THE LITERARY EVENT OF THE CENTURY

[Z³]

A new generation of noir, keep this shit comin.

[Malaul]

He shall be addressed by His name, and that name is the one He is known by.


Reverend J Stain.





-or-

TurdBathEastTontonCommunistBastardMcPants.






LMNO
-Knows he's forgotten a bunch.

And Zeke
cant forget that one
it IS the name of his shop after all

[Fizzwitz Glorypoop]

What happened to this? Did you just get bored or what?

[East Coast Hustle]

next chapter should be posted before I leave for vacation. and the one after that, if I'm feeling particularly motivated.

[East Coast Hustle]

Hannah drives me home at 8 in the morning on her way to work. I've become completely incomprehensible, largely due to the fact that I've been pouring booze down my throat and shoveling coke up my nose at an alarming rate for the past 9 or 10 hours now.  I passed out for a couple of hours at her house after an aborted attempt at sex. She says she understands after I tell her about what happened at Sky High, but I'm betting that I won't get to fuck up with her again if I want this to end well. My mom is cooking breakfast and yelling at my Stepdad to get ready to drive her to work as I stumble in the door. 30 seconds later, after a halfhearted attempt at a greeting, I'm face down in the couch, dead to the world.
I wake up around 1 in the afternoon to a dog's tongue studiously lapping at my forehead.

"Unngh...Odie, get OFF of me!"

The dog complies. I sit up and look around. My head is definitely still very fuzzy, but considering the abuse I subjected my liver to the night before, I feel surprisingly good. No one is home, so I help myself to the bacon in the fridge, toast an English muffin, and hop in the shower. Freshly scrubbed and shaved, and outfitted in my finest tank-top and ratty cargo shorts, I'm ready to face the day. What's left of it, anyway. I pick up the phone and punch in a phone number from the depths of my memory. It rings a few times, then someone picks up. One of the strangest and most unmistakable accents in the world is that of the White Boy with Stateside parentage who was born and raised in the Islands. Not quite the same as the Calypso dialect spoken by the West Indians, not quite the same as the Frenchies (who are the descendants of the original white French settlers of St. Thomas), and nothing like any other form of white-boy speak you've ever heard. This is what greets me over the phone, and what confirms that the number I dredged up out of long gone times is still valid, and the dwelling on the other end is still inhabited by the correct occupant.

"Hello?"

"Devin! What's up, dawg?"

"Who dis?"

"It's Justin, bro."

"Justin? Justin who?"

"Uhh, Justin from Maine...Justin that's been best friends with you since we were born...Justin that you haven't seen or talked to in 9 years..."

"Oh, SHIT!! Bro, how are you? Y'arright? Man, I'na talk to you in YEARS, bro!"

"For real, dawg. It's good to hear your voice, man. It's been WAY too long. Listen, what are you doing today?"

"Y'on island, aren't you? You muddascunt, don' go nowhere! Don' move from dat spot, I go be right ovah! Y'at ya mudda house, right?"

"Yup. Same place. Hull Bay Road."

"I go be dere in 10 minutes, d'man. Holy shit, bro. Tim know you here yet?"

"Nah, I don't know how to get ahold of him."

"He go shit heself, m'sun! I ain't go tell him. We go surprise him, no, I tell you, bro, he go fall right ovah like Jah strike 'im dead."

"Ä'ight, man. I'll see you in ten. Bring road sodas."

He pulls up in a no-frills Toyota pickup truck about 15 minutes later. After much hugging and back-slapping, I hop in and we head off. We stop by one of the local radio stations so he can drop off this week's edition of his show to the program director, then we head out towards the East End.

"Where we headed?"

"We ga' go by muh boy house. Ga' pick up some ganja, bro. He live just past Havensight, almost to Limetree. He ga' a ounce waitin' fuh me. Some good shit, too. You go be all fuck up aftah dis, m'sun."

"Sounds good. We should stop in Havensight so I can pick up a disposable camera or two. And some sunglasses, since I seem to have left mine in Maine."

"Yeah, yeah. Ain't no ting."

We pull up to a house up in the hills overlooking Yacht Haven and Frenchman's Reef. As we walk up to the door, a voice calls out.

"Come on in! I'm on the back deck!"

We walk through the living room and through the sliding glass door to the back deck, where there are both a pool and a hot tub. This is nice digs.

"Devin! J!"

It's Jake, the bartender from the Old Mill.

"You been here one day an' already you know everyone?"

"Yeah, he was tending bar at the Old Mill last night. Him and Cuz are tight boys, so he took care of me quite properly."

