17TH NaNoWriMo Novel In A Month episode for 11/15/12

Bingo Boy - post 17

Jimmy seems dazed. He's tired. He's had it. His head pounds. It's over.... He whimpers - Head. Head. Head. Head.......... And Ricky, eager to oblige, raises the gun..... Jimmy goes - No. No. The heart. The heart. the heart..... So Ricky lowers the gun.... Jimmy reconsiders and goes - No. No. The head. The head. The head. The head..... Gun goes up. Little Chrissie can't take it. She starts suckin' her teeth and shakin' her hands. Almost drops the flashlight. But she manages to keep hold a that. And Jimmy goes - Heart. Heart. Heart. Heart. Heart............ Ricky exhales and goes - Forget it. I think I'll just surprise you..... He crouches down by his victim. Jimmy starts to kick his feet in all directions. Then he stops to catch his breath. It can't be easy for him to breathe, you know. Ricky moves, fast and straddles his legs. But the pants are still damp and clammy with piss and he goes - Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit....... Jimmy just stares at him, fighting to draw breath. Shhh, listen. Hear that wheeze? Look how the tape goes in and out with each labored attempt. 

Then Ricky looks right in his eyes, leans forward and whispers in his ear - But there's gonna come a second, just before the dark, when you're gonna feel the pain. Don't believe what they tell you. You're gonna feel it. And I just wanna make sure you know......... Jimmy shuts his eyes tight and cries. Little Chrissie backs away. Jimmy starts to shake and tremble like he's freezin'. It's pitiful. Ricky relaxes and lowers the gun...... Jimmy breathes a sigh of relief...... And Ricky says - You know, this is a really little gun. It wouldn't a made a big hole or nothin'. Just a little 'ping,' like one a them silver balls in a pinball game, or somethin'. Just bounce around, hittin' the bumpers, shreddin' the brain and puttin' out the lights. You wouldn't a felt it. You wouldn't a felt a thing.... I lied. But now we'll never know, 'cause you're such a God damned cry baby.

Jimmy looks puzzled. What's gonna happen?.... Ricky turns to the girl. He goes - Chrissie!..... She goes - What?.... Ricky goes - Gimme the tape........ She finds the big, gray roll on the ground and hands it to him. And Jimmy's eyes follow every move. Ricky tears off a few inches a tape and carefully smooths it over the crudely punctured piece already on Jimmy's mouth. And now he sweats. And now he whimpers. His nostrils flare. He fights for air. But Ricky just sits there, straddling his legs and watchin'. Then he tears off some more tape and seals up Jimmy's nose...... We faintly hear the weak, small, muffled sound of Jimmy's voice, as he goes - No... No... No...   And Ricky says - You think this is what it was like when your uncle used to kill the little children? You think this is how the people felt when you fingered them to the Nazis? When you told the Germans? Six years old. you were six years old. And so were they. You went to school with 'em.

Little Chrissie goes - Shit, I can't take this. Ricky. Ricky. Ricky... Stop it. Let him breathe. Let him breathe. Let him breathe. Shit! He's dying! Oh, God! He's dying! 

                           ++++++++++++++++

And then it all goes black. We hear somebody rip off a piece of tape, followed by deep, strong lungfuls of air.... cold, clear, crisp pine air.

Then we're somewhere else... a dim, windowless cellar, a little while later. There's a jail cell type cage in one of the corners. Jimmy slumps on the floor, with his arms chained to the wall above his head. He's wrapped in a blanket. All his clothes are gone. But he has a big, bright, tattered, yellow 'gift bow' 'round his neck. Ricky and Little Chrissie stand there lookin' at him through the bars. Little Chrissie's grandma is there too. Her name is Marge. The cage is in her basement. Just in case you don't know, she used to be a dominatrix....

Marge goes - Where'd you get the bow?...... Little Chrissie says - We found it. Must a come off a tree. Must a been for a soldier, or something...... Marge says - What'd you do with his shitty pants?...... Little Chrissie says - We threw 'em out. Don't worry about it....... Marge goes - What do we feed him?...... Ricky says - You don't have to do nothin', Marge. I'll buy all the food. I'll buy everything...... Marge goes - And get a space heater. Don't want him to freeze his balls off, do ya? He still got 'em, ain't he?..... Little Chrissie says - Yeah, he still got 'em...... Ricky gives her a look and she goes - Well, I had to hold him while you pulled off his pants.......... Marge giggles and goes - Ewww, can I play with him?...... Little Chrissie goes - Yeah, do whatever the hell you want. He's your birthday present, ain't he?...... Ricky throws in a quick - Happy birthday, Marge...... Marge goes - Oh, thank you. Thank you (appraises 'gift'). You know, he don't look too bad for his age........ Ricky says - I guess. Look, lemme run over to Target before they close and get him some pants......

