《Think Again》 About the Authors Born in Massachusetts and Kentucky respectively the brother sister team, Harry and M.K. Michael both lived in Bristol, VA and Fort Sanders student ghetto in Knoxville, TN, where Think Again takes place, although at different times. Harry Sr. was raised a Catholic altar boy and Phyllis Sue, their mother, raised them with an a great appreciation for Appalachia and the history of Bristol and the surrounding areas. A wide variety of life experiences colors this colorful story. Harry''s ten years in and out of the prison system in Tennessee and Virginia gave him a firsthand look at the good, the bad, and the ugly of the Department of Corrections and the inmates within the institutions. Owning the only copy of "According to Hoyle", he was de facto arbiter of various gaming disputes. Once back on the streets Harry obtained an Associate''s Degree in Information Technology while on the Dean''s List and working full time. His son, Harry, III resides in Lexington, NC.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! M.K.Michael has published two tarot books under the pen name Lady Lorelei and self-published three space opera novels, the Lightfall series. She resides in Chatham County NC with cats, dogs, and birds. When not writing, she runs the non-profit Resthaven Retired Pets, Inc. to keep senior pets in their forever homes with their Disabled owners. www.resthavenorg.wordpress.com www.mkm9196190340.wordpress.com Foreward Harry Michael wrote Think Again and several short stories and poems during the ten years he was in and out of prison from 1986 to 1996. He was serious about this novel working on it over and over and enlisting editing help from Jeff Joyce who might have been a fellow inmate. If Jeff ever reads this I''d love to hear more of how this novel came to be. * A word to the faint of heart: This is a story written by an inmate for inmates. *This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Most authors have a Trunk wherein reside the drafts, outlines, ideas, and scraps of stories that never were, might have been, or were never shopped around for one reason or another. In 2019 I finally faced Harry''s trunk and began work with the help of NaNoWriMo.org (Camp in July and) the National Novel Writing Month in November. It helps to focus and dedicate a solid month to nothing but my writing. Prison helped Harry focus on and dedicate his time to writing. * He was born with what they call Attention Deficit Disorder nowadays. It was Dyslexia when we were in school and Hyperactivity when he was a toddler. It was hard for him to read but he developed the same love I have for fantasy and science fiction... and writing. We are alike in a lot of ways, so is our writing. The idea is his. I expanded on it. * When looked at in a certain way, Think Again is his life''s work. Prologue Prologue 1 April 2019 Greensville Correctional Center, Jarratt VA Slow Eddie Holcum was a one time loser and didn''t have a chance. He stretched his six foot frame up to the afternoon sun and let his thoughts skim past the last two thousand and five days. Grinning to himself he knew today would finally be different. As the cell door shut behind him for the last time, only Heaven knew what would happen to him now... or perhaps Hell.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Prologue 2 October 2018 Nice, France Raphaella waited by the window. It was so cold. Rain poured down. She was so hot and thirsty and itchy. When would he be back? How long had he been gone? How long did it take to get it and come back to her? She knew where he went. He''d started going to sketchier and dirtier places despite her protests. He didn''t need to go there. But he had the money, so she let him have her way. Which wasn''t like her at all. Dammit! It is Raphie''s way! She thought as she pulled on her raincoat and stepped out into the pouring ice cold rain to search for her lover. Chapter 1 The Steup - Atwells - October 2014 ¡°Hand me those wire snips,¡± whispered Slow Eddie Holcum. Jake Mustaine wordlessly handed them over. Low flying clouds whipped across the pale face of October''s Harvester''s Moon, full in a starless sky. ¡°That sonuvabitchin Junior better get his ass back here. He knows that fence alarm only has a ninety second window,¡± muttered Slow Eddie. Jake, silent as usual, merely nodded. Eddie got to his feet and stretched the kink out his back from crouching. He ran a hand through his black hair, crystal blue eyes searching the night for signs of Junior. ¡°Fuck it. We roll without him,¡± he spat in disgust. Four more snips and they were through the chain link. Eddie stepped through, his mind racing over last night''s meeting where he, Jake and Junior lounged around their favorite table at the back of Junior''s Dad''s Titty Tat club. Chasing shots of Cuervo Gold with Moosehead beer, Junior Atwell belched forth, ¡°I got a sweet one fellas. Real sweet, neat and easy.¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah, yeah,¡± Eddie began, ¡°That''s what you said about that country club job. If Jake hadn''t spotted that security guard we''d all be singing the blues at Greensville.¡± Paragraph about the Commonwealth of Virginia prisons. Greensville is the end of the line in the Virgina Department of Corrections. Junior pushed his face, blotchy with alcohol poisoning, and hair slick with alcoholic sweat, forward complaining, ¡°Jesus guys, how many times do I have to say, ''I''m sorry!'' I figured this one to be so sweet, it would make up for the last one!¡± He finished in a whine. Jake, the biggest of the threesome at six four, 250, and also the quietest said, ¡°Quit blubbering and tell us about this sweet deal of yours.¡± He reached out his long arm and poured another shot of Cuervo. ¡°Well. You guys seen that little blonde I been chasing around lately?¡± Junior asked. ¡°Yeah,¡± they nodded. ¡°Well. Her daddy is none other than J. D. McDaniels, President of United Coal, Southwest Virginia Division.¡± Junior sat back with a satisfied smirk on his greasy face. ¡°No shit,¡± Jake grunted in wonder. Slow Eddie asked, ¡°Wasn''t she a freshman when we got kicked out our senior year?¡± ¡°That''s right!¡± Junior grinned. ¡°Braces, glasses, and knee socks. Seems little Susie has sprouted right on up.¡± His smile turned into a leer. ¡°Anyway, I been slippin'' her the willy over at her daddy''s place and apparently they are all going out of town for the weekend and I got all the security codes, vault combinations, everything. And that''s not all,¡± Junior added, with a pause for suspense. ¡°This year''s cash transfer is in it which should be over $600,000.¡± Last night it looked like Junior had come through again, Eddie thought as he grabbed the bag of tools Jake offered though the small hole he had snipped through the chain link fence. Eddie and Jake proceeded to their objectives according to the plan communicating wordlessly by taps on their wireless headsets. Slow Eddie approached the front door and rolled down the black ski mask he''d had on his head. Dressed all in black he glided forward like any other shadow in the night. Dammit! He thought. Where the fuck is Junior? At that moment Junior Atwell, all 5 foot 4 inches of him shivered with a major attack of guilt because he was up to his little ears in the most treacherous thing he had ever done in his whole miserable life. Junior, Doug Atwell, Sr. and Sheriff Lovelace sat in the back of the Washington County tactical command van. It is as state of the art as the County budget could pull which, Thank God for President Trump''s economy, was a lot! The Command van offered the latest in communication and surveillance equipment. The three watched a monitor clear as a bell as Slow Eddie Holcum lived up to his name and melted like molasses toward the Georgian estate''s front steps.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Junior shaking and swallowing bile reflected over the last week beginning with last Sunday. ¡°You no good little sonuvabitch,¡± muttered Doug, Sr. as the redneck sized silver buckle of his heaviest leather belt whistled through the air then struck against his son''s bare back. Junior''s eyes flew open in simultaneous pain, surprise, and shock while he sucked down wind to scream. His father brought down the murderous belt for another excruciating blow against his son''s bare ass. Junior, his lungs now full of air, screamed, ¡°Daddy! Daddy! I''m twenty-five years old! What in the hell are you doin''?¡± He scrambled over the side of the bed where he''d been shocked awake. ¡°Oh! Twenty-five years old, are ye?¡± asked Doug, Sr. dangerously. He dropped the belt. ¡°So you think you''re old enough to take on this old bear in the woods, do ya?¡± he challenged as he grabbed a handful of Junior''s greasy dirty blonde hair and proceeded to bitch-smack the living shit out of him. ¡°Daddy! Daddy! What''s wrong?¡± squealed Junior. ¡°What have I done?¡± ¡°What haven''t you done, is the question, you little shit!!¡± thundered Doug, Sr., and with one final blow, he curled up his fist and gave Junior a taste of what a Golden Gloves Champion in the Marine Corps had. Some minutes later, when Junior came to, Doug Sr. said, ¡°That, you disgusting piece of filth, is for what you did to that Griffin girl last night.¡± ¡°But... but,¡± Junior stammered. He''d just had a little fun. ¡°It was just a little slap and tickle.¡± Most girls cried after some rough sex. Who cared? ¡°I don''t want to hear it. That poor girl was bleeding from all three holes and I can see blood on your skinny lil prick, you shitty lil wart!¡± bellowed Doug, Sr. ¡°You cost me ten thousand dollars cash for the doctor to destroy the evidence you put up in her cuz you can''t use a rubber! And a sweet tip to that three dollar bill sheriff to keep your fat ass out of jail!¡± ¡°I''m not fat,¡± Junior whined indignantly, rubbing his pudgy ass. ¡°Oh shut up,¡± Doug, Sr. muttered. ¡°Why,¡± he began, looking to the ceiling as though to God for patience, ¡°didn''t you pick up one of those sluts from the club? Never mind, I don''t want to know. Anyway, you whined earlier about being twenty-five years old?