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Jimmy L Holder

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By Jimmy L Holder
Monday, April 12, 2004

Rated "PG" by the Author.

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As Cole Fletcher inhaled the cool, swirling May breeze, he took another drag from his Marlboro cigarette. For a brief 20 seconds of nicotine nirvana, he was relaxed, but confused. He began wondering what was bothering his sweet little friend, Clarice Ann Toney.

This time of year was always nice in Chicago - not too cool and definitely, not sizzling with a summer heat wave. The trees were all full of leaves and spring’s delightful hand had touched everything. The freshness of spring added that special charismatic charm to Cole’s demeanor, and he could feel the static charges in the Illinois air. The wind always whipped through his Southern trained flesh and occasionally he longed for his old life in Atlanta. Still reflecting on the good old days, he silently glided through the back door of his nightclub: Buster’s.

At Buster’s, Blacks, Whites, Orientals, Latinos and many other nationalities came to play. It was the place for the seemingly charmed partying people to be. Occasionally, even rich and famous athletes like the Chicago Bulls and Bears came to have fun. Even Madonna and Prince had visited the club’s VIP room. Buster’s was one of the most celebrated, best designed, most affordable, and well-located clubs in town. Many people considered it to be the most accessible club. It was also the easiest club in town to have fun in, without getting into any serious trouble.

Sure, its nightly cover charge was rather high at $15 per person per night, but patrons willingly stood in long lines every night to gain admittance. Cole’s older brother Travis had built the upscale club for himself two years after their wealthy father died. Sadly, however, three years later, Travis himself was killed in a rare private aircraft crash. He had left his club to Cole who was just finishing his senior year at the University of Georgia. His other holdings went into a trust fund, and naturally, Cole assumed his womanizing brother might have a kid or two running around somewhere. Cole knew Travis had established another $250,000 trust fund for someone before he died. But, who could it be?

Since Cole was a business major and had no plans for getting a job, he decided to keep his brother’s club open and let his brother’s assistant, Clarice, run the club until he graduated in six months. Cole really didn’t have to work at all. His father had left him financially independent. But, he longed to test his newly acquired management skills.

Sure, Cole knew Clarice was once a bit of a wild child, but he knew she had it somewhat under control now. She had matured significantly in the last four or five years. Sure she used to drink and party for days on end selecting only the wildest men she could find, but with the help of her many friends, like Travis, and her youngest sister Trish, she truly seemed in control of her life. In fact, she hadn’t done anything crazy in months. Her current boyfriend ironically was a fireman. OK, so he was something of a cowboy, but at least this time he was a responsible cowboy. That was much more than anyone could say for the others. Many of them were jailbirds and career criminals.

Five years after he graduated, Cole now 27 and Clarice, 37 were best friends. Cole and Clarice never spoke of it, but many times eighteen to twenty years ago, Clarice had baby-sat Cole when his parents went out on the town. At one point during this time period, Travis had dated Clarice for a short while one summer before he moved on to college conquest after college conquest before he tired of college and joined the army. Back then, Cole had a serious crush on his baby sitter and never felt at ease around her. Cole thought lovingly of his brother Travis who would have been 41 years old. Travis probably would still be chasing women had he lived. He loved everything about women so.

Clarice was doing a great job at the club as always, so what could the problem be? He was completely in the dark and he wanted to know. Clarice was like family to him, the only family he had left, except his high society mother who was off playing in Europe or Africa or Rio de Janeiro or somewhere exotic as usual. She never called anymore, anyway, so why think about her?

“Clarice, what the hell is going on and why have you been so damned depressed?”

Clarice’s eyes shot to the ground. No response. For the first time, Cole sensed she was hiding something. As Cole walked around the table where his little friend was sitting, sipping a caramel cappuccino coffee; he noticed she had withdrawn into a protective posture. “What on earth could cause such a devastating response?“

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you for your own good,” responded Clarice weeping now. “Perhaps, it will be for the best if I disappear and was never seen again.”

“What?” cried Cole. “Are you completely insane? Why on earth would you want to do such an irresponsible thing?”

“Cole, something terrible happened last night,” continue Clarice with a trembling, shaky voice. “Last night, after I closed the club, I stayed late and did a supply inventory. JohnT, the bouncer stayed to make sure I walked to my car without incident. Everything was going fine until I got home. When I entered my apartment, nothing could have prepared me for what I found. Nothing at all could have surprised me more. I found every room in the apartment in shambles. When I entered my black roommate LaKiesha’s bedroom, I found her there almost dead.”

