o
THE INSIDE STORY Volume Seven
Summer, 1986
Published by:
Creative Writinq Class Corning Community Colleqe Keuka Colleqe
at Elmira Correctional Facility
STAFF
Ed i tors:	Joseph	Lahey, Ma	rk C.	Mertens
Staff:	La t sen	Barnett,	Ivan	Calderon,
Fleminq,	, Dwayne	Ken 1ock,	Tho	mas D.McCa
Anthony J. Palmer, Todd Taylor
Louie 1 lop,
Dejesus, Jerome Ismael Mej ias,
Artists:	John Abdullah, Anthony J. Palmer
Cover: Anthony J. Palmer Advisor:	Sally Carr
Copyriqht @1986 Colleqe
Inside Story Publications, Corninq Community
After first publication, all riqhts revert to oriqinal authors
CONTENTS
Paqe	Title	Author
3.	I , Forever a Dreamer	Latsen Barnett
4.	Conception	Joseph Lahey
5.	McCaper	Dwayne Kenlock
7.	Infinity	Louie Dejesus
8.	The Bird, The Froq, and The Tree	Mark C. Mertens
11.	Enchantment	Anthony J. Palmer
13.	Fall out	Louie Dejesus
14.	Systematic Approach	Thomas D. McCall op
17.	Birthday Boy	Todd Taylor
19.	Little by Little	Anthony J. Palmer
20.	Tendinq to Business	Ivan Calderon
24.	Autumn	Mark C. Mertens
25.	Mother Nature	Jerome (Kola) Fleminq
27.	The Academy	Louie DeJesus
31.	The Throw-Aways	Mark C. Mertens
33.	Slinqs and Arrows	Joseph Lahey
37.	Time	Joseph Lahey
38.	Elliot and the Driver	Mark C. Mertens
41.	I Am	Anthony J. Palmer
43.	Into the Valley of Death	Ismael Mejias
45.	Dreams	Ismael Mejias
46.	America We or America You	Latsen Barnett
47.	The Enforcer	Dwayne Kenlock
49.	Heartbreak Hotel	Jerome (Kola) Fleminq
50.	The Wee Lass of 0's	Joseph Lahey
52.	What's Cookinq?	Latsen Barnett
55..	You're not Listeninq	Thomas D. McCallop
57.	Nature's Sonq	Ismael Mejias
59.	Crime Pays	Jerome (Kola) Fleminq
61.	Love Is	Jerome (Kola) Fleminq
62.	A Chanqe in Plans	Mark C. Mertens
64.	Reminiscence	Todd Taylor
65.	Joan Ann	Joseph Lahey
66.	You Don't Remember Me	Anthony J. Palmer
3
I, FOREVER A DREAMER
Ir forever a dreamer,
From the time I qained Knowledge of the understanding Of life, until the day I rest,
I will forever be, a dreamer.
I, forever a dreamer ,
Dream the dreams of a nation Existing under one common bond Of understanding, equality, justice and most of all, love.
Because without love,
none of these qualities could exist.
I, forever a dreamer,
Dream the dream of men Realizing their wrongs And making them riqht,
Living in harmony and peace
among their fellow men
regardless of race, creed or color.
I, forever a dreamer—
I may be just a foolish dreamer,
But dreams have their own way Of becoming true . . .
My friend, are you a dreamer, too?
Latsen Barnett

CONCEPTION'
Stillness, longevity so vast, run free Proliferation, the master key.
Nature's tempestuous, passionate birth, Her thunderous echoes encompass The earth.
Blossoms, fruits, trees,
The flowers, the seeds Reverberating in sensual need.
Endless colors of life blood's flow, Embers of burning frees, death's glow. The passage of time, life, beauty Rebi rth.
The music of mother's eternal Mirth.
Joseph Lahey
MC CAPER
Dwayne Kenlock
"Yo, Dee, It's about that time. Your J.O.B. is callin' youl" Larry screamed at his brother.
Dee rose and stretched. He knew he had more than an eight to midnight job waifinq for him this niqht at McDonald's. Dee, a short stocky, baby-faced teen, walked to the kitchen and placed his polyester McDonald's uniform in a qym baq along with his brown shoes and a pair of Levi's. He checked his pocket and felt the coins inside, no dollars just coins.
I got to get mine today, he fhouqhf. He knew he had to do this riqht, so he could take care of his mother, sister, and younger brother. He slapped his younger brother a hiqh-five and stepped into the hot, mugqy evening.
On the way to the station Dee ran info Mildred. "What's up Millie? Where you been?"
"Oh, hi, Dee. I've been around, but you work so much I hardly ever qet to see you!" said Mildred with a half serious smile. Dee drifted off in a daze, wishing he could fake Millie and his family away from the slums he had known all his life. His thoughts were interrupted by her asking, "Are you okay, Dee?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, Millie, just fired, i'll see you around, I'm kind of late, you know?"
"Okay, Dee, I'll be around. Call me, okay?"
"Okay. Bye, Millie." He hurried off, lookinq at a siqn from Burger King:	"Have it your way at Burqer Kinq." Dee thought,
Yeah, I've got to qet it my way at Mickey Dee if possible.
The train roared into the station and came to a sudden stop. Dee hopped on before the door closed. If was a short walk to McDonald's. He felt his heart poundinq as he neared the qolden arches. The sign said over two billion served.
Dee opened the door to a whole array of noises and cool air from the air conditioner. The rush hour and movie crowd from the local theater provided a careful listener with such treats as buzzers, shouts and loud calls for burqers and "Three fish, no bar'!" Dee raced down the stairs as he saw the big Ronald McDonald star clock's hand read 7 o'clock. His act was about to start. j hope I get my lines riqht! he thought.
Dee changed quickly into his uniform and went upstairs to Punch the clock. Ali, the manaqer, a fat Hindu, ran around bunching a double burqer with cheese. Dee felt this was ironic since the cow is sacred in India. Ali screamed at a young worker ° call for backups when the pit, the display case for the food, c,ot empty, so there would be enouqh food in the pit. The younq ?1 r 1 looked at Dee. He qave her a sympathetic look and went to
work.
bu Dee's first order was twelve burqers. He slapped the b tqers clown on the grill, hit the buttons, and hoped for a very ■V day. Before he knew if, orders flew his way. "Six 'Macs', no K,®ese Dr> two." "Gimme a fish, extra 'tar-far', and twelve mo' Pers," shouted Ali.
6
It- was break -time before Dee knew if. Time to put plan number one into effect. Dee eased over to the office and slipped the keys in his pocket. In the bathroom Dee pulled two keys from the rinq. He then hurried to the office to replace the ring. He went, downstairs and disconnected the soda tank. In five minutes there would be no 7-Up or Coke. Dee waited about five minutes until Ali came running down the stairs. He then told Ali he would be takinq a short break. Ali said, "Okay, hurry up!"
Dee raced out of McDonald's, across the street, and down the block to the Seven-Eleven and hardware store combination. He qave the two keys to the clerks, gave him what little money he had, and raced back to the job. Ali had not missed the keys; he was too busy fixinq the soda tanks. Dee slipped the keys back on and went to finish the day's work.
At closing time, Dee changed back into his street clothes and left for home. At least that's what Ali thouqht, as he counted the day's receipts of $7,000.
Dee peered from behind the buildinq as Ali closed the doors, locked them, and put the master key in a box to kill the light of the golden arches. Ali disappeared behind a subway siqn and off to home.
Dee casually walked back to the front of McDonald's and put the key into the lock--the door opened. Dee stepped inside, his heart pounding, and walked to the office. He placed the second key into the lock. The office was dark as Dee found his way to the safe.
Dee had watched Ali open the safe a million times. He was sweatinq now as the unfamiliar quietness of McDonald's and the odor of stale hamburq.ers permeated the atmosphere. He dialed quickly--35 left, 16 right, 4 left--and prayed. He pulled the safe's handle and opened new life for him and his family. Dee quickly emptied the trays and money bag into his own baq on top of his soiled uniform. He got up and walked to the front of the store. He went into the darkness, but first he qlanced at the sign. McDonald's may have served billions, but he had served them today. He smiled to himself.
This money was the key to his life. However, Dee forqot one key — t-he key to the alarm. The box on the outside not only turned the lights off; it turned the silent alarm on.
Dee sat in the mess-hall at the Woodcliffe Correctional Facility, telling his homeboy how he could cook a better burqer than the cooks there. He thouqht, If I had if my way, I'd serve you up a real burqer. Then I'd serve myself up another chance at life/
A cynical smile came over his face as he thouqht of how many people Kentucky Fried Chicken served.
INFINITY
Time, eternity, continuance
abundant and everlasfinq Reiqninq infamously
fhrouqh the aqes of man
Entity beyond the
passinq of life Immune from the
existence of death
Vast, infinite journey
quest of immortality Throuqh the stars and the skies
Host with no history of oriqin Alive* traveling unseen From the midst of
Yesteryear's creations
Reachinq life today
Soarinq blindly info Tomorrow's unknown realm Unfeelinq and alone
Creeping info joints of life forms To prove Time
waifs for no man . . .
Louie Dejesus
The Bird, the Froq, and the Tree
Mark C. Mertens
It had been a good week all in all. It seemed the more coke I had on hand to sell, the more that was bought. What a job I had too! Most of my time was spent in the office selling coke and having parties. The boss of the construction firm where I worked was my best customer. How much did he buy this week? Two grands worth? More? It really didn't matter: most of it was profit anyway. My customers would qladly pay my exorbitant prices rather than buy that garbage offered in the street. After all, my stuff was seventy-five percent pure or better: not a lot of fillers and cut those others had. Just nice rocky shit fresh from Florida. I couldn't weigh it up fast enouqh. "More, more, more nose candy," they pleaded. I could have charged them more for the same thing, told 'em if was better, and they'd qladly have paid.
No wonder I felt so good! And best of all, it was Friday. I had plenty of money and powder to tide me over the weekend. No need to be wasting time making sales for a couple of days. And on top of that, my brother was blowing in from out-of-town, drivinq his new 280ZX sports car. I couldn't wait--not for him, but the car. I was obsessed with fast cars and the thrill of hundreds of horsepower at my command. All I could think of was a weekend of jettisonning down the road with a head full of dust, music blaring while I grabbed a hefty chunk of accelerator.
I drifted back to reality. "Another line, Mr. Morris?" my boss whined. Of course, don't be absurd. What was he saying now? Something about coming in tomorrow at 9:30 in the morning. No, that wouldn't be possible. He was becominq more insistent. How stubborn he could be after a few qrams. It was hard to refuse him, especially since he was in the process of dicinq up another half. Sure, George, I'll be here. Riqht Georqe, just a couple of hours. Sure.
The car called. I'm at the house. When are you qoinq to be here? I was qone before my brother could hang up the phone. We had been done in the office for a bit now, but the coke was really just now starting to set in. My face felt like stone, and I was sure my teeth were goinq to fall out. I qot a brief descrip' on the Z: Jet black with qold and chrome wheels and extra wide super sport tires. Under the hood was the overhead cam four valve, fuel injected 350 horse. The car was complete with a five-speed and power everything (My brother liked his toys as much as I did).
I scrambled out the door and slid behind the wheel of my car. It wasn't a Z, but it was no econo-box either. Yes, I was kind of proud of the Maqnum-XE. It had a huge engine with over 300 horse, easy, and all the toys one needed for cruisinq: air, power leather seats, quad music, and a speed control that I never seemed to use (When was I ever qoinq fast enough?) It wasn't actually a sports car — more a luxury automobile. There was so much room inside my friends dubbed it the living room.
I backed out of the lot, tires smoking, lock-up torque convertor spinninq. The living room was movinq down the highway closing in on eighty. I dusted a few snails off the road. There was nothing more annoyinq than someone crawlinq along at the speed limit. I flew into my street. The kids were wavinq at the finish line as I came to a screeching stop at the house with an acceptable cloud of smoke rising beneath my wheels.
There it was: the drivinq machine poised for action. The car had excitement written all over it, and I was elated. That called for another line. I took out the portable and put the icinq on the cake. My eyes felt like marbles, ready to roll out of their sockets.
I crawled out of bed the next morninq in a fog. I had to make it into the office as promised, but my body refused to cooperate. I'd qone on a binge the night before, and if was early morning before I hit the pillow. There was only one way to qet if together enough to make if. I hit up in the bathroom, and that familiar warmth got me back on line. That package of coke looked miniscule compared to what it was when I left the office. Oh well, I'd just have to break out another pack later. There was plenty. In the mean time, I finished off the remainder of this one. (I quess there was more there than I thought!) I contemplated getting out the fresh pack now. No, it was a little too early to start a binge—that would come later. What time was it anyway? Oh, no, it was 9:15 and only minutes left to make the office!
The Maqnum left the street like a rocket. Down the straightaway and ready for fifth qear. Wait, this was the livinq room with the automatic transmission, not the Z. The light ahead turned yellow. Don't be ridiculous; if would fake a week to stop at this speed.
I glanced down at the speedo: Eighty-five; I needed more. I pushed the pedal down so hard, it was amazing if didn't go right through the floor. Tina Turner came on the radio. I turned her up, the music blastinq out of the quad, penetrafinq the essence of my mind. Adjust, adjust. There, that's more like if; she sounds better cominq out of the rear speakers. What's that? From the back seat Tina was demanding more speed. Why, you foolish bitch, we're doinq seventy now and the limit's thirty!
An image appeared: an old woman wandering aimlessly towards her car carrying an even older table lamp. . . That's riqht, of course! Several people on the street were having garage sales hhaf weekend. It was the weekend, wasn't it? The fog in the crystal ball was beginning to clear: there she was, the old woman, splattered over the hood of the Maqnum-XE, her qaraqe sale treasure lyinq manqled in the road, now a rummage sale what-is-it.
I decided to slow up. The light rain that had been falling quickened its pace. I came down a hill approaching an intersection. There, movinq slowly towards the stop sign was a small blue, frog-like car. I was still moving right along, but hhe frog presented no cause for alarm. Who would be foolish
10
enouqh t-o pull out and challenge the intimidatinq speed I was traveling at?
As I got closer, I cauqht a qlimpse of the woman driver, a little bird-like creature perched in the froq. Suddenly, incredibly, the frog leaped out into the intersection, the livinq room a mere car lenqth away.
I leaned on the horn, immediately realizing my only chance at avoiding disaster would be to pass the bird on the left. Time slowed passing in surreal fractions of a moment. I swerved, jamming the accelerator to the floor, 300 qallopinq ponies to the rescue.
But no, this wasn't the Z. The Magnum slid wildly out of control on the slick, rain-coated surface of the road, striking a brick wall. What audac i ty--er ec t i ng a wall at the edge of one's property! The impact forced me violently into the windshield.
I never saw the car become airborne, only to have takeoff aborted by a tree. The livinq room had crash landed leavinq the pilot sprawled over the cockpit in a pool of blood. And off in the distance the wail of a police siren could be heard.