¡± Doug Sr. looked pointedly at his son. Junior squirmed on the floor under that steely glare. He hid his incriminating penis with both hands. An ass whooping he could deal with, he had all his life. But these fucking sermons on responsibility, made him want a girl, to take the edge off. An attention span was not one of Junior''s strong points. Not five minutes after one of the worst beatings of his life, for raping and beating an innocent girl no less, he already desired the thrill of doing it again. ¡°It''s time you started taking more responsibility,¡± droned Doug, Sr. as he slapped his son. ¡°It''s time one of your no good punk friend like Eddie or Jake pays his debt to society and you''re going to help set ''em up.¡± ¡°But Daddy, I can''t do that! I''ve known them all my life!,¡± Junior pleaded, panicked. His daddy sounded serious. ¡°Well. You can be a man, do your time, and keep house for some big buck N-word in Greensville then,¡± replied Doug, Sr. with the finality of the grave. Junior watched the monitor as his best friends since second grade took the fall he set up for them and wished for a bottle of Tums. ¡°Here''s goes nothing,¡± muttered Eddie he he tapped the last digit on the keypad. The red light turned green and he grinned and gave thanks to Mr. McNally''s high school electronics class. One last tap on the headset signaled to Jake that he was in. Jake tapped back the all clear. Eddie took a breath, turned the knob, and stepped across the threshold into what looked like a masquerade ball except everyone was dressed in black and looked like deputy sheriffs. ¡°About time you showed up Eddie. We were all set to send out for coffee,¡± joked Deputy Stills, an old high school rival as he clapped on the cuffs and then with a wicked right hook to the kidneys, drove an unresisting Eddie to his knees. ¡°You always did need an equalizer, don''t you, Stills?¡± Eddie gritted out. ¡°Get him up,¡± grunted Stills. ¡°What did you just say to me, boy!¡± he demanded, inches from Eddie''s face. Eddie could see the sweat beading between Still''s dilated eyes, a psycho deputy eager to put on a display for his psyched up psychotic friends. Facing numerous felony counts, handcuffed and sure to receive more punches jabs and kicks anyway, snitched off by his best friend, Eddie bowed his head as he turned his toes under, shifted his weight back onto his left leg so that his right leg shot out and kicked Deputy Stills'' testicles into the next room. Ch. 1B Appetite Iesli, Italy 2009 She stood in the kitchen, waiting, wondering if she could really do this, if she could really poison a man. Fear and revulsion crawled along her nerves, up and down her spine. She remembered, then forcibly stopped herself from remembering and stirred the thickened tomato sauce again and turned the heat down to simmer. She could not let it burn. The meal had to be perfect, a perfect camouflage of her sinister intent. The kitchen was dark with oncoming night and steamy from her toil. Raphaella switched the light on. She''d tried so hard to be a good girl, always following her parents'' direction. Not now. Not anymore. She was about to do something very bad. A sin certainly, but he had cast the first stone when he ... She heard the front door open and Uncle Orsino grunt as he set down his briefcase and phone, and her doubt turned to certainty. ¡°I''m back here,¡± Raphaella called and turned the water pot on high. The heavy thud of his footsteps came closer and closer. Raphaella allowed herself one full body shudder of revulsion before he reached the kitchen then desperation pasted a bright smile on her face. ¡°Something smells good in here,¡± Uncle Orsino smiled to see her still in her Catholic school girl uniform with it''s short skirt on her long legs. ¡°I made meatloaf,¡± Raphaella said but there was no air in her lungs so barely any sound came out. She took a breath and coughed. ¡°Meatloaf and I''m about to boil the campanelle.¡± She pointed to the tiny belleflower shaped pasta. It was all she could scrape together. He ate out most nights and didn''t cook much at all, but now there was a woman in the house. Or at least a fourteen year old girl. ¡°Wash your hands while I set the table.¡± Her uncle grunted then left the room and Raphaella could breathe again. It had already been a long day, getting through school as though nothing had happened, was happening to her, even though her world, already turned upside down and inside out by her parents'' death, was then turned inside out again by her uncle. She truly was alone in the this world now. He was right, the meatloaf, sauce, and pie smelled delicious and the steaming salted water revived her. As soon as bubbles showed she poured in the dried pasta then whirled to set the table in the dining room complete with water glasses and a wine glass for Uncle Orsino. The great bear of a man, or pig as he now was in her eyes, came in and took his seat at the head of the table and nodded in appreciation of the wine. She made his plate first with two thick slices of meatloaf on a bed of campanelle covered in thick red sauce. She presented it with a flourish and a smile, careful to hide her despair and fear, then went back to make her own. He waited for her to take a bite before he took one. She felt distinctly odd forgoing grace. Her parents had raised her in fear of the Lord and in gratitude for life. Uncle Orsino had neither. Now she feared him and wanted only to reclaim her life as her own.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The Catholic church and school ahd been her home all her life, yet they deserted her now in her hour of need. The large crucifixes hanging everywhere, that used to bring comfort and certainty, reminding her the Lord is everywhere, now seemed to mock her with her new knowledge that the Lord was nowhere. Uncle Orsino''s large frame, bushy hair, and sighs and grunts filled the room. Raphaella concentrated on forcing down her own small slice of meatloaf, noting the texture and spices turned out how she wanted them to, how her mother had taught her. The pasta was perfectly al dente. ¡°Do you want more? Or there''s pie.¡± ¡°Pie?¡± Uncle Orsino asked in surprise. ¡°Yeah. We have to go shopping if you want salad and vegetables, but there was a can of pie filing and I know how to make dough.¡± She cleared the dishes and cut two slices of latticed cherry pie onto dessert plates. Serving it with Lavazza coffee she''d put to brew while serving dinner. Raphaella picked at the lovely slice of pie, fourteen years old, on the edge of womanhood, or now fully introduced to the horrors of womanhood one could say, she hardly wanted to put on weight. That wasn''t the real reason she pushed the sticky bite around on her plate until Uncle Orsino noticed. ¡°Tastes good to me,¡± he said. An actual positive word. Raphaella thought to herself then took a bite of the crust side. She slowly ate the crust then realized she needed to eat hers enthusiastically in order to get him to eat a second piece. So she did, licking the sweet red glaze off the fork slowly between bites. Success! She got them both a second slice and a second cup. One slice ought to do it, two would definitely do it, she thought triumphantly as she cleared the dessert plates once Uncle Orsino left to go watch TV. She headed for the upstairs bathroom and locked herself in before jamming two fingers into the back of her tongue and wasting that lovely meatloaf. She had to get the cherry pie out before she digested the heavy duty sedative she''d been given after her parents death for nightmares. But the reality here at her uncle''s house was worse than any nightmare. After rinsing her mouth and topping off Uncle''s wine glass, Raphaella washed the dishes and briefly allowed herself to contemplate the butcher knife and what she wanted to do, what she''d dreamed of doing since ¡­ that night. What he truly deserved. It would show the world who he has, what he was. But no one would believe her. Her uncle was a fine upstanding man in the community. She was a hysterical orphan. She had no one she could trust, but her self. Pretending to do homework in street clothes she waited on tenterhooks for her bedroom door to open. An hour went by, then two and she opened the door herself and padded down the hall to listen at Uncle Orsino''s door to the rhythm of his slow even breathing. She took her two smallish suitcases to the front door then returned to his room with only her handbag. She needed money. Cash. She wished to take a butcher knife to him but, she was no killer, even though he deserved to die for what he had done to her, how he betrayed the memory of his own sister! Tonight''s work was enough sin on her soul. Eternal damnation for cold blooded murder could wait. Raphaella opened his bedroom door and saw his wallet on top of his dresser and went for that, cash and credit cards. Then she opened the top drawer where his gold jewelry was and took the two necklaces and five rings. He slept peacefully and she stumbled out of the house with a new sense of peace and freedom. Chapter 2 The Setup - Batteries ¡°Well. I told you it would be like shooting fish in a barrel,¡± crowed Doug, Sr. watching Slow Eddie Holcum getting his ass whooped on the shiny tactical police van monitor. ¡°Dougie, it seems to me one of your fish sprouted wings,¡± replied Sheriff Lovelace innocently. ¡°The hell you say?¡± demanded Doug Sr. ¡°Yep,¡± said the Sheriff. ¡°Jake flew the coop.¡± ¡°Well hell,¡± Doug Sr. put forth. ¡°I figured that big dumb sombitch would have been the easier of the two. Guess it don''t matter anyhow seeing how we''ll have a deputy waiting at his mama''s house, right? Cause he''s too damned ignorant to go anyplace else.¡± Doug, Sr. laughed. ¡°We''ll see, won''t we?