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Toggle Main Navigation. Search MathWorks. All Examples Functions Blocks Apps. Clarence picked up the pistol and shot him to end his misery. As he walked away, he said to his guides, "Get back to Josh and tell him there are two less Martians masquerading as his people". Clarence decided to call it a night, as he was still stiff and sore from the beating.
He went back to his room and bought more milk for the cat along the way. In his room, he examined the pistol and found it had only four bullets. That would be a problem. There was no way he could buy bullets in New York, at least not for a pistol. He would have to find a source or make a shotgun, since he knew he could buy shotgun shells. The next night he walked about twenty blocks before he saw what might be Martians.
Two blacks were dragging a young woman into a doorway near a bus stop. They hadn't seen Clarence. The young woman had screamed once but then further screams were muffled. Clarence drew his gun and rushed to the doorway. The men were in the act of pulling her skirt off when Clarence appeared and shot one. The black holding her put his arm around her throat and pointed a pistol at her head. Then he said to Clarence, "Throw down that gun and get out of here or I'll kill you". Clarence couldn't help laughing. Your gun is pointed at her so I'd have you shot before you could point it at me.
Drop the gun right now or I'll kill you! The black seemed to think a moment, then dropped the gun, let loose of the young woman and started to walk away. Clarence shot him in the face. The young woman began to blubber and Clarence told her to shut up and get dressed, as he searched both of the bodies. When he'd taken their wallets and the pistol, he led the young woman back to the bus stop. He asked her why she was in this neighborhood and she said she'd fallen asleep and gone past her stop.
As he put her on the bus going back, she asked, "Who are you? What's your name? We don't have names". He decided that killing Martian muggers could turn into a good living. He next came upon an I. This had belonged to the one with the gun. Unlike the first gun, which was an automatic, the gun he took from the rapist was a. Clarence liked the. He would go to the address on the I. It was bold, but he might flush out yet another nest of Martians. The next evening he took a bus and got off near the address. He found the tenement building and walked up the three flights of stairs.
When he got to the apartment number he knocked. The door was opened by a surly teenager who looked like a mugger himself but didn't seem to be a Martian. The lad was about to slam the door in Clarence's face but Clarence forced it open. You a cop? I have enough to finish you and anyone in this place, so don't get cute". The boy backed up and led Clarence into a room at the back of the apartment.
It all looked like loot to Clarence and he watched closely as the boy rummaged through dressers and found a box of. The boy was obviously obeying out of fright, but as he handed Clarence the box, he examined the gun. Then he yelled. He's killed Johnny". A scream echoed from the next room and a large female lumbered down the hall to the bedroom as Clarence made his way to the door. She blocked his way and the boy, emboldened by rage and grief at the loss of his brother, slid around his mother and blocked the door.
Cut this honkey to bits". The woman turned and rushed into the kitchen as Clarence tried to force his way past the boy to get at the door. Before he could get out, the woman charged with the knife in front of her, meaning to impale Clarence with the force of her large body as she continued to bellow, "You killed my boy. You killed my boy". Almost on reflex he grabbed the boy and spun around with him and the woman buried the knife in her son's chest. What with all the screaming and yelling from both mother and son, Clarence was able to open the door and flee down the hall.
As he left the building, he answered one of his guides, "Yes, they're a noisy people. But what's worse, they hold a grudge". He had dropped the box of bullets at the door and was in a foul mood. He blamed the botched mission on his guides. As he walked to the bus line he told them, "It's all your fault. You came up with that stupid plan. Simple rapists and thieves our only haul in two nights. And I lost the bullets and there's only five left in this gun".
He continued to argue as he boarded the bus. Although he lowered his voice, his muttering caused the other passengers to stare, as he was the only white person on the bus. He stared back and as he did so he noticed three men a few seats behind him. They were the ones who had mugged him. It was no coincidence. They were following him. They must have known what he'd just done. He'd have to get rid of them. He stared straight at them and they recognized him. He kept staring until he neared his stop, then, continuing to stare over his shoulder, he went toward the front exit.
One of the muggers nudged the other and the three got up and waited at the middle exit, as Clarence expected. When they all got off the bus, Clarence hurried down the street. They thought he was trying to get away but he only wanted to get away from the well-lighted main street. The muggers hurried also and when they caught up to him one said, "Hey, mothuh, you got another two hundred dollahs in your shoe?
