Performance Review

Well, hey there, family.

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Coach, the energy out there felt different.

What changed for the team today?

It was the new game day scratchers from the California Lottery.

Play is everything.

Those games sent the team's energy through the roof.

Are you saying it was the off-field play that made the difference on the field?

Hey, a little play makes your day, and today it made the game.

That's all for now.

Coach, one more question.

Play the new Los Angeles Chargers, San Francisco 49ers, and Los Angeles Rams Scratchers from the California Lottery.

A little play can make your day.

Please play responsibly.

Must be 18 years or older to purchase play or claim.

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Well, hey there, family.

Happy Halloween, Sow Winter, whatever spooky holiday you might be celebrating.

I'm just stopping in for a second to bring y'all some news from the production office here at Deep Nerd Media.

This year we're trying something a little different with our seasonal bonus episodes that have traditionally dropped on Halloween, Valentine's Day, and Christmas Day.

Starting officially this fall, these episodes will be published sometime during those holiday seasons, but perhaps not on the days themselves.

Last year, for example, our winter holiday special landed on New Year's Day rather than Christmas morning.

This year, our spooky season tale will be moving a little deeper into the time of reaping.

Our bonus release schedule in previous years has meant that Cam and I have worked every dang holiday since 2020.

Our new approach will allow us to spend more time with our own beloved family during these special times of year.

We appreciate your patience and understanding.

Now, that's not to say we're going to leave you empty-handed on this day of tricks and treats since we know you came knocking expecting to get some candy.

So, to tide y'all over, here's a news story that our Patreon family got an advance peek at last month.

Previously only available on certain dates of the Price of Progress 2023 tour, we present

performance review.

Somewhere in Pennsylvania,

1936.

Henraka's Crane was a hollow man,

an enforcer for barrow mineral resources endowed with dark gifts and powers in exchange for his unwavering loyalty

and his immortal soul.

Hollow men came from all walks of life, none of them virtuous, and Mr.

Crane was no different.

He had stolen the light from the eyes of countless men, women,

and yes, even children who had stood in the path of his masters in one way or another.

He was respected by many.

feared by even more.

But despite all the horrors that Mr.

Crane Crane had witnessed and perpetrated in the name of the Barrow family,

this afternoon he found himself

very nervous

and quite frankly

afraid.

For today he stepped into unknown territory.

See, he had ridden in this finally appointed limousine many times before,

but he'd never been

in the back seat.

When his partner, the silent and nigh cadaverous Mr.

Churchman, brought the Lincoln Model K to his doorstep that morning, he found the front passenger side door locked.

His partner had looked at him with the strangest expression and motioned for Mr.

Crane to get into the back.

A place that was the exclusive domain of their employer.

Crane had frowned at this unheard-of breach of protocol, but obliged, walking around to slide in behind his partner on the driver's side.

Few things could rattle Henrikus Crane, because in truth, he was more than just a hollow man.

He was no mere foot soldier for the company.

He was one of her

hollow men.

Crane served the most beloved and feared child of the Barrow bloodline directly.

While other servants of the Dark Empire the Barrow family had carved from the anthracite mines of Pennsylvania to the southern Appalachian coal fields answered to supervisors and handlers, Mr.

Crane and his partner reported directly to one Miss Polly

Barrow.

The same Polly Barrow who now slid into the back seat beside him.

Soft as a widow's sigh, lovely as a sharpened straight razor, today her soft raven hair fell in gleaming waves to the shoulders of an exquisite white Chanel suit piped in black velvet.

Miss Barrow set the black calf-skinned Velise she carried in her lap and regarded him with a soft smile.

He dared not speak first.

Unsure as he was of what had prompted this morning's unprecedented change of routine, she turned her attention to her valise,

opening the case and beginning to shuffle through the papers within, and the car

was silent,

save for the slithering sounds of paper being sorted and organized for a full minute.

Then she shot an irritated glance at the front seat.

Mr.

Churchman, drive.

The countryside slipped by as the Lincoln sped along the hot asphalt away from the home office in Barrow, Pennsylvania, and out into the more pastoral sections of Pennsylvania coal country.

Which is to say, the middle of nothing and nowhere.

Crane noted that they had begun to head west two turns back.

His mind raced through a list of potential destinations and what they could mean for him now that he was riding in the back seat of the car with Miss Barrow herself.

Good morning, Mr.

Crane.

I suppose you're wondering why I've called you back here.

Ma'am, if I have done something to displease you, or if someone has spoken ill of me to you, I would hope that you would.

Relax, Mr.

Crane.

You aren't in any trouble.

Yet.

There's just the small matter of your

performance review.

Performance review, ma'am?

Miss Barrow finished organizing the papers in her briefcase and finally met Henrikus Crane's eye.

Standard protocol for all employees, Mr.

Crane.

We like to review your past work and conduct.

Make sure your uh

priorities are clear.

With all due respect, ma'am, I have been nothing but a loyal servant to you and your father for...

Yes, yes, yes.

You've done a lot of admirable work for us, Mr.

Crane.

From the very beginning, it would seem you've done your utmost to impress us with your work ethic.

Why, your first assignment, running those homesteaders off their claim, you showed real initiative there.

Thank you, ma'am.

I do my best for the family.

But mounting their church leader's head on a pike, ooh, ha ha ha!

Truly inspired thinking, Mr.

Crane.