¡± Sheriff Lovelace grinned along. Doug Jr. belched and swallowed bile and shivered at the feel of hot fingers around his throat squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. Damn, damn, damn! Jake intoned to himself as he lay in the ditch on the access road above the McDaniel Mansion, cold as hell and broke as a convict. He wished he could get his hands on Junior''s greasy turkey neck. The valley below was lit up like a Christmas parade. It told the only story to be told. After catching sight of a shadow where there should not have been any shadow and tapping the query on his headset, Jake did the only thing his instincts screamed at him to do, and that was to jet! He put forth everything he had into making these long legs of his pump up that hill like he was taking a hill in Iraq only to discover at the top more county deputies moving in a patrolling pattern. They''re looking for something... me! For fuck''s sake! The first chance of safety to catch his breath he found by lying in a watery freezing cold ditch when rage focused his mind on one thought: to choke the living shit out of Junior Atwell. Yes, Junior had done it this time, truly and well, broken those unbreakable bonds of a lifetime. Always, always they''d forgiven his sneaky sniveling pranks and lies. Jake didn''t know why anymore. They''d always just known, in their blood, that he''d never betray them. They''d never betray each other. Not for a woman, not for money. Not for anything. The story continued to play out clearly below his hideaway. Huge exterior halogen lights came on and what looked like the entire Washington County Sheriff''s Department turned up the long tree-lined drive. Last, and certainly not least, the Tactical Command van, otherwise known as the Spam Can completed the caravan. Jake''s green eyes darkened when he picked out Eddie''s handcuffed form limping escorted in handcuffs to a waiting patrol car that departed immediately. Before the Spam Can stopped rolling, Sheriff Lovelace was out shouting orders through a bullhorn. Then, obviously pleased with the night''s festivities Doug Atwell Senior stepped from the van grinning like a opossum. Rounding out the trio was the shitbird himself, Junior Atwell. Jake ground his teeth in impotent fury while watching Junior laughing and trading backslaps with the Sheriff and his deputies. He''d put up with a lot from that little shit over the years. Jake felt his heart break a little. He''d loved that little shit too.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Jake grew up in the mountains of Washington County. Lived there all his life. The only times he''d ever left were with Junior and Eddie. Once they went down to Knoxville, Tennessee to see Van Halen. Another time Junior stole that red corvette and they''d piled in and gone to Virginia Beach. He knew these hills and valleys like the back of his very own large hand. He''d been hunting, fishing, trapping, growing pot, and hanging out in these woods since he was seven years old. Right after he watched Sheriff Lovelace shoot his Daddy down in the street like a dog. The woods were his only refuge. Jake''s daddy had been backing out to the street from the First National Bank with a 12-gauge in hand and a sack of money in the other when Sheriff Lovelace took the simple shot to the perpetrator''s back. Ever since, Jake hadn''t had a lot to say to anyone. Many took Jake''s silence for stupidity. The school teacher knew better, and so did Slow Eddie Holcum. Jake met Eddie in second grade when he watched Eddie stand up to the biggest bully in the whole school, Matthew Stills (future Deputy and Psychopath) and tell him to lay off of picking on Junior Atwell, who was on the receiving end of daily ass whoopings. With Junior sitting on the ground crying and Eddie standing up fierce and proud before the gargantuan Stills, Jake uttered a few of his rare words, ¡°Yeah. Leave the fat little shit alone.¡± Dumbfounded, all the kids on the playground turned to stare at Jake who was nearly as tall as the husky Stills and he saw what he knew would be there, what''s there in the heart of all bullies... fear. From that moment on they were inseparable, the three amigos, the three musketeers, the three avengers, yes, even, sometimes, the three stooges. They complimented each other. Jake grew into the strong silent type, red hair that would never cooperate with a brush and green eyes the color of the bottom of South Holston Lake. Junior Atwell went from a loud abrasive, spoiled child to a loud, abrasive, spoiled adult. Slow Eddie grew into the bad boy school hunk. Never interested in sports but blessed with athletic ability, he whipped Virginia High''s best on Saturday nights on Hamburger Lane. The three friends lost their virginity on the same weekend, learned how to drive the same old farm truck, shared their first quart of moonshine, toked their first number together, and (beside Junior) ate their first and last hits of acid together. Lying in that cold wet ditch, on that miserable October night, Jake reminisced that Eddie had the heart of a lion. He might be a fist fighting, beer drinking, pot smoking, lady stealing, outlaw of the first degree; but his word was bond. He''d give you his last dollar and even smoke his last joint with you. If you put your hands on Jake or Junior, he felt it. Jake rolled out of the ditch and slithered through the trees towering above him. His battery pack from the now useless headset snagged on a twig and fell. Crabbing around sideways, he recovered the block wondering why a tiny twig caught it... and why it felt so fucking light. He slipped open the tiny cover with a thumbnail. No battery. Hat explained why his warning taps went unheard and Eddie opened the door and went inside the trapped house: because Junior had commandeered the task of loading fresh batteries. Jake flung away the headset in fury then set out with grim determination crab crawling with the tree line above the access road, looking for a break. Soon, he saw it, like a gift from heaven, an unattended brand spanking new taxpayer funded Washington County Popo Dodge Charger. Just as he touched the door handle gravel crunched behind him. Without thought or hesitation, Jake kicked his left leg straight out behind with the force of a mule. He felt the heel of his boot sink satisfyingly deep into someone''s solar plexus. Twisting around, he planted his striking leg firmly on the ground and rolled his shoulders to strike with his right fist having just registered the brown uniform and chrome badge of a second deputy. His first two knuckles crunched into the deputy''s pointy chin. The man''s head snapped back. Jake grinned. The deputy''s eyes rolled up in his head before he even hit the ground. Turning back to face the winded deputy recovering from foot-buried-in-gut-syndrome Jake found the man still on his knees gasping for breath. Setting his step for a field goal, Jake kicked his jaw into the next county. Two for two on the chin. Not bad. Even better, a few seconds search netted keys to the cruiser and three hundred in cash. The Charger fishtailed down the narrow access road into the morning''s sun. Jake had exactly two things on his mind, survival... and vengeance. Ch. 2B Backstory 2009 Raphie''s dreams lasted as long as the hitched ride to Madrid. She couldn¡¯t rent an apartment because she looked so young and tripped up on her own backstory. No one wanted to hire or rent to a teenage runaway, especially a girl. So she worked on her backstory. No one wanted to hire or rent to a nervous child with no experience. So she worked on her presentation. ¡°Bueno! I''m visiting for the summer and looking for a room to let.¡± ¡°Bueno! I really want to work in the restaurant business. Hope to become a manager one day!¡± Raphaella practiced her lines in her head while walking back to the hostel that didn''t care anything about a backstory. The streets hummed with life and bustle, so different from quiet Iesli where she grew up. She loved it! Even this far from the white and terracotta buildings of centro Madrid there were hundreds of people on a hundred different errands. She passed the living tree lady who stood still for many minutes until everyone forgot she was there. Then she moved to gasps of excitement and a shower of coins. Art was everywhere, the buskers playing and singing, the lviing art like the tree lady, the colorful murals decorating doors and walls in unexpected delightful ways. ¡°Shut up Toli! It''s Cristobol next!¡± A group of children excitedly shuffling about shells on a smooth wooden plank caught her attention. They were probably near enough to her own age that the difference didn''t matter, but she considered herself the mature adult now. She had to. If she thought of herself as nothing but a successful adult, that''s what she''d be in no time.Stolen story; please report. Entranced she stopped walking and stared at the quick moving hands and shells. All motion ceased and one dirty brown hand tapped the central shell. Wrong! The ball was under the shell to her right. The boys all exclaimed and catcalled each other. Then another took over and the shells began spinning and flowing again, this way and that in a mesmerizing dance across the board. Raphaella just knew there had to be a trick. She felt an eerie synergy descend upon her as though she stood in the center of a stage, not the boys putting on the show. With a prickling of her scalp she realized, I''m their mark. She decided to play along and stepped closer to watch intently, but quickly tired of trying to watch the ball and instead, watched the hands. ¡°Me! Me!¡± a boy called. ¡°Okay Incedio! But now we bet!¡± With practiced ease and much grimacing and excitement one and two Euro coins quickly changed hands with each round of the shell game. Raphaella thought she saw what was happening. She pulled a five Euro note from her tiny handbag and subtly moved it in her fingers making the holographic band flash with sunlight. ¡°You want to play?¡± the boy called Diamante asked affecting surprise with raised eyebrows. ¡°Sure,¡± she said. ¡°Then choose,¡± he answered when the shells stopped moving. ¡°What will you bet?¡± she asked because there was suddenly no other coins on the table. Diamante slapped down five Euros in coins. Raphaella put down her bill and kept a finger on it. ¡°All are empty. Now turn them over!¡± ¡°Pretty lady is smart!¡± Incedio called turning over the shells one after another until all three showed empty. ¡°Ah!