<
ENCHANTMENT
White as snow and cold as ice it'll freeze up your soul if you only hit if right Mix it up
with this funny kind of weed
or boil if down
info rocks like these
Here's the brown powder
Right before your eyes
I'll cut if once, twice, thrice
still crystallized
then up your nose
or into your main vein
the quickest way to die
without any pain
You see
I'm your best friend
your pusherman
and I'll sell you more
j usf like a store
I'll dope up your qirlfriends
your daughters too
then make another score
while I'm ridinq them raw
Hey! fly guy
who works from nine to five
try your luck
test out this jive
Iley! you say you're sick
but broke like vie
I'm too slick
Well, I'll be .nice just for you
just give me your wife
your dauqhfer, too
your dog, your car
your alliqafor shoes
your watch, your coat
you£ three piece suit
your . . .
Anthony J. Palmer
13
FALLOUT
Burning planet—a pyro blaze
Blight- of flesh, the underground maze No bliss, just dark—a dungeon's hell.
No Zodiac, sunshine or earthly smell.
Capsule filled with stench of death;
Hope and God are all that's left.
Famine on epidemic scale,
Lacking nourishment, skin grows pale.
Bitter scavengers fight
For food exposed to light.
They eat the meal of life,
But it's death who nourishes blind strife.
Flesh that qrowls eats in despair
With a grotesque manner and hungry stare Evolution and environmental blight
Darkened by atomic radiation light.
Louie Dejesus

14
Systematic Approach
Thomas D. McCallop
The bus ride hadn't been that excifinq. I had slept throuqh most of it. Finally, we pulled into the little villaqe that was my destination. From the bus, I could see that the area was scenical1y beautiful. It looked like the Garden of Eden before the buildinqs qot put up.
My mind spranq back to the business at hand. I had to qet off the bus, and I almost didn't want to because everythinq looked so peacefully serene--too serene. As I looked down this side of the sinqle lane two way street, I was shocked at how very old the buildinqs all looked, except for a brick-faced tinted qlass bank to my riqht. I could see an old Victorian hotel about two blocks down from the bank.
I qot off the bus, smack dab in the middle of downtown Saranac Lake. There were plenty of businesses but not many people. I saw someone cominq out of the hotel. I wanted to wave, but restrained the impulse. She of the blue sun dress and pretty blond hair walked away from me. And there was no one else on the street. Jesus Christ, should I take a number? Did it have to be a national emerqency before a man qot some attention? Where was everybody?
Then I saw Yolanda walkinq towards me only two blocks away. She was my reason for beinq in this qhost town. She had two friends with her, and they weren't talkinq or sayinq anythinq. Finally, the qirls reached me.
"Hi, lonq time, no see," Yolanda said.
"Yes, how are you?" I asked.
We embraced before she could reply. She'd been eatinq well;
I could tell by her qrip. Her two friends had sat down on a bench a few feet from us. Yolanda took me over and introduced us.
"Tommy, I'd like you to meet my friends, Mary and Janet."
"Good afternoon, lovely ladies," I said.
Janet asked, "What's that?" She was pointinq at my biq JVC forty five hundred waff electrophonic sound system tape player and recorder. "It's huqe," she said. As I looked down at it standinq next to my suitcase, I could see if was biqqer. It had double sixteen inch whoofers and two eiqht inch tweeters.
In answer to the question, I said, "Listen," and turned that mother on.
Yolanda rolled her eyes up towards the heavens. I reached for	the	volume control,	but too late,	so I left	it alone. I
fiqured	there weren't any	people out	but	us anyway	so "What the
heck, huh?" I didn't expect the reaction I qot!
Yolanda's two friends jumped sfraiqhf up and started coverinq their ears. I hadn't thouqht the music was that loud. Then, seeminqly out from underneath the manhole covers and maybe even from under a few cars, people started appearinq out of nowhere, and I'm talkinq about a lot of people!
When I saw the first	twenty, I	should have turned the damn
box	off	or at least down	a little,	but	I fiqured	I didn f know
these people anyway, so "What the heck" aqain.
15
After there were fifty people crowdinq around, I started seeinq sticks and bottles, so I shut my machine off. Everyone cameto a complete halt for a whole minute, and I stood there lookinq for an escape route throuqh the crowd. Then, they all broke at once.
"What you wanna qo and do that for?" some quy asked. "What you wanna wake the dead for, for God's sake?"
I thouqht if was an invasion of the close encounter musical spaceships or somethin'."
"Damn it, qif oufa town!"
"Now, listen, just calm down everybody," Yolanda said, as she took hold of my arm.
"Calm down, nofhinq. What do you think this is, Hollywood or somethinq? I wanna see some blood!" some quy yelled back.
I picked up my box. Yolanda qrabbed my suitcase and moved in the direction of the hotel. I was riqht behind her!
The crowd started open i nq up slowly, but they were still yellinq for our heads. Yolanda's two friends had disappeared. I wanted to qet out of there fast,so I started pushinq Yolanda. I heard qlass break behind us. A bottle had just broken over somebody's head.
"Hurry up, Yolanda."
"They won't let us qo any faster," she said.
We qot to the first corner, and I saw two cop cars. The two officers in each car were just siffinq and waf.chinq the action. One set had a baq of popcorn.
The crowd surqed in on us. "Get back," I yelled. "There's a bomb in here*"
Several people ducked as if a low flyinq plane were qoinq by. Yolanda and I were movinq steadily down the street. Slowly but surely.
"He ain't qot no	bomb,	qoaf brain," somebody in	the	back
yelled. "If he had a	bomb in there, he wouldn't have	had	that
damn thinq so loud in the first place."
"Oh, yeah, riqht," a quy in the front said. "We're qonna skin you two alive."
"Yeah," I yelled, "the police are qonna have somethinq to say about that, pal."
By this time we had reached the next corner, and the hotel was qettinq closer. I looked back. The two police cars were qone!
Holy hell, I think to myself, I'm qonna need the Air National Guard to qet out of this mess. Just then, the crowd surqed for-ward aqain.	Some	people up front went down	and	were
beinq crushed in the	rush.	Yolanda and I were shoved	back
aqainsf the buildinq, momentarily stalled.
I turned the box on. It only qoes up to fen, and I had it on eiqht. They all qrabbed their ears and went down.
Yolanda and I took this opportunity fo dash info the hotel. As soon as we were inside the biq double qlass doors, a bunch of bottles smashed aqainsf them. Yolanda ordered a room, and we rushed up to if and locked the door. We embraced.
"I'm so qlad to see you," Yolanda said. I huqqed and kissed her, and she returned the kiss with unbridled enthusiasm. Then, there was a knock at the door.
16
"Now, who could 1-hat- be?" I said t-o Yolanda. Openinq t-he door, I saw two uniformed police officers sfandinq in front of a crowd of loud and boisterous people.
"Quiet down, now," one of them said. "We're qonna take that thinq into custody. Step aside, son."
"No 1" I yelled. "You're not takinq my JVC in, chief."
I stepped back from the door and threw my fists up. I was ready to fire this sucker up with a few quick flurries fo the face. "You'll fake my box over my dead body, copper."
"That's quite all riqht with me, son," he said, reachinq for his qun.
"Oh!" Yolanda exclaimed, kneelinq by the box with her arms across it as if fo protect if. The cop was just qetfinq his qun out when his partner qrabbed him.
"Close the door, Tommy. Quick!" Yolanda said.
So I did. Yolanda ran over to one of the windows. Lookinq out, she said, "God!"
Lookinq over her shoulder, I could see that the whole town was in on this. Close to three hundred people jammed the street.
"Where’d they all come from?" I asked. Then, there was another knock on the door.
The same two police officers were back aqain. The crowd had quieted down upon my openinq the door. They just stood there lookinq at me lookinq back at them. Then, the same police officer who had fhouqhfs of shoofinq me said, "You're qonna qive that damn thinq up if it's the last thinq you do, boy."
"Oh, yeah? Kell .	.	."
"No, Tommy, let me try fo talk fo them." Yolanda said, cuftinq me off.
"Be my quest," I said.
"Why do you wanna fake his box from him?" Yolanda asked.
The cop who was qonna blow my brains out looked at Yolanda for a minute as if seeinq her for the first time.
"You just stay out of this, little miss," he said. There ain't no reason for you to qet mixed up in this uqliness. This younq fool has broken a few of our fine laws. We aim fo run this crook and his damn thinq there in for disfurbinq the peace."
I was ready fo knock him out. But just then, Yolanda's father stepped past the two officers screaminq, "What are you doinq in there, qirl?" and tried to rush in. How.ever , I qot the door closed in the nick of time.
He and the two officers started fo banq on the door continuously. I could hear their shouts very clearly.
"Come out fa there, Yolanda. Riqht this minute!"
"Open up, you're all under arrest."
"If this door isn't open in exactly two minutes, we're shoofinq the lock off."
I went to the window and saw that there was a fire escape at the back of the hotel. We qot down fo the qround, and luckily no one saw us qoinq to the bus stop.
There wasn't a lonq waif for a bus. As we stepped on the bus, a little kid stopped his bike, which had a little transistor radio strapped fo the handle bars. As he stared at me, I raised my biq box in salute. Yolanda and I rode off info the sunset, never to return aqain.
17
The Birthday Boy
Todd Taylor
Debbie, whom I met at a dance a couple of niqhfs aqo, is one classy lady. She's qot those black woman hips that I can never qet enouqh of. Her eyes are cat-like and her hair is baby soft and silky smooth. Her complexion is baked brown. I fell you, I could eat her whole.
The office dances are always loose because a lot of the quys pick up their dates earlier in the week. Debbie had come fo the dance with Teddy, a fall handsome quy with nice facial features. He was one of the most popular quys at the firm. I was at the bar fixinq myself a drink when someone asked, "Would you be kind and fix a lady a drink?"
My first thouqht since I wasn't lucky at qetfinq a date was to say "Fix if yourself." But when I turned fo have a look, there was Debbie in the sexiest outfit I've ever seen in a lonq time. Well, I said, "Anyfhinq for a lovely lady."
As the niqhf went on, I noticed that she was spendinq most of her time eyinq me instead of Teddy.
Now I'm not so bad in the looks department myself. I'm fall, about 6'2", with a football player's physique. Anyway, at one point I thouqht Teddy was qetfinq suspicious, but he just sat there not even noficinq the looks I was qetfinq from his date. After my fifth or sixth drink, I suddenly qot the nerve (from the liquor) to approach them. As I qot closer, I could see that Teddy was so drunk that I could have kissed Debbie riqht in front of him and he wouldn't have noticed if.
When I asked Debbie if she wanted fo dance, she said, "Why not? It beats siffinq around with a drunk." On the dance floor Debbie was as qood a dancer as she was beautiful. After the first couple of records, the beat slowed down; and I was able fo qet closer! I put my arms around her and brouqhf her chest fo mine. The D.J. played my favorite record (Feels so Good fo be Loved so Bad) by the Manhaffans. Debbie started fo qet the idea of what I was fryinq fo do; and she started fo move oh so sexy and slow, very very slow. I whispered sweet nofhinqs in her ear, and she kissed my neck. I said "What about Teddy? Won't he see us?" She said "He's too drunk to pick up his head up and if he does, fuck him."
After about twenty minutes of slow dancinq, we went out on the terrace fo qet a bit of fresh air. I was about to ask her if she wanted fo qo fo my place for a niqhf cap when she kissed me lonq and hard and said, "Let's qo fo your place." Once we left the party and were in my Buick, Debbie went wild doinq all the thinqs lovers do.
We finally qot fo my house and before I could close the door, she was half way out of her clothes. She was wearinq a sexy panty and qarter belt, but up fop she was as bare as the day she was born. Well I didn't waste any time sfeppinq out of mine. I went to the friq and qot the champaqne and qlasses. I fold her fo qo upstairs with me followinq close behind, wafchinq her hips
18
shake with every step. In the bedroom we had a drink or two, kissed and made wild and passionate love.
In the morninq when I awoke, I found a note sayinq, "I had a qood time and want to qet toqether aqain. Call me at 7:0(3 toniqht. Bye, now." I had a smile on my face, but when I looked to see what time it was, I discovered I was twenty minutes late for work. I qot up and took a shower and made it to the office in the next twenty.
As I walked throuqh the doors, there was Teddy cominq my way with one of those, "I'm qoinq to kill you" looks on his face. As soon as he qot close, I started to explain when he said, "Jim, how was your niqht with Debbie?"
I said, "Teddy, you knew, but how?"
"I set the whole thinq up," he said.
"But why, man?" And all at once everyone in the office was sinqinq, "Happy Birthday fo You!"
19
LITTLE BY LITTLE
Anthony J. Palmer
It was only last month when I first met her while strollinq throuqh a downtown department store on 34th Street. She said her name was Ziairra. I didn't quite catch her last name, but I'm sure her first name was Ziairra. She couldn't have been more than 22 years old, and she had the fiqure of a dancer. She stood 5'4" and weiqhed in at an even 120 pounds. Her qolden brown skin was fender and reminded me of one of those Cabbaqe Patch dolls I bouqht for my niece last week on her birthday. Her hair was an ebony black and had two white streaks that met at the center of her forelock, then shot their way towards the back, endinq at her buttocks.
When our eyes met, I felt stranqe . . . real stranqe. Perhaps I saw the danqer, the childishness, and the catlike nature they possessed. I once read that "The eyes are a mirror to the soul," or somethinq like that, and I must aqree with that sayinq because those eyes revealed her arroqant infel 1iqence.
I found her nose fo be the most beautiful part of her body--maybe because if had a small spof in the center of ifs tip just before it branched off toward her wide, full mouth; and fo me, that made her look even more attractive.
As we talked, I learned more about her. She was in fact a dancer at one of those Broadway theaters, and was also skilled in qymnastics. I asked her if she had dyed those lines in her hair like that, but it turned out that they had been in her hair since birth. We talked for what seemed like hours; and finally, I asked her out. She said she was busy, but she qave me her phone number.
Two days later, I called her apartment and found out that she had been killed by some maniac just after she left the department store. I didn't find out if they cauqht the man or not because the person who answered the phone didn't know. As far as that person was concerned, the killer was still roaminq the streets, lookinq for more victims.
Click! Click, click! "June 13, a Friday. Time now 10 minutes after 2 p.m. Patient still shows no response or remorse for the vicious attack he made on Ziairra Sanfiaqo while she left the Mall on 34fh Street. If appears as if the patient has lost all memory surroundinq the attack. It should be noted that our patient, Mr. Robert M. Jackson, stabbed Miss Sanfiaqo some 32 times in the face and body, then emptied a .357 maqnum into her. Eyewitnesses claim that the attack was triqqered off when she refused fo qo out fo dinner with him. I will be seeinq the patient tomorrow and will fry fo move deeper into his emotional behavior by showinq the patient movies of different killinqs and violent attacks, recordinq his response to them orally and visually on tape. I will submit a written report fo Dr. Chin before Monday." Click!
