50 ) - I need help
My husband of 23 years and partner for 25 years left me 6 months ago. I thought I was doing well, but I am not. I am so broke and sad. I brought my husband, who is Hawaiian home to the island he grew up on. He was dying spiritually in Ohio, where there is no salt air to help him survive. I made the suggestion for us to sell all that we could to get back to his home for him to get better. Well, after living in a one room shack on the beach with no water or inside toilet (we had an outhouse) we finally saved enough to rent a place. Housing in Hawaii is very very expensive. Our rent is 1600.00 a month. With all of working we knew we could do it. However, my husband had other intentions. He was secretly seeing someone else and eventually walked out on me, my two daughters and four grandsons. Then I got laid off my job so now my income is unemployment. My daughter is getting low income housing but I cannot live with her. I want my own place so bad. If I only could save enough to get a little studio apartment or rent a room in a house, it would make me SO HAPPY!!! I don't want much, but I would love to experience going shopping for food and clothing or any other items that we may need. What do I do? How can I provide for my family and make myself happy? I think I still am in shock over my husband. I have tapped all my resources. Is there anyone that I can help me or am I doomed? Any response is so welcomed. I have always been a giving and caring person and once I get back to a place of security I will be that way again. Can anyone help me?
Janet O.
 Thursday, June 24, 2004 at 15:27 |
49 ) - To my self
Dark , dreary, and alone; although my age begged the differ, I was a abandoned child left to fend for it self. Stuck in a secluded pit of personal hell, I ravaged to find what made me. I wished everyday that something would come and end my loneliness. Nothing came. The realization that I would die was clearer as time went on with out me. The idea of death began to consume me. Every moment of my life was fixed on the thought of that day, hoping that one day she would find me. Even with my greatest of compulsions, I deprived my self of this horrid salvation. Hope of welcomes, dreams that would never come true, fantasies of a vivid relationship that would clear my body and mind and save me from my solitariness; fancied me to believe my day would come. So I watched each chance fly by. I contemplated as everyone ignored my gazes of hope and redemption. I was nothing to everyone, but I believed my self to be everything for someone. Someplace amongst the rejects or even the most atrocious of lives. No one bared me a kind heart, nor did they seem to bother to see me. I am someone, at least I use to be. Over time my mind became my best friend. I talked and conversed unto my self, speaking only loud enough to hear my inner being replicate a familiar voice. I had no idea who this person was, nor did I care. I took great pleasure in speaking and asking it any question I had. This voice was and still is my friend.
Elaborately I became better at speaking and responding my inquiries. This inner voice began to form its own personality. One that I was fond of. Even with this new found friend, I feared drastically for my soul. I had not been saved, just set aside once again. Only this time I was the perpetrator. I still sought the consultation of another, even though another was not to be found. I new my life was near its bottom, but I refused to believe it. I would ask my friend what I should do next, but the only advice it could give was to stick by its side and not to worry. I trust it, still there are times that I believe it doesn’t know better. That it is just a figment of my imagination. That it has no reason behind its logic. I was doomed to lead my life according to its word.
One morning as I rose from off a sea-blue bed, in my fifth floor apartment, I walked through the stock pile of useless essentials I had laid carelessly. It spoke to me. It told me to look outside and gaze their for thirty minutes. I had no other reason but to listen to it. I walked to the window that it spoke to me about. I pushed aside the dirt covered blinds and gazed out. Nothing was their, but I was vigil in a search for something I knew nothing about. Then it spoke to me again. This time telling me that I was to see a girl dressed in blue and she would come around the corner of Grindle St. and Hobs St. I watched and scanned for this ominous girl, nothing had come to sight. After a period of forty minutes I was tired and commenced to dress my self in a fashionable manner. I hoped to find some clue on how to uproot this feeling I had deep inside. I sluggishly ambled down a flight of stairs that had a endless aura of sick impure thoughts. I was accustomed to this as I experienced it ever-cense I first stepped foot into the main door. I strolled down the street. I didn’t notice at first, but I was crossing Grindle and Hobs St. There around the corner I saw an illusion, a fancy, and a dream come to life before my very eyes. A young lady full of life and dressed in blue turned the corner as it had told me so. I was astonished, but not surprised that it was right. Times before it had told me of other things to come and all those time they came true. I was confused. What did it want me to do? I had to conclusion of what was on its mind. I ask, but no response was given. I was left alone to decide what I should do.
She kept walking and my time was running shorter. My head swivelled with thought that made no sense, nor did I want them to. Her figure began to blur as she walked further away from me. I needed more time, so I began to follow her. She was a beautiful lass. Her hair vibrant as it glowed red in the sun. Her pale complection was full of hidden life. Her eyes as I caught a glance of them, where a bright and luscious green. I felt obliged to speak to her. In those few precious moments I fell in love with her. I wanted her to be wedded to me. I wanted her for my self. I could not let anyone else even contemplate the image of her no more. I needed her to be mine.
She turned into a large apartment complex. The sign above the door read “Taft Apt.”, it was engraved in black stone with white lettering. I waited a bit, then I followed her. She walked up a dozen stairs that resembled classic marble with gold railings. She halls where wide and the decorations seemed priceless, but nothing was more priceless then the mere visions of her being mine. She stopped at a door and unlocked it with her keys. She glanced around. I moved to a door, pretending that I was a occupant. She took no serious notice of me. I was nothing more then just another person who happen to be going home at the same time. She entered. I felt the a rush through my body as I hurried over to her door. The trimming was of an oak tree and the door knob made of brass. I so dearly wanted to open the door and present my love for her, but I couldn’t. It urged me on. It told me that she was the one, there was no one better to understand me. I felt my arm reach for the knob, but I quickly grasped wit with my other hand. I had never before lost control of my limbs. I thought to my self, its just your eagerness. I stepped away and began to walk to the end of the hallway. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that she stepped out. She was in a hurry and didn’t close the door properly. I watched with heavy fixed eye as she ran by. It told me to go into her room. She had done that so I could enter. I could not comprehend why she would; nevertheless, I happily entered. I closed the door behind me as I walked through the portal that lead to my salvation. I leisurely looked through all the cabinets and all the hidden places that my love could place her things. I scavenged for anything that could hold me off till she arrived. Soon I heard the doorknob turning. I ran over to the closet as she opened the door. She was shocked to see her room in shambles. I felt bad, so I walked up behind her and gave her a hug. She was startled and began to yell. I quickly ran over to her and held her tight, covered her mouth and told her everything will be alright. She struggled, but I couldn’t let her go so easy. I love her so much. I really do. That’s why I did what I did.
