Principia Discordia

the long-awaited story of my trip to the islands is almost done. The first chapter of the tale is here: http://poee.co.uk/boards/viewtopic.php?p=3440#3440

I should point out that this IS copyrighted material, and any reproduction without my permission, even if left unaltered and with full credit given, is STRICTLY prohibited.

8)

Ah, I was wondering when this was happening.  Excellent, I shall go read it now.

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! WE WILL GIVE THIS POST OUR APPROVAL.

I'd also like to mention that for those of you who are too lazy or stupid to click a link, I will be posting chapters here as soon as the following chapter is posted at Syn's site.

8)

Quote from: East Coast HustleI'd also like to mention that for those of you who are too lazy or stupid to click a link, I will be posting chapters here as soon as the following chapter is posted at Syn's site.

8)

w00t!

-Hoshi (Is the lazy)

I don't mind puddle jumpers, EXCEPT in thunderstorms.   :shock:

here's chapter 1, now that chapter 2 is up at poee.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation
(strictly a working title)

Chapter One   

It's a phenomenon that, as far as I know, is unique to Puerto Rico. When your plane lands safely in San Juan, the Puerto Ricans on the plane break out into thunderous applause, as if they really didn't expect to be delivered safely home all along. I know that the flight to San Juan is gravy, it's those little puddle-jumpers that take me down-island from San Juan that worry me. I hang out in Luis Munoz Marin International Airport for the better part of 3 hours, ogling latina hotties and drinking Presidente, waiting for the American Eagle flight to Cyril E. King International Airport on beautiful St. Thomas, America's Paradise(tm).
   There's a tropical squall going over St. Thomas that's going to prevent us from landing until it blows through. Of course, that means we get to fly through it, repeatedly. Did I mention my dislike for puddle-jumpers? The good news, sort of, is that every time we break out of the squall, those of us in the window seats are treated to a spectacular view of some of the British Virgin Islands. Jost Van Dyke goes by underneath me and I can see Foxy's bar on the beach of Great Harbor. They won't let me buy a drink there, ever, just for being my father's son. He's still a legend in this part of the world, and a large part of the reason I can come back here after 9 years without keeping in touch with ANYONE, and still be welcomed and treated with more respect than I may deserve. There goes Tortola, there's Bomba's Shack, where they have the full-moon parties that include gallons and gallons of shroom tea. Virgin Gorda slides by. I'd probably think it was the most beautiful island in the entire Lesser Antilles chain if it weren't also the most heavily touristified of the BVIs. Anyway, the aerial tour would be an amazing thing to behold for the average Ugly American(tm), but I'm half-drunk, so it's not as visually thrilling as it should be. Every time the plane goes back through the squall, it lurches. 5 feet up. 8 feet down and to the left. What do they put in Presidente Lager? Feels like I've swallowed a gallon of motor oil. Finally, the plane begins its descent. Now this is my favorite part of the whole trip, visually. The runway at Cyril E. King Intl. was extended about 15 years ago to make it long enough to accommodate actual jets instead of strictly commuter prop planes and smaller charter craft. The reason it wasn't that long in the first place is that there isn't enough room between the mountainside and the water to accommodate a runway of sufficient length.
     Now, all you need to know about the West Indian work ethic and natural engineering ability is that it took them 40 years to figure out that if they dumped some dirt and rocks in the water, they could make more land. Then it took them another 10 years to accomplish the task, which worked out to a rate of about 100 feet of runway extension per year. Needless to say, they did not bother with building any extra land, only the exact amount needed for the extra piece of runway was brought into existence, meaning that not only do the West Indian pilots have virtually NO room for error, but that you, as a passenger, cannot actually SEE that you are landing on anything for the first 1000 or so feet of runway, giving the startling impression that you are about to make a high-speed emergency landing in the water right in front of a pile of rocks. Most of the time, this is not actually the case. I unclenched my hands from the sides of my seat as I realized that this was one of those times.
     As I exited the plane and stood on the tarmac, the familiar smell of my long-neglected home filled my head. That, and the smell of diesel exhaust. I headed for the terminal, in search of my stepdad, my bag, and some good local rum. Damn, I almost thought that skinny old dude over there was my stepdad. Shit, wait. He's looking directly at me. That is my stepdad, but where's the rest of him? He weighed about 350 pounds last time I saw him, and this guy can't possibly weigh more than 220.

"Justin?"

The voice is the kicker. I'd recognize it anywhere, anytime.

"Doc! You son of a bitch, what the hell happened to the rest of you?"

He goes into what is clearly a story he's told before. Got a bad case of gout after the hurricane, made it worse by drinking WAY too much and eating too much red meat. The doctors finally gave him a choice: change your diet and lifestyle and get on medication, or have a good chance of losing one or both legs within a year. He quit drinking, went vegetarian, started walking 3 miles a day, and dropped 120 pounds in 2 years. He beats me over to the baggage carousel. Since he doesn't drink anymore, I beat him to the airport bar and order a BBC. I'll get used to the heat and humidity in a day or so, but for now a frozen drink is all that stands between me and a shocking and nauseating death from dehydration and detoxification. I get my drink, my bag, and we head to the car.
     I love many things about St. Thomas. High on the list is the fact that it's legal to drink and drive. Encouraged, even. Drink in hand, and eagerly awaiting the spliff that's about to be passed to me, we head through Charlotte Amalie. Gotta go by Havensight and say hi to my mom, who is still at work slinging ice to tourists (not the kind of ice that melts, either), then it's back towards town and up Mafolie Hill. We catch Skyline Drive at the top of Mafolie, and that's when it hits me. I'm home, something I almost forgot I even had. Not just St. Thomas, but the NorthSide specifically. It's tattooed on my arm, for fuck's sake, how could I ever have begun to forget? A wave of memories and emotions washes over me. No, wait, that's just a cloud of smoke from this fucking amazing spliff. Man, FUCK my real life! I'm not going home, I am home. And here it is, Hull Bay Road, and a sharp left into the forbiddingly steep driveway, and we're here. Drop the bag, grab some clean clothes, and head for the shower; then it'll be time to start calling my boys, starting with Cuz. As I head down the hallway, strains of Calypso music trailing behind me, the sun begins to slip toward the horizon.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Chapter 2 (http://poee.co.uk/boards/viewtopic.php?t=478)

Your name is Justin?  :shock:

err...uhh...no...I just, uh, made that up....

8)

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.

Not that there's anything wrong with that name!

Turd Furgeson
That Communist Bastard
Lucky Pierre
McStab
Goat
East Coast Hustle
Tomorrow Comes Today
Chuck U Farley
Bathory's Sainthood
Tontons Macouts

Mix and match, add 'pants' as desired.