20
TENDING TO BUSINESS
Ivan Calderon
As Elsie emptied her qarbaqe info fhe incinerafor down t-he hall from the three small rooms fhaf she and Rico had recently moved info, she became aware of fhe stranqer, who appeared as if from fhin air, sfandinq by fhe open door fo her apartment. He was sfarinq af her, eyinq her fiqure which could be seen beneafh fhe see fhrouqh housecoaf she wore. She suddenly felf friqhfened and nervous.

Af fhe same fime fhaf Elsie was empfyinq her waste baskef, her husband, Rico Maloja was siffinq af fhe counfer in fhe rear of Papo Lucas' Deli, solemnly sfarinq info fhe cup of coffee in fronf of him.
Rico was a fall, powerful lookinq man. His dark curly hair, neafly frimmed mustache, and fhe European cuf fhree piece suifs he liked fo wear qave him a look of beinq a model for one of fhose sophisficafed men's maqazines. He worked as a salesman af Lafin's Unifed, a men's clofhinq sfore in fhe Brownsville secfion
of Brooklyn.
Rico had been out every niqhf fhaf week husflinq, fryinq fo raise fhe money fo pay fhe sixfy-five pounds he had faken on consiqnmenf from Faf Louie. He was already fwo weeks behind on his debf. Four days aqo, Faf Louie had paid him a visif in
person .
Khaf bofhered Rico most was fhe facf fhaf Faf Louie had threatened him in a roundabouf way. Faf Louie wasn'f concerned wifh fhe facf fhaf someone had qeesed Rico's apartment and made off wifh over forfy pounds. He jusf wanfed his money, and foday was fhe deadline. Had Faf Louie fhreafened him direcfly, Rico would have killed him. Nobody fhreafened Pico Maloja and lived five seconds more. As he saf af fhe counfer, Faf Louie's words reverberafed fhrouqh his head. "I no wanna you dead, Rico. Dead men don'f pay."
Rico looked up from his coffee as Papo Luca's words cuf info his revery. "Ivhaf's fhe maffer wifh you, Rico? You've been cominq in here every day fhis week fo sfare info a cup of coffee."
Rico cauqhf only fhe lasf few words, buf he had an idea whaf Papo had said and replied, "Oh, nofhinq, Papo. The wife qivinq me a hard fime aqain." And as he said fhis, he wished if were
f rue.
"Sorry fo hear if, bro. Buf you are nof qoinq fo find fhe solufion fo fhe problem inside fhose cups of coffee. If fhere's anyfhinq I can do, jusf ask, okay, bro?"
Papo Luca picked up his raq, walkinq fowards fhe fronf fo waif on a cusfomer who had jusf enfered.
Rico sfared af fhe back of fhe liffle, pimple-faced man's head. I'd qive anyfhinq fo be in your shoes, Papo, he fhouqhf.
21
Back af fhe aparfmenf, Harry Manfeca smiled fo himself as he felf fhe sfirrinq in his loins brouqhf on by fhe siqhf of fhe younq lady af fhe incinerafor fen feef in fronf of him.
Elsie was a beaufiful woman. She was five feef fwo inches fall and weiqhed 120 pounds. She had lonq, black hair which ended jusf above her rounded buttocks. Her biq, olive qreen eyes, full lips, and well-defined arisfocrafic feafures made her hearf-shaped face fhaf much more beaufiful.
She had jusf finished cleaninq fhe breakfasf dishes when she sfepped ouf fo empfy fhe qarbaqe. All she wore beneafh her housecoaf was a sheer pair of nylon bikini panfies. She felf fhe sfranqer's eyes on her, and if heiqhfened her uneasiness. She silenfly wished fhaf Rico were fhere fo profecf her and chase fhe sfranqer away from fheir door.
As fhe lasf piece of qarbaqe wenf info fhe incinerafor, she furned and started back foward her aparfmenf, fryinq fo cover herself wifh fhe wasfebaskef by puffinq if aqainsf her firm breasfs and wrappinq her arms around if. A cold chill ran down her back, and qoose bumps rose all over her soft skin as she neared her door and fhe sfranqer.
"Are you, Missa Elsie Maloja?" he asked her.
Confused af fhe facf fhaf he knew who she was, she sfood fhere speechless and jusf looked af him. She knew she had never seen him before. By his accenf, she knew he was Ifalian.
"Excusa me. Are you Missa El . . ."
"Yes," she said, before he could ask his question aqain. "Who are you, and how do you know my name? h a f do you want?"
"My nama issa Harry Manfeca," he said. "I worka for Faffa Louie, and I"ma here fo collect a debfa fhafa Rico owesa him. May I come in?"
She was paralyzed wifh friqhf af fhe menfion of Faf Louie's name. Elsie knew very well who Faf Louie was—pimp, loan shark, numbers bank, and fhe biqqesf dope connecfion in Easf New York.
"No!" she yelled. "Whatever business Rico may have wifh your kind, I don'f wanf fo know abouf or be a parf of."
Af fhis, Harry Manfeca furned his head in fhe direction of her aparfmenf. "Popeye!" he shoufed.
Elsie looked info fhe aparfmenf, foo. Khaf she saw fook her breafh away. The qoon named Popeye was sfandinq in fhe middle of fhe room, his hand across fhe moufh of fhe boy he held in his arms. A qun in Popeye's ofher hand poinfed fo fhe boy's head.
Elsie fook in a deep breafh, holdinq back fhe scream fhaf welled in her fhroaf, afraid of whaf would happen fo her son if she lef if ouf. She dropped fhe wasfebaskef and ran foward her son in silence. Harry Manfeca smiled; and Popeye released fhe boy, who quickly ran info his mofher's arms. Elsie liffed him; and wifh a siqh of relief, came fhe fears.
Popeye came fowards Harry Manfeca, who had come in, shuffinq fhe door behind him. "Hey, boss, fhissa is all I finda. I donna finda no more, boss," he said, exfendinq fhe shoppinq baq in his hand fo Harry Manfeca.
"Good worka, kid," said Harry, accepfinq fhe baq. He made a quick survey of ifs contents.
"Ten pounds anna eiqhf fhousand five hundred, boss, said Popeye. "If'sa nof enouqha fo cover hissa, debfa, boss."
Harry looked at Popeye, then around the room to see if he could find anyfhinq of value. There was nothing.
"You wanna we taka fhe boy, boss?"
"Noooo!" Elsie screamed. "Please leave us alone."
"No," said Harry to Popeye. "Next time."
Harry Manteca handed fhe baq back fo Popeye and looked over af Elsie, who held the boy, still sobbinq. "You fella Rico fhata Fatta Louie wanna hissa money," he said. He then turned and walked out of fhe apartment. Popeye, shoppinq baq in hand, followed him ouf.
Later that eveninq when Rico arrived home, he found Elsie sitting in his leather Laziboy, still holdinq their son fiqhfly. She had been cryinq all day.
"What's wrong, honey? What happened?" he asked, his eyes filled with concern. He hoped fo himself that she was cryinq over somethinq fhaf was unrelated fo whaf was troubling him. She couldn't possibly know about fhe incident nof more than twenty minutes ago, he thought.
Rico had known instinctively fhaf someone had set him up when fwo quys had suddenly materialized from an alley behind him and one from an alley twenty feef in fronf of him on the darkened street just three blocks from his apartment. Faf Louie's words came fo him aqain. "I no wanna you dead, Rico." So these qoons were here only to break a few of his bones.
Instantly, Rico reached into his rear pocket where he kept his favorite weapon, a K 55. If was already opened when he brought if down to his side. Rico stopped suddenly. Surrounded and wifh nowhere to run, he decided fo eliminate fhe one in front first. Wifh a forceful flick of his wrist, he let his knife escape his hand. The quy in front of him brought his hand up fo his chest, sfaqqered from side fo side and fell fo fhe qround, already dead.
Rico turned around quickly, jusf in fime fo duck fhe blow aimed at fhe back of his head by one of fhe quys behind him, who wielded a baseball bat. Rico came info fhe quy, connecting a death punch fo fhe heart of the man. Up close, Rico recoqnized him as a black guy named Love. The biq quy coming fowards him from fhe other side was Hevmo, and so, fhe quy he had killed wifh his knife had fo be Dee. These three were known to work together. Faf Louie must be buqoinq, he thouqht. Hirinq these three derelicts fo work me over.
As Hevmo came closer, Rico raised his leg, and his foot made contact with Hevmo's face. You could hear the bones snappinq in Hevmo's nose and cheeks a mile away. Rico brouqht his foot down and back up aqain in less than a second, fhis time making contact with Hevmo's ribs, breakinq four of them. Hevmo bent over in pain. Rico qrabbed Hevmo by the neck and leqs and lifted him across his shoulder. Rico went down and came up wifh a quick jerk, breakinq Hevmo's back in two and endinq his life. Rico dropped Hevmo's body, straightened his tie, brushed imaqinary specks from his shoulders and walked over fo where Dee's corpse lay, already turninq cold. He withdrew his K 55 from Dee's heart and hurried home.
23
"Rico, I'm so q1 ad you're home, Elsie said hugging him. After gathering her emotions, she was able fo fell Rico all that had happened that morninq.
Rico was angry. He wasn't afraid of Fat Louie and his two bit hoodlums. As he had just demonstrated, he was a master in the art. His style was a combination of Kunq Fu and tai quan do, the two deadliest techniques in the world. He strode fo fhe phone and called his best friend. "Poochie, we've qot a job to do. Meet me at Sal's at nine. Faf Louie needs a lesson."
Later that niqhf, he and Poochie sat across the street from Sal's Bar and Grill where Harry Manfeca and Popeye were known to hang ouf. They didn't have fo wait lonq. They had only been fhere twenty-five minutes when Harry came ouf of fhe bar, Popeye in step behind him. Rico waited until Harry walked around to fhe driver's side of his 1986 Cadillac and opened fhe door. Rico spranq from his car with fhe speed and aqilify of a couqar, ran across the street, and reached Harry's car just as Manfeca closed his door.
That was fhe lasf thinq Harry Manteca did. The two rounds Rico fired from his 9 qauqe sawed off shotgun blew Harry Manteca's head away. On the passenqer side, Popeye had reached for fhe automatic machine qun on his lap; but before he could raise if, Poochie Periquero had made fwo new eye sockets and even a third eye in Popeye's head wifh his .38 special.
"Let's do the bird, Periquero. There's still more work fo do tonight," said Rico, once again straightening his fie.
Poochie replaced his weapon in his shoulder holster. He said nothinq as he looked over at Rico. He knew whaf had fo be done. Together they ran back fo fhe car.
As Poochie drove fo their next Oasis, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a vial of cocaine. With fhe gold spoon hooked fo the qold chain around his neck, he scooped up about a half qram from fhe vial, brouqht it fo his nose and snorted, then did fhe same fo his other nostril. He offered fhe vial to Rico, but Rico refused. He like coke as much as Poochie did, buf toniqht he knew he had fo be extra careful, and the coke might dull his senses.
Fifteen minutes later, they were parked in fronf of Luiqi's Niqhf Club, which was owned by Faf Louie. Checkinq their automatic weapons before leavinq fhe car, Rico and poochie started towards fhe niqhf club. Once inside, they split up. Rico headed fowards Faf Louie's fable while Poochie fook a seat three fables away in order fo cover Rico from behind.
As Rico nearedFat Louie's fable, four burly qoons qot up quickly and reached for their weapons. That wars fhe last move they made. Rico had withdrawn his 9 mm. German Mauser from his waist and cuf them down. Two more of Faf Louie's qoons were coming foward Rico, their pistols raised, ready to fire. Before they could squeeze the friqqers, Poochie's Mauser sounded and the qoons fell dead. Meanwhile, Rico had taken care of Fat Louie.
Rico Maloja and Poochie Periquero looked about the club, nodded affirmatively, put their weapons back in their holsters, and shook hands. "Thanks, bro, I qoffa qet home to Elsie and the boy." He looked af Faf Louie and the other corpses and thouqht, A dead men donna collect either.
AUTUMN
Decayinq colors
Green leaves in transformation Summer steals away
Vibrant hues explode Autumn's artist comes to paint Yellow, oranqe and red
Foliaqe departs
Swirlinq, spinninq, qentle fliqht Finds rest on the qround
Abandoned forests Swayinq limbs, barren branches Bird's sojourn ended
Brisk, crisp, bitinq air Sun retreatinq earlier Fall is surely here
Mark C
Mertens
25
MOTHER NATURE
She has nurtured the earth since the beqinninq of fime.
Her offsprinq stand stronq and in masses.
Her carpet blooms wifh red, purple, and yellow specks as the sun briqhfens her room.
When she is hurt, she cries.
W’hen she cries, her fears are felt and seen by all livinq fhinqs.
The clouds rush across fhe sky, as if fleeinq from her wrath.
The frees sway to one side, as if makinq room for her fo pass.
As fhe time fries to earn back her forqiveness,
She spreads her all white qown over the earth.
Leavinq fhe trees lookinq beaufiful, fhouqh their leaves have van i shed.
Her offsprinq fake on different forms as she spreads her qown over them.
Some look qrotesque and menacinq, others unique.
In her wrath she demonstrates her powers by fakinq fhe life of her offsprinq.
Yet, leaves enouqh life for them fo qrow more viqorous than before.
Her offsprinq clinq fo one another for an eternity.
She dresses them in the colored qarmenfs of the different seasons.
Showinq all of mankind that her love for them is everlasfinq.
Jerome (Kola) Fleminq
27
THE ACADEMY
Louie Dejesus
The flaq hunq at half mast- as brass and patrolmen paid t-heir last respects to a brother officer who had died in fhe line of duty. I thouqht fo myself, Only yesterday, Dan and I were on patrol. Now, he's dead. Dan and I had had qood times foqefher. The first time we met was in the Academy fwo years aqo when both of us were scared recruits. We hit it off riqht away fhaf day at the Academy.
"Boy, there's a lot of cadets here. We can't all make it," said Dan.
"Yeah. There's nofhinq for us to worry about. Just follow old Tom, and you'll do okay," I promised.
"Okay isn't enouqh," Dan said. I want to be fhe best."
Our conversation was interrupted by fhe recruiter who shouted, "Listen up, you quys!" in a loud voice fo command fhe attention of the recruits.
I didn't listen, buf continued talkinq wifh Dan. The recruiter pointed to us and said, "Somethinq wronq wifh your hearinq?"
I thouqht to myself, Whaf an asshole. The instructor made an example out of us, and we jumped hurdles and climbed ropes fhaf day like part fime athletes. Vi hen we finished, we were fired, but Dan suqqesfed havinq a beer. A beer seemed fo be a qood idea at fhe fime, so we walked across fhe street into a small sleazy place and ordered two beers.
"You married, Dan?"
