2008 Derrick Sweat Returns; this time he comfronts the mobster Johnny Macaroni, who also moonlights as mild-mannered Harold Rinehart. The mobster masterminded five in-air helicopter robberies in broad daylight. Suddenly there is a freak snowstorm in the middle of June catching everyone off guard. Soon the mobster's daughter is killed by a hurricane in the Caribbean and now he holds the National Weather Service Hostage. Also, the Nation is under harsh budget cuts across the board. Johnny takes his rage to Washington, D.C. Little does he know that Special Agent Derrick Sweat Will be waiting their to cut him down.
George Wilder, Jr is the acclaimed author of Derrick Sweat Sings the Blues and Raw Deception. He lives in Chicago, with his young son of special needs. Mr. Wilder is hard at work on his next Derrick Sweat thriller. His book Raw Deception Two will be available very soon. for more information, please visit his website at www.freewebs.com/gwilder
There are three book excerpts below: Derrick Sweat Sings The Blues..., Raw Deception, Apple in your Eye, and Derrick Sweat, Midwest Deep Freeze. Also, the article, Ruthless is on this page. Warning Some it can be mildly graphic.
HELLO READERS, George Wilder Jr, here Have fun
THANK YOU Copyright 2007
Derrick Sweat Sings Blues
This is no Musical
By
George Wilder Jr.
He was trying hard not to appear and feel nervous but he was. This was the night the world was about to put on a new face. An African-American face. This was the night that would determine who would emerge to be the runaway people's candidate vying for the nation's top office. He was only minutes away from becoming the first Black President of the United States of America. His wife and two daughters have never been so proud of him. They all were wearing big wide smiles with tears that silently hit the floor that had creeped down their faces. The famous hotel where all the presidential commotion was going on was Palmer House. It was located in the heart Chicago's downtown Loop area.
The elegant penthouse the excutive suites were filled with family, relative, close friends, and supporters of candidate Wille Robertson, Jr. That's right, William Robertson, Jr. He was born and educated in the City of Chicago. He attended Roosevelt and Harvard Universites, respectively. With degress in political science and law. Robertson was a very groomed and highly intelligent man. He was only 37 years old. Some say too young to be president. However, he was confident and positive about everything. His life experiences had made him very likable and a natural born leader for others. Like most political candidates he had his enemies. Those dark forces would emerge and try and break him down right in front of all Americans.
All of his life, he had dreamed and fought to help others, especially those in need anyway possible. It made him happy when others were also happy. His enemies claimed to have seen his more dark side and felt that he couldn't be trusted. It was all political. Willie 'Roberson, Jr., wanted to show young black people all over the globe that they could anything they wanted as long as they studied and worked hard. He they loved him, for he was their role model. With so many believing in him, he knew he had to deliver. He had no problem with that, none at all. And now Willie Robertson was about to become the 52nd President of the Untied States. The popular and electoral votes were all in and sure enough, big bad Willie was winning it all.
The super-packed and congested hotel was about to erupt with emotions of campaign success. With all the votes tallied and counted, the black candidate had received over 75% of the vote. That percentage expressed so clearly that Americans were fed up with the current administration and a hugh change had just occured. America, had reeled in its man........
It is mid-afternoon on a sunny day with no signs of rain in the forecast. WadsDale Federal Correctional Prison where Hector Miller was being held, was just another classic setting. The Correctional Center was the oldest in the State of Mississippi; it had recently been upgraded. There was now a Patrol Violator Division, General Population Units, and a full time Maximum Security with detailed monitoring systems for keeping track of murders and serial killers....
Hector Miller was pacing back and forth in his cramped jail cell ranting and grumbling in a very low voice to himself, "I wished this prison would open right up and let me the fuck out," he retorted. And then suddely, the thick iron bars to his cell seem to have magically spread its legs at his command. The killer was baffled at what had just taken place before his very eyes. Is this some kind of bad joke, he said to himself. He saw no guards. Someone might be trying to set him up to be shot while trying to escape, he thought. He and his cellmate stretched only their necks out of the opened jail cell while other other half of their bodies remained. Like everyone in the prisong, they wanted to see what was going on.
Could it have been some kind of drill that no told the inmates about? After the initial shock, the inmates gave up thinking, and they all leaped out and darted outside of their units. They began beating and breaking the necks of hapless guards whom may have allowed the incident to happened. Most guards were still wondering what had happened. They were unsure. One thing for sure they had been over powered by the inmates. Some of the imates were now armed and dangerous. Most of them had gotten their raw hands on high explosives. Every computerized jail cell in the entire Federal Prison System had been opened and murderous inmates spilled out onto American streets.
