PRIMAL SCREAMER

Looking back at my former friend Ciro, I'm reminded; sometimes the good we do, doesn’t do us any good. More specifically, while concentrating on personal gain, a selfish piece of crap going nowhere in life can be incorrectly and temporarily perceived as a hero.

                           *



In 1980, the deafening roar of jets taking off from nearby McCarron Airport was a constant reminder to Shirley Birnbaum why her three-bedroom rancher had been so affordable.  Like most negativity in her life, she accepted the noise as something she was powerless against.  Far worse, unloved Shirley, dulled by indifference was convinced life had passed her by.

     
Immune to the racket above, she labored over five different breakfasts as she bitterly mulled another lost argument with her husband Morris.

Shirley grabbed two eggs in each hand and trudged in tattered, fuzzy-bunny-slippers from the refrigerator to the stove. 

She smashed an egg onto the skillet’s edge and snarled Morris’ closing summation, “Life insurance!  What’s in it for me?”          

The four-egg Denver omelet, bacon, hash browns and heavily buttered rye toast was for him.  He was approaching three hundred pounds and Shirley knew this modest "snack" would be chased by the MGM’s all-day, free employee food orgy; where he was a bellman. 

Friendless and overwhelmed by motherhood, the Women's Lib movement had been wasted on Shirley.  So as she reviewed her sequence of errands before work, the only way she could spite Morris was to not dice his red peppers as finely as he liked.

In 1966, Morris avoided the draft and the risk of being sent to Vietnam by enlisting in the Coast Guard.  He and Shirley met after his discharge and dated for two years.  Three months before graduating high school, they unceremoniously wed when she became pregnant with her eldest son Barry, now twelve. They got a small apartment in Hollis Queens and moved to Las Vegas in 1969.

Shirley watched hubby slobber down his meal while flipping Barry’s single slice of French toast.  The boy was still in pajamas blindly watching cartoons in the living room waiting to be served.  Without a true foundation of love, the unwanted child symbolized Shirley’s futility.

     
She called Barry to the empty table.  

He took a few cautious nips and proclaimed, “This sucks;” and returned to the TV.  

Shirley wasn't in the mood for another clash even though he did the same with a waffle the day before. 

     
Nathan (9) was dressed and ready for school. Designed to ignite their non-existent flame, his was the only planned birth of the Birnbaum brothers. He belied the Middle Child Syndrome and was mom’s pet. Easy to please, she poured milk onto his corn flakes. 

He popped into the cluttered kitchen, “Need any help?”  Shirley smiled, shook her head and hugged him. “I made all the beds, brought out the trash and the newspaper’s in.” 

Nathan was proud to have a tall, thin and pretty mom. He radiated in joy as she handed him two quarters and four nickels.  But Shirley looked at his crooked grin and regretted her failure to demand from Morris the braces Nathan needed and deserved. 

“I owe you thirty cents,” she said, “I’ll make it up tomorrow.” 

He shrugged, “Okay ma.”

Nathan ran to his bedroom and deposited the quarters into the glass, five-gallon water jug called his “All-Quarters Piggy Bank." For two years, the boy dreamed of saving up for a dirt bike.  Shirley admired his ethics and felt shame for envying his ambition. 

On the stove’s last burner, a small pot of oatmeal simmered.  Adam, her thirteen-month old had been under her feet all morning. 

Distracted by the toddler she burnt her hand and shrieked, “Shit!” 

Nobody came to her aid. Instead, the human shackle tugged at her leg as she held her hand under cool water. Shirley pulled free and sneered as the tyke switched to banging a pan with a wooden spoon. 

Adam's “accidental” birth resulted from an isolated sexual encounter and a discount vasectomy.  She gave up her job as a paralegal and blamed him for ending her chance for divorce and sealing her pathetic fate.

Shirley slurped lukewarm Sanka and smeared cream cheese on a stale bagel as she cleaned up.  Suddenly, Nathan rocked the house between takeoffs with an obscene rant. The family converged on the bedroom he shared with his big brother as he screamed at Barry. 

"Mom, he stole my quarters again," the victim lashed.