I don’t know where or why things went so wrong. I mean. I loved her. What more could she want. Instead she refused me. I began to cry and yell. I sat next to her as she remained quiet on the bed. There was knocking on the door. It was the police. They threatened to burst in if I didn’t open the door. I couldn’t just great them in. We still weren’t dressed, so I told the officers to wait. They didn’t listen. They couldn’t comprehend that she was just tired after all the love making we had done. They tell me I was covered with her blood, but I didn’t see it. I think they are just jealous of our love. Who wouldn’t be. It was perfect. They also tell me she was married, so I told them yeah I know. She’s married to me. I don’t think they understood what I wanted from her. I don’t think she understood what I wanted from her. I just wanted her to bare me my child. What’s wrong with that?. Funny thing though. I don’t remember her name. I don’t know anymore. I don’t trust it. I think it was the one that called the police. Good thing I met you. Don’t you think?
Monday, June 21, 2004 at 12:05 |
48 ) - The Day the CPOD Circus came to Town
The Day the CPOD Circus came to Town
By
Donald R. Williams
“Lieutenant Cobb, we found this journal left on the bed in the kid’s room. There are no clothes or shoes in the closet. Someone must have helped them clear out, it is the cleanest room in the house. Both parents are on the way to the Martinez Rehab Clinic, to dry out. We found the mother huddled underneath the kitchen sink, and the father hallucinating in his bedroom closet. Who ever called this in wanted us to find the parents.” The patrol officer said, handing the wire bound tablet to his superior.
“You guys watch your step, and for God’s sake beware in how you reach for stuff. There are Crack vials, and dirty needles all over the damn place. All I need is for one of you guys to get stuck, and come down with HIV, or worse. Just be careful.” He responded with mixed emotions of disgust at the surroundings and concern for his men. He walked out to his unit, sat down, lit a cigarette and started reading the journal.
The reason we had to do this.
My Mother and Father are hooked on drugs. For that reason, my seven years old sister, Martha and I live in a world, which is not real. Our world is filled with imaginary friends. They are invisible goddesses, heroes', warlocks, shamans, and white witches who cast their magic spells. These saviors rush to our rescue, and calm our fears at night. Stuffed green turtles' with masks and swords let us cry on their furry laps. Our muted comforters listen with us, as we absorb the echoing sound of time-rusted bedsprings, in synch with the male grunting of yet another stranger fucking our mother.
Martha trembles with each footstep pausing at our bedroom door. I hold her closely and whisper false reassurances in her ear, praying to any god that would heed our call. Because of our fear, we've learned to sob silently, waiting for the day we'll leave. Time is our Jekyll and Hyde. Our pharaoh, returning each evening, brings with it a darkness from the shadows of the street; spewing its harvest of whistles, sirens, screams, shattered windshields, screeching tires and gun shots which seem to only happen during its nocturne. Our saving grace is the dawn, mercifully pushing the scary things away.
Each day, before Martha and I began our two?mile trek to school, our parents performed their habitual morning ritual. Half sleep, half hung over, and unsure of exactly where he is at, my father would feel his way down the short hallway of our two bedroom Morgan Project's home. Loud gurgling coughs are, usually followed by horrid sounds, producing large globs of clouded bloody sputum, propelled upon faded decorated mirror tiles. He would desperately search for an acceptable cigarette butt among the menagerie of empty beer cans, cheap wine bottles, junk food wrappers and discarded crack vials.
From withdrawal ticks, he constantly scratches his vein-collapsed arms, and then rubs his filthy hands across his soiled face. Cockroaches never ceased to emerge from his matted dusty brown hair, quickly descending his skeletal, scarred body. After putting a flame from the burner of our badly stained gas stove to a half smoked cigarette then beckons us to him for a hug, afterward he slumps on the kitchen table as if exhausted from a hard night’s work. He would reach for a leftover, half-filled beer bottle, swig the stale amber fluid, and swallow.
His breath reeked of vomit and his clothes of shit. Father always a stranger to gainful employment, is a dead man waiting to take his place among the dishonored dead. His sole contribution to our family’s survival had always been covertly pimping our mother. I still love my father, but I do not know why.
Mother would shuffle slowly past us to my father; shoving a wad of crumpled currency into his hand. Trying to conceal his pleasure at the money, he stuffs it into a waiting pant pocket. Needle tracks, tired eyes, and an array of bruises spot my mother’s caramel colored skin. By looking, a person might guess at one time she had been very pretty. In the days before the drugs came along, she was a cocktail-waitress, her petit frame and pride in her job, made her somebody.
In those days, Martha and I would rub her smooth tired feet when she returned from work. At that time mother was virtuous, a real woman, and a real mother. A symbol of strength and confidence; she was an organizer, banker, decorator, warrior, diplomat, visionary, a life teller, and the world's greatest cook. Her deep smothering hugs gave us assurance to face another day. She smelled of spring flowers on Sunday mornings before church and cookie dough on Saturday afternoons.