The prisoners had taken over entire facilities around the America. Hector Miller had appointed himself chief of all these thugs and killers.
Special Agent Derrick Sweat had arrived to join the president and one of his aides in a White House conference room and they were all conversing about the murder charges against the president's daughter. While at the same time to paying close attention to television news. There was something else going on in America. Something had gone really wrong, they both could feel it. The president knew that his daughter's murder charges were on the beginning.....
The boys killer father was now speaking to the world. "All you lowdown fucks and you rotten fucks, you lying dogs and you idiots fucks. We are all out of your stinking prisons and on the streets all over America. We are going to kill everybody. For those who are too stupid, just go and take a look out your windows. We are everywhere," the killer Hector Miller said. The killer had demanded a space shuttle and a billion to get him and his two sons, along with a few of his thugs to another planet in outer space in hopes of exonerated for his transgressions.....
Copyright 2007
Raw Deception 2
By
George Wilder Jr.
Dee introduced her new boyfriend, Mark Cohn, to her friends. Wherever she had an
luncheon engagement, he would take him with her. Most of her friends did not
think of much of him, they thought he was overly arrogant. They didn't find him
very good looking. By the way he spoke, they knew his education had been limited.
They immediately recognized that he had no class and style. Mark Cohn acted and
appeared to them as a street thug. "His breath stinks," Paula, once said.
One afternoon at Dee's home, while Paula was there, she said, "girl I'm your
best friend, where in the fuck did you pick up that loser?" Paula asked. Dee had
gotten so pissed off at that statement that she kicked everyone one out of her house.
Dee appeared just like a dragon lady. She had gray steam shooting from her turn
up nostrils. Mark Cohn was her new baby and she'd spit on whomever didn't like
him or said something against her man.
One morning Mark Cohn was on duty at his city sanitation job. However on
this day, he was just sitting in his supervisor's office surfing the internet on an old
outdated desktop computer. He was pulling up adult sex sites and then
masturbating at the sight of the naked mature sexy women on the computer screen.
Suddenly his supervisor walked in the office. Mark fixed himself in front of his
boss and then he ran out of the office to his truck that waiting there to hit the streets.
There was a call from the dispatch radio for Mark Cohn to see the
supervisor. Mark walked back cautiously to the office. He didn't know what to
expect. But he knew it wasn't good. This supervisor, Wayne Williams, had just
been hired by the city. Mark thought he would just get off with just a warning.
His boss was sitting directly in front of the computer screen the way had
Mark left it at the site of sexy women. Mark entered the small cramp office, he was
told to sit down. Wayne closed the glass door and locked it. Other employees were
wondering what was going on in that office behind closed doors. The supervisor
was printing out the vulgar pictures from the site. "Why were you sitting in my
office viewing pornographic pictures on city time?" he bark out. By this time Mark
regained his composure and sat up straight in the chair while his boss waited for an
answer. "I apologize it will never happen again," he said.
The printer was done printing out the raunchy web page pictures. The
associates on the outside the glass door were curious and trying to hear and get
more of a glimpse of what was going on inside the small office with their co-worker.
Some of whom thought he was a very good employee. "You see these web pages, I'm
going to take them into the general manager's office. I'm going to build a case
against you and then I'm going to have your job." Mark thought the supervisor was
a bit harsh and very rude for someone who was just starting out, however, he said
nothing.
At this point, Mark had taken all he was about too. It didn't take him too
long to figure that he had a massive dislike for his new supervisor. He's trying to
make his career off my back, Mark Cohn, thought. As his manager continued
talking, Mark Cohn began daydreaming about quitting and finding something that
could make him his own boss. Moreover, he had gotten fed up with working for
others who intentionally push him around because they had the position. Mark had
gotten tired of being told what to do, how to do it , and when to do. He longed and
wanted out, and now he had his chance. After the talk was over, the two departed
the small office. An employee walked up to Mark as he emerge out of office acting
and appearing very pissed, and asked him, what had happened in there. "I quit," he
told the employee. No one else knew he wanted out
Mark had already made up his mind to be liberated. However, he wasn't
going to let any know in management until he got home. He needed to know that
they were scrambling desperately to find someone to replace him, if not they would
get seriously behind in the days' work load, for a week. Either way that would be
fine with him because in his mind, it would be redemption for him. Because of his
hatred of the new supervisor he decided to look for another line of work. . Mark
knew that they could never find anyone as capable as him to perform the job.