Marge goes - No rush. Take your time. Take your time.. Then she fingers her dull, dry tresses and says - Lemme go fix my hair...

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16TH NaNoWriMo NOVEL IN A MONTH episode for 11/14/12

Bingo Boy - post 16

You see they got these narrow, little access roads in the Pine Barrens. Built 'em so fire fighting equipment could get in deep where it's needed. But when you drive along on a dark night it's real easy to turn off on one and not know it. Sometimes they veer off on a slight angle and you think you're still goin' straight. That's what happened to Ricky. Thought he was keepin' to county road five sixty something. Only now he's on Hoochie-Koochie Lane to Nowhere. No lights. No nothin'..... And Jimmy startin' a wake up. And I do not know why he does like he does. But now he's singin' Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans. See, he's a little bit conscious. But his brains is still good and rattled. Little Chrissie give him the bottle. He start suckin' on it. She figure since he probably gone be permanently dead in a few minutes, might as well ease into it little bit at a time. Make it easier that way. 

Ricky inch along till he find a wide spot on the shoulder. Then he pull in real tight by them trees. Nobody come back here. Think they got rangers but they sure ain't 'round here. He say - Yo, Jimmy...Jimmy... come on. you gotta take a leak?..... Jimmy snorts and goes - Yeah, gotta take a leak....... Little Chrissie goes - Take him fast. He gone in the car. Get him out. Get him out.........

Ricky manages to yank him out of the car. He grabs him 'round the chest and backs him into the trees. Jimmy's heels scrape against the dirt. And he's peein' all the way. The stain on his pants gets bigger and wetter and darker. Four heartbeats later, Ricky leans him against a tree and steps back, as Jimmy slowly slides down onto the forest floor. Then he goes - Ah...that's better. A good pee. A good pee. A good pee.

Ricky whispers to Little Chrissie. He goes - What do I do now?.... But before she can answer, Jimmy starts bellowin' another Ukrainian folk song...... Ricky kicks at his legs and goes - Stop yodelin'! Stop yodelin', you low-life, son of a bitch!... But it don't do no good. Then he goes - Chrissie! Chrissie! Chrissie! Get me the knife. Get me the tape........ She trots back to the car. Now she's holdin' the flashlight and that goes with her, so they're left in the dark. Pitch black. No light and Jimmy bellowin' away. 

Then she comes back and hands the 'killer supplies' to Ricky. Jimmy sees the big knife. It's like a Bowie knife. It's like a pirate knife. It's silver. It gleams..... Jimmy goes - No! No! No! No! No!.... But Ricky grabs the flashlight from under Little Chrissie's arm and deftly plants a few more whacks on Jimmy's already punished head.

Little Chrissie starts scratchin' her neck. She goes - Look at me. I'm gettin' all bit up. They're eatin' me alive. Ricky says - What are you talkin' about? What's eatin' you? It's so cold, they're all dead........ Oh, I don't know. I don't know. - she says. What the hell are we doin' here? Hurry up. I want it to be done. I want it to be done. What am I doin' here?......

Ricky goes over to Jimmy. At first he wants to sit down and straddle his legs. But the pissed up pants won't let him. So he kneels down in the dirt and goes to work, rippin' off huge ribbons a duct tape and using them to bind Jimmy to the tree. But bein' a beginner, he does more than bind him. He practically mummifies him to the tree. Least the knife was good for something. You try tearin' duct tape with your bare hands...... Then he gets up, staggers back and surveys what he's done. He hefts the knife and looks at it. He looks at Jimmy. He looks at the knife........ Little Chrissie whispers - Ricky! Ricky! What are you gonna do?...... But he don't answer. I guess it's instinctive. I guess he got this side in him all along. And now it comin' out. Now it comin' out real good. Then he tears off a piece a tape, knife-gouges a few little holes in it and slaps it on the victim's flaccid mouth.... But that wakes him up. Jimmy's eyes open wide. He starts kickin'. He starts sqirmin'. He starts screamin'. The tape does a pretty good job stiflin' it, but the noise makes Ricky nervous. And he stomps off into the trees..... Little Chrissie goes - Ricky, Ricky, where you goin'?...... And he mumbles - To get the gun.

