Showing posts with label Random Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Random Fiction. Show all posts

Sunday, April 17, 2022

The Golden Egg

AN EASTER STORY FROM RANDOM JACK'S CHILDREN'S HOUR

by Jack Random with Illustrations by Robert Miller

 

 

The Golden Egg

 

All the children were in their Easter Sunday best outfits.  Sally had her pink dress with big yellow polka dots.  George wore his navy blue shorts with a billowy white shirt and suspenders.  Hair was coifed and combed, shoes were shined and faces were cleaned and cleaned again.  They were all primed and ready for the Great Easter Egg Hunt. 

Some said there were over a thousand brightly colored eggs and a thousand more plastic eggs containing candy and prizes to delight the young participants and fill their baskets with glory.  Laughter filled the air as children gathered at the starting line.  Parents looked on from their sheltered perches under the trees and on the porch. 

Mr. Williams was dressed in his Mad Hatter costume from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.  He marched to his starting post, turned to face the children and cleared his voice for his traditional speech: 

Ladies and Gentlemen!  Boys and Girls!  Welcome to the twenty-seventh annual Great Easter Egg Hunt of Dunwitty County!  This year we have the usual variety of colored eggs, candies and prizes to delight every child!  But one special child will have a very special treat indeed!  The child who finds the Golden Egg will be crowned this year’s Easter Egg King or Queen and will be privileged to ride in the Royal Float for the annual Easter Parade!  On your marks, get set…go! 

All the children ran as fast as they could and began to fill their baskets with delights – all that is except Carly who ambled along behind the others.  Carly was a child with special needs.  She had a condition – as her mother put it – that made it difficult to run and jump and dance and hop as the other children did.  But Carly had a gift that the other children did not have.  She believed in magic and because she believed magical things tended to happen. 

Today as she ambled out into the wide-open green lawn behind the other children, she saw a rabbit.  It was not an ordinary rabbit.  That she could clearly see.  It was a special rabbit.  It wore a pink shirt with broad white buttons, gray pants and white gloves.  One ear stood straight up and the other bent to the side.  It smiled a crooked wry smile that made you think it knew a secret that no one else knew.  The funny thing was no one else seemed to see the rabbit. 

Carly ambled right up to the smiling rabbit who bowed and introduced himself. 

“My name is Jack and who may I be informed is the charming young lady to whom I am speaking?” 

“My name is Carly!  Pleased to meet you, Jack!” 

She curtsied and Jack knew at once he had found the girl who would find the Golden Egg.  While all the other children scurried about, picking up eggs of every description and cackling with uncontrolled joy, Jack led Carly straight to a ten-feet tall pedestal.  It was glorious!  Jack pointed to the top and Carly saw it: a shining, brilliant and glowing golden egg!  It filled her with a happiness the likes of which she had never felt before but then it occurred to her that she could not reach the egg and her happiness was replaced with sorrow. 

Jack knew at once what she was thinking.  He smiled, took a few steps back and leaped up to grab the egg and carry it back to the ground where he handed it to Carly.  The joy instantly returned to her face and brightened her spirit.  She thanked Jack three or four times and then she ran to where her parents stood in the shade of a giant oak and held up the Golden Egg. 

Her parents hardly seemed to notice the Golden Egg.  They had just seen their little girl run like all the other children across the lawn of the Great Easter Egg Hunt.  It was a miracle. 

Carly looked back to thank her rabbit friend once more and she saw him bow and wink an instant before he vanished into thin air.  It was a very happy Easter for all – but especially for the little girl who believed in magic. 

 

 HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE!!!

Saturday, August 22, 2020

The Attempted Assassination of Navalny

 FROM THE NOVEL PAWNS TO PLAYERS: THE PUTIN GAMBIT

 

 

10

 

PAID PROTECTION

 

Black Castle

 

 

No one in the Bratva – a disparate collection of Russian crime families – was happy about the assassination of Boris Nemtsov.  It was too bold.  It put a spotlight on Russian crime.  It made it more difficult to do business in the Caucasus and across Europe. 

Sergey Dvoskin, leader of the all-important Moscow Bratva, resisted accepting a contract to protect the prominent Russian dissident, Alexei Navalny.  He was in the business of making money and a great deal of money was offered – five million Euros.  No one but peasants and pensioners dealt in rubles anymore.  When he hesitated the amount doubled and was deposited in an anonymous account at Deutsche Bank with payments of a half million every six months.  Any attempt to determine who established the account or any deviation from expected codes of behavior would result in immediate withdrawal of the offer.  There were other players in the arena.  There were others who would not hesitate to take the money. 