Dee had received a phone call the following afternoon from the local police
department. They were holding her son Ross for rape of a 12 year old female
classmate of his. "This must some kind of mistake," she said, vehemently.
"This is no mistake," said the powerful male voice on the other end of the
phone. It was the police. Dee soon let go of the phone and it felled to the floor along
with her large frame. She had fainted. Soon the police entered her home, revived
her and then offered to escort her to the precinct to see her son. Dee wanted her best
friend Paula by her side while being taken to the police station. She and police
awaited Paula's arrival.
Dee and Paula walked into the busy south side police station and was told
that Ross was being interrogated by local detectives and FBI agents. They both sat
down at a the bench near the interrogation room. Dee was visibly shaken. The
detectives emerged from the room and told Dee that Ross had confessed to the
crime, and that it was all on video tape. Another detective walked over and
told her that Ross will be charged with at least two counts of rape of two of his
female classmates. And he will be taken into custody immediately. Dee consciously
fell over onto Paula's shoulder.
The detective also told Dee that the school's close circuit television caught
both incidents of rape on video tape. The detectives also made it plain to her that
Ross will be up for indictment and arraignment on rape charges the following
morning. He will be tried as an adult and bail will be set. Dee managed to regroup
herself and listened very intently as the detective explained to her what had
happened at the school in most graphic detail, and hespelled out what will further ensue.
Now the FBI was talking to Dee. "Ms. Moore our vigorous and timely
investigation revealed that your son Ross swindled two of his classmates at separate
times onto the top of the school building and forced the girls to have sex with him on
the floor of the roof out in the open air. As mentioned the entire sexual acts were
caught on school's surveillance camera. Your son is with his lawyer right now at this
moment. The attorney was provided by city. A public defender. However, and we
do have a video and audio feed of your son confessing to the rape charge against
him, as I'm sure you are well aware of," the agent said.
"Can I talk to my son?" Dee asked the cop, tearfully.
"Of course you can," the agent replied.
Ross seemed withdrawn from reality, he knew that he was in big time
trouble. The moment Dee saw her son, she pulled back and slapped him hard across
his face with the flat surface of her right hand. The police quickly separated them.
The pain was blistering, but he was silent. She soon sat down in the chair beside
him. He told his mother, with tears in his eyes from the pain of hand, that he truly
loved her and was sorry for what he had done. Dee cries for her only son had halted.
She looked at her son lovingly and smile then she got up from of the chair, and
asked to be taken home. A patrolman took her home.
Dee called me at home, she informed me of what had just occurred with
her son, Ross. I told her that I was very sorry to hear that and I always thought
Ross was a good kid. She became very distraught, and at times incoherent. Then she
burst out and said that I never really cared for her children. I had really grown very
tired of hearing that same old worn out lie. I told Dee that we have been separated
for two years, and we were now divorced. That if I truly hated her children, there
was nothing to prevent me from telling her that at that moment. If I hated her
children that I would have nothing to gain or lose by admitting to such. I told her
for what seemed like the one hundredth time, that I didn't hate her children or
anyone else. I wished her the best of luck with Ross, and then I hung up the
telephone.
Dee immediately called her boyfriend, Mark Cohn and this time begged him
to move in with her. Mark didn't hesitate before saying that he would. Dee thought
that Mark could be a big help to her, especially while she was going through an
ordeal with her only son. Soon Mark had moved completely into her house,
carrying one suitcase and the clothes that was already on his back. Dee needed
support and he could help with needed repairs around the house, he could help with
paying the bills, he could help her to emotionally deal with her son Ross's very
serious situation, also she needed someone to make love to her the way she wanted
it. At this point, she needed his shoulder to lean on. Her baby was going to spend a
lot of years in jail. Mark didn't tell
Copyright 2007
Derrick Sweat,Midwest
Deep Freeze
By
George Wilder Jr.
Chapter One
This had been a very rainy and cloudy gray day in the City of Chicago. It would continue to be dreary with a dull appearance, according to the local Weather Center. Therefore, there was to be no sunshine at all. Just more rain. Here was the beautiful downtown Chicago Loop in the middle of the month of June and all its non-stop moderate precipitation. The evening rush hour was about to get under way. It was always a heavy traffic nightmare.