Uh, oh, Jimmy heard that. Geez, look at him. He's goin' manic. He's smashin' his head back against the tree trunk. He's tryin' a get loose, but he can't. Christ, the back a his head is all bloody. Looks like he's gonna choke...... Little Chrissie just stands there, shufflin' from foot to foot. I think she's hyperventilating too.

Then we hear the car door open. We hear it close. We hear his footsteps and he's back. Jimmy fights to breathe. We see the tape move in and out over the little bit of space between his lips. The now vulnerable bastid locks eyes with Little Chrissie. They seem to share a moment. But it's too late. Ricky's back. What can she do?

Then Ricky very calmly levels the gun, points it at Jimmy and goes - Now how 'bout if I make it easy for you? I'm gonna give you a choice. What's it gonna be, the heart, or the head?.....

Jimmy shrieks. He's berserk. He's crazy. Stuff like this don't happen to him. His eyes go all wild and red. We see the tape pulse back and forth, as Ricky quietly says - Make up your mind, or there's gonna be a third choice (and he points the gun toward Jimmy's crotch) but that one's gonna be mine.....

And Little Chrissie just stands there, like Lot's Wife. She don't move a muscle, as the whole proposition gets all of a sudden real...

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15TH NaNoWriMo Novel In A Month episode for 11/14/12

Bingo Boy - post 15

Ricky and Little Chrissie just stand there, drinking in the clean lined, contemporary opulence of the lobby, a new age exercise in smooth, cool glamour, decked out in every high end finish known to man, or at least that portion devoted to decor and design. The scale is ever so slightly exaggerated, like a Mussolini take on public space grandeur. Ain't no recession in here. Well heeled glossy people glide in and out of a phalanx of shops stocked with all manner of luxury. Little Chrissie says - Just a bracelet. Just sterling. Five 'Benjamins'. Just five. Just now. One time. Come on. Here, I'll take it from my envelope..... But he takes her elbow, as she fishes in her purse and steers her toward the elevators. Ricky flashes a card. Marty gave it to him. The attendant stands aside. They enter the car and go up, accompanied by a quiet instrumental  version of 'A Dream is a Wish your Heart Makes..... Then they exit and silently proceed down a thickly carpeted hallway. There's the door, number three twenty seven, like a portal to a residence in a high end Roman insula, flanked by tasteful columns traversed by a simple pediment.... Ricky knocks. They wait. The door opens. Jimmy stands there in his best Rat Pack for the New Millennium attire. He eyes them up and down and says - Who da hell sent for you?...... Ricky freezes up for a second. Little Chrissie sees. She jumps in and says - Marty had a go to the ER. He had chest pains. It was nothing, but they want him to rest, so we came. We'll take you back. Come on....... Jimmy exhales. He doesn't like it, but what can he do. Then he steps aside, motions toward a fine, leather valise on the floor and says - Pick it up...... Ricky obliges. They close the door, turn around and go back.

And dusk falls as they get in the car and drive off, keeping to back roads snaking through the Pine Barrens and away from casual detection. Jimmy sits sprawled in the back. He surveys his ride with disgust. A ten year old Ford Taurus is not his idea of an appropriate chariot, even though Ricky had it cleaned and detailed for the occasion. You know, the first time only happens once. 

Jimmy kicks the back of the front seat and yells - Fifteen fifty! Put on fifteen fifty. A.M.! A.M!.... He's been guzzling Grey Goose from a bottle like Gator Aide. And they just want to keep him quiet at least til he's dead. After that let the bastard do whatever the hell he wants, so Little Chrissie finds the station, a special program devoted to Russian-Ukrainian music...... Jimmy yells - Turn it up! Turn it up! Come on, you 'Zhid' you! They not gonna charge you!..... Ricky just drives. But Little Chrissie cranks up the volume. And they go on like that for like ten minutes, tearing through the South Jersey woodlands, as Cossack anthems and rousing folk tunes rock the car. Jimmy sings along in a loud, hoarse voice. But Ricky's getting tense. He squeezes the wheel. Five seconds later they almost bottom out in a pot hole. Little Chrissie looks nervous. She doesn't say anything, but you can see. And Jimmy yells an obscene oath in his own tongue..... Ricky goes - Yo, Jimmy! Yo, Jimmy! Jimmy!...... Jimmy goes - What!? You God damn bestid?!..... Ricky goes - You think we can eighty six the lousy Boris and Natasha crap for a while and listen to something normal!?........ Jimmy goes - Like what!? That Jew face, Barbra Streisand, or that Jew face Celine Dion, or that Jew face Michael Buble!?!?....... Little Chrissie stifles a laugh. Ricky does too...... Little Chrissie whispers - He don't know his Jew face from his Goy face..... Jimmy (now hopelessly drunk) hears and goes - You shaddap! You shaddap! I tell who is Jew! I tell who is Jew! You dumb, Jew, fuck! You dumb, dumb, Jew, Jew, fuck, fuck!........ Ricky says - What's that, his college cheer?...... Little Chrissie laughs and goes - Rah! Rah! Rah!.....