The deal promised lucrative rewards but also involved significant risk.  It did not pay to alienate Vladimir Putin.  Neither did it pay to alienate the Bratva.  Even Putin needed to learn that lesson.  Everyone in Moscow knew he gave the order to cut down Nemtsov in the streets with his cameras rolling.  The Chechen connection was a ruse. 

Putin did not consult the Bratva when he decided to take Nemtsov out.  He did not ask them what problems it would present and how they might be mitigated.  He did not think it necessary.  He knew where suspicion would fall yet he did as he pleased.  Dvoskin knew that Putin considered placing the blame on the Bratva.  There were rumors he would use the assassination to wipe out the crime families and steal their money. 

Who did he think he was dealing with? 

It was late at night when Dvoskin decided to take the contract and enforce it as he would any other.  Putin would have to move aside if he didn’t want a war.  He went to each of the crime families and presented his case.  They would share in the profits from the deal though none would receive anywhere near what he would receive.  It was a hard sell but he was certain most of them felt very much as he did.  Putin was getting too big.  He needed to be taken down a notch.  They would not take part in any attempt to assassinate the leader of Putin’s opposition. 

That left Putin’s security forces.  Persuading them to honor the contract would be difficult.  They were loyal for a reason.  Anyone who defied their leader would face severe consequences, beginning with dismissal from the service.  It was a good job in a nation where good jobs are hard to find.  In extreme cases, where Putin needed to set an example, a former agent might have an accident – the kind of accident that was easy to interpret.  An expert pilot crashes a plane.  A master fisherman tips his boat in calm waters.  Or one of Putin’s favorites:  food poisoning.  There are a million ways to die but only a handful have the signature of Vladimir Putin and everyone in Russia knew them. 

Dvoskin had ears inside the security forces.  He knew when they were planning an action.  When they planned to take down Navalny at a political rally in Red Square, he heard about it in great detail.  He knew there would be three shooters.  He knew where they would be stationed.  He knew the precise time the hit would take place, what weapons they would use and who they would make the fall guy.  

He could have chosen to warn Navalny but that would not deliver the desired message to Putin.  The security forces needed to be warned that there would be a costly war if they chose to execute Navalny.  They needed to tell their boss it was not worth it.  After all, Navalny was not that great a threat.  The people loved Putin despite all his flaws, despite his corruption and his brutality. 

His people were prepared.  He had three of them posted where the shooters would be.  The crowd was still arriving.  Navalny had not yet taken the makeshift stage.  There was a current of electricity in the air that made Dvoskin wonder if they had indeed underestimated the rebel leader.  His supporters were devoted and every one of them knew the risks.  The right to assemble in protest is a fiction in Moscow.  You had to go through a gulag of paper work and in the end your petition would be declined.  The authorities would almost certainly break up this gathering and many of the protestors would be beaten down and detained. 

As the shooters took their places in the crowd, an attractive woman edged up to each of them.  As the agent glanced at her, a man would approach from the opposite side and inject a serum that put the would-be killer out in less than thirty seconds.  They escorted each of the shooters out through the crowd to a waiting ambulance. 

When the killers came back to the world they were in a warehouse, tied to chairs, bound and muffled.  Dvoskin was seated before them, waiting for each of them to regain consciousness, sipping tea and enjoying a modest lunch of sardines and biscuits.  He waited until he was certain they were conscious enough to understand. 

“You may not realize it, gentlemen, but on this particular day you are the most fortunate of individuals in all of Moscow.  On any other day, you would no longer be among the living.” 

The three of them glanced at each other and realized they had not fulfilled their mission.  Alexei Navalny survived the day and they likely would not. 

“Do you know who I am?” asked Dvoskin. 

Each man calculated his response before nodding.  Of course they knew.  It was pointless to deny it even though acknowledging that reality decreased the probability of survival.  Dvoskin would not want Putin to learn of his betrayal. 

“You are calculating the odds and you have come to the conclusion that you will not live to walk outside these barren walls, to stroll through Red Square, to taste your favorite meals at your favorite restaurants, to get drunk and make love to your favorite whores.  The only question that remains and the one that lingers even now is why are you still here?  Why are you still living?” 

He saw the collective expression on their faces change and he knew the emotion that registered.  It was hope.  However faint, however remote, however impossible, hope made an appearance and brightened the darkest hour. 

“To come to the point, you are here, gentlemen, to deliver a message.” 

He took a deep breath giving the impression that he chose his words carefully and they should measure the gravity of his words and the danger he presented. 