Their leader said, "No fair, mistah, we ain't armed. He quickly took their wallets and left the pistol in the hand of one. Back at his room, he counted the money from the wallets. But those were the breaks. He'd make his own guns from now on. He decided on an improvised shotgun. Cheap, no ballistics, simple parts and ammunition easy to get without signing, at least outside New York City. He'd been reading gun magazines and knew that 1 Buckshot shells held 16 30 caliber pellets, the most destructive load available to civilians.
The next day he went to a large hardware store and bought six feet of 1 inch steel plumbing pipe and had it cut into 6 inch lengths, each piece threaded at one end. The clerk, just out of curiosity, asked what he wanted it for. Clarence answered that the didn't know as he was getting it for his landlord. After he had made twelve guns, he took the Metro to Brewster. He went into a sporting goods store and asked the clerk where the nearest shooting range was so he could practice with his shotgun.
The clerk gave him a location and Clarence asked for several boxes of single ought Buckshot. He presented his state I. There was a basement in the apartment building but he didn't want to attract attention with the noise. What with backfires and shootings being common in the neighborhood, he decided to test the gun around the corner. When he got to the darkest part of the street, Clarence put the pipe cap against his stomach and slammed the barrel back. The shell exploded and the recoil nearly knocked him down and certainly knocked the wind out of him. That was no good. Had he been holding the 6 inch pipe in one hand, he wouldn't have been able to keep his grip.
Nor could he risk staggering around trying to regain his breath. He had to make something to absorb the recoil. Also, the heat from the shell came up through the handle and burned his hand. Not enough to blister, but it did hurt. Moreover, it would leave powder flecks on his right hand.
There was little chance of his being tested for firing a gun but he'd better solve those problems. He had looked around the basement while he and his guides talked over the testing. He remembered some old sponge rubber mattresses in one corner. He cut an 8x8 inch square from the plywood and rounded its corners.
He then cut the piece of mattress to the same size. Next he cut a 4 inch square by 1 inch thick piece of mattress and made a slit in its middle. This he slipped over the barrel to absorb any heat and powder specks coming up through the handle. He made three more as spares. Clarence spent the next day feeding the cat, watching TV and practicing loading, drawing, stripping off the duct tape, dry-firing with a spent shell and disassembling the shotgun.
He got so he could fire, disassemble and throw the pieces in all directions in under 10 seconds, just in case a patrol car should come into view. That night he put the pad, plywood side out, inside his jacket over his stomach. It gave him a bit of a pot-belly but wasn't too noticeable. He'd cut a pocket-sized slit in the jacket a few inches to the right of the zipper. Through this slit he pushed one of the guns and lodged it at the top of the pad. He put one gun in each of his pants pockets and another into his right jacket pocket which he had lengthened to keep it out of sight.
He also put a dozen shells into his left jacket pocket. Then the one-man- army went out into the dark street hunting for Martians. He walked fifteen blocks, floating on air despite the weight. He was so happy that he had the perfect weapon to rid the planet of oodles of Martians. But, of course, he could go back to Brewster and get more shells. As he was fantasizing, three blacks turned the corner and nearly bumped into him. They could have gone around but stopped and barred his way.
Clarence looked up and down the street and one of the blacks said, "No use man, there's no cops anywhere around. Clarence was looking for cops, but was relieved not to see any and was glad of the black's reassurance. The third black pulled a gun and held it sideways, taunting Clarence. It's for killin' white fools who come into our hood and don't turn over their money fast. And maybe even if they do turn it over. What do you think, Fool? It went off with a roar and a flash pointed at the man's chin. It turned his face to hamburger and he vaulted back as if hit by a sledgehammer.
Before the other two could react, Clarence changed his grip on the barrel, jerked it out of the handle and smashed it into the temple of one. The third mugger took off and Clarence dropped the pieces and went for the gun in his right pocket. He rested the handle on his front again, took aim and slammed the barrel home. The last mugger was twenty yards away when at least six of the sixteen pellets ripped into the back of his head and body. He went down on his face and twitched as Clarence took the wallets from the two nearest and picked up the pieces of the first gun.
Then he loped to the first mugger, took his wallet and went down an alley to relax and reload. As he replaced the shells and put on two more strips of duct tape, which he had stuck to the plywood on his padding, he marveled at the gun's performance. It was quick and devastating and the pad had absorbed the recoil.
It was ever so much better than any gun he had taken. He hadn't even bothered to pick up the. So much for trashy weapons. With four guns back in place, Clarence continued deeper into the ghetto. Ordinarily this would not have been the best hunting ground for muggers, as they would be working better neighborhoods. But neither Clarence nor his guides were wise enough to know this.
Even so, a young, pot-bellied white man was a good target for muggers on their way to work. As Clarence walked along he noticed a young white man coming his way. The fellow had long hair, an earring, a beard and wore jeans torn at the knees; a real scuzzbag. Even so, Clarence thought it best to warn him. There are muggers around here. As a matter of fact, I'm muggin' you, so hand over your wallet.
The white mugger didn't look like a Martian, but then again, who did? Clarence pulled a gun from his jacket, stripped off the duct tape and blew the surprised scuzzbag' s face away. It was nearly midnight and Clarence decided to ride back to his room. He walked four blocks to a thoroughfare and boarded a nearly empty bus. A block later two blacks got on and sat in the seats in front of Clarence. As they rode they talked openly about going to Central Park where the pickings were easy. Clarence listened as his guides mapped out a new program for him.
Instead of using him as bait, they would let him interrupt muggings. Clarence liked the idea. He was tired but excited at the prospect of actively protecting people from Martians. He rode with the two muggers until they changed busses. He changed with them and they didn't seem to notice. The two got off at Central Park and Clarence got off a block further. He noticed which path they took and doubled back to follow them.
The park was nearly deserted at this time of night but two tourists, so stupid as to be asking for it, were about to get it. Clarence saw the two muggers waylay the tourists and draw guns. He left the path and sprinted toward them behind a line of bushes. He shot through the bushes, downing one of the muggers and quickly picked up the other gun.
The blast of the shotgun shell rang through the area, the remaining mugger looked all over for its origin, not knowing where to shoot or where to go. The woman tourist clung to her husband and, as they were out of the line of fire, Clarence fired again, nearly cutting the other mugger in half. As the tourists stood frozen in shock, Clarence commanded through the bushes, "Get out of the park right now.
Clarence came out of the bushes and lifted the wallets of the muggers. Clarence quickly reloaded and left the park, never getting back on the path. Rather than wait around for a bus, he went down the subway stairs. He got on the first train and walked through the nearly empty cars until he came to the last one. He sat down and looked out the window at the street signs illuminated on the sides of the tunnel. He was going the wrong way but he didn't worry. Seeing him sitting alone, two more muggers cruising the cars approached him. Clarence slipped the gun from the slit in his jacket.
As the lead mugger flashed his knife, Clarence's gun flashed and the mugger's insides made a mess of that end of the car. Clarence leaped up with the barrel and smashed it into the head of the other mugger. He then lifted their wallets, fat from the night's take. There were no witnesses, as the last car was empty. Despite the noise, the rattle of the subway train kept the few passenger in the other cars from hearing it.
Clarence got off at the next stop. From there, Clarence made his way to his room, fed the cat and watched TV through the night. The media was already picking up the stories of people being shot- gunned over a wide area. That the victims were muggers, there was no doubt, even without positive I. As yet, there was no media panic, since only eight muggers had been killed, this night.
There was no mention of the two muggers and two rapists he'd taken care of two nights ago. Clarence counted his money and found he had more than a thousand dollars so he decided to stop taking wallets. The next evening he went cruising again and got six more. Eight the next evening and only three the next. After a week, enough bodies of muggers were turning up in subways, parks and side streets to finally alarm the media.
The media, in turn, alarmed the muggers. Clarence had slimmer pickings from then on. Fewer muggers mugging made for a boring routine. Clarence would have to find different targets. He opened another can of Sheba for the cat and turned on his trusty little TV. All diagrams and assembly instructions for the shotgun can be downloaded by clicking here.
Opening this link will start a If you're using an older browser, you may need a PDF plugin. To obtain the latest PDF reader available, please click on the "Get Adobe Reader" icon found in the upper right hand border of this web page. Rent Now! Buy Porta Potty Supplies O polyjohn. Refills, toilet paper, and more. Countless cartoons, talk shows, movies and news reports were without a single message for him.