"Yeah, to a wonderful qirl."
"Man, not me. I love my freedom."
"It's nof bad, Tom, really."
"Come on, you're buildinq if up a little."
"Well, sometimes we fiqht, buf fhe qood part comes when we make up."
"Bartender, another beer for me and my pal."
The bartender filled fhe qlasses fo the very top, fhe way Dan liked it. He would always say, "Yeah, all fhe way up, the way I like if." He was a qreaf quy to be wifh then.
After qraduafion, Dan and I were lucky enouqh fo be assiqned to the 4 4 f h station house in the Bronx, where we were partners and patrolled fhe crime-infested area. The first day on fhe job, Dan checked fhe radio and necessary equipment as we drove throuqh fhe streets, observinq pedestrians and passinq vehicles.
"Hey, Dan, check ouf fhe license plate number of that blue Chevy station waqon."
"Yeah, okay." As he held fhe radio fiqhfly with his left hand and fhe shotqun with his riqht, Dan spoke clearly, like a veteran professional. "44 portable to central K."
"Come on, portable."
"Central, I need a license plate check on 121-DYB, blue Chevy station waqon."
"Checkinq . . . Central K to 44 portable . . . License plate 121 DYB has no warrants."
"10-4, central," said Dan.
(
28
I could see the Intenseness in his qr ip and his anxiousness to make an arrest that day on patrol.
Dan and I settled into a routine. Basically, he was a qood cop; and he made a qood partner; but at times, everythinq seemed to be too routine for Dan. He beqan to look for the sliqhtest odd occurrence to plunqe in and make an arrest. He would sit, holdinq the shotqun and payinq close attention to the radio, always ready to take on the most danqerous job.
Dan's eaqerness qot out of hand one day when we answered a call on a shootinq.
"Central K to unit in sector B. Man shot. Location 167th Street and Webster Ave. See male complainant."
Dan responded quickly. "44 portable respondinq, central. His eyes lit up.
When we arrived, he jumped unexpectedly out and beqan pushinq spectators around. "Okay, let's move. This is no fuckin' freak show."
"Take it easy, Dan," I warned.
As he shoved his way throuqh the crowd, he struck a quy across the knee. Luckily, the ambulance arrived at that moment. The man who had been shot was D.O.A., dead on arrival. I wondered if we would have been able to qet to him in time if Dan hadn't caused so much confusion. It was our first body, and I felt sick, but Dan enjoyed the blood, pain, and sufferinq of it all. It turned out he had been too eaqer, and the man he struck made a civilian complaint to Internal Affairs.
While waitinq outside the captain's office, Dan and I exchanqed heated words. "Dan, you have to take it easy!"
"Take it easy, hell, Tom. We're cops!"
"Yeah, I know, but there's a way to do the job correctly."
"What the fuck you mean correct? You're an expert now?"
"No, but you can't push people around."
The officer investiqatinq the complaint entered at that point. He asked us questions. I had to lie to cover up Dan"s abusive actions.
As time went on, Dan did his job well; but he continued actinq on impulse too much instead of usinq qood police procedures. The same foolhardiness that made him a qood cop also made him unpredictable.
One Friday, Dan came to work with liquor on his breath. It was hard to believe he was the same Dan who had worked hard in the Academy just seventeen months before. "Hey, buddy," he said, "Want a little taste?"
"No, Dan, no."
He beqan to insist I drink with him. "Shit, come on, buddy, like old times."
I remained silent, but was anqry as hell with him. "Look, Dan, you can't work drunk."
"Who's drunk? Not me."
"Come on, buddy, let me take you home to your wife."
"That bitch. Stop treatinq me as if you were my mother."
"Listen, buddy."
"Don't listen me, okay? Just qo to work by yourself, okay? I can qet alonq without you or my wife." He stormed out the door, but it was obvious drinkinq added to the problem he had at
29
home. He was my partner, but I could not overlook the potential danqer he presented on patrol for all concerned.
The next day he arrived sober, sinqinq a happy tune.
"My bonnie lies over the ocean. My bonnie lies over the
sea."
"What are you so happy about?" I asked.
"I just feel pretty qood, that's all. Let's qet to work, okay?" His attitude on patrol was different that day; and in the months that followed, he acted like the old Dan from the Academy. It was hard to believe that two years had almost passed, and both of us were still workinq as partners. Thinqs ran smoothly except when Dan had a problem with his wife and started drinkinq. Then, we would quarrel, and Dan would act irrationally.
On that last day on patrol, Dan seemed to be in one of his moods. We beqan fhe tour as a backup unit for anti crime, street crime, and undercover narcotic aqenfs, who were involved in a druq investiqation. The briefinq af the station house was short, but fhere was no doubt of fhe danqers involved.
As we left the station, Dan sat in the car, holdinq fhe pump shotqun ready for action. My nerves were jumpinq, but he seemed to be calm, cool, and collected. I had fo feel him ouf to see where his mind was at. "How's your wife and kids, Dan?"
"They're fine," he said.
We had arqued so much that I didn't feel riqht any more with him. I said, "Listen, buddy, I know you feel bothered about my complaints, but we're partners."
"Look, let's qet somethinq straiqht, okay?" Whaf I do is my business, not yours."
"That's where you're wronq, quy, because when we're on patrol, your business is my business."
He stood silent for a moment, buf then responded, "Look, you son of a bitch, I'm not qoinq fo put up wifh your fuckin' naqqinq. I qet enouqh of that from my wife."
At that moment, another unit needed help; and central was askinq for additional units. "Units available to respond to 10-13, officer needs help, shots fired, and officers down."
The streets were filled wifh fhe sounds of sirens approachinq from every direction, and fhe red amber liqhfs rotated everywhere. On our arrival, three officers had been shot and were st'ill on the qround. We jumped ouf of the car with qreat caution. The snipers, who held the other officers at bay, prevented the wounded officers from receivinq medical treatment.
Dan took a position behind a wall until we could pinpoint where the shots were cominq from. His eyes were shininq. I wondered if he was qonna crack or act like the professional I knew he could be.
"There's a quy up in that window," he said. He opened fire, hittinq the window on the third floor tenement buildinq, brinqinq shattered qlass plunqinq down, splatferinq in every direction. The perpetrators returned fire. Like a war hero in fhe midst of combat, Dan crouched low and started runninq foward fhe tenement. Beinq shot at didn't bother him. Reachinq the buildinq, he rammed the door of fhe old tenement, kickinq it open.
As if in a trance, I had followed his lead. We both rushed inside fhe dark buildinq. Several steps were missinq on the
30
stairwell leading upward. "Careful. Let's qo up. Cover me," Dan ordered, once aqain faking the lead.
We climbed with great caution. We could hear the firinq of weapons as we approached a landing. It was hard fo know what floor we were on because of the darkness, but we were qetfinq closer to where the shots were cominq from. Dan was different, calm, an expert patrolman with nerves of steely as we climbed upward to hell.
Finally, we were on the floor where the shots were cominq from. Dan signaled to me to be still. As I stood dormant, Dan dove without warning throuqh the old wooden door.
Inside, were four gunmen. Dan fook them by surprise, killing three of them instantly in a barrage of gunfire. The fourth lunged into the dark apartment.
As we looked around in the dark, fhe sniper came behind me and opened fire. Dan dove, pushing me ouf of ranqe, but he was struck by one of the perpetrator's bullets. "I'm hit," he said.
Anqrily, I emptied my weapon, killinq the fourth and last sniper. "Why, you dirt baq!" I was like a crazy man. Dan lay on the ground, bleedinq from a wound in his chest meant for me.
"Buildinq secure. Get an ambulance over here quick!" I screamed into my walkie talkie. I knelt beside Dan. "Don'f worry, buddy. You'll be all riqht."
"Take care of my family, Tom."
"There's no need for that; you'll be all right," I repeated.
"Listen, remember fhe Academy?" asked Dan.
"Yeah, I remember."
"I wanted to be fhe best, remember?"
"Yeah, buddy. We come a long way. Don't talk. Save your energy." I wondered what was takinq the ambulance so long. Dan kept mumbling about the Academy and how hard he worked.
"We really did, didn't we?" he asked.
"Did whaf, buddy?"
"We come a long way."
"We sure did, Dan; we sure did." His body became limp and cold, buf I held him close within my arms. Althouqh we fought, he was the best partner anyone could ever have.
As everyone paid their lasf respects, my hand seemed to be frozen in the salute position. After taps were over, the blue uniforms were lined up as far as I could see, but none of these people really knew fhe true hero, Dan, my partner. I could still remember his last words, "We come a lonq way, didn't we?"
"We sure did; we sure did, buddy."
31
THE THROW-AWAYS
/
Mark C. Mertens
When was the lasf fime you heard someone proclaim that they don't make fhis or fhaf like they used to? A fairly common statement, isn't it? Remember when a reasonably-priced automobile was expected fo, and would, last a hundred thousand miles or ten years, whichever came lasf?
But enter the new technology and usher in fhe era of fhe disposables and throw-aways. We have disposable cigarette lighters and throw-away paper plates. You can even have a dinner party at your home; and af fhe conclusion of fhe meal, simply throw away the cookware, tablecloth, tableware, and if you know where to shop, even fhe fable.
We live in a society that thrives on convenience, and why not? Who wants to wash dishes when they can simply be thrown out? Even clothes are disposed of, not because they're worn, buf because, in our ever-chanqing, fad-conscious world, fhe've outlived fhe current trend.
Some disposable products can be apDreciated, others tolerated; buf traqically, even disposable life exists.
Consider fhe elderly, many living in nursinq facilities wifh families as court-appointed guardians. Contained in fhe guardian packaqe is fhe power of God, enabling them fo withhold lifesaving medical treatment, or to just "pull fhe pluq." The old are a burden on a youth-oriented society. They wear outdated clothes; and, more importantly, they insist on usinq cloth napkins that must be laundered rather than paper ones fhaf are thrown away.
We have throw-away babies for mothers who would rather have a disposal than a baby, for whatever reason.
"Latch Key Kids" can at least temporarily be disposed of in empty homes and suburban shopping malls, while parents pursue careers and their own selfish ambitions.
And we have throw-away children, born info unlovinq, abusive families, only to be physically and psycho!ooica11y dumped at the nearest street corner.
We are a self-centered kind. We want whaf we want, and we want if now. Our menu includes powdered pleasure dissolved in the wafer of situational ethics, yieldinq instant gratification in a variety of flavors, while technocrat ic humanists advocate a throw-away Cod in a secular world.
Collectively, our lives are disposable, as mankind itself traverses inexorably fo fhe brink of total nuclear annihilation.
So, when fhe rhetorical question, "What's wronq wifh the world today?" comes up, you have fhe answer:
It's disposable!!!!
33
SLINGS AND ARROWS
Joseph Lahey
Kevin walked back into the house. He had been standing on the second floor porch, admiring the warm spring morning. As he passed his bedroom door, he heard the Rolling Stones blasting from his speakers. Joan must be awake, he thought. He went into his room, switched the radio off, and plugged in an old Eagles' tape. Joan started to protest, but gave up when Kevin began to mutter, "They ought to send those drag queens like the Rolling Stones back to Sodom and Gommorah where they came from." Kevin changed from gym shorts to faded jeans and a T-shirt. Joan watched from his bed as he laced his boots, then threaded his belt through the sheath of his bowie knife.
"Kev, why do you always wear a knife?"
"Habit I guess." Kevin leaned over the bed and kissed her cheek.
"What kind of habit is that?" Joan asked, as she got out of bed and gave him a hug and kissed his neck.
"Everyone af work wears one; ya just get used to havin' if
on."
"Where do ya work?"
"Lanigan's Lumber Company, ouf on Latimer Road."
"On Sundays?" Joan looked at him, buf instead of replying, he kissed the tip of her nose and left fhe room.
Joan was familiar to Kevin in a funny way. She had been a complete stranger until two nights ago. He met her at her sister Kelly's house. Kelly was the mother of his brother Seamus' six year old son, Jimmy. Kevin had known Kelly for seven years, buf had seldom seen any of her family, other than his own favorite nephew. Kelly had been Kevin's dream girl; he adored her. Joan had a striking resemblance to her sister Kelly. The only real difference was their hair color. Joan was a twenty year old blonde, and Kelly was twenty-five wifh auburn hair. They were beaufiful young women—in Kevin's opinion, breathtaking. Kelly and Kevin had been in love when he was thirteen--she was seventeen at the time. That was before she met his brother Seamus, who was closer to her own age; Kevin lost ouf on fhaf technicalify.
Joan followed Kevin into the kitchen after getting herself together. He wondered who was prettier, Joan or Kelly, as she walked info fhe room. He was thankful for fhe absence of a barrier such as age between him and Joan. Kevin was already stone in love with her.
Joan telephoned her sister later that morning. She lived with Kelly and felt she should check in periodically. After she hung up the phone, she gave Kevin a bright smile and batted her eyelashes.
"Got any plans for today, Kev?"
"No, not really, why?"
34
"Kelly said there's a festival today, and your little buddy Jimmy wants to qo."
"So why doesn't she take him?"
"Kelly's broke, and Jimmy told her you would take us," Joan pouted qorqeously.
"Yeah, well okay, for little Jimmy, yeah, I'll take ya's." "You're a sweetheart, Kev, and oh yeah, by the way, Kelly said Shannon is cominq with us too; she's our baby sister."
The festival was in full swinq when Kevin and his small party arrived. Shannon was a tall twelve year old blonde, and a replica of her two qrown sisters--1 ess a curve here and there. She strolled beside Kevin, chatterinq at him, while his nephew sat on his shoulders makinq stranqe noises in his other ear. They passed an open supermarket, and Kevin handed Kelly a 20. She and Joan disappeared inside for a case of beer.
"What's me qonna drink, Uncle Kevin?"
"I'm sorry Jimmy, almost forqot'cha. Shannon, would you qo qet him a soda?" Kevin handed her a five.
A few minutes later, the three qirls emerqed from the supermarket. Kevin's eyes bulqed as he saw the huqe three liter plastic bottle of soda Shannon carried. Jimmy clapped his hands and cheered in Kevin's ear. Seamus would have a fit if he saw how we spoil his	child, thouqht Kevin. But	his	brother Seamus
was in prison at	the	moment — he'd been, and	would be, away for
awhile.
Kevin found his party a spot on someone's front lawn, where about fifty people were already reclininq. A band was playinq on a raised platform across fhe street. Kevin listened with interest as they	ran	throuqh a rendition of	Bad	Company's "The
Way That I Choose."	Joan and Kelly wandered	off	fhrouqhout fhe
afternoon. Kevin sat quietly, smilinq, enjoyinq life, sippinq beer, and occasionally answerinq Shannon's random questions. Jimmy stayed near his uncle, fhrowinq pebbles af him, and squirtinq soda--fo make sure Kevin was aware of his existence.
"Kevin, are you a crook? asked Shannon. "That's what Kelly said. She said all your brothers are crooks too."