“The message is this:  Alexei Navalny will not be harmed.  You will not assassinate him.  You will not poison him.  Your will not radiate his dinner or his bathhouse.  You will not set his home on fire.  Alexei Navalny will live.  You may arrest him, detain him, defame him and take his money.  It is of no interest.  But you will not harm him.  Do you understand?” 

The men nodded but each managed to convey some level of puzzlement or conflict.  One of them finally spoke. 

“It is not up to us,” he managed. 

“No, it is not.  It falls to your boss and this is my message to him.  If he gives the order, we will kill the assassin and we will erase the assassin’s family from the earth.  Anyone who even considers such a decision should know this.  Do you understand?” 

The men nodded.  Their hope declined like a fish on dry land.  Their boss would not receive this message without vigorous objection.  He would want his revenge and the messenger would be first to absorb it. 

“Tell Vladimir he does not need to bury Navalny.  It is unnecessary and unwise.  It would start a war that would benefit no one.  Do you understand?” 

The men nodded. 

“Very good.  Very good.” 

Dvoskin stood and walked in a semicircle behind them.  His soldiers stood at the doorway and he beckoned one to light his cigarette. 

“If Vladimir doesn’t see the light, if he fails to check his anger and acts out in the spirit of vengeance, he should know:  My death will not end the agreement to protect Navalny.  The contract passes to one of my esteemed colleagues.  If something should happen to him it passes to another and so forth.  It will not be allowed to expire.” 

“We understand,” said one of the men. 

“Good.  Very good.” 

He took a drag as he strolled back in front of them. 

“You’ll like this part.  As a measure of good faith, we expect him to leave the three of you unharmed.  He will want your blood, of course, or at least your pain.  He will want to see you suffer for some transgression or failure you did not commit.  If you disappear or suffer some immediate misfortune we will have no choice but to take it as an act of war.  We do not want war any more than he does.  We have many other matters that demand our attention.  In the end he will see that this is right.  You will owe your lives and your well being to us.” 

He saw hope reappear in their faces and he knew he had them.  If he needed them on some future occasion they would be available. 

“I believe that concludes our business – as long as we understand each other.” 

The men nodded and Dvoskin gave the signal to untie them.  They each shook his hand in turn before departing.  They were grateful to be alive. 

 

Sunday, April 07, 2019

HOMELESS IN A LAND OF PLENTY: PART 4.

 




Chain of Misfortune

HOMELESS IN A LAND OF PLENTY

PART 4:  BILLY

By Jack Random



[According to the National Alliance to End Homelessness, the leading causes of homelessness are:  a lack of affordable housing, job loss, pervasive poverty, mental illness, substance abuse and inadequate services.  This is the fourth and final part of Homeless in a Land of Plenty.] 