The gangster Johnny Macaroni was standing outside of the Chicago Theatre at a transit authority bus stop. His head was being covered by an umbrella, however, it was only limited protection from the swirling light rain. Johnny was on the corner of State and Lake standing near a gutter that had a puddle of dirty rain water that sat leaning against the curb just beneath him. It showed his manly refection staring back at him, while he waited on a bus. Any bus. This was a day he wished he could have stayed home in the bed all day making love to someone, but he had work to do. Gangster work. So he waited at one of the many downtown bus stations. Most waiting stations were bursting out with all kinds people who hustled their way to here and there. Johnny peered southward and saw that a bus was only moments away. He would finally be on his way.
Johnny was about to board city transportation north bound that would take him to the Granville Opera House located at Wicker and Madison. It was there he would meet with the rest of his infamous and notorious gang. He didn't mind at all taking public transportation. Just as long as the drivers kept their attitudes to themselves. The way some of them treated their riders, from stories he had heard, was not cool If someone showed him attitude, for no cause, he just might take out his .357 magnum and introduce them to the barrel.
The transit system was always cutting service and raising fares because of lack of funding. Therefore, if riders were waiting for a bus or subway train, there were longer wait times or maybe no service at all. Johnny said to himself, that stinks.
Johnny decided to take the bus because he felt this would bring a knew experience for him to always of being driven around by one of his flunkies. The bus ride would reminded him of his younger days, and it also gave him a chance to see and be up close with common everyday people. He soon realized that he really didn't like it all that much. However, he was optimistic that he would not miss the live stage play at the Granville Civic Opera. A Chicago premire theatre. The on going local labor disputes between employees and management in the city were in full swing.
Suddenly a black two-door late model Dodge Sparrow, a sports car, came from out of nowhere. It zoomed up against the corner to where Johnny was standing as he was about to board the bus. The car slammed into the gutter where the puddle of rainwater that was sitting glistening in the dark grayness. The car was traveling at top speed, as it went on splashing and drenching the gangster with the foul smelling sewer water. The vehicle kept right on moving. Johnny then looked up from his awful physical condition and saw the speeding car in question had stopped at a red light, waiting for it to turn green. Macaroni raced on foot in hopes of catching the vehicle before the light changed. Johnny prayed that he get the person who had done that to him. Johnny sprinted up and behind the stopped car as if he were trying out for the Olympics. His prayers were answered.
He had immediately encountered the vehicle; opened the door yanked and hauled the male elderly motorist out of the car. There was nothing but pure visible rage on the gangster's face. Johnny begun punching and slapping the old man repeatedly. He banged the guy's head up against the hood of his own vehicle four times and then tossed the man back into his car. Johnny told him if he did that again, that he would get dead. The stunned onlookers were content on trying hard to attend to their own affairs by pretending not to see the entire ordeal. However, some of them didn't want to miss anything.
"Get the fuck away from here!!" Johnny screamed, at all the onlookers. And they quickly scattered like flies. He also told the old driver the same thing. The light turned green for the fifth time and the old man sped away. The rain continued to fall as clouds remained steady.
Johnny soon staggered back to the corner and boarded a bus that seemed to have been waiting just for him all along. The driver greeted him warmly. While looking and feeling very wet, he took a back seat. He had lost his cool, but he knew he had to regroup in a hurry. The bus let him off directly in front of another Chicago Landmark. He needed a shower and a change of clothes. At the main entrance of the famous Granville Opera House he met with one his boys. Danny Gibson was the first individual he saw. He told Danny to exchange tuxedos with him. Danny immediately did what he was told. It was almost like a slave greeting his master. They both walked into the men's room.
The Granville Opera House was a majestic limestone skyscraper with a forty-five story office tower and two twenty-two wings. It is shaped like a gigantic throne facing the Chicago River between Washington and Madison Streets.
The building was completed in 1937. A varied used display; the Granville Opera Building houses both a 3.410 seat auditorium and more than a half a million square feet of office and retail space. It was designated a Chicago Landmark on May 8, 1962.
All changed, half showered, and a bit dry, the gangster had long arrived late to the building; he had literally walked in on the middle act of the dramatic Chicago Award Winning Opera, Raw Deception. Usually the ushers will refuse to let someone in to see a show, that was not on time. Johnny Macaroni had influence. His gun. The packed Opera Building was hosting a play about a serious subject, when it usually headlines only Shakespearean musicals and other historical pieces. However, this was no musical.