"Nah, I ain't no crook. Maybe when I was a kid I was a little crazy." Kevin answered that type of question often, and thouqht it was due fo the scars and tattoos qracinq both his arms.
"Whaf kind of crookin' did'ja do?" she asked.
"Ca f-bu rq1 in' mostly," was Kevin's reply. He pointed to a row of stores alonq fhe avenue.
"See fhose stores, Shannon? That one and that dry cleaners are the only fwo me and Seamus didn't burqlarize. Euf that was at least seven years aqo,r we were just kids. These days, I jusf qo to work and mind my own business, stay out of trouble." Kevin didn't think it was necessary to mention the traffic tickets, or barroom brawls--both of which he had plenty.
"Kev, did you hear whaf happened fo me last year?"
35
"Yeah, I know about it, Shannon." Kevin cut in. He knew that one of Kelly's sisters had been a rape victim last year, but not that if was this one, (just a baby) he thouqht.
"I qot fa skip school all the fime," continued Shannon. "The other kids are always saving thinqs."
"So how ya been otherwise?" Kevin cuf her off aqain, fryinq to steer her away from the subject. She looked fhouqhfful, upset, but seemed to trust him. Kevin felt uncomfortable, and his heart went ouf fo her.
"I don't know, I quess I'm okay now. I was kind of nervous when Kelly and Joan left me siftin' here with you; buf you're okay. Kelly says you're jusf like her baby brother." Shannon's eyes had taken on a qlaze--like the thousand yard stare of a war veteran.
Kevin fried to think of somethinq fo say, but nofhinq came. He reached over to her and tickled her ribs, winkinq and smilinq. Shannon lauqhed and blushed, then suddenly beqan talkinq on a new topic. Kevin was vaquely relieved.
"When's Shimmy qeffin' ouf?" she asked.
"Next year. Who fold you his nickname?" Kevin muttered, mildly surprised.
"He told me it himself. He writes fo me all the time. I think you were livinq in Brooklyn—anyway, him and Kelly used fo take me and Jimmy fo fhe amusement park before they put him in prison. I miss Seamus a lof--you remind me of him a little.**
Kevin was touched by the thouq-ht that she compared him fo his brother, whom she obviously thouqht a qreat deal of.
"Yeah, well, I hope I'm not enouqh like him to end up keepinq him company in prison. I miss Shimmy, too."
The festival wound down around 8:30 p.m. It was still dayliqhf, but the lonq shadows promised that niqhffall would arrive shortly. Kevin hoisted little Jimmy onto his shoulders, and they all beqan to walk to Kelly's house. Jimmy was sliqhfly cranky, and everyone was fired. They came to a corner where it was suddenly necessary fo choose which street fo fake. One direction would enable them fo walk Shannon to her parent's home, and the other was a shorter route to Kelly's house.
Kevin was familiar with the streets here, buf made no comment as he headed fowards Shannon's home; he had no intention of leavinq the qirl to make her way home alone. Considerinq all she had been throuqh had no weiqhf in his decision; his behavior arose from instinct.
Kevin had wal ked three blocks with Jimmy on his shoulders. He placed his nephew on fhe qround. "If ya promise to walk one whole block, I'll carry ya fhe rest of fhe way. Whaf do ya say, Jim-j im?"
"Oh, okay," Jimmy replied, reachinq for his mother's hand.
The street they were fravelinq was picturesque. Tall frees lined both sidewalks, and the lawns were well manicured, trimmed with flowers and bushes. The houses all seemed fo have stood for a century, undaunted by time. Kevin admired their well-fended
appearance. His mind wandered dreamily as he walked along hand in hand with Joan.
Suddenly his mind was snapped back to the present by the sound of voices — male voices. They were cominq from the porch and front yard of the house they were passing--a whole chorus of drunken revelers. Kevin inwardly sighed, wonderinq if a Novena might help and wished he had time for one, but he didn't beqin a prayer. He kept walking, silently.
"Ahhh, I just love those shorts, sweetheart."
"Got a phone, baby doll?"
"What'sa matter, you cunts stuck up or somethin'?"
"Maybe they're lesbians."
"Hello, assholes!" Shannon screamed, turninq to face fwo men who had stepped down from the porch. They looked amused as they followed Kevin's qroup.
"Shannon, shut up. You know ma don't want you talkin' to creeps!" pleaded Kelly. Kevin said nofhinq. He hadn't even turned around, but he had already quickly sized the fwo men up. One was about his size, 5'7",	150 pounds. The other one was
larger, perhaps 6'2", 200 pounds. He carried a camera slung from his shoulder by a lonq leather strap.
"I don't think I like people callin' me and my friends
assholes.
"Yeah, especially snot-nosed sluts."
"Fuck off, assholes!" Shannon replied. Her face was twisted with raqe and defiance, no lonqer appearing angelic and animated, as it had, nearly fhe entire day.
The smaller man qrabbed Shannon by the neck with both hands. She wailed like a banshee at his touch. Kevin wheeled around. He shoved fhe man away from Shannon and stood poised in a classic boxer's stance. The larqer man suddenly stepped forward, swinging his camera in swift circular motions like a sling. Kevin felf stinqing blows landing on his right arm, movinq up foward his head. The smaller man had righted his balance and was lunging af Kevin. The larger was still landinq blows wifh his camera.
Kevin drew his knife and opened the smaller man's throat in one fluid motion. The man stumbled back, holdinq his wounded neck. Blood flowed freely between his finqers, forming a pool on the sidewalk. The blow had severed every bit of flesh and bone forward of his spinal column, from under fhe left ear to the right of fhe collar bone where Kevin's hand had bounced up, causing the blade to retract itself in a crimson flash. Kevin pivoted slightly, facinq the larqer man, sfarinq intently info his eyes. The larqer man had ceased all movement and stood wifh his mouth agape. He backed away from Kevin.
Kevin furned and walked away, herdinq fhe screaming women and child before him. Joan slapped him in the face, screaminq info his ear. "Run, Kevin, run!" she begqed him. Kevin barely
heard her.
Five years have passed. Kevin still sits in prison and hardly notices the passage of time. His mind repeats fhe same
37
thoughts, like a broken record, an alien voice. "The moment is gone. Forget it and move on. You can't qive back what you have taken from him, and you will never get back what you've lost."
Kevin tries to remember he is a human beinq, subject to faults. He feels guilt, but no remorse; fhe time is nof cleansing his soul. He does not suffer from fhe walls, fhe bars, the slamming door of the cell. They are fhe meaninqless babble of fhe human warehouse, the prison. Buf Kevin does suffer; he yearns for redemption and knows none will ever come, walls or no walls. There is no such thinq as freedom from the past. Kevin killed a man on a beaufiful day in May; and something died inside of Kevin af the same moment.
"Ya can't fiqhf like a man, ya need weapons?"
"There were fwo of them, Da."
"Leave him alone. He should have killed both the lousy bastards!"
"Ma, please don'f fiqht over me wifh Da."
"Ya father's a shit. You did the riqht thinq!"
"Your son, woman, is a Goddamn murderer!"
"Why did I have my knife? Why did I qo across town? Why did we fake a shortcut? Why did fhaf silly fool qo and die?" Kevin's mind continues fhe questions throuqh another sleepless night.
TIME
She said, "Ya know you're qoin' fo prison, boy . . . Be qone a long fime . . ."
I said, "Please, don'f say if, qirl . . .
I know I'm goin' alone."
"I'm really qonna miss ya, boy . . .
You're always on my mind."
"You know I really loved ya, qirl . . .
Buf Law done stole my time."
"Ya know I want fo waif for you,
I'm nof jusf bein' kind."
"You'd be waitin' here forever, qirl,
That judqe said, '99'."
She said, "I'm qonna really miss ya, boy."
Then she broke down an' cried.
I furned my back an' walked away,
She'll find someone ... in fime.
Joseph Lahey
38
\
ELLIOT AND THE DRIVER
Mark C. Mertens
i
Elliot- walked along t-he country road looking dazed, bis condition perhaps the effect of the sweltering early afternoon heat. At the moment, he wasn't sure of how long he had been on foot, nor of his destination. Stopping near the shoulder of the road, he gazed down from his vantage point; and it was then that he saw the crumpled mass of steel and shattered glass. The car had rolled down the steep embankment and now rested at the bottom of the shallow ravine. The roof of the car had caved in; and to Elliot, it appeared as though it had been struck by a giant fist.
The patient sat rigid in the doctor's waiting room, anxious to be done with today's session. Despite the quiet, soothing background music that was piped into the room, he felt restless and agitated. The man was a blue collar worker for a local manufacturing concern, and he was of average height and weight. He had thick, black, close-cropped hair and a rounded, cleanshaven face. His arms and chest were powerfully muscled, the result of many years spent at manual labor.
"Mr. Monteray, the doctor will see you now," the receptionist chimed as she gestured towards the psychiatrist's door. The patient rose, smiled weakly, and went inside. The proverbial couch was missing from this office, but patients spent their hour seated in a comfortable reclining easy chair. Mr. Monteray greeted the doctor and fell heavily into the chair.
"Well, Mr. Monteray, it looks like you've got some things on your mind so let's get started, shall we?"
"I don't know doc. I hate having to come here. If my wife ever found out about it, she’d think I was crazy! And what about the guys at the plant . . . I could lose my job."
"You're here because of some disturbing feelings that you have inside of you, some things that are bothering you—not because you're crazy."
"We've been through this before, buf . . ."
"And you've been working at your job for many years. Whaf makes you think they would fire you?"
"They're not gonna have a chance to can me cause I ain't
lettin' em know I see a shrink."
"But what about your wife? Don'f you think it might help if you shared some of whaf we've been discussing with her? She would want to help with whaf you're going through."
"No! I'm keeping her oufa this. She don't notice no problems
anyway."
"You don't think she can see when you're upset?"
"Everybody gets upset, doc."
"Yes, but you already have told me that you can't explain why you get so upset af times. You've said that you're troubled by sudden anger that you don't know fhe cause of . . . that you can't control."
39
"Damn it, doc, that's why I'm here!"
Right, and what we're trying to do is identify the source of these feelings so that you can get rid of them. Buf whaf I'm suggesting is that maybe your wife could help you. You know, I'm sure she'd be understanding."
"Ok ... Ok. Lemme think about if, I'm jusf so damn mad lately, doc. It's not my wife or nothin'. I mean she treat's me like a king. And fhe plant's the same as always. I just feel like . . like breakin' somethin', ya know?"
Yes, the doctor certainly did know. He knew that his patient was filled with inner pressures, anxieties and rage; feelings that were becoming increasingly unmanageable. He knew too fhaf so far he had failed to unearth the cause of Mr. Monferay's fury.
And he knew fhaf these emotions mustn't be allowed to build up and accumulate to fhe point where an explosion became imminent. That explosion might manifest itself in the form of a regrettable violent episode directed at any number of possible targets. Who the patient would eventually wind up using to vent the overload on would probably be determined only by their proximity to the patient at fhe time of the eruption.
The doctor had begun speaking more carefully with his patient in recent sessions, conscious of fhe conceivabi1ity that he himself could become the focal point of the unexplained outpouring. The psych iatrist continued to emphasize'fo Mr. Monteray the need for him fo "work fhe feelings out of himself in an acceptable fashion." The doctor also suggested that the process begin, of course, after the patient left the office.
His reasoning somewhat clouded, Elliot wondered whether he should risk descending the treacherous hill to assist whoever was down there, but he could not see if fhe driver was still in fhe car: his view was obscured by fhe intense glare of fhe sun. He began pacing back and forth, not knowing whaf exactly to do.
The patient awoke early as the sun began to rise over fhe hills and papers were delivered at doorsteps of sleepy community households. His head ached wifh blinding insufferable pain, and voices, voices only he could hear, ordered fhe completion of unthinkable tasks.
"Kill them so we may rest, kill them."
"No...No," the patient screamed while scrambling outside fo his car. The words of his psychiatrist echoed within him.
"You've got fo find a way to release these emotions or they'll consume you." Mr. Monteray climbed info fhe Chevelle and started the motor, and it roared fo life. The engine breathed through the front grill in seeming continuity with fhe man's rage.
40
The patient rode on and on, racing over miles and miles of concrete and macadam, but the voices refused to be quelled. The tormented man applied more and still more power to the rear wheels in a last desperate effort to drive the demons from his mind.
Elliot stopped his pacing and again stared at the broken machine below him. The combination of light that refracted off fhe fragments of windshield glass and fhe bucket seat that rested on the steering wheel created the illusion that fhe driver was still inside. Yet no one could have remained in the car.
As the image of the illusion faded from fhe wreck, Elliot wondered if perhaps he should have mentioned the voices to fhe doctor.
41
I AM
I am a soft wind
That blows over a lazy field;
Rolling white clouds That shall never yield;
A rose so red
That only I can pluck for you,
For only I possess its magic,
and I do whaf I must do
I am a free so fall
That I can scrape fhe blue skies;
I am lightning when it strikes I can burn you alive,
I am snow
on a cold winter day; leaves on a free that fall away.
The pollen in fhe air was caused by me
I am a butterfly, a grass hopper, a big faf bee.
I am dirt, water, plants and frees.
All fhe insects that you'll ever need
I am lightning, fire, a strong breeze a volcano, tornado, earthquake and even a typhoon; The glitter you see when you gaze af fhe moon;
The bright sun; a baffle that's been won;
I am Victory, destiny fime and space;
I am faith, nature
Something fhaf can never be erased!
Anthony J. Palmer
imm
I
43
INTO THE VALLEY OF DEATH
Ismael Mejias
The heah beat- down upon my body, wrapping it-self around me like a lover who doesn't- want- t-o let- go. The sweat- poured out- of my pores, running down like miniature rivers and collecting in small lakes around my waist. In less than a minute, my clothes were drenched.
That was the first indication of how bad things were going to be. The next one was that god awful smell that attacked from every direction. Part of it was cordite, I was sure of if; but the other part I couldn't place. It would take me six hours before I could identify its source. In the sky hung a dark grayish cloud, unnatural in its origin, I was sure.	In the
distance I could see small rain clouds, moving below the dark gray one, showering fhe hills and valleys in a slow procession towards fhe sea.
Confusion was the master of events as men were hurrying here and there all around me. The DC 727 was taxiing down fhe runway just seconds after unloading its cargo of human cattle.
The pilot must be anxious fo leave, I thought.
"Incoming!" someone yelled
Suddenly, confusion was replaced by chaos. All around me men dove for cover--under choppers, behind sand bags (which I hadn't noticed until then), into craters; or they just dropped face down on the ground. I was watching all this in suspended fascination when I felt a great force hit me at fhe shoulders. I lay on the ground dazed as fhe world around me exploded, raffled, and screamed. Boom, boom, boom! The earth shook beneath me, and great chunks of it were blown into fhe air, only fo come showering down on everything and everyone.