BILLY


He wasn’t born an ass.  He had to work on it.  No, it was a family affair.  It takes a village.  He came from a long line of bullies, jerks and fuck-ups.  No one in the Barr family could hold a job for more than six months.  They had construction skills, fix-it and automotive skills but they were asses.  No one could stand to be around them for long and they couldn’t stand to take orders from anyone.  
Billy was working on a personal record at just over three months as a mechanic at the local cannery.  He made a couple of friends he drank a beer or two with after his shift.  He got along with his boss reasonably well.  The guy left him pretty much alone as long as he did his job and he did.  His drinking was under control.  He had a shot of whiskey with his coffee in the morning and that was it until after work.  For once in his sorry life things were looking up. 
His problem was he needed a woman.  There just weren’t many in his circle.  The women who came around the bars he went to weren’t the kind you developed a relationship with.  They were one-night only adventures.  Billy didn’t mind that but he really wanted something more. 
When he met Alice he thought she was special.  He liked her.  He wanted to spend time with her, talk with her, get to know her and go out like normal people.  She had a way about her.  She looked into his eyes like she knew who he was, like she was willing to know, like she was willing to try.  But before he left the bar one of his buddies pulled him aside.
“I know that skank,” he said. 
“Fuck you,” replied Billy.  He was in no mood for this shit.  His mind was set.  He was taking her home. 
“No, man, I know her.  I used to hang out at this place on the west side.  She was a regular.  She’s a skank, man.  She’s a fucking addict.” 
Billy stood there with his mouth open.  He could tell his buddy was as serious as a three-car pile-up.  This was no bullshit. 
“Okay, man.  Thanks for that.” 
Everything changed at that point.  He was surprised Alice even got in the car with him.  He felt like breaking her in two.  He was madder at himself than he was at her though.  How stupid could he be?  If he stopped to think, he could be pretty fucking stupid.  He knew that.  The problem was he allowed himself to get his hopes up.  He allowed himself to believe that a good woman could fall for him. 
“Stupid is as stupid walks,” his father used to say.  Billy had a hard time with that saying.  To him it was just stupid.  His father treated his mother like shit.  Why she stayed around he could never figure out.  Now he figured he was a lot like his father.  After years of working to prove he was somebody else, he saw himself walking in his father’s shoes.  He hated his father.  So now he hated himself. 
He didn’t mean for Alice to tumble over in the street.  It was the rage.  The same rage for which the males of his family were infamous.  It built up and exploded like a whistling teapot.  When it boiled over there was nothing anyone could do.  He stepped on the gas and watched her tumble and lose consciousness as she lay quivering in the street.  It felt like it was happening to someone else.  He felt bad but not bad enough to take responsibility and not bad enough to do anything.  He didn’t call 911.  He didn’t do a goddamned thing. 
The next day he skipped work and started drinking early.  He was pretty drunk when two cops came to his door in the early afternoon.  He hesitated to answer the door but his car was out front and he couldn’t think straight. 
“Are you William Barr?” 
“Yes, sir.”
His speech was slurred and his eyes bounced from side to side like a man with something to hide.  The cop speaking to him was a woman.  That surprised him.  The male cop stood behind her and tried to get a glimpse of the room. 
“Can we come in?” 
Again he hesitated.  If he had any options they didn’t come to him.  Did they know what he’d done?  Had someone seen what happened?  No way.  The cops didn’t care about some skank whore with a story. 
“Sure, officers.” 
When he turned around he realized the mess he’d created in the course of twenty-four hours.  There were pizza boxes and cookie packages and assorted trash everywhere you looked.  If they could arrest him for being a pig he laid the groundwork. 
“I’m sorry it’s such a mess.” 
“No problem,” said the woman.  “Sometimes we get distracted.  We forget to clean the house up.  It happens.” 
“Yeah.” 
He sat on the couch while the cops remained standing. 
“What’s up?” he asked them. 
“Where were you Wednesday evening between six and seven?” 
“Six and seven?” he repeated.  He hadn’t figured out a story.  It didn’t occur to him that he would have to account for his time. 
“That’s right, sir.” 
“Uhm, yeah, I was at O’Brien’s down on Seventh Street.” 
“Is that your story?” the woman cop asked. 
He didn’t know what to say.  He felt his face go flush.  He could never play poker.  People could read him like a cereal box. 
“What’s this about?” he finally sputtered. 
The male cop finally weighed in.  “It’s about a woman who ended up in the hospital because some jerk decided to floor it when she stepped out of the vehicle.  You like hurting women, Billy?  Is that what gets you off?” 
Cameras, Billy thought.  There must have been a camera.  How else would they know?  Still, he decided to play dumb.  “Admit nothing,” his father always said. 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 
“We have it on video,” the woman cop said.  “That motel has a problem with drug dealers so they set up cameras.  They caught the whole thing.” 
He could feel the sweat emerging from his pores, welling on his forehead, revealing the truth of his guilt and shame. 
“It was an accident,” he said. 
“Sure it was, Billy.  Sure it was.  Look, we don’t want to drag your ass down to the station.  We don’t want to book you and throw you in jail.  It’s your lucky day.  We just want you to take responsibility.  We have an agreement drawn up.  You admit no wrong but you agree to pay the woman’s medical bills.  How does that sound?” 
So he was right.  The cops didn’t care.  But the hospital wanted someone to pay.  They had their insurance guy check it out.  Billy shook his head and signed the papers.  In the end he really had no choice.  He could hire a lawyer and go to trial and he’d probably end up doing the same damn thing. 
He skipped another day of work and another day after that.  When he finally showed up they told him he was fired.  They didn’t want his kind around.  Sure.  Who did?  He was pretending to be someone he wasn’t.  When the mask came off he was gone. 
Then the hospital bill came in.  Two thousand for the ambulance alone.  The total came to over five grand.  He was already in debt and behind on the rent.  He maxed his credit cards and destroyed his credit.  No one would give him the time no less a loan.  He was down and out.  He decided his best course of action was to sell everything he could for cash and take off.  He sold his appliances, his TV, his sound system and everything else dime to a dollar. 
Before he could get away clean the repo man got his car and the utility company turned off his power.  He spent what little cash he raised for three days at a cheap motel, a lot of booze and some drugs to ease his pain.  He was done.  They kicked him out.  He was out on the street without a pot to piss in.  He was homeless. 
A homeless brother took pity on him and told him to go down to the bridge.  At least he’d have a place to lay his weary head. 