Johnny Macaroni found his way to the upper balcony and boated his way through the sitting and standing crowds. He soon spotted his entire squad. The male gangsters were all dressed in black stylish tuxedos and his ladies thugs had on their sexy gowns and sporting cheap jewelry that only gave them the appearance of being socialites. Some of Johnny's gang were finding it difficult to except watching a live performance on stage to eating popcorn while attending a good action movie in a theater. The play was about a marriage that was doomed from the start. The ladies seemed except it for what it was worth. Although, Johnny arrived right in the middle of the second act; he knew it was a great play with substance. That was why he recommended to his crew. He dismissed some of this group of having no class whatsoever. They wouldn't know an excellent play if bit them right up in their asses, he thought.
This had been opening night; most of the patrons were young with a few elderly people who looked to be very old and cranky. All were financially secured. Johnny was sitting next to his lovely friend. Glory Wilson seem enjoy the show. She liked Johnny. His name was Johnny Macaroni. The notorious leader of a gang that really served no purpose, but to get rich. He was a nice guy as long as no one crossed him. The very attractive and fit African-American who stood five-foot eight inches and weighed one hundred ninety pounds was only 39 years old. Johnny was handsome guy who sometimes let his appearance do the talking. He took real advantage of his youthfulness and boyish looks.
When Johnny gave an order, he expected it to be carried out and fully executed. Failure was a word that was not in his vocabulary. When he talked they better listen. He was the man. Johnny had class along with a moderate education. He didn't like others who talked to him as if he was stupid. It only insulted his intelligence. He didn't like liars and inadequacy. However, with most people, they quickly learned what he was all about. Especially when he showed them his gun and temper.
Johnny looked around at the congestive and excited audience, still trying to get to most out of his gang. Glory Wilson an African-American female, a good looker. She possessed a big wide ass and huge breasts along with a fine curvy body that most men would literally kill for. It made up for her lack of a formal education. She seduced with her body. However, she had a small heart, but lots of leadership abilities. As long as she kept her focus and determination. Glory would do anything Johnny wanted her too. Her light brown complexion and athletic build accented her cute face. Glory was 30 years old, and the same height as Johnny. They had been childhood friends. They began making love in their early teens and that spilled over into their very young adult years. However, they never really formed a real relationship together. She had always been apart of whatever Johnny decided to put together. She loved him, however, he loved life more, and she knew that all so well.
Billy Boy they called him. He was a big mean dark brown looking dude. He sounded real ghetto when he talked. However, they all knew his real name, but it didn't matter how intelligent he was. He got the job done. Big man sort of resembled a goat. He didn't mind the nickname at all. It made him feel young. Billy Boy was very effective at what he did and that was good. If Johnny gave him an order to kill anyone in the world, he or she was good as dead. Billy Boy was a team player. However, off to himself at times. He was forever loyal to Johnny. He was 31 years old, six feet, two hundred pounds, and Caucasian. He only joined the gang because he needed somewhere to belong. Billy was a follower and needed a leader to guide him. And that leader was Johnny. Billy Boy could kill and not think about it; this was all about money.
Danny Gibson was a musician who once played the high E-string so loud on his guitar that he split and pierced the earlobes of a back in the day ninety year old female crooner who once was a singing sensation on stage. She was trying to make a comeback. It was while being a member of a current rock band to where the ordeal occurred. It all happened in front of a sold out crowd at a local downtown night club. The show was being televised because she was so old, that it made news. The elderly singer was killed while the world watched in horror. The blood gushed right out of her ears until she finally hit the stage floor in front of a stunned live mixed crowd. The local detectives tried to charge Danny with murder for using the high E-string on his guitar as the murder weapon. They could not make it stick. Because no judge would believe it. However, the band kicked him out of the musical group for other reasons. Johnny Macaroni heard his guitar playing talents that same night and liked his style soon asked him to join his own merry band and play some of that deadly music for lots of money. Danny was interested. Therefore, anytime Johnny wanted someone dead, he had a choice to do it the old fashion way with a gun or play a groove.
