It is a far, far better thing that I do

Chapter 27

It is a far, far better thing that I do

Building a guillotine was not as simple as he had hoped. Nom spent hours studying diagrams of the classic French design and the refined Prussian version. The machine's concept was simple. A restraining device to hold the victim still, and a low resistance vertical tract allowing gravity to provide the work. Using a combination of track height and blade mass, one could guarantee adequate force was available. An angled blade at approximately forty-five degrees would reduce drag from the victim's neck, and prevent the blade from getting stuck before its task was finished. The angle insured that only the minimum amount of surface necessary was in contact with the victim's neck at any given time, preserving velocity. Lastly, it needed a blade of adequate sharpness, size, and quality to survive its use.

The ideas were simple, but one did not exactly go to their local hardware store and select a customized guillotine kit. The blade in particular was going to be a problem. Classic French design called for a blade over eighty pounds in weight, two and a half feet wide, and, on its longest side, almost three feet tall. No knife or blade store in the world stocked such a thing.

Then there was the frame and restraint bed. The frame could range from six feet to fifteen feet tall, depending on French or German designs. The whole rig, even if spring powered, would weigh in at hundreds of pounds, even if all modern materials were used.

Being an analytical person, Nom decided to break his problem up into individual pieces and solve them one at a time. He knew that he could render people immobile with nothing more than a wish. The couple in the Texas hotel room proved that. Restraining the crowd around the President would be messy, but it would be easy. Still there was a formal image preserved into society's mind.

A guillotine victim was to be bound, laid down on a gurney or table, and advanced to a waiting position. Two sets of head stocks held the victim still and ensured that the blade did not miss and cut either too high or low along the body. The blade was released; the head severed and caught in a basket. The head was then raised by the executioner for the crowd to witness.

Pulling up a few clips of Der'Mo in the Morning, Nom searched for things he could use and thus reduce his equipment load. The President was a rather large man. Popular small hand jokes aside, he was over six feet tall and, from the look of him, probably clocked in at well over three-hundred pounds. The first clips were a disappointment: couches, chairs, and a glass coffee table. Nothing that could reliably be used to hold that much human weight.

It was after the third hour of this hell that Sunny Torkret showed Nom exactly what he needed. Just as with most morning shows, Der'Mo in the Morning had an in studio kitchen set, for when guest cooks needed to demonstrate. The set had a large granite topped counter. Depending on construction, standing on it might break the thing, but it certainty would be able to hold the body of even as rotund a person as the President. Laying him down would spread out the weight, and thus prevent the tile from breaking.

The base of the counter was a finished oak cabinet design. Even if it was a veneer oak, the pine frame would more than meet his needs. The next trick was finding out the President's neck size. After all, this guillotine would be a single use device. Given the guest of honor, it should fit him like a glove. But where would he find the President's collar size.

The answer proved simple. The most intelligent and "genius" rapper of all time, had bragged about his collar size in a recent issue of Vanity Fair. Apparently it was a sign of still being physically fit now that he had children. That rapper and the President had posed together a number of times. It was a matter of simple math.

Taking the collar size of the rapper and considering the circumference of a circle, Nom could calculate the diameter. Take one of the pictures of the pair and see whose neck was wider. The President won by twenty percent. Nom then increased the calculated diameter by twenty percent, calculated the new circumference, and presto, he had the President's collar size.

Nom took the first of many trips to the hardware store and purchased what he needed. Danish oil, sanding paper, and glue were the last things he tossed in the cart. Finding a store that carried iron wood was a challenge, but, after a few calls, he found what he needed.

Nom may have only lived in an apartment but wood working and basic handyman skills had been ingrained in him from the youngest of ages. The storage locker his apartment provided him was filled with every tool he could possible want for such a job, from power to hand. Unfortunately, lacking a shop of his own, he lacked standing tools. Still a good bit of work with a coping saw could match that of a band saw any day, provided elbow grease and time were not in short supply.

Iron wood is an extremely dense wood found in the northern Midwestern United States. In the fall, it turns a breath taking shade of rust fire red. Cutting it is a challenge. Nom's father had once burned out two chainsaw motors just trying to cut up a single log for firewood. It was so hard that despite a ten pound splitting ax, they had been forced to wait until a temperature of minus twenty before it would split. When it finally did, it had shattered.

The wood itself had a tight grain and texture. Even years after it had dried, it was steady and heavy, almost as if it been cast of actual iron rather than grown. It was the perfect wood for the image Nom wanted. The strength of logic, justice, reason, and sanity, grasping the pudgy neck of their greatest foe in a final death grip. That grip would have to be iron hard to succeed.