Barry tried to rebut but his father took an intimidating stance and readied a backhanded slap at the alleged perpetrator’s head. 

Nathan continued, “Look Ma, remember I showed you, I finally covered the ‘bald spot.’”                                                                                                                        His bottle bank had a concave bottom.  Its upraised center forced the quarters to encircle the middle, which until filled over, had resembled a bald spot.  Nathan had celebrated the passing of this milestone weeks ago but now the glass center reappeared. 

“No, no I didn’t,” wailed Barry as the wrath of Morris’ knuckles crashed his cheek.  

He fell to the floor and from his knees cried in denial.  

Barry rose in defiance, “I swear, I didn’t. Natey's lying!”  

Morris grabbed the boy’s shoulders and shook him viciously.  Shirley watched in horror and uncharacteristically screamed but it was too late. Barry crumpled and writhed in agony from the whiplash effect. 

“Sort this bullshit out,” Morris commanded and left without apologizing or knowing the extent of the injury. 

Shirley called her supervisor at the Landmark Casino and said, "I'm not coming in."

The wait in the emergency room would take two hours.  Adam was given a pacifier and was wrapped in his “blankie.”  Luckily he had the ability to nap anywhere.  Barry stewed the whole time and ignored his mom’s redundant lecture.  During a lull, she drifted off to another time when she resorted to screaming.

Shirley recalled her part-time job answering phones at Global Imports, during sophomore year in high school.  Her boss Mr. Nasarz, an Afghani, sold Middle-Eastern chotchkes but specialized in Persian rugs.  One Saturday afternoon while he strolled up Steinway Street smoking a cigar, she was to tidy his office.  Instead, she phoned her boyfriend Mel Tannen, a nineteen-year-old, unemployed dropout with a motorcycle. 

“Mel, you were supposed to be here with the money.” 

She vehemently shook her head as he spoke.  

“No,” she spewed, “I don’t give a shit about your faring.  If my parents find out, I’m in big trouble and you’re dead!”  She listened and her tone mellowed until screeching, “No! Don’t do this to me.  The doctor won’t do it for a dime less than one-fifty.”    Instigated by his attitude, tears welled-up in her eyes.  Suddenly she roared, “Fifty-fifty!  Where am I going to get seventy-five dollars?”  She interrupted his rebuttal, “Again with the fuckin’ faring.  Drop dead!”  

She slammed down the receiver as Nasarz returned.

In a heavy accent he shouted, “Shully.” 

Shirley called back, “What?” as she made herself look busy.  

Mr. Nasarz didn’t notice that the room hadn’t been cleaned or that Shirley was crying. 

“Shully, vot is dis vot?” he kidded.  “Ven I speak, you say, ‘yes sir, no sir,’ you don’t say; ‘vot.’  Now, you votch shtock, vile I take shit.  Ovta, I get you lime-reeky.” 

“Look Mr. Nasarz,” she bleated, “can I get a fifty-dollar advance?” 

“Dots almost tree veeks sollary,” he countered as he opened his wallet. “How ‘bout chvunty.”  

Shirley saw the glut in his billfold, “How about thirty?”  

She took the money, pecked his cheek and ran out forty minutes early.

Eleven blocks away, Mel lived above a salumeria with his mother, in a one bedroom, cold-water flat. 

Shirley banged on his door until he scowled, “Who’s there?”  

She didn’t say anything and pounded harder.  Mel appeared at the door in a worn-out terry-cloth robe.  He was holding a quart bottle of Schlitz by the neck as he failed to keep Shirley out. Inside, she immediately started screaming.  

“Quiet,” he loudly whispered, “mumsey's asleep.”  

Shirley kept yelling.  Mel hurried to the sink and took a small flowery, off-white ceramic sugar-bowl from the top shelf.  

“Okay already shut-up,” he said as he withdrew curled currency and counted out eight, ten-dollar bills. 

She expected more, “Yeah but...” 

“But nuthin’.  This is it. I’m buyin' that faring.  Period!”

Shirley stuffed the money in her bag until hearing a strange female voice, “What’s all the to-do?”  

Rosalie Hollander, a fourteen-year old slut from Hauser Street stood cracking gum in the doorway to his mother’s bedroom.  