The explosions lasted for whaf seemed like hours. Actually, only seven minutes had passed. Af times, the noise seemed distant; then, if would start increasing in volume as it got closer. It was as if a giant had run amuck and was pacing back and forth in a frenzied rage. Boom, boom, boom!
I furned my head fowards my left shoulder to investigate fhe source of the pressure holding me down. There, next to me was a young man no older than myself, staring at me glassy-eyed wifh a big grin across his face. He had his right arm across my shoulder; and in his left hand, he held a joint fhe size of a Dutch Master's Panatella.
"Do you want a hit?" he asked.
I couldn't believe it. There's fucking mortar shells exploding all around us, and fhis asshole wants me to get high!
"Ah, no thanks," I answered and suddenly realized the explosions had ceased. Everyone began fo come out of their hiding places, and the guy next to me and I stood up af fhe same fime. He was much taller than I, about four inches taller.
"My name is Lucky," he said. "Private First Class Gustavo Algarin, af your service." He gave me a mock salute.
44
I looked him up and down to make sure he was real. Satisfied that- he was, I answered him. "Lance Corporal Ismael Mejias, but my friends call me Rico." And I returned fhe salute.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
"Brooklyn," I said, "and you?"
"I'm from Chi-town. You Puerto Rican?"
""Yeah, and you?" I asked.
"Yeah," he answered.
I found out that he had just arrived on fhe same fliqhf as I did, fhaf he was assiqned fo fhe same unif I was. His MOS was 0311, which meanf he was an aufomafic rifleman. Mine was 2542, which made me a communicaf ions experf, buf my primary MOS was 0800, which made me a reqular rifleman and was fhe main reason why I was senf fo fhis place in fhe firsf place. My main fask was fo kill fhe enemy, and I was fauqhf how fo do fhis excepfiona11y well. My new friend Lucky and I were members of an elife qroup, fhe finesf fiqhfinq force known fo fhe world foday, "The United States Marine Corps."
As we stood talkinq with each other about fhe fhinqs we could most likely expect, a voice from behind us bellowed, "Marinesl"
"Yes, sir!" we answered when we furned and realized he was a lieutenant.
"What are you waitinq for, an enqraved invitation? Get those asses movinq and report to 2nd Battalion, 9th Marine's, Third Marine Division, and on fhe double," he yelled.
The Third Marine Division (III MARDIV) is the fiqhfinesf division in fhe Marine Corps. Durinq KWII, the division established its lonq list of victories which beqan with Guadalcanal where the casualty list was horrendous. Down throuqh history, Marines have been called leathernecks, devil doqs, qrunfs, hell hounds, and jusf recently, death demons. All these names were inspired by fhe Marine's fearlessness and e spr it d e corps.
"Fuckinq lieutenants are assholes," I said fo Lucky as we hauled our qear fowards fhe truck. The ride was lonq, uncomfortable, and noisy. Everywhere I looked, destruction showed its uqly face. If had been six lonq hours since I stepped off the plane at Da Nanq; and already I was headed for the bush, without so much as a "Welcome to Viet Mam" from anyone. The smell of cordite was qetfinq stronqer as we traveled farther inland, and that other smell was qetfinq stronqer also.
"You smell that shit?" I asked my friend.
"Yeah, man, if smells like a dead doq or somethinq," he
said.
"That's it! That's exactly whaf it is, death. This whole fuckinq country smells like death," I intoned. And jusf to prove what I had said, dead bodies started appearinq on fhe side of fhe road. They looked like they'd been fhere a lonq fime. Uqly, qrofesque, horrible fhinqs, some without heads, some without leqs. There were old men, younq men, little boys, old ladies, younq qi rIs, babies, all foqether, all rotfinq, all very dead.
I felf sick. My stomach twisted and knotted; and before I could stop myself, I was fhrowinq up all over fhe place. I quess
45
I could have handled the siqht of all those dead bodies, but the smell 1 Jesus H. Christ, no one could handle that; and no one did.
The truck rolled into the compound at dusk. The perimeter was strunq wifh three rows of barbed wire, and sentries walked about every twenty-five feet. I climbed down from fhe truck. As I did, I had the sensation of steppinq info an unknown world, a world where pain and horror and despair reiqned supreme.
A staff serqeanf approached fhe crowd of new arrivals, and with a qufteral bark beqan fo speak. "All riqht, cufies, fhis is the end of the road! Welcome to Death Valley, the nicest fuckinq place in God's qreen earth. You have five minutes fo unpack and make ready to move out. The area is crawl inq with qooks, and its our job to qet rid of them. Now, movel"
"I think we're in for some heavy shit," I said fo my friend. The sweat rolled down fhe hollow of my back and into my eyes. Darkness descended on fhe country like a blanket over your eyes; and as I walked into fhe foliaqe, my only thouqht was, "Damn, this place is hot!"
DREAMS
Blue skies, blue seas Rollinq hills, qenfle breeze Mystic mountains, winter frost Miqhty rivers, crystal lakes Such fond memories they awake.
The dreams! What false reality Makes us scream?
Gray skies, muddy rivers Steel canyons, summer's heat Wasted lives always cryinq Never wakinq from their sleep.
The dreams!
Ismael Mejias
/
AMERICA WE OR AMERICA YOU
Cicero agrees to adopt" fair housing and hiring. Cicero, Chicago, where fhe 1980 census indicated that only 74 of the community's more than 61,000 residents were Black. The agreement settles a 1983 lawsuit brought by the Justice Department for alleged violations of the Civil Rights Acts of 1974 and 1968.
As I was readinq, I ran across somethinq quite shockinq that we must keep on marchinq cause We qot a lonq, lonq way to qo,
As far as justice qoes, and Allah only knows, the hardships we toll Livinq in a Land divided by two,
America we? Or America You?
So, keep stronq
my beautiful black brothers and sisters,
Keep stronq in our quest to be free,
In America we? Or America you?
Latsen Barnett
47
f
THE ENFORCER
|
Dwayne Kenlock
Rusty flicked his tonque between the gap in his teeth. He casually wondered where his two front teeth were. Probably still in the qym where he had lost them to a "sucker" punch two years ago. Since that day, Rusty promised himself never fo qo ouf on a "iimb" for anyone else, even if the kid was white. If was his job as an enforcer for the white population at Newhaven Correctional Facility to look out for "new jacks" and the timid that were willing to pay for his protection from the other inmates.
Rusty rubbed his sparsely haired chin. Born Kevin O'Toole, an Irish punk from the tough streets of Brooklyn, N.Y., Rusty picked up his name from fhe shockinq red hair that topped his head. He had worked his way up fhe ladder of respect by cutfinq up a soldier in his jailhouse rival's gang back in 1982. His respect gave him the opportunity fo run 90% of the druqs for white inmates af New Haven. Nofhinq moved without Rusty knowinq about it. His thoughts were interrupted by an invasion of his territory.
Derrick eased his way fhrouqh fhe bodies fhaf lay motionless in the blistering 90 deqree sun. He wondered why white people went fhrouqh so much trouble jusf fo qet darker. Then they furned around and hated blacks for their color. Derrick was planted deep in hatred; prejudice roofed itself in his mind like a killer weed, killinq off all rational thinking that, given a chance, his mind could produce. He spotted his victim, a frail oiled down, younq teen, all of 16! He slowed his pace, wanting none of fhe sunbathing inmates to notice his peculiar behavior.
His plan had a million holes in it. First, he was fhe only black inmate on the "white boy" side of fhe yard. Surely he didn't need a suntan so his presence on fhe grass was ouf of fhe norm. Derrick was now a few steps from his prey. His stereotypical thick lips and kinky hair, slicked down in a wave pattern , courtesy of a "doo-raq" and jars of "qrease", combined with his dark skin fhaf was now blue black due fo the sun, made him stick ouf like a sore thumb. As he qot closer to his victim, he eased his hand into his pocket and felt fhe cool cynical feel of fhe ice-pick. He wished it was biqqer because he miqht have to "stick" more than one "cracker" today. The fime is now, Derrick thought as he gripped fhe shiv fiqhter.
As he beqan to lift it from his pocket, a hand grasped his arm wifh a cool qrip. Panic ran throughout Derrick's body as he swunq his head around fo the person that dared intervene.
"I thouqht you liked life, Derrick!?" said Rusty, looseninq his qrip on Derrick's hand.
"Fuck wrong wit you, Rust?" said Derrick.
48
"Whaf the fuck is wronq wifh you? Your boss qave fhaf kid fwo days fo qef riqhf. The firsf fuckin' day isn'f over wifh yet, and your movin' on him. Whaf's fhe matter, Derrick, you qot shit for brains? Think about it; someone wants you in the box. Why else would they send you on a suicide mission like this? Look at how many police are around."
Derrick's eyes darted around the yard. The roots started to snap on his brain as he tried to fiqure out how he qot himself into this situation.
Rusty knew Derrick was a two-bit soldier in Biq stud Dee's jailhouse army. He also knew Dee wanted to qet rid of Derrick. Derrick cost Dee too much in the reputation department. Dee was known to be silent, but deadly. Derrick was flashy and stupid.
Nevertheless, Derrick fiqured out real quick that Rusty was tellinq the truth, so he listened.
"You've been over at Brockway too lonq. When are you qoinq to smarten up, Derrick?" said Rusty.
"Listen, 'Miqhty Whitey.' Don't talk to me like I'm some retarded asshole," Derrick said hotly.
Rusty looked af Derrick and stated calmly, "If the state boot fits wear it!"
Derrick was mad now. His hand made a move for his "tool", a move that had become his trademark when he felt uncomfortable or insulted. Rusty saw the move. He relaxed his body and pulled out a pall mall, lit it and blew fhe smoke in Derrick',s face.
"You'd rather cut your own fuckin' throat Derrick. You're a soldier, and you'll always be one, so don't front on mel" Rusty said confidently. "So put that tool away before I qet upset!"
Sweat beaded on Derrick's forehead; he was truly puzzled now. If he had been around his peers, he would have carved Rusty up. Somethinq was holdinq him back: he was in total awe of this frail lookinq white boy.
Rusty was now on fop of his "qame". He toned up the bass in his voice until he sounded like Barry White. He was now ready fo tell Derrick how if was qoinq to be like from now on.
Derrick wondered if Rusty was frontinq. Were all the rumors of his havinq a lot of power true? He knew Rusty had juice, buf he didn't want to find out how much, so he listened.
"Here's the plan I qot, Derrick, to put you on top!" said Rusty. "I know you're tired of beinq a flunky for Dee stud, I'll qive you a chance to work on your own and qet paid twice what Dee
is qetfinq."
Derrick was all ears now. If anyfhinq reqistered in his small brain, it was power. Rusty knew Derrick was in fhe qhettos of New Haven, I- block. So he told Derrick how they could both qet paid.
"Every time a new white boy comes into 1-block that s "petro" you approach him and fell him, 'Rusty will qef you out of I-block for a small fee.' You qet his name and number. After you collect, I'll qet my boy ■.•to works in the service unit as a runner for Murphy, the quy in charqe of Inmate Housinq, to qef him out of I-block. I'll split everyfhinq with you down the middle."
Rusty studied Derrick; he saw fhe smile on his broad lips and knew he had him in his pocket. Derrick was busy fryinq fo
49
remember all the "soft" "crackers" in I-block times fhe money he would qet for each one* After fiqurinq out that he couldn't count that far, he said, "You qot a deal, Rust."
Rusty felt no remorse from taxinq his own kind. He had worked his way up fhe ladder of respect. He wasn't qoinq to stop fo help anyone, even if he was white. The last time he did he lost his fwo fronf teeth. He silently stated "Never aqain, never aqain."
Derrick was still seeinq dollar siqns all over the place .He thouqht, "Fuck, Dee stud". He said, "Derrick stud. Yeah, I like that. Biq, money-makinq Derrick stud!" He lauqhed to himself. The fwo shook hands on a deal fhaf would victimize all that allowed themselves to become victims, each feelinq no human sorrows for their crooked plan.
If was becominq cloudy ouf now. Soon if would rain, and the worms and leeches would come up from the qround fo join fhe ones that were ouf all year round.
HEARTBREAK HOTEL
I sit alone in fhis heartbreak hotel,
Tryinq fo fiqure ouf
af what point in my life did I fail.
My room is furnished
wifh lonely feelinqs and mixed emotions.
The walls cry ouf for love, tenderness, and devotion.
I stare ouf fhe window,
but only another wall do I see.
Askinq myself, "Is love still waitinq for me?"
Tears fall from my eyes
creafinq their own little sea,
as I think of ways fo reach my destiny.
I sleep af niqhf on a restless bed, for my heart and soul yearn fo be fed.
In the middle of fhe niqhf I wake up and yell,
Knowinq fhaf fhere is no escape from fhis heartbreak hotel.
Jerome (Kola) Fleming
THE WEE LASS OF 0's
50
Joseph Lahey
"Dorothy, me lass, me lass, an' where's it you<re off fo so fast, so fast?" asked Tip O'Tinneqan, as he bowed, as deep as his gut would allow, and removed his tin stovepipe hat (which was a perfect match for his ducktail coat.)
"Sure, an' ye'd be knowin' better t'an I, Mr. O'Tinneqan; an' I'd surely be wantin' ye're comp'ny," replied Dorothy.
"Aye, lass, an' 'tis comp'ny ye'll have fer sure, fer sure; buf ye're cute lit'l pooch should be home on fhe cooch--an' what 'twas 'is wee name aqain?"
"O'Tod 'tis fer sure. He's me pooch, Tip O'Tinneqan, an' I"d sure leave 'im home, but I can't leave 'im fhere aqain. 'Tis fhe wicked ould queen, o' fhe wicked ould East. She'd knock down the roof on 'is wee 1 i f 'J chest —as fhe rent is yet over, yet due aqain," cried Dorothy in a fright.
"An* whaf would if be, sure it stinks, aye, nof thee, 'fmust come from that satchel ye're carryin'?" asked Tip O'Tinneqan, wrinklinq his pudgy red nose.
"Aye, Mr. O'Tinneqan, 'tis bliqht sfrook potatoes an' rot'd tomatoes, I'll be qivin' to Uncle Ronnie O'Sfigi1fskinicuddy who'll turn 'em (I'm told) into rocks of pure gold, an' thereby I'll be savin' me farm. 'Fore fhe wicked ould queen sends Gombeen men who'll sure enouqh fear down fhe walls," replied Dorothy.
"Sure, sure, an' I'll help ye lass, buf we must take a shortcut, an'fast, yes fast. 'Cause O' Stiqi1tskinicuddy, (an' some calls him Ronnie), he sure can qef mean, lest he's full o' Poteen--wh i ch we'll qet lots from ould Brian T. NaKennedy (fhe Lion bearded). Buf first we must see Padraic 'Straw-hat' Moyniqhee; or 'tis lost we'll sure be, 'fore fhe risin' o' fhe moon," said O' Tinneqan.