¡± Diamante scowled. Raphaella retrieved her hand, letting the bill stand. ¡°Show me how you do it,¡± she demanded. She knew they were completely in control of the ball and the shells and could make it appear and disappear at will, but she had yet to see how. A woman a few years older than Raphaella stepped forward from a recess. The boys all silently regarded her approach. She had long flowing black curls and smoky dark eyes. Her skin was tan, a beautiful rich dark color with sunny tones. Full red lips addressed Raphaella. ¡°I am Jadzia. (Ja ja) It''s okay,¡± she said to the boys with a slight inclination of her head. ¡°We help you, you help us.¡± Raphaella nodded, hoping she hadn''t just become an even bigger mark. Chapter 3 The Setup County Jail/Confession The Setup County Jail Slow Eddie closed his eyes counted to ten and let out his breath real quiet like. Opening his eyes he took in his surroundings. Bars, a metal bunk seven feet long, a pay phone receiver in the steel combination sink and toilet, heavy steel screening over the lone window kept the pale October moonlight impenetrable to the gloom of the cell. Yep, finally arrived to the pokey, the outhouse, the joint, the jug. In the immortal words of Hank Williams Sr., ¡°We''re in the jail house now.¡± Fighting the unreasoning panic of the trapped wolf, Eddie began to pace the length of the twenty foot by seven foot cell trying to ignore the cockroaches and the smell of old urine. As he walked, he notice the other four cells were empty. Only the empty metal bunks bolted to the concrete wall and the bars testified to the fact of what these rooms were for. Finally bored of pacing, he took a seat on the bunk, feeling lower than he ever had in his entire life and wishing he had a cigarette. ¡°Say Slow Eddie, wanna smoke?¡± a whisper came to him out of the gloom. Eddie nearly jumped out of his skin he''d been so deep inside himself. ¡°Dammit Brian! You nearly scared the pudding out of me!¡± he croaked. His voice sounded funny to him in this concrete hole. ¡°Sorry dude. You just looked all depressed and shit sitting there like that. Figured you could use a smoke,¡± Brian apologized. If there was a Fourth Musketeer to Eddie, Jake, and Junior''s Three, it would be Brian Araya. He was the Shemp to their Larry, Moe, and Curly. Brown hair flopped over his hazel eyes which were full of honest concern. ¡°Hell, that''s alright man. You know the deal, new house jitters,¡± Eddie joked as he reached through the bars for the hand rolled cigarette. ¡°Just what I need to forget my troubles.¡± Grinning, he took a huge drag off the joint watching as Brian''s face turned from confusion to understanding to humor. Then the expanding burning sensation burst through Eddie''s lungs and he coughed and flailed about for air. ¡°Jesus!¡± Cough. ¡°Brian!¡± Cough. ¡°What kind of weed is that?¡± Cough Cough. ¡°Nothing like I sold you last summer!¡± Brian snorted and explained, ¡°That ''weed'' is actually Bugler Tobacco, the cheapest smoke on the canteen!¡± Brian complained, ¡°Damn Eddie, I ain''t seen no weed close to what you and Jake rolled up with last summer. That is the best I ever smoked! Period!¡± Eddie, finally able to breathe again, grinned at the compliment. ¡°Yeah, we sure outdid ourselves that time. And made a nice little bundle with it too.¡± But like so many things in Slow Eddie''s life, he let it slip away too easily. Gone through his fingers like sand at the beach. He continued, ¡°Yeah, when I get out of this shitter I might leave you a little stash with an outside trustee.¡± Brian frowned which was not the reaction Eddie expected. ¡°Don''t get your hopes up for leaving anytime soon. I''m a trustee over in the courthouse and one of my hobbies is eavesdropping on the Sheriff.¡± Brian winked knowingly. ¡°It seems Dougie Sr. is twisting the magistrate''s arm to deny you bond. He''s threatening all kinds of hellfire and damnation if he sets you a bond.¡± ¡°Doug, Sr.,¡± Eddie grunted, like a punch to the gut. ¡°Well that changes everything,¡± he declared. ¡°What else did he say?¡± ¡°I didn''t hear much else, I had to slip away before I was seen,¡± Brian shook his head. ¡°Shit,¡± muttered Eddie, ¡°When''s the next time you can hear something?¡± ¡°I can''t wear it out, but I''ll find a reason to be outside the sheriff''s office tomorrow night because that''s where we usually work,¡± Brian stated. ¡°Yeah, I was wondering how you get out and about.¡± ¡°Eddie I gotta go get locked up now. It''s almost count time. Here, take these cigs.¡± Brian held out the baggie of a dozen hand rolled Buglers. ¡°Be sure not to let the police see them because no one is supposed to be talking to you or anything.¡± ¡°Damn, they must have something nice planned,¡± Eddie blew out a breath. ¡°Well, I appreciate it Brian. Keep me posted when you can.¡± ¡°No problemo. One more thing,¡± Brian''s eyes were serious, ¡°you know Junior set you up from the jump, don''t you?¡± ¡°Yeah. I should have known it would just be a matter of time,¡± Eddie said tonelessly. He didn''t like admitting it, but there it was. Seven AM Monday morning the Judas in question sat in Sheriff Lovelace''s office with his daddy Doug, Sr., Virginia Commonwealth Attorney William C. Moore, Jr., Magistrate O''Neal, and of course the Commonwealth Attorney''s father, Judge William C. Moore, Sr. Magistrate O''Neal''s nasal whine began the morning''s proceedings. ¡°Dammit Doug! That boy''s mama hasn''t stopped calling my house since noon yesterday pestering me to set her boy a bond. I don¡¯t understand why you want to keep him locked up!¡± ¡°I don''t care how many times that dried up old bat calls, you''ll keep that sonuvabitch under the jail until we take him to court, give him a fair trial, then send his happy ass to Greensville!¡± Doug, Sr. steamed. ¡°Now hold on Doug!¡± belched Judge Moore. ¡°You know it ain''t as simple as all that. We have arraignments, preliminary hearings, plea bargaining, and all kinds of shit we have to go through before he goes up the road,¡± lisped the portly judge. ¡°Boy.¡± Doug''s grunt full of menace, he glared at the judge. ¡°What part of what I said do you not understand?¡± The hate that snapped back and forth between their eyes began over twenty years ago... A spotless service record in Grenada and Lebanon, ex-Marine Doug Atwell thought he was free and clear, a newly hired Deputy under freshman Sheriff R. V. Lovelace. Until some cold hearted chippie out of Fayetttville shot him to end an argument. He recovered from that and about six months into his first and only year with the Department, he responded to a call from the squawk box for gunshots at a local judge''s house. Honorable James E. Turnbull had apparently shot himself after shooting his young wife. While searching the premises, the young Doug Atwell made a discovery in the judge''s den that changed his life. Taped to the back of the second drawer from the bottom of Judge Turnbull''s old mahogany desk (He''d learned to search carefully and thoroughly in Grenada.) he found an envelope. Most people would have rushed right out for a quick payoff. Not Doug Atwell. He mulled the situation over for a good six months before calling the then Commonwealth Attorney William C. Moore along with the freshman Sheriff out to his house for a drink for some real important news. ¡°This better be good,¡± lisped Moore that day. ¡°I hope so too, Doug. I''m a busy man,¡± seconded Lovelace. ¡°Just hold your horses and have a drink,¡± soothed Doug as he handed around some of his keepsake 12 year old bonded bourbon. ¡°That''s right. Kick back and relax and when I show this to you, you just contemplate before you speak, because I don''t want what you think.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Once they''d had a swallow of good bourbon, Doug fanned out thirty-two color pictures like a deck of very obscene playing cards showing none other than Sheriff R. V. Lovelace performing some of the most outrageous sex acts ever caught on film with the Commonwealth Attorney. ¡°That''s right boys,¡± Doug purred, ¡°before you think or do anything, I have taken precautions: copies, and a signed and sworn deposition are currently being held by a very expensive lawyer in Roanoke. So don''t even think about trying what you did to the dishonorable Judge Turnbull.¡± Doug chuckled nastily. ¡°May he rest.¡± ¡°Doug,¡± Lovelace choked out a whisper. ¡°What in God''s name do you want?¡± He slugged the remaining bourbon. Moore, deathly pale and riveted to his seat in dread waited for the answer to come. ¡°The county,¡± Doug Atwell declared quietly. Thus it began: First an insurance payout for an injury in the line of duty: a staged high speed chase that ended in a crash. Next, the retirement with Permanent Disability payments. No one thought too much of Doug''s daily five mile jogs. Then, so the Attorney wouldn''t be left out, Moore pushed legislation through the County Commission for an exploratory study on liquor by the drink and its boon on tax revenue and effect on the population. As expected, after the six month study the County Commissioners voted to do away with the notion. However, ¡°Any bar open during this exploratory study in compliance with all Virginia Commonwealth Alcohol Beverage Control laws, rules, and regulations will remain open and in good standing as a pre-existing business.¡± So the Titty Tat Club was born, the one, the only, liquor by the drink, beer by the gallon, blood by the bucket, titty by the handful, honky tonk by the jukeboxful, dance palace in the whole county. So it was for the last twenty years, so it would continue as long as Sheriff Lovelace and Judge Moore held their offices. ¡°I read ya,¡± Moore grunted, bringing Doug, Sr. back to the present, ¡°Loud and clear.¡± Junior Atwell smiled like a jackal that got a bit of a lion''s leftovers. He tried to imagine what it would be like to tell these bigwigs of the county what to do, like his pa did, but, his mind wandered off. ¡°Doug,¡± asked Attorney Willy Moore, ¡°Can Junior here remember to say what he''s supposed to when he''s up on the stand?¡± ¡°To be honest Willy, I don''t know, but the little shitbird will make himself available for all the practice he needs,¡± Doug, Sr. commanded with a sharp look to his son. ¡°But Daddy! I was going to the lake today to try out the new ski boat!¡± Doug Sr.''s answer was a plain and simple, ¡°No!¡± * 2009 Madrid, Spain ¡°Do you have something to confess?