Danny would literally always provide lethal dose of soul music. Because of that, he was the man. And most people who came to see him play they listened with caution. Danny Gibson was a African-American music man. He had a hard face. He grew up in Peoria, Illinois, listening to all kinds of music. He was a big fan of BB King, Eric Clapton, George Benson, and the more current and modern day entertainers. He tolerated the dying genre of rap music and thought it was good street music he and others could to relate. Most rappers were from the streets and jails, like him, and it went over well with self-appointed thugs like he thought he was. Danny could play anything. He played what the crowd requested, no matter what that was. For a young man, he had no problem of getting into that era's music scene because he never lacked needed talent. If the money was right he'd play it all. However, every genre of music was now on a respirator and life support. Sadly, jazz was all but dead.Johnny still loved it. Some music producers were looking for much younger artists who were all into the hiphop scene. Still jobs were drying up for Danny. Some people no longer supported good music.
Gibson looked to be about 30, with a face that looked as if could have been carved out of stone that wreaked with confidence. He was a dark skinny black dude who had good taste in clothes. He loved his turtle neck sweaters, no matter what the weather. He learned to play the guitar at an early age. The instrument was his constant companion. He was almost never without it. For tonight with a meeting with Johnny, he made an exception.
Baby Girl was not an opera fan. She was just there because that is where her boss said to meet. She was short, fat, black, and almost bald for a young woman. Her real name was Debra Brown. Her claim to fame was talking loud to drown out others who prove to be more informed than she was on many subjects. She was a very ignorant arrogant sounding woman, however, Macaroni understood her very well. She was about 25 years old, grew up with both mother and father on hard illegal drugs. She was the only child. Her daddy raped her at the age of nine, while her mother watched. Soon mother and father move away and left her at the age ten. Therefore, in and out of shelters, she just practically raised herself. In school, she was only an average student. It seemed like every time there was a conversation with the gang or anybody, she always wanted the last word on everything. After a killing, the excitement made her nipples stand out like two double barrel shotguns. She was from Chicago. A general education was the furthest from her thoughts. She spoke that uneducated street and ghetto lingo like a professional. However, she was not dumb girl. When it came to breaking the law, she was a pro. And Johnny liked that in her.
They called her True Love. That was now her name. And most liked it. She thought her real named sounded too plain, therefore she changed it to True Love. She was very attractive and intelligent. She looked as if she could have been a model or a very beautiful young African-American female lawyer. She was good at manipulating Johnny's enemies. Even Johnny, for that matter. There was no job she couldn't handle. He gave her only light jobs. She was just about the only one along with Johnny who really enjoyed the Granville Opera House and all the shows booked there. True Love had class and style. Her favorite pastime was shopping. She was the only one of the group that had a college education. She majored in Sociology. So why would a gorgeous five foot seven lovely lady wants to be a part of an organization of crime with solid credentials in bloody murder? Who knows. It was no doubt she loved money, and all the drama that came with it. With her good looks, firm body, and much schooling, men were always trying to seduce her. So what else was new? She decided long ago that she didn't want to work a normal nine to five for a living. That kind of life was too slow for her. Johnny met her coming out of a bookstore. She was an avid reader. She was floored by the impeccable stylish suit he was wearing at the time. An expensive suit he styled himself. However, Johnny didn't style all his clothes. Sometimes he just grabbed whatever outfit that was nearby and wore it that for the day. He made it all look good.
The auditorium and its backstage areas occupied approximately one-third of the total space of the building. The distinguishing feature on the Wacker Drive side of the Granville Opera Building is the colonnaded portico that runs the entire length of the building. At the south end, large bronze doors open onto the grand foyer of the Granville Opera House, whose gilt cornices glitter beneath the sparkling lights of Canadian Crystal Chandeliers and its elaborately stenciled ceilings.
The magnificent space features a floor and wainscoting of pink and gray Tennessee marble, and fluted Roman Travertine columns and pilasters. The 40-foot-high columns are topped with carved capitals covered in gold leaf. In early 1994 the space was named the Daniel F. and Ada L. Rice Grand Foyer in honor of major contributors. An imposing grand double staircase leads to the mezzanine level, where there are thirty-two boxes. Above those boxes are two more balconies; each with 900 seats. The entire murderous gang was there amidst one of the world greatest orchestras, The Granville Symphony Orchestra.
"What happened Johnny?" asked Glory Wilson. "You're late, you have on a different suit, and you smell like the bowels of a sewer rat." The others had also sense the smell on Johnny, too. But he didn't care. He was there to take care of business.
"What happened baby?" Glory asked, as Johnny adjusts his tall lanky body into his leather back seat. He sternly looked at Glory Wilson.