Now her body odor is foul and surrounds her like a shield. She forgets a lot. At times her mind wonders, and she stares into blankness, looking at nothing and occasionally a tear would fall. It makes me wonder, could she be treasuring moments of days long past. Could it be she was looking back at her childhood perhaps? Recalling the school prom and the young dashing suitor, which so elegantly escorted her? These drugs are robbing her mind. They are siphoning her soul. This is a robber like no other. I could accept an honorable thief; some genetic charlatan like cancer that creeps in and claims residence upon brain cells, or selfishly siphons strength from already weakened lungs. This thief is bold and strong. Its mission is not only to steal, but also to ravish, and destroy. Whatever dignity was present is now gone. Labels like “Crack Whore” and “Sewer Slut” become her mantle.
I cannot fight it anymore; so I watch, as this thief walks through my life and take at will the things it desires and sift away the people I love. Mama's long black lye straightened hair always covered Martha’s face when she bent to kiss her. Martha would flinch at the thick stench, which quickly enveloped her. Each time my mothers' thin, scarred arm reached and slowly pulled my head into her breasts and hugs me. She would whisper, “Jacob take care of your sister.” Stepping back, I always closed her robe, to cover her naked body. Then quickly turned away and grabbed my coat, so not to bring attention to her shame, or mine. Thinking maybe, one day she will be somebody again. Maybe, one day she will be free from this prison with invisible bars, and the cell of desolation, which has seized her mind, but I doubt it. At sixteen years old, I know it is time for me to try to make a difference.
Making the phone call was not easy. When I called the Police, it was in hopes they would find our parents and get help to them. My name is Jacob Wesley. My mother’s name is Laura Jean Wesley, and my Father’s name is David (Scratch) Wesley. If you are a cop reading this, then it worked. My parents will finally get the help they need.
Our CPOD circus is formed.
I and four other children in the projects, who are also tired, of standing hopelessly by and doing nothing formed CPOD (Children of Parents on Drugs). Our plan is to stop the drugs, and simply bring about change so neighborhood kids can live a normal life. We realize it may just slow the drug traffic down, but maybe enough to make the difference. So varied in our ethnic makeup we are like a circus act. There is Jimmy Mayfield, a fifteen years old red haired, freckle-faced white kid who is a Wigger, a white kid that sounds black when he talks. His mom died last year of a bad Crack overdose. Both his dad and uncle are residents at ‘The Domain’ Crack house on Cleveland Street in North Oakland.
Arlene Nguyen a twelve years old chubby little Asian lives in building B with her uncle and aunt. The conditions are again, deplorable. She has two brothers who make Crack runs for the minor mules, which stand on the corners, sell and collect money. Her eleven years old friend Latesha Robertson, got us the inside information we needed to carry out this plan. She used to attend church at Majestic’s with her Aunt Dessie, who is a member of the church’s inner circle. Both of Latesha’s parents are like mine, strung out junkies with no future. The last member of our tight little group is twelve years old Fernando Lopez. Like Arlene, his two brothers are also Crack runners.
His sister Juanita is fifteen and hooking in downtown Oakland on Tenth Street to feed the drug monkey that rides her back. Fernando’s dad also died last year, and his mother is, freaked out on Ecstasy. To feed her drug habit she is also a midnight bedroom rider. By this writing, all of our younger brothers and sisters should be safe in Foster homes. As for the five of us, we will be gone on a crusade to other cities to try to do what we have done here. To form other CPOD’s because there are too many like us in other cities. Flowers of the ghetto that is plucked and tossed away.
There are two targets our sights.
Our main target is Rudolph Auterio and his gang the East 9. His mansion in the Piedmont Oakland hills overlooks the greater Bay Area with a breathtaking view. Rudolph rides through the ghetto of East Oakland distributing brand new mountain bikes and twenty-dollar bills to children. The children act as lookouts and sound warnings when they see approaching police. He gives their junkie parents hide away money, so the mules have a place to stash small supplies. One of Rudolph’s main bankers is the neighbor to his left, the Reverend August Majestic. Reverend Majestic is St. James Heavenly Tower Church of God in Christ, Pastor and founder. The large brick church sits adjacent to the Bisby Foundry.
On any sunny day, seven tall ornately decorated stained glass windows send fingers of colored light reaching throughout the thousand seat church auditorium. Known to most people as Majestic, Reverend Magic, or Reverend M, he rules from a throne in the west corner of the church overlooking services. Loyal members of his inner circle handle most church affairs under his strict guidance.
Ushers collect offerings of folding money and checks only, with no coins allowed in the offering plates. Pastor Majestic declared anything other than checks or folding money an insult and sacrilege to God. Reverend M. became close friends with Rudolph six months after moving into the exclusive neighborhood, and launders most of Rudolph’s drug profits through the church’s bank account. With the church’s thousand-member congregation, it is easy to accomplish. Majestic is our second target. He completes our plan.
The one helping grownup hand we needed.
Auterio’s neighbor on the right, separated by a large vine engulfed brick wall, is the home of Cecilia Martinez. Her mansion hosts the annual Policeman’s Gold n’ Silver Charity Ball. She is the most influential member of the Oakland City Council, director of the Alameda County Social Services, and sets on the board of Child Protective Services. Cecelia lost her daughter Maria to Crack some years ago, and her husband overdosed six months after. Attending Majestic’s church is her way to sniff around. Confirming most of her suspicions about Rudolph and Majestic is a mission she will not give up until she gathers the proof she needs to bring them down.
Despising Rudolph Auterio, she filed numerous complaints directly to Oakland Police Chief David Reyes. Her accusations always became, shuffled to the bottom drawer of some rookie's desk drawer. This might also explain why the paid lookouts never see any police coming down the streets. We knew we needed a grown up to help us accomplish our plan, so she was elected. From what we have always heard, Ms Martinez is a person who can be trusted. I hope we are right.
The first part of our plan is a safe haven for the children.