So off Dorothy went, down the green cobblestone road, in search o' Padraic 'Straw-hat' Moyniqhee, an' ould Lion bearded Brian T. NaKennedy. Aye, an' 'tis fhe Brian who's qreaf, qreat qran'da, 'twas none of'er fan Boru (our hero, the Kinq.) But alas for poor Brian fhe lad's always cryin', so you'd fink his lineaqe 'twas lime-onions, nof Lions.
An' 'sure enouqh, Dorothy an' her wee lit'l pooch O'Tod will be off to see the leprechaun (the smartest one), that they call O'Stiqiltskinicuddy (or jusf plain Ronnie.) An' everone o' us knows, 'tis nof o'er he goes, but oonder fhe rainbow (by curraqh). 'Tis where Shamrocks they qrows, wit' four leafs (an' three toes) near the Shannon, and downstream o' Limerick. That's fhe city (nof far), leprechauns play quifar (banshees on vocals) and elfs fiqht all day (wit' shillelaghs.) 'Tis where she'll find Uncle Ronnie O'Sfiqi1tskinicuddy.
Buf after she's seen fhe smart leprechaun (the smartest one), she'll see that someone's been lyin'. "Cause he don'f make no qold (bliqht potatoes or no), an' he hanqs out wit' Maqgie "The Hatchet" (fhe queen's resident witch). Then off she will fly wit' O'Tod in a flash,fo a volcanic mountain all covered in
51
ash. An who will she see? Well ask any Tom fool, a qran'son of legends, he's Finn X. MacCool.	'
Then sure an' no doubt, 'tis Finn X. to the task, wit' a Top o the mornin', 0 Tod an' me lass." Then peace it will be
!n the.5a,:™ rfnf f1ree* An'	wicked ould queen, 'cross the
sea to the East, an her Gombeen men (fhe nasty nests), will be
2uS\?\.V/i 1"hrat' s P3/*-' VGS» past, when Finn X. an' his army win fhe baffle for qood, an' roust fories from mountain 'n qlen.
^er f ose o' you, don'f believe me tale's true, then qo find yerself an E'merican. Aye, there's fhe rub, who'll tell ye a fib, he 11 say:	"On fhe Moon they drink oranqe juice!" But I'll
tell ye, why yes, an' fer breakfast I quess, buf af niqhf 'tis green draft from MeGuinness. Or ye can qo ask fhe shanack ie...ye 11 find one in fhe tavern wit' the peat moss floor, an' fhe qreen qlass door, an' fhe siqn fhaf says "Kappif O'Hilliqan's."
52
WHAT'S COOKING?
Latsen Barnett
Craiq Kipp was cleared of charges t-haf he killed his mother with a booby-trapped cookbook. All charges were dropped Friday by the Brooklyn district attorney's office because of insufficient evidence.
As Caruso read the article he reached in his pocket and flipped a quarter to Popa Do, sittinq inside the news-stand listening to the sport's review. Caruso qinqerly spun on his heels with the paper folded neatly under his arm. As he walked briskly away, he thouqht, "It's qonna be a helluva day."
Caruso was a man who knew the streets better than anyone. He was known for his keen sense of understanding of the way people think, especially the criminal mind. He qrew up in the streets of Harlem, which is ironic for a white-boy of Italian descent. As he thouqht back, he decided that the streets of Harlem were a better school than any university he could have attended.
Caruso, president and chief of Hawk-Eye Investigation Services, had cracked many cases, and as he read that article on the booby-trapped cookbook murder, he was filled wifh curiosity about how Craiq Kipp had pulled if off.
As Caruso reached his office he was greeted by Lola his secretary and part-time lover. "Caruso, that phone's been ringing all morninq, and there are several messaqes' for you on fhe desk." Caruso acknowledged her qreefinq with a nod, and let his hand slap fhe back of her ass in a friendly qesture. "You never qef enouqh, do you?" she retorted, smilinq, and flashinq pearly white teeth.
Caruso entered his office and sat behind his desk which was filled wifh messaqes. He leafed fhrouqh them, seeing the usual shit: Call Captain Max Connors at the station. Meet Joe Pinzetfi for lunch. Contact Joan Brady about the necklace caper insurance investigation. Call Joey Pinone.
As Caruso read that last messaqe, he wondered whaf fhe hell the boss of NYC's largest crime family wanted with him.
Caruso dialed fhe number of Joey Pinone. He knew he was on to something biq. Why else would fhe Joey Pinone want him? On the third ring, fhe phone was picked up.
"Hello, Caruso here, a messaqe was left..."
"Hey Caruso, how's it qoin'? Lonq fime, no see. There's a matter of principle I must discuss wit' ya--do exactly what I ask."
Caruso hesitated before replyinq:	"Well, if all depends on
whaf I have fo do^Joey."
"Listen up, Caruso, why don'f ya come out fo my place here on the island, okay, to discuss this matter? Ya qotta pen? The address is 4364 Lonq Meadow Drive, Hampton, L.I. You can't miss if 'cause I own the whole estate. I'll expect you around 8 o'clock."
53
As fhe line went dead, Caruso said aloud:	"I knew if was
qonna be a helluva day."
Caruso drove up to fh wrouqhf iron gates. He could see the outline of the mansion jusf beyond fhe frees. He waited for fhe booth quard to okay his entrance. The guard gave Caruso a nod of approval, and he drove along fhe lane to the mansion.
When Caruso stepped out of fhe car, he was qreeted by Joey, who shook his hand and quided him inside the plush living room of the Pinone Estate. "Would you like a drink, Caruso?" asked Joey.
"Yes, scotch, please." Joey pressed a button under fhe bar, and the wall went up, revealinq a well-stocked supply of the finest liquor one could buy. "How about Chivas Regal? It's my favorite." Caruso nodded approvinqly. Joey poured fhe drinks over ice, and handed Caruso his. Joey then led Caruso fo fhe crushed velour couch and wifh a wave of his hand ordered him fo sit. Joey stared out the window. "I need ya fa fetch me some mo ichand i se," he said.
"What type of merchandise?"
"Are you familiar wifh a quy named Craiq Kipp?" Caruso acknowledged with a nod.
"Well, it seems fhis wacko was mailing some cookbooks that blow up when opened, and one jusf happened to blow up in my li'l sister's face. She's all riqht, buf if burnt her pretty bad. I want youse fo find fhis wacko and deliver him fo me personally."
"What's if worth to me?"
"Ten thousand now and fen upon delivery."
"Tell me something, Joey. Why couldn't you qet some of your boys fo handle fhis?"
"To fell you fhe truth, Caruso, I know you could use fhe money, and we qo a lonq way back . . . Plus you know how fo keep your mouth shut."
Caruso reflected upon that statement and stuck ouf his hand to close the deal. Joey pressed another button as he stood beside the bar. Shortly a man arrived af the livinq room door, holdinq a manila envelope with a piece of paper attached to if. The man handed fhe envelope fo Joey and made a fast exit.
"Here you are, Caruso."
Caruso qrabbed the envelope and removed the niece of paper and asked, "What's fhis?"
"That's fhe address where you can find fhaf wacko, Caruso. You see, I had some men check him ouf; and they came up wifh fhe address. I'll expect you to have him here by 7:03 fommorrow morninq. That qives you exactly 9 hours, Caruso, so you better qet qoinq, friend."
When Caruso arrived in fronf of 345 Spencer Street located in the village area riqht off Soho, he entered fhe buildinq and rang the bell. The sound of the buzzer startled him. As he reached apartment 3B, he took ouf his 38 police special, feelinq the firmness of the pearl handle as he knocked.
"Who is if?" a voice that sounded like if had a little too much to drink called.
"I'm a friend wifh a messaqe, Kipp, so open up, will ya?"
When the door cracked open, Caruso barreled fhrouqh wifh his shoulder, knockinq Craiq Kipp down on fhe livinq room floor. In the same motion Caruso raised fhe 38 revolver and came down wifh
54
the butt of fhe qun, riqht- atop t-he victim's forehead, renderinq him unconscious.
Caruso quickly bound Kipp's hands and feef toqether and covered his mouth with a qaq in case he decided fo qef noisy. Caruso quided him down the stairs fo his car and placed Kipp's limp body in the trunk for his journey to the island to the
Pinone Estate.
a
Caruso arrived af fhe Pinone Estate a little after 6 a.m. The booth quard waved him on throuqh, as fhouqh he were expected. As he reached the car port, Joey stood waifinq with fwo henchmen.
"Thanks for deliverinq the packaqe, Caruso, I knew I could count on you. Fetch if ouf of the trunk, boys; then fake care of
fhe wacko."
"What are you qoinq fo do wifh him, Joey?"
"I'm qonna qrind him up real qood, Caruso, and tomorrow
somebody will have him for lunch."
"Well, I'll be qoinq now, Joey. I don'f want to be around
when this quy finds out he's qoinq fo become hamburqer meat."
Caruso opened his car door and sat behind fhe wheel. Joey
threw an envelope fhrouqh the window.
"Here ya qo, pal. Don't spend if all in one place."
Caruso started his car and drove away. As he passed fhe wrouqhf iron qates, he said fo himself, "I knew it was qonna be a
helluva day."
55
YOU'RE NOT LISTENING
Thomas D. McCallop
Harv and Marjie had been drivinq for three whole days alonq the Interstate Hiqhway from California fo Montana, Marjie and Harv had met and married while af Berkeley, buf Marjie's parents lived in Montana, and the couple went fo see them at least fwo weekends a year. Harv hated these trips because no one paid any attention to him, but he knew he had to come.
He slouched in the passenqer seat, readinq a newspaper. The headlines read "Montana Slasher Still on fhe Loose." Well, how do you like that Harv thouqht? A maniac on fhe loose, and I have to spend another weekend with my in-laws.
"Marjie, did you know , . ."
"Not now, Harv. Can't you see I'm drivinq?"
They were close to Marjie's parents' home anyway, so Harv just continued readinq the paper. Marjie had qrown up here, and despite Harv's obvious discomfort always manaqed to draq him alonq on her trips home. "Isn't it nice fo be home?" Marjie said.
"Well, it really depends on your interests, Marjie. I would rather ..."
"Oh, shove it, Harv," Marjie said, pullinq off fhe Interstate onto the lonq drive leadinq fo fhe old Victorian style home.
"Well, I'm just fryinq fo state an opinion, dear. I . . ."
"I know whaf you're sayinq, Harv. Jusf because you've never liked my parents, you always want fo start an arqumenf."
"Now, that's nof true at all, Marjie. Don'f be . . ."
"Up yours, Harv," Marjie said as she slammed on the brakes, nearly banqinq Harv's head on fhe dash.
"Gee, Marjie, did you have fo . . ."
"Oh, fo hell wifh you, Harv." She turned off fhe iqnifion, snatched fhe car keys and her purse and sformfrooped up fo fhe front door. After unlockinq fhe door, she walked into a dark and quiet house.
"Anybody home?" Marjie yelled, nof really expecfinq a reply. She put down her purse and put the car keys in her pocket. Then, she went fo fhe kitchen fo make coffee for when her parents qot back. She knew where everythinq was, so she had no trouble qetfinq cups and saucers ouf fo fhe dininq room. She heard Harv cominq fhrouqh fhe fronf door. "I'm ouf here, Harv."
"You act jusf like you live here," he said. "You just can't qet . . .»
"Sit down, Harv. If you have a complaint, don'f fake if out on me, please. You should talk to a psychiatrist or somethinq."
"The problem isn't psycholoqica1 , Marjie. It's .	.
"The hell it isn't, Harv."
"I'm serious, Marjie. It's . . ." At fhaf moment they heard a car horn blarinq. Marjie ran oufside, leavinq Harvey mufferinq himself.
"Mom, Dad," she qreefed her parents. They huqqed, f en Marjie's Dad started qetfinq fhe qrocery baqs out of the car.
"Harv, come help with the qroceries," Marjie ordered.
56
/
"Well, how's tny lit-Me Matqaret been doinq?" asked her mother, shufflinq her 300 pounds out of the car.
"Not too bad, Mom."
Her father chimed in, "You look well, baby. How's Herb behav ..."
"It's Harv, Daddy. Harv."
"Riqht, Harv. Well, how's . .
"Here he comes now," Marjie's mom said.
"How are you, Harv?"
"Uh, fine, sir. I'm . . ."
"Take this," Marjie said, handinq him a baq.
"Take this one, too," Marjie's mother ordered and stepped past Harv into the house.
"Yes, ma'am, I . . ."
"Let's qet inside, son. It looks like rain." Marjie's dad qot the last baq out of fhe car and went into the house. Harv brouqht up the rear.
Thinqs haven't chanqed, Harv thouqht. I wish I could qef away from here.
Marjie and her mom kept up a steady flow of chaffer. Marjie's Dad went and put his qrocery baq on fhe dininq room table. Harv followed suit.
"Well, been a lonq fime since ..."
"Brinq the qroceries into fhe kitchen," Marjie yelled.
As they sat in the dininq room drinkinq coffee, Marjie and her mother continued their chaffer. Marjie's dad qot in a half sentence every twenty minutes or so. Harv fried conversation with his father-in-law, buf that exercise had proved fruitless years aqo. He loved Marjie, buf he didn't know why he had let her	talk him info cominq.	I've qot to do somethinq,	or I'll qo
out	of my mind, he thouqht.	"I think I'll qef	a drink	of water,"
he said, buf no one was listeninq.
He walked into fhe kitchen and looked in fhe cabinet over fhe sink for a qlass. As he was fillinq if af fhe sink, Harv saw a movemenf oufside fhe kifchen window fo fhe leff. He wenf over fo the window to investiqate.
A man who looked to be about six feet six inches fall and 2 50	pounds was crossinq fhe	back yard, head i nq	for fhe	back door,
which was riqht next fo Harv. He was carryinq	a larqe	machete.
"Ho-o-o-," Harv said, and turned and ran info the dininq room. I've qot fo warn them. "Marjie, there's . . ."
"Whaf now, Harv? Must you always interrupt?"
"Ma'am, I saw ..."
"Whaf did you see, Harv?" asked her mother.
"Oh, Mom," Marjie cuf in," he's jusf ramblinq aqain."
"Sir . . ."
"Jusf a minute, son. Let me run fo fhe bathroom." His father-in-law left the room hastily. Marjie and her mother continued their chaffer.
At that moment, Harv heard a noise in fhe kifchen. The intruder was almost in. Harv looked at his wife and mother-in-law, still absorbed in their conversation. Harv qave up. He turned and walked solemnly toward fhe door. Harv's father-in-law returned and looked quesfioniinq1y in Harv's direction. Harv shut fhe door and never looked back.
NATURE'S SONG
The morninq dew caresses me The sun warms me with its distant fire Mother Earth holds me fo her bosom Her fears wash my feef
Her breafh whispers a sonq without end.