8)

You forgot Hate Factory

Someone, somewhere, must have a complete list.

Crap...I knew I forgot some, thanks Cain.

[re-jack]

Did I mention this story sound great so far?

I just want to know when the gunplay starts.

Oh, yeah. I actually meant to say, "Great story, ECH." It was a typo.

Quote from: Fizzwitz GlorypoopYour name is Justin?  :shock:

You should see what his last name is.

Stain?

Nah.  It's ridiculously boring.

Troof.  

I'll actually read this thread from the start one day.

How sad. I bet he cries himself to sleep about it every night.

Quote from: erotic[re-jack]

Did I mention this story sound great so far?

I just want to know when the gunplay starts.

it starts when I finally stop crying myself to sleep because I have such a boring inconspicuous name.

actually, it doesn't come in until towards the end. but there will be other violence coming sooner than that.

8)

Quote from: East Coast Hustle

Quote from: erotic[re-jack]

Did I mention this story sound great so far?

I just want to know when the gunplay starts.

it starts when I finally stop crying myself to sleep because I have such a boring inconspicuous name.

actually, it doesn't come in until towards the end. but there will be other violence coming sooner than that.

8)

Excellent.

Actually, your name is perfect for slipping in undetected into lists, registers, polls, voting ballots, etc...

chapter 2:

Cuz picks me up around 8 in his work truck. He works for an insect extermination company whose motto is "We'll Smoke Your Roaches". This is the first time I've seen him in 10 years other than once for 20 minutes when I randomly ran into him while he was in Bath visiting my uncle and I was Christmas shopping a few blocks away. Hell, last time I saw him he was a skinny little punk who always ratted me out for smoking weed behind the house, which was more funny than annoying since my mom then had to pretend that she cared because she didn't want him to think smoking weed was OK. He turns to me.

"We've gotta make a few stops along the way. I gotta see a couple people."

"You ain't gotta lie to kick it, cuz. What you got? Anything good?"

"Yeah, but it's too expensive. And besides, you should know I'm not gonna let you pay for shit while you're here."

Good to know he's doing well for himself, anyway. After a few stops to take care of his business, we finally end up at The Old Mill, which is one of the coolest clubs in the western hemisphere, and which appears not to have changed one bit in the 10 years since I last graced it with my presence. The club has a huge parking lot split into two parts that are divided by a chickenwire fence. The lot closest to the entrance is covered in gravel, it's where most of the customers park. The customers whose business at the club involves nothing more than having some drinks and dancing or playing pool. We park in the muddy, poorly-lit back lot. Cuz has something on his mind, but before he can say anything, I hop out and make for the entrance. I've got something on MY mind too, and it wouldn't surprise me in the least if she still worked here. In fact, it would surprise me if she didn't. I have just enough time to register the presence to my left before I feel the sharp crack across my cheek that signals the disapproval of a woman scorned.

"What the fuck are YOU doing here? You get run out of Seattle by the cops or the competitors? Huh...I take it those Frenchie boys don't know you're back or you wouldn't look half that pretty. Maybe I oughtta give Darryl a call, I'm sure he'd LOVE to see you."

"Hannah, I was, uh, hoping to find you here..." Shit. That came out even lamer than it sounded in my head.

"My shift ends at 11. You'd BETTER still fucking be here when I get off, or I'll never talk to you again."

Well, that answers that. Some things never change, even after 10 years, and the fact that Hannah can't resist me in spite of hating my guts appears to be one of them. Damn, she's even more beautiful than I remember. I'd better be careful around her, cats do stupid shit for women like that, and I can't afford to get myself in any fucked up situations while I'm down here. Cuz comes over to introduce me to his boy Jake, who's got the drink-slinging duties tonight.

"Jake, this is my cousin J, from the states. Get him whatever he wants and don't even think about letting HIM pay for anything. Just put it all on my tab."

"Sure thing, bro. J, what's your poison?"

"I don't know, man." My head's still full of Hannah's perfume. "Gimme whatever he's having."

Jesus. Hennessey and Cranberry juice with a wedge of lime seems somehow morally wrong to me, but it sure tastes OK. It also tastes like I'd better be careful about how fast I drink these things.

"Hey, J! you any good at pool?"

"Nah, but I'm still better than you. Let's do it."

He catches me up on the last 10 years of island life while we're playing.

I win, handily.

"Hey, we gotta split for a while, J. We gotta go to Frenchtown and meet up with some people."

"Business or pleasure?"

"Nah, man, just meeting up with some friends. Don't worry, bro, I'll let you know when you need to have your shit together. Until then, just relax. Tonight's on me."

Did I mention that among all the things I love about St. Thomas, the legality of drinking and driving ranks high on the list? I'll probably mention it again before we're through here.

"We gotta be back to the Mill before 11, Cuz. Hannah will ave my balls if I'm not there when she gets off."

"How do YOU know Hannah, man? I've been trying to get with that for a day, bro."

"Scanlon used to date her older sister. She used to try to get me to pimp on her back in the day, but I was 16 and she was only 13. She didn't look 13, but still. Last time I saw her I was 19 and she had just turned 16. I had NO problem with that, so we hooked up. Well, turns out she was a virgin, man. I didn't even know. But you know how they get sometimes after that. Homegirl was straight sprung. Tried to get me to stay on the island instead of going home at the end of the summer, then she started talking about running away to be with me in Seattle. I should have just kept my mouth shut, she'd have realized it wasn't happening for real soon enough, but I was dumb, and laid down the situation in terms that were, well, maybe a little TOO honest. This is the first time I've seen her since then. Apparently, she hasn't forgotten what a goddamn pimp I am."

"Damn, bro. Well, we'll be back in time. I don't wanna fuck that up for you, J."

We make the turn into Frenchtown and pull up in front of Betsey's. Damn, I don't recognize a single person here, besides Betsey. She recognizes me too, runs over and fawns over me for a few minutes, which she has every right to do seeing as how she's known me since I was 4 or 5 years old. Cuz leads me over to a corner table full of people and introduces me to the posse. Drew, Scott, Jake, Tim, Eric, and Toby. I might remember half of those five minutes from now, less if one of the pair of drinks in my cousin's hands is for me. We stay long enough to get everyone together, and for Cuz to take a walk around back with a couple people (after all, when you're in the Game, it's always business), then it's back to the Mill, which should be just starting to go off right about now. After all, when the bars that bother to close don't do so until 4am, showing up to the party before midnight is not only pointless, but downright counterproductive.
It's 11:15. Hannah is sitting at the bar, talking to Bartender Jake, and she looks pissed. I try to sneak around to the side bar, make it look like I've been there all along and she just didn't see me, but she fixes me with a glare before I can slink behind the stage area to my left.

