*Previously published in www.authorme.com, on March, 2005 & www.oraculartree.com, on April, 2005.

*FORWARD




This story takes place in the 60's; is it relevant today, in the 21st century? I believe so, because this story isn't just about a predominantly black ghetto in Miami but something I consider much more Machiavellian; for you could move the story ahead to today and you would still see grinding poverty in Liberty City. The story could have been set in Techwood, the country's oldest government housing project, in Atlanta, until they kicked out all the poor residents, in 1996, so they could remodel it and sell all the apartments, or it could have been set in Overtown, another Miami ghetto, or Watts, in L.A., or Bed-Sty., in New York, or any of the hundreds of others in this country, for the United States has extraordinary wealth, and it also has extraordinary poverty.




Poverty! The ghettoes. Shacks, crumbling tenements, unpainted, unkempt apartments, in run-down neighborhoods that are proliferated with liquor stores and street gangs but few, if any, owner-occupied dwellings, sidewalks or street-lighting. Cars with their hoods popped open and grease-splattered, shade-tree mechanics, being paid with a warm six-pack and any money the owner can scrape together, sprawled underneath them. And the little ones, the children, are everywhere, laughing and playing with each other, little realizing that there is danger lurking around every corner. The children don't know they're poor, but the adults, their parents, along with everyone else in the neighborhood, know all too well; they know every time a gun goes off or a siren wails. They know it when a friend, or just an acquaintance from the neighborhood, dies for no apparent reason, other than living in the neighborhood, for everyone knows someone who has had a child or a friend shot or beaten, simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In the 60's this country's largest cities all had at least one ghetto and today, in 2005, they have multiplied. Children are having children; and children are killing children. I ask myself the same question now that I did then. Why?

I'm still searching for an answer to that question.

LIBERTY CITY
BY
KEITH LAUFENBERG

-1-
THE MEN ON THE CORNER



We have fed you all for a thousand years,
And you hail us still unfed,
Though there's never a dollar of all your wealth
But marks the worker's dead.
Unknown, We Have Fed You All.




Clustered at 6 A.M. on the corner, they were a motley group to behold; two husky men in their twenties, and three others, older, but who ages would have been difficult to conjecture. The two younger men, whose eyes were bloodshot, were in ill humor, after being among the losers in an all-night crap game. At the neighborhood breakfast house they had heard of the possibility of being picked up for construction work, on the corner they now all stood on.
One of them, Rene 'Bull' Lindsay had, until recently, been a professional boxer and bore the marks of that career. Both his eyebrows were split in half by numerous scars and smaller gashes crisscrossed his forehead and cheekbones. The cartilage of his nose, the recipient of thousands of blows, was flattened across his face and had an extremely elastic appearance whenever he scowled or smiled. His left ear's crevices were thickened and molded together in the traditional cauliflower ear. Most contemporary boxers escaped such deformities by wearing protective headgear during sparring matches, but many, like Bull, disdained such safety practices, and bore the mutilation proudly. After seven frustrating years of small purses and large headaches, Bull had hung up his gloves, and, with only a limited grade school education, worked at whatever jobs came his way. Standing on the corner, in front of an all-night liquor store, he rhythmically swung his powerful arms across his chest against the early morning chill. Six foot tall and weighing over two hundred pounds, his awesome power was impressively visible in his broad shoulders, narrow-waist and thick upper torso and a pair of tree-trunk like legs.
James 'Sweet Jimmy' Bell, his running partner of the previous evening, was pacing back and forth agitatedly. He hated taking this kind of work, which he considered slave labor for white men, but, after losing over four hundred dollars, won with an initial five-dollar loan, at the all night crap game, he had given in to Bull's cajoling that they pick up some walking around money.
From Big Jenny's, a local eatery, where many of Liberty City's black male population met to discuss work possibilities, Bull and Sweet Jimmy, along with the three older men, had walked across the railroad tracks, that separated the black and white parts of town, to a corner of Miami Avenue, to wait for a pickup truck due at 6 A.M. to hire day laborers.
The three older men sat on the curb in silence. Andrew 'Double-A' Adkins, who claimed to be forty but was actually fifty-nine, had been born in a small South Carolina town and had started working in the fields when he was seven. He had never gone to school, the prevailing attitude at that time in South Carolina being that blacks were uneducable and were needed to pick cotton and do other lowly work, which the educable whites spurned. Double-A had lived in a field-shack and had seen little of his mother, who had spent fourteen and sixteen hours every day working for a white family, cooking their meals, cleaning their house, doing all their laundry and ironing, and tending to their young children. Double-A had left South Carolina, at an early age, during the Depression, having decided that if he was going to starve he might as well do it in a warmer climate.
Willie 'Pogee-bait' Little had been born in a small black community near Montgomery, Alabama, the last of John and Bea Little's children. He was scarcely a year old when two of his older brothers and his father were lynched in the town's Meeting Hall, which also served as a Christian church for the majority of the white population. John Little had assaulted the town's Justice of the Peace, in whose home Bea Little worked, after she resisted and escaped from his attempt to rape her. Less than three hours after his two oldest sons watched their father confront and then knock the Justice of the Peace sprawling, the three of them were hung from a central cross-beam of the meeting hall-church by that swollen-jawed dignitary and a dozen of his brother Klansmen.
Later on during the same day, Bea Little and her third son mysteriously disappeared and it was rumored they were drowned in flight in the alligator infested swamp just beyond the black community.
The following day John Little's brother Eddie was shot in the back while trying to escape custody, according to the two deputies who had gunned him down and testified they had apprehended him illegally hunting alligators in the swamp; any black man caught 'murdering' one of these swamp lizards received a one hundred dollar fine or sixty days in jail. Of course, the alligator could pull any number of black children into his murky home and have no legal vengeance taken upon him, whatsoever.
Pogee-bait and his four sisters were sent to a black orphanage in Racine, Illinois by the Alabama authorities with the accompanying information, supplied by the Justice of the Peace, that their parents had been killed in an automobile collision.
Pogee-bait had gotten his street-name in the Marine Corps because he always had a piece of candy in his mouth and pogee-bait was Marine Corps slang for anything with a massive amount of sugar in it. After serving three hitches, twelve years, in the Marines and increasingly frequent sentences for insubordination, he returned to civilian life and made his way to the Miami area seeking work and warm weather.
Henry 'Houdini' Powers grew up in a small town in rural Mississippi and had lived in Poplarville in 1959 when some white Ku Klux Klan members had taken a black youth out of his jail cell and lynched him. Everyone knew who had done it, the F.B.I. had even supplied a dossier of evidence identifying the lynch mob to the Pearl River County Grand Jury, the body with the final say in the matter. They had, brazenly, refused to even look inside the dossier, showing the outside world just where the state of Mississippi stood on such matters. The black victim, Mack Parker, had died without a trial, without so much as a hearing, and it had left such a vivid impression on Henry Powers that, some four months later, when he found himself thrown into the very same cell from which Mack Parker had been dragged and lynched, he had quickly and efficiently escaped. It hadn't been the first time he had gotten out of a cell-cage and it wouldn't be the last, in fact in many jails and state prisons throughout the continental United States there were innumerable prisoner's, as well as many of their keeper's, who were known to have said there wasn't a cell-cage yet built that could hold the man known as Houdini. Known far and wide in many black communities, especially among those in the prisons, Houdini was well along in his sixties yet had a supple strength and vitality almost the equal of his nephew, Bull Lindsay, to whom he now barked:
'Cut out dat day-yum arm-swingin', Bull. Ya givin' me da jitters.'�
'Ah shee-it, keep quiet,'� replied Bull, scowling, 'ain't no truck nowhere in sight.'�
'Watch it niggah, don't let dat big mouf a yours get yo' black ass in trouble.'�
Bull's face remained solemn, as he barked:
'Shee-it niggah, who you callin' a niggah?'�
'Well, ain't but five niggahs here , takes yo' pick.'�
Everyone laughed but Sweet Jimmy, who barked:
'Man, ain't no truck comin'. Shee-it, problee went to Manpower to get some honkees.'�
'Day be here, you young bucks jus' ain't got no pay-chins,'� Double-A said, as Pogee-bait slipped a dozen Sugar-Babies in his mouth. He smiled at Double-A.
'Yeah, you right Double, lookit yonder?'�
The three older men arose from the curb, as a battered pick-up truck, with A. & M. CONSTRUCTION painted on the doors, pulled up adjacent them. As the white driver, Bill Murphy, lit his fifteenth cigarette of the day his brother Ben leaned out of the curb-side window and expectorated tobacco juice dangerously close to where the men were standing, then bellowed:
'All you boys looking' fo' work?'�
'Yessuh,'� replied Pogee-bait. 'Missah Aspins leave word that he be needin' men and to be here at six innah mo'nin.'�
'Way-ell, I kin only use two may-un, sorry.........but, way-ell I guess I could take ya'all, have to pay ya' three bucks a hour though, but it's a long job. Cash money boys, cash money. Way-el, make up yo' minds, they's other men on other co'nahs ya know?'� Murphy lit a cigarette and smiled at his brother; both men knew they could pick up other men willing to work at three dollars an hour on almost any corner of Liberty City.
Exchanging swift glances amongst themselves, the five men clambered onto the back of the pickup truck. They were all familiar with this deceit and trickery but also knew how scarce jobs were. They all knew that in Overtown, another Miami ghetto where blacks were in the overwhelming majority, as well as Miami's Cuban refugees, proliferating downtown Miami's Eighth Street, and the innumerable destitute other's from as far away as South America or as close as the nearest welfare office, there were many who would accept almost any sum for a day's work.
As the truck jounced along Miami Avenue, Sweet Jimmy and Bull waved to occasional neighborhood hookers still plying their trade in the early morning hours. Scarcely any corner was without small groups of men in work clothes waiting to be hired. Some drank from bottles enwrapped in small brown paper bags, ready to hide them if need be. Others, beyond caring, sat with their backs propped against a building or in a dilapidated folding chair, drinking appreciatively from their communal fruit jars and bottles and waving to the five men in the bed of the Murphy brothers' pick-up truck as it passed.
Houdini and Double-A dozed fitfully, as the truck bumped along the back roads leading to the construction site. It was a government project, known as a 'cost-plus' job because the contractors were paid more money when they used more men. The government also specified the wages contractors must pay to the various laborers and tradesmen and, since Florida was a 'right-to-work' state and the unions carried very little if any strength, these jobs were hypothetically the best most construction workers could hope for, if the contractors were honest.
Dave Aspins and Bill and Ben Murphy had a long list of fictitious workers with spurious social security numbers on their fraudulent payroll, while the actual work was being done primarily by blacks and illegal aliens. Aspins and the Murphy brothers were figuring on clearing over a quarter of a million dollars, tax-free, along with another quarter of a million of reported profit, by the time the job was finished.
Building inspectors and other government officials, who could have quickly exposed and ruined them, were all on the pad.
The truck braked suddenly, as it screeched to a halt in front of the project, which spanned nearly three blocks. Ben Murphy cast a furtive, malevolent sneer towards the men and they quickly scrambled out of the truck's bed.
Houdini, Double-A and Pogee-bait were put to work pushing wheelbarrows full of concrete blocks, while Bull and Sweet Jimmy were ordered to haul large, heavy wooden concrete-pour forms that should have been moved with a crane.
At lunch-time Sweet Jimmy and Bull left to go to a small, nearby grocery store. Houdini gave them a dollar to get him a pint of milk and a ham sandwich, while Pogee-bait counted out enough change for a piece of lemon-pie and a coke.
As the two sauntered off, Double-A opened a brown paper bag containing two bacon-grease sandwiches and a slice of sweet potato pie.
Sweet Jimmy and Bull arrived at the corner store and made their way to the counter where the Cuban grocer was telling Ben Murphy, in halting English sprinkled with Spanish, that he was a dollar short for the sandwiches made up for him and that he didn't extend credit. Murphy glanced sideways at Bull, standing alongside him, holding several dollar bills in his food-filled hands and with a wolfish grin slid one out, explaining that he would just borrow one and repay it that afternoon when he paid them, as he did daily, in cash. Frozen-faced, Bull let the dollar slide out of his hand and ordered only a pint of milk instead of his usual three, speculating silently that he would have to go without anything on his afternoon break but he was mistaken, on that point anyway, for there would be no afternoon break, on that day or any other.

-2-
THE JOB


Prejudice is the child of ignorance.---William Hazlitt, Sketches and Essays: On Prejudice.