Three weeks ago one late Sunday afternoon, we took our younger brother’s and sister’s to Lake Merritt. We had them play, feed the ducks, laugh and have a day of fun. As the summer sunset began to fall, we watched carefully for Cecilia Martinez’s cream white Mercedes Benz to come gliding down Grand Avenue. We knew she was in route to Majestic’s church. The children were prepped and ready to go. We walked with them up to Cecilia’s mansion and snuck around the back to the pool house.
We instructed the children to sit and watch TV until Cecilia came for them. We kissed them and said our goodbyes. Latesha tacked our note to Cecilia’s front door and we left. The note read.
‘Miss Cecilia, we know that you are a good person who cares about children. In your pool house are nine of our younger brothers and sisters. All of their parents are Crack addicts. Can you please find good homes for them? Although we told them, will you let our brothers and sisters know how much we love and will miss them.’ CPOD’s. The Children of Parents on Drugs
The second part of the plan, we took the money.
Reverend Majestic’s church sits between the Bisby Foundry and the old abandoned Oakland Cold Storage warehouse on the corner. There is a downstairs entrance through the church’s kitchen pantry leading to a wide hallway sub basement to the foundry on one end and the cold storage on the other. Rudolph Auterio kept his money stashed in a locker waiting to be laundered through church collections and deposited in the church’s bank account.
In turn for a nice fee, the church would then make large contributions to Auterio’s so-called education foundation in the amounts agreed upon by the Reverend. This arrangement has benefited both men very well. The only members who had knowledge of this arrangement are the pastor’s wife, Marcie, Lela the church secretary, and Latesha’s Aunt Dessie Staples.
The following Sunday evening, after church services, we came through a broken window at the Bisby Foundry, walked through the sub basement, and found our way to the lockers at the Oakland Cold Storage. Auterio’s locker sat nestled against the back wall adjacent to two other padlocked lockers. It took the combined strength of the boys using the bolt cutters to snap the locks open. In the center of Auterio’s locker sat a large cardboard box on a pallet, containing neat rows of banded currency in assorted denominations stacked to the top. Jimmy pulled out a long blue cardboard sleeve and tossed it to the side, along with other colored pieces of paper. When I had asked him what it was, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Nothing. It ain’t money so it doesn’t matter.” He quipped.
Latesha crossed her arms and frowned. “How are we going to move this box? It is too heavy to drag out of here. And besides with the foundry furnace going full blast, it’s hot down here.”
“That’s just a small secondary furnace,” I replied. “It burns twenty four hours a day. There is no fresh air coming in, that is why it is so hot down here. Jimmy, see that small window up there by the ledge, it leads to the alley. See if you can get it open. If not take a brick and break it. It won’t make any noise because it’s wired.” I had said to him.
Jimmy found a brick and broke out the window. The rush of cooler air carried away the swelter. We all breathed easier after that brief pause, and then I finished giving them the instructions. “Me, Jimmy, and Fernando will fill up these gunny sacks, you and Arlene will drag them to the other side and stack them and come back, until we empty this box…. so let’s get started.” Latesha continued to complain; about the heat, the dust and everything else she could think of. The operation went smoother than anticipated. In filling the bags, we were careful to make them light enough for the girls to drag. We figured it to be a half million dollars or more in the box.
Altogether, we loaded twelve sacks with money. After we emptied the large box, all five of us climbed in to see if we could fit, we did and had room to spare. Jimmy wondered where we were going to hide the bags once we got them out of the building. This is something I had not really thought about. The other lockers had nothing in them to do with the church or drugs. So we straightened up best we could to cover our tracks, and we headed out of the building. Our hardest task was still before us.
Next, we had to hit Rudolph’s drug stash but had to find it first. His house had, been raided more times than a school hallway locker so we knew it was not there. To make matters worse we had to hit it before Wednesday night’s church meeting. Wednesday is the night when Rudolph showed up at the church to get his exchange of money in the form of a cashiers check. The Reverend always makes it a big production.
As we approached the point where we entered, I noticed something unusual. “Latesha, Arlene, where are the bags? You did not have to hide them. We’re going to hide them some where on the outside.” I inquired of the now giggling girls.
Arlene’s eyes wandered and she drew little circles on the dirt floor with her left foot. She was in a playful mood, again acting a lot younger than her age. Then both girls started giggling.
“Well, uh, Mmmmm”
“Arlene, what did you girls do?”
“We won’t have to hide it anymore. It has been all taken care of Jacob. Besides those bags, were too heavy to drag this far. Let’s face it, how were we possibly going to drag large bags of money through the streets of Oakland, and not get stopped?” Latesha boldly stated.
“Ok, c’mon guys lets go get the bags. How far back are they? Don’t remember seeing them on the way here.” Questioning them and, getting very impatient with their silliness, I stood waiting for an answer. They stood drawing circles in the dirt with their shoes. An occasional giggle breaking their silence.
Then both girls pointed towards the secondary burning furnace. Throwing up my arms I asked, “You’ve got to be kidding? No, you did not burn the money, did you?
“Well not all of it.” Arlene said, holding up a stack of bills. It turned out to be about twenty thousand dollars.
“It’s get away money, see? We knew staying here in Oakland, is not an option.” Latesha added. Both girls got all their girlish laughter out, and became serious.
Arlene said, “If we don’t leave this city as soon as possible, when Rudolph and the Reverend find their money is gone, whether we find the drugs or not, we are as good as dead.”
To the reader of this journal, that is what happened to the drug money. We did not steal it. Well, we took the twenty thousand to finance our journey, but nothing else.
The third part of the plan, take the drugs.
Finding and taking Rudolph Auterio’s drugs had to be a miracle sent from God. Tuesday night, we were hiding in the church underneath the back pews waiting for choir practice to end. We were going to search the kitchen pantry, and Pastor Majestic’s office after everyone had left. If you recall last Tuesday night there was a nifty little earthquake. The quake was bad enough to shake things up and break some windows. It turned out that was the miracle we needed.