"So, thought you could sneak out on me again, huh?"

"Uhh..." Before I can get any farther, she's cramming her tongue in my mouth. That was easy.

"God damn it, Justin. How long are you here for?"

"A week. And don't get any crazy ideas this time. I have a business to get back to. A legitimate business."

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean to be so bitchy when you came in, sometimes things just stay with you, you know?"

Yeah, I know, but this isn't a conversation I want to have with her right now. Jake saves me by bringing me another drink. He motions for me to come within whispering distance.

"You look like you could use a little something. Here. Be careful. It's a little better than what you're probably used to in the states. Oh, and take Hannah with you. That'll seal the deal for you, though it looks like you've probably got that one in the bag anyway. My treat. Welcome back, man. We've all heard a lot about you, you know."

I grab Hannah and head towards the bathrooms. We grab an empty stall and lock the door as she digs out a car key from her purse.

"Here, just take a little bit on the end of this. Trust me, you won't need much."

I've never been one to listen to reason, especially when it comes to recreational drug use. Ordinarily, coke isn't my cup of tea, but I am on vacation, and I do have a ridiculously hot girl in a bathroom stall with me who's all over me and the bag of blow. I scoop a good half-gram onto the car key and take it like a champ.

Mistake.

Miraculously, I manage to keep from puking, but I'm definitely holding onto the sides of the stall for support and sweating like a whore in church. Hannah has a peculiar mix of amusement and concern on her face, like a mother who has just watched her toddler skin his knee badly enough to cry about it while executing some clumsy playground ninja maneuver.

"You gonna be OK, there, stud?"

"Never been better. Holy fuckballs!"

She moves towards me with a look on her face that leaves no doubts as to her intentions.

"Hold on there, babe. I'm glad to see you too, but I'd like to wait to express my appreciation of your presence until we're in a more appropriate venue than a bathroom stall."

This is a lie. I could care less where we are, but there are other things on my agenda that need to be taken care of first, and I know for a fact that I can take care of Hannah any time I want to. She doesn't even look the slightest bit disappointed. She likes it when I play hard to get.

"If you say so, champ, but you better not fade out on me before the night is through. I've been waiting a LONG time for this."

"Don't you worry. The LAST thing I want to do is leave you hanging."

She doesn't get the joke, which is good because it's a cruel one. Coke always did turn me into an asshole. Well, more of an asshole.

As we exit the bathroom, I hear the sound of sirens and of vehicles sliding to a stop in the parking lot. I also hear the sound of a girl screaming. Scott runs by me, asks me if I know where Cuz is. I don't.

"We gotta find him. Ashley's out in the parking lot and she's going psycho. She just beat the shit out of his truck. We gotta get shit outta there before the cops get too involved."

"You go find him. I'll take care of the truck. Hannah, you got a car here?"

"Yeah..."

"Go get it started and pull around to the back lot. Meet me there. Scott, you get Cuz. Tell him I've got his shit safe with me and to meet us at the Greenhouse. Run. Hannah, we have to GO."

I give the yayo back to Bartender Jake and toss him a tip for my drinks.

"We'll be at the Greenhouse. Come by later and I'll get you back for the bumps. I've gotta go get Cuz out of some shit right now."

"Alright, we'll meet up with you there. Be safe, bro."

Good advice indeed, too bad I'm not gonna end up heeding it. I run out to the parking lot. The cops are still up by the entrance, talking to Eric and Ashley. I run over to the back lot, and while Hannah's turning her car around, I quickly go in through the obscured passenger side of the truck and grab what I need from under the seat, as well as a loaded 9mm that the cops probably don't need to find out about. I don't even wait to find out if they saw me go into the truck or not. I dive into Hannah's car and she floors it and we're out like a boner in sweatpants, headed down the hill into town.

"Damn, baby, I'm glad you're not psycho like that."

A look, one raised eyebrow.

"You don't know that."

TO BE CONTINUED...

The writing talents are strong in this guy...

coming from you, that's high praise. thanks.

8)

Quote from: East Coast Hustlecoming from you, that's high praise. thanks.

8)

:oops:

It takes us a while to find a place to park. Scott and Cuz are already there when we walk in to The Greenhouse. Cuz slides another Henny & Cran across the table to me.

"It's Tuesday."

Two-fer Tuesday, to be exact. 2 drinks for the price of one at The Greenhouse tonight. Lucky for me, the events of the previous half-hour have erased all traces of previous drunkenness. I'm starting with a clean slate here.

"I hadn't forgotten. So what happened with the cops and Ash?"

He goes into more detail than I'm really interested in about their relationship drama, but the upshot is that they sent her home to cool off and since I got the stuff out of there, he didn't have any problems aside from the damage to the vehicle. I don't bother to point out that his fault or not, his boss may not look kindly on having damage inflicted on a company vehicle in the parking lot of a club 6 hours after the workday has ended. I head to the dance floor and motion for Hannah to follow.


"Hold on, baby. I gotta go do something real quick. Don't go anywhere."

Not much danger of that. She walks out of the club and around the block. I spy a really attractive brunette on the dance floor. She's obviously a tourist, and she's got the "dirty librarian" thing going for her. God, I love that look. I decide to take advantage of the fact that she's clearly uncomfortable with the two sketchy islanders that are grinding all over her and interpose myself between them and her. She smiles appreciatively and tries to make small talk with me. Blah blah blah, corporate conference, blah blah blah, boyfriend wouldn't come with her because his beer-league softball team was in the playoffs, blah blah blah, they make the drinks so STRONG here, blah blah blah. Clearly she's ripe for the picking. I'm in the middle of storing her cell number in my phone when Cuz runs up to me.

"We've got a problem."

"Hold on, dude. I'm kinda busy."

"Bro, we have a PROBLEM. Hannah's getting arrested outside."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, and unless you've got her car keys, I'm gonna be in a world of shit if they haul her off before I get my shit out of her car."

"OK, shit, hold on. I'm sorry, darlin', it appears I have to go. We'll talk later?"

She's clearly a whole lot less impressed with me than she was 2 minutes ago.

"Sure, whatever."

Fuck it. Time to see if I can salvage this night at all. We step outside the club and there's Hannah and two large VI Police Officers standing against the side of the old Hard Rock Cafe. Scott is trying to talk to the officers and whatever he's saying is CLEARLY not helping matters any.

"Excuse me, officers. What seems to be the problem?"

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Well, I'm the guy who's date you're arresting. Since she's also my ride, I'd kind of like to know what's going on."

Hannah is freaking the fuck out - screaming, crying, and spitting all at the same time. I'm struck by how beautiful she is even when she's apoplectic.