'Those niggahs sure bustin' they humps, huh Bill?'� Ben Murphy, taking another bite of a huge submarine sandwich , chuckled.
'Yeah, they are, but I still think 'at big niggah'll remember 'bout that dollah.'� Bill Murphy winked slyly at his brother, who replied:
'Shee-it, Ah'll bet ja a dollah he don't. I've worked these niggahs lawng 'nuff tah know.'�
'Shee-it, at's a bet brothah,'�
Their joined boisterous laughter at this was interrupted by Ben's daughter Annabelle, home from college for the summer, appearing at the open door to the plywood shack.
'What's so funny?'� she chirped, frowning slightly.
'Ah-er, nothin' special baby,'� said Ben. 'You shouldn't come aroun' here Annie. Lettin' any a these here niggahs get'nee idears ain't a good thang, y'know? Hell, they'd all love tah get they hands on a white girl.'�
'Your Daddy's rat Annabelle, shoot they's ane-mules.'�
'Oh Uncah Bill, and you too Daddy.'� Annabelle Murphy shook her finger at both men in a coy scolding and wondered with suppressed hilarity what their reactions would be if they knew what she and her cousin Lorene, Bill Murphy's daughter, had done with the two black football players they had dated, just a week previously, at the college they both attended in Pennsylvania, where they were both honor students. Both girls were well-known at the school for chasing and dating members of the school's varsity athletic teams, especially if that member happened to be black.
As she stood at the open door of the shack, exchanging pleasantries with her father and uncle, she managed to observe with covert excitement and admiration the gleaming torso of Bull Lindsay, who was working nearby.
At five that evening, when he paid the day laborers, Ben Murphy smiled, for the day had been a good one. He knew he would probably fire them all in a week or two, when they were no longer hungry enough, and starting to slow down, but for now they were making him a ton of money and that made him happy, for he worshipped the green paper. He grinned and counted out twenty-four dollars, placing it in the palm of the next waiting black in the pay line, the scowling countenance of none other than Bull Lindsay.
In the jolting truck, on the way back to Liberty City, Sweet Jimmy jested with Bull, who was still scowling over his unreturned dollar.
'Shee-it Bull, don't go gettin' all tense. Shee-it, we all knows you pro'blee saved us leas' 'notha day's work. Shee-it, yah still just ah lil' hot ovah da' whi' fox shakin' it in yo' face, sayin' 'ummmhmmm don't I knows y'all boy, heh-hahha.'� Sweet Jimmy laughed and Houdini chuckled, at Sweet Jimmy's mimicry of Annabelle's high voice, and even Bull's scowl turned mellow.
'Yeah, dat be dangerous stuff fo' ah black man tah be foolin' 'roun' wid to,'� said Houdini, recounting his money, and crooning to himself about the supper he planned to eat. This distracted Bull, for whom food was one of the three central interests in life, the other two being women and sleep, and he began to anticipate his own dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes soaked in gravy, hot biscuits, turnip greens and black-eyed peas, his usual half gallon of milk and half a sweet potato pie. He smiled thinking to himself how good it would all be, and how he would enjoy his usual twelve hours of sleep that evening.

-3-
MONEY IN YOUR POCKET


Having food and clothing, with these we shall be content.---1 Timothy 6:8.

Money brings honour, friends, conquest and realms.---Milton, Paradise Regained. Bk.ii, 1. 422.




'Pass dose biscuits!'� exclaimed Houdini, his plate heaped with ribs and chitlins. Houdini had a large napkin tucked into his collar and it was smeared with gravy and butter.
'Pass along dah muffukin' bisk-its Slick,'� Sweet Jimmy hollered to Slick Powers, one of several men who, upon hearing of their home-boys' good fortune, had made their way to Big Jenny's restaurant, knowing their compatriots would not turn them away.
Besides Slick, there was David 'Davy Crock' Crockerill, Bob 'Cannonball' King and Ike 'Lil I' Baydow. As the nine chattering and feasting men appeased their hunger at the bountiful table, another black man appeared and the dinner-table noises abated somewhat.
'What say men?'� he exclaimed, pulling up a chair at the end of a three table consolidation.
'Hey-yay what jew up to Brain?'� Sweet Jimmy mumbled, between ravenous bites.
Brain's given name was Harold Wilson and he was the only man from the neighborhood with a college education. Actually, he had quit college, in the last semester of his senior year, and considered formal education nothing short of brainwashing. He had intended on becoming a
teacher but would not teach according to white society's rules. As a student teacher, he was dismissed again and again until he literally ran out of schools for his courses in practice teaching. Feeling it would be no different when he got his degree and license to teach, he quit and returned to Liberty City, and his old job, that of driving a cab for an all black cab company. He smiled, as he watched the men at the table devour the food almost as fast as the waitress could put it on the table. Liberty City, as with all ghettoes throughout the continental United States, had more than its share of hungry residents. Brain disdained fancy clothes, fancy cars and fancy women, all of which, to most black males in Liberty City, were the real signs of success.
Brain and his wife's four room apartment in the projects was always overcrowded, as anyone with a problem in Liberty City seemed to find their way to the Brain. The problems usually involved the law, and consultations in the many volumes of law journals strewn throughout his living room. The police were well aware of the Brain's meanderings and his apartment was under surveillance. They were unable to charge him with anything specific yet, but many on the force were out to get him, one way or the other, for many of Miami's finest felt that Brain had gotten too many niggers free who should have been in Raiford, the State Penitentiary just outside of Jacksonville.
'Say Brain, any word on Lee an' Pitts?'� Houdini queried, as he forked another piece of chicken into an already overstuffed mouth.
'Well, not much cuz,'� replied Brain, lighting a cigarette, and smiling, as he watched Bull dig into a plate so full of food it seemed too much for three men. He winked at Houdini who followed Brain's gaze and almost choked on his own food trying to stifle a laugh.
'No, they're still locked up even though that white boy admitted he did it. Won't testify unless they grant him immunity.'�
'Shee-it, day-yum, can't blame 'im, he don't wanna burn 'isself,'� Sweet Jimmy exclaimed, stuffing a piece of cornbread in his mouth. He winked at Brain and said:
'Say Brain, what jew think of a man what sleeps twelve 'ours ah day?'�
The table noises abated somewhat, as everyone looked at Brain. Everyone knew he rarely slept more than four hours a night.
'Well, Calvin Coolidge was known to sleep twelve hours a night.'�
'No? Shee-it, I didn't know dat,'� Sweet Jimmy said, the confusion obvious on his face.
'Hmm-umm that's hard to believe,'� said Double-A, not elaborating, and glancing around the table while he chewed.
'No shee-it,'� said Slick, grabbing a basket full of cornbread and rolls.
Davy Crock looked up but quickly forked another portion of greens into his mouth. His puzzled frown was matched by the majority, save one, the ever incongruous Houdini Powers, who took a long swallow of sweet tea and growled:
'Who the hell's Calvin Coolidge?'�
The dinner table noises abated somewhat and a low murmuring began, as each man glanced nervously at the other, until Sweet Jimmy roared:
'Shee-it, Cal Cool-edge, played fullback fo' 'ah Chacaga Bears! Bigger'n Bull.'�
All eyes shifted towards the Brain and seeing him shake his head sadly, no one seemed ready for another haphazard conjecture, when Pogee-bait, his fork poised in mid-air, smiled widely and barked:
'Shee-it, you young bucks don't know nuffin', shee-it ol' Cal Cool-idge fought da ol' brown bomber hisse'f, yup, back in thirty-nahn. Went ten wid Joe if I remembers co-rect-lee too?'� Pogee-bait shifted his gaze towards Brain, his smile turning upside down when Brain shook his head sadly and glanced around the table, shifting his gaze from one occupant to the other. No one appeared ready to venture another guess and Brain looked slyly at Bull and stated, in his usual unequivocal manner:
'Calvin Coolidge was the thirtieth President of the United States.'�
His firm statement evoked several murmured astonishments and whispered exchanges, such as Houdini who beamed at Bull and roared:
'Pres-ah-dent? How 'bout dat? Ah always knew ol' Bull knew what he's doin'.'�
Then Cannonball King barked:
'Maybe ol' Bull be Pres-ah-dent some day.'� This caused Bull's overstuffed mouth to break into the semblance of a grin, just as a new arrival, a real giant of a black man, created a diversion, as several shouts of welcome greeted him:
'Hey Big Jimmy, what's up?'�
Davy Crock swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes and pushed a chair towards Big Jimmy, saying:
'Hey, Jamie, siddown.'�
James 'Big Jimmy' Summerhill, a young professional boxer, who had boxed a 10 round draw with Bull shortly before Bull had quit the ring, deposited his enormous bulk on the chair and it creaked loudly. He had recently lost over 50 pounds and at six-two and 240 pounds his dancing style was always deceptive but his record of 15 wins and only four losses told the real story.
'Hey, I seen that fight you had last week Big Jay,'� said Pogee-bait, a perennial fight fan. 'Shee-it, you knocked that whi' boy from Calee-fornia colder'nah fish, shee-it, you goin' places, yessuh man, I thinks you is man.'�
'Well, thank you Willie,'� Big Jimmy replied, ordering a glass of iced tea from Big Jenny, almost an equal to Big Jimmy in size, and the proprietor of this local eatery. She sat it in front of him with a smile, after propelling an incoming drunk back out through the front door.
'When you fightin' again?'� said Sweet Jimmy, reaching for a slice of sweet potato pie.
'Shee-it, I don't know man, hope pretty soon, gotta wife an' kids yah know? Shee-it, what I really needs is sumpin' like you guys gots, get some cash money rattlin' 'roun' in mah jeans.'�
'Well, we'd get jah on yah know but we don't know how much longer we gonna be there ourselves. Shee-it, they usin' all they cheap tricks,'� exclaimed Double-A, as the others nodded silently, their mouths busy chewing food.
'Aw-eh don't worry 'bout me man, I thinks I got a fight comin' up pre' soon anyway.'� Big Jimmy sipped at his iced tea, as Sweet Jimmy, three seats down, roared:
'Shee-it Big Jay yah could take any ah dese ol' mufukkas jobs, dah only reason they's on's
cause me an' Bull's got big hearts.'�
Everyone snickered at this sally and Pogee-bait bought Big Jimmy another piece of sweet potato pie, taking seconds himself. Houdini went off with Slick Powers, his second cousin, to a crap game, while Bull and Davy Crock continued to eat like it was their last meal. Brain held court with the remaining men, all except Lil' I Baydow, who had bummed a dollar from Houdini, and who now slipped out the side door, heading for one of the all too numerous liquor store's, that all ghetto's seemed to never be in short supply of.

-4-
SWEET JIMMY


If you bite and devour one another, beware lest you be consumed by one another.
Galatians 5:15




'Whaaaaaaacck! Bar'rap. Waaaaaachk'�'�'�'�'�'�Whaaacccccckk. Whaaaaccck'�'�'�'�'�'�'�'�'�'�'�'�......Bar'rap.
'Oh! ah no, Sweet Jimmy! Don't hit me again. Jimmy, puleeze, honey I wuz only givin' 'im directions.'�
'Don't try that dir-x-shuns shit again. What you think Ah'm stupid? Tol' jew what Ah'uz gonna do if Ah caught you sellin' it again! You gonna be sorry, girl, hear me?'�
'Whaaaak!'�
'Ah no, Sweet Jimmy, you knows Ah loves only you. Din't Ah have yah chile? Di'nt Ah?'�
'Whap! Barrap!'�
'Yeah, yeah, an' where is he? Huh? Out playin' tonk somewheres, shee-it, if he ain't shootin' craps, shee-it, seven years old!'� Sweet Jimmy screamed, dropping his belt in despair.
'Well honey, he sees his daddy do it. Oh, baby I din' mean dat. C'mere, baby.'� Dora, Sweet Jimmy's common-law wife of eight years, watched as he slumped down, onto an old couch he had pulled out of a nearby junkyard one night with Bull. He put his head in his hands and moaned:
'Ah knows it, Ah knows it, shee-it, ain't nevah gonna get anywheres. Shee-it, went tah dat Gov'ment school fo' the airlines. Shee-it, graduated wid honors, think any day-yum airline'id hire me? Shee-it, have ah better chance in Vay-gus. Shee-it, hire'n dem whi' mufukkas two'n three at ah time. Whi' mufukkas, Ah hates you, Ah hates you. Ah ain't gonna take it much longer Do', ain't gonna. Been doin' 'is dirty work too long, Ah'm sick ah it. Gonna get a .38, 'at's rye. Ah'll take from dem dats got everything. Takes what I wants. ' Ah'll show dem whi' mufukkas, stick ah roscoe in dey jibs, shee-it, dat's 'all' dey un'erstan's any-damn-way.'�
Dora, who had been through all this before, usually just after Sweet Jimmy had started on a new lowly job, sat beside him on the couch and put her arms around him, murmuring consoling endearments, as she began undressing him. Sweet Jimmy continued on with his flow of raging
despair, his words running together so fast that even Dora could no longer understand what he was saying. His voice lowered considerably as Dora pulled him on top of her, their clothes strewn throughout the small cluttered apartment. Just before she put her lips on his, Sweet Jimmy let out a howl and screamed:
'Ah'll do it Ah tells you. Ah did it once before and Ah'll do it again, dey don't scares me no mo'.'�
-5-
THE DEVIL HAS MANY SHAPES


My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not.---Old Testament:Proverbs i, 10.