“What?” asked Cole stunned. “You must be kidding!”

He could have never imagined the problem could be so serious. Cole strolled over to the bar and made himself a rum and coke. Thank God the lighting in the club’s main bar area was subdued. Cole could feel a migraine coming on. Normally, he never sampled the supply at this time of day, but today, he had to make an exception.

He looked over at his 5’ 2”, 105-pound friend, Clarice, whose head was still in her cupped hands, facing downward. He had wondered why Clarice would take such a young black girl from Texas as her roommate anyway. Sure, LaKiesha was a wild child too, but how in the world did these two people meet long enough to get to be roommates? Cole had to know. However, now wasn’t the time for such trivial questions. They had nothing in common. LaKiesha was a 5’10” 125 pound Amazon girl from the South, and Clarice was a Yankee that had never once been anywhere near the South. True enough, Clarice once dated wild men like LaKiesha’s current boyfriend Marcus, but that was the only similarity Cole could see. It just didn’t make sense and he didn’t want to pry too much.

“No, I would never kid about something like that,” continued Clarice looking up shyly for the first time since the conversation started. “I was terrified when I called the ambulance and police, even hysterical.”

“Police?” asked Cole confused.

“Yes, at first, it appears LaKiesha had taken some bad drugs and overdosed, but that didn’t make sense because she was a health food fanatic. She would never take drugs, except maybe a little cocaine. You know how it is. Hell, she wouldn’t even eat meat or fish.”

“What did the police do when they arrived?” quizzed Cole.

“At first, the uniforms entered with weapons drawn,” answered Clarice, voice trembling again. “They searched the entire apartment and then advised me to touch nothing. Soon the apartment was full of paramedics, police, and a police photographer. When the detectives arrived, they had a uniformed officer take me downtown for questioning and LaKiesha went to the emergency room. It was totally scary.”

“Why on earth didn’t you call me or Sal Goldberg the clubs attorney?” suggested Cole.

“I have no idea,” continue Clarice. “I am not sure what happened last night to tell you the truth. I must have been in shock.”

“Did the police read you your rights?”

“Yes, they said I didn’t have to say anything if I didn’t want to. They also found a small vile of cocaine in LaKiesha‘s room. She was probably keeping it for that creepy worm Marcus. You know, that snake Marcus ‘Sweet Time’ Williams, her boyfriend.”

“Yeah, I‘ve seen him in the club a many times with LaKiesha,” said Cole. “He’s about 32 years old isn’t he? He loves to spread the money around. At first I thought he was a pimp instead of a dope dealer.”


“Yeah, that’s Sweet Time,” declared Clarice. “He is God’s gift to women and a truly dangerous parasite. He‘s the worst kind of drug dealer too - one that doesn‘t use drugs. He just sells it to his people and his family.”

“Who were your detectives, can you remember their names?” asked Cole.

“Sure,” assured Clarice, “the black cop’s name was Sgt. Henry David Simms and the woman’s name was Kimberly Westlake. As you know, I am very good with names and faces.”

Sgt. Henry (David) Simms was a tall, handsome, muscular 34 year old native Chicagoan. He looked a lot like a young Denzel Washington, except he was even better looking and just as smooth. Okay, he didn’t move as gracefully as Denzel, you know, like a big cat, but he certainly wasn’t without great charm. In fact, he was the youngest detective to make the homicide squad in Chicago’s history. He was a mere 27 years old when he was selected as a homicide detective. He held a master’s degree in criminal justice and had considered law school very seriously. Many thought such a radiant young man could possibly one day become chief of police. He was truly brilliant, but didn’t seem to have the ego or attitude that normally accompanies high achievers. Oddly enough, he was from a black family with money. His father and uncle had made a small fortune in the dry cleaning business.

His partner 41-year-old Kim Westlake, however, was anything but smooth. Put quite simply, this third generation Chicago policewoman was a skull cracker from a long line of serious skull crackers. She was the sword to detective Simms’ shine. Whenever force needed to be applied, Sgt. Westlake did the applying. Unlike a lot of women that seem delicate and feminine, she was a 5’ 11” creature that loves physical encounters. Also, she was a crack shot and department marksman. A woman not to be underestimated, she was clever too. She loved the challenge of figuring out (who done it) and as a child had listened to her father, two older brothers, and two uncles tell police war stories. From these dedicated Chicago police detectives, she had learned many tricks and techniques for recognizing and snaring the bad guys. She loved the job and performed the job with gusto. She had been on the job for 19 years and except for two excessive force charges, she had a fantastic record. Don’t get her wrong; she was a sexy, vivacious woman. Kim had a good husband who was successful in the construction business and twin daughters who were college freshmen and possible future lawyers.

