Jack Daley, click
here to update your pages on AuthorsDen.
Blogs by Jack Daley
Help Murder Police Dream Journal 5/7/2006 6:49:12 PM
Help Murder Police is a recent dream where the main character tries to move to a better room in a motel in Vegas. 5-7-06
I’m unpacking the car at a motel on a quiet street in East Las Vegas where I plan to spend the night with Anne, the grandkids, and my father. I walk into my father’s room and find a couple college students unpacking over night bags. “Hey, this is my father’s room,” I tell them.
“No, he’s checking out. He found out that the owner of the motel is an old friend of his, and he’s getting a better room,” one of the boys tells me.
Good, I tell myself thinking that maybe we will all get better rooms.
I find my father out on the street with all of his belongings piled on an old plank table. “We have to take the table too. Do you know someone who has a truck, Jackie,” he asks with a pitiful grin.
“I’ll try to find someone,” I tell him and head for our room where I find Anne repacking our things. I guess
we’re leaving too, I tell myself and wonder if I’ll have to drive all the way to Philadelphia to return my father’s belongings.
I see Anne toss what looks like my wallet into a bag.
“Do you have my play time wallet,” I ask.
She looks at me with out answering shaking her head. She must be mad about something, I tell myself and let Anne know that I’m going to West Vegas to see if I left my wallet there. As I walk out the door I’m thinking that I should look in Anne’s bag before I walk all the way downtown, but I don’t return to the house to look.
I’m walking down the strip gazing and the tall buildings, bright lights, and crowds of partying gamblers. Wow, I tell myself taking it all in.
It’s later now, I’m thinking that Anne is going to be really pissed if she’s ready to go and I’m out sight seeing. I try to find a short cut back to East Vegas cutting through several vacant lots and backyards. A dozen or so people are following me. “I think we hit a dead end,” I say pointing to the closed gate at the other side of a back yard. Then, I see a side opening and hurry toward it and squeeze through. Now. I am completely alone.
I come down a steep hill and into the campsite of a half dozens gangsters. They tell me if I give them all my money I won’t be hurt. I look around the tent and see several caches of rifles and automatic weapons. My brother C.C. is emptying out his pockets to show that he has no money.
“O. K., you guys better let us go. If you don’t, I’ll scream for help. The cops will come and take your cache,” I tell them.
They start hitting on my brother. “Help!!!! Help!!!! Help!!!! I scream at the top of my lungs while banging on a metal pole with a hammer. The hammer makes a terrifying sound that can be heard for blocks. “Help! Murder! Police!” I continue to yell thinking that the gang still has my brother.