There are temptations that require all of one's strength to yield to.
Elbert Hubbard, The Philistine, xx, 86.

Down in their hearts, wise men know this truth: the only way to help yourself is to help others.
Elbert Hubbard, The Philistine, Vol. 18, p.12.




'Tha' Sweet Jimmy sho' gets mad when he sees Dee workin'ah streets, huh Pogee?'�
'Yeah, he gonna hit her a lil' but they works it out Bull. Hear Scatterhawk on'nah corner maybe dealin'?'�
'I'un know Pogee but you know Scatter. He just knocked out that Hoffman; dude used tah be pre' good too. He gots a chance tah go to Buffalo, fight dat whi' boy he kayoed ah cup-ill years ago, make sum real money.'�
'Yeah 'at Ralston, he a light-heavy, ain't he? Ain't he a contendah or sumpin'?'�
'Yeah, Scatter oughtah get innah gym, he gots another chance an' he gonna blow it again.'�
'Shee-it, here come one yo' girl's Bull.'� Pogee-bait's eyebrows arose, as a comely, young black girl in a miniskirt strolled over and rubbed Bull's forearm and cooed:
'C'mon Ree-nay less go pah-tee.'�
'Oh shee-it, you ain't gone git you twelve hours ah sleep tonite Bull.'�
'I gots tah be up at six inna mornin' Diane,'� Bull complained, frowning.
'Oh c'mon Ree-nay! Why do anyone wanna sleep twelve hours?'�
Pogee-bait smiled at Bull and then turned his gaze towards the woman.
'Shee-it, Calvin Cool-edge slept twelve hours a night.'�
A few minutes later, as Diane, one of Bull's many girlfriend's, steered him into a nightclub, she frowned and hissed:
'Hon'nee, who the hell is Calvin Cool-edge?'�

*********

Brain and Big Jimmy sat at the large, deserted table and sipped iced tea's. Brain toyed with a half-eaten piece of sweet potato pie. He eyed Big Jimmy speculatively, and said:
'Ah, c'mon now Jay, things can't be that bad? You gonna be innah money soon enough; ain't Jimmy Ellis payin' you tah spar wid 'im? I mean, you gotta be patient.'�
'I know you're right Brain, but I gotta wife and my lil' boy needs some shoes and I ain't even got'�'�.. no, nah man, put it away.'�
Brain laid the five dollar bill on the counter and stood up. He smiled at Big Jimmy and patted him on the back lightly, then rasped:
'Gotta be gettin' on home brothah.'�
'Naw man, I can't take it, I, I'm gonna get me a day job and train at night like Ernie Burns and them, I'll, I'll, man, c'mon Brain c'mon man I'�'�'�'�.But it was too late, Brain had quickly slipped out the side door. Big Jimmy fingered the five dollar bill, then slipped it into his pocket. He stood up and grabbed the half-eaten piece of sweet potato pie that Brain had left and stuffed it in his mouth. Walking out the door, Big Jimmy felt a sense of peace he hadn't felt for several weeks; it was always calming to be around real human beings.

*********

'Day'yum Slick, shee-it, I knew it man. We shouldah quit while we wuz ahead. Shouldah forgot them card games. Tonk ain't my game anyway, hell I wuz winnin' rollin' dah bones.'�
Slick Powers smiled at his cousin Houdini and shrugged his shoulders.
'Well you know how it bees Hou'dee, sometimes yah hits and sometimes yah slips.'� Slick, a hustler all his life smiled at Houdini and pulled a dollar from his pocket.
'Cah'mon over tah Ship'pees wid me Hou'dee. We gets'sah bottle?'�
'Naw man, I gotta get up early, workin' yah know? I see you tomorrow Slick.'� Houdini quickly turned and, as Slick yelled for him to change his mind, hurried his pace; he had an almost unbearable desire to go with Slick but was bound and determined not to give in to that urge.

-6-
MIAMI'S FINEST


Policemen are soldiers who act alone; soldiers are policemen who act in unison.
Hebert Spencer, Social Statics. Pt. iii, ch. 21, sec. 8.

But the Lord said to him, 'Not so; if anyone kills Cain, he will suffer vengeance seven times over. Then the Lord put a mark on Cain so that no one who found him would kill him.
Genesis 4:15


Clem Hopkins sat in the patrol car with his partner, Cy Norman, just across the street from Brain's well-lit up apartment in Liberty City. He lit a cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke through his nostrils.
'Hail, Ah say we go in there and bust all'a'em day-yum niggahs. C'mon Cy, you know they's gettin' away with a lotta shit; 'specially that wise-ass Harold Wilson. Shee-it, Brain they calls 'im. Black mufukka. Evah since he come back from that college up Nawth he thinks he's hot shit. I'm gonna git 'im sum day.'�
Clem Hopkins had been born and raised in a small community some two hundred miles southwest of Miami, and if his father, who had been the local sheriff, had instilled anything at all in his only son it was that the only good nigra was a dead nigra and Clem Hopkins Sr. had seen quite a few good nigras in his almost thirty years in office; in fact he had personally helped more than a few along to the path of goodness.
'Ah tells yah Clem we just ain't got nothin' on 'im. He's a wise niggah, gettin' a bunch ah niggahs outta county jail on tech-nah-calitees. Hail, Ah hear tell dem two no-good murderin' niggahs Lee 'n Pitts might be gettin' sprung.'� Cy Norman spat disgustedly. His racial hatred went so far that he refused to enter any room occupied by more than one black person.
'Yeah, shee-it, we gonna get mo'day-yum niggahs and spics on'ah job too. I'm onna move back tah Ar-cay-dee-ah, nuffin' but goo' ol' boys onnah job there. Shee-it, used tah be a niggah or a spic wood'in be allowed in a uniform.'�
'Shee-it, wasn't no day-yum brillo-pads'ah spics allowed in a po'leece station 'less they wuz bein' arrested or daid,'� said Clem, causing both men to laugh heartily.
'Hey, look air. At Boscoe'ah Roscoe what's iz name? The fighter.'�
'Yeah. Looks like 'im'. So what?'�
'He just got outta Raiford? Him and that Jerry Powers?'�
'Powers?'�
'Yeah, membah they busted 'em both ovah at the Fifth Street gym a cup-ill years ago?'�
'Tha's rye. I think I remember sumpin' lack that. He's violatin' his parole bein' out lack this. Less get 'im. Hope he tries sumpin'. I ain't shot nobody since 'Nam. He's goin' into Wilson's apartment. Less give 'em all time tah get they shit out. We'll get the goods on'num.'�
'Yeah, right. You know, I miss 'Nam man. We shouldah signed up wid ol' Buster an' Bowdee when we firs' got back. Remember? We wuz gonna.'�
'Yeah, we made a big mistake there Clem, shee-it, Ah just got ah letter from ol' Bowdee jus' yes-tah-day. Yeah they livin' the laff ovah there. Shee-it, they'uz in Leb'bah'non and now South Afree-kah, may-yun. Kin you imagine they gettin' all that money just fer killin' niggahs? Shee-it, we shouldah been mercy-nare-rees too.'�
'Yeah, we gettin' too many niggahs and niggah lovers on'nah fo'ce. Damn spics is half niggahs anyway. Hey Cy, we bettah call diz in, just tah be onnah safe side?'�
'Yeah, good idear, hey Clem did I tell you what my boy did? Ha, him and Buster Poser's boy. They busted ah lil' niggah boy innah haid, busted it clean open, heh. Did me proud aw'rye.'� Cy Norman grabbed the microphone.
'Diz iz say-ben fuggs one, say-ben fuggs ah onnoonenah, naoohhwheee.'� Norman smacked his lips suggestively, then repeated his car number, seven fox one, several times for the benefit of the radio operator, Rosie O'Bannion, a stacked redhead, who more than one cop flirted with and dreamed about. After placing the call, as a possible B&E and a suspected parole violator, Cy Norman exclaimed:
'Ah dat Rosie, she's got some real hooters, wonder if she's got a red bush tah match her hair. I'd lack tah find out, Ah'll tale you.'�
'Shee-it, ain't you heard partner; she's off limits, the slut.'�
'Wha. . . .what?'�
'Yeah, she wuz givin' head tah ah niggah innah day-room. Yup, Slim an' Buddy seed it, yup one ah them new niggah rookies. C'mon less hit it.'�
Cy Norman drew his service revolver, as he stepped out of the patrol car. His eyes narrowed and he spat:
'I sho hope one a these niggahs draws down on me, I done missed target practice yes'aday.'�

*********

Several miles from this scene in Liberty City, two teenage girls sat on a bed, in a posh four-bedroom house, in the Coconut Grove section of Coral Gables. It was a house owned by Bill and Ben Murphy but one that they allowed their daughters to use when visiting. It was also used by the two brothers for unwinding, as the pressures of the daily business grind, not to mention their chicanery, took its toll daily. Annabelle Murphy lit a cigarette and smiled at her cousin.
'Oh, he was big wasn't he Lo'?'�
'Well, he did have his pants on,'� Lorene Murphy cracked, causing both girls to giggle, as she pulled back the window curtain to see a late model Lincoln pull up to the curb.

*********
The two young men sat in the Lincoln and contemplated the night to come. Ronald Scott, whose father's Lincoln the boys used regularly, glanced at his friend and classmate at Dade Junior College, Tommy Perkins, and said:
'What ah'yah think Tommy?'�
'You kiddin'. Ah done tol' you man, these girls put out man. Annie the fanny we used to call Annabelle in high school man. Shit, she done put out for half the football team.'�
'Yeah? What about Lorene man?'�
'Shit Ronnie. Used to call her fast Lo, goes down low. She kin suck the head off a beer and lick her eyebrows man, you know what I mean?'�
Scott laughed and opened his car-door, as the two headed for a now dimly-lit house.

-7-
HUNTING SEASON

For as men say, need has no law.---John Gower, Confessio Amantis. Bk. iv, 1. 1167. (c.1390).


A fiend, a fury, pitiless and rough;
A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff;
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands
The passages of alleys, creeks and narrow lands;
A hound that runs counter and yet draws dry foot well;
One that before the judgment carries poor souls to hell.
Shakespeare, The Comedy of Errors. Act iv, sc. 2, 1. 35.




'Well, shee-it where is he? Suckah must be sick,'� said Houdini, pacing back in forth in front of an all-night liquor store, while Sweet Jimmy, Pogee-bait and Double-A sat on the sidewalk, their backs leaning against the cement block building.
'Aw'ah, shee-it he jus' showin' off now he knows ol' Cal Cool-edge slept twelve hours a day,'� guffawed Double-A.
'Shee-it, Diane gots him to take 'er out las' night aftah suppah; to the black pussycat.'�
'Oh shit and here comes the truck,'� said Houdini, as the battered pick-up pulled up.
'And here come Bull, C'MON SUCKAH,'� Sweet Jimmy bellowed to a trotting Bull, now about twenty yards from the truck.
Bull was yanked aboard the bed of the truck by Houdini and Sweet Jimmy, just as Ben Murphy, glancing in the rearview mirror, double-clutched it, trying for an early morning laugh.

*********

'Shee-it, you a tired mufukka Bull, what you do las' night? That snatch kept you busy, din' she?'� queried Houdini, as the men sat under a tree eating their lunch.
Bull shifted his weight and accepted a sandwich from Sweet Jimmy, his back leaning against an upturned wheelbarrow. He smiled at his uncle and replied:
'Yeah-uh she don't wanna let a man sleep.'�
'Hou-dee you gotta straighten yah nep-yew out, de Lawd doesn't want him libbin' lack that,'� exclaimed Pogee-bait, a lifelong street-corner preacher.
Bull smiled, just as three Cubans approached them and one asked for permission to sit under the large shade tree.
'Yah kin sit wherever yah wants,'� Bull said and the others agreed, nodding at the trio.
The three men sat next to Houdini and Sweet Jimmy, who slid over a couple of feet to make more room.
Manuel DeJesus had been a proud man, who had owned his own carpentry shop, in Havana, before Fidel and the revolution. He hated working for the likes of the Murphy's but he had a large family to support. His two teenage sons, who were willing to do just about anything to stay out of school, helped him and were paid three dollars an hour while he was paid four-fifty.
Actually, he felt lucky to be working at any job, having a brother who was a highly trained attorney who had just come over from Cuba and was working as a janitor for free rent and seventy-five dollars a week. The irony for Luis DeJesus was that the building in which he now worked was owned by a former high-priced corporation attorney in Havana; he had faced Julio Otero many times in court, now he faced him with a mop in his hand.
The Cubans were soon joined by four other Hispanics, two Haitians and two Mexicans, who always seemed to sit off by themselves. All four of them had something in common, as they were all living in the United States illegally. The two Haitians were running from a political war while the two Mexicans were running from abysmal poverty and three dollars an hour to them translated into big money, considering they sent most of it home. The Mexicans, Gaspar and Pancho Ortega, both hoped to marry a gringa (American) and thereby stay in the United States legally, dreaming of the day they could send enough money back home to get the rest of their impoverished family's to America. Both campesino's knew the Murphy's were coyotes (con-men) but they both had worked for as little as two dollars a day back in Mexico, and felt they had no choice but to take whatever they could get. The two Haitians only wished to stay in the country another day and thus stay alive another day. All four men were skilled journeymen bricklayers.