Clad only in carnation panties and holding a joint, she stared at Shirley and mockingly said, “Where’d yuh go wit duh beer?”

Shirley screamed like never before.  She soon realized it was pointless. He wasn’t giving up more cash and there was nothing else she wanted from him.  After some quieter obscenities, Shirley left.  Back on the street, she raced back from the corner and spit on the seat of Mel’s windshield-deprived motorcycle.

From a Rexall Store, Shirley telephoned her best friend Marnie.  It was Marnie through a cousin's friend that the “doctor" was found. 

“I'm going through with it,”  Shirley said. She rehashed the confrontation with Mel and added, “We’re finished.  Yeah, I’m calling the doctor as soon as I get the rest of the money.”   

Shirley listened to Marnie and explained, “Mr. Nasarz gave me thirty, eighty from fuckin’ Mel and I scraped up my own eighteen.  With your ten, that’ll leave me twelve bucks short."

At dinner, Shirley's father, Solomon Brandeis adjusted his plain cloth yarmulke and finished his prayers. 

Shirley lied, “Daddy, Mr. Nasarz couldn’t pay me till Monday.  Can I borrow fifteen dollars?” 

“I knew it,” he erupted. “I told you not to work for that conniving Arab bastard.” 

Shirley’s mother cautioned, “Sol, you don’t mean that.” 

“Plus,” he added, “you go with that deadbeat schmuck.  You disrespect me by bringing him here and it kills me that he touches you, and who knows what else.” 

He went into a coughing fit as her mom implored, “Calm down Solly, your blood pressure.” 

He caught his breath, “The thought of that piece of crap being Jewish is an insult to all of us.”  He sipped his Manischewitz and quipped, “The very idea of living above a pork store...makes him unclean by osmosis.  Plus, that moron’s initials are just like his head...MT.”  

Both women were unmoved by his surprising attempts at levity.  

Mr. Brandeis returned to his usual austerity, “Forget borrowing, you can have the fifteen, if, you give up your little Melvin.” 

She snapped, “Okay, deal!”  

He counted out two fives and five ones with skepticism. She tried grabbing the money.  

Her father withheld it and said, “Let's add one caveat.” She was nodding as he added, “That nice Morris Birnbaum is back from the Coast Guard. His mother was asking about you.”

Shirley shrugged, “If he asked me, I’d go out with him.”  She swiped the loot, advanced to the front door and chirped, “I’ll call you later. I’m sleeping at Marnie’s.”  



                              *



A squeaky gurney pushed through the ER's waiting room stirred Adam.  He wriggled into a comfortable position and fell back asleep.  Shirley glanced at Barry's furrowed brow and resumed her trance.

       
                                                      
                         *  

                   

The next day in the pre-dawn, Shirley and Marnie waited in identical navy pea-coats on the darkened corner of Yellowstone Boulevard and Austin Street.  A maroon, late-model, two-door, Chevy Impala pulled up.  They got in and sat up front.  The thirty-ish "doctor" broke the awkward silence by reviewing a checklist he had given Shirley.                                                                           He was satisfied that all the criteria was met and said, "Good," while extending his hand.                                                                                                             In unison the girls counted the crinkled bills and finished with an upbeat, sing-song cadence for the last ten singles.