"THAT'S FUCKING BULLSHIT!!! YOU FUCKING PLANTED THAT YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!! DON'T LET THEM TAKE ME AWAY SO THEY CAN RAPE ME!!!!"

Unfortunately, she's not being unreasonable. That sort of thing happens all too often in this part of the world, but I don't intend to let it happen here.

"What exactly is she being charged with, Officer?"

"Posession of a controlled substance. We saw her coming back to the club from a corner that is known for drug sales, and when we searched her, we found this in her purse." He holds up what looks to be about a gram of coke in a little square baggie.

"You're gonna haul her off to jail for a gram of coke? C'mon, man, there's no need for that. How much for her bail? $100?"

"That's up to the judge."

"C'mon. There's no need to go through all that. $200? Is that enough to bail her out?"

I pull out a wad of bills and begin counting off two hundred dollars. A look of recognition dawns on the cop's face. Apparently, it wasn't that $100 wasn't enough, just that he was slow on the uptake.

"Yeah, that should be enough to cover it. We'll release her to your custody. And if I were you, I'd head straight home. If we have to talk to you again tonight, you're both going to jail."

Good advice. Too bad I'm not gonna end up heeding it. And besides, after everything that's already happened tonight, I am bound and determined to enjoy the rest of my first night of vacation. I put an arm around Hannah and walk her back towards the club.

"Thanks, Justin. You really didn't have to do that, you know."

"You and I both know that I most certainly did have to. Even if the cops hadn't done anything to you, the St. Thomas jail is no place for a pretty white girl. And besides, I kinda like having you around."

"I'll pay you back when I get paid on Friday. You will still be here on Friday, won't you?"

"You know it. But don't even worry about that. You can pay me back whenever, it's not gonna break me."

She stops me and kisses me before we go inside.

"You know, I wonder what it would have been like if you had stayed before?"

"Don't start that, babe. Let's just enjoy ourselves for the rest of the night."

And maybe if I'm lucky, we can enjoy each other later. We get back inside and I sneak over to the side service bar where Cuz can't see me. If he wants to buy me drinks all week when I'm flying solo, that's his business, but I'll be damned if I can't buy drinks for my date my own damn self. Dance and drink, drink and dance, until 3am rolls around. Hannah's still down to stay and dance until closing time, but Cuz has other plans.

"Hey, J, we gotta get rolling, bro. I gotta take care of some real business before the end of the night."

"Shit, man, I was kinda leaning towards going home with Hannah."

"I won't lie to you, J, these dudes I'm going to see are kind of sketchy. I'd feel a lot better if you had my back when I go in there."

"Alright. Lemme go talk to Hannah, then we'll roll. Give me 15 minutes."

Hannah drags me into the bathroom stall before I can say anything. I'm about .05 seconds from ripping her clothes off and fucking her senseless right then and there when she stops me.

"I told you those cops were lying. That bag they had was a plant. They didn't even find the bag I actually had on me. They just wanted an excuse to get a drunk white girl in the back of their car."

She pulls out a small square baggie. Jesus, I forgot how badly this island is overflowing with drugs.

"Babe, I gotta go. Cuz is waiting for me outside. He needs me to go help him take care of some things."

"You're leaving? Fuck you."

"He's blood, baby. I can't tell him no. It should only take an hour or so, where are you gonna be?"

"Well, I was going to take you back to my place, but I guess I'll go hang out with Drew and Toby."

"Alright. We'll come over to Drew's place as soon as we're done."

"Good. I might still be there. Here, here's some incentive to come find me again later."

Damn. I wonder if she'd like Maine? No time for that shit, though. I head out to the street where Cuz is waiting. Not only did he beat us to the Greenhouse, but he apparently had time to run home and switch vehicles in the process. Now we're rolling in the '02 Mustang, and this car would make the boys at Pimp My Ride proud.

"So where are we headed?"

"We've gotta go see my boy Danny, then we're going to Sky High."

"Oh."

Not what I wanted to hear. Sky High has a reputation as a place for one-stop shopping. You can get a drink, get some drugs, get a cheap hooker, and get robbed, all in the same place. The reality is usually even worse than the reputation. Definitely no place for a drunk, coked-out white boy from the states, and I am drunk. I hadn't noticed amidst all the hubbub, but a few minutes sitting down in the car makes it painfully obvious that I am what we in the industry refer to as being "tore up from the floor up." I hope all Cuz wants me to do is stand around and look menacing, because I have a feeling that actually being menacing might be too much for me to handle at this point. We pull into an alley and stop the car.

"Wait here. I gotta go upstairs and talk to Danny real quick. I'll only be a few minutes. The piece is under the seat if anything happens."

"Hurry up."

I pass the time by smoking a cigarette, something I haven,Äôt done in months. Everybody and their mother is giving me the hairy eyeball, but no one fucks with me. Cuz comes back. He looks pissed.

"That fucking cocksucker. I can't believe he tried to pull that shit with me, bro. He knows better than to fuck with NorthSide boys! Malik fucking told him not to pull his bullshit with us. He's gonna be pissed when he finds out about this. I tell you, bro, you see that little fucker, you watch your back. He's fucking shady bro, even shadier than the rest of these fucks. Let's go make me some money so we can get the fuck out of here and back up the hill."

We walk into Sky High. The hairy eyeballs from the ghetto kids outside have nothing on what I'm getting in here. Cuz may say he wants me to have his back, but I suspect that coming in with him is what's going to keep me alive and unharmed. At least the girl on stage is hot. That's a rarity for these shit-hole West Indian whorehouses. On closer inspection, she's still in braces. I guess that's one way to pay for school uniforms. I get myself a drink and grab a chair near the stage. From where I am, I can keep an eye on the door and the entrance to the back rooms and still look like I'm just checking out the T&A onstage. It takes less than a minute for the first one to approach me.

"Hey there, white boy. You wan' com' out back wid I when I ge' done widda next trick? I co' show you tings dem stateside gyuls won' even tink about doin', ya know."

"Nah, I'm set for now, honey. I'll let you know if I change my mind."