*********

'Those four wetbacks is sho' bustin' they humps, huh Ben?'� Bill Murphy queried his brother, as both men sat looking out a makeshift window in a makeshift plywood shack they used for an office and tool shed.
'Yeah, they sho is Bill,'� Ben replied, swallowing the remainder of a bottle of beer.
'Hail Ben we gettin' in some Co-lum-beans tomaw-raw maybe we fire the niggahs?'�
'Ah dunno Bill, take 'at big'un, the one they call Bull. Shee-it, he'us swinging a sledge hammer diz mornin' like it'sah finish hammer. Man, they makin' us money. We aw'ready got Dave for a hundred grand. We keep this up we'll get that quarter mil' and more.'�
'Yeah? Too bad for Dave; he plays too much golf. Yeah, he deserves whatever we give him. I think we'll keep the niggahs a lil' while longer, that big one is sho' strong.'�
Ben Murphy nodded and exhaled a stream of noxious smoke.

********

Other eyes were also taking in the huge form of Bull Lindsay, as Lorene and Annabelle Murphy strolled towards their fathers' field office and Lorene giggled and hissed:
'Owweeeheheee, that niggah's big Annie.'�
'Yeah, not lack that Ronnie Scott, the lil' runt.'� Both girls broke into peals of laughter.
'What you girls laughin' at?'� Ben questioned as the two walked into the shack.
'Oh nothin' Daddy,'� Lorene replied, then added:
'Oh Daddy, Annie and I want to go out tonight, to a movie?'�
Ben Murphy stubbed out his forty-first cigarette of the day, put his fifth beer to his lips and reached into his pocket. Throwing her a set of car- keys to one of his five automobiles, a 1965 Thunderbird, he barked:
'Sho thang hon-nee, here take the Tee-bird.'�

********

That night Annabelle and Lorene drove around Liberty City in the T-bird, eventually stopping in front of a vacant lot. Annabelle nodded at Lorene, as she lit a cigarette.
'Way-yull this is the address I got outta Daddy's files.'�
'Well Annie what'd jah expect? They're all outlaws. What wuz you gonna do? Pay him?'�
'Ummm-hmm you think he'd take it girl?'� Annabelle cracked, causing both girls to break out in nervous squeals of laughter.
'Well, what're we gonna do now? Go slummin'?'� Lorene queried, lighting a cigarette.
Annabelle leered wickedly at her cousin then smiled deceptively and hissed:
'I know jes' the place.'�

*********

The men were sitting around four large tables, chattering and laughing, and there were several more extras this evening, sharing the bounty.
Bull Lindsay was guffawing at something his uncle had said and grabbed another piece of cornbread when all eyes moved to a buxom female, who was walking towards the table. Bull saw her coming and winked at Sweet Jimmy, who laughed loudly when she grabbed Bull's sleeve.
'C'mon hon-nee it's after seven.'�
Houdini smiled, as Bull stood up.
'You ain't gettin' yo' twelve hours tonye Bull.'�
As Bull sheepishly stumbled behind the bronze beauty, Sweet Jimmy yelled after them:
'You better make sho' Bull gets down to the co'nah by six innah mo'nin or Ah have my ol' lady aftah yo' black behind, girl.'�

*********

Bull escorted the girl into a small nightclub, just off Miami Avenue. She made a slight protest for she had wanted to go to the Black Pussycat, an all night disco just around the corner, but Bull needed to get home as soon as he could and he knew that the Black Pussycat, for him, was strictly a weekend hangout.
*********
All heads and eyes turned at the sight, seldom seen in the Black Pussycat, or in the neighborhood, for a white face was seldom seen in Liberty City, unless it was in a blue uniform.
Annabelle and Lorene Murphy strolled into the club and were immediately hit on by every Lothario present.
A fight broke out and a man was stabbed in the chest with an ice pick. The police and an ambulance were summoned and Annabelle and Lorene, seemingly upset whether the man might live or die, waited almost fifteen minutes before being coaxed into their car by the two winners. The wounded man was eventually taken to the hospital by a friend as the police, who were never really expected, didn't disappoint.

*********

Double-A was in a heated conversation with Sweet Jimmy, while Big Jimmy Summerhill sipped iced tea. The trio were the last stragglers at Big Jenny's. It was almost 9 p.m., and Big Jenny was preparing to leave. Double-A was trying to get Sweet Jimmy to see things his way.
'Yeah, well Brain got everybody outta jail and I'�'�'�'�'�..
'Got 'em out shee-it Dub-ill they sat innah cell for a week, nex' time it'ah be ah month.'�
'The Brain's gonna sue the city.'�
'Gonna sue the city? It's the system ain't gone change, Dub-ill, shee-it, when you gone know that Dub-ill, dah system sucks. Mufukkas tries tah scare and intimidate you, tha' all they been doin' fo'evah. It ain't nevah gonna change; You ol' mufukka's don't never wanna admit shit man. They gone kill niggahs anytime they wants to and they gone get away wid it. They gots all the money and all the power and it's time we niggah's starts gettin' some too.'�
Double-A stood up and frowned. He knew Sweet Jimmy had been in jail on more than one occasion simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time; that and having a black face. It had happened to him and practically every other black man he knew in Liberty City. When the man needed a collar a black face was their answer and Liberty City was one of their primary hunting grounds. Double-A smiled at Sweet Jimmy and shook his head.
'Well, I'm goin' home tah bed, lawwng day tomerah, I see yah at dah corner Jimmy?'�
Sweet Jimmy made no reply but Big Jimmy nodded at Double-A and said:
'See yah 'roun' Andy.'�
Big Jimmy was throwing punches at an imaginary opponent, as he and Sweet Jimmy walked down Biscayne Boulevard, on their way home, taking the long way around.
'When you gonna fight again Big Jay? Shee-it, wha'uz up las' month man? That whi' boy from San Diego stopped you? Shee-it, you kayoed him last time.'�
'Oh man, I dunno Sweet Jay, you know, I jus' din' feel right, you know? Anyway, nex' time gone be different. I'm gone be ready man. In shape too.'�
Big Jimmy stared straight ahead and nodded at his compatriot who followed Big Jimmy's gaze. A short bald man was rubbing against a woman, who was moaning. She spied the two black men and quickly pushed the man away. He looked nervously about and stuck a large set of keys inside his coat pocket. The woman scowled and hissed:
'Did you lock-up Gil?'�
'Yes-yes, let's go, I need it tonight, bad, baby.'�
They walked to a car and pulled away quickly and Big Jimmy nodded towards the rear door of the large department store they had just left. The metal door appeared to be cracked open and both men hurried over to it. Big Jimmy nodded at his friend.
'You thinkin' what I'm thinkin' Big Jay?'�
'Ah'm thinkin' mah fambly is hurtin' an' I feels lack goin' in dat sto' and takin' some thangs.'�
'Ah'm wid you Big J, less' go,'� Sweet Jimmy yelled, and they both slipped inside the store.

*********

Three blocks from the store, Cy Norman and Clem Hopkins cruised slowly in their patrol car.
'Ah'm tellin' yah Clem we din' have nothin' on 'em, shee-it, Ah wished one ah 'em wouldah been carryi.n', shee-it I'd ah plugged 'im. Leas' they sat in the county a week, huh, what?'�
'I said pull over man, I think I see a light on in that department store. C'mon, let's check it out.'�

*********

Inside the store, Sweet Jimmy stuffed three new suits into an already overstuffed suitcase and yelled:
'C'mon Big Jay get some ah these suits.'�
'Don't need no suits, needs money,'� Big Jimmy said, staring at a cash register.
Sweet Jimmy walked over and handed Big Jimmy a crowbar, one of two he had grabbed out of the tool section of this well-stocked department store. They struggled briefly, then finally, after wedging both bars in the drawer, it popped open with a loud ping. Both men looked disgustedly at each other. Big Jimmy slammed it onto the counter and spat:
'It's empty man, empty.'� It was at this very instant that the rear door flew open and both Jimmy's were staring into the hateful countenances of Cy Norman and Clem Hopkins. Hopkins cocked the hammer back on his drawn .38, which sounded like a cannon going off, in the barren, tranquil store.
'Git dem hands innah air, niggahs!'�
'Ah'll go right,'� whispered Sweet Jimmy, as he ducked under the counter and took off running, Big Jimmy doing the same thing in the other direction, as Hopkins began firing indiscriminately at both men. Cy Norman drew his revolver and imitated his partner, after all it was always open season on fleeing felons, especially in the ghetto.

*********

Clem Hopkins lit his fifty-first cigarette of the day and smiled at his partner. They had just helped a pimply-faced ambulance driver and a paramedic load the enormous bulk of Big Jimmy into the bed of an ambulance that Hopkins now rested his foot on. Cy Norman exhaled a stream of noxious smoke and spat:
'Way-yull paht'nah yah really plugged diz one, heh-heh couldn't miss dat fat ass huh? I mean it looks like you got a hole in one, huh, heh-heh-hah.'� Hopkins was about to reply when Sweet Jimmy, who had been bludgeoned into unconsciousness, rolled onto his stomach and moaned. The two cops smiled at the other two city employees and walked towards the inert form of Sweet Jimmy, to finish their handiwork.


-8-
KANGAROO COURT


If there is any way to determine what the word 'justice'� means, man with his limitations has never yet found the way.
Clarence Darrow, Verdicts out of Court (Chicago:Quadrangle Books, Inc.) p.302.




'Now where the hell is Sweet Jimmy?'� exclaimed Bull, as he slumped down onto the sidewalk, his broad back landing with a thud against the wall of a liquor store. In ghetto's, in America, there was never a shortage of liquor stores, guns, drugs, card games or poor people, although there was almost always a shortage of affordable housing and decent jobs.
'Shee-it, too bad now, here comes the truck,'� said Houdini, hauling himself to a standing position, as the Murphy brothers' pick-up screeched to a halt just opposite the men. Bill Murphy spat out the window and barked:
'You boys wanna keep yah jobs? Git in!'�

*********

That afternoon, the men collapsed around a partly framed out building and Houdini and Double-A walked across the street to get the food. Five minutes later, they returned and Houdini collapsed under a tree, while Double-A passed around the food. Noticing Bull was absent, Houdini nodded at Pogee-bait.
'Pogee, where'd Bull go?'�
Pogee-bait stared at a slice of sweet potato pie he was holding just inches from his watering mouth and frowned. He lowered it slightly and glared back at Houdini. In a hurry to take a bite of the sugary pie, he snapped:
'Went in'nah shack, one of the bosses daughter's said she needed sumpin' heavy moved.'�
Houdini frowned and glared towards the shack, as Pogee-bait bit into his pie. Double-A smiled and said:
'Shee-it Hou-dee. Them girls jes' wanna give 'im the eyeball, you know how all'ah'um honey's likes ol' Bull.'�
'What'd you girls need moved in here?'� Bull asked, stepping into the plywood shack.
Lorene Murphy, sitting on her father's makeshift table, pulled her skirt up, revealing black lace panties, that she quickly removed and threw at Bull's feet. She leered at him and hissed:
'Lift this'shah, bay-bee'hee-hee.'�
Both girls laughed hysterically as Bull's mouth dropped open and he stumbled backwards knocking a large purse off a wooden bench. A large bottle, labeled aspirin, fell out and the pills spilled onto the ground. They indeed looked like aspirin tablets, but in actuality they were Benzedrine, an amphetamine sulfate used to stimulate the central nervous system and which both girls were intoxicated on at that very moment.
Slamming the thin plywood door shut, Annabelle pushed her breasts against Bull's enormous fifty-inch chest and purred:
'Was'smattah Bull-lee don'jew lack watt garls?'� She began unbuttoning her flimsy blouse, revealing pale white breasts, wearing no brassiere underneath.

*********

Bill Murphy pulled the truck to a screeching halt in front of the work shack and he and his brother jumped out. He had just downed a six-pack of beers and had won a ten dollar bet that he and Ben had had, with their absentee partner, Dave Aspins, who had made a very rare visit to the jobsite, and was now on his way to a nearby golf course. Ben Murphy gave a slight push to the shed-door and when it didn't budge, frowned and put his shoulder to it and pushed harder, causing the shirtless Bull to topple face-forward onto the now topless form of Annabelle Murphy.