The bridge people didn’t care who he was or what he’d done to get there.  Most if not all of them had their own ghosts.  After a few days he knew everyone at the camp.  He apologized to Alice, who shook her head and told him she had her own apologies to give.  She told him about Gary who told about Louise.  Louise apologized to everyone.  That’s the way she was.  They were all equal under the bridge and their lives turned over.  The past was buried and the future was a blur.  All that remained was the moment.  Survival was a full time gig.  

Copyright 2019 Ray Miller

Monday, April 01, 2019

HOMELESS IN A LAND OF PLENTY: Part 3.

 


Chain of Misfortune

HOMELESS IN A LAND OF PLENTY

PART 3:  ALICE

By Jack Random



[In September 2018 the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals held that it is unconstitutional to prohibit homeless individuals from sleeping in public parks or on the streets if there are inadequate shelters.  While subject to Supreme Court review, the ruling is a reminder that you cannot legislate the homeless out of existence.  Since that ruling, tent cities have sprung up in parks and open spaces, reminiscent of the Hoovervilles in the era of the Great Depression.]



ALICE


She’d been through it all before.  Eviction notices, drug deals gone bad, jail and bail, abandonment and betrayal.  She had a way of looking at things that was at once almost enlightened and supremely callous.  She believed that people were fundamentally good but they were governed by their immediate needs.  She didn’t hold grudges and she didn’t blame people for the things they did.  It wasn’t that she didn’t care.  She did but it didn’t matter.  She did what she had to do.  It was all a calculation.  What would give her the best chance of surviving until tomorrow? 
She missed Gary.  Now that they turned off the power she missed his warm body next to hers more than ever.  Now she needed someone else to help her make it through the days and nights.  She went looking where she always went: the local bars.  She knew better than to go to the same bar all the time.  Word got around.  The bartenders knew Alice.  They knew she was always on the make.  Always.  They knew she was always about the drugs.  They knew she was trouble.
She walked halfway across town to a bar she’d never been before.  She walked in, sat at the bar, batted her eyes and waited.  She was still young enough and healthy enough to attract the attention of the average bar going man. 
It was late afternoon and the bar was in the process of filling up.  It was a workingman’s bar – a few women but mostly men.  They were sweaty, grimy and looking for a way to leave the day’s labor behind them.  A few of them had their eyes on Alice and she had her eyes on them.  She looked them over and measured their worth.  They had jobs.  That was a major plus.  It meant they probably had cars or trucks or vans – some means of getting around.  They all fell short of good looking but all kinds of problems came with good looking.  None of them were flat-out ugly.  One of them had no wedding band.  That was a plus. 
She made her choice and gave him a look that he understood.  He exchanged a few words with the guys he came in with and strolled over to her place at the bar. 
“How you doing?” 
He was a little shy with women.  She liked that – as long as he wasn’t stupid about it. 
“I’ve had better days,” she opened. 
“Can I buy you a drink?” 
She motioned to the stool next to her and nodded. 
His name was Billy and she could tell it had been a while since he had a woman to warm his bed.  He was hungry and she liked that.  It enhanced the odds of getting what she needed.  She did not find him attractive but she liked the prospects of using him.  She could lead him.  She could persuade him to do her bidding. 
It took three drinks in a little over an hour.  She realized it was up to her.  He was shy or so it seemed. 
“Would you like to get out of here?” 
“Sure.” 
She climbed into his car and talked about nothing.  Because he didn’t say and he didn’t ask, she assumed they were going to his house or apartment or whatever his place of residence was.  He stopped for a six-pack of beer before he pulled up to a cheap motel by the freeway.  It was then she knew she had made a mistake. 