¡± Jadzia asked playfully. Raphaella''s fingers slipped and the cards went flying. Both girls giggled. Their long dark curls dancing in the breeze. But Raphaella''s face returned to its frown of preoccupation. ¡°I just might have,¡± she admitted. ¡°Oh?¡± Jadzia had been kidding. She often teased Raphie (pronounced like something in between toffee and taffy) for being too honest, too sincere, and too much like a mark! ¡°You want to tell a priest?¡± Raphie frowned in an ugly way, an extremely rare occurence. She knew how beautiful she was and liked the rest of the world noticing it too. She didn''t need any man to absolve her in any way. No man was helping her to live, why would she go to one for help with her conscience? And in this case she wasn''t even the one guilty of wrongdoing! She huffed out a sigh and Jadzia stood up and held out her hand. ¡°Come on. I will show you our church.¡± Raphie accepted the hand up, intrigued. She''d thought the stoop they practiced card tricks on, La Senora Tempestad de Tarot''s weird little magic shop with its plethora of religious artifacts, deities, icons, and amulets was the street kid''s church of choice. They walked for a long time back into and through centro Madrid then down Avenida de la Ciudad de Barcelona to a large basilica remodeled in the late 1800s during the Reconstruction. Twin verdigris steeples with huge crosses capped the twin towers framing the red brick building trimmed with white brick. ¡°Our Lady of the Grass?¡± Raphaella asked uncertainly reading the nameplate Real Basilica de Nuestra Senora de Atocha. ¡°She was found in high grass and this church was built to worship Her.¡± Jadzia led her through the deep red doors under the elaborately scrolled lintel. ¡°That, or She came all the way from Antioch.¡± Jadzia slowly stepped into the main worship room and glanced around. ¡°Luckily no one is here.¡± She led Raphie toward the shining gold altar high above the main altar where the business of the worship service was conducted. ¡°Oh,¡± Raphaella sighed in wonder seeing the statue of the Virgin and Child surrounded by gold and silver. The figure was black, either the original stone or a patina of age. The Madonna was seated with Jesus sitting on Her lap as a small child rather than a baby. Both figures wore incongruous jeweled golden crowns. Her smile enigmatically beautiful and mysterious like the Mona Lisa, yet full of a powerful healing grace that no oil painting or mere statue could convey spoke to Raphaella''s confused conflicted soul. Standing in her presence Raphaella felt profound relief and peace wash over her mind. ¡°She is Black Maria,¡± Jadzia said simply. ¡°Our Goddess.¡± ¡°I think She is my Goddess, too,¡± Raphie whispered. ¡°Now tell me what you have to confess!¡± Jadzia''s loud voice shattered the moment. She giggled at Raphie''s bug-eyed expression and dragged her to sit in a pew. Raphie huffed a sigh and rolled her eyes. ¡°I caught Juan Jose at work using a skimmer on some fat Americanos'' credit cards. He just laughed like he does it all the time.¡± Her blue eyes met Jadzia''s dark brown eyes with concern. ¡°I don''t know what to do. I don¡¯t know if the bistro owner knows.¡± Jadzia laughed. ¡°You just want in on the action!¡± Raphie smiled, but shook her head in denial. ¡°I like the personal touch,¡± she said referring to the ease with which she picked pockets and unhooked expensive watches from wrists. ¡°What can be more personal than using someone''s card?¡± Jadzia asked breezily. Raphie could hardly believe they sat in the basilica discussing theft so brazenly. She looked toward Nuestra Senora but saw only a gentle indulgent smile. The Black Maria, goddess to the Travelers like Jadzia and the street boys, saint for the forgotten, abandoned, lost, the orphans... like me. She felt accepted here, as though she could live this life that God had set before her, for the first time since leaving Iesli behind. ¡°I''ll tell you what, getting a rich tourist to give it to me!¡± Raphie laughed. Chapter 4 The Setup Dan/Direction The Setup Dan Slow Eddie Holcum lay on his back on the hard lonely bunk contemplating the cracked, chipped, peeling paint on the ceiling of his cold empty cell. Letting out a long drawn out sigh, he admonished himself. ¡°This ain''t gonna get it.¡± He rolled off the bunk to crank out fifty pushups with military style precision. After that Slow Eddie began to pace the length of his one man prison block, fifteen pace up, fifteen paces back. A grim smile of irony played over his lips as he recalled the conversation with his public defender. ¡°Hello, my name is Dan Buckner,¡± stated the bespectacled young man in a cheap suit and tie with hair parted and feathered back like a young Jack McCoy from Law and Order. ¡°Don''t you remember me, Dan?¡± Eddie asked. ¡°English Lit. First Period, Senior Year?¡± Dan blinked behind his glasses. ¡°Yeah, that''s right! You were with those other guys who set the swimming pool on fire!¡± He laughed. ¡°How the hell did you do that?¡± ¡°Let''s just say oil and water don''t mix,¡± Eddie replied with a knowing smile. Buckner chuckled but then quickly got on task. ¡°Let''s talk about your case. You''re charged with Breaking and Entering upon an Occupied Dwelling after Midnight and Grand Larceny, which is theft over two hundreds dollars.¡± ¡°There''s no assaulting an officer?¡± Eddie interrupted. ¡°None that I am aware of,¡± Buckner answered, puzzled. ¡°Well that''s good. Stills must have some other idea,¡± Eddie theorized. ¡°I wouldn''t know anything about that,¡± Buckner patiently pulled his client''s focus back. ¡°Your main concern is that you are facing a life sentence for the Breaking and Entering and an additional twenty years for the Grand Larceny.¡± ¡°Life!¡± Eddie exploded, shocked by this pencil pushing turkey neck geek. ¡°What do you mean life!¡± Cold sweat broke out all over his body. ¡°Calm down, calm down,¡± said the attorney anxiously. ¡°Calm down my ass!¡± Eddie exclaimed. ¡°I don''t know what you are trying to pull here but I know a simple B&E don''t carry no life sentence!¡± Buckner met his eyes. There was no give. ¡°After midnight. In Virginia. It does.¡± That pretty much said it all as Slow Eddie sank back in his chair stunned and empty, feeling like he had just taken a gut shot from Connor McGregor in his prime. The attorney droned on for a while until he caught Eddie''s attention with, ¡°Eddie, I know this is a terrible blow, but they never give out more than a twenty year sentence on the first offense.¡± ¡°How much do I have to pull on that,¡± Eddie asked urgently. ¡°Depending on good time and if you make first parole, it could be as little as four years.¡± ¡°Four years,¡± breathed Slow Eddie as it echoed in his head. He was in another world. One blow after another hit him over the last seventy-two hours. First the job, then the bust, the betrayal, and now a life sentence? His mind threatened to snap. While his mind reeled and scrambled to take it all in and make sense of his predicament, Attorney Buckner quickly presented several papers for his signature. ¡°Simply formalities,¡± he assured Eddie. ¡°Permission to represent you and so forth.¡± Tiny alarm bells went off in Eddie''s brain but he couldn''t hear them over the roar of life sentence, so he mindlessly signed. Later, back to pacing the gray and steel cell block, he wished for the thousandth time he''d read what he had signed before he signed it. ¡°Did he sign it?¡± gibbered the overzealous Commonwealth Attorney Willy Moore. Buckner reported to Moore''s office and dropped the slim folder onto Moore''s oversized teak desk like a convict dropped a bloody shiv. ¡°Yes. Yes. He did,¡± Buckner answered dejectedly and adjusted his glasses. ¡°Don''t look so sad, boy.¡± Moore grinned like a happy labrador retriever from behind his wide desk. ¡°This is how the game is played. In a couple years when my daddy retires and I get his job, somebody will have to fill my spot. That somebody needs to know how to play ball in the big leagues.¡± ¡°Ok. Guess I better be going,¡± Buckner squirmed like a worm who''d gotten himself much deeper in the muck than he felt comfortable. ¡°I''ve got a million things to do.¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°That''s right son, you go right on. I''m sure you''ve got a busy morning,¡± said Moore dismissively. Double checking the signatures Willy contemplated the documents. Quite a bit of nastiness indeed. They could lead to dismissal from the bar if it ever came out he was a party to this, but this was the way Daddy wanted it done. The first document was the standard indigent request for a court appointed legal representation. The second formalized Dan Buckner as Eddie Holcum''s attorney of record. The third was the kicker. Eddie waived all rights to a preliminary hearing. The fourth waived all rights to a jury trial which meant if Slow Eddie did not take the plea bargain Moore was preparing, then Eddie would have to face Judge William C. Moore in his own courtroom without a leg to stand on. * Direction 2011 Madrid, Spain ¡°I want to know where I should go now. What direction. I love Madrid ... but my friends left.¡± Raphie placed two twenty Euro notes down on the black velvet cloth beside the crystal ball. This was her first time as a customer. She wondered what would happen, if it was all a grift, if she was about to attend her first s¨¦ance, or if Mistress Tempest (La Senora Tempestad del Tarot) would stare silently into the crystal ball. She and Jadzia had hung out on the stoop on sunny days and come inside the cramped shop many times when it rained. Raphaella was fascinated by the Santeria, Celtic, Egyptian, and so many eclectic figurines, stones, amulets, and items for sale. She loved the smell of the shop, some combination of exotic Indian incense and the myrrh of Catholic churches combined with strong Spanish coffee and Mistress Tempest''s flowery perfume. The money disappeared as if by magic and was replaced by a slightly worn deck of oddly shaped cards, a tarot deck. ¡°Shuffle¡± the gray haired lady ordered. Raphaella took the oversized deck as a challenge for her slim fingers. She shuffled lengthwise. The cards were pliable and shuffled easily through her stretched fingers. On a whim she shuffled them by the width as well. Giving a double knock on the deck to indicate she was finished she looked to the woman for what came next. The mistress took the top half of the cards and set them down beside the bottom half, then placed the bottom half on top, cutting the deck. Next she drew six cards and placed them faced down, one card above a row of five. She turned over the upper card. The picture showed a man standing on a boat and a woman and child sitting in the small boat. Six swords stood in the boat point down and the man plied the boat with a large staff. ¡°The Traveler,¡± the tarot reader announced. ¡°Yes, I want to know where to travel. But Jadzia is a Traveler, not me.