*********

Houdini stared at the makeshift plywood shack and stood up, an uneasy look on his face. Double-A frowned at him and took a swallow of a coca-cola.
'What's up Hou'dee?'�
Houdini nodded at Double-A and Pogee-bait, then towards the shack.
'What the hell's goin' on in there?'�
Double-A and Pogee-bait followed his gaze and saw that the plywood shack was seemingly sliding across the ground. Houdini started walking towards the shack when a scream was heard and Houdini's pace quickly hastened.
As Houdini raced into the shack, Lorene and Annabelle Murphy stood screaming in the corner while Bill Murphy clubbed the lifeless form of Bull Lindsay with a 2' by 4'. Lorene screamed when her father reached for a sledge hammer which he quickly dropped a second later, the victim of a still potent left hook, left over from Houdini Powers' days in the prize ring.
Following with a roundhouse right-hand with all his weight behind it Houdini quickly knocked Bill Murphy unconscious just as he was about to club Bull again.
Double-A and Pogee-bait burst upon the scene and helped Houdini drag the unconscious Bull out of the shack.

*********

Bull Lindsay regained consciousness in the back-seat of a police car, handcuffed to his uncle, Houdini Powers, while Double-A and Pogee-bait were in another patrol car, shackled much the same, all heading for the Dade County jail
At the jail, the four men were booked in and put into the same cell as Sweet Jimmy. The men were grief-stricken, as was Sweet Jimmy, when it was learned that Big Jimmy had succumbed to bullet wounds, actually bleeding to death, having been shot over four hours before seeing a physician.
Double-A and Pogee-bait were set free, after spending nearly a month in jail, as the prosecutor, Jason Smiley, whose conviction rate hovered near perfection, felt to jeopardize his record on a weak accessory after the fact charge would not enhance his chances of becoming a member of the bench. A slot was opening up and he wanted it. It seemed a well-thought of judge had been forced to step down, after accepting a bribe from an undercover narcotics agent.
Houdini, on the other hand, had been charged with aiding an escaping felon and attempted murder, while Bull was charged with attempted murder and rape. Their bails were set at one hundred thousand dollars apiece but it might as well have been a million because the ten percent, or $10,000, needed for a bail bondsman to get them out on bail, was an incomprehensible task for themselves, their families or their compatriots.
Sweet Jimmy had been charged with breaking and entering, fleeing to avoid arrest, theft by taking, resisting arrest and assault on an officer of the law even though he had two black eyes, a broken nose, three cracked ribs and cracked vertebrae in his spine, while both Clem Hopkins and Cy Norman were virtually unmarked. Sweet Jimmy's bail had been set at a ridiculous one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

*********

Bull and Houdini spent almost five months in jail before their trial began. They were sitting on Houdini's filthy mattress, which he had called home for the past 147 days, when Sweet Jimmy, ashen-faced, was led back into the cell. He had just been found guilty on all counts.
Bull was dumbfounded when one week later, Sweet Jimmy was sentenced to sixty years in prison. But, when Bull tried to console him, Sweet Jimmy shrieked:
'What you expect niggah? We don't get no justiz, man, shee-it, a whi' jury, a whi' judge, a whi' prosecutor, a whi' public defendah who don't give ah shit if I lives or dies. We jes' niggahs to 'em Bull, jes' niggahs. Whi' mufukkas, I'll get even, I'll get even I tells you.'� Sweet Jimmy collapsed onto his bunk and glared at the only white prisoner in a cell with twenty-one inmates. Dennis Byrne, an ex-Marine who had been in a barroom brawl and had been in jail almost a week, met Sweet Jimmy's glare, then stood up and walked towards the front of the cell. He had been let off with a reprimand when no one pressed charges, but was awaiting a friend who was bringing him fifty dollars, the amount of bail that had been set on an old traffic warrant he had yet to pay.
Bull started to walk towards Sweet Jimmy's bunk but the vice-like grip on his forearm by his uncle stopped him in his tracks.
'Leave 'im be Bull, he be right, yule see.'�

*********

A week later, Bull and Houdini's trial began and Bull soon began to see.
It had been discovered that one Henry 'Houdini' Powers had escaped from that very institution located some 55 miles west of Jacksonville in Raiford, Florida that Sweet Jimmy had the previous day been interred at, and the very same institution the prosecutor was now attempting to return him, along with his nephew, to. Prosecutor Smiley spent a great deal of his time haranguing on Houdini's past. It seemed, he had been serving four years for cashing checks on a bogus account and, even though he had served forty-nine months, Houdini had still had almost two years left on his sentence when he had escaped. The extra time had been tacked on when Houdini had assaulted a prison guard, after being struck from behind by that very guard, and for inciting a riot when he had led a hunger strike in protest of the prison's living conditions.
Bull's charges had been reduced to attempted rape, indecent exposure, lewd and lascivious behavior, aggravated assault and attempted murder. Houdini's charge of aiding an escaping felon, a ridiculous charge in that Bull had been unconscious, and attempted murder, had not been reduced. Annabelle and Lorene Murphy had both fled to Pennsylvania and refused to testify, but their depositions had been given and were used to maximum effect by Smiley, who inferred that both girls were too terrified to testify, or even set foot in the same State as the two defendants. They were both led in and out of the courtroom, during the entire trial, handcuffed and leg-ironed to each other, and were quickly and easily found guilty by an all-white jury.
Bull, a first offender, had, nevertheless, pulled fifty years, while Houdini, a two-time loser, was sentenced to life. Both men had repeatedly asked for permission to consult with Harold 'Brain' Wilson but were unequivocally denied this request, throughout the entire trial.

-9-
THE JOINT


I can think of nothing, not even war, that has brought so much misery to the human race as prisons. And all of it so futile.
Clarence Darrow, Verdicts out of Court (Chicago:Quadrangle Books, Inc.), p. 313.

The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by entering its prisons.
Dostoyevski, The House of the Dead.



Three days after they were sentenced, Houdini and Bull sat in a converted panel truck, that served as a prison bus, on their way to the penitentiary in Raiford. Bull stared out the window and saw about two dozen prisoners working on the roads.
'Hey Unc', how come only brothers on'nat chain gang?'�
'Shee-it Bull, 'em's prisoners from the county jail up in Jacks-ville. Shee-it, the whites aroun' here don't like tah see they own kind doin' 'at shit. Shee-it, the whites got it harder fo' it, ask me, shee-it gotta sit aroun' all day innah jail cell, leas' the brothers get out and get some exercise. Shee-it, I never wouldah escaped if I hadn't gone out on workin' parties.'�
'Yeah? Yeah you did, we gonna 'scape huh Unca? We ain't gonna spend dah rest our life in Raiford fo' sumpin' we din' do; are we Hou-dee?'�
Houdini looked at the forlorn, pleading face of his nephew, as the panel truck slowed down considerably, almost at its destination. Bull and Houdini looked out the truck's front window to stare at the huge, glaring white apparition known as the Florida State Pen. Set down on a huge, barren plantation of land, it was a very foreboding, intimidating sight and, as Houdini glared at it, his jaws clenched noticeably and his countenance metamorphosed from one of stoicism to one of anger, as his mind rolled back the years and it seemed almost as if it had been but yesterday that he had been a prisoner there. His nostrils opened wide and Houdini veritably growled at his nephew.
'Yeah, we gonna 'scape Bull, we gonna 'scape.'�

*********

Inside the yard, the truck pulled to a screeching halt and the front door slid open. A man dressed in an all white uniform nodded at the prison guards aboard the truck and they stepped out, their shotguns at the ready. The order was given for the prisoners to get off the bus, and, as they did so, a trustee, dressed in a solid white uniform, screamed instructions in their faces:
'Y'all move it now or ya'll be sorry. I'll'�'�'�'�'�'�.
The trustee's voice stopped in mid-sentence and Bull could plainly see he was staring at a tight-jawed Houdini, as if he had seen a ghost.
'A'rye' foller me.'� The trustee's face turned ashen-white, almost the color of his clothes.
He led them down a long dark hallway where he pushed the first two prisoners into a room but gave a wide berth to Houdini and Bull, as they came into the room. He ordered everyone to strip off all their clothes, as they were about to be measured for prison attire.
A man dressed in a pink silk shirt and white pants did the measuring, while a short fat white-haired man gave them their new uniforms. When the thin gawky youth in the pink shirt saw Bull, now sans any clothing, his eyes magnified, as he lisped:
'My-my-my wha' do we have here, ooohh ah big one, my-my, lookee here.'�
'Keeps yah muffukin' hands off me faggot,'� Bull growled and the pink shirted trustee jumped a foot backwards. Regaining his composure, he winked, then smiled at Bull, showing a mouthful of decaying, rotten teeth. He nodded at the other trustee and then towards Bull.
'Ohhh-wheee ah tuff one, bettah give him the bigges' uniform we have Freddie, my he'll certainly fit into New-Cock Court, oohhh such a big one. They're going to love you, sweetie.'�
Bull's hand made a fist, but Houdini grabbed his forearm and whispered:
' It's aw' rye Bull. Grab yah clothes.'�
They were given their uniforms, a gray shirt and baggy gray overalls with a wide white stripe down the middle of the pants. Houdini nodded at them and then at Bull.
'These white stripes marks us as new-cocks Bull. New prisoners. In ah cup-ill weeks we'll get the stripes taken off and join population. Lis'en, 'ese mufukkas in white pants is only prisoners like us, but they is trustees. Yeah, mos' ah 'em is sissies too, yeah, stay away from 'em. If things ain't changed since my last visit here, cell Gee-five is where the girls are.'�
'Gahh, girls?'�
'Sissies Bull. They lets 'em dress like girls, stay away from 'em. We gonna be put innah laundry or dah kitchen after a cup-ill weeks in quarantine.'�
'Laundry, kitchen? How you knows Unca?'�
'That's all us niggahs do inside Bull, you'll see that things ain't too much different here 'en they is in Liberty City, the whites is boss here too, Bull. Yup, they boss here too.'�
As they were led down a hallway to the I.D. section, Bull noticed there was a large sign hanging in the hallway that said there were to be no loud noises at any time. He smiled, as he watched the trustees yelling at the new prisoners but his smile disappeared when they came to the I.D. section, where a fat bald prison guard stood, the stub of a cigar barely poking out between his fat pink lips. He quickly confiscated everything over ten dollars from the dozen or so new prisoners and then began pacing back and forth in front of the group.
'My name is Mistah Joe, ya'll hear?'� He stopped in front of Houdini and his eyes widened, as if he were looking at a ghost.
'Way'yull, lookee here, lookee here. So, you back again huh Powers? Houdee'knee. hah! And who's this, yah fugg-boy?'� Bull scowled and his hand made a fist but a shriek was
heard, coming from somewhere close-by, and Mister Joe's face turned a crimson purple, as he turned and barked:
'What? That sounds like Fee-Fee, MY FEE-FEE!'�
As he was running out of the room, another trustee smiled at Bull and hissed:
'Fifi's his favorite tush-hawg, sweetie. My, you are some swain, you are. Have you been taken yet?'�
Bull's scowl turned lethal, as Houdini barked:
'You know what's good for you, you'll make tracks, understand?'� The trustee, a notorious transvestite, paled but quickly walked away from Houdini and Bull.

*********

Bull shook his head at his uncle and growled:
'Hou'dee, why we gotta sit innah dirt?'�
'It's quarantine Bull, just for a lil' while. Hey, lookit here, it's Sweet Jimmy.'�
Sweet Jimmy and another man walked up and Sweet Jimmy and Bull and Houdini embraced and Houdini smiled widely.
'Shee-it, Sweet Jay, don't let 'em see yah in New-Cock Court man. Shee-it, they send yah black ass to the flattop.'�
'Shee-it, flattop don't scare me Hou'dee.'� Sweet Jimmy smiled, referring to the starvation cells that all prisons were equipped with. Houdini, who had been in the flattop in the past,
scowled, as Sweet Jimmy nodded towards another prisoner and wrapped his arm around the man.
'Hey Hou'dee, Bull, this is Ali Abdullah Mohammad.'�
Ali Abdullah Mohammad shook hands with Houdini and Bull and smiled. He was about 5'8'� in height and 145 pounds, and had short, wavy reddish hair. His skin was so light that he appeared almost white and his eyes appeared to be almost the same dull reddish color as his hair. He nodded at Houdini.
'Pleased to meet you Powers. Houdini Powers. I've heard that name mentioned in many lockups across the country.'�
'Oh? Where you from?'�
'Well, I was born in New York but I've spent a great deal of time on the west coast, 'Frisco, L-lay, Oakland.'�
'Oh, what brought you to Fla'dah man?'�
'Business Houdini; business.'�
'Yeah? Well, you picked a bad state to get busted in man. This is one mean joint.'�
'Shee-it, Mohammad can 'scape anytime Hou'dee, he escaped from Folsom, he's educatin' us here, he's only here 'cause'�'�'�'�'�'�'�'�
Sweet Jimmy's glowing tribute was cut short as Ali Abdullah Mohammad glared at him solemnly, then jerked his head a fraction of an inch and walked away, causing Sweet Jimmy to back up also and yell at Houdini and Bull:
'My name's Rasha Mohammad now, Jimmy Bell's a slave name. You guys are gonna go before the board in about a week. Gonna puts you innah mess or laundry, niggahs don't do much else here, even though we outnumbahs the whi's five tah one. Latah!'� Sweet Jimmy clenched his fist over his head, signifying the Black Power salute but Houdini merely smiled, as he and Bull nodded their farewells.