They come, one after the other. It appears to be incomprehensible to them that a white boy, a stateside white boy no less, would come in here for any other reason than to rent their services. Truth is, even if I were interested, I doubt the equipment would comply right now. Whiskey-dick and coke-dick at the same time? Anyway, I doubt Hannah would be impressed if I showed up at Drew's place smelling like three different flavors of West Indian whore. Cuz disappears into the back rooms with a big Dred and a short, fat Puerto Rican. I toss just enough dollar bills on stage to appear interested, and resign myself to nursing drinks and fending off hookers for the next little while. Just as I'm starting to zone out on the mix of Hennessey and vagina, the sound of a heated argument snaps me out of my reverie. It's coming from the back rooms, and one of the voices is unmistakably Cuz's. I stop myself from jumping up and running back there. Appearing too interested could be fatal at this point. I get up, toss a few more bills on the stage, and pay my bar tab.
I hug the wall as I step outside. I can see the car, and there's no one between it and me. The voices get suddenly louder ,they're outside now, on the other side of the building from me. Cuz's voice sounds less angry than before, and more like he's trying to talk his way out of some shit. I dash to the car and duck down between the driver's side door and the side of the building it's parked next to. Fuck. Of course it's locked. Good thing I was drunk. I can see through the window that I forgot to lock the passenger side door, but that's going to leave me exposed and vulnerable, and there's no WAY they won't see me for that long. Cuz is pleading now. No time. Fuck.
I run around the front of the car to stay hidden as long as possible, then I throw open the door and dive for the gun under the seat. As my hand closes over the grip of the gun, I whirl around, half expecting to die right there. Fucking unbelievable. They haven't even seen me yet. They didn't notice a big drunk white guy running around a car and grabbing a gun from inside of it. Clearly, these guys are not destined for upper management. It's almost too easy. I walk around the corner of the building, keeping to the shadows, and then step out right behind the smallest and lightest of the four thugs. It's not like in the movies. There's no dramatic sound of the hammer cocking, or witty one-liner as I step out. I pistol-whip him right in the temple, then grab him around the neck and use him as a human shield.

"Let him go."

One of the thugs goes for his waistband. I fire at his feet.

"Stand right here, and don't fucking move or I'll fucking kill you where you stand. Cuz, you OK?"

"I'm good, bro."

"Go start the car. Get it facing towards Dronningens Gade and leave my door wide open. As soon as I get in, you're gonna need to stomp it."

I hear him fumbling for his keys and opening the driver side door.

"Now, any of you three motherfuckers does anything besides stand still, I'm'a kill all of you right here. Got it?"

Nods all around.

"Good. If you try to shoot me, you WILL kill your friend here first, and I WILL kill at least one of you before you get me, whichever of you wants to be first, feel free to test me."

I begin to move. They don't even twitch. All the fight is out of them. They don't even shoot at us after I drop the unconscious one to the ground and dive into the car. We pull out of the alley onto the street, and head toward the waterfront.

"What the fuck was that all about, anyway?"

"Man, Danny called them before we got here and told them some bullshit. Malik got deported to Haiti or some shit, and the dude that's handling shit while he's gone is a real fuck. I guess he decided that he didn't have to take a white boy seriously. They were gonna just fuck me up and rob me for the cash and what I re-copped from Danny. You probably should have let it happen, bro."

"Yeah, well, I do stupid shit when I'm drunk, what can I say?"

"You're gonna have to keep a low profile the rest of the time you're here, J. Those boys will be looking for you, bro. You don't wanna get fucked up with them."

"Fuck them. And thanks for the concern, but don't worry about me. I'm not the one who was about to get shit-stomped by 3 Haitians and a Puerto Rican outside a shitty St. Thomian whorehouse."

"Naw, hey, bro, I didn't mean it like that. And thanks for saving my ass. But seriously, you don't wanna get involved."

"It looks like I already made that decision. Now let's get some beers and go to Drew's. My date is probably getting impatient. After all, I have been keeping her waiting for almost a decade."

"Shit, J, it's good to have you back, bro. I mean that."

"Yeah, yeah, save it for when I leave, Cuz. Especially if this isn't over yet. Now let's GO."


TO BE CONTINUED...

A new generation of noir, keep this shit comin.

Quote from: eroticHe 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

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

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

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...

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.

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...

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

This is excellent.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

Quote from: Eldora, Oracle of AlchemyGreat 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.

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

wait'll the next hurricane whacks 'em in the ass.

I pretend not to notice him as I head to the bar. I don't think he ever actually saw my face clearly the other night, so if I play it cool, I might be able to avoid starting an ugly scene. Of course, as soon as Cuz walks in, the game will be up, but we'll have a slight advantage if Danny doesn't know who has Cuz's back. His eyes don't follow me as I slide into a barstool and order a drink. Good. Cuz and Timmy walk in a minute later. He makes them for sure, finishes up his conversation, and heads for the door.

"you see him?"

"Yeah. I bet he'll come back too, and he won't be outnumbered when he does."

"Well, the good news is, he didn't recognize me, which means he never made me when we were in Sky High the other night. I'll get the drop on him if anything goes down."

"J, I'm pretty sure we'd both better hope that nothing goes down. Those boys don't fuck around, and they don't care about shit like going to prison."

"You wanna bail out then?"

"Hell no! We've got more back-up here than you know. It might get ugly, but I can't let these people see me back down. I might as well quit out and go back to Florida if that happens, cuz no respect equals no business down here. You know how shit is."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Shit, at least you were right about one thing. This place is FULL of hotties. I'm'a go try to find me one."

"OK, just keep your eyes open. I know you know your shit, J, and it's not my place to tell you what to do, but I'm not gonna get drunk tonight. You probably shouldn't either."

"No worries, cuz. You're right, I DO know my shit."

I may have a callous disregard for my own physical safety, but there's no WAY I'm doing anything that would jeopardize my little brother. I've got more love for this kid than just about anyone else in the world, and I wouldn't hesitate to take a hot one for him if it comes to that. No need to tell him that, though. He'll be more alert if he thinks that he's watching over me instead of the other way around.
I find myself on the dance floor with a pretty dark-haired girl, moving in tandem to the sinewy bassline of some good dancehall. I love dancing to reggae. Unlike hip-hop or techno, it is utterly impossible to dance to reggae in anything other than a completely sexual manner. They could probably cut the teen pregnancy rate in half down here if they just burned all the dancehall albums on the island. The girl moves closer to me. Just as I'm about to move in for the kiss, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around and find myself face to face with a clearly angry Frenchie boy.

"Hey, man! Whadda fuck you t'ink you doin'?"

"What the fuck does it LOOK like I'm doing? I'm dancing with this beautiful lady. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to continue doing so."

"Ya muddascunt! I DO mind! Das MY woman, m'sun!"

He puts a finger in my chest to emphasize this last point.

"You don't want to do that, son. Not with me. And if she IS your woman, you won't have anything to worry about, will you? Now get out of my face."

"Fuck that! Let's go, motherfucker!"

In the split second during which I'm trying to decide whether to ignore him or break his nose, I realize I know him.

"Scotty? Scotty Turbe?"

That takes him by surprise.

"Yeah, and who da fuck you is?"

"You don't recognize me? Man, I used to get stuck babysitting you and Adam and Johnny when your mom and my mom would get too drunk. You don't remember when we found the motorbike on Inner Brass and I convinced you to ride it off the rocks into the water?"

"J? Holy SHIT, bro!"

