He stood outside the restaurant. Away from the window. Far from the door. He knew the emotion he was feeling was hate. He knew he had to do something.
Those bitches must pay, he thought.
He walked back to his 2006 Chevy Express Cargo Van. Slinking toward his home on wheels, a plan began to formulate in his mind. He knew what he would do.
Killing them would be too good for them, he thought. I'll get them where they live. Their money and happiness.
Thirty years ago...
Those damn ugly, horrible bitchy girls, thought Tolly. I don't need them. I don't want them.
As Tolly reached the end of the park, a man stood near a windowless Chevy van. He looked up at the man that stood by the van. Tolly thought he recognized him.
"Dad!" He exclaimed. Tolly Sr. left his wife and son several years ago. Tolly hadn't seen his dad in three years. "What are you doing here?" Tolly wiped his eyes embarrassed of his tears.
"What do you say there, boy?" Laughed the older Tolly slapping his son on the shoulder. "How have you been, kid? That's not tears I see, is it?"
"No. No, sir," stammered Tolly.
"Good for you, boy. What do you say to hanging out with your old dad?" Grinned Tolly Sr.
"Does Mom know you're here?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course, she does," lied Tolly Sr.
"OK. If you say it's okay with her."
Tiberius Tolliver, Sr. was not a notorious man. He was unknown to everyone. Yet, he was the best there ever was in his field. Tolly Sr. was the best second story thief, burglar and conman that ever lived. He thieved and burgled dozens of cities, towns and small burgs in ever state and province in North America. The man had a gift for burglary like Babe Ruth did with baseball. He never held an honest job or ever paid a cent of taxes his whole life. The time came that he realized that he was getting on in years. He decided he needed to pass his trade and all their secrets onto someone. That someone was his son. After all, what is a man if he doesn't leave behind a legacy.
The two Tollivers hopped into the van and drove off into the sunset.
The sad truth was Tolly's mother and step-dad thought, as did the whole town, that the boy had just runaway. Unfortunately, no one cared enough to do anything about it. No one looked for him. No news story broke on the TV or in the newspapers. Nothing. He just wasn't going to be missed. It was a huge relief to his parents and the town that Tolly was gone. Years later, Tolly learned his mother and her second family moved away. He didn't know where and by then, could care less.
Thus began the new life of Tolly with his father.
For the next 25 years Tolly and son made a great team of con men and second story thieves and burglars. Tolly Sr. knew the best way to be a successful criminal was to never stay in one place long as well as hit the mark and move on. One week they'd be in Nashville; the next week they'd be in Cleveland. Smaller towns were victimized too. Whether it was Shoshone, Idaho or Chickasha, Oklahoma, Tolly worked his magic and schooled junior. Junior turned out to be an excellent student. After 25 years, Tolly Sr. began to slow down. It was clear that he was taking ill. With never seeing a doctor and living a wild life on the road constantly moving and avoiding close relationships, he died of some unknown disease. Tolly didn't hang around to find out. He left dear old dad in the emergency room breezeway at Dallas Memorial and drove off. Junior inherited everything to carry on the family "business".
Tolly was a solo act. Remembering everything he learned he was quite successful. A few years went by. He found himself on the interstate exit that led to his old hometown's downtown. He was back home where his story began. But he wasn't expecting a warm welcome back or a parade. He didn't want it or need it. He was back for payback.
After spotting the women in the restaurant, he went back to his van to plan and to wait. Tolly sat in his van watching the restaurant. He had all his trade tools - hacksaws, lock picks, rope of every length imaginable, and every bit, wrench, socket and ratchet that would help him gain access to anywhere. He would wait until dark. He would then go from business to business taking anything of value. He planned on accessing Dolly's Doctor husband's offices. As luck would have it, it was a quiet, still, no moon, mild night. He thought everything through. Who he was going to get first, second, third and last. Tolly was parked in front of Molly's main office. He wore black slacks, a black Tee, socks, rubber-soled slip proof shoes and a face covering (a Richard Nixon mask). He smirked at this piece de resistance. Tolly did have a sense of humor.
He stealthy crawled out of the back of his van readying himself for a night of larceny, pilfering, burglary and revenge. He scooped up his bag of assorted implements of mayhem. As he closed the van back doors and turned spotlights hit him full force in his Tricky Dicky face.
"Freeze right there, dirt bag," demanded the first officer.
"Hey, Jonesy. Look who's back from the dead?" said his partner. "You should have stayed dead and buried, Mr. President." Both cops laughed at that quip. Tolly just groaned.
"Cuff him, Stu," smirked Jonesy.
In all his preparations, Tolly forgot the first rule about burglarizing in a small town: Always know where the cops are. In a matter of minutes, the two officers had him hooked-up and in the back of their black and white.
The tow truck towed Tolly's van to the police impound yard a half an hour later. Forensics went all over it. In short time they gathered enough evidence to solve a dozen open burglaries in six states along the Mississippi River. Tolly had failed to pawn his stolen goods from his last scores.
He sits waiting trial and extradition to those Bible belt states that frown, purse their lips and knit their brows in condemnation over thieves who steal from good Christian folk. It looks like it is going to be a very long time before he will be able to wreak revenge on his four little schoolyard girlfriends.