I don't mind saying, that got our attention.

And then there was that Moonshiners camp outside of...

oh,

what was it called?

That little backwater, Kentucky.

Eagle Creek, ma'am.

Yes, yes, that was it.

All those men dead in the blaze.

Tragic.

But

they weren't supposed to be there after all.

Imminent domain.

The county magistrate was so helpful with the

right motivation.

You've always had a way with the local officials, Henrikus.

Like in

Parson Falls, when that judge decided that the Butler family actually hadn't sold us their mineral rights, and my worthless older brother had somehow misfiled the documentation, you...

you took care of all of them, didn't you?

Set their house ablaze.

And when they all rushed out to the safety of their front yard, the shadows cast by their burning home rose up to strangle each and every one of them.

You have such a talent with shadows, Mr.

Crane.

Thank you, ma'am.

Judge Osborne had how many children?

Nine, Miss Barrow.

Four girls, five boys.

So, eleven Osborns counting the judge and his wife, Brunette.

Oh, no, no.

It was twelve.

There was the grandmama as well.

And she was how old, Mr.

Crane?

83, ma'am.

That's right.

Twelve.

All screaming and choking and dying, right there in sight of their own front porch.

You know.

So many folks say they want to die at home when the time comes.

One could say you did them a kindness.

Such thorough work, Henrikus.

Well

done.

Henrikus Crane basked in the praise of his mistress.

Perhaps his worry had been an overreaction.

He had always been a good and loyal servant to the Barrow clan, and Miss Barrett did seem pleased.

He glanced out the window as the car rolled to a stop.

on the picturesque main street of a small Pennsylvania town.

Cars vied for parking with horse carriages as the townfolk and the local Amish population went about their business shoulder to shoulder here in the deep green shade of the mountains.

Mr.

Crane's heart dropped a little as he realized where they were.

Across the street, A small cafe with tables on the sidewalk was opening for lunch.

A middle-aged woman moved amongst those tables, setting menus and wire baskets of condiments on each.

Polly Barrow eyed her most trusted employee thoughtfully.

Welcome home, Mr.

Crane.

How long has it been since you visited Berg Holtz?

I haven't been here since before I was hollowed, ma'am.

Long before.

And yet, money mysteriously arrives here each month.

Paid to that woman?

Who uses it to keep her little Spetzel house open?

Who is she, Henrikus?

I do not know, mum.

I set up that trust to provide for my family years ago when I knew I could not return.

It goes through so many hands that not even I can know who benefits from my

work.

It has been this way since before I came to work for your family.

The least I can do for those I left behind is to pay Weirkild

blood money

for the loss of their papa.

For I am dead to them.

I have killed the man I was,

the man they knew.

Well then,

allow me to facilitate a

family reunion of sorts, Mr.

Crane.

No, no, ma'am, please.

I do not wish to.

Her name is Eva Henrikus.

She is your great, great granddaughter.

She is married to a local man who services automobiles.

They have two children, Klaus and Emma.

They

are the last of your line.

They have a good life here.

They are happy and successful.

They are safe.

For now,

this

is your reward for a job well done, Mr.

Crane.

Confirmation that your blood still runs through this place and thrives.

Thank you, ma'am.

However, if you ever hide anything from me again, Mr.

Crane, I will have them torn into little pieces, grind them into sausage and feed them to each other.

I will personally end your line and erase your blood from this world.

You belong to our family, Henrikus.

You

are

mine.

Do

I make myself clear?

Enrakis crane did not blink,

did not flinch, did not betray even a flicker of emotion as he watched the woman place flowers on each of the tables across the street and then turned to welcome the first of her customers of the day.

Yes, ma'am.

Well then, I think that's all I have for you today, Mr.

Crane.

You may return to the front with Mr.

Churchman.

Polly Barrow returned her attention to the various paperwork on her lap.

Crane nodded and reached for the door handle.

Oh, and Henrikus?

Yes, ma'am.

We know about your failure at Copper Ridge.

Don't let it happen again.

Henrikus Crane's blood ran cold again as he bobbed his head in a quick nod.

Yes, ma'am, and fled from the back seat of the Lincoln.

beyond relieved to return to the familiar territory of the front seat.

As they sped away from the quaint hamlet that had birthed him,

he vowed never to return

again.

Today's story was written by Steve Schell and Cam Collins and originally appeared on select dates in the 2023 Price of Progress live tour.

The voice of Pretty Polly Barrow is Tracy Johnston Crum.

The voice of Henrikus Crane and the narrator was Steve Schell.

Our outro music is John Lee Bullard and Landon Blood performing their version of Pretty Polly.

Talk to you soon, family.

Talk to you real soon.

Pretty Polly, Miss Justin, and then began we.

Polly, Pretty Polly, guess is my right.

Polly, Pretty poly, you guess is about right.

Dug on your grave that you part of

last night.

Coach, the energy out there felt different.

What changed for the team today?

It was the new game, Day Scratches from the California Lottery.

Play is everything.

Those games sent the team's energy through the roof.

Are you saying it was the off-field play that made the difference on the field?

Hey, a little play makes your day, and today it made the game.

That's all for now.

Coach, one more question.

Play the new Los Angeles Chargers, San Francisco 49ers, and Los Angeles Rams scratchers from the California Lottery.

A little play can make your day.

Please play responsibly, must be 18 years or older to purchase, play, or claim.