We huddled underneath those long back pews until the quake ended. After the building stopped rattling, and things calmed down, checking to see if everyone was all right, I noticed Jimmy had some white powder on his back. Four of the long pews had zippered bottoms, which come undone during the earthquake and cut some of the bags of drugs stored there. Rudolph had bags of Cocaine, Marijuana, Pills, and Crack balloons stuffed under those pews. Our group quickly emptied out the pews and wrapped everything into a couple of choir robes.
“What are we going to do with this stuff?” Latesha had asked, knowing what I was going to say.
Laughing I had said,. “Remember that furnace?”
We did not have much time so we quickly made our way to the furnace and pitched the stuffed robes into the waiting inferno. Because of the earthquake, the good reverend and Rudolph would be on their way to the church to check on the money and drug stashes. It was a definite signal for us to disappear.
The last part of the plan is CPOD moving on.
Wednesday morning news coverage highlighted the earthquake. An additional story came on about Reverend Majestic’s church. The story focused on church money being, stolen during the quake. It turned out; the churches money and Rudolph’s money were in the same box. They did not separate the honest money from the drug money. If our group had waited one more day, then all the money we took from the box would have been Rudolph’s stash. Seems as though the long blue cardboard sleeve Jimmy had found between the money was a divider. They did not count the money yet.
Although Rudolph and the Reverend were our targets, we primarily wanted the Reverend to stop doing business with the drug dealer. So burning the money worked out for the good anyway. Rudolph and the East 9 gang split up, or at least that is the rumor circulating throughout the hood. Word is, Rudolph had bought the drugs on consignment and is hiding some where in Utah.
He owes some very angry people from Los Angeles a lot more money than was burned. For now, the drug trade will come to a halt, or at least slow way down, and maybe, just maybe with Cecilia’s help, the Morgan Projects will be changed. Before we left, we put a calling card on Pastor Majestic’s desk, and dropped one inside of the cardboard box in Rudolph’s cold storage locker. Keep watching the news, because somewhere in the country, the unexplained funds and drugs of dealers will suddenly disappear, and you will know it is the, CPOD (Children of Parents on Drugs). Oh yeah, before I forget, we are not exactly alone. We needed another adult helping hand, who travels with us.”
Lieutenant Cobb tore off the business card, taped to the back inside cover of the journal. It simply read in black letters against a solid white back ground…..You’ve been visited by….CPOD. Have a nice life.
“Hey Lieutenant Cobb, watcha got there?” An approaching police officer inquired.
“Nothing, it’s nothing at all. Just something one of the kid’s in the neighborhood wrote for me.” He replied.
Lighting a cigarette, he stood and surveyed the crowd of onlookers, as if trying to find a familiar face. Then withdrew his cell phone and made a call.
“Chief Reyes, better call Cecilia, and Majestic, and have him get in touch with Rudolph. I know what happened to the money and the drugs, and where we can start looking for the ones responsible. Once we find them, we can turn this thing around. I know exactly how we can get our money, drugs back, and more. ” He finished, and in anger tossed the journal on the front seat of his patrol car.
Saturday, June 12, 2004 at 20:47 |
47 ) - Baby Girl
1
Baby Girl
By
Donald R. Williams
When living in the ghetto, pretty, young girls do not remain virgins very long. In the Alameda projects it is known as `the passage of time' when a young unwed girl was no longer a virgin, or as the older women called it, ‘became ruined’. The choices were few. Rev. Dell Carlton, at Oakmont Church of God in Christ would perform these Thursday night weddings, between the girl and her reluctant groom. Everyone in the neighborhood knew exactly what was taking place when seeing the church office lights on, and a parked car in the back lot.
Some sobbing girl with doorknob sized breasts is being forced to marry a boy with less pubic hair than a sewer rat. Through his snide smile, and sarcastic jibes, Rev. Carlton had his ways of airing his displeasure toward the young couple. One way was performing the ceremony in his office, instead of at the altar. The other is not having the traditional wedding vows spoken. He would recite something just legal enough to make it binding by law. Afterward, the young couple would be on their way to stay at either of their parent's home. Not having a bastard child seemed to be the only saving grace to the whole affair. The real mark of shame came when the church secretary would let the malicious gossip leak, a new virgin made the passage of time.
2
The first step…..the calculated risk, the reason.
Therefore, it had been with Ricky Davidson’s best friend, Carla Stevenson. Her ‘passage of time’ had arrived. This night is to be her coming of age party. A time when all the giggles and shyness would make her blush as her young suitor sees her nude for the first time. It is a moment when all the emotions would race uncontrolled throughout her body and mind. Times like this, during the past few years, saw the height of her dormant puberty finally peak. Feelings surged each night she slept, awakening from yet another moist erotic dream. Carla fantasized in her heart the night she officially became a woman would be a night she would never forget, and she was right. The night turned out very different than she ever imagined.
Fingers of light reached through the cracks of the boarded bakery, illuminating the broken shards of multi colored glass, and pieces of marble scattered across an already pebble strewn bare carpet-less floor. This chilly cement surface replaced the smooth red satin sheets resting on a heart shaped waterbed in a warm honeymoon suite, which had always laced her dreams. Her knight in shinning silk pajamas did not romantically dash into the room, and gently sweep her off her feet. Carla’s hero did not magically appear to grant her every whim, and cater to a young girl’s passion, making her feel like she was the queen who commanded all she surveyed. The Romeo of her fantasies did not waltz her around a moon lit patio, carefully balancing two tall glasses of sparkling champagne.
3
His words were not soft and caring, nor did he whisper the predilections young girls yearn to hear on their honeymoon night. Instead, her knight was a strong burly man
in his mid forties. Wearing oil stained overalls, and clutching a cheap can of beer. He nervously tugged at his crouch, and rubbed the back of his neck, in restless anticipation for his preconceived plan.
The assailants' four-day beard growth scratched and gauged at her soft velvet neckline. With his arms bulging, he panted with the eagerness of a young boy discovering the joys of masturbation. Foul breath and the rancid odor from his unwashed genitals permeated the air around Carla. Every few minutes the sexual predator would stop and look into his victim's tear filled eyes and apologize for his actions.
"You, you ah' just got to understand.” He pleaded, thrusting harder as his climax neared. "This is a calculated risk for me too." He moaned.
Carla stared past him, and focused on the pigeon above, perched silently on a crossbeam watching with curiosity the horror below. She thought to herself glancing at the opened note she dropped on the floor left for her by this unsuspecting deviant. The signed note simply read, ‘Carla, please meet me at Shannon’s Bakery.’ A request authored by someone who had never harmed her before, so she figured, although an odd meeting place, why not. Slipping into a dream state, she thought about happier days. Journeying back to a childhood past, which had known little girl games; Hop Scotch, Jump Rope, Four Square, Jacks, and playing house with broken second hand dolls and carefully constructed card board doll houses.
4
It was a time when she would sit for hours using her mother's brushes to comb her long auburn hair. Her hair now stained with blood from the constant scraping of her head against the menagerie filled jagged floor. This young fifteen year old no longer shivered from having her bare back on the cold surface. Numbness had long since set in.
She winced with every harsh movement as the loose gravel and bits of broken glass cut into her buttocks. Carla thought to her self, as the assault seemed to never end, perhaps somehow it was her fault. Is it because she is naturally pretty? Could it be the way she slightly bit her bottom lip to one side as she smiles, not knowing that it drives men crazy?
His deep guttural moan awakened her from her reverie. Looking at her with a grin he said, "I mean if it wasn't going to be me baby girl, it would have been somebody else. Ah' yeah, mmmmm, to be honest it makes no sense to waste this on some punk, in the back seat of some smelly, beat up old car. You might as well enjoy a little of this, ooooooh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, here it comes. Yes, Yes, Yes…baby girl, this is some damn good pussy! Damn girl, you almost gave me a heart attack." he said, releasing a long deep sigh. She felt the hot surge of semen splash against her uterus, and grimaced as he gave a few final thrusts. He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead.
Standing up he cupped his forefinger and thumb around the appendage and wiped the excess semen, sending droplets flying onto Carla’s face, and already sweat soaked breasts. While dressing he began issuing warnings, to keep her mouth shut. “You know girl you can’t say anything to anybody, about this…. if your aunt knew she would kill me.”
5
“After all, I am your daddy. People tend to look down on stuff like this. Hell, they do it in the white folk’s homes all the time.” He said, chuckling. “The difference is nobody knows it.” He finished, giving a final yank to his pant zipper.
“Can you do it again, daddy? I kind of liked it.” Carla asked timidly. He paused.
“See baby girl, I knew you were into it all the time. You were just holding your emotions back. You gotta let it out, ain’t nobody can hear you in here. It is the Blackanese in you. One part Vietnamese and one part Black. The freak side of your nature, you got from your mama is coming out, God rest her soul. Back then, Vietnam was quite an education for me. Just one ‘basket fuck’ and a ‘around the world’ and she had me hooked, so we got married. Girl, your mama could really shake the sheets.
It was like a circus underneath the covers, every moment was a three-ring event. She would holler, “Me love you long time, long time G.I. Hell. Even after we got married, she would still say that love you long time shit.” her father said laughingly. “We’ll come back here in a couple of days, maybe tomorrow, and I’ll be glad to lay this pipe on you again. There is no need to rush things. Next time bring a blanket, coat, or something. Your back must be pretty messed up. When you get home take a warm bath with a little hair grease and some lard mixed in the water, then you’ll be okay,” he said with a broad shit-eating grin.
6
"Now, because you’re fresh, you also need to go get some Vinegar and flush yourself out so’s you don’t get pregnant. This way everyone will still think you’re a ripe young virgin,” Henry finished, putting a flame to a fresh cigar. Carla continued to lay prostrate on the floor. Clutched in her right hand a sharp triangular piece of glass she carefully retrieved from the rubble during her assault.
“Daddy, please, me love you long time. Mama used to say that to you when she was a young girl, right,” she asked, suggestively moving her hips with a seductive look on her face. Then she slightly bit her bottom lip, and silently mouthed, “Come get this, come get this.” Henry stood silent still relishing the sight of the young girl with picture perfect breasts and flawless curves. Even through the grime, and sweat this jewel of the ghetto still shined. Not figuring on a bonus round, the thought of another quick romp became intriguing the longer he stared at her nude frame.
“Me give you blow job, love you long time. Please, tell me what to do daddy. Love you long time, long time,” she said in her worse degrading Asian dialect. He dropped his pants and stood, legs straddled, before his only daughter.
“Oh baby, that’s real easy. I will just stand here and close my eyes, you just get up on your knees and suck it like a lollipop, and Daddy will let you know when to stop.
Girl, you remind me so much of your mama, it’s a shame.” he gleefully answered. “Too bad she died of an overdose. Crack whores don’t last long anyway. Once you’re a ho, always a ho,” he added.
7
Through the back pain, she struggled to her knees, and rubbed the back of his hairy, muscular left leg with her hand. Henry responded by opening his legs even wider, and taking a rigid stance to give her free access to his now fully erect penis. “Oh Lord, forgive me,” he mocked with a wide comical grin on his face, looking towards the ceiling. Carla began kissing the inside of his sweaty leg working her way up to his genitals. She slowly positioned the sharp piece of glass to his femoral artery then forcefully thrust the broken slice of goblet into his leg.
With a quick motion, she pulled the glass from the rear to the front of his leg, causing a fountain of blood bathing over her hand. Henry Stevenson gasped and floated to the floor, his body trembling. He glanced over at her and died. Carla sat back numb, wrapped her hands around her knees, and watched the river of blood flow around her feet. “Was it as good for you daddy, as it was for me,” she sarcastically asked.
Startled she woke from the nightmare that again visited her while she slept, to the sound of the voice from her longtime friend Ricky who lightly shook her. “Baby girl, baby girl, wake up. It’ll be ok. Wake up,” he said with concern. Instinctively, she sprung to a martial arts stance with a kick, pausing with the heel of her foot one inch from the bridge of Ricky’s nose. Ricky stood frozen, and quite nervous. Realizing a completed kick would render him crippled he spoke very softly.
8
“Ok baby girl…it’s ok…you had another nightmare. You fell asleep while watching TV. You have been tossing and turning for the last couple of hours, and then in the past fifteen minutes or so…you started talking in your sleep…and saying some bizarre shit. So I decided to wake you. It seemed real bad this time,” Ricky said with his eyes still fixed at her foot. Carla stood frozen in a trance staring at her old friend. The minutes she stood rigid, seemed like hours. With his heart racing, Ricky decided to break the silence and speak again.
“Hey baby girl, same nightmare, new day? It’s Ricky. Carla, it’s me. Are you with me,” he asked, with a gentle voice. He watched her slowly drop her foot, and relax her stance. She bounced around the living room like a boxer pacing the confines of the ring after a prize-winning fight, and then plopped down on the carpet.
“Same nightmare, you ask? No, it’s the same reality, same life, just a new day. Getting stranger and stranger each time, now finding myself dreaming within a dream. This nightmare is tearing at my soul,” she said, curling in a fetus position. “The same rape, but this time while I’m being raped, I began dreaming about my childhood. I want to kill him for what he did to me. I want him dead Ricky, real dead,” she exclaimed.
Ricky sat down next to her, took her hand and said, “Your nightmares are growing worse. I am beginning to worry about you. I know how bad you’ve had it growing up. Losing your mom to drugs when you were ten years old, and then the rape by your asshole of a father is enough to drive anyone over the edge. You stood the test of time on this one baby girl. In just a little while, it will be over. Did you make the arrangements for lunch with Henry,” he asked.
9
“Yes, we are going to lunch tomorrow at Jack London Square. Sometimes I wonder if you really know how hard this is for me Ricky,” she replied.
“I know, Carla, I know. Just keep doing what you’re doing for another week or so and we’ll put it all into action,” he answered, with assurance.
The second step….Saturday afternoon, at Jack London Square, the setup.
Henry and Carla sat comfortably at the sidewalk café waiting for their lobster order, sipping wine and chatting. Actually Henry did most of the chatting. Carla answered questions, and would occasionally make a comment. She found it nauseating to sit and make idle conversation with a man whom had raped her. Yet she trusted Ricky, who asked her to make peace with her father, and pretend to be his loving daughter again.
She had not spoken to him in eight years. At this point, even Henry had been surprised at the last few months of this sudden change in his daughter’s attitude towards him. After she moved out at the young age of seventeen, he hoped he would never see her again. Nevertheless, he dismissed his suspicions with the arrogant belief he was actually a good father.
“Just want to let you know I really appreciate you opening up and talking to me again. You know it is best to let the past be the past. There is no need to hold any grudges. Forgive and forget. You know what I mean? What you about twenty five, twenty six now,” Henry said, lighting a cigar, leering at a young girl who was leaving the restaurant with her parents.
10
Carla looked at him and mumbled, “Same old son of a bitch, that girl can’t be any more than thirteen years old. Look at him. Waste of human flesh. I hate him. The bastard does not even know the age of his only daughter. No apology, no regret for what he's done.”
“What was that you said, baby? I didn’t hear you. You say something honey,” Henry asked, never turning his head from the young girl as she climbed in the back seat of her parents SUV.
Accidentally, the girls’ sandal fell off her foot and fell to the street, and then Henry quickly stood up. Carla saw what he was about to do and rushed over to the vehicle, picked the sandal from the curb and handed it to her.
“Here you go honey.” Carla said.
“Thank you,” the young girl politely replied.
Her parents turned and, with a head nod, acknowledged thanks to Carla, who they did not perceive as a threat while they pulled away from the curb. Carla walked back to their table with a sense of satisfaction in ruining Henry’s moment.
“Well baby girl, what have you been up to lately? Are you working….going to school? Anything I can do for you,” he asked her, taking his seat while still not looking directly at her. He was preoccupied surveying the activities on the wharf.
Carla cringed each time he called her baby girl. She wanted to take the knife on her table and stab him in the heart. She spoke loudly to interrupt his gazing.
11
“Oh, just going to school part time, and working. Just been thinking about starting a business. I’ve made a real good friend named Ricky. He’s helping with a few things. No, don’t need anything. Hey, Hen…uh dad, our food is here. Let’s eat,” she said.
Being around Henry made her feel dirty, and after each meeting she would either go home or to Ricky's and take a long hot shower. The remainder of their visit went by quickly. When the meal ended, it took every ounce of her strength to hug him as they prepared to depart.
“Ok, baby girl. Let’s do this again next week-end. This time come over to South Shore. You haven’t been there. I’ll cook for you. Love to have you over, hell; you can even spend the night. The condominium has a terrific view of the Oakland, San Francisco Bay Bridge. What do you say,” Henry asked, looking at her body instead of her face. Carla felt him stripping her naked. She stared at him with hidden disgust. Ricky had waited on this moment. He had told Carla, her father must initiate the invitation to his place.
If she asked, he would get suspicious. Months of lunches, dinners and listening to this pathetic human were about to pay off. Carla knew she had to present the right amount of hesitation. An answer too quickly would trigger an alert. Henry’s fixed glare on her thighs became mesmerizing. He let his eyes slowly roll up and down her body, ignoring her cold calculated stares.
“Well daddy, I don’t know. I have to check to see if I’m doing anything,” she said drawing his attention to her face.
12
“Look honey, I insist. In fact, you can come over early in the afternoon and take a swim. It’s going to be well into the hundred’s and we have a nice pool. Tell you what, you come over and you can even do the cooking. I lied before I’m not very good at cooking. Can you cook, please,” Henry asked in a meek, pleading little boy voice. Beads of sweat began rolling down the temples onto his well-groomed beard. Henry stroked his crotch thinking this to be the perfect opportunity to re-visit his only child's body.
“Ok, I guess. You sure there will be no problems, spending the night? What about your girlfriend, is she ok with this,” she questioned, and began squirming with her best little girl imitation.
"No sweetheart, no problem. Not with anyone right now, free as a bird. So we'll be all alone...you know to really catch up on lost time," he eagerly replied.
After agreeing, Carla said her goodbyes and left. When she arrived back at Ricky's house she walked into the living room, dropped her purse on the couch and headed to the bedroom. Ricky stood at the kitchen counter preparing a sandwich and greeted her, "Hey baby girl, how did everything go?"
"You piss me off so don't you start with me," she snapped, still on her way to the spare bedroom where she kept a change of clothes. I'll talk to you later old man. I have to take a shower and wash all this filth off of me," she said angrily, with her fists tightly balled. Later that evening Carla and Ricky sat outside on the patio, and watched the glitter of the Oakland skyline. Ricky looked at her and said with patience, "Like I've said
Carla, you can only kill something once. Yet making a person's life a living nightmare without them knowing who is responsible is sweet. Now that is revenge.”
13
“I can understand why you don't want this to take place back at Shannon's Bakery. There would be memories, which would get in the way. So it must be at his place, actually it is a perfect backdrop for this type of revenge. The package I told you about arrived from New Mexico today. Don’t be afraid. Just go through the motions, and don’t get nervous. I know how much you hate him, but this will bring some closure. If not, we have hundreds of ideas sent in by victimized women from all over the country to your web site, Baby Girl Dot Com. I’m just glad I could help by thinking of this one for you," he finished, waiting for a reply.
She looked at her friend and said, "I don't want to talk about it anymore. We need to do this and get it over with, and no, this will not be enough. I want his life to be a living hell."
The third step…..Saturday night at Henry Stevenson's South Shore Condominium - The revenge.
During the day, Carla played her part well. She wore a sexy swimsuit. Tanned by the pool, and purposely teased her father. At one point, she ran to the bathroom to vomit because of the rape memory, which crept up while setting the ultimate trap for revenge. In Henry's luxurious condominium the warm night served as a perfect excuse to keep the balcony doors open. Carla entered the living room from the shower draped in a short silk robe. The soft breeze heightened the mood as it lightly lifted a corner of the robe exposing her long bare legs. She sat in the middle of the Persian rug and gestured to her father who watched her every move. Henry found the courage to speak up.
14
"You know baby girl...you’re not a kid anymore, and uh...hahahaha, you know...uh...times are hard for everybody. If you could use a couple hundred dollars...you know just to help you get through school and all...you are in school aren't you? I was just thinking...Hey, you know, a little somethin’, somethin’," he said, making sexually suggestive facial expressions.
Not wanting to drag this game out any further, Carla got on her knees, and called to him with her index finger. She summoned all the strength she had inside and said, "C’mon daddy, let’s do this…....what are you waiting for? I am so ready."
Henry walked over to her and readily dropped his pants, exposing his already erect penis. As Carla started stroking his muscular legs, Henry readied himself with a Superman like stance and closed his eyes. She retrieved a matchbox from her robe pocket. Slid it open and dumped four sedated scorpions in the crotch of Henry's underwear.
She coughed loudly signaling Ricky who had been listening at the front door. Carla watched the Scorpions as they awakened from their sedation. Suddenly, a horrendous knock rumbled the front door causing nearby hanging pictures to tilt from their positions. An angry boisterous voice rang out, "Carla, Carla you in there? I want my money bitch," Ricky shouted. Henry became startled and quickly reached down instinctively pulling up his pants.
"Who the hell is...?” Before he could complete his sentence, he felt the repeated sting of the scorpions snug on his genitals. “Daddy, daddy what’s wrong with you…daddy!” Carla excitedly asked springing to her feet.
15
"Aghhh, oh my God...aghhh, please." He begged, struggling to take his pants back off. Henry looked at Carla, and said, I think a spider bi, bi, bi…….call…the, the…” Before he could finish his plea, he floated to the floor. His body vibrated with pain and he passed out. Carla rushed to let Ricky into the lush surroundings.
"Damn," Ricky said, walking over to Henry to check his pulse.
"Damn is right. Actually this is a double damn," Carla responded. Ricky and Carla stood silent for a moment gazing at Henry lying in a fetal position on the carpet, with his hands cupped around the extremely large bulge in his pants. Dragging his body into the bedroom, they took off his clothes, retrieved the now dead Scorpions, and placed him naked on top of his bed covers.
Ricky said, "Well Carla, this is what Baby Girl Dot Com is all about, revenge not death. Even though he looks dead, he isn’t. Those scorpions are not fatal, just painful."
"Are those big lumps his…?” Carla hesitated in finishing her question. "Yep baby girl, those are his balls, his very swollen balls, and the shriveled piece of meat hiding and looking afraid is his dick. Before we leave, we’ll take all the pain relievers out of his medicine cabinet, and the ice from his freezer. When he wakes up in the morning, he won’t get any relief. He'll be in pain…uh…. you want to finish it for me baby girl, “Ricky laughingly asked Carla, waving his hands back and forth with a series of finger snaps. "For a long, long time," she said with a hearty laugh. "For a long, long time."
Saturday, June 12, 2004 at 20:44 |
46 ) - She was thin and beautiful at one time and then...
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Wednesday, June 09, 2004 at 01:29 |
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