                                                                     Marnie announced, "The money's right."
                                                                     The man said, "Your accountant can leave now."
                                                                     Marnie refused and a short negotiation began.                                                                                           He compromised, "Okay she can come.  But she can't be in the car or hanging around during the procedure.                                                                                                   The first glints of sun were trying to break through the cloudy horizon as he drove the near-empty streets.  Along side Forest Hills High School, at the last spot on a dead-end, he parked next to a fire hydrant.
                                                                                                                                                                  Through a rusty chain-link fence meshed with barren vines, they overlooked the Grand Central Parkway.
                                                                    The doctor said, "Okay kid, get lost for an hour.  Queens Boulevard isn't far."
                                                                    Marnie agreed to that and other instructions but hid up the street, in the warm vestibule of an apartment building.  Faithfully, her eyes never left the doctor's office.                                                                                                    Shirley thought the nameless doctor was an ugly creep but his bad breath and stale body odor were repulsive.  He told her to sit in the back.  She found two layers of white towels labeled "CONSOLIDATED LAUNDRY" already covering the seat as he returned from the trunk with a leather medical satchel.                                                                                                     "Take off your jacket and unbutton your shirt please," he blankly requested. 
                                                                     Sheepishly she complied and exposed her breasts.  His lascivious expression made her want to ask if he was a real doctor.  Instead, she focused on his oily complexion and blackened nose pores.                                                                                                                                       She blurted, "What does opening my blouse, have to do with working down there?"                                                                                                                         "I asked you to dress this way for your comfort and to speed up the process."  Shirley felt dumb as he added, "You know there's no refunds.  Want my help or will there be more childish questions?"                                                                            She nodded to mask her embarrassment and tensed up as his hand glided across her bosom.  He squeezed her left breast while rubbing his face on the right.  Shocked and appalled, the naive girl searched her mind for the word stethoscope but couldn't think of it. Intimidated, she stared out the window.  In a hypnotic stupor, the cars whizzing by on the highway below were a blur.                                                                                           Shirley was alerted by a hand gesture and didn't react.  He obnoxiously cleared his throat.  She correctly guessed and shimmied out of her stretch-pants.  Her eyes welled-up as his middle finger deeply explored her...at varying speeds.  He introduced a second finger finger and soon a third while grinding his face across her chest.                                                                                                                                      Luckily, he stopped. But he sat up and unzipped his fly.                                                                                "What do you think your doing?" she bellowed.                                                                                            "You seem nervous.  To properly continue, I need you to relax,"  he countered.  "It seems you're not producing enough vaginal flow."                                                                          "No asshole, it's bad enough I let you get a cheap thrill off me but I'm not paying you to fuck me."                                                                                                          "Now, now young lady."                                                                                                                  "No!  Do the job now, or I'll scream so loud your windows'll shatter."                                                                                                                                    Peeved, the man removed three stainless steel bowls from his bag.  Into the first, he loudly dropped a hemostat, curette and forceps.  Shirley was relieved there wasn't a wire hangar as he filled another bowl with isopropyl alcohol.  After rinsing his hands, he inserted the "sterilized" hemostat.  Light-headed, without anesthesia, she fainted as it penetrated her.     

                            *

Barry roused his mother and a nurse led them to an examination room. Fortunately, the doctor said it was a minor neck strain.  Barry was permitted to attend school the next day but the doctor questioned the accident. 

To hide her husband’s brutality Shirley claimed, “My son said, he fell off the bed. I was downstairs.”

The doctor referred to her admission form to confirm the address.  

He couldn’t recall two-story homes so close to the airport and said, “Does he ‘fall’ off the bed often?”

Shirley couldn’t look him in the eye, repeated her story and added, “No.  Not really.”  

He made notations on Barry’s chart, “This fresh abrasion on his cheek.  You say, was from ‘horsing around’ with his brothers?”

“Yes!”

He gave her a social services pamphlet and said,  “I see...and what about that burn on your hand?”

                              * 
                                                                                                                                                                                                            The next day, Shirley was pre-occupied at work by Barry's hospital visit.  Weekday afternoons were quiet at the Landmark Casino but this day was especially slow.                                                                                                                 Shirley was the assistant cage manager.  Her title sounded like it should pay better than eight dollars an hour but it was more than the attorneys had paid.

     There was little to do, so Shirley’s mind kept wandering.  Regardless how she tried to avoid it, she dwelt on her wasted life.  She thought about her ex-boyfriend and husband, and was irked to have remained faithful to losers.  Her shift was almost over when she decided to blow-off grocery shopping and get a drink.

                                                                     Shirley counted down her money drawer ahead of time, hoping to get out a little early.  In her haste, she counted herself to be one hundred dollars “over.”  She recounted and reached the same conclusion. In reverse order, Shirley tried a third time.  The result was the same and her supervisor would be there shortly.