Slowly working the hand tools for the personal touch, Nom cut his boards to shape. Four rectangular slats with precise half-moons in the middle of each. The boards were notched, so they would interlock when paired. Hours of painstaking hand sanding worked the wood as smooth as refrozen ice melt. Then layer upon layer of Danish oil were slowly added until the wood was sealed and would never be forced to taste the vile blood of its victim.

A thin slice of board made for a spacer, and soon the double stocks took shape. Nom took his drill and put holes through the boards and spacers. Lining them up, he put glue in the holes. Then taking custom dowels he had carved that morning, he pegged the holes and left the glue to sit. The next morning he mounted L brackets at the base, and set pins, hinges, and a latch's to turn the stocks into a single set. Now all he need do is fasten it to the counter at the Der'Mo in the Moring studio. Then he would have the first bit of his guillotine.

When Tollen stopped by that evening, he proved an excellent sport, offering to try on the stocks to see if they worked. His neck was a bit smaller than the President's, but they proved solid enough.

After the test Tollen had a surprise. "Look at what I picked up." He said.

The pair walked out to Tollen's car where he popped the trunk with his fob. At a glance Nom knew.

"A classic Halliburton Zero rollaway." Nom said with a whistle.

"It's perfect, don't you think?" Tollen said with a wink.

"What do you have in mind?" Nom asked.

"That case is a solid cast aluminum shell. Most X-Ray machines won't be able to see through it." Tollen said.

Nom nodded "I see, it will make it easier to get past security." He said.

"That thing you said about getting yourself listed as an employee? It was genius. Just walk in at the busiest time, flash your employee ID, and no one will look twice." Tollen said.

"Now that must have set you back a pretty penny. There is no way you could have afforded this." Nom said pulling it out to inspect it.

"Nah, didn't I tell you?" Tollen asked.

"Tell me what?"

"Two months ago, I was suspended from DHS." Tollen replied.

"Why would they have suspended you? And why on earth would they have done it for two months? Normally those things are settled in a week or two." Nom said.

"Well, you know, I pulled a few too many of my little surprises. They found out I was the one telling workers like you how to fight back. It took them a bit, but they managed to jerry rig a case against me."

"What are the charges?" Nom asked.

"Aiding clients in getting benefits contrary to policy and possessing client files off of state property." Tollen said with a shrug.

Nom was confused. "The files have been digital since before I left. They are encrypted, and can only be accessed from a state computer. How exactly did you possess them off campus?" He asked.

"Oh, on that one they are correct, I took files, and I still have them." Tollen said.

"What the—"

Tollen interrupted him. "I printed off bits and pieces. I needed them to help build my case file against management."

Nom walked around and sat on the hood of the car. "Tollen, I just don't get it. Why would you do that? I left the agency more than a year ago. Almost everyone else you were helping has already moved on too. Why would you keep classified files in breach of protocol? That's not just a violation of basic ethics, it's a crime, and a federal one at that. Why the hell would you take the risk?" Nom shouted.

"Nom, you were only there for what? Two years?"

Nom nodded.

"Well, I've was in that bottomless pit for nine years. I've seen countless workers come and go. Every year it gets worse. Why, last year, the year after you left, our loss to people quitting was forty percent. Forty percent! What office in the world can survive on those numbers? Just ours. Because there is always some fresh college graduate or empty nesting house wife that needed to get into the job market. All you need is a college degree, and you are in." Tollen shouted back.

Nom held up a hand to calm the tone. "So you did this to take out management? I thought you had moved past that." He said.

"Never." Tollen said crossing his arms over his chest.

"Why?"

"You said it yourself." Tollen replied.

"After I left, I called you Don Quixote. It wasn't a compliment either." Nom said.

"Well, I took it as one. Whenever there is a management giant needing to get messed up, l rise, I dress, and I charge." Tollen said slamming his hand into his fist.

"Tollen, in that scene, Don Quixote is crazy. He charges windmills thinking they are giants in need of slaying, not real giants. He ends up getting knocked on his ass. Not unlike a man who has been suspended for two months. Speaking of which, I thought you said you were financially fine." Nom said.

"I am." Tollen replied in a hurt tone.

"How? You were suspended." Nom asked.

"Formally, I am on paid administrative leave-pending an investigation." Tollen said.

Nom sighed and nodded in recognition. "They only used that to get you out of the office. Suspending you would have enabled you to have the union demand immediate arbitration for your reinstatement. It was as good as firing you." Nom said.

"Correctamundo." Tollen nodded.

"So, you have been sitting on your ass in what has become a two month long vacation. That is, until I came along?" Nom asked.

"No, I didn't want a hole in my resume, I've been substitute teaching."

Unsatisfied, but willing to wait for the right moment, Nom took Tollen into the pole barn to review his drawings for the blade mechanism.