For part one, click here.
For part two, click here.
For part three, click here.
For part four, click here.
It had been years in the works, really. I know how crazy this is going to sound, but I have to tell it anyway. I know there are naysayers and skeptics out there who will try to shoot holes in my story, but you have to believe that I’m telling you the truth. You can’t make this kind of story up.
So I’d been cruising the deepest shadows of the internet for some time, trying to find black market buyers for the things I was dredging up. I was quickly amassing a fortune, but I didn’t do it for the money. I did it for the joy. For the adventure. For the excitement.
One night I secured a German SS pistol for a man in France. Jean-Louis Truffaut was his name. He was a pretty well-known chef in France, and it seemed he was a huge history buff. He was still quite angry about what the Germans had done to Paris during the war, and it seemed that this anger drove his historic interests.
I kept up a relationship with Truffaut for a couple of years, and we communicated regularly. I helped him get his hands on some more rare collectibles, just what he could afford, and I also helped a few of his friends.
Then, one night he sent me an IM with an international phone number. “Call this number,” he told me, “I have an important deal for you.”
So, I called the number. It seems that Mr. Truffaut and a group of his culinary friends had gotten together. They had pooled their funds, and they had even secured extra funds from some well-to-do international businessmen.
It seemed the chefs threw a party each year. It was a theme party revolving around World War II. Everyone invited would bring their most expensive war collectibles, and everyone would sit and dine on the fine foods prepared by the chefs and they would talk about the war and their conquests to own the finest war treasures in existence.
This particular year, they had planned the biggest party ever. “We need you to secure a certain something for us,” he informed me, and then told me the total sum they had amassed for the item’s purchase.
“What would you like, Mr. Truffaut? I am happy to accommodate you.”
What Mr. Truffaut told me next, I will never forget. It was unique to me in so many ways. Even for someone as me, who had seen more of the universe than anyone else alive, I was shocked at Mr. Truffaut’s notion. For it was not an item that Mr. Truffaut wanted at all. Rather, an ingredient for the feast. The key ingredient, in fact, and perhaps the most rare and unique ingredient known to the history of the human race.
My silence must have alarmed him, for Mr. Truffaut spoke again, “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine, yes,” I told him.
“Is this a problem for you?” he pressed.
I sat for a moment turning the thing over in my mind. “No, I told him. This will not be a problem.”
So, I set off that very evening, knowing that I needed to act as quickly as I could or I would lose my nerve. The task they put me at was such a juxtaposition of horrors that I could barely stomach the thought of it at all.
I arrived in Paris the next morning, and Mr. Truffaut had sent a car to Charles De Gaulle to pick me up. I was delivered to his estate, a palatial French mansion located thirty or so miles to the west of Paris.
“I’ve put you up in here,” Mr. Truffaut said of my room. “I know you need the maximum in comfort and security when you work, so do not fear. You will be safe here.”
I took a look around. Everything was of the finest quality. The bed linens were as soft as anything I’d ever felt before. The room was immaculate and bright and beautiful.
“Dinner will be served at 8:00 this evening,” he informed me. “We need the main ingredient to be delivered to us no later than 2:00 this afternoon. We are braising it, you see. We have a ceremony planned.”
I looked at the clock. It was right now 10:00 AM, and I was exhausted. “I need to set out straight away if I’m going to get this done in time,” I told him. He left me alone, and I went straight to work.
A few hours later, I returned to this world, with the requested bundle. It was swathed in a blanket, and it squirmed ever so slightly on the bed next to me. I carried it downstairs and to the kitchen, where I found Mr. Truffaut and his staff waiting anxiously.
“You have it?” he asked, eyebrows raised in anticipation.
“I have it,” I informed him. As the words slipped from my lips, I knew I had done the wrong thing. As vile and evil as the world had gotten, I knew I had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed.
“To the dining room,” he said, boldly. He took me by the arm and led me to the dining room.
As we approached, I could hear the murmur of voices. I stopped. “I’d rather not go in there,” I told him.
“But you . . .” he said. “You are our hero. Without you we would never be able to enact our ultimate revenge on the villainous SS.”
I handed the bundle to him. “I just can’t. I’d like to retire to my room. I will leave later tonight to fly back to the states.”
“Would you not like to sample our delectibles,” he said, an evil smile on his lips. “We will perform the slaughter momentarily, and then the dish will braise for six hours.”
“No thanks,” I said, the thought of dinner with these people making my knees weak.
“It will be quite tender and succulent,” he told me. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll pass,” I told him.
He took the bundle fully from my arms, and peeled back the blanket to see the squirming little creature inside. “Excellent,” he said, and his eyes grew wide.
He paced through the dining room doors and held the bundle aloft as I walked away. Just before the dining room doors closed, I heard a collective gasp from the crowd, and I heard the innocent little creature let out one lone cry.
“What the fuck was it?” Johnny said. “What were they planning to eat?” he asked me.
“You think you know the evil that exists in the world,” I told him. “Every person thinks they have a pretty good bead on what is sick and twisted in this world, but no one really knows anything. Not even me.”
“What the hell was it?” he pressed me.
“It was a baby,” I told him.
We both sat there in utter silence for a long moment. I could tell Johnny was running the words through his mind, trying to grip them fully.
“They cooked and ate a human baby,” Johnny said flatly, looking angry and bewildered. “What were--" and then a look of enlightenment crossed his face.
“Adolf Hitler,” I told him. “Born April 20, 1889. Abducted from his crib on May 8, 1889.”
1 comments:
Oh my....
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