More hugs and backslapping. This is becoming a theme.

"I was really sorry to hear about your mom, by the way. You know she was family to me."

"Yeah, it was shitty, man, but at least she went too quick to feel anything. Man! I can't believe I was about to try to fight you!"

"Well, I WAS about to steal your woman."

"Ahh, fuck that whore anyway. You can have her if you want her. I thought you were just some honky that needed a lesson. When'd you get back to the island?"

"Couple days ago. I'm just here for a week. Is Adam here too?"

"Yeah, he's downstairs with Timmy and them. Come on outside with me. I'll grab him and Timmy and we'll go burn one in my truck. I got some good kind bud that I just cropped. Grew it with Matthew, so you know it'a be some good shit."

I probably shouldn't, but that's never stopped me before.

"Yeah, bro. Lemme finish my drink and take a piss and I'll be right out."

I down the last swig of Henny, hit the pisser, and head outside.

"J! Over here!"

I walk over to Scott's truck and hop in the back. Adam is just as happy to see me as his brother was. They've got a cooler full of Heinekens in the truck. We sit there drinking and smoking and waxing nostalgic about the old days for a while until everybody has a good buzz on.

"Damn, bro. You weren't kidding. That is some crazy fucking weed, man. It's a good think there's a shitload of girls in there to motivate me or I probably wouldn't bother getting up for a few hours."

"Yeah, Matthew's pretty good. Doc and Edmund turned him into their little protege 5 or 6 years ago, and I think he's better than either of them now. Fucking boy knows his shit, bro."

"Fuck yeah, he does. A'ight, man, I'm headed back inside to see if I can steal your woman again. I think there's supposed to be an after-party at Jake's place, so catch up to me before you guys take off."

"Yeah, bro, we'll kick it."

Cuz comes out the door of the club just as I'm about to head back inside.

"J! You wanna burn one?"

"Nah, man. I just got done blazing up with Scotty and Adam. Scotty was gonna try to kick my ass for grinding on his woman until I realized who he was."

"Man, that ain't even his woman. She gets around, bro, and he knows it. He's even worse than she is. Guarantee neither of them goes home alone  OR with each other tonight."

"No surprise there. That kid's been a practicing pimp since he was 9 years old, Cuz. Let's go back in and find some girls."

"You mean let's go back in and find YOU a girl. I just got fucked out of getting some strange tonight."

"How so?"

"Man, fucking Ashley just showed up. She'll cock block me at every opportunity, and she probably won't even give it up herself. Sometimes I wish I'd never met that crazy bitch."

"Don't worry, Cuz. You can't help it. Digging the crazy girls is in our blood."

"Yeah, no doubt, huh?"

As I turn toward the entrance to the club, I have just enough time to register the sound of shouting, metal colliding with metal, and three loud pops. Instinct takes over immediately. I dive behind the nearest car, expecting Cuz to follow me.

He doesn't.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Excellent.  I dont think I've read anything on the net which has manages to make me laugh, other than this, in quite a while.

Quote from: ECHUnlike hip-hop or techno, it is utterly impossible to dance to reggae in anything other than a completely sexual manner.

:lol: Troof.

This is Iceberg Slim Lite:  "75% less Conscience!"  I can't really say that though, cause I haven't read enough of Slim, or ECH for that matter. . .

I meant to go to sleep a while ago, your writing's got a definite hook.

Quote from: ECHUnlike hip-hop or techno, it is utterly impossible to dance to reggae in anything other than a completely sexual manner.

I don't know about this......I went to a raggae festival in montana last summer and some of those people just looked dorky.

Quote from: She Who Lurks Beyond, Oracle of Dooma raggae festival in montana

really, do I need to say anything more?

Quote from: East Coast Hustle

Quote from: She Who Lurks Beyond, Oracle of Dooma raggae festival in montana

really, do I need to say anything more?

Absolutely not. It was the funniest thing (almost) that I've ever seen in my life.

my nigga! this shit is DOPE! how you gonna leave thes cats hangin' fo so long? beest get crackin' wit' dat next chapter, yo!

Seconded.

Damn.  The wait between chapters is even longer than LMNO-PI...




And that's saying something.

I'll have LOTS of time to write pretty soon.

Bumped for Jenne.

Thank you!  *commences to read*

heh. I actually have two or three more finished chapters to post, if i can ever manage to liberate my computer from the clutches of ECHF's techno-geek dad.

Hoo-ray!

don't get all wet just yet.

I've been waiting for him to stop dicking around with my computer for quite some time now.

Either he's really souping it up to the nuts, or he's stalling so the CIA people can have a little more time to go over my hard drive.

Yeah, damn, this one's been stewing for a while.  *needs closure!!!!*

This shit's awesome...reads like a real novel.  Great stuff, ECH.

I received a text message from ECH this weekend...

"The Sequel Has Begun."


Which is a shame, since he hasn't even finished the first episode, yet...

Yeah, Dude...he better work on some shit to wrap THIS edition up...

heh.

Someone care to explain to me why this wasn't brought to my attention sooner?  :x

I'm starting to see a theme here, fkin quality work that leaves you hanging for months waiting on the next instalment?

Because we (the authors) are just too fucking cool to spend all our time churning out petty amusements for the proles.

I've got another chapter....

actually, I've got TWO other chapters. Now y'all just have to wait for me to transfer them from my everything else computer to my internets computer.

oh, and since I apparently never posted the other two chapters that I finished a while ago, that means there are FOUR NEW CHAPTERS.

obviously, I can't release them all at once, but I'l try to get one or two of them posted this week.

for those of you who've never seen this, read it from the beginning so you too can wait in breathless anticipation while I continually tease and promise and inevitably fail to deliver.

Chapter Seven

It's the longest five seconds of my life. Longer than the previous 28 years put together. There's shouting and gunfire and the sound of cars hitting cars and cars peeling out, but I can't hear any of it. All of my attention is focused on a crumpled human form laying in a quickly-spreading pool of blood about 5 yards away from the car I'm crouched behind.

I have to go help Cuz. If I wait until everything calms down, he'll be dead. If I don't wait, I might be dead. And I don't even have the gun.

Fuck.

I run over to where Cuz is laying on the ground. It's worse than it looked from a distance. He caught two of them. One went through his shoulder and came out the other side clean. One went into his neck and is still in there somewhere. The blood that's flowing freely from his neck is too dark, and he doesn't appear to be breathing. Fucking St. Thomas. Anywhere else in the civilized world, and the cops and EMTs would be crawling all over this place, but here I can just barely make out the first sirens off in the distance. They're still 2 or 3 minutes away, and I don't think Cuz has that long.
I take my shirt off and feel in Cuz's cargo pockets for the knife I know is in there. Applying a tourniquet to someone's neck is tricky business, but it beats watching him bleed out right there in my arms. Once the flow of blood from his neck is somewhat abated, I wrap a couple strips around his shoulder. As my hearing and vision begin to lose the hyper-focus that comes with emptying your entire adrenal gland all at once, I am aware of someone standing behind me.