“What are we doing here?” 
“I’ve got money.  Don’t worry about it.” 
She was a long way from home – Gary’s home but it didn’t matter – and on the wrong side of town. 
“I thought you were a nice guy.  Can you just give me a ride home?” 
“Look, everyone knows what you are.  If you don’t want to put out, fine.  Get the fuck out of my car!” 
She took a breath and surveyed her options.  They were all bad.  She could get out and walk back to Gary’s house.  She could hitch a ride.  She could demand that Billy give her a ride.  She could play along and get the money.  She could be the whore he expected her to be. 
She had to wonder how she arrived in this place.  She had to wonder how she lost her family, her friends – everyone she cared about and everyone who ever really cared about her.  When did it happen and why?  She was a good girl for the longest time.  She had friends who shared her ambitions.  She wanted to be a cheerleader.  She thought she might be a secretary.  She could do that.  She could do whatever she wanted to do.  But that was before her Uncle Johnny abused her.  Abused her?  What kind of euphemism was that?  He took her into a closet, held his hand over her mouth and ripped her panties off.  He took her childhood.  He took her innocence.  He took her naiveté and with it all her hopes and dreams.  It robbed her of whatever confidence she might have developed. 
He did what he did over and over until she finally found the courage to tell her mother – a lot of good that did.  She said she didn’t believe her but Alice knew better.  She believed her but she didn’t want to believe her.  She was holding on to her life by the thinnest thread.  She couldn’t let go.  Not for a second.  She let her own daughter be consumed by the monsters in her life. 
Billy reached across her and opened the door. 
“Get the fuck out!” 
Her mind in a fog of rage, she grabbed his arm and shoved it away from her.  She stepped out of the car just as he gunned it.  Her head slammed into the pavement and she lost touch with the world around her until she found herself strapped to a gurney being loaded into an ambulance. 
She went in and out of consciousness, catching glimpses of the waking world as she went.  In the ambulance a man asked her questions that she could not understand – scattered words without real meaning.  Someone poked a hole in her arm and ran a tube to a plastic bag filled with some mysterious liquid.  She blacked out long enough that she didn’t remember being taken from the ambulance. 
She came to in the emergency room.  She recognized the sterile, Clorox smell.  If she weren’t sick already it would have got her there.  She remembered the time her and a friend wrecked a car to gain admittance in a gamble that they would offer the drugs that kept them alive and ticking.  It worked once or twice but they caught on.  She was put on a list.  No hospital within twenty miles would give her any form of opiates.  The nurses and the doctors knew her here.  They knew she had no insurance and no means of paying the hospital even a fraction of what she owed yet they still asked the same questions. 
Who’s your next of kin?  Is there anyone we can call?  Do you have insurance?  Do you have a job?  Where’s your place of employment?  Where do you live?  Is there anyone who would come?  Is there anywhere you could go? 
It was like one of those movies where people keep asking the same questions no matter how many times you give the same answers.  No, she didn’t have a job.  No, she didn’t have insurance.  No, she didn’t have anywhere to go and no one gave a shit what happened to her. 
They gave her extra strength Tylenol and released her the moment she could walk.  They didn’t care what had happened.  The cops didn’t care.  The doctors and nurses didn’t care.  She was worthless.  She was less than worthless.  She was a burden to her community.  She was a drug addict and she was out on the streets. 
A cop gave her a ride to the nearest shelter but they were booked.   She knew they would be.  It seemed to her the shelters were always full and even if they weren’t, they were closed to druggies like her.  They had a list and she was on it.  She went to the only place she knew that wouldn’t turn her away:  the homeless community under the bridge.

