Gold
By: Terri Talley Venters
Deleted Scene from
Body Of Gold
Klaus
placed the last gold ingots, Chip Gold, into the leather pouches as he waited
for Mr. Smith to arrive at his smelting shop in the Old Town district of
Chicago. Klaus spent most of his days
making wrought-iron chandeliers and headboards, but the last twenty-four hours
he spent laboring over this special project.
Like
his father, grand-father, and great-grandfather, Klaus worked as a
fourth-generation smelter. In fact, he
worked in the same shop his forefathers did since 1890. He even lived in the same apartment above the
shop, just like his ancestors. Only
these days, Klaus rarely fitted a horse for new shoes. Now he ran the shop with his son, Hans, while
he taught him the trade, as the tradition dictated.
The
fifty-three-year-old, widower, Kraut, kept in excellent physical
condition. His blonde-hair and blue-eyes
kept the women turning their heads as he walked down the streets of his beloved
Chicago, the only city he’d ever lived in.
His labor-intensive trade kept his muscles strong, especially his
forearms.
His
German genes, simple lifestyle, and low-stress occupation kept the brutal signs
of aging from rearing their ugly head.
Since he looked twenty years younger, most people mistook Hans for his
younger brother instead of his son.
Only
today, Klaus felt seventy-three instead of fifty-three. This last project took its toll on him, but
he didn’t have a choice. He felt certain
Mr. Smith would make him “sleep with the fishes,” if he failed to comply with
his unusual request.
Klaus’s
family occasionally dealt with the Mob for the last ninety years. He recalled hearing the tales of the “Chicago
Wise Guys” in his youth. Only they told
him as bedtime stories like the Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales.
He
knew enough to fear their wrath, so he simply did as instructed. Klaus wasn’t convinced Mr. Smith represented
a “made man,” but he treated him as such just in case. Mr. Smith appeared to be in his forties with
dark hair and pale skin, a real charmer.
He wore expensive suits and acted above the law.
“Klaus,
mein Freund, is my treasure ready?”
Mr. Smith asked. He appeared with
his henchman, ready to take delivery of his gold ingots.
“Gross
Gott, Herr Smith. Yes, your treasure
awaits,” Klaus said. His arm waved
towards the wooden crate, filled with leather pouches of gold ingots which
Klaus painstakingly yielded from gold bars.
Klaus
took every precaution when he melted the gold bars, rolled the metal into thin
sheets, and then cut the sheets into small pieces weighing twenty-grams each. He properly ventilated his shop, wore a mask
and gloves, and made certain to shield his body and lungs from the precious
metal. Klaus worked with enough metals
and alloys over his lifetime to know of the danger of cyanide residue.
“Danke,”
Thank you, Mr. Smith said. He nodded his head towards his henchman,
instructing him to retrieve the gold-filled, wooden crate which rested on the
flatbed, wheeled dolly. Mr. Smith handed
Klaus a check and led the treasure out to the awaiting truck.
“Guten
Nacht, Herr Smith,” good night, Mr. Smith, Klaus said as the two men
exited his workshop. He felt relieved
having accomplished his special commission without any negative repercussions.
Klaus
starred at the check in his hand for $150,000.
He wondered if the bank would even honor it. He almost hoped the check bounced because he
felt like he earned dirty money. It
wasn’t how his ancestors raised him. Klaus’s
parents raised a good, hard-working, German.
And Klaus raised his son to be a hard-working German too. Klaus decided to deposit the check into his
account, none-the-less, it represented a nice nest egg for him and his
twenty-three-year-old son, Hans.
Klaus
placed a hand on his forehead in a futile attempt to stop the intense pain
throbbing behind his eyes. He stooped
over and put his hands on his knees as he vomited all over the workshop
floor.