¡± Jadzia and the boys were part of a small group of Rom or Romani, crudely called gypsies by the ignorant, who traced their roots to ancient India. They had been living in an abandoned building for years, but the city finally began demolition. They bid her a quick good-bye then disappeared. ¡°This card is you, the Traveler. You will always travel. Perhaps over water.¡± ¡°Over water? Across a river?¡± ¡°To the water this time, but why not cross an ocean?¡± ¡°Across an ocean? I should go to Morroco?¡± ¡°There are many oceans and seas. You are the Traveler. You can go anywhere in this world.¡± America is across the ocean. Raphaella considered. One day she hoped to get there, but she didn''t dare act on that dream just yet. The next card appeared. Two nude people stood under an angel, a man and a woman. ¡°Wherever you go, you will find love,¡± the woman grinned with a twinkle in her brown eyes. ¡°And you will find lust and greed.¡± ¡°Is that Cupid?¡± Raphaella asked pointing at the stern angel with huge wings spread across the card. ¡°In some tarot decks it is a fat baby cupid. But that is a simplistic view of the complexities of love and lust.¡± ¡°Hmph!¡± Raphella grunted. Men made the subject of love very easy and simple. ¡°Perhaps it is the Archangel Raphael,¡± the crone said with a sly look, ¡°telling you to love your Self.¡± Raphaella blinked and looked at the card intently. She knew all there was to know about her namesake the writer Rafael Sabatini, but she knew next to nothing about the Healer of the Archangels. The next card showed an upside down pentacle and the goatheaded Devil. ¡°Interesting,¡± the reader commented. ¡°So quickly the Lovers are chained by Lust.¡± The two nude people chained to the Devil''s plinth bore a resemblance to the nude couple on the Lovers card. The Mistress caught Raphaella''s eyes, ¡°Beware addiction and your own weaknesses.¡± Raphaella frowned. She drank and smoked but not everyday, only as it helped the job, the next con. She was well aware of the downfall of addiction and would never submit to it. The third card in the line of five revealed a dark haired person wearing a floor length black cloak looking down at five golden cups. Three were spilled at his feet. Two stood upright behind the figure. ¡°Regret, loss,¡± the mistress intoned. Raphaella could feel the sad emotions from the card art. She also felt a story weaving around the cards in the cluttered room on the velvet clad table. The fourth card in line showed a skeleton, the Death card and Raphaella wondered how many customers got the Lovers, Devil and Death all in one reading. That must be the scam! She was surprised when the woman said, ¡°A new beginning. You will give up and start anew.¡± ¡°Wait! That''s what I''m doing right now!¡± Raphaella protested. ¡°You will give up the bad things,¡± she tapped the Devil, ¡°that you regret,¡± she tapped the 5 of cups, ¡°and then you will start a new beginning.¡± She tapped the Death card. Raphaella pursed her lips and nodded. So she was headed into another situation that she would eventually leave. Forewarned is forearmed. Mistress Tempest turned over the last card a fully clothed man and woman with small children stood with arms raised under a rainbow decorated with ten golden cups. The positive happiness of the card was unmistakable. ¡°And then you will find true happiness, Miss Traveler.¡± ¡°Well that last part sounds good!¡± Raphaella laughed. ¡°But Death and the Devil sound ominous.¡± ¡°Well, your question is ominous. What to do, where to go? You will decide your destiny. The tarot gives you some advice. Wherever you choose to go you will find love, face your demons, and begin anew. You are young so this cycle will repeat. But never fear,¡± she tapped the bright colorful Ten of Cups card, ¡°happiness will be yours in the end.¡± ¡°Is that what you tell everyone?¡± Raphaella couldn¡¯t resist asking. ¡°Not at all. I tell the tourists to beware pickpockets.¡± They both cackled gleefully like old witches. Chapter 5 The Setup - Eddie! After a week Slow Eddie settled into a routine. Waking promptly at six AM to retrieve his breakfast of two soggy pieces of toast, one scoop of powdered scrambled eggs and a small cup of tepid coffee, he quickly covered his plate with toilet paper to keep away the ever present cock roaches who tried to investigate his food. He then climbed back into the rack until right before lunch. Usually it was a bologna and cheese sandwich with a cup of warm Kool-aid which he downed along with his saved breakfast. About an hour later, after the food was off his stomach he began exercise, an assortment of basic calisthenics consisting of pushups, situps, jumping jacks, side bends, waist twists, mountain climbers, etc. After an hour or so and drenched in sweat he took a shower, glad to have the block and its four cells and one shower to himself. The afternoon he spent dozing and reading whatever books and magazines his stickman brought him. ''You stick up for me, I''ll stick up for you,'' Brian''s eyes widened earnestly. ''That''s a stickman.'' Waiting for Brian''s nightly visit, Eddie reflected on his life, wondering how things had come to this. But then he''d give himself a mental shake, telling himself, You''re Slow Eddie Holcum! No matter how fast or far you fall, you always land on your feet! Jake whispered, ¡°This is a robbery. Don''t make it a homicide,¡± holding his index finger ramrod stiff in the middle of the fat biker''s back. ¡°Y-you can have anything you want man. Just don''t do anything hasty,¡± said the nervous biker. ¡°Does that include that big hairy crack?¡± deadpanned Jake. ¡°You know I''ve always had this thing for gray haired old farts.¡± ¡°Whaaaaat?¡± the biker asked slowly as creeping horror dawned into knowledge. ¡°Dammit Jake, is that you?¡± He turned around. ¡°You red haired sumbitch! Nearly crapped myself! ¡°Randy, Randy, Randy, how many times have I told you? In your business, never turn your back!¡± Jake exclaimed with glee, delighted on having gotten one over on the older man. ¡°If I did that I''d be turning circles forever!¡± the big man laughed. His expression grew grim before he continued. ¡°Seeing it''s three o''clock in the morning and you''re the hottest thing in three counties, I take it this ain''t no social call.¡± ¡°Nope Randy, it ain''t. You''re the only hard guy I know that isn''t lined up one way or another with Doug, Sr. and I need a favor,¡± began Jake. His long straight red hair was back from his eyes for once. ¡°Atwell, huh,¡± ¡°Yeah. Junior and Senior.¡± ¡°Hmmm,¡± Randy reflected. He had known Jake all his life and his daddy too. There wasn''t a more solid and straight shooting man as his daddy and so far the son had run true to form. Randy Weaver, the son of a third generation sharecropper, sank his roots in this county more than thirty years ago when he discovered that there was more money to be made selling pot to hippies than selling tobacco to R.J. Reynolds, and these Appalachian Hills were as good a spot to grow it as anywhere in the world, if a man knew what he was doing. With trial and error and three generations of tobacco farmers behind him, he did. Randy found success by never planting more than four or five plants in a patch and dealing with only four or five buyers over the past three decades. Being a man of simple tastes, he found contentment in his trailer, his pickup, his three Harleys, and his dear sweet pitbull. Other than those passions, Randy didn''t much care about anything else. ¡°Well boy spit it out. Whatever you need I''ll do my best,¡± Randy said. This was not a time for bargaining nor bullshit. ¡°Randy, I need cash and wheels. It''s that simple.¡± ¡°I figured as much,¡± stated the grizzled old man. ¡°How much you got?¡± ¡°About three hundred.¡± ¡°Which way you headed?¡± ¡°South.¡± ¡°I reckon you can have the sporty, and here,¡± stated Randy reaching into the bib of his overalls and pulling out a wad of bills big enough to choke a horse, ¡°is ten grand.¡± Jake''s eyebrows drew down in concern. ¡°Now Randy, I-¡± he began. ¡°No buts boy,¡± Randy cut in. ¡°Let''s just say me and your old man are settled up now.¡± Speechless at the man''s generosity, Jake followed the biker to the rusted shack beside his singlewide house trailer. A low menacing growl filled the night as the two men approached.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Lucille, you just back on down now. You know who Jake is,¡± Randy said affectionately, reaching down to scratch the wedge shaped head of the mother of the finest fighting dogs in five counties. Her dog house was a ten by twenty foot tin utility building that she shared with Randy''s pride and joy, his three Harley Davidson motorcycles. The first was a jet black 1956 pan head rebuilt to original perfection with the blueprints and specifications ordered directly from the mother plant in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Next was a 1976 low rider chopped and raked with a pair of outrageously high ape hanger handlebars and yellow, brown, and black snakeskin paint scheme setting off the polished chrome. Third and looking rather plain against the others was a 2015 XL1200C Sportster with a red peanut gas tank and a black single gunfighter saddle. Tail wagging triple time, Lucille briefly sniffed at Jake''s pantleg before returning to her lair of blankets and pillows piled in a corner. ¡°There she is Jake. I just got her last month. Haven''t even drained the juice out of her so she should crank right up,¡± smiled the old biker. Jake straddle the saddle, checked then turned on the gas, toed up the gear to neutral, gave one short twist of the gas grip and hit the start button. Immediately the little Harley roared to life. Jake grinned as he dropped the lever down to first and eased the bike out into the yard. He killed the engine and climbed off the red Harley. Jake grabbed Randy''s hand, looked him dead in the eye and said, ¡°I''ll never forget this Randy.