Copyright 2019 Ray Miller / aka Jack Random

Monday, March 18, 2019

HOMELESSNESS IN A LAND OF PLENTY: Part 2.

 





Chain of Misfortune

HOMELESS IN A LAND OF PLENTY

By Jack Random



[The Department of Housing and Urban Development estimates that there were about 554,000 homeless people in the United States.  Just over 50% were single males.  About 25% were single females.  About 23% were families with children.  Almost 40% were individuals under the age of eighteen.  From October 2009 to September 2010 an estimated 1.6 million experienced homelessness at some point in time.] 



GARY


He drank a bit too much.  It was in his genes.  His father drank too much.  Sometimes it seems that whole generation drank too much.  They drank themselves to sleep, got up in the morning and went to work.  They were functional alcoholics.  It was a way of navigating the journey of life.  In what was supposed to be the good old days the good old boys wanted nothing more than to escape the daily drudgery. 
Gary learned early that he couldn’t drink like his father did.  He drank on weekends, he drank to celebrate and he drank to commiserate.  The first time he drank Scotch it was a bonding experience.  The taste was so repulsive it almost came up before it went down and that made his father laugh.  It took years to develop a taste for it and years to leave the taste behind.  He had too many sessions at the porcelain throne, too many nights with dry heaves and too many mornings hung over. 
So here he was again. 
He went to the bar not long after she left.  Who knows?  Maybe he thought he’d see her there.  He didn’t.  He drank.  After a few at the bar he went to a liquor store and bought a bottle.  He drank to get drunk.  How long had been since he’d done that?  Two years?  Three?  The more he drank the less he remembered. 
Louise let him down.  It was her fault.  It was always someone’s fault.  Now he sounded more like Louise or his mother.  There was always someone to blame.  Someone called and wanted to know if he’d come up with bail money.  Not a chance.  So Louise managed to get arrested in one day.  He didn’t want to hear it.  He hung up and hung up again when she called from jail. 
He called in sick and went back to the bar the next day.  After a second scotch he met a woman – the kind of woman that hangs out at a bar during working hours.  He didn’t care.  He wanted a shoulder and she had two.  They bought another bottle and she went home with him.  Three days later he realized she had moved in.  He hadn’t bothered to call in to work.  When he did he lost his job. 
Fuck it, he thought.  It wasn’t much of a job anyway. 
Her name was Alice.  She had a lot of problems – even more than he did.  In a way it gave him comfort.  She needed him more than he needed her.  It took a while for him to understand that she needed him as a means to get what she really needed – America’s latest addictive rage:  Fentanyl.  It was a long and heart-breaking story.  He was sure of it even though she didn’t have time to tell it and he didn’t have the inclination to hear it.  Everybody has a story.  Every story ends in tragedy.  Fuck it.  It doesn’t matter. 
They lived as they lived in squalor and chaos until the bills started coming and he realized he was out of money.  He had lost track of time.  How many days had gone by?  How many weeks?  In a moment of clarity he saw what he had become and the misery piled on like a mountain of stone. 
When she offered, he accepted.  One pill couldn’t hurt.  Could it?  No.  It helped.  It helped a lot.  The pain floated away like smoke in the wind.  All his worries became distant shadows.  He had no worries.  Another pill and he had no pain.  Another and all the jagged pieces fit together like God’s divine plan. 
Want became need and every particle of his being changed.  At long last he found his religion, his sainthood and his martyrdom.  He became the one true child of God.  A sensation of elation, lifting his spirit off the earth and rising to the stars, overwhelmed him.  Euphoria, wonder, glory and devotion:  They were all at his command. 
Someone shook him and called to him from another world.  He did not wish to leave his place of comfort and elation but the caller persisted.  It was a woman and she was vaguely familiar.  She cried and sniffed and wiped away tears. 
“Wake up, baby!”
It was Alice and something was happening.  He had neglected the simple necessities of this life for so long that it shocked him when he returned.  Alice was his angel of truth, his deliverance and protector.  She opened the doors to this experience and she demanded to be heard.  She owned him. 
“Baby, wake up!” 
“What is it?” he mumbled through the fog and mists of a million dreams and landscapes of fantastic origin.  Why had she taken him from his utopia? 
“Thank God,” she gasped.  She held his head and stroked his hair, painting his face with kisses of genuine affection.  “I thought I lost you!” 
She had a needle in her hand.  It was Narcan – the antidote to an overdose.  He didn’t know she had a dose.  The stuff was expensive – too expensive when you needed every cent to pay for Fentanyl.  Maybe she cared about him after all.  Maybe she was the only one who cared. 
“Where’d you get the Narcan?” he mumbled. 
“At the clinic.  They know me down there.” 
“How long was I out?” 
“I don’t know.  I wasn’t here.” 
“Where were you?” 
“Out.  Who cares?  I came home and there you were.  I saved your life.” 
It was true.  He knew it was true but paranoia came with territory.  Could he trust her?  No.  He couldn’t trust anyone.  He almost died and still the only thing he could think about was securing his supply. 
If he were being honest he would have to admit he’d been in this place before.  The drug was different and he was older now but he had been in a very similar place.  If he were honest he would admit he had an addictive personality.  Addicts saw it in him in a flash.  Alice saw it.  He’d been addicted to cocaine, methamphetamine, crack and heroin.  He wrestled with all the old demons and emerged from an ocean of deep dark hell.  If he were being honest this was just one more relapse in the series that was his adult life.  But he was not being honest.  He was lying to himself and everyone else.  He lied to Louise but he always thought she knew.  He’d been clean for a couple years before he met her.  A few beers after dinner.  Straight and narrow.  But there was a reason he lost all contact with his family.  There was a reason all his friends were recent. 