And they continue like that, ferrying the drunken bigot to his grave, as the Cossack music fills the car with complex, baritone harmonies..... But after a bit Ricky reaches over and clicks off the Slavic Cavalcade. Jimmy wakes up and starts yelling - Jew! Yid!.. Jew! Yid! Hitler was right! Hitler was right!

Ricky slams on the breaks, swerves onto the shoulder, pulls a big, heavy flashlight out of the glove compartment and twists around, smashing Jimmy over the head as he yells - Hitler was right!? Hitler was right!?... Jimmy gags in pain, before slumping into semi-consciousness.

Little Chrissie goes - Not here. Not here. Not here. You want him to bleed all over the car?...... Ricky stops, looks around and goes - Jeez, where the hell are we?......... And they sit there in the dark by the side of a narrow 'access' road deep within the inky, black, pine forest. 

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14TH NaNoWriMo Novel In A Month episode for 11/13/12

BINGO BOY - post 14

The three conspirators met for lunch. Boy, them cheese steaks were greasy. You know, the kind where oil runs down your hand, under your watch band and down along your arm? Lot a napkins. You need a lot a napkins. But WHY do these places always have such little, light flimsy ones? Some people scarfed the food down standing up. They had this long 'eatin'' shelf with little pots a ketchup for the fries. But our three commandeered one a the tables, just like a party a pregnant bitches or crippled up old farts. Shelf crowd looks like Ken Wahl circa twenty years ago. You know, armor-like leather jacket, 'wife beater', long nickle chains hangin' from belt loops for God knows what. And they reek from stink weeds. It's crazy, but the poorer they are the more they smoke... like they're runnin' short on handicaps, or something. But nobody  looks at our three. Cheese steak eatin' is a brain intensive activity. Folks just chomp and chew and swallow. Then they suck little wads a fat out from between their teeth. Then they eat the french fries (huge cup, boardwalk style). Then they chug the soda. Then they smoke some butts. Life is good.....

Marty goes - I told you, nobody.... nobody is gonna miss him. Jeez, how many times you want me to say it?....... Little Chrissie goes - Yeah, but Marty, I know she's got something gone on with Jimmy. He eats over there sometimes. He's friends with her grandfather. Won't she think? Won't she know? Won't she know something's wrong?...........Ricky wants a know too, but man that sandwich is good. No Cheese Whiz. This joint uses provolone.  Actually, maybe he don't wanna face what's gonna happen. That could be it too..... Marty says - She can't even keep her shoes tied. She can't even keep her pants up. Her? She won't know nothin'.  I know he gives her money. All I gotta do it slip her an envelope with a couple thou in it and say it's from Jimmy. Say he had to go back to the old country for a while. She couldn't even find Jersey on a map. What the hell is she gonna do?...... Little Chrissie sighs and says - OK...... Marty says - So that's it? We're goin'? It's a done deal? We're ready to roll? Please god, don't tell me somethin' else now. Ricky, you all right with this?........... Ricky just nods, but the muscles in his face don't even move....... Marty goes - OK, now look. Don't tell me nothin'. I don't wanna know nothin'. I don't wanna hear nothin.' Don't say anything. Don't say ANYTHING. It's safer that way. It's better. It's better for everybody. I don't care if you flush him down a toilet, or feed him to the sharks. I don't care. I do not care........ He offers his hand. They all shake. Marty slides an envelope to Ricky and one to Little Chrissie too. They hold the stacks close and discreetly count 'em.

It's tomorrow. Rained a little bit. Dry now. Ricky and Little Chrissie speed down the Atlantic City Expressway. Jimmy needs a ride back to town. Been gamblin' at Borgota for three days. You know he jumps around, Sugar House in Philly, Revel by the Inlet (an area in A.C.) Borgata back by the bay. They know him all over. Maybe not too many details. But they know the voice. They know the accent. And they know his face. He don't like to drive. Yeah, he'll do it 'round the city. But not back and forth to the shore. It's only like sixty or seventy miles. That's just how he is. Been playin' craps, a little poker. Makin' friction with two call girls. Eatin' steaks...big ones... thick ones. Even bought himself a new pair a shoes (Gucci's). Look, ain't that what you 's posed to do when you win at craps?