“Detective Simms asked me everything: Who was LaKiesha seeing? For how long was she seeing him or her? How long had we been roommates? Did LaKiesha do drugs? Who was her supplier? How did we come to be roommates?”

“How did you come to be roommates?” quizzed Cole, seeing his opening.

What Clarice told Cole next completely took him by surprise.

“Cole, I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you,” announced Clarice carefully studying Cole’s eyes. “LaKiesha was one of Travis’ daughters!”

“What?” screamed Cole completely taken by surprise. “One, One of, One of Travis’ daughters? What, does he have more than one?”

Clarice lowered the boom.

“Yes, your brother has five kids that we know of: four girls and one boy. LaKiesha is the oldest!”

“My brother has a 21 year old black daughter?” asked Cole. “He was just 36 when he died. How? Who? When?”

“He was one month short of his 37th birthday. That was five years ago. Remember, he spent four years in the army. He was stationed at Ft. Hood, Texas and met a pretty young black woman named Deborah Wilson. Well, to make a long story short, Deborah got pregnant with LaKiesha and your father forbid Travis to marry her. He wanted to you know that he loved Deborah very much. After a couple of years, Deborah got tired of the extra baggage that comes with an interracial relationship and left Travis. Besides, she knew Travis wasn’t a one-woman man, although she was the only woman he was faithful to. When Travis separated from the army, he decided to come to Chicago with a buddy who was also getting out of the Army. He didn’t want to be anywhere near your father in Atlanta.”

“Father, yeah, I can understand Travis’s reasons for that,” admitted Cole remembering his stern father.

“Over the years, Travis got several young women pregnant. Some of them refused to get an abortion and had their babies. Travis sent child support to each mother and secretly watched each child’s development. Each child was told that its father died in a car accident. Travis set up individual trust funds for all five of his children. They were all illegitimate and only LaKiesha knew she was his daughter. Her mother told her when she found out she had cancer. The others never knew Travis was their father until after he died. Travis wanted it that way and so did each of the mothers.”

“I see,” said Cole mildly, completely stunned.

Clarice sat quietly reflective after her revelation. Cole also had things on his mind. Things like, why hadn’t Travis ever mentioned his kids? True, Travis was almost 14 years older than Cole, and they were never really close - that Cole could remember, but they were brothers. What the hell was going on? Cole realized he was completely in the dark. Suddenly, Clarice pulled out her cell phone and called the emergency room. She couldn’t find out anything, so she asked Cole to take her to the hospital.

At the hospital, they found that LaKiesha was in the intensive care unit. She was in critical condition and was monitored constantly. It was sad really, Cole’s oldest niece, lying there close to death and he never had a chance to get to know her. He remembered her face and that of his brother, of course, the resemblance was always there, but who could have guessed. It was amazing. LaKiesha’s mother must have been a knock out because Travis wasn’t that handsome. Those looks had to come from somewhere. And another thing, where was LaKiesha’s mother? Should she be called? Cole was so quiet; Clarice guessed what he must have been thinking.

“LaKiesha’s mother died four years ago of cancer,” revealed Clarice. “Before Deborah died, she asked me to take care of LaKiesha. Travis had told Deborah about our long-time friendship. Since I was between roommates, I took her in thinking she was almost grown anyway. We became good friends over the last four years, but she had her secrets.”

Cole sat there quietly. There were a lot of secrets being kept from him too. He understood. It wasn’t really any of his business.

Suddenly, a female came to speak to them both:

“Hello, I‘m Dr. Margaret Keller, LaKiesha Wilson’s doctor. I understand that Ms. Toney is the roommate and friend, and you Mr. Fletcher, are the uncle and only living relative?”

“Yeah, Yes, Yaw … I guess that right, except my mother whose in Africa or somewhere,” babbled Cole. “What’s wrong with my niece?”

“Mr. Cole, I’m sorry to inform you that your niece has been poisoned with arsenic!” advised Dr. Keller. “Her chances are not very good I’m afraid. She only alive because the paramedics were called within 15 minutes of the poisoning.”