                               *

My friend Ciro, (previously we dealt craps together at Hotel Fremont), was gambling in the Landmark that day.  Together with his friend and current coworker, Ricard “Otto” Hauptschmeier, they entertained Otto’s boyhood friend Doug Mueller. Mueller was a farmer and had piloted himself in from rural Indiana.  
                                                                         Otto, at five-three had aspired to be jockey.  At sixteen, he moved to Los Angeles but matured late and filled out.  He remained in horse racing as a groom at Los Alamitos, until a startled gelding's hoof crushed his larynx.  He detested any reference to his squeaky voice and moved to Las Vegas rather than return home to his mother and kid sister.

     Doug’s family owned two-hundred acres in a predominately German agricultural community.  He and his younger brother Fritz (15), inherited it when their parents died in an airplane crash with their intoxicated dad at the helm.

     The farm’s productivity suffered without their folks.  So, to remain solvent, the Mueller boys chose to cultivate a more profitable, illicit crop.  The brothers would load their contraband into suitcases and Doug flew-in periodic marijuana deliveries to Otto, in his twin-engine Piper Cheyenne.                                                                                                     Ciro was a regular customer of Otto.  When he heard about Doug’s operation, he saw a potential bonanza, set-up a meeting and a three-way partnership was formed.                                                                                                             Through Ciro’s cunning, the potent homegrown yellowish weed was passed-off as top-of-the-line Hawaiian.  More importantly, Ciro began a networking campaign that netted deals in both Ontario and Arvin California.  Ciro hadn’t even scratched the surface of his connections and nicknamed their enterprise, "The Syndicate."

     They finished playing blackjack and Ciro said, “If Ogden (Utah) goes well tomorrow, next week I’ll hook the Syndicate up with my cousin and our people in New Jersey and Brooklyn."  

     Doug had been pounding Crown Royal for hours but his eyes lit up as Ciro led them to the cashier.  He functioned well playing cards but he could barely stand. Otto looked funny trying to keep the six-footer on his feet.  Doug’s San Francisco Giants cap fell off and Ciro jammed it back on sideways.

     They were laughing as they neared the casino cage.  Only Ciro needed to redeem chips.  

                                                                     Shirley watched the happy trio approach, appreciated their freedom and greeted Ciro with an upbeat, “How’d you do?” 

     Ciro crushed out his cigarette and smiled, “Lose, lose, lose. I gotta find a better hobby.”  
                                                                     Otto was propping Doug up against a pillar as Ciro pushed forward one hundred-forty-five dollars in chips. 

     He faced away from Shirley, lit another Parliament and said, “Hey Ott, at least I only lost fifteen dollars.” 

     Shirley thought Ciro was cute and capriciously said, “Would you like two, hundred dollar bills?” 

     He said, “Yeah, two hundreds would make my day.” 

                                                                     She professionally counted out, “One, two. Twenty, forty and five.  Two-hundred forty-five dollars sir.” 

     Ciro hesitated, “What’s this...Candid Camera?”

     Shirley said, “I don't see many real smiles here.”  

     He took the cash and pushed a twenty back to her.  

     “No thanks, you already made my day.”

     Fifteen minutes later at the car Doug slurred, “W-where’s my lucky Giants cap?”                                                                                                                           Ciro went back in and found it on the floor next to the cage.  He saw Shirley leaving and hustled to catch-up. On the way to the parking lot, he wanted an explanation for her generosity. 

     Before he said anything she said, “Isn't that your friend’s hat?”  Ciro nodded as Shirley said, “What does the SF stand for, shit-faced?”  They laughed and she added, “Hey ‘Money-Bags,’ take me out for a drink.” 

     They agreed to meet at the nearby Alias Smith and Jones Bar. 

     Ciro told Otto about Shirley as Doug obsessed over bending his precious cap’s brim until it was just right. Up the street, Ciro dropped them off at the Alpine Village German restaurant.  It was there that I was to meet the three of them for dinner, ninety minutes later.                                                                                                                               He was pleased that Shirley was out front as he pulled up.  
                                                                     At the bar she said, "You play at the Landmark often?"                                                                                   Ciro smiled, "Yeah, it's the world's biggest phallic symbol."                                                                           She shrugged, "A what symbol?"

DESIGNED TO RIVAL THE SEATTLE SPACE NEEDLE, THE 31-STORY LANDMