Harry Cleese: Part 6 "Driving Manny Boris"

Cleese gripped the wheel tight as he spun the car to avoid yet another charge from Manny's bike. Cleese wouldn't have thought a Harley would stand much of a chance against Elias' Chariot, but this hog had tusks-- literally. Manny had attached four-foot steel spikes to each side of the frame. Cleese had already narrowly avoided them once and then narrowly avoided the tree they tore down in his place. Every time he heard another squeal of the hog pivoting, Cleese's heart jumped as he sped out of the way.

Kieran's advice seemed so simple; chase manny up the mountain, find some ice, pull him out of the snow when he slips off the road. There was just one problem: Manny Boris didn't like being chased. In fact, he was the one that usually did the chasing. Compared to the Mitsubishi, Manny's hog had the better maneuverability and speed. Cleese just had to hope it didn't have the better traction.

It started to dawn on Cleese that guiding Boris up the mountain was going to be about luring, not herding. Cleese poked his head out the window and taunted Manny. "Boris, you fat pig! You really think you're a part of the ol' Empian family? Why don't you catch me, and I'll show you how a real enforcer acts." The loudest squeal yet could be heard as Manny peeled out after Cleese who had taken off towards the mountain range.

The mountains were the first place Cleese had ever learned to drive. Kieran had firmly believed the mountains were the only place to train a driver. "Go up a mountain and you've got the worst a driver could get," Kieran used to say. "Just in one trip, you've got winding roads, rain, sleet, hail, snow, cliffs and rocks. If you can master that, you've mastered the road." Kieran wouldn't even take young Harry in for his driving test until he could go up and down Mount Cadia thrice in one day without a dent. Cleese could handle a mountain. He had to hope Manny couldn't.

Cleese zig-zagged through the foothills. The twisting roads wouldn't be a problem until the higher altitudes. After getting just out of sight a little bit up the mountain, Cleese turned in to a hidden cave that was just big enough for the Chariot. He used to find shelter in it to avoid hail as a kid. Manny tore past behind him, and Cleese calmly backed out and followed the biker.

By the time Manny realized Cleese was now behind him, they had gotten to the narrow cliff's edge that required every bit of concentration to navigate. Boris had no room to turn around and didn't dare to stop with Cleese right behind him. Cleese wasn't going to run him off the side of a cliff (Manny Boris was wanted alive), but he had to make sure he kept Manny going until they got to the nasty stuff. Just as they pulled back onto more stable ground, it started to sleet.

In the Chariot, Cleese was pretty warm and cozy. On the hog, Manny wasn't. Kieran proved to be right about the ice causing problems. Manny was wobbling on slight curves so he certainly wouldn't try pivoting around in the sleet. Once it cleared up, Manny still couldn't turn around because he was too cold and numb to maneuver properly.

After a few minutes of clear weather, Cleese herded Manny up a dirt path. A few more minutes after that, the path broke into a clearing that was split perfectly into two halves: snow and grass. Cleese took his chance and just tapped the hog with the Chariot. Manny panicked and turned into the snow. Thrown from his bike, Manny landed in the soft thick snow.

Cleese climbed out of the Chariot and approached Manny cautiously. The biker wasn't moving. Cleese gingerly removed the helmet to reveal a plump face with a snout-like nose, mangled teeth that seemed to come straight out, and a thick bristly mohawk on top. Cleese bent down to check his pulse and was so surprised when Manny snorted that he thumped him with his baton.

Cleese drove all night back home with hog-tied Manny struggling in the back of the chariot with his disassembled bike. Cleese went straight to the tire shop where Gene was congratulating himself on finally finding the killing job. Cleese stormed in and pushed the snarling and snorting Manny at his cousin. Frightened, Gene jumped into a stack of tires.

"What are you doing!" Gene stuttered from his hiding spot. "Get that sick fuck out of here."

Cleese smirked and dragged Manny out. "That's one more favor done. I'll be back tomorrow when you will have the next one lined up."

Harry Cleese: Part 5 "Cry for Kieran"

After a full day's trip, Cleese pulled up to his uncle Kieran's ranch. Gene had sent him out of state to take care of a reputation problem. Years ago, Missy had had to hire an outside contractor named Manny Boris to find a man who had attacked one of her girls. The man had been a golden boy back in his home town and was being hidden by the community. Manny tore apart the city, threatening it's citizens, and asserting his dominance. The problem was that after he took care of his mark, Manny just stuck around causing trouble. Worse yet, he liked the effect associating with the ol' Empian family had on others and just kept doing it. Now he was running the town by throwing the Empian name about to threaten people. He was good at his job, just needed to be taught some sense. Cleese was to bring him in alive.

Kieran hailed Cleese from the back of a horse. Kieran loved horses and was rarely not riding one. It was almost like he was part horse himself. Kieran had trained Cleese early on, as he did most of the ol' Empian enforcers, to fight and shoot. Kieran was ancient and couldn't be active in the family, but was happy to run his ranch and train new recruits there as needed.

"What? My training not good enough to keep you safe that you had to get armor," Kieran teased as Cleese sat down with him on his porch. Cleese showed off his new body suit and the special shotgun rounds he loaded with the acid from the Neenan job as they visited. As it usually did, the conversation eventually turned to the sad fate of Kieran's cousin Peter Meehan.

Peter had once worked closely with Big Zed and Kieran's father, Sal. Peter had a gift for figuring out the good odds in any situation, which made him an important bookie for Sal's organization. That is, until Big Zed made a play for Sal's position at the head of the family and Peter saw the good odds on Big Zed winning the struggle and betrayed Sal. Big Zed had been pretty happy to have won over one of Sal's major players. Which is why he got vicious when Peter betrayed him as well.

Peter had seen signs that the community was in danger and that others beside the family would need to be armed and prepared. Big Zed forbade any arming of civilians for fear it would backfire on them and encourage the little man to attack Big Zed. If outside forces threatened the community, the family would need to beef up protection and hope for the best. Peter couldn't take that chance and enforced his own plan. Stealing firearms from the warehouse, he gave them to the local men and taught them how to clean and operate them.

When Big Zed discovered the betrayal, he exacted revenge. After a slew of set-ups and attacks, he finally took Peter out. Nobody was exactly sure how it happened, but Peter was first diagnosed with bird flu of all things. Then his liver started deteriorating. The doctors were able to slow it down, but Peter would be needing a new liver.

After commiserating over Peter a while, Cleese asked Kieran about Manny Boris. "He's feisty," Kieran warned. "He's been terrorizing one of the local towns under the family name, but he's not hiding behind it. The man has a formidable rage that shouldn't be trifled with. He'll tear through you if you take him head on."

"Then what do you suggest," Cleese asked. "I have to take him in myself or else Eugene won't count the favor."

"I'll have to do some thinking," Kieran responded. "Phil and the other ranch hands are having a bonfire and were hoping to see you before you left. Go have a drink with them and we'll talk in the morning."

Cleese bid Kieran goodnight and wandered down to the fire. He was greeted by Phil, a seasoned ranch hand that was as inseparable from a horse as Kieran was. Phil was just tapping the keg as the other ranch hands were showing up, some coming straight from the fields on their horses. These guys were known to get a bit rowdy.

As the party got louder, Kieran came down from the main house scowling. Cleese met him halfway, ready to apologize. "You best tell those boys to calm it down a bit," Kieran admonished. "I've got more than just them on this ranch and won't stand for their shenanigans this late."

"Sorry, Kieran," Cleese apologized. "They're just trying to show me a good time."

"No, they're just using you as an excuse," Kieran sighed. "They get too much of that liquor in them, and they're as wild as stallions. When they get this loud a fight is usually quick to follow."

As if on cue, angry shouting was heard clearly over the rest of the party. As Kieran and Cleese approached, the shouting picked up and two men could be seen shoving each other. One of them was quick to pull his sidearm and took a drunken shot that missed the equally drunk opponent. His opponent, who happened to be unarmed reached for the only weapon he could find: Cleese's shotgun. Cleese started sprinting and shouting at the man to put it down, but it was no use. The man took a little too long adjusting the gun, so the crowd around him dove out of range as he pulled the trigger. That left a clear shot at Kieran.

Cleese turned in horror as he heard a thump from behind. Kieran was down with his foot bloody and smoking. Cleese rushed over and gingerly pulled Kieran's boot off to see a smoking hole through his foot. There was only the one puncture, but blood was gushing and the veins were turning green up the leg. The man who grabbed the shotgun stumbled over and proclaimed, "just a foot wound. He'll be fine with a bandage and a drink." Without looking< Cleese planted his fist firmly in the man's crotch. As the man doubled over, Cleese grabbed his collar and slammed him face-first into the ground.

Cleese ripped the man's shirt off and wrapped it around the foot. He cradled his uncle in his arms and made his way to the main house.
Kieran gurgled out. "it's that acid shot, isn't it?"
Cleese just curtly nodded.
"I'm done aren't I?"
Again, Cleese just nodded.
"Then I've got a few things to take care of real quick. First, your problem. Manny's tough but he's a southern boy; never seen snow in his life. Drive him up the mountain and he won't know how to handle the ice. Secondly, if you can spare the liver, make sure it goes to Meehan; he'll make better use of it than I'll be able to. And most importantly, I love my family, make sure they hear it one last time."
Cleese nodded one last time.

Kieran was gone before they reached the house. Cleese fell to his knees and just held his uncle in his arms; a stone soldier trying his hardest not to cry. He failed at it.



This entry is dedicated to the memory of Harry Stone: beloved everything. Please visit www.helpharrystone.com

Explanations and a Baring of Soul

I'm not sure how many people are still looking at this (or even care), but my few loyal readers have undoubtedly noticed my lack of posts since the spring. I've had almost no new posts since April, and the few I have had have been either uninspired or postings of previously written pieces. There's a reason for this.

Anyone who knows me personally knows that I had a tragedy happen in my family this past Mother's Day. My uncle was suddenly and senselessly killed on a street corner in a suburb of my home town of Kansas City. You may have heard about it. Even with the limited grainy video from the local gas station security cameras there was hardly any evidence to work from. As of this writing there are no suspects and no significant progress has been made since that first month. (Anyone interested in learning more is welcome to visit http://www.helpharrystone.com/)

While that alone warrants an amount of time for mourning, my reasons for not writing for so long are a bit more complex. You see, one week before the tragedy, I had started working on the latest entry to the Harry Cleese series, which is my adaptation of the twelve labors of Heracles to a mafia crime drama (If you haven't checked it out yet, please do). That particular entry was to be an adaptation of the capturing of the Erymanthian Boar; a story better known for it's sub-plot then the primary events. In the original story Heracles seeks counsel from his mentor Chiron who is senselessly killed due to an unforeseen series of events. Due to the family tree of the Greek Pantheon and the fact that this is a mafia family story, I wrote Chiron as Harry's uncle.

I know it was impossible to know this would have such aching parallels, but I still feel a great deal of guilt for the story. As a result, I haven't been able post the entry, out of respect for my uncle's family's feelings as well as my own. Furthermore, I don't think I've been able to produce ANY decent pieces since stopping the Harry Cleese series. I need to change that.

I once had an amazing writing teacher who taught me that writing makes great therapy, but therapy doesn't always make great writing. I realize that's a little of what I'm doing right now, but I think this is necessary if I'm ever going to create any more decent pieces. I think it honors my uncle more to continue my work in spite of his passing rather than stopping it in mourning. Expect the next Harry Cleese soon.