Then, one evening, it happened. A news segment on animal rights activists featured their spokesman, Sonny Barlow, showing clips of animal torture by cosmetics companies. Rabbits were shown, strapped down while various cosmetics were put in their eyes.. The purpose was to see if their eyes would be damaged. If not, the eye cosmetics and shampoos would be safe for humans. Sonny ended his short talk with, "One would have to be from outer space to not know this is the willful torture of helpless animals. He had not imagined such cruelty. There had been cages holding cats in the same room.
He pictured in his mind his own cat in one of those cages, awaiting some awful experiment. As he thought about it he grew enraged and tearful. He looked over at his cat and the cat looked back at him. His guides assured him that those monsters would get around to his cat in time. The man said you would have to be from outer space not to know it was torture. Of course they're from outer space.
So they're our next targets. Clarence was willing to kill anyone connected with such brutality. But it was not as simple as that. These were businesses, with mainly Earth people duped into doing the dirty work. He could kill a dozen employees without getting to one Martian. So how to ruin the Martians' business? Themain culprit Barlow named was Tressallure.
This was a hair cosmetic firm which came out of nowhere to flood the TV with dazzling commercials. Tressallure was owned by Vito Benno, a greasy slug said to have mob connections. As Clarence and his guides discussed Tressallure, one of the guides brought up Milton, the electro-chemist back at the hospital. Milton had refused to use shampoo and would only wash his hair with soap.
He had assured Clarence that the pyrithione zinc in most shampoos made the scalp a conductor. Space people could then beam their messages to those zinc-coated skulls and cause those people to vote for politicians who were actually space people up to no good. Clarence decided to doctor the two hundred bottles of Tressallure with hair remover. With his padding to rest the handle of the gun on, he looked sort of fat, and being loaded down, a little drunk. After a few blocks into the rougher part of his neighborhood, he was approached by two blacks who saw him as an easy mark.
Clarence pretended to scratch himself and put his hand through the slit in his jacket. Neither of the two blacks even pulled a weapon, thinking Clarence was that easy. When they stopped in front of him and demanded his money, Clarence pulled out the gun, rested its handle on the padding and fired. Clarence quickly pulled out the barrel and smashed it into the skull of the other. He took his time searching the bodies on the dark street.
These two had been at work. Since it was now 10 o'clock, Clarence stayed out hunting. He no longer enjoyed it. He had gotten so skilled at spotting, attracting and killing muggers it had become boring. Commentators accused the police of laxity and demanded troops to protect New Yorkers from the killer of muggers. That afternoon Clarence walked to the drugstore and bought one bottle of Tressallure and one of a popular lotion hair remover.
It was for coarse, dark hair, supposedly the strongest. He had intended to mix it half and half and so he smeared a generous helping of the mixture on one arm and let it alone for five minutes. When he scraped it off he was disappointed to see it did not work. So much for that. He would have to use it full strength.
He then put the pure lotion on his arm and, sure enough, all the hair in that spot came off at the roots after five minutes. Clarence reasoned that since Tressallure was a relatively new product, people would not know what to expect. They would just rub it in like their regular shampoo, usually while in the shower, or even over a sink.
Then after a few minutes they would try for lather, of which there was none, and rinse it out; along with their hair. Clarence bought two hundred twelve ounce bottles of Tressallure and four hundred six ounce bottles of the lotion hair remover. This took him five days as he visited six hundred drug stores, mom and pops and supermarkets in a ten square mile area. It cost him nearly all he had, but easy come, easy go.
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To avoid suspicion, although he could have bought a dozen bottles without arousing comment, Clarence bought one at a time. He was methodical to the extreme. He would buy a bottle, stick it in a pocket in its sack with receipt and go on until front, back and jacket pockets were filled. When he had six, he would go to a trash receptacle, find a dirty sack and put the six bottles in it and stuff it down in the receptacle. When he had five sacks of six bottles each, he would go back and collect them and take the thirty bottles back to his room.
After twenty trips he set to work emptying the Tressallure down the sink and refilling the bottles with the lotion hair remover. He had bought a pair of rubber gloves at a pharmacy and was careful to wipe off any fingerprints. He also made sure to put each Tressallure bottle back in its original marked sack so it would go back to the store he bought it from. Molly Franklin was coming out.