*********

A week later, Houdini was assigned the laundry detail and Bull pulled mess duty, with Sweet Jimmy, in the kitchen.
'I'm tellin' you Bull Ali can 'scape anytime. He kin make you think he's dead. I seen it. He's a magician.'�
'Yeah! Why'nt he 'scape then?'�
'He's only here tah educate the brothers Bull. We Black Muslims Bull and you gonna learn we speaks the truth. The whi' man a e-vile mufukka, he what keeps us down. He put you here Bull, me too. It's the same in Liberty City, you know? Ain't no liberty in Liberty City. Iz us against them.'�
'I don't know about dat Swee' Jimmy.'�
'My name's Rasha Mohammad, Sweet Jimmy's a slave name.'�
'Raw-sha? Okay Rawsha. You know Hou'dee's been in an out a jails all 'is life and he says they's good whites and bad. Says we can't be bitter at 'em fo' the color a they skin. Says they's rich black folks bad as rich whi' folks. He knows some black folks jus' as prejudice as whi' folks. Hou'dee says he ready to call any white man a brothah as well as a black man a enemy if dat man is no good. Says the color a yo' skin don't mattah, and if we start hatin' and killin' 'em just 'cause they's white we gonna be bad as they is.'� Bull deposited a soapy dish in the sink.
'Hou'dee say, Hou'dee say, aw'wees what Hou'dee say, shee-it Bull it'us ah whi' jury 'at put 'im in here fo' the res' ah 'is life.'�
'Hou'dee say we can't hate 'em fo' that, 'cause if we do it gonna eat us up. What about yo' soul Sweet Jimmy?'�
'Soul? You'is in here fo' sumpin' you din' do, Bull. Come to our meetin's Bull, we educate you man. Did you know the man that discovered blood plasma was black? Huh? That's rye Bull, Mohammad tol' me. You know what happened to him? Huh? His name was Charlie Drew.'�
'Charlie Drew? Hey, the Drews lived on sixty-firs'?'�
'C'mon Bull, ain't no relation to them. This man was a scientist, he discovered blood plasma, the same blood plasma that saves millions of lives every year. I tell you what happened to Charlie Drew. He died in ah mufukkin' crackah No'th Carolina hospital. Yeah. Know how he died Bull? Huh? He had ah car accident and they took him to this whi' crackah hospital in No'th Carolina and they din' take niggahs in'niz hospital. He laid there and bled tah death Bull. The man who discovered blood plasma, that saves millions a people from bleeding to death every year, HE bled tah death on the floor of a white No'th Carolina hospital 'cause they din' treat niggahs.'�
'Ah din' know 'at Swee' Jimmy, shee-it, imagine that.'� Bull saw a brief cloud of anger on Sweet Jimmy's face and quickly stammered:
'Oh yeah, I mean Raw-sha.'�
Sweet Jimmy's scowl slackened and he nodded.
'Yeah, all'ah'em whi' devils like 'at Bull, all'ah 'em.'� Sweet Jimmy saw two white trustees, who had stopped in the hallway and were looking into the kitchen, and he threw a dish at them.
'Yeah, g'wan whi' devils, before I slices yah up.'� The two white trustees disappeared quickly, but Sweet Jimmy continued his tirade:
'Shee-it Bull, you knows I'm right, look what happened to Big Jimmy. They shot 'im innah back. He din' have nothin'. We wuz just runnin', tryin' 'ah get away. Now, you knows Big Jimmy, he nevah wanted tah hurt nobody? They kilt 'im 'cause he'us black, ah-ehhhhhh.'� Sweet Jimmy choked back a sob and Bull grabbed his forearm.
'It'll be aw'rye Sweet ah, Raw-sha, man, c'mon man we can'�'�'�'�'�'�'�'�..
But Sweet Jimmy wretched his arm free from Bull's grasp, and snarled:
'It ain't gone be aw'rye Bull. Shee-it, looks at the whi' man sideways and he'll cut yah balls off. That's rye, just like they done to brother Judge A-ron. That's rye Bull, Ali tol' me. They done cut this brother's balls off, down in Alabama, just 'cause he'us black. That's right, he was'in doin' nothin', a bunch a whi' devils castrated him jus' cause he'uz black. Ain't no justice for the black man Bull, we gots to make our own jus-tiz.'�
'Yeah, well less go git some chow before it gets col' now Sweet, ah mean Raw-sha'?'� Bull smiled at Sweet Jimmy, who followed him into the mess hall, still rambling on about how the black man's time was coming.

*********

A few days later, Sweet Jimmy was sitting in the yard talking to Bull, when a fight broke out in the corner of the prison yard reserved for the galboys, who swished and swayed their way back and forth in front of a dozen or more swains. When the swain decided to proposition one, he would call her over and whisper something in her ear and they would rendezvous in an upstairs two-man cell. The swain would then either pay her off with cigarettes or take her as a jailhouse lover and more than one fatality had occurred over a transvestite galboy.
The three men watched as a black prisoner, who had been talking to a white galboy, began screaming and punching her until she fell to the ground, where he spat on her.
'Good, good,'� Sweet Jimmy said, standing up to see better. 'That's 'at filthy Low-rene, she ah e-vile mufukka causes a lots a trouble here, dressin' up like a woman.'�
The black prisoner who had knocked Lorene unconscious was last seen heading towards the mess-hall, cursing Lorene, the prison, society and himself for stooping so low. As he opened the mess-hall door he screamed:
'Mufukka, I used to be a man.'�

*********

News in prison spreads fast and bad news, almost the only kind there was in Raiford, spread even faster. The killing of John 'BoDiddley' McNeil, the black prisoner who had punched the white transvestite, Lorene, was the reason for the gathering of over three-quarters of the prison's population, the majority of them being black. They were congregating in a corner of the yard and listening to one of the speaker's, who was straddling a bench that most of the inmates used to bench-press barbells on. It was Sweet Jimmy and he was in a hostile state of mind.
'We gonna let 'em get away wid diz shit? Mufukkas kilt Bo 'cause he'uz black and that filthy sissy was white! It's that plain and simple brothers; they stabbed Bo a hundred times and we can't let 'em get away wid it, we gotta get payback and we gotta get it now. Let 'em get away with this shit we might's well lay down right here and now and let these mufukkin' gal-boy faggots run the yard.'�
'Rasha's right,'� exclaimed Booker T. Washburn, using Sweet Jimmy's Muslim name, as most cons did. Washburn was an ex-bank robber doing life for robbing a bank of sixty dollars and ten pounds of blank paper a fast-thinking teller had slipped into his bag. Washburn was a replica of Bull Lindsay only fifty pounds heavier and three inches taller. Weighing almost 270 pounds, he bench pressed five hundred and fifty pounds and could catch a fly in mid-air. He was the most feared man in Raiford and a well-known and often-repeated story about Washburn concerned a fight he had engaged in with a black-belt karate expert, who had picked a fight with him looking to bolster his rep. The karate expert had lasted less than thirty seconds with Washburn, but had needed fifty stitches and two weeks in the hospital to recover. Washburn surveyed his fellow prisoners and nodded towards Sweet Jimmy.
'Rasha is right brothers. You all know me. I'm color-blind, I aw'wees have been, but I'll tell you this, those punks in there ain't white or black to me, they's yellow. Bo was one of us and everybody here knows it. I say we get some payback NOW!'�
'WAIT! Wait a minute,'� yelled Ali Abdullah Mohammad, jumping up, onto the weight lifting bench Sweet Jimmy stood on.
'If we go in there now we're dead meat. DEAD! I say we go on an en mass hunger strike then we can get what we want and we can also.........
'No way. No way Al-lee.'� Washburn cut Ali off abruptly and surveyed the population of prisoners before him.
'I respects you Al-lee. You got some good ideas, you've always been a stand-up con. You've got us some good rights and educated a lotta brothers since you been here but this is different.'� Washburn pointed towards the mess-hall, where prison administrators, guards and trustee's, all those responsible for the merciless, senseless killing of BoDiddley McNeil, awaited what they knew would eventually come and boomed:
'Ah'm going in there 'cause I knew Bo nine years and I don't know what was on 'is mind when he talked to 'at filthy Lorene, but I know all he ever did for the nine years I knew him was spit in they direction. Now I'm goin' in there and get some payback 'cause I know that's what Bo wouldah done fo' me, an' if I gotta go to hell fo' it de Lawd knows what's in my heart and my soul.'� Washburn looked around him, then quickly turned and was heading for the mess-hall in an instant, Ali screaming for him to come back, the others staring at his disappearing backside.
The stunned prisoners heard the screaming that quickly reverberated out of the mess-hall door as it opened then slammed shut, behind Washburn. The roar of gunfire and each and every prisoner in the crowd knew what had just taken place inside the mess hall. Ali stood looking at the crowd and opened his mouth to say something but it was useless, he could hold them no longer, as they were off in a flash, en masse, Sweet Jimmy in the forefront, and almost as one they were running towards the mess-hall, picking up clubs and tools, weight-lifting bars and whatever else they could get their hands on, as they ran towards the now-barricaded mess-hall. Most knew they were facing an almost certain death but they went willingly, they went courageously and they went with the knowledge in their hearts and souls that they, of all people, in the land of the free and the home of the brave would live like men or die trying. Those with shivs suddenly had them in their hands for there was murder in their eyes and there was murder in the air.

*********

The television in the Assistant Superintendent's office blared loudly but the Assistant Superintendent was oblivious of it, as he was on the phone, trying to calm down the Superintendent of Raiford, who had been at home when he had first heard the news.
As the Assistant Superintendent, who cared only about saving his job, spoke into the telephone to a Superintendent who cared only about keeping his job, and both men told the other lies of what had happened and the causes for the tragedy, as they pondered what lies they would further tell the Governor that day, the news media gave a somewhat similar fabrication to the general public, as the television blared forth:
'Trouble out at the State Pen in Raiford today where a group of mostly black inmates overwhelmed a minority of mostly white trustees, prison guards and administrators. Several guards have been taken as hostages and four white trustees have been reportedly brutally murdered. There are also a reported fifteen white trustees and guards awaiting emergency medical treatment resulting from this most violent confrontation in many years. The disturbance is said to have been racially motivated as it was ignited when a black inmate serving a life-term for bank robbery was killed while attacking a white prison administrator.'�
No mention was made of the fact that eleven black prisoners laid dead in the mess-hall, their bullet-riddled bodies ignominiously strewn about the blood-splattered wreckage that had once served to feed the inmates, of that very same penal institution.

-10-
MURDER MOST FOUL


Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange and unnatural.
Shakespeare, Hamlet. Act I, sc. 5, 1. 27.




Double-A, Pogee-bait, Slick Powers, Cannonball, Davy Crock and Lil I all gathered around Brain and the scattered trial transcripts, on the top of his kitchen table.
'Fellas, it don't look good for Houdini or Bull but the good news is that Sweet Jimmy should be released within the next couple of weeks, and that's according to Morrie Dixon.'�
Double-A nodded and said:
'The legal-aid lawyer you been workin' with Brain?'�
'Yup. In fact Morrie says Sweet Jimmy shouldn't even have to go through another trial. The cops didn't miranda'size him, the judge didn't follow proper courtroom procedure's, there was no substantiated evidence, the list goes on and on.'� Brain slid a piece of paper towards Double-A, who smiled and glanced at Pogee-bait, who reached for the paper. Double-A could see it was an important letter, he recognized the letterhead as being from a State Court. But, beyond that, he was as helpless as a little baby for Double-A had never gone to school and had never learned to read. Pogee-bait, Double-A's main running partner for over a decade, held the paper about a foot from his face, as the others glanced over his shoulder. Davy Crock, who had but a third grade education and could barely write his name, caught Brain's attention and barked:
'What about that cop'at shot Big Jimmy?'�
Brain frowned and shook his head.
'Well, the police won't identify him and he's been cleared by a police board so'�'�'�'�'�.
'A pooo'leeece board, shee-it Brain. They ain't gone NOT clear they own man?'�
Brain shrugged his shoulders and nodded, then smiled slyly.
'You're right Double but remember Sweet Jimmy can identify him. They won't release his name but we'll get him yet.'�
Double-A grinned at Pogee-bait, who smiled and rasped:
'Brain knows the sco' Double, you knows that?'�
Brain smiled at his wife, as she freshened his coffee and then asked if anyone else needed fresh coffee.
Pogee-bait nodded and was getting his cup refilled when Cannonball said what was on everyone's mind, as they all smiled and nodded in agreement with him.
'Yeah, yo' a lucky man Brain havin' a lady like Opal fo' yo' wife.'�

*********

In a police unit, sitting just across the street from Brain's well-lit-up apartment, Clem Hopkins rattled on, at his partner Cy Norman.
'Ah'm tale'lin yah Cy, Ah cain't sleep. Those black mo'fuckahs is tryin' tah get me. I know it man. That fuggin' wase-ass Wilson and'nat smart-ass lawyah Dixon; fuggah's gone git that Jimmy Bell outta Raiford and he gone eye-dee me and then shee-it, Ah'm's good as daid. Fuggin' niggahs'll fuggin' get me. They all sneaky as shee-it.'�
'Shee-it Clem, you gettin' para'noy'ah. They ain't gone get that niggah Bell outta the pen. Why you think it was a closed trial? Yo' name was kept outta all the papers and media'un shit. Why you think I'us the only one called to testify?'�
'I gave a depo, you remember that, don't yah?'�
'Yeah, but he don't know your name?'�
'Man, they got ways Cy. Are you kiddin'? Bell done probably gave my description down to the fuggin' color ah my eyes. Niggahs gonna get me man, I know they are. That fuggin' Wilson gone get my name, he knows all them cheap legal tricks. Fuggin' Brain, shee-it, niggah!'�
'Clem, you ain't thankin' straight?'�
Hopkins glared up at the bright apartment of Harold 'Brain' Wilson and hissed:
'Cah'mon Cy, let's go see what they up to.'�
Norman frowned when his partner pulled his piece and opened the car-door.