"That shit as been dealt with," he said. He then tells the story. Glory smiles and takes her right hand and put it on the left side of the gangster face and turns it towards the play in progress. Moments later when their eyes met again. Johnny was still explaining to her what had happened to him on his way to the Opera House.
"I'm wet too, Johnny." Glory said, as she ran her tongue across her red full lips.
Danny Gibson leans forward from a few seats further down to get a view of his boss.
"Johnny how long are we going to have to sit through this bullshit?" he asked.
"What you don't like about the Opera?" That voice came from True Love, another gang member. Danny leaned back and fell silent. Billy Boy fumbled and evoked.
"This is my first time attending an opera. I could really get into this." Baby Girl sounded off.
"It's the singing I can't understand what they are saying," she replied.
"You are not really suppose to understand the singing, but only to justify the emotion behind the story and to listen for the quality and range of the singer's voice." Johnny said with scorn. He was upset that they didn't like the production.
"Some of you fucks need some class," he said. Baby Girl appeared wounded by the tone of voice espoused by Johnny.
"Johnny next time I would like to hear some modern day rap or see a Jim Starlight concert, please. And some great pop or hiphop sounds" Danny said, with an attitude.
Johnny really didn't give a damn what his associates thoughts were about the production, as long as they did what they were told and didn't fuck-up. He needed an alibi and the opera house was it. As far he was concern this was the one. Earlier in the day, Macaroni sent two of his boys, Damn Right and Jack Shit to the north side of the city to the Presidential Waters Hotel, a beautiful and elegant six star elaborate structure of 34 floors and 233 rooms including special suites for the plain old rich folks. The hotel itself was located in the heart of Lincoln Park. The community was filled with the very upper and middle class young affluent professional residents. They were educated black and white young people and others from all walks of life. Some were married or just living, learning, and giving together. The mostly gay community was filled with college kids. Lincoln Park was known as one of Chicago's greatest community. Shopping and the rest of the business areas were within walking distance of The Lincoln Train Station. The Lincoln Shopping Mall was the favorite place of the young urbanites. Also there was a Lincoln Theatre District. Great movies were always in abundance. Still this small Chicago blue and white collar community was always busting at the seams with pedestrian and vehicular traffic. These were young busy people were going on day after day with their lives. They all appeared to be very happy with their existence.
The Presidential Waters Hotel was established in 1954, and it is historically beautiful. It was restored in a grand American manner and offers classic old-world charm and elegance. The building was within the walking distance of the Great Water House Plaza. Its attractive guests rooms were carefully detailed for the business traveler. A coffee maker and complimentary wine in every room. There were irons and hairdryers in all rooms, whether the customers needed them or not. It had high definition and plasma televisions in all the rooms with free cable, satellite, and Internet connections. There were the free USA Today daily newspapers delivered before 7am each morning to every room. The exercise rooms were mounted with steppers and cycles for life fitness. Alarm digital radios were also in the rooms for the early check out guests. The hotel had countless of amenities and capabilities for the annual convention visitors and families on vacation. The executive suites and lounges were fabulous. The housekeeping staff kept the rooms clean smelling great; after each checkout the guests always left the cleaning crew with great gratuities to show much appreciation. However, some thought that it was no better than any other Loop hotel. Even though, it had more rooms to contain the stream of visitors that flowed in from O'Hare Airport.
Jack Shit and Damn Right walked around in their spacious suite surveying the room as if they were marching on a floor with soft cushions. If a pin dropped to the floor, they'd be ready to draw their guns and start firing. The two were pacing all around the room in different directions, looking up and then peering down again with facial expressions that could cause the Titanic to re-surface. They were waiting on word from their boss.
Jack Shit formally known as Bob Reynolds. He was stone faced, but confident looking. He possessed a nose that appeared to have been broken several times and thin lips. He once worked as a male nurse until he received his calling. The name Bob Reynolds sounded too much like a use car salesman, and that is exactly what he became. He literally threw his white smock away. One day he became completely pissed off. Like so many others, he had been over worked and grossly under paid. He was only 33 years old and felt he was being taken advantage of. He had gotten so upset at all the overtime that the company forced him to do for no extra pay. The nerve. It interfered with him seeing his two small kids. He had been married twice. He was a good father when it came to support for his three small children. Bob needed to see them once in a while, but double and triple duty of selling cars prevented that. He knew the company didn't care about his him or his children. Bob was such a good salesman, an asset of his employers, that his customers recommended him to many of their friends. The revenues from his sales skyrocketed even more for the company. However, he had really gotten tired of pretending to be happy. He was especially was tired of being extra nice to rude people.