I manage to stop from burying the knife in Scott's eye by a matter of inches.

"Bro, you shouldn't sneak up on a motherfucker like that after he's just been shot at. You almost got yourself killed. We need to get him to a hospital."

"No, you need to follow me out of here before the cops show up. We've got about 45 seconds before we find ourselves in a St. Thomian jail cell, where we'll get to hang out for a few days until they get around to us."

"We NEED to get my fucking brother to a fucking hospital."

"Dude. 30 seconds. Get in the fucking car, and let the professionals take care of him. You've already done everything you can do for him, J. We need to GO."

"I'm taking his ride. I'll follow you."

The Mustang responds well, and Scott and I clear the back entrance to the Havensight complex about 10 seconds before the space in front of Offshore fills up with cops and paramedics. We break right to avoid going back past the scene of the crime and continue towards the East End. My cell phone starts ringing, and the caller ID shows a VI number that I don't recognize. On the road ahead of me, Scott is flashing his hazards on and off trying to signal something. I pick up the phone.

"It's me. Cuz tried to call you from my phone yesterday, that's how I had the number. We're headed to Duffy's. you need to stash the Mustang somewhere if you wanna get back to the North Side alive, and I know just the place. Dude there might even be able to lend us some heat, but you gotta keep your mouth shut about what just happened. He gets wind of that shit and he'll shoot us himself before he'll get involved helping us."

"Ok...then you tell me how we're gonna explain showing up with some stateside stranger he's never seen before driving Cuz's car?"

"Bro...you still don't get it, do you? He might not know you, but he sure as fuck knows who you are. Just tell him cuz left with Ashley and left you with the Mustang, and you were fucking around and drove past a cop at 70 with a joint hanging out the window. He'll understand, and be happy to help a legend escape the long arm of the law."

"Legend? Shit...now I've heard everything. But whatever. If he'll help us, let's go. But Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"We are NOT staying at fucking Duffy's for any amount of time. Period. I hate that bar."

"Well, I just wanna talk to one guy..."

"No. Period."

"A'ight. We'll bounce as soon as we've safely stashed the car."

As I close my phone, we round the curve that brings Duffy's into view, along with the rest of the grossly overdeveloped strip that marks the edge of the east End's commercial hub, Red Hook. Scott whips into the strip mall just before Duffy's and drives around to the back of the building, where there appears to be some sort of autobody shop. I park right next to him and as I hop out, I remember that I'm not wearing a shirt and my pants are covered in blood. Maybe we oughtta re-think how we play this.

"Dude...I just realized something."

"Dude? Scott?"

"Scott!"

I walk around the car to his driver's side window. He's just sitting there, like we've got all the time in the world to spare. I tap on the window. Nothing.

I open his driver's side door.

He spills out onto the concrete, clutching his side and covered in blood.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Chapter Eight

Apparently, Scott was stabbed in the side during the fracas at Offshore. Why he failed to mention this fact is a mystery to me. Perhaps he had just done THAT much coke. Needless to say, this totally ruins our immediate plans. Cuz's car might be hot, but the inside of Scott's car is covered in blood. I perform my second attempt at triage in the past hour, slow the bleeding down to a trickle, and get him into the passenger seat of the Mustang. The hospital isn't that far away, but unfortunately for me, Offshore is directly between my current location and where I want to be. Since there's no way I'm driving past there in Cuz's car, it means I have to go all the way around the East End, over the mountain from the back side, and through the Bovoni ghetto to get to the hospital. Bovoni is one of the most dangerous places on the island, doubly so because it's someplace where I don't have any acquaintances. This turns a simple 10 minute drive into a very tense half-hour drive, during which my right hand alternates between working the gearshift on the switchbacks, and gripping the pistol in my lap every time I have to bring the car to a stop. As I come down the other side of the hill and weave my way through Tutu towards the hospital, I wake Scott up.

"Wha? Huh? Where am I?"

"We're at the hospital, bro. You gotta get out here. You've lost a lot of blood."

"Dude, where's my car?"

"Funny guy. I left it parked by the autobody shop near Duffy's. You neglected to tell me that the inside was soaked in your own blood. I'd rather take my chances with the Mustang. I locked it and set the alarm. You can pick it up tomorrow, I'm sure."

"Fuck that, J. We gotta go get those fucks, man. We can't let that shit go down like that."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but you'll be more of a hindrance than a help in your condition. You get sewn up, man, I'm'a go find out a few things and come back to check on you. Don't forget to NOT ask anything about Cuz, or you and I are gonna meet up again sooner than we'd like, and not where we'd like to be. Now go."

"But..."

"No. You'll be fine once you get patched up, so I'll catch up with you tomorrow and we'll figure out a plan."

First things first. It's bad enough to be driving around the island in a flashy sports car that every cop on St. Thomas is looking for, but for that car to be full of drugs is just stupid. I turn right out of the hospital parking lot and head up Mafolie Hill on my way to the North Side. I'm just about to turn left into my Mom's driveway when I realize how unforgivably stupid that would be. Surely she's gotten a call by now about Cuz, and me showing up shirtless, bloody, and driving his car will probably not set me up for a smooth exit a few minutes later. I keep going and turn up St. Peter Mountain Road. My timing is superb, as usual. I'm just about to Cuz's driveway when I see Ashley's car pulling out. He's on death's door with a bullet in his neck, and she's over here? It strikes me as suspicious, but I have no interest in confronting her right now, so I file it away for future reference and keep driving past his apartment. A little way down the road, once she's around a curve and out of sight, I make a U-turn and head back to his crib.
I don't wanna stash his dope anywhere obvious if Ashley is snooping around. She'd rip him off in a heartbeat, and it'd be on me, so I put everything in a freezer bag, wrap it tight with duct tape, tie a string to it, and hang it down the cistern-pipe where no one would ever think to look. Then I get the first piece of good luck I've had all night. I had left my backpack there before we headed to the Old Mill, and there's an extra pair of shorts and a t-shirt in it. Ten minutes later, I'm freshly showered and changed and on my way back out the door, wearing clothes nobody's seen me in tonight and a floppy wide-brim hat that I stole from Cuz's wardrobe.
As I head towards the top of St. Peter Mountain, it occurs to me that I really have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going. Cuz and Scott will have to wait for now. I'd like to find the Turbe brothers and find out what they saw and what they know about our assailants, but my guess is that right now that's exactly what the cops are doing with them. Too late to go bother Devin, and it wouldn't be fair to involve him in this anyway. God only knows where Timmy and Drew are right now. What I'd really like to do is to find Hannah and let her help me unwind, but she's probably still at the Old Mill, and the Old Mill is NOT a safe place for me to be right now. I keep on driving as my mind wanders, and pretty soon I'm making my way back down the hill towards town. I can think of worse places to be, I guess. Being right in the heart of Charlotte Amalie will afford me some much needed anonymity, and it's probably as good a place as any to run into a friendly face at this time of night. Sitting at a red light, I decide to head to Gottlieb's for some late-night munchies and a sixer of Heineken.
Lost in my thoughts, I don't even realize that the light has turned green until the car behind me honks. When I look up, I realize that, whether by chance or design, I have ended up right in front of where I meant to go all along. The one place I can find the answers I need and the people I need to get them from. I pull into an alley a couple blocks away. This is NOT the place I want to be recognized by the car I'm driving. As I hop out of the Mustang, I steel myself for what could be the last thing I ever do.