Moral: It's best to leave old shit be. And girls still suck.
The End.
Those bitches must pay, he thought.
He walked back to his 2006 Chevy Express Cargo Van. Slinking toward his home on wheels, a plan began to formulate in his mind. He knew what he would do.
Killing them would be too good for them, he thought. I'll get them where they live. Their money and happiness.
Thirty years ago...
Those damn ugly, horrible bitchy girls, thought Tolly. I don't need them. I don't want them.
As Tolly reached the end of the park, a man stood near a windowless Chevy van. He looked up at the man that stood by the van. Tolly thought he recognized him.
"Dad!" He exclaimed. Tolly Sr. left his wife and son several years ago. Tolly hadn't seen his dad in three years. "What are you doing here?" Tolly wiped his eyes embarrassed of his tears.
"What do you say there, boy?" Laughed the older Tolly slapping his son on the shoulder. "How have you been, kid? That's not tears I see, is it?"
"No. No, sir," stammered Tolly.
"Good for you, boy. What do you say to hanging out with your old dad?" Grinned Tolly Sr.
"Does Mom know you're here?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course, she does," lied Tolly Sr.
"OK. If you say it's okay with her."
Tiberius Tolliver, Sr. was not a notorious man. He was unknown to everyone. Yet, he was the best there ever was in his field. Tolly Sr. was the best second story thief, burglar and conman that ever lived. He thieved and burgled dozens of cities, towns and small burgs in ever state and province in North America. The man had a gift for burglary like Babe Ruth did with baseball. He never held an honest job or ever paid a cent of taxes his whole life. The time came that he realized that he was getting on in years. He decided he needed to pass his trade and all their secrets onto someone. That someone was his son. After all, what is a man if he doesn't leave behind a legacy.
The two Tollivers hopped into the van and drove off into the sunset.
The sad truth was Tolly's mother and step-dad thought, as did the whole town, that the boy had just runaway. Unfortunately, no one cared enough to do anything about it. No one looked for him. No news story broke on the TV or in the newspapers. Nothing. He just wasn't going to be missed. It was a huge relief to his parents and the town that Tolly was gone. Years later, Tolly learned his mother and her second family moved away. He didn't know where and by then, could care less.
Thus began the new life of Tolly with his father.
For the next 25 years Tolly and son made a great team of con men and second story thieves and burglars. Tolly Sr. knew the best way to be a successful criminal was to never stay in one place long as well as hit the mark and move on. One week they'd be in Nashville; the next week they'd be in Cleveland. Smaller towns were victimized too. Whether it was Shoshone, Idaho or Chickasha, Oklahoma, Tolly worked his magic and schooled junior. Junior turned out to be an excellent student. After 25 years, Tolly Sr. began to slow down. It was clear that he was taking ill. With never seeing a doctor and living a wild life on the road constantly moving and avoiding close relationships, he died of some unknown disease. Tolly didn't hang around to find out. He left dear old dad in the emergency room breezeway at Dallas Memorial and drove off. Junior inherited everything to carry on the family "business".
Tolly was a solo act. Remembering everything he learned he was quite successful. A few years went by. He found himself on the interstate exit that led to his old hometown's downtown. He was back home where his story began. But he wasn't expecting a warm welcome back or a parade. He didn't want it or need it. He was back for payback.
After spotting the women in the restaurant, he went back to his van to plan and to wait. Tolly sat in his van watching the restaurant. He had all his trade tools - hacksaws, lock picks, rope of every length imaginable, and every bit, wrench, socket and ratchet that would help him gain access to anywhere. He would wait until dark. He would then go from business to business taking anything of value. He planned on accessing Dolly's Doctor husband's offices. As luck would have it, it was a quiet, still, no moon, mild night. He thought everything through. Who he was going to get first, second, third and last. Tolly was parked in front of Molly's main office. He wore black slacks, a black Tee, socks, rubber-soled slip proof shoes and a face covering (a Richard Nixon mask). He smirked at this piece de resistance. Tolly did have a sense of humor.
He stealthy crawled out of the back of his van readying himself for a night of larceny, pilfering, burglary and revenge. He scooped up his bag of assorted implements of mayhem. As he closed the van back doors and turned spotlights hit him full force in his Tricky Dicky face.
"Freeze right there, dirt bag," demanded the first officer.
"Hey, Jonesy. Look who's back from the dead?" said his partner. "You should have stayed dead and buried, Mr. President." Both cops laughed at that quip. Tolly just groaned.
"Cuff him, Stu," smirked Jonesy.
In all his preparations, Tolly forgot the first rule about burglarizing in a small town: Always know where the cops are. In a matter of minutes, the two officers had him hooked-up and in the back of their black and white.
The tow truck towed Tolly's van to the police impound yard a half an hour later. Forensics went all over it. In short time they gathered enough evidence to solve a dozen open burglaries in six states along the Mississippi River. Tolly had failed to pawn his stolen goods from his last scores.
He sits waiting trial and extradition to those Bible belt states that frown, purse their lips and knit their brows in condemnation over thieves who steal from good Christian folk. It looks like it is going to be a very long time before he will be able to wreak revenge on his four little schoolyard girlfriends.
Moral: It's best to leave old shit be. And girls still suck.
The End.
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