“Fifteen minutes? Poisoning? Fifteen minutes? That means I almost ran in to whoever did it!” cried Clarice.

“Yes,” said Cole. “You were very lucky you didn’t interrupt him.”

“Lucky, indeed!” suggested Dr. Keller.

The next day dragged for Clarice. Nothing seemed to go smoothly. She couldn’t rest and she couldn’t stop thinking. She called Cole who invited her to come over to his luxurious high-rise apartment. He too was a bit stressed out and couldn’t rest either.

“Cole, what going on? Somebody actually tried to kill LaKiesha. Why? Who?” would do such an evil thing?

“The police are looking for Marcus ‘Sweet Time’ Williams, LaKiesha’s boyfriend,” answered Cole. “I heard it on the news. Evidently, he has a significant police record and has been in prison twice for selling cocaine.”

“Okay, Marcus is kind of weird, sure he is crazy, but he would never hurt LaKiesha, he was crazy about her and LaKiesha bossed him around like a little kid,” argued Clarice. “It couldn’t be him.”

“Hey, remember that private investigator Travis used to know?” asked Cole.

“I sure do,” insisted Clarice. “Let’s see now, yeah, his name was Willie Leroy Harris and Travis said he was the best. But, why would we hire him?”

”We could hire him to find Marcus Williams,” insisted Cole.

“Hey, Cole man, that’s a fantastic idea,” said Clarice impressed. “All that money your father spent on your college degree is paying off bonehead.”

“Stop it,” laughed Cole.

After Clarice and Cole briefed Willie Harris on what had happened, Cole paid him a three thousand dollar retainer. The retainer was to be used for Harris’s expenses and as seed money - money to be given to informants. Willie Harris knew Chicago and grew up in its sometimes-mean black streets. He knew where to look and who to ask to track down Marcus. Before Clarice and Cole were out of the office good, he was already on the phone.

At La Fiesta, Cole and Clarice ate their Mexican-styled dinner relatively certain they had hired the right man. They still had two hours before the club opened and neither was in a hurry to get back to the club. Their staff was well trained and would open even if they didn’t show up.

That night, while Cole and Clarice were at Buster’s, Willie Harris was breaking and entering into Marcus Williams hideaway apartment. Once past the front door, Harris moved slowly and carefully about the apartment. He had to be careful, since he never carried a gun. They were illegal in Chicago. At first, it appeared no one was in the apartment, but when he entered the bedroom, he found Marcus dead. Marcus had a needle sticking in his arm and from what Harris could tell; it appeared to be a suicide. After closer examination of the crime scene, he determined that the supposed suicide had been staged. It was just too well staged. Besides, Marcus was not the type to commit suicide. He was much too selfish for that. He might kill twenty people to protect his skin, but kill himself? No way! Harris decided since he was already in the apartment, he would chance getting caught there with a dead body. He took his time carefully searching the apartment.

When he went through Marcus’s jacket pockets, he found a receipt for the high-class Beaumont Hotel in downtown Chicago. What the hell would Marcus be doing with this? It was totally out of place. He knew he had something significant.

When he looked out the keyhole, he could see two policemen coming toward the apartment. “Damn, he was trapped!” It wasn’t the first time he had face this situation, he headed for the fire escape. Luckily, the window leading to the fire escape wasn’t stuck. Quickly, and just in time he sprang onto the balcony. The two police knocked several times before the manager showed up with the key. As they opened the door, Harris swung himself down the fire escape to the third floor. As he got to that level he spotted an open window in the apartment where he stood and entered. He reasoned that breaking and entering was better than getting caught in a dead man’s apartment. His only fear was that its occupants might shoot him in the apartment. Again, luck was on his side. As he passed the bedroom, he could hear two people making love. The door was open as he quickly and silently slid pass the opening. He glanced in to see what looked like a very young man and an equally young woman. He guessed them to be about 21 years old and they showed plenty of youthful enthusiasm and energy. Damn, the girl was really loud! Soon he was out the front door.

Once back at his car, Harris decided he would go directly to the Beaumont Hotel. It was more than just getting paid; he was now completely absorbed in curiosity. Why would a young thug like Sweet Time have a receipt for a room at an expensive hotel? Marcus wouldn’t be caught dead there. Harris had to know. He went to the trunk of his 1965 maroon, beige-vinyl topped Monte Carlo and pulled out a sports jacket and tie. At 39, Harris was fit and looked good when he dressed nicely. He would have no trouble walking about the hotel. He needed to find an informant - someone to work with in the hotel to get him some information.