About 2 hours after the shooting, with the coppery smell of my own kin's blood still tickling my nose like the fast-fading remnants of a bad dream, I walk right into the hornets' nest.

With the pistol tucked firmly into my belt, and the hat pulled low over my eyes, I walk into Sky High.

TO BE CONTINUED....

Chapter Nine

Lady Luck is truly on my side tonight. Of all the nights I could have picked to try to go incognito in a West Indian whorehouse, I picked the night when the place is half-full of white tourists with sunburns and panama hats. I fit right in. At this point, I'm pretty much running on fumes, so I decide to refill my tank with another Henny and cran. There's quite a difference between the drink I got when I came in with Cuz and the drink I get while passing myself off as just another stateside honky, but it beats drinking the tap water in this part of town. The corner table is occupied by a couple of crackheads trying to figure out which one of the bar skanks will accept a few rocks as payment for their services in lieu of cash. I walk over to them.

"This is my table. Get out."

"Huh? Who the fuck are you, man? You don't own this place. Fuck off."

I lift my shirt a couple inches, just enough for them to catch a glimpse of what the future holds if they don't comply with my request.

"I said get out. And if you make a scene, you won't reach the door alive."

"Uhh..."

They head for the door quickly and without so much as a muttered word or a backwards glance. No one seems sorry to see them go, nor do they pay any attention to the big white drunk in the corner cruising for a couple hours of companionship. Now all I can do is wait for the right opportunity, if there is such a thing at this point. At least the girl dancing on the stage is kinda hot, and even appears to be of legal age. The beginning of a plan starts to coalesce in my mind.
When the hottie gets done with her dance, I motion her overt to my table.

"Hey there, sweet thing. You busy right now, or you got time to keep me company?"

"M'sun, I ain' wukkin' dis crowd! Stage gyuls ain' fo' whitey cheese like you. VIP only, d'man."

"I'm as VIP as it gets, baby. I own 12 import car dealerships in the Denver area."

"D'ain't mean nuttin' to me, m'sun. My boss ain' know who da fuck you is, so I don' t'ink ya on the VIP list."

I flash her a fairly sizeable wad of cash. Dangerous move in a place like this, but my options are severely limited.

"Does this get me VIP status?"

"I betta talk to my boss. And you beta put that away or one dese native boys gon' take it from you."

"Ok, go talk to your boss. Tell him to come talk to me if he wants."

She slinks off towards the door to the back rooms, presses a buzzer, and gets let in. I follow a few seconds behind and just manage to catch the door before it shuts and locks behind her. I can hear her conversation coming from the room at the end of the hall on the right.

"Danny! Some crazy white boy out there flashin' cash and wantin' to rent me for an hour. You wan' tell him to go fuck he'self, or you wan' me to play along so we co' take his grip?"

"Go tell him it alright, and take him to the room upstairs with the broken lock. Don' give he nuttin' though! String him along until one 'dem boys come up, then come back down here. I catch you gettin' down wit' he, you gon' feel the back of my hand, gyul. Jah as my witness."

Did he really just invoke Jah in the context of backhanding one of his hookers? No matter, I don't have time to appreciate the irony right now. She comes back out of the office and I duck into an empty room off the hallway. I figure I only have about 2 minutes to make my move before she comes back to tell him I'm not there anymore. I quickly move down the hallway with one hand under my shirt. I can hear Danny on the phone in the office, and the place appears to be otherwise empty. I knock on the door to the office.

"Who it is? Don' botha me now, d'man! Y'all can' see when a man is busy?"

I open the door and walk in like I'm supposed to be there. We'll find out soon enough if he really never made my face, or if he's just keeping that advantage to himself.

"Wha? Who the fuck you is? Dis ain' the bat'room, m'sun! Now get ya white ass outta here before I decide to shoot you myself."

Good. He really has no idea who I am. I come with my best native-born accent.

"Malik sent me to talk to you."

"Malik? Malik in prison, m'sun. He ain' send you or anybody else. Now y'gon' get all fuck up, boy."

Thank god I always paid attention to who my Stepdad's friends were and how they were connected to each other. Time for the trump card.

"Malik heard from Manny that you were having trouble with your NorthSide boy. Manny sent me over here to talk to you. I'm supposed to take over distribution for that part of the operation. You got a problem with that, I can have Manny come over here and you two can talk it out."

Only the biggest of big dogs would ever even think about getting crossed up with Manny. Danny is not that big a dog.

"Manny send you? Howcome y'ain' say so! Listen, I can't give you a full key right now cuz I ain' had a chance to get it back from the last dude, but I co' give you half a key for now and set you up propa tomorrow night."

Hmm. I think I know now what Ashley was doing snooping around Cuz's place earlier. I'll have to have a talk with her later.

"Sounds good to me. Only thing is, I'm right in the middle of selling my condo and moving to a new place out by Caret Bay, so I had to stash all my scales and shit while the real estate agents are poking around. You got a scale and a spare room I could use for a few minutes?"

"No problem, man. Come, I'll show you to the other office, and when you done, if you ain' got nuttin' else goin' on, I co' hook you up wit' one of my best gyuls for an hour."

"Hell yeah. I think I'm gonna like doing business with you, Danny. Lead the way."

He never even notices me grab the roll of duct tape from the storage bin by the desk as he gets up and motions for me to follow him down the hallway. Just as he's about to pass the side door to the outside, I pistol whip him in the back of the head and shove him through the door.

TO BE CONTINUED...

bump for shameless self-promotion, and because in spite of the fact that I have not even come close to finishing this story, the first chapter in the next VI story is almost done, and while this story is loosely based on true events, then new one is 100% true, and twice as strange.

Bump for ECH's new story