*********

Cy Norman motioned for Hopkins to stand on the other side of the door-frame and banged on Brain's front-door.
'Po'leece, OPEN UP!'�
Opal Wilson was opening the door when Hopkins barreled his way into the room, Cy Norman fast on his heels. Both cops had their revolver's drawn. Norman looked at the men surrounding the kitchen table and barked:
'Get them hands innah air.'�
Hopkins glared at Brain, the only one with his hands still on the table, where he sat sipping a cup of coffee. Hopkins recognized him immediately and roared:
'Get'dem han's innah air, NIGGAH!'�
Brain shook his head when Cy Norman bellowed:
'Do as my partner says niggah, stand up and put yo' hands innah air.'�
Brain shook his head reluctantly and smiled, when he saw Hopkins pointing his gun directly at him, then sat his coffee cup on the table and began to get up from the table. He had one hand in the air and was raising his other one, being half-out of his chair, when a page of Sweet Jimmy's trial transcript fell onto a damp part of the kitchen table. He reflexively reached out for it, lowering his half-raised right hand and that's when the hair-trigger on Clem Hopkins' revolver went off.

-11-
STARVATION CELLS


If the son makes you free, you shall be free indeed.---John 8:36

PEACE, Peace! He is not dead, he doth not sleep----------
He hath awakened from the dream of life.---Shelley, Adonais. St. 39.



Since the riot, now six months in the past, Bull, Houdini, Sweet Jimmy and Ali Abdullah Mohammad had spent all their time in the flattop, the isolation cells, where they were fed almost nothing edible. Sweet Jimmy was the worst off, he had lost over sixty pounds. Always slender, he was now an emaciated skeleton. Bull had lost twenty-six pounds and was miserable, but seemed to have lost very little of his enormous strength. Houdini had lost around thirty pounds and, although his spirit was unchanged, his physical appearance displayed his worsening condition. They were all in desperate need of food and exercise. Mohammad appeared to be in the best shape, but his physical appearance belied his worsening psychosis. Houdini shuffled across his cell; his posture was noticeably stooped now and he could no longer eat what they served. Bull and Mohammad were the only ones who still made an attempt to eat the brown lettuce, uncooked rice and moldy bread. Sweet Jimmy had been vomiting everything up for several days and hadn't eaten anything at all for the last two days. Bull looked at the emaciated skeleton he knew was Sweet Jimmy and said:
'Gee-zuz Sweet Jay, we gots to get you a doctor.'�
'You know mah name's Rasha, Bull! Doctor ain't gone do nuffin' but stick a needle in mah arm, gimme ah B-12 shot. You seen 'im befo' Bull? Is all they ever do.'�
Bull, whose cell was directly across from Sweet Jimmy's, muttered to himself and sat down on his filthy mattress. Houdini and Mohammad, whose cells were on the same side as Sweet Jimmy's, asked Bull how Sweet Jimmy looked, as Mohammad pulled a small mirror from underneath his mattress. He held it outside his cell bars and called to Sweet Jimmy:
'You aw'rye Rasha? Don't be too hard on your brothers, they been knowin' you as Sweet Jimmy too long. Rawsha. RAWSHA?'� Mohammad looked over at Bull, as he couldn't get any reflection of Sweet Jimmy in his mirror.
'He don't look good,'� Bull said, when Sweet Jimmy coughed and spit up blood, in an attempt at answering Mohammad.
Sweet Jimmy walked towards his bunk but collapsed after the first few steps. Bull, Houdini and Mohammad all screamed for the guards and, after nearly a half-hour, they finally showed up and Sweet Jimmy was taken away on a stretcher, ostensibly to the prison hospital.

*********

A week passed and no word of Sweet Jimmy's fate reached the flattop. Since the riot, even the prison grapevine had noticeably broken down. A mournful Bull Lindsay did the slammer shuffle, a walk that took him to the only real place you could get to in a prison cell, nowhere. He stared across the aisle-way into Houdini's cell, and said:
'Hey Hou'dee, how much longah we gonna have to stay in'niz mufukkin' fla'top?'�
Houdini, sitting on his bunk, scowled and said:
'Shee-it Bull, pro'blee 'til they carries us out like Swee' Jimmy.'�
'Yeah? Oh man, I'm hungry. Geez-zuz Hou'dee, we gone die. Gawd, an' all dose brothers dead. Shee-it why'd we let those guards go Al-lee? We shoulda done got mo' payback, shee-it. All those brothers dead and now looks like we gone join'num?'� Bull looked over into the two cells across from his and spat on the floor disgustedly.
'Well Bull, we'd have surely been slaughtered like dogs if we'd have got anymore payback, you know that?'�
'Shee-it, maybe we'd be bettah off fo' it, too.'� Bull collapsed onto his bunk and glared across the aisle-way at Ali, then added:
'Say Al-lee, what's 'at white cross you gots tattooed on yo' shouldah there, 'at cross wid'em lines ovah top ah it? I seen 'at same tattoo on some whi' pris'nahs. I 'membahs you tellin' us they's whi' Muslims too, is that what it is? They Muslims too?'�
Mohammad smiled and glanced at his shoulder, the tattoo was clearly fading, it was over two decades old.
'Naw, it's just a symbol for incarceration, you know, being locked up. I got this tattoo twenty years ago when I was doin' my firs' bit. I was doin' two tah life for ah Bee'un' E, yeah I had a bad habit in those days, horse. Yeah, left over from the war man. It was out on the coast, Soledad, a real mean joint.'�
'Yeah? How long you do?'�
'Less than two years, I escaped.'�
'Escaped?'�
'Yeah, they was transferring me to San Quentin. I din' want no part of it, I heard they meant to back-shoot me.'�
'You hear 'at Unca' he 'scaped. Shee-it, wish we could get outta here? When we gonna Hou'dee? Shee-it, I can't take much mo' ah diz shit. How 'bout it Al-lee? How'd you 'scape?'�
Before he could reply, the door to the flattop opened and a white trustee rolled a tray in, a guard following just to his rear. The trustee's arms were so covered with tattoo's that you had to look twice to see that they were tattoo's and not the sleeves of a colorful shirt. As he rolled the inedible garbage into Mohammad's cell, the trustee dropped a tiny, rolled-up piece of paper by Mohammad's feet, inside his cell. As soon as the metal door to the De-Seg. Unit closed, Bull nodded at Mohammad, then towards the paper.
As Mohammad unrolled the paper, Bull and Houdini exchanged questioning glances and waited for Mohammad to say something. Mohammad's face suddenly turned angry and he spat:
'Our brother is dead.'�
'Wha...who? Sweet Jimmy?'�
Mohammad nodded and Bull growled:
'When?'�
'Same day they took him outta here. This message is from Sa-heed, a Muslim brother, it says Rasha, that was Jimmy's Muslim name, as you know. It says Rasha died an hour after he arrived in the hospital.'�
'Mufukkas. They starved 'im tah death. Them vitamin shots din' help none,'� Bull wailed.
'Calm down Bull. Ali, did you notice how careless the guard was when he served us?'�
'Yes. Now that Rasha's dead they will become careless.'�
'Yeah, they gonna think we's all too weak to do anythin'.'�
'Yeah, you and Bull should be able to overpower a single turnkey.'�
'What 'bout you man?'�
'I'm goin' out now.'�
Houdini smiled laconically.
'What? You gotta blow-torch in yah pants?'�
'Listen carefully brothers. I'm going to die in here, right now. No matter what anybody tells you I'm alive. I am going to put myself in a self-induced state, a trance, in other words. Don't worry I will not injure myself.
'Sweet Jimmy tol' me you could do that,'� Bull barked, as Houdini's brows furrowed together and he spat:
'I heard a this shit but I don't believe it. Never seen anybody try it. Seems impossible.'�
'I need complete silence. When you see me fall on the floor, call the turnkey's.'�
'You do this they be callin' YOU Houdini, huh Unca'?'�
'Shee-it, be callin' 'im Gawd.'�
Mohammad shot Houdini a vicious sneer and Houdini motioned to Bull for silence. Ten minutes passed, then twenty and Houdini was just about to open his mouth when Ali Abdullah Mohammad's lifeless body slumped to the floor. Bull stared dumbfounded at the body, then at Houdini, and said:
'He looks dead to me Hou'dee!'�
'Well, let's call the turnkeys.'�
Ten minutes later, they were dragging Ali's inert carcass across the cement floor when his head banged against his cell door and Houdini scowled and barked:
'Well, if he ain't dead yet, these idiots'll kill 'im.'�
The guard shot Houdini a vicious sneer and Houdini knew what he had to do, for he and Bull. He knew that Mohammad would have done the same thing, as he growled:
'Lookit us in 'ere. We need food. I can't stand up. This is gonna get out, this is gonna get out. The media's gonna hear about this. You done killed two of us already. We'll all die in here.'�

-12-
THE LEGEND DIES


If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.
Corinthians 1:26




'Dead! I don't believe it, he can't be dead.'� The black inmate rubbed his goatee and glared at the speaker, then fell back limply on his filthy jail-house bunk, in the Dade County jail in Miami. The speaker, a heavyset black man scowled and barked:
'He's dead aw'rye. I din' believe it mah'se'f 'til I heard it while's I'us gettin' booked. Two cops talkin' 'bout it man. Yeah. He's dead aw'rye, a red-neck cop done shot 'im innah head.'� Bobby 'Shake' Hawkins looked around the room full of inmates and realized he had their full attention. He was talking about a legend in Liberty City.
'Shee-it, I'us supposed tah see 'im diz week 'bout gettin' my Bee-in-E-yah dropped to illegal trespass, shee-it!'� The speaker, a short, stocky black inmate, glared at Hawkins and then turned and began the slammer shuffle, walking in circles.
'Yeah, and he was supposed to see me about my case this very day,'� another black inmate lamented sorrowfully, as similar cries reverberated throughout the jail-cell.
Hawkins, who was due to see Brain that very afternoon too, suddenly gave an all-encompassing sneer to the entire group, then snarled:
'Shee-it! Iz dat all you niggahs cares 'bout? Huh? Now you ain't gonna be able to get some help fo' yo'se'f. The mos' righteous brother that ever lived is dead. DEAD! And all you niggahs cares about is yah damn-se'ves. Shee-it, y'all makes me sick, see-eee-ick!'� Hawkins turned his back on the inmates and walked away. The crowd broke up quickly and, almost to a man, they muttered and cursed under their breath. There was a ton of emotion in the cell-block that day, and it was all sorrowful. Suddenly the room became still, absolutely silent. A wail began and it was a
piercing cry for help, help that could only come from one source now, at least as far as this inmate was concerned, as his lilting words turned from soulful to harmonic and he could be heard throughout the entire floor.
'Jesus is tenderly calling thee home, Calling today, calling today,
calling today; Why from the sunshine of love wilt thou roam
Further and further away?
Calling today; Jesus is
Calling, calling today;
Jeeeee-suz is ten-der-lee call---------ing, Is ten-der-ly call----ing to----day.
The man could sing and more than one hardened con was forced to turn his back on his fellow inmates to put his hands to his eyes, on that blistering hot afternoon in the Dade County jail.
-13-
THE MAGICIAN LIVES


For it is written:
'I will destroy the wisdom of the wise;
The intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate.---Corinthians 1:19




'Dead! This man is dead! Do you read me officer? This is the second death attributed to the flattop, in the last week.
'Sir, are you certain he's dead, I mean this is Ali Mohammad and there's been rumors'�'�
The doctor stared at the guard then at the captain of the guards, standing just to his rear, puffing on a half-lit stogie.
'Rumors Officer?'�
'Yessir. Some trustee's have come to us and well, it's been said that he can fake it.'�
'Fake what?'�
'Ah, that he's dead sir.'�
The doctor stared at the prison guard in disbelief, then turned towards the captain.
'Captain I AM a medical doctor. This man's heart has stopped. It is not beating. Do I make myself clear?'�
'Ah, yes sir.'�
'Captain, this is the second death attributed to the flattop this week. I think you better make some changes up there.'�
'Cha . . . . changes sir?'�
The physician put his stethoscope in his bag and glared at the captain of the guards, then at the guard standing next to him.
'I suggest you start feeding those men some real food, Captain. Must I see the warden on this?'�
The captain almost choked on cigar smoke but cleared his throat quickly and stammered:
'Ah, ah-no, no sir, it'll be taken care of sir.'�
The doctor narrowed his eyes and looked at the captain, then his minion and bellowed:
'See that it is Captain, see that it is!'�

*********

Ali Abdullah Mohammad's body disappeared on the way between the funeral home and the graveyard. There were two gravediggers, both working for the State, and they would not be paid if they didn't have a body. Bobby 'Bo-Bo' Boskins made the decision when he grabbed his .22 caliber rifle that rested on his gun-rack inside his van, that doubled as a hearse, and shot a large mongrel dog. They buried that dog that day in the grave meant for Ali Abdullah Mohammad and, after the burial, Bo-Bo and his partner, Dave 'Digger' Ryan, drank for two days without a break and soon forgot the story of the missing corpse, in fact, they soon forgot that whole day completely.