They pull into town. Most a the 'SANDY' mess is gone. Gamblin' towns bounce back fast. Boardwalk all clean. Rollin' chairs rollin'. Hotdogs grillin'.. Sea gulls swoopin'. You know how they grab food when you ain't careful? Ricky parks the car on the street, pumps a handful a quarters in the meter, grabs Little Chrissie's hand and walks off. Who's gonna look at them? Nobody. Just a couple a kids playin' hooky from work (or lack of work) and chasin' some luck. Real slick. Real cool. Real cold. But when they come to the corner and stop for the light, Little Chrissie says - Think we should call my grandma, like to check on the baby?....... Ricky goes - I did, just before, when you were sleeping........ Red turns green, our two neophyte paladins look both ways and trot across...

Then they trudge up that landscaped hill they got outside The Borgata, pass under the 'Welcome To Your Happy Place' sign and disappear inside.

On the Boardwalk, in Atlantic City, you will walk in a dream.

On the Boardwalk in Atlantic city, life will be peaches and cream......( I like that old song)

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13TH NaNoWriMo Novel In A Month episode for 11/11/12

BINGO BOY - post 13

It is still me, Lawrence, the thespian ghost. My how these streets remind me of The Seven Dials, a notorious slime pit in London. I was born there. Came here as a young man. Ninety six, I think...seventeen ninety six. Baby London, they used to call it. Already respectable in size. Throw in the Northern and Southern Liberties and over two hundred thousand people called the place home. Fine, cobbled thoroughfares. Black shiny street lights. Lit by lamp-lighters, of course. You remember the Robert Louis Stevenson poem 'bout O' Leary the lamp-lighter and all that? A very gracious time. them what 'ragged' for a living... the criminal element, populated narrow, little warrens by the docks. Theaters, museums, inns, hotels... we had the best. You know, the term 'ladies who lunch' was coined here by Ben Franklin, in reference to the gentlewomen congregating in the hearth room of Olde City Tavern. And that place was never just a tavern. It was always more than that. Rather like what The Twenty One club was to Cholly Knickerbocker's town during the nineteen twenties. 

I saw it all, from arguably the premiere stage of the English speaking world. Ahhh, what a place. Bowdlerized Shakespeare, contemporary melodramas. We did everything. I can still see the cast cards. Squires, Ladies and Gentleman, the role of Oberon will be performed by that esteemed interpreter of The Bard, the Honorable Mr. Lawrence Pennyfeather. I had rooms at The Sussex House and a sophisticated and quite 'dear' (meant expensive) body servant from Martinique ran the establishment. Look, I was planning to talk of my death, but things are moving fast. And whatever force it is that governs such things has seen fit to put me here, on a windy damp street, upon smooth grey cobbles, before thin, hard domiciles, for desperate, scared people. 

The Little-Chrissie-Family lives inside. She, her grandmama and a pudgy, little gurgling baby boy. One other person lodges there as well, the Israelite paramour, Ricky. I suppose it references a more obscure biblical name. But don't hold me too that. Now the grandmother keeps her own council, preferring to watch a magic-talking-screen alone in a small chamber next to the baby's. True, she does scurry down for occasional tins of tuna fish and sardines. Who knows? Perhaps she's part cat. But all they get are quick, fleeting smiles and quiet how-yeh-doin's..... She doesn't want to jinx it. This one seems promising. No prior arrests. No substance abuse issues. No mewling bastards. Now nothing has been said. And Ricky, the dear, clueless boy, is completely unaware of the web being drawn about him. Could be he likes it that way. Went back to his place for drawers and linen. Things like that. But he lives here now. You know, even a derelict house on a street like his should fetch at least a hundred thousand dollars if sold. The grandmother was keenly aware of that. What she didn't know how much more they might, conceivably earn. So the somewhat roughened, though still basically attractive matriarch retired to her digs for Jay Leno, while Little Chrissie and that Ricky bathed the baby. 