When he entered the lobby, he surveyed the large, expensive-looking room for his mark. The receipt that he had found was time stamped for this shift, so Harris knew he had the correct shift. Now, all he needed was someone he could bribe. No. No. No. The bellboy - he couldn’t access the hotel records. Suddenly, Harris noticed a mousy, but attractive looking 30ish young woman standing behind the desk. He knew he had his information.

As he stepped to the desk, he rolled the palm of his right hand up so that the attendant could see the $100 bill he was holding.

“Miss, I wonder if you could tell me whose credit card paid for the room on this receipt? Their name is completely smudged out?”

“I’m sorry sir, that information is private and …” whined the woman as she noticed a $50 bill with the $100.

“Are you completely sure,” asked Harris as he revealed $200.

“Just one minute,” advised the clerk.

When Harris got the information he was shocked. It couldn’t be, but it was. This new information complicated things. His employers would be as shocked as he was. Harris grabbed his cell phone. He called Cole Fletcher,

“Cole, this is Willie Harris. Have you or Clarice told anyone about me being on the case?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Cole.

Cole yelled across the office hallway,

“Clarice, have you told anyone about Willie Harris?”

“No, who would I tell,” answered Clarice curious.

“Good,” said Harris. “Don’t tell anyone! I‘m coming right over there with some important information.”

When Harris arrived, it was nearly 2:30 AM. Everyone had left the club except Cole, Clarice, and JohnT, the head bouncer. JohnT always stayed until everyone left the club including Cole and Clarice. When Harris arrived, JohnT let him in per Cole’s instructions. Cole was also at the door and he told JohnT to go home. JohnT reluctantly agree and left as instructed.

Harris took only five minutes to tell Cole and Clarice about his day and the events that led him to the hotel. Cole and Clarice were stunned:

“So someone, murdered Marcus and tried to make it look like an accident?” asked Clarice. “Why?”

“I don’t understand either,” insisted Cole, also confused. “Who would do such a thing?”

The three heard a small sound in the other room. They assumed it was JohnT coming back for something he had forgotten.

“Tell me, tell me,” screeched Cole.

“The Clerk at the Beaumont Hotel said that a Mr. Henry Simms rented the room,” revealed Willie Harris. “It all makes sense now. Your niece is in grave danger if Simms is trying to keep her quiet. We would be in danger too if he knew we were on to him.”

Suddenly, the door to the office flew open. It was Simms who had kicked it in. He had his weapon drawn and was pointing it directly at Harris.

“How did you know?” asked Harris realizing Simms was onto them.

“I placed an illegal wire tap on Fletcher’s phones,” said Simms, eyes blazing. “Actually, I didn’t know about you until Harris called at 2:30 AM. I was trying to find out how much LaKiesha’s roommate knew. If she knew too much, I was going to take care of her.”

“Why?” asked Clarice shivering?

“I suspect that Simms had a secret affair with LaKiesha and LaKiesha got pregnant,” suggested Harris.

“That’s pretty smart of you Harris,” smiled Simms. “Its also very correct.”

“LaKiesha was going to tell my wife about the baby and I just couldn’t have that,” continued Simms. “I am up for a promotion to lieutenant and this mess with LaKiesha would have ended any chance of promotion.”

“So you poisoned my niece?” asked Cole. “But, why kill Sweet time?”

“He killed Marcus ‘Sweet Time’ Williams because Marcus was on to him,” insisted Harris. “Marcus had the Beaumont receipt LaKiesha had kept as a reminder of her love for Simms.”

“Yeah, I was desperate. I wasn’t thinking either. I came to your apartment just to talk to LaKiesha. She was calm and so was I. When she refused to cooperate, I took some arsenic I had stolen from the police evidence room and slipped it in her milk. She only took a swallow, but I knew that would be enough. All was going well until Ms. Toney showed up. She called the paramedics and unfortunately, one of them, the smart ass, noticed the signs of arsenic poisoning right away.”

“So you are going to kill three more people to cover your tracks,” asked Cole.

“No, I may have to kill five more people, if you count the baby,” said Simms crazed.

“You cold, cruel bastard,” sneered Clarice. “You’d kill your own baby to hide your sins?’

“I’m up for a promotion to lieutenant and this scandal would ruin my career,” said Simms sadly. “I just can’t have that!”

