Kelly Hanken
“The Hands of a Criminal Mastermind”
The hands of a criminal mastermind are calloused and scarred. They have yellowed nails that are splintering from teeth gnawing on them, chemical burns creating pockmarks and turning smooth skin to dry, chipping paint. The left hand’s knuckles have been broken over and over again, from car doors and baseball bats and rough policemen. They move when he talks, like gestures made by a lunatic in an asylum.
The hands of a criminal mastermind guide food to his mouth so he can talk with his mouth full. They juggle explosive compounds as he builds bombs and they hold the phone he uses to call people who will plant the bomb just right. They dial the number for pizza delivery and they hand the cash over to the delivery boy who can barely stand to look at him.
The hands of a criminal mastermind hold pen and paper as he writes his manifesto. They wave a gun as he shouts out orders to grunts and hostages who can’t leave, not now and not ever. They grab the edge of the desk that gets pushed over to barricade the doors when the police come. They aren’t quick enough on the trigger as the police storm his stronghold made out of a bank and a few faulty wires. They go limp when pulled behind his back as he’s handcuffed.
The hands of a criminal mastermind have long since learned how to dislocate their thumbs.
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