The bathroom was warm and slightly steamy. Pink and blue tiles from the nineteen fifties, a more-or-less 'recent' addition, reflected hard, white light from two bulbs screwed into a 'Lucy' era fixture. Ricky and Little Chrissie knelt on a pink, shaggy rug, as she de-pantsed the little fellow and lowered him into the comforting water. ......... What's a matter with the baby!? - said Ricky...... What? What do you mean? - said it's mother...... His 'thing'! His 'thing'! His 'thing'! It's all screwed up. What happened? Was he born that way? What'd they DO to him!?......... Little Chrissie examined the appendage in question, but found no fault in it. She said - What are you talkin' about? There's nothing wrong with the baby....... But then she began to blush and giggle, as she nudged him with her elbow...... You mean because he's not 'cut' - she said. You mean because he's not circumcised. That's all. This is how he was born. You were born the same way too, you know. Ain't you ever seen one straight from the box? ......... I don't know - goes Ricky. I never looked. And stop laughing. I was scared. I was afraid for him. Do you mind?......... Well, she didn't, because she kissed him. Just a quick, little peck. Kept both hands on babykins at all times, as he clapped and splashed and gurgled in his bath. And ten heartbeats later, upon direction from the mother, Ricky rolled up his sleeves and had his first lesson in how to wash a baby. 

Such a sweet, domestic scene. How sad that two thirds of them would soon find work in the burgeoning  murder industry.

Later, after the sweet, little bundle was tucked into his Iron Man crib, the two bath givers went downstairs to watch TV. I think it was Jay Leno too. Tobey Keith, if I remember correctly. And during the song, Ricky turned to Little Chrissie and said - You know, I had an uncle who used to be in the rackets........ Really? - said Little Chrissie. What's he do?........ Sold hot bras and girdles off the back of a truck in South Philly. I used to help him....... She grins. Obviously not too impressed...... Hey, he was a numbers writer too, you know. - Ricky said..... Yeah, which ones, 36B or 38D - she goes.... But he just watches the screen........ Little Chrissie says - I've already done a killing....... He looks.... She adds - You're not from around here, so you wouldn't know. But I'm the one. I killed Little Jo-Jo............ Ricky goes - No. come on. Who was Little Jo-Jo?..... He used to live down the street. - she says. Had a moron friend. Used a be an idiot, but his mom got him lessons. Every time I went outside, that sloppy moron'd go 'pinch her boobies! pinch her boobies!' or 'grab her tube-top! grab her tube top!'.......... Ricky goes - And?........ And the God damned little bastid would do it. - she says. So one day I go 'look, Jo-Jo, why you do me like this all the time? Come on, lemme take  you for a walk. Lemme take you for some candy. Come on. Down the corner. Come on. I can be your friend. So we go and I boost a chocolate Easter egg with all this peanut shit inside it. That's why I boosted it, 'cause a the peanut shit........ Why? - said Ricky. He had an allergy?....... Yeah, he had an allergy, a bad one, a really bad one. Man, that little monkey dropped dead in less than five minutes............ Jesus, - goes Ricky. What'd the moron kid do?....... What? He got himself a new monkey. That's what he did. - said Little Chrissie........... Wait a minute - says Ricky. What were they to each other?......... She goes - I don't know what they were to each other. That was their business. Alls I know is they were a big, moron slob and his little, God damned monkey......... Ricky goes - Monkey? Monkey? You mean like a monkey, monkey?........ Little Chrissie goes - Yeah, a monkey, monkey. Christ, what the hell did you think?........... They lapse back into silence, watching some guy get his chest waxed on Jimmy Fallon. But two minutes later, Ricky goes - How'd that monkey know what the hell 'pinch her boobies' meant?...... She says - How the hell do I know. Ain't you ever seen any a them smart, National Geographic monkeys?...... A 'light' goes on. He nods..... Now they're watching Chelsea Handler and Jimmy play PASSWORD with two audience geeks warned before hand not to have like a personality. You know only 'stars' got those.

Little Chrissie goes - So we're really gonna do it? Not because we like it. Not because we believe in it. Not because we're like that. But just for the money, I mean?.......... Ricky swallows and whispers - Maybe. I don't know. I hate doing something violent like that. I really do.......... They snuggle in the flickering TV light and she goes - Well, who says it has to be violent?

A siren wails in the distance, as they stare back at the screen. A little lizard was selling insurance, I think. I don't know. They weren't paying attention...

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12TH NANoWriMo Novel In A Month episode for 11/11/12

I come from the theater. I come from south of here, from a special place filled with dreams. My name is Lawrence and yes, I am one of The Ghosts of Philadelphia. Oh, they'll tell our story one night... like CATS, without the whiskers. You can see my name on old dry yellowed boards, hidden by the dust of many moons. In rooms where no one goes down in the darkest ancient basement 'neath a pile of long forgotten pantaloons. 

My time on the stage came in the early days. Dolley Madison gave me a glove. And I danced with lacquered ladies and tumbled with the clowns. Did magic with a cauldron filled with doves.

The Walnut Street Theater was a palace then. And strange enough, It's still a palace now. But when the curtain falls to kiss the boards each night, Oh how we ghosts step forth to take our bow.