She expected to see Todd Jordan at the ball this evening. He had twenty million and she wanted it. Her parents had pulled a lot of strings to get Todd to the coming out. She was pretty enough, but with Tressallure she believed commercials , she was a cinch. She undressed and stepped into the shower. The Tressallure had a different smell from most shampoos she had used, but so what?
She massaged it in, took the bar of Lady Beauty soap and commenced to soap herself all over while the Tressallure worked its magic.
She luxuriated for several minutes while bathing then stood on one foot, then the other, making sure she got between her toes clean. Then she turned the faucet on full and bent her head, eyes closed. She then directed the spray to he underarms and the rest of her. As she rinsed out her eyes, she noticed the water coming up over her ankles and begin to flow out under the shower door. She looked closer and noticed the drain clogged with hair. She screamed. Her mother fainted when Molly appeared in a towel, shrieking hysterically. Only a few dripping wisps were left. Now that slut, Angela, will get him.
Franklin examined the Tressallure bottle and had his now recovered wife search out the receipt. That snot Todd's twenty million was chickenfeed compared to what he could get from Safeway and Tressallure. By noon the next day an alert had gone out over every radio and TV station. Within hours Tressallure was being taken off the shelves of every store in the city. Then it was statewide. The networks joined in and by that evening Tressallure was pulled from every store nationwide.
Eighteen lawsuits were filed in the next three days. Then the phenomena began. The networks had described the substitution as a matter of course. Hundreds of persons around the country were turning in bottles of Tressallure they had bought before the recall and filing suits.
Anyone willing to lose his or her hair in expectation of collecting big in court was claiming his or her bottle had been spiked with hair remover. Even other shampoos were affected, as all one needed was any shampoo bottle filled with hair remover, even without a receipt. Within another week there was no shampoo of any kind for sale. Vito Benno was hunted down by the media and found in a massage parlor. His attorney was with him and nervously advised him not to make any statements.
Vito Benno waved him aside and shouted, "You call this justice? I hire the best looking broads for my TV commercials, with the nicest hair. I even hired a nigger teenager to tell those broads to shake their bodies for him, like in the Revlon commercials. Who says I ain't got class? Then Vito Benno began to weep. He swept the toupee off his head and used it to wipe his eyes.
Then he blew his nose in it. I'll get them, see if I don't. Everyone suspected Vito Benno but two women swore they were in bed with him at the time. Vito Benno had mob connections but nothing could be proven. He had caused the death of a human being! He wept with shame and recrimination.
But he would avenge Sonny Barlow. VitoBenno was a Martian and so would have to die. But how? Clarence did not know where Vito Benno lived and supposed he would be guarded, anyway. He would have to draw Vito Benno into the open and in a situation where he could be gotten at without much risk.
His guides came up with a plan to burn Vito Benno' s warehouse, thus getting him into the open as a spectator. But first, Clarence needed a weapon which was easily concealed, not too noisy and disposable. One of his guides suggested an ice pick. This was logical, since an ice pick would be silent and would produce a small but deep wound.
Clarence liked the idea but naturally improved on it. When he got to his room he tried to pull the picks from their handles. They were in too tight so he put a knife blade alongside the pick and whacked it with a pair of pliers. The handle split and he took the pick out. He then put a piece of match stick in the slot so the pick would not go in farther than three-eighths of an inch. Next he bent back two of the fish hooks until they broke. He used GOOP to glue their points onto the points of thepicks. Then he used more GOOP to glue the handles back together. He thenwhittled the pick ends of the handles to within a sixteenth of an inch of the pick.
Thus, he had the absolutely perfect murder weapon. Selected Pearls, Vol. Jackin' House Miami. Lazy Afternoon Beats, Vol. A Soul Thing, Vol. Da Afro , Dr! The House Masterclass. Four to the Floor, Vol. That Jackin' House Thang. Paolo M. House Is a Feeling. Under the Surface, Vol. Manuel Moreno , Mollono. Jackin House Selection. Lazy Afternoon Beats. Pure Deep Sexy, Vol. Mousse T. Lost in a Daydream. Jack to the Rhythm. For the Love of House.
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