********

Bull and Houdini were fed real food but, at first, it made little difference, for their stomach's had shrunken so much that they couldn't get more than a few bites in them, at any one time. Finally, after a month, the majority of their strength returned and they were even beginning to exercise in their cells when they saw their chance, overpowered a guard and escaped.

*********

The prison grapevine cannot always be relied on but one thing is for certain, it is never far from the truth, the gospel truth, and the last word that came down through the grapevine was that Bull and Houdini were somewhere in Canada. Word was that another man was also traveling with them; he was a compact, tightly muscled, light-skinned black man whose fiery oratory was said to equal that of Malcolm X; and he went by the name of Ali Abdullah Mohammad.

-14-
SUICIDE IS PAINLESS

The wicked man'�'�'�'�'�'�..is caught in the cords of his sin.---Proverbs 5:22

Suicide is the worst form of murder because it leaves no opportunity for repentance.
Churton Collins, Aphorisms.



Bill Murphy stared at the bottle and frowned. It was empty; he had drank the whole quart of whiskey. He glared at a ream of court papers spread on his kitchen table. He was alone in his house in Coral Gables and things were crumbling around him, as he and his brother and partner had all been charged with a dozen counts of defrauding the government. Besides being paid one sum and paying out another, for their fictitious workers with fictitious social security numbers, they had been using an engineering firm and had been double-billing, that is getting paid twice for one piece of work. The engineering firm had been in on the scheme but had turned State's evidence to save themselves when push came to shove and they were interrogated by federal prosecutors. Dave Aspins, their erstwhile partner, had fled to the Bahamas with most of the cash and no one could locate him. Murphy went to his kitchen cabinet and got down an old bottle of muscatel. He sat down and was working on his third glass when the phone rang. It was his sister-in-law and it seemed his brother Ben had just been taken to the hospital, the victim of a massive heart attack. Murphy rang off and walked to his bedroom. He walked to a dresser and opened the top drawer, where a lone .38 Smith & Wesson revolver resided, along with a box of cartridges. Murphy removed it and walked back out into the living room. He sat down at the table and scowled at the court papers and then at the .38. He was due in court the following day, out on $150,000 bail. His brain whirred but the devil had taken possession of his soul long ago and he tightened the grip, as Bill Murphy put the gun to his forehead and pulled the trigger. He slumped onto the floor, a pool of blood already forming where the bullet had exited from the back of his skull; jagged pieces of brain-wet bones and meat splattering the walls and newly installed decor.

-15-
LIBERTY IN LIBERTY CITY


Swear, fool, or starve, for the dilemma's even;
A tradesman thou! And hope to go to Heav'n.
Persius, Satires. Sat. v, 1. 168. (Dryden, tr. 1. 204.)

Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 5:10




It was almost seven in the morning, and small groups of men congregated on various corners throughout the black ghetto known as Liberty City.
On one such corner, four men sat, their backs slumped against the cement-block wall of an all-night liquor store. One of the men flicked a habitual resident of Liberty City, a cockroach, off his pant-leg and accepted a bottle handed to him by Ike 'Lil'I' Baydow. Taking a long, hard swallow on the bottle of cheap wine, the first he had had in over a decade, Pogee-bait looked over at Double-A, sitting next to him, and said:
'I don't know Dou-bill, we been playin' diz ol' Unc'a Tom so long maybe we is done fo'?'�
'Yeah, you might jus' be rye brothah,'� Double-A replied, as Cannonball King handed him a bottle and barked:
'Is sum Ol' Grandad, take a pull.'�
'Yeah, I will, thanks.'� Double-A accepted the offered bottle and put it to his lips, just as Pogee-bait ripped a wrapper off a Baby Ruth candy bar and wailed:
'Oh-meeee, my Lawd, Swee' Jez-zuz where is you? Where ee'yuz you? Brain is gone, Sweet Jimmy is gone. Big Jimmy'�'�.gone; they's all dead. Bull and Houdini is onnah lam, hunted like dogs. Lawdy, Lawdy Swee' Jez-zuz come to us we needs you, we needs you.'�
'Ain't no Gawd,'� said Cannonball King, throwing the now empty bottle of 'Old Grandad' into the street and grabbing the bottle out of Lil I's hand.
'Don't'sah jew drinks all mah Toe-kay Cannon,'� Lil I slurred as Double-A admonished Cannonball:
'Don't you blas-feem now Cannon'.'�
Cannonball smiled and growled:
'I do whats I wants to Pogee, all yo' preachin' ain't never done you no good. Look where you is, jus' like us?'�
Pogee-bait's forlorn face was a study in misery, as he moaned:
'You gots to believe Cannon', you gots to, 'specially now wif' allah 'ese bad things happenin', we needs dah Lawd mo'n' evah.'�
'I 'on't needs no 'bah'ee,'� Cannonball shrieked, swallowing the last of the Tokay. He glared at Pogee-bait and sneered:
'Dee Lawd don't lib here in Lib'eree Cee, he lib up air in dah whi' fo'ks'sss 'hoods, in 'ey man-shuns and in 'ey minds, shee-it, 'ey made 'em up fo' whats 'ey wants tab bah'leeve. What's 'sssmattah Po-gah-gee, you does'n' sees how he treats us'sah? Like shee-it. He tree'is damn ol' dawg bettah'n us. Naw, Gee-zuz don't lib in Lib'eree Cee.'�
'He do too, he do, more'n anywheres, I knows, I knows, he, he he'ps you if'n you loves 'im Cannon. I, I knows him, I KNOWS HIM, I tells you!'�
'Ahtheeewhooooo. Where wuz 'e in foree-nahn when the whi' debbils lynched mah brother in Mississ-papee? Huh? Where wuz'zee when'nah poo-leece kilt Big Jimmy? Where wuz'zee when 'ey kilt Brain? Where is he now? Look aroun' jew Pogee. How is it we libs like diz. Huh? And if you complains he kills you like 'ey done Big Jimmy and Brain and Swee' Jimmy and Joey my brothah, oh, shee-it.'� Tears streamed down Cannonball's haggard countenance.
'But...but Cannon 'ey went tah heaven, them others'�'�'�'�'�'�'�..
'What? Where 'ey went, tah hell? I don't bah'leeve 'at ol' bi-bell shit, dah whi' man the debbil I tells you.'�
Double-A put his arm around Cannonball's shaking shoulders and tried to console him:
'It's aw'rye Dou-bill, things gonna get better.'�
Cannonball jerked free from Double-A's grasp and got falteringly, to a standing position. He grabbed the wall, and blubbered:
'Naw, things ain't gonna be aw'rye I's seben-dee years old, thangs iz through fo' me, I'm broke and beat down. I'm a bum, and I ain't got no future. Bub, I gots sum mon-nee fo' hah, a bottle, c'mon Ike-kee.'�
Lil' I, knowing where the liquor would flow the most, gave Double-A and Pogee-bait a bemused grin and stood up to follow Cannonball inside the liquor store.
An old, brown Ford pick-up truck screeched to a halt in front of Pogee-bait and Double-A and a pimply-faced youth leaned out the passenger window and said:
'You boys lookin' fo' work? Got room for two mo'. Pay's good; heavy construction. You boys wanna work?'�
Pogee-bait nudged the bottle of Old Grandad just enough with his foot so it rolled out of sight. He looked into the mournful eyes of Double-A, who was also struggling to get to his feet, just as Pogee-bait began stammering:
'Yessuh, we wants work, we is good workers, we'�'�'�'�'�.
The faces in the truck-bed turned Pogee-bait's head sideways, almost as if someone had slapped him.
All familiar, all blacks from around the neighborhood. Silent, long-drawn faces, bowed heads, humbled from want and need and families that depended on them. Pogee-bait stared at them as if they were ghosts, which, they indeed were to him. A big, husky ex-pug from around town metamorphosed into Bull and then he saw Houdini, and Sweet Jimmy and Big Jimmy all staring back at him, from the bed of the pick-up, all with looks of despair.
Double-A stared at the now silent Pogee-bait and nudged him as he walked towards the truck. The young, pimply-faced youth frowned at Pogee-bait and yelled:
'Look, you boys want work or not? We're payin fo' bucks a hour. You boys wants work? Make up yo' minds. They's other corners in Liberty City; shee-it we'kin go to Eighth Stree'.'�
Pogee-bait's jaws tightened noticeably and he spit out what had been a bitter taste he couldn't seem to swallow. He glared at the youth with what would have been a warning to anyone but one so young, and what started as a quavering voice became a emotional crescendo of statements that led to an avalanche of years of frustration and abeyance of his true feelings.
'No, we ain't goin' wid jew, we wants work yeah but we ain't niggahs, see, we lookin' fo' work, but we lookin' fo' a decent wage, and a decent man to works fo'. We ain't lookin' fo' no slave-labor wages, workin' no man-killin', back-breakin' days fo' no money-hungry-suckahs like you. You come back and talk to me like a man, not no anee-mal. You hears me BOY? I'm a man, I'm old 'nuff to be yo' Grandaddy and you callin' ME A BOY! Yeah, g'wan you whi' debbils.'� Pogee-bait yelled after the truck, as it pulled away from the curb. He picked up a mayonnaise jar and threw it at the truck, hitting the fender.
The last thing Pogee-bait remembered was the faces of the men in the back of the truck. Looks of disbelief and astonishment then understanding. Pogee-bait's legs seemed to suddenly give out from underneath him and be collapsed onto the pavement with a resounding thud.
Cannonball and Lil' I, who had watched the confrontation from the entrance of the liquor store, walked over and plopped down next to Pogee-bait. Cannonball smiled and handed him a newly opened bottle of Old Tennessee, which Pogee-bait gladly accepted. Wiping back tears with the sleeve of his heavy work shirt, he threw his head back and took a long swallow of the liquor, then smiled at the three men surrounding him. He felt a serenity and calm that he hadn't felt in years. He knew be would have to find work sooner or later, but, for now, he just felt good; he felt like he was part of something bigger than himself, like being in a brotherhood or a family, he felt like a man, like a human being, communing with his fellow brothers; his fellow human beings.

*********

Jacob 'Whitey' Heinz relit his second cigar of the day and puffed on it greedily, from the side of his twisted mouth. He smiled at his 16-year old son, Pincus, and then glanced in the back of the truck-bed to see the four blacks sitting down and raising the collars of their heavy work-shirts to better escape the windy, early morning chill. He winked at his son and took the cigar out of his mouth. It was a sign his son should pay attention, as Heinz very rarely talked about anything unless it involved money. But this was an exception, for his son had to learn the business and he was about to impart wisdom, wisdom learned from over thirty years in the business world. His son looked over at his father, who exhaled bluish cigar smoke from his mouth and nostrils and, in a gruff, gargling voice, croaked:
'One thang you gonna have to learn in diz biz-ness son, yup one thang'�'�'�'�
Pincus 'Pinky' Heinz followed his father's gaze in the rear-view mirror, to where Pogee-bait was just lowering his arm after throwing the mayonnaise jar at their truck and waited for the wisdom he knew was coming, and Jacob Heinz didn't disappoint:
'Yup, one thang Pink-kee, yah gots tah remembah; niggahs iz funny!'