And I wander. And I see the life that swirls about me on the streets. Some have cinders, others gold. But now it's time to watch the play unfold. Three people sit inside a car parked by a Dunkin Donuts. But none of them have sugar on the mind. Marty sits up front, stares out the window. While Ricky and Little Chrissie sit behind........ OK, I'll stop the Broadway Melody now and get on with it. Please forgive me. An actor never dies. And now, I am a narrator.....

Marty says - I meant it. I was serious. I meant every word........ Ricky goes - Yeah, but do you still mean it now?......... Marty thinks for a moment and goes - Look, all I know is I want the bastid to die.......... Little Chrissie says - No, Marty, you're not kiddin'. For real?......... Marty says - Yeah 'for real.' FOR REAL! FOR REAL! FOR REAL!........ Ricky says - Keep quiet. The place is closed, but keep quiet. And Marty, how much?.......... Marty asks - What? You mean how much I would pay you? Like I said. Like I said. Twenty five thousand when it's done and fifty thousand dollars a year for three years........ Ricky goes - That is not what you said. You said fifty thousand dollars when it's done and a hundred thousand dollars a year. That's what you said. We heard. You said it. You said it.............. Marty just sits there, but Little Chrissie chimes in - Lemme ask you something. How come you just don't get some thug on the avenue to do it for like ten thousand dollars? I hear stories. You could get somebody. Why not just do it like that?......... Marty exhales and says - What? You think I didn't consider that. I did. Had the kid picked out and everything.  But then I started readin' the papers. I read 'em real careful, all about trials, all about killings, all about everything. And I learned shit...... Ricky goes - What'd you learn?......... Marty says - For ten thousand dollars you get caught.  You gotta make it so they want to keep their mouths shut afterwards too. And the dumb fucks 'round here think they're cowboys. You know how they talk. You hear 'em when you go to that Texas Weiner place during your 'lunch' break. God, how could you eat in there?......... Little Chrissie goes - I happen to like hotdogs. Do you mind. And why don't you do it yourself? Just come up behind him one night with a little twenty two and go pop-pop-pop. No more a you, you dead bastard......... Because I got kids. I got kids. And their father ain't no killer - says Marty.......... Ricky looks at Little Chrissie. She just sits. She got a kid. He hugs her and holds her close.......... Look - says Marty. I thought he was givin' me a good deal. I thought he was the proverbial extortionist with a heart of gold. I'm a dope. I'm a dope. I know it. He just wanted me to front for him. So I, like an asshole did. Only now he wants more. He wants a lot more............. Ricky says - What's he have now, a gang? Who are them Ukrainians? What's he got, like a 'crew' now?........ Marty goes - He ain't got no 'people.' He ain't got no gang. They're wannbes. He gives 'em a few bucks, makes 'em feel big. That's all. That's all. Finds 'em in those Russian restaurants he goes to..... busboys, anybody........... Ricky goes - What? And like they can't be dangerous?............. Maybe. Maybe - says Marty. If they was loyal. But they ain't loyal. If he disappeared they'd go move on to something else. Nah, this is just like an internship  for them............ Little Chrissie says - What's he got on you? Jimmy, I mean........... Like   you can't figure it out? - goes Marty. He knows everything. He knows about the shills. He knows about the fixed games. He knows about all the books. And he knows how long I been climbin' on Big Chrissie in the room BEHIND the back room. His name ain't on nothin'. Just me. It's all me. And not just the cops, not just the government, not just the I.R.S.. You think I want my wife to find out? Like I told you. I got kids.......... Little Chrissie goes - So do I, Marty. So do I..... And Ricky goes - You must be afraid of him. You gotta be......... Marty sighs and goes - He's crazy. He's a psycho. Who knows what he'll do. But if it comes from nowhere, if it's like a big surprise, what the hell is he gonna do? You know them two Ukrainians ain't with him everyday. They got family. They got family up in Brighton Beach. That I know. And he's a ghost. He's a ghost. It's true. He's a ghost. No records. No name. No nothin'. If he dies, who the hell is even gonna know? Who the hell is even gonna care?............ Little Chrissie goes - Marty, you want Big Chrissie to have an abortion? That's what she's sayin'. I mean, I just wanna know. I just wanna know......... DON'T ASK ME ABOUT THAT! - he yells. Are you two gonna help me, or what? Where the hell else would you two ever get money like this? Answer me that!

But they don't answer.  So Marty turns the key and quietly drives away, revealing a few squashed donuts under the car. 