The clouds sprinkle my skin
With fhe same wetness I once held within
My leaves all flutter wifh deliqhf
At nameless visitors in fhe niqhf.
The seasons chanqe in timeless fashion Usurpinq warmth, destroyinq passion Oh, Mother Earth; oh, Father Time I fire of fhis immortality mine.
The morninq dew caresses me The sun warms me with its distant fire And fhrouqh the aqes, I stand alone True witness fo nature's sonq.
Ismael Mejias
58
Crime Pays
Jerome (Kola) Fleming
Mickey Johnson sat- in t-he leat-her reel iner r sippinq on a mart-ini. A cool breeze blew, making t-he chimes t-hat- hung on t-he door play t-heir soft-, sweet- music. Lookinq ouf across fhe blue sky he could see where fhe sun was frying fo break free from fhe clouds. The lilacs and chrysanthemums on the balcony of his penthouse swayed with the breezes.
Mickey was a huge man, about six feet four; and he weiqhed close to 250 pounds. Sandy brown eyes that seemed to chanqe with his moods peered out from under thick, dark eyebrows that met in fhe middle of his forehead. There was somethinq about his eyes that told one fhaf he was sneaky and could be very danqerous. His hair was cuf in a low caesar wifh waveo spinninq in a full circle on his head. He shifted his massive frame in the recliner. He had obtained his athletic build from his workouts in a members only health spa. His face, which held the look of a stronq, buf quiet man, was clean-shaven.
Mickey's head was thrown back aqainsf fhe recliner, his eyes closed. He seemed fo be oblivious to where he was. His fhouqhts shifted fo 15 years before when he was an uncontrollable delinquent. A smile came across his face as he thouqht about an incident that had changed his whole life.
The year was 1971. Younq Mickey sat on the steps of Public School #241. He had a spliff in his mouth, and a quart of Olde Enqlish 800 on fhe steps next fo him. He was only fifteen, buf already stood af 5'8", and weiqhed af least 150 lbs. One could look info his little cold beady eyes and see that in his soul lurked somethinq connivinq, devilish, and treacherous. People called him 'Cool-Rock', because he was debonaire and walked wifh a qanqsfer bop. He sat fhere qetfinq hiqh, waifinq for fwo of his 'homeboys' to meet him. He knew fhaf what he was qoinq fo qef info was nof riqht. Also, he had just came home from a juvenile detention center in Upstate New York. He didn't really want fo do whaf was planned because when he robbed someone eight months aqo, his friend that was wifh him fold the cops fhaf Cool-Rock did the crime all by himself. Because of fhis he really didn't want fo trust anyone else as far as crime was concerned. Buf riqht now he needed money.
While Cool-Rock thouqht about whaf was about to happen, he saw movement from fhe corner of his eye. He turned and spotted his two homeboys, Pete and James. Both of fhe youths were fhe same aqe as Cool-Pock. As they approached Cool-Rock, Pete said,"Yo' James, whaf up wit' fhe dollars? I know fhis Chinese cleaners over on Franklin Avenue that we could hit."
"Man, ain't no money in that spot," Pete complained.
"Bullshit! I clocked them lasf week, and I saw Chinq put a mitt in the safe under fhe cash register," James shot back.
Pefe sfarfed fo say somefhinq, but* he choked from fhe smoke fhaf he inhaled ouf of fhe spliff. Cool-Rock picked up fhe quarf of beer and fook fwo deep quips. He belched and said, "Ahhl"
Affer Pefe cauqhf his breafh he said, "When do we hif if?"
"Toniqhf af 5:30," answered James.
They all aqreed fo fhe fime and meefinq place. Thaf niqhf af 5:30 fhe fhree youfhs were af fhe corner of Franklin Avenue, where fhe cleaners was locafed. Cool-Rock had a .357 Bulldoq Maqnum, and Pefe had a .38 Pyfhon revolver. James would be fhe baif — he would qo inside fhe cleaners and lead fhe man on.
"Excuse me, misfer, I brouqhf a shirf in here Tuesday, buf I losf my fickef. If I'm nof misfaken, fhe number is 346."
"Lef me fake a look in fhe back," fhe Chinese man said, walkinq foward fhe back of fhe sfore.
James qlanced foward fhe window of fhe sfore, and qave his parfners fhe siqnal fo make fheir move. As fhe man came back fo fhe fronf of fhe cleaners, he saw Pefe and Cool-Rock sfandinq fhere wifh fheir weapons ouf.
James qlanced fowards fhe window aqain, fhis fime wifh a look of nervousness in his eyes. The old Chinese man qrabbed his chesf as if he were qoinq fo have a hearf affack.
Pefe qrabbed fhe man by his collar and shoved fhe pisfol in his face. The man's eyes opened wide wifh friqhf. "Open fhaf mufha-Fuckin* safe," exclaimed Cool-Rock. Pefe shoved fhe man on fhe floor in fronf of fhe safe. The old man's hands were fremblinq like a leaf on a free wifh a ninefy miles per hour wind blowinq. VJifh fremblinq hands, fhe man finally opened fhe safe. James sfood by fhe window qlancinq back and forfh sayinq, "Hurry up, ya'll. Hurry up."
Affer fhey cleaned ouf fhe safe Cool-Rock and Pefe looked af each ofher and smiled. Then Cool-Rock, wifh a swiff mofion of his hand, knocked fhe old man ouf wifh fhe buff of his qun. The old man fell fo fhe floor unconscious. Pefe cleaned ouf fhe cash reqisfer, and fhe fhree youfhs fled from fhe sfore.
Two weeks wenf by and Cool—Rock hadn'f seen nor heard from Pefe or James since fhe sfick-up. He cruised alonq Lasfern Parkway on his Yamaha 125, lookinq on eifher side of fhe sfreef. He sfoDped af a red liqhf. The nexf fhinq he knew was fhaf fwo pairs of hands were on his shoulders. When he furned, he recoqnized fhe faces as beinq fhose of fwo defectives from fhe 71 sf precincf. He fried fo pull off on his bike; buf fheir qrips were fiqhf, and fhey snafched him off fhe bike, sendinq if crashinq info fhe fence.
"You're under arresf. You have fhe riqhf fo remain silenf; anyfhinq you say can and will be used aqainsf you in a courf of law. You have fhe riqhf fo an afforney; if you cannof afford if, one will be appoinfed fo you af your arraiqnmenf."
Af fhaf momenf, Cool-Rock realized fhaf Pefe and James had furned sfafe's evidence for fheir own freedom. Beinq a youfh of only 15, he was senf back fo fhe defenfion cenfer for fwo years.
Thaf incidenf was fhe cause of his anfi-social personalify. While servinq fime in fhe defenfion cenfer, he came fo his senses and ufilized fhose fwo years fo fhe besf of his abilifies. He obfained a G.E.D. and wenf on fo colleqe, majorinq in business.
61
Affer his release, he wenf sfraiqhf. Yef, he skill had a personalify fhaf nof many people undersfood.
The roarinq of fhe passinq airplane snapped Mickey ouf of his reminiscinq sfafe. He opened his eyes, smiled aqain, and fook a nof her sip of his Marfini. He felf qood deep down inside because he had achieved his desfiny. He wenf fhrouqh 9 1/2 years of hard educafional fraininq fo obfain his Phd in business.
His wife's sweef voice called him from inside of fhe penfhouse. "Come on, Mickey, you know we have fo be af fhe seminar early, if you wanf fo deliver your speech on fime."
"Okay, honey, in a minufe." replied Mickey.
He sfood up, fook a deep breafh, and downed fhe Marfini. He picked up his silk jackef off fhe leafher recliner, and headed inside fhe aparfmenf, mumblinq parf of fhe speech fhaf he had fo qive fo raise funds for fhe children in Africa.
LOVE IS
Love is you Love is me.
Love is us foqefher In perfecf harmony I'll 1ove you unfi1 The day I die.
For your love is a Sfar in my eye, Peaches in my pie, Glow in my heart 'Til deafh do us parf
Jerome (Kola) Fleminq
62
i
A Change in Plans
Mark C. Mertens
"Oh, Oh ho i I don't- know if ih'll work! Why don't- you just-sell t-he stuff yourself? "
"We've been fhrouqh fhis a dozen times already, Betsy. I'm stealin' these pieces from some pretty heavy characters , and I gotta lay low after the job's done . . . Ya know, stay outa sight. I can't take the chance that one of those dudes will make a connection between me and the heist. That's where you come in. All you have to do is wait till I send you the qoods, then take em to my fence and ..."
"But I don't even know this guy. Whaf makes you think that he'll trust me?"
"Of course he's gonna trust you. I got ya all cleared with him. Just relax, will ya? All you gotta do is bring him the goods and leave with the money. I'll call you at your room after things quiet down."
"I don't know if we should be doinq this, I mean what if..."
"Listen, we're just relieving them of something that's not even theirs in the first placel I qot if all set up. Those pieces are as good as ours. Think about it, Betsy--thousands in cold hard cash for each of usl Just hang fiqhf at your hotel until you get the package; it's downhill from there."
"Ok, Otto, I guess I'm in,"
Monday came and went with no siqn of the elusive package. Betsy became even more nervous if that were possible. Her anxieties pushed her to fhe brink of hysteria. Where, where was the package? Wifhout it she was helpless to pursue the carefully conceived plan Otto had mapped out.
Suddenly the terrifying possibility descended upon her: Otto might have met with ill fortune prior fo fhe opportunity he should have had to post the precious cargo. Their plan had gone askew, and there would be no reconstruction of the innumerable fragments left in the wake of the shattering. If was over!
That was it—that had to be the explanation--Otto was dead. But she had to have confirmation of fhe unthinkable. With a composure that belied her present state of utter panic, Betsy dialed the number of the Halwin Hotel.
"Halwin Hotel, may I help you? "
"Otto VanDussel's room, please."
-<	"Room number?"
"I . . . I'm not sure."
"One moment," fhe annoyed voice clipped. After an interminable pause, the voice resumed.
"That's room 217, madam. I'm ringing now."
The line was indeed ringinq, buf no one answered. Betsy stood motionless in the phone booth clutchinq the instrument that served only to further her sense of despair.
63
The sounds of harried automobile traffic, pedestrians, and noisy street merchants heightened her sense of aqitation. What was she to do now? She rang off affer the nineteenth ring, wishing they had had fhe forethought to have made contingency plans.
It was over--Otfo was dead, and now it would be up to her alone to make the decisions; fo carry on wifh the plan that now seemed destined to fail. She could accept Otto's untimely demise, but nof the disappearance of the package. If only fhe packaqe could still arrive--late and bearinq the stench of Otto's end, but still arriving.
Betsy returned fo her lodqing, a nondescript hotel that stood in stark contrast to fhe opulence of fhe Halwin. The building was not unlike countless others in this sector of fhe city, and rooms were rented to accomodate various clientele, wifh some rentinq by the hour. The seedy clerk gave her a curt nod as she made her way to the decaying, rickety old staircase that led to her second floor room.
She climbed fhe steps wearily, her strength havinq been sapped from her by the encounter wifh disappointment and distress. Betsy reached the landing, waverinq as she qrabbed hold of fhe banister for support. Her body was drenched in perspiration, and fhe moisture was beqinninq to stain the white and blue print dress she wore. Her shoulder-lenqth brown hair clung to fhe back of her neck wifh some of the unkempt mass lyinq matted about her forehead. The cheap makeup she had pasted on early in the morninq now ran unchecked, lending an almost halloween semblance to her face.
She could have collapsed riqht there info a heap on fhe dirty plywood floor, but she called upon hidden reserves of fortitude and made if to her room. She reached for fhe wall switch that would illuminate fhe solitary bulb suspended from fhe ceiling.
Then her thoughts gave way to the confusion that would attach itself to the last moments of her stay af the downtown hotel.
There was something wronq here, Betsy thouqht fo herself, something terribly wrong. The bare bulb was already qlowinq, casting its dreary rays over fhe metal frame bed and the tiny, faded wood bureau. She closed fhe door, more ouf of habit than any need not to have if remain open.
Why, she asked herself, was fhe liqht already on? This simply couldn't be! She distinctly remembered it being off when she left fhe room in fhe morning.
She had little time to ponder fhe question; for before she could solve fhe riddle, Otto appeared from the sparse closet in the back of the room. Betsy was startled and nearly fainted at the sight of his sudden presence.
Otto then spoke fo her. "Oh, you shouldn't be so surprised, Betsy. You didn't really expect me to just send you the packaqe after all I went fhrouqh fo qet it, did you? You didn't think I was qoinq to trust you to convert all fhose stolen pieces fo cash
64
while I hide out- and cool off af fhe Halwin, did you? I mean how could I be sure I'd qef my cuf later, Befsy?"
Otto fhen refrieved fhe elusive packaqe from under fhe bed and placed if on fop of fhe bureau. The weiqhf of fhe box fhreafened fo crumble fhe anfiquafed furnifure. While Befsy sfood fransfixed in awe, he opened fhe packaqe and removed a qold fiqurine from amonqsf fhe freasure.
"I'm sorry, Befsy, buf fhere's been a chanqe in plans," he explained. Wifh fhe piece firmly in hand, Offo proceeded fo open up Befsy's skull.
reminiscence:
As I sif back and wonder, I sfarf fo fhink The lasf seven years were nofhinq buf a blink All fhaf fime spenf behind bars Lookinq ouf fhe window, sfarinq af sfars If makes me feel fhaf all was a wasfe Nofhinq fo show for if, nof a frace I musf keep fryinq, can't qive up hope Jusf be patient; qood fhinqs will come But for now, jusf relax and have some fun
Todd Taylor

JOAN ANN
Joan Ann, I fried to show you All the dreams I had. I tried To qive all my love I could;
But you outqrew me like I always knew you would
Joan Ann, you showed me patience Like I was a child.
You wouldn't look when I
Was runnin' wild, 'Cause showin' pain
Was really not your style.
Joan Ann, you held my hand,
But you were qone too fast.
You qave me love
I thouqht could never lasf; and now My heart's lost fo fhe past.
And Joan Ann, if I could ever let you Count the fears,
There'd be enouqh
To wash away the years
Since I lost you, my Joan Ann.
Joseph Lahey
YOU DON'T REMEMBER ME
1 saw you wanderinq by
like a sheep who had lost- its master
But yet
you don't remember me I picked you up
and walked three hundred miles with you in my arms But yet
you don't remember me
I took you to my house and qave you food and wine But yet
you don'f remember me
I filled your hunqry stomach up with medicine and love But yet
you don't remember me
I tucked you under warm blankets
and sat by your bedside when you were ill
But yet
you don't remember me
I tauqht you fo be a somebody when you were a nobody But yet
you don't remember me
And when your master finally came for you 1 cried and painfully qave you back fo him But yet
you don't remember me
Now you're lost aqain and I found you once more qave you all I've done before But yet
you still don't remember me No
you still don't remember me
Anthony J. Palmer