“Baby, we’re almost out,” said Alice. 
She didn’t have to say what they were almost out of though they were almost out of everything – food, drink, cleaning products, toilet paper, toothpaste, deodorant and anything else you can think of.  The last time he looked there were a few beers in the refrigerator and nothing else. 
“Almost?” 
“Yeah, babe.” 
“How much more do we have?” 
She pulled out a baggie revealing five lonely pills.  The way they were going it wasn’t enough to last the night.  He knew Alice was probably holding out on him but not by a lot.  She probably had four or five more.  He’d deal with it when the time came. 
“Do we have any money?” 
He knew the answer but asked anyway.  Together they might have enough to get a meal at MacDonald’s but not enough for what they needed. 
“We could sell some things,” she suggested. 
“Like what?”
“The TV, stereo, silverware, whatever…” 
“I got to go back to work,” he said glumly.  “Shit, we won’t make much selling all this crap.” 
She knew he was right.  She knew a guy who fenced stolen goods from junkies and other lowlifes.  He wouldn’t give much for the everyday bullshit.  It was just an opening to get the dialogue going. 
“We could sell your truck.” 
He hesitated.  She could feel him tense up.  Selling his truck was a major turn.  It was only three years old and in good shape.  He could get five to seven grand beyond what he still owed.  But he needed that truck to get to work.  If he sold it he was admitting that he had no intention of getting another job and playing it straight.  If he sold the truck there was no turning back. 
“Forget it,” said Alice.  She had to stay ahead of him.  It had to seem like it was his idea.  She’d been through this before and she’d learned a few things.  She wanted to get all she could out of this.  It was not that she didn’t like him or that she thought he deserved it.  It was just business.  She was not getting any younger.  There’s a limit as to how long a girl can get away with this shit. 
“Have you got any other ideas?” he said.  He knew she did.  He knew the kind of woman she was.  If he didn’t know in the beginning, he knew by now.  She was all about the fix. 
“I know a guy,” she said.  “He could use your truck.” 
He climbed out of the sofa and found his way to the window.  It was already sundown.  He had completely lost any sense of time. 
“Call him.  See what he’s got.” 
The truth would not have surprised him.  She had already called him.  Alice was a woman who thought ahead.  So she went through the motions and came back with a gig.  That’s what they called it – like they were some kind of traveling band. 
“Yeah,” said Alice.  She handed him a slip of paper with an address scribbled on it.  “He says you should show up here at three A.M.  He’ll give you a thousand bucks to drive a shipment across town.  Two thousand if you drive it to Vegas.” 
“Two thousand?”
“Yeah.” 
“And that’s all I have to do?” 
“That’s it.” 
“You trust this guy?”
“I do.” 
He let it settle.  Of course there were some details missing.  It was too good.  But when it came down to it, what choice did he have? 
“What’s the merch?” he wondered. 
“Golf clubs.  Yeah.  It turns out people pay a thousand dollars for one golf club.  There’s a warehouse that just got a shipment.  JD knows where it is.  His guys crash the warehouse, load up the stuff and you drive off.  Pretty simple.” 
Unable to fully grasp how low and how fast he had fallen, he let it settle.  He was not only considering a job as a driver for a stolen goods operation, he knew he would accept it.  He had no choice.  That’s the thing about addiction.  Need trumps want every time.  You want to do the right the thing but you need that pill.  You have no choice.  Alice knew that better than he did. 
He showed up at the appointed time and place, high and ready for action.  JD met him in the parking lot of a closed department store and told him to wait in the corner outside the light of the street.  Gary could tell straightaway JD and his crew of two men were cranksters by the way their eyes darted back and forth. 
“Give me your phone,” said JD.  He plugged in his number.  “You call me if something happens.  Got it?” 
“Got it.” 
“If no one shows in thirty minutes, take off,” JD said. 
“Right,” replied Gary with a glance at his phone. 
He waited exactly twenty-four minutes before they pulled up and loaded his truck with four long cardboard boxes.  It looked like there was room for maybe fifty clubs – a haul worth fifty grand.  They covered the load with a plastic tarp and tied it down good while JD took care of business.  He handed Gary five crisp one hundred dollar bills and a slip of paper with an address in Vegas. 
“What’s this?” said Gary. 
“Gas money,” said JD.  “You want me to come with?” 
“No, I’m good.” 
“Alright.  You deliver the goods, pick up the cash and call me when you get back.  We’ll settle up then.” 
“Right.” 
He gave him a look meant to chill him to the bone.  It worked. 
“Don’t even think about fucking me over.  I know where you live,” he smiled, revealing the dental condition of a man long lost on meth. 
“Don’t worry.” 
He pulled out and headed for the freeway.  Three blocks later he thought he noticed someone following him.  Two blocks down he turned right and was greeted by the twirling red lights of two black-and-whites blocking his way.  He slowed to a stop as two cars pulled in behind him.  He was busted dead to rights. 

After two weeks in jail Alice sold his truck to make bail.  He was off the drugs but he had no money, no ride and no way to pay the rent.  He struck a deal with the D.A. to turn on JD and his buddies in exchange for time served.  So now he had to worry about JD’s revenge as soon as he managed to get out of jail.
In a matter of weeks everything turned to shit.  His landlord served the eviction notice.  Alice was determined to stay but Gary didn’t have the energy to fight back.  He had no more illusions about her caring for him any more than he cared for her.  Their relationship was all about the drugs.  He packed some belongings and walked down to the bridge where the homeless people had formed a makeshift camp. 


Copyright Jack Random 2019