Four heartbeats later three dusty pigeons bob over and have a feast...

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11TH NANoWriMo Novel In A Month episode 11/10/12

Bingo Boy - post 11

Jimmy and Marty didn't talk. Marty stayed in the back room all day. His ribs hurt. His jaw hurt. His eye was black. You know the wimmen out there would a seen. They can sense what's going on. And we say 'wimmen' but it's not all wimmen. Some old men come in too. Retired guys. Widowers. A few hubbies meet their wives after work. They have pizzas delivered to their seats and THEN they eat the free dinner platters. Sometimes a few young kids in their twenties show up. Sure they'd rather be at a casino, but forty dollars don't pay for too much gamblin' time in them joints. Here they can play all night.  Know what this place is?... A baby sitting service for compulsives. They smoke. They eat. They gamble. Hot-cha-cha. 

But the new guys, the ones from Odessa walk around like they own the place. Hands in pockets. Chins thrust forward. They look. They look. They look. Sometimes they mutter away to each other in Doctor Zhivago talk. And they laugh. Oh, and they know where the money is. How could they not? Jimmy tells them. One palmed a stack a bills from the table. You know, when the kids are counting? Marty's there when they do it. He watches. But they don't steal. Muscles wanders in and out too. But the Odessa buy stole. And Jimmy saw it. The Odessa guy grins. Jimmy grins back. Who's gonna stop 'em? Marty don't do nothin'. Just keeps his head down and makes like he's lookin' over receipts. You know, like from the food supplier, or utility bills. You should see what he's driving now. A friend, or a cousin or somebody sells used cars and he borrows one from the lot. Every few days something different. No more big Caddy, or whatever it was he had. Now it's Carollas and old Ford Taurus'. Dirty ones too. Lucky he don't get bugs. 

And then, fast as they come, the Odessa guys leave. Jimmy too. Guess they skimmed enough for one day. Oh, and you wanna know where they're gone with it? Sugar House.... the Sugar House Casino, right on the edge a Center City. Jimmy plays craps. I don't know what them Ukrainians play. Boy how they must love stealing from 'the Jew.' That's what they call him. Only they say it 'Yid' or 'Zhid.' What can Marty do? Less money is better than no money.

The kids go back in to help him count part a the take. But records don't mean anything now. Not his books. Not the charity's books. Not the tax man's books. Not that they ever meant much. The accountant cobbles it all together anyway. But at least one set was accurate. 

Marty looks like he's gonna be sick. Ricky says - Marty, you OK?...... Little Chrissie looks up too. But Marty don't say nothin'. He just nods and stares. Then he mumbles under his breath. He goes - Please, help me get rid of him. Please, help me get rid of him...... And he looks. He just looks...... right at them. Nobody says anything. The shift comes to an end. Ricky still stayin' with Little Chrissie til he gets his new tires. They go eat something at a little diner...a real little, old fashioned diner. Slide into a cozy booth at the back. When life is tough, 'cozy' means a lot. 

Little Chrissie says - All right. So tell me. How bad do you have it?....... He says - Well, my house is fallin' apart. My car's a wreck. And I only got fifty dollars a week  for food..... She says - What do you get?..... He says - OK, here's the list. It don't change. Every week. The same thing. Store brand bread. Store brand peanut butter. It's all store brand, so let me just rattle it off.. cornflakes, milk, cheap, mushy, cat food style tuna, cheap, watery, salty spongy ham and trans-fat-acid-rich cookies. No soda. No coffee. No ice-cream. Once in a while some spaghetti sauce to pour over noodles or rice. And for 'health care,' a bag a carrots for a dollar and a bottle of imitation Tums for two dollars and ninety nine cents. Wintergreen, my favorite. Oooo, just like candy. Did I say the dollar a bottle unbuffered aspirins too? That's for my heart. They're my 'I hope these headaches aren't a stroke' medicine....And you, what do you get?

Little Chrissie goes - Same as you. Maybe a pack a hotdogs every once in a while. But that you already know. And don't forget, I have to buy baby food, baby formula, baby clothes, baby sneakers and baby diapers too.

Ricky goes - Don't your baby daddy help any?...... She goes - Nope. He don't do a God damned thing. And his low-life mother should burn in hell........ Ricky goes - I'm just sayin' now. I'm just talkin'.  What Marty says. What Marty wants. I mean about Jimmy and all... would you do it? Like in your head, do you ever think you could do it?......... Little Chrissie swallows a french fry and says - I don't know.... Ask me tomorrow when I run low on Kotex. I gotta but that too, you know...

And then the waitress smacks down the bill.....

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