Suddenly, a familiar voice said, “Henry, its all over, put down the weapon.”

It was Kim Westlake.

“I took the liberty to inform your partner,” said Harris. We are old friends.

“Henry, please put down the gun.”

Simms thought of the shame he would have to face. He thought of the man he’d already killed and the others. He knew how things were in prison for cops and he turned and raised his gun:

“Bang, the first shot rang out penetrating his left shoulder.”

Simms was thrown back two steps by the impact of the 45-caliber slug and stunned momentarily. He tried to raise the gun again. Cole and Clarice watched in horror.

“Bang, rang out the second shot penetrating Simms chest.”

Simms fell to the floor. Westlake ran to his side with tears in her eyes.

“I’m glad it was you Kim,” said Sgt. Henry Simms. “I’m glad it was you Kim!”

Simms fell dead.

Three weeks later, LaKiesha woke from her coma. Incredibly the baby survived with his mother and was released from the hospital after a long 7-week stay. That winter Cole Fletcher held his first nephew: Tony James Wilson in his arms. As soon as Tony was born, Sal Goldberg announced that a $250,000 trust fund was established for the child’s well being. Damn, Travis was smarted than Cole had believed. He had planned for his first grandchild’s future. Amazing really. Cole was very pleased with his brother at this moment.

Cole also found out he had had a long time secret admirer; you guessed it, Trish, Clarice’s baby sister. Trish had kept her feeling for Cole secret, even from her two sisters, for over 20 years. Cole had seen her come and go and liked her very much, but had never considered a relationship. After all, he was a club owner and she was a social worker. The two professions seemed to clash. Besides, she was Clarice’s baby sister and two years older than Cole. Cole had dater much older women, but his best friend’s sister. No, he had never considered that. But, it was late spring.

Maybe a serious, mature relationship was what he needed. Sure, the girls at the club were fine, but most were party girls and had only having fun on their minds. Trish was different; she was an educated, mature, independent woman who wasn’t afraid to speak her won mind. She already knew who she was and what she wanted. Most of the women Cole dated, were anything but sure of secure. With Trish, Cole would have a strong woman.

Cole was a man at peace. His family was coming together and so was he. He had reached that magical point in life where a man knows who he is and what he is capable of. The world was his for the enjoyment. His club, Buster’s, in the ten years since Travis opened it, had grown in popularity and was making Cole a small fortune. It seemed that he would need his fortune to put all his brother’s children and grandchildren through college. Cole believed in the value of an education. Maybe, someday soon he would have kids of his own. Ho knows? All was well.

That same summer, Cole’s mother Vivian Fletcher returned from her travels. She decided to leave her Atlanta home and lifetime friends and move to Chicago. Cole was stunned and happy. Vivian had tired of life on the road and wanted to get to know her new family: her son Cole, all five of her grandchildren including LaKiesha, Clarice, Trish, and her new great grandchild. She had been alone for enough years. Somehow, suddenly, God had blessed her with a huge family.

The End.

Copyright .2004 ShyPoet1 and may not be used without written permission from the author.


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Reviewed by Sandra Mushi 7/8/2005
What a write! I felt like I was in the rooms with the characters. You describe very well, Shy Poet!!!

God bless,

Reviewed by Judy Lloyd 12/28/2004
I am glad that I read your stories too. I was not offended by anything in the poem it is just that too many place blame on something for chemical dependancy and the article you wrote could be true of any person regardless of color that sells drugs. It used to be moonshine etc. I know quite a few dealers through what I see in our area. They are white exploiting everyone they can. What I hate is the young kids.
Reviewed by Mitzi Jackson 4/22/2004
I really don't know what to say how could i have missed all these great stories.....You are definitly a talent it's not just your poetry I have alot of reading to do I see....this was outstanding so real I could picture everything
Reviewed by Floria Kelderhouse 4/13/2004
Excellent story Jim...I loved the characters and the story line...
Your descriptive lines of scenes and places is get
better and better with each story you write...same with your poetry...I liked that this took place in Chicago...your characters were very interesting...I am not quite sure I understand the thought for the day....I don't think it had anything to do with this story did it..but your life....your real life....hope things get better for you Jim....clap clap clap on the writing...floria
Reviewed by TRAVONNE EADY 4/12/2004
Hey, I really liked this story. This is the first short story that I've read of yours. Thank you for sharing your work. I look forward to reading more.


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