls out the bits and pieces he knew made up a standard UTRT kit.
Portable GPS
Med Pack
K-rations
empty MP5 magazines
And on it went until he pulled out the plastic wrapped brick of what looked like modeling clay.
With item in hand Pierre paused.
“A promise is a promise”
Pierre thought to himself as he walked back down the hall now hearing voices in conversation he knew Charles was awake..or Sarah was talking to herself.
Standing in the door all Pierre could see was the back of Sarah's head as she was still on her perch and Charles was obscured by the red head of hair that the fishes loved so much.
Last chance
“I went through his bag and there was not much of anything of interest except for this”
done.
Frankie V
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