He soon made an effort to leave his so-so paying commissioned job to become a big city alderman. Bob decided he wanted to work in city government. So one day he took his salesmanship skills and stiff demeanor down to Chicago City Hall and up the Board of Elections and told the thirty-something year old fat African-American clerk that he wanted to run for alderman of his relatively immigrant community. He registered and she gave him a few petitions to be signed. He needed to gather at least five thousand signatures of registered voters to be eligible and placed on the city's upcoming ballot.
He soon left city hall with documents tucked under his arm.
GEORGE WILDER JR. 
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Ruthless
By
George Wilder Jr.
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It’s a shame, no, it’s a crime shame. We the the people of all walks of life, cannot trust the people who are responsible to keep our personal and private information safe. The very people that we trust our information too, are the same ones who are stealing it. It's on the television news stations almost everyday. Some bank employees are cleaning out our bank accounts. Some of them are diverting our savings and checking accounts into their own and individual personal accounts while they are at work. An employee who decides he or she is tired of working at dead end jobs, therefore, they pull up a few pin numbers on the bank computer that belong to their depositors, and then decides to take a vacation in the Caribbean. And when we go to withdraw our money, nothing is there. No wonder so many people are starting to stuff their money in mattress of their beds.
At the driver’s license facilities, the people you give your information too, are bank rolling it. These thugs are ripping off social security numbers, addresses, and bank information of people who must give them their personal information in order to get their driver’s license renewed. Among other things. The Social Security Adminstration, the place to go to get a social security card, among other things, may be filled with employees who may steal a client's identity at some time during their employment. Department of Human Services could be saturated with people who are very rude to those who have the right to ask for and get legitimate information. At some car dealerships, the salesman or saleswoman may hit a wrong key on his or her computer, and lose every account number belonging to all of their customers. And for this mistake, everyone gets behind in their individual payments. And all some of them can say is that they made an error, and that they are only human, while our life savings and payment histories are maybe lost forever.
People who work at large phone companies and other public agencies, some again are very rude, unknowledgable, fast talkers, and dishonest. Some could be just bent on getting the most money out of the consumer as much possible. There is more thievery going on in these places and others like them, then anyone could ever imagine, shopping on the internet is lot safer, the past Christmas sales have proven that. Again, every time I turned on the evening news, some employees has stolen bank accounts and cleaned all the customer’s cash out.
People in those jobs may not start out to steal, it kind grows on them as time goes on. Not everyone at these jobs are crooks, I should make that clear, however, some people may become tired, board, and unhappy at not getting on further in their lives or careers, the potential is there for anything.
When hiring a company should not only check some of these people backgrounds for criminal activity, but also, check their foreground. How long will they stay with the company? After a few years with the company will they become fed-up and decide to steal valuable account information and sell the data to the highest bidder? While the consumer is left penniless. Things have to change and quickly. Large corporations can't seem to keep our information safe, every time finanical data is lost, it is due mostly to incompetence of some of the employees. Who else is there to blame when thousands of people financial information is compromised by these large companies? In the meantime, like it has been reported, keep constant watch of your finanaces, always check credit ratings, and get a free credit reports. Lets just hope that some of these people can get their acts togeher.
At the writing of this, I live in Chicago and at the start of December it has been a brutally cold winter, and it had been that way long before winter had even officially begun, at lease by the calendar for 2005. This was was the kind of cold that had even killed a few people. It was the kind of cold that no one wanted their children to go out into, or themselves for that matter. As I have written about in one of my fictional books, some of the weather people on TV sometimes seem to get it wrong. And then some of them try to gloss over their mistakes with a smile, and say it wasn't like we first thought. And I guest most of us have to forgive them, after all it's only the weather. And a lot of us had to truck our small kids out in the cold stuff everyday for school. Most people who have to be out in the hard cold, will be out at some point with a cold or flu, and other related ailments due to the extreme cold.
It amazes me that even in this harsh, brutal, and biting cold that some young women and men are the ones that I sometime observe not wanting to dress warmly from the crushing cold. They give all kinds of excuses, especially the women: They won't cover their heads because it will mess up their hair or that it might hide their facial features or some might refuse to wear a full length heavy coat because it might hide what they really want show. It's okay to want look your best and to show off what God gave you, but when it is biting cold, always dress for the cutting weather. Dressing right for the winter weather will preserve your good looks for the summertime.
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