Nemesis: The Final Case of Eliot Ness

42

Well, this was disappointing.

Or perhaps he should be pleased. No one was close to him, that much was certain. They were busy putting away this poor washed-up idiot, oblivious to the real threat that lurked in their town.

They would learn their mistake, eventually. There was no way around it. How long could he go without pleasuring himself again?

But there was no denying… he didn’t like the idea of someone else taking credit for his work.

There was only one thing to be done.

“Work? In one of them breweries?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“I’ll take any kinda work I can get.”

“Family to support?”

“Not so much anymore. Once upon a time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Probably for the better. You a family man?”

“I was.”

“Didn’t work out?”

“You could say that. Shall we go?”

Later, back at the brewery, he encountered some… unexpected complications. If he had not had anesthesia, it would have been almost impossible, even granted his considerable strength. The Mad Butcher had received altogether too much publicity. People were on their guard. Even uneducated fools such as this one.

On the other hand, the lovely city officials said that the killer was in custody. What reason could there possibly be for apprehension?

At any rate, by the time the poor baboon awoke, he was trussed up and lying flat across the table.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?”

“The idea is to prevent an interloper from taking credit for my achievements. Be still.”

“What’s with the axe?”

“You’ll see.”

“Don’t do nothin’ crazy now, mister. I can make you a lot of scratch.”

“That explains why you’re riding the rails and living in a trash heap.”

“I’m just bidin’ my time. I got a big score comin’.”

“Do tell.”

“I’m talkin’ big time. Major league. Enough to set you up for life.”

“I’m already set. Thank goodness for the kindness of close relatives.”

“Let me help you, mister.”

“I will let you help me.”

“Get me offa this table.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. Pleasant dreams.”

He swung the axe.

But it was even more unsatisfying than the last time. How long could he continue repeating himself, never facing any real challenge?

He had thought the safety director might provide that challenge, but the man seemed woefully inadequate for the role. He had taunted Ness, but the man seemed impervious to every slap on the face.

How much more would he have to do to get a response out of the famed Treasury agent? He’d killed more people than Capone ever did. When would he get his due?

If it didn’t come soon, as it should, he would be forced to take certain measures. One way or the other, he would command the safety director’s attention. He had earned that. It would be his. No matter what he had to do.