¡± ¡°See that you don''t, boy, and make me proud by not letting that slick bastard Atwell get the best of you,¡± whispered the old biker vehemently. ¡°I won''t, Randy. I promise.¡± With that, the boy climbed aboard the Harley one more time. He fired her up and twisted the wick leaving a deep gouge in the gravel driveway and a rebel yell in the air. Jake flew down the mountain and was last seen headed South. ¡°Well, well, well, what do we have here? Making yourself at home I see,¡± stated Commonwealth Attorney Willy Moore. Slow Eddie studiously ignored him. He presented his back by rolling over to his other side in his bunk, showing how insignificant he felt the CA was. ¡°Don''t you turn your back on him boy!¡± yelled Sheriff Lovelace easing up beside the CA, behind the gray bars, in the hallway that ran along the cell block. Slow Eddie''s only response was to explosively break wind. The Sheriff started up a slow burn rant, ¡°Boy you better pay attention to us or I''ll have five of my deputies come into that cell and -¡± Slow Eddie leapt from his bunk to the bars and reached through the bars with the speed of a striking rattler to grasp the soft fat turkey like waddles under the aging Sheriff''s chin. He pulled him nose to nose and whispered, ¡°What are you waiting for, shitbucket?¡± Eddie''s chest and shoulders twitched uncontrollably as he fought his heart''s desire to close the Sheriff''s windpipe forever. ¡°Just remember one thing, shitbird. They can only get through that door one at a time and when they see what happens to the first three, you''ll never get a fourth to try.¡± The Sheriff gasped and grunted until Eddie thrust him away hard enough for him to stagger across the hall and slam against the far wall. Eddie snapped his own arm back in the cell and glared at Moore, ¡°The fuck you want?¡± Regaining control of his uselessly flapping arms the CA snarled, ¡°Enough of this bullshit! Here''s the deal! You remember the papers you signed the other day with your high school buddy, Dan Buckner? They make everything real clear. You take the plea bargain we offer in the morning or you face my Daddy while looking at a life sentence.¡± Eddie swore bitterly, ¡°So this is what it all comes down to huh?¡± ¡°You don''t know the half of it and you probably never will,¡± Moore stated smugly. ¡°So when I put that pen in your hand tomorrow morning you be a good little boy and sign on the dotted line.¡± With that the CA strutted himself importantly down the hallway with the Sheriff staggering after, gingerly holding his throat. The next morning dawned with a gray overcoat sky which suited Slow Eddie''s attitude perfectly. He was in between the proverbial rock and a hard place and he knew it. When no less than six officers showed up outside his cell he offered no resistance as they cuffed him, shackled him, and then chained him. Eddie did allow himself a small wry smile of amusement when he noticed the elaborate neck brace worn by the Sheriff. He''d only bruised the fat of his turkey neck after all. There was only one real surprise that morning. Upon entering the courtroom chained, shackled, and surrounded by deputies Slow Eddie saw his mother. Many emotions surfaced at once, guilt and shame ducked his head for a brief moment till the slow boiling rage at those who set him up and continued to manipulate him resurfaced. A Clerk of Court read the charges against him. The Commonwealth Attorney read the plea bargain of twenty years with recommended time off for good behavior. Eddie had to smile at this because if he had any good behavior in him, he wouldn''t be in this mess. When Judge Moore asked him how he pleaded, Slow Eddie took a deep breath and said, ¡°Guilty.¡± He had walked into the house intended to rob it after all... after midnight... sure as hell after midnight. The Commonwealth Attorney shoved a solid gold pen into his hand and pointed to a dotted line below where the Judge and CA had already signed. Eddie signed his full name with a flourish and, looking deep into the CA''s eyes snapped the designer pen like a twig. Turning to the bench he said, ¡°Your Honor is this now a done deal?¡± ¡°Yes son, is something on your mind?¡±the judge asked charitably. He''d gotten what he wanted. ¡°Two things, your Honor. Number one, I''d like to visit my mom before I''m sent up the road.¡± ¡°No problem,¡± replied the judge. ¡°Secondly, if you and your little group of playmates get popped before I get out, be sure to come on up to wherever I''m at you no good sonuvabitch and I''ll show you what Southern hospitality is all about!¡± Eddie gritted out. ¡°Get him out of here!¡± bellowed the Judge. And that ended Slow Eddie''s first and last court appearance with his mother''s cries of ¡°Eddie! Eddie!¡± ringing in his ears. Chapter 6 - Prison - Arrival Arrival Climbing out of the back of Deputy Still''s cruiser, the bright sunshine momentarily blinded Slow Eddie. Stills and another Washington County Deputy grasped each of Eddie''s arms and propelled him towards the front entrance of the penitentiary. Powhattan Correctional Center, pronounced POW-ell-town, sat in the middle of five hundred acres of flat Virginia farmland. PCC was also square in the middle of ¡°State Farm Virginia¡± surrounded by James River Correctional Center, Deep Meadow Correctional Center, Beaumont for Juveniles, and down the road just a bit sat Goochland Women¡¯s Correctional Center. Powhattan became the official state penitentiary since the dungeon known as ¡°The Wall¡± at 500 Spring Street in Richmond was closed down by the Federal courts. No one knew the number of bodies that were unearthed during the demolition of the monolithic structure, and needless to say, they never told their tales. From the weakest to the baddest, convict or cop, every man who ever laid eyes on Powhattan for the first time felt that slight chill of fear in his heart, taking in the forty foot high wall with guards patrolling the catwalks armed with AK-15''s or 12-gauge riot guns at the ready. The metal scraping sound of the front gate sliding open snapped Eddie out of his reverie. Stills, wordless the entire four hour trip, triumphantly crowed, ¡°Hope you like your new home, Holcum. When you come back to Washington County you and I have some unfinished business.¡± ¡°It''s a date, sweetheart,¡± muttered Slow Eddie. Still''s grip tightened on Slow Eddie''s arm ever so slightly as he spoke to the guard who came to meet them. ¡°Here''s one from Washington County. Oh yeah, and he likes to hit cops.¡± Stills grinned in the fashion of a wolf as he watched the Powhattan guard''s eyes shrink in scrutiny of Slow Eddie. Eddie returned the stare. With that out of the way the two brown clad deputies and Eddie proceeded with the navy uniformed guard into the penitentiary proper. Two gates, three doors, and a couple hundred feet of hallway later they came to a receiving room. Eddie''s waistchains, leg shackles, and handcuffs were all removed. With a hideous grin Deputy Stills whispered, ¡°Don''t forget our date, punk.¡± Eddie ignored him and waited for him and the other deputy to leave. Facing the PCC guard he took in the twenty by sixty foot receiving room. Boxes and boxes of state clothing and hygiene items lined the walls. The guard slapped down a thin yellow booklet and said, ¡°I''m not gonna waste my time with a standard line of bullshit like you see in the movies. It''s real simple. Here''s your rule book.¡± He pointed to the pointed at the booklet. ¡°Here''s your clothes.¡± He pointed at four neat stacks of three each of blue button down shirts, blue jeans with elastic waistbands, white boxer shorts,white cotton tube socks and one pair of brown work boots. ¡°And here''s your toiletries bag.¡± The small bag on the end included hotel sized soap shampoo, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. ¡°Now,¡± continued the guard, ¡°see that shower there?¡± Eddie nodded. ¡°Get in there. Shower and use the soap in there. Before you say anything. I know you just had one before you came here. It''s just the rules. You come out of here with a dry head and I catch a bunch of shit. And one thing you learn real quick around here is shit rolls downhill.¡± So Eddie stripped to the buff and got in the shower. He lathered yup the vinegary soap until he heard the guard hollered out, ¡°Hey! You want these clothes shipped home? You can''t take them in.¡± ¡°Who says?¡± hollered Eddie above the din of the shower. The guard laughed. ¡°Who do you think, wise guy?¡± ¡°Burn ''em,¡± Eddie grunted after he stepped out of the shower. He toweled off and stepped into the stiff prison blues then asked, ¡°What''s next?¡± ¡°Bedding and cell assignment,¡± the guard replied. ¡°Beautiful,¡± Eddie muttered taking hold of the mattress so thin the roll fit under one arm with a blanket two sheets, a pillow and case all inside. ¡°Time to go, sport,¡± the guard said then led Eddie down a long brown hallway. Two sets of stairs later they arrived at the entrance of C-3, the Receiving Unit. ¡°Here''s your stop,¡± stated the guard amiably to Eddie. Into the intercom speaker he yelled, ¡°Hey Charlie! Got a new one out here!¡± The big steel door swung open to reveal the interior of C-3. Charlie, a huge white guard with a crew cut stood in a navy DOC uniform waiting for Eddie to enter. ¡°210853,¡± he called out Eddie''s Department of Corrections Prisoner Number, ¡°your new home is third tier cell 316. You may proceed.