Fiction

In 1948 Booger McNulty's coal yard stirred constant gossip among the citizens who lived in the little bungalows on the narrow blocks in my far corner of Chicago. That was more than 60 years ago, a time when families took Sunday walks and went back home in time to hear Jack Benny on the radio. A Sunday walk didn't cost a cent, a price my parents could afford.

It was a dark, cold, rainy night, and I’m sitting at my messy desk in my sleazy office above the long-shuttered Woolworth’s store, gulping down shot after shot of bourbon. This old gumshoe is in need of money, a woman and a case—and not necessarily in that order. Suddenly, there’s a light knock near the bottom of the door, and in strolls a freakin’ leprechaun. In an Irish brogue, he says: “Me wants me pot of gold back. Give it to me!”

I found a UPS notice on my front door. When I picked up the package, the return address was in Greek, so I had no idea who sent it. It was about the size of a shoebox. Everything about the package, except the Greek return address, was normal until I put it on the couch. The package jerked a couple of times. That got my attention.

At a sacred mountain retreat in The Hall of the Hero, the chief hero admonished one of the members. “Fredericoarminbutt, some hero you turned out to be. You couldn’t even save a cat in a tree. You claimed vertigo, what a baby. Get out of here you wanker. And don’t come back.”

So here it is, about a quarter after eight on a Saturday night, and I’m hiding in my crappy little dorm room at U.C.L.A. I’ve been doing this for three days now — hiding, that is. I haven’t gone to classes; I haven’t eaten in the cafeteria on the first floor, or nothing. I’ve only left this room to dash to the bathroom or to grab something to eat or drink from the vending machines at the end of the hall on this floor. I’m so embarrassed. It’s all over the dorm what I did.

Allison lay there, looking up at a star filled sky, as a cool breeze blew over her naked body. This was her favorite place of all and she visited it every night. The darkness embraced her as a lover and she trembled with excitement. Her sensual communing would have been perfect if only they had shown up.

He felt uneasy, out of place. He thought it was China; it might have been Burma. But he was there, wherever it was. He was standing on the sun deck of a multi-level wood home that jutted precariously from a rich, deep, green, tropical hillside. 

With great pain he spied around looking for the camera that would track him down if he dared let them. Into the all-night convenience store, wet from rain, as the thunder pealed again and again, shaking the building like an earthquake.

“Hon, we received another notice from the, as you call them ‘THE OWNERS ASSOCIATION’ down the street about cleaning up the mess we keep making. It states that we are not in compliance and they will take major action against all of us that are in that situation. There is a part here that says we have been warned previously. Do you recall?”