We head towards the pool. Jake climbs out and dries off enough to make sure he won't get water on the huge-ass spliff that he's about to light. We puff and shoot the shit for a while. Devin takes the pot, Jake takes the money, and Devin and I head out.

"So wha' ya wan' do now?"

"I dunno, man. I'd be perfectly happy to just drive around the island, but I'm sure that's not your idea of fun...I know...let's go out to Magens Point, man. I haven't been out there since I got back, and that was pretty much ground zero for our crowd when I was here last."

"Yeah, we co' do dat. I ga' warn you though, bro, da' place ain't like it was before. Change big-up, d'man. The very end of the point still good, but they fuck-up everything out to about a half mile from the end."

"Yeah, I could see the new houses from my Mom's porch. Still, it's a special place for me, man. More so than anywhere else on the island, or maybe anywhere else on the planet, for that matter."

"Nah, man, I ain't mean we can't go. Just don' want it to be a surprise, das' all."

"Nah, it's cool."

Turns out, it's not cool. What I see when we get to the end of the point almost makes me cry. This is a piece of land that should have been protected, not defiled. There are new McMansions crowding to within a half-mile of the end of the point, and a road has been cut in to within a quarter-mile of the end of the point. Devin tells me that the lots along the end of the road have already been bought up, and it's just a matter of time before they are developed too. When I look down over the edge of the rocks, I can see the usually crystal-clear blue water of Magens Bay have turned a cloudy bluish-brown color, fading to almost completely brown right up against the shore. There have been heavy rains lately, and with all the vegetation cleared to make room for the houses, there's nothing to stop the runoff from choking the bay. I look out past the end of the point. I can see the deep blue Atlantic Ocean. I can see Inner Brass and Outer Brass, Hans Lollick, Thatch Cay, Frenchmans Cay, Jost Van Dyke, and countless smaller unnamed rocks and cays. I am standing at what is basically the end of the world, at this latitude. Jump in and swim east from here and you'll wash up in the Canary Islands. This is one of the most spectacularly beautiful places on Planet Earth. I turn back around.
What I see is our end. It is the result of unmitigated capitalism combined with unregulated development. Palms get greased, backs get scratched, and an environmental and social catastrophe unparalleled in the American Hegemony is allowed to go on unchecked. My sole small comfort is the certainty that the rest of Fat City will follow suit soon enough. I make a mental note to myself to plan for fomenting a native insurrection on St. Thomas within the next ten years, and get down to the business at hand, which is sitting on the rocks at the end of the point, smoking lots of joints with my best friend that I am seeing for the first time in 9 years, and trying to forget about the view behind me.
The sun sets over the other side of the bay, setting the hills of paradise ablaze in orange and purple, and making the sea burn an angry red, as if bemoaning its fate. As the thumb-thick spliff burns down to a stubby roach, I savor what turns out to be the last moment of peace and relaxation that I am to find in the islands.

Tomorrow's sunset will ignite a fire that is neither lyrical nor metaphorical in nature, and which will not stop burning when the sky goes dark.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[Zurtok Khan]

Holy. Fucking. Shit.  Batman.

This is some amazing shit man.

Change the names to protect the not-so-innocent, and send a transcript to some publishers.

Or something.

Wow.

[East Coast Hustle]

Mom's got the day off. She's going out to Tutu to buy a new TV and offers to buy me lunch if I come with her and be the muscle.

"OK, but I don't want any fast food. I want some real West Indian food. Is it the right season to get Kallaloo?"

"No, but we'll go to Johnny Mango's. It's about as good as you'll find for West Indian food, outside of a cookout in Bovoni. They make a blackened grouper that's just to die for. Now, did you bring any CDs of your band? I still haven't gotten to hear that yet, honey, so bring it with and we can play it while we're driving."

"Uhh, I think I forgot to bring any of our CDs..."

That's an outright lie, but I'm sick to death of listening to any reminders of my past life as a not-quite-a-Rock Star. I'll leave one on the kitchen counter the day I leave. Hell, it's not like my mom is really into thrash-punk anyway, she,'s just trying to make up for having called me a total of 20 or so times in the last 9 years, and this is her way of feigning interest in my life. It's cool. We pull out of the driveway and head towards Four Corners, where we make the turn to go over the hill through Bovoni and into Tutu.
As it turns out, my mom really likes Swollen Members. Weird. We come out of Bovoni and turn into the Fort Mylner plaza on the edge of Tutu. What. The. Fuck. There is a goddamned PriceSavers on St. Thomas. I bring this hideous yet undeniable fact to my mom's attention.

"Oh yes, there's a K-Mart and a Home Depot over between the hospital and Four Winds plaza. They've really built this area up. You know we have a mall now?"

"A mall..."

"Oh yes, I mean, it's probably not quite as big as what you're used to in the states, but it's an honest-to-goodness mall. We'll drive by it while we're here."

It occurs to me that the phrase "honest-to-goodness" might be the least appropriate thing to call a shopping mall that I've ever heard.

"No, that's OK. I'd really rather NOT see it, actually. Let's go get this TV so we can get lunch. At least they can't screw that up for me."

We get the TV loaded in the back of the Samurai and head over to Johnny Mango's. I'm immediately skeptical. I've been promised authentic West Indian food, but this place is spotlessly clean. NOT a good sign. I grab a Carib Lager out of the cooler and start checking out the food. It's set up cafeteria-style. Start at one end, pick your salads and sides, move down to starches, then entrees, then pay for it all and schlep your tray to an unoccupied table or booth, trying to avoid accidentally bumping into any of the numerous young Dreds in the place who look like they'd be more than happy to shank a white boy with little or no provocation. I slide into the line. As I'm staring at the rice and beans, an angelic voice interrupts me.

"Cole slaw or salad?"

"Huh?"

"Would you like cole slaw or salad?"

"Uhh, cole slaw, and I'll take some of the fried plantains, and johnny cake too."

I look up to see the source of the voice. This is what Mos Def means when he talks about Nubian Princesses. This girl is tall, lithe, black as night, and incredibly beautiful. I snap into pimp mode instantly. She snaps me out of it with the most brutal shooting down that has ever been directed at me. Pasty white boys get no love around here.

"Chicken, brisket, or grouper?"

"Grouper. And slop some extra sauce on that rice for me, I like it saucy."

That, at least, gets a raised eyebrow. She finishes dishing up my breakfast.

"Thanks sweetheart. And if you change your mind about going out with a honky, you can find me at Offshore tonight. I can dance like I'm black, you know."

She's laughing at me softly as I walk over to a table. I figure that leaving her laughing is better than not having attracted her attention in the first place. My mom was right, the food is excellent. I eat until I can not physically fit anything more in my mouth, wash it down with another Carib, and we're out. We stop in town on the way back to the NorthSide so I can buy some souvenirs for people, then up the hill and back home. My stepdad has a spliff waiting for me. We blaze up for a bit, then the combination of the pot and the food overtakes me, and I hit the couch for a nap.
The ringing phone wakes me up around 5pm.

"Hello?"

"J! It's Cuz. You still comin' out to Offshore wit' me tonight, right? It's ladies night, bro, gonna be tons of hotties there."

"Yeah, yeah, listen, I just woke up. Gimme some time to shower and get ready and all that."

"Fuck that, J. I'm pulling into the driveway now. Grab your clothes and all that stuff. You can take a shower at my place. We've got some shit to talk about before we go out tonight."

I think about protesting, but the sound of the Mustang tearing up the driveway puts a stop to that idea. I grab some fresh clothes and my pit stick and toothbrush and jump in.

"Damn, Cuz, little early to be worried about getting to the club, isn't it? Or do we have to go conduct some more shady business?"

"Nah, man, it ain't like that. But if we go out, we'll probably run into Danny's boys, and maybe even Malik's boys. I just want to make sure you're ready for that and that you and I are on the same page, bro. We've had each other's backs this far, it'd be a bad time for either one of us to quit out."

"It's cool. I wasn't trying to bust your balls, either. It was an honest question. About conducting business, I mean. Hey, don't let me forget, before we go out I have to call this girl. I used to work with her in Seattle and I guess she moved down here about a month ago. Doesn't know anyone down here, been bored for the last month, and she's smoking hot. I was always trying to get with her when we worked together, but she had a serious boyfriend. Now she doesn't, and she wants me to take her out while I'm down here."

"Damn, bro. What's Hannah going to think about that?"

"I have no idea. Good thing it's not really up to her, huh? Last I checked, hooking up with someone for the first time in ten years did not constitute an agreement of mutual exclusivity."

"Mutu-wha?"

"Never mind. Hannah's my problem. Your problem is helping to make sure we can keep each other from taking a slug in the back."

We get to his apartment. He's on the NorthSide, just a little higher up Crown Mountain than my mom's house. Hell of a view, too. I hop in the shower, put on my good threads, fix my hair, and manage to make myself look like something that won't repulse the ladies at first sight.

Who am I kidding? I am dead sexy. If the ladies don't fall under my spell tonight, it's time to consider life in a monastery. We hash out some basic plans to ensure our continued ability to draw breath, hop in the 'Stang, and head to the Old Mill for a little pre-game.

"Oh, by the way, J, I got you a present."

"A present? Man, you didn't need to do that."

"Yes I did. Reach under your seat."

I feel around on the floor until my hand closes over a familiar shape.

"Man, you really think I'm going to need this?"

"No, but I'll feel a hell of a lot better if you have it and don't need it than I will if you need it and don't have it. Look, J, I got you involved in some shit that you have no business being involved in, and I'm sorry for that. But you maybe saved my life the other night, and besides, you're my big brother. If you're gonna come to a bad end, bro, it's not gonna happen while you're rollin' with me."

"Alright. Fair enough. What's this thing hold, anyway?"

"Fifteen in the clip, one in the hole, and yes, it's already chambered so be careful."

"No worries, Cuz. If I have to use this thing, careful will have long since gone by the wayside."

We pull into the parking lot of The Old Mill. By the time I get halfway to the bar, Jake has a Henny and Cran waiting for me, along with a message.

"Here you go, bro. On the house. You boys sticking around or you headed over to Offshore later?"

"Offshore. Cuz tells me it's ladies night."

"Ha ha ha, yeah, it sure is, man. Hey, I'm supposed to give you a message from Hannah."

"Oh?"

"She says she has to work tonight cuz she's covering for some girl who's sick, but she'll either call you when she gets off work at 2, or she'll call you when she gets up tomorrow. I guess she's got the whole day off. Wonder what she's got in mind?"

I can't help but like this kid. He's got one of those infectious smiles, and a manner that makes you automatically assume that he's just a good guy. Whether he actually is or not is irrelevant. The kid just radiates charisma. He'd do well to move to LA.

"Hey, I'm just about to head to the back room for my "dinner break" if you know what I mean. You wanna come?"

"Nah, not tonight, man. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but I don't wanna peak too early tonight, you know?"

"I hear you, man. I hear you. Well, I might see you guys later. I'm probably having a little after-party at my place, so I'll swing through Offshore and see what the scene looks like."

"Cool, man. Holla at us later, then."

Cuz and I finish our drinks, grab two for the road, and head to Betsey's to meet up with Scott, Drew, and Timmy. After a few more drinks at Betsey's, the posse all gets up to leave. We pull out of Frenchtown and turn right. 5 young men, dressed to the nines, all riding in tricked-out cars, all high on the possibilities of life in Paradise.

All less than 2 hours from having the entire world turned upside down on them. As we pulled into the parking lot of Offshore, I felt the nervous energy rise in my gut, like how you used to feel for the couple of hours between the time you received a not-so-good report card from school and the time your parents got home from work to see it. Walking past the bouncers at the front door, my eyes slowly adjusted to the nearly pitch-blackness of the inside of the club.

The first thing I saw when my focus came back was Danny, eyeing me with a cell-phone pressed to his ear.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[East Coast Hustle]

oh, and I do like feedback, just FYI, whether it's positive or negative.

[Fizzwitz Glorypoop]

This is excellent.

[LMNO]

I like your foreshadwing, it keeps the reader on edge.

Also, good job with the gun.  I like how you avoid being explicit.

[DJRubberducky]

It's very well written.  I am enough of a fraidycat that I have to try not to think too hard about this being a true story, but I'm enjoying it regardless.

[Z³]

I enjoy your writing, my only complaint is that the pace of your posting does not keep up with my appetite for reading, but hey... its a serial. No harm in a little suspense.

[Eldora, Oracle of Alchemy]

Great story.  I hate 'progress' when it means they tear down nature to build crap.  Where I lived as a kid, there was a huge field.  Now it is 2 apartment compexes and a trailor park.  Not as bad as the islands, but still sad.

[East Coast Hustle]

Great story.  I hate 'progress' when it means they tear down nature to build crap.  Where I lived as a kid, there was a huge field.  Now it is 2 apartment compexes and a trailor park.  Not as bad as the islands, but still sad.

yeah, I couldn't agree more. it's even worse down there because palms get greased and no one really gives even the tiniest rat-fuck about ecological implications of what they're doing. there is ZERO regulation regarding wetlands, runoff protection, etc. Makes me want to start with the stabbings.

also, I should have another chapter ready to post when I get back from the D.

[Eldora, Oracle of Alchemy]

Well, you said that lack of vegetaion is causing mud to run off into the ocean, that means the houses may do the same