¡± Like a kid at the State Fair, Eddie gawked up at the ceiling rising more than fifty feet into the air. Picnic tables scattered about the main floor area which extended beyond one hundred and fifty feet. Three tiers rose on each side with thirty cells lining the side of each tier. No prisoners were about. The floor was painted dark brown, the walls a beige that was once upon a time white, but years of nicotine, pain , and fear tend to age paint quickly. At the far end, sitting lonesome was a TV with an old fashioned antennae sticking crookedly out of it. Moving to the stairs pointed out by the impressively huge and now mute guard, Eddie began his ascent to the top tier. As he climbed stairs he wondered at the lack of noise. There seemed to be only a low polite murmur at three o''clock in the afternoon, not the screaming jeering crowd from the movies he''d been ready to face. Three is the angel hour he remembered his mother saying. Once he reached the top of the stairs and started passing cells he realized the reason: everyone was sleeping. Except for one gentleman about 19 or 20 furiously masturbating while sitting on his toilet. Passing that cell quickly Eddie was startled by the shout of ¡°Crack 316!¡± from the guard right behind him. He whipped around and the guard merely pointed at the opening cell door. Get me once shame on you. Get me twice shame on me. Eddie stepped into the cell. He took in his new surroundings and the guard stated in a monotone, ¡°Chow at five. Rec at eight. If you want to use the phone, you better hustle.¡± The guard stepped back and yelled, ¡°Lock 316!¡± Setting his bedroll on the spring and steel bunk, slow Eddie contemplated the porcelain toilet circa 1939, same as the sink, one beatup steel waist high locker with obvious pry marks on its door, and one beatup plastic chair. Home not-so-sweet home. The floor was the same brown as the hall and walls the same sooty beige. The only real surprise was the window. Stepping to it, Eddie could see down into the prison''s main concrete and pavement recreation yard. Beyond that through a couple fences lay a track, softball diamond, and he could hardly believe, a tennis court without a net. Further in the distance, like a large blue vein winding its way atop a stretch of grass he could make out the James River. Deciding a nap was in order, Eddie rolled out his mattress and quickly and quietly made his bed. Climbing on top of his state blue blanket and kicking off his state brown boots, Eddie stretched out and recalled his brief visit with his mother the night before.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡°Rise and shine boy! You got five minutes!¡± bellowed Sheriff Lovelace before waddling off down the hallway outside Eddie''s empty cell block in the county jail. Rolling off his bunk with a smartass reply ready on his lips, it died when Slow Eddie saw his mom standing there staring at him on the other side of the bars. A lone tear traced its way down her weathered cheek. Gasping back a sob, Eddie rushed to the bars to grasp his mother''s fragile birdboned hands. He felt a small folded paper square in her palm. He looked down to see a hundred dollar bill. Phyllis Holcum smiled. ¡°A little something for the road.¡± ¡°Thanks. You always know the quickest way to my heart,¡± joked Eddie as he pocketed the bill. ¡°Listen close now son. That old sack o'' gas will be back any second and I want to tell you something,¡± the woman spoke earnestly. ¡°When you get up there to the prison, I need you to walk away from words whenever you can, even when it hurts. But if any of them fools puts their hands on you I want you to beat the stuffing out of them. But son, try your best to avoid trouble so you can come home and weed beside me in the garden like when you was little.¡± His mother smiled bravely for him. ¡°Mom that''s a promise I''ll do my best to keep and I''m awful sorry about putting you through all this. I have no excuse but pure and simple greed,¡± said Slow Eddie dejectedly, fighting against the tightening in his chest that threatened to close this throat. ¡°Don''t you worry your mind about me. What''s done is done and you''re paying for it now. At the very least this will give you time to think about what you want to do with the rest of your life when you get out. You''ll still be young and your possibilities will be endless.¡± Eddie let the memory reverberate slowly in his mind as he drifted off to sleep. * Arrival 2011 Neptune Beach, Nice, France The mark lay on a deep royal blue lounge chair, sunning himself within the confines of the Neptune private beach when he spotted the Mediterranean nymph in a pale pastel beach dress that billowed out with the sea breeze. He was well and truly bored with this mini vacation forced by a meeting delayed just hours after he''d boarded the flight for France. ¡°Take a couple days and see the sights, for godsake! Get a little culture! Relax a little bit for once!¡± he''d been ordered. So here he was working on a tan with dozens of other bored businessmen escorting their wives on the lounge chairs wishing he was down on the public part of the beach where his nymph had laid out a towel and unbound her long tightly curled black hair to whip around in the breeze. His mouth went dry as she slowly stretched and then pulled up her dress to reveal a black strappy swimsuit top. Three tiny black straps descended from either side of the black choker band around her neck and attached to the skimpy cups of the bra top which barely contained her perfectly shaped double D''s. His mouth went dry wondering what was underneath the black wrap around her waist that covered her to her knees. She slowly folded the dress and placed it into her tote then turned toward the sea and sky for another stretch. The blue Mediterranean Ocean opened out before her and met the cloudless blue sky at the horizon, seemingly so close she could grasp it in her outstretched hand. The world was her oyster, and he was a little clam stuck behind a white fence with a shoal of clams chittering over the buffet line. Finally, to his mind, she unknotted the wrap and revealed her bathing suit bottom. A tiny strip of black cloth was held up by three black strings on either hip which left very little to the imagination. She turned and displayed a pert ass barely covered at all by the bikini bottom and strode down the hard stone galet beach like she was born to it and disappeared into the sea for a lengthy swim. Lulled by the sounds of the sea, the gentle salt breeze, and scent of coconut oil he very nearly dozed off but forced himself awake so he''d be sure to catch her re-emergence from the sea. Glorious it was. Her wet black hair streamed water over her luscious body clothed only in black straps. She breathed heavily from her swim and strode slowly up the stone beach where she oh so nonchalantly removed her top and set it down on the warm rocks to dry. Then she turned and sat with her back to all the staring men on the private side of the beach who lounged behind the white picket fence in comfort, for a fee. She then proceeded to slather oil on her entire body and finally laid back for a sort of reverse hot stone massage from the Nice stone galets. The mark coughed and rose to put his walking bermudas on over his red speedo before he embarrassed himself along with a clashing tropical shirt and pretended his sunbathing was over by moving to a table under a trademark Neptune deep royal blue umbrella. Afraid some other lonely bored traveling businessman might beat him to the punch, he took a deep breath and headed out to the public beach. ¡°Hello, mind if I sit here?¡± he began, sitting himself down on the hot stone a few feet from his nymph. She raised an arm to shade her eyes and gave him the once over. Catching the sparkle of his blue highly detailed watch, Tag Hauer Carrera Caliber, over three grand Euros, she replied, ¡°You can sit anywhere on the public beach,¡± with a welcoming smile in the English she''d learned in school and used off and on since. ¡°I''m Mark,¡± he held out a hand like an American. ¡°I am Raphaella.¡± She took his hand and let him squeeze hers. Like the courtesans of old and the trendsetters of today, her time and attention were very very expensive and her smile made sure he got full value. Raphaella desired the finer things in life. She was not going to live like a poor street urchin, or a kept woman. She was worth a million bucks, in any currency. Her time was precious to her and she needed to be paid to share it. Like modern day superstars and influencers, Raphaella was worth no less. Self esteem, pride, arrogance? To Raphaella, it was simply practical. She was a commodity that people, mostly men, were willing to invest in. Concentrating so much on the glittering diamonds she tended to miss the souls that were good as gold. That was okay, she didn''t want the human warmth they had to offer, the fellowship, community and good vibes. She wanted financial security for her life. ¡°It''s boring back there,¡± his thumb indicated the private beach with its restaurant and umbrellas. ¡°Too noisy, so I thought I''d come down here.¡± ¡°You should lay down,¡± she said. Mark laid out his towel and removed his shirt then laid on his back. ¡°I heard the food is good,¡± she said. Actually it smelled divine, seafood and fruit scents mingled in the salt air. ¡°Maybe you can try it,¡± he replied. ¡°I don¡¯t know, I need to go shopping for a new bikini later.¡± ¡°A new one? That one''s stunning!¡± ¡°Oh this old thing?¡± She''d cut the tags off this morning. ¡°It''s just plain black. I need something blue, that matches my eyes.¡± She smiled at him and her eyes drew his gaze for a long moment. ¡°You really are a Mediterranean nymph,¡± he breathed in awe. The color of her eyes already matched the sea and sky ¡­ and his watch. ¡°I''m a what?¡± she laughed girlishly, delighted. ¡°A Greek goddess of the sea,¡± he said expansively, returning her smile. ¡°Then you must be a god,¡± she returned his joke. ¡°But of what?¡± He considered for a moment. ¡°I''m not a god of shopping,¡± he said with a mock frown. ¡°Tell you what, if you help me pick out souvenirs for my people back home, how about I buy you that new bikini?¡± ¡°Hmmm,¡± she appeared to consider. ¡°We better get started if we must do so much shopping before dinner.¡± They grinned and put their tops on. ¡°The bikini I want is expensive,¡± she warned. ¡°You can get two!¡± he promised. ¡°Oo, I might have to stay with you after dinner,¡± she flirted. His gold wedding band bothered her not at all. As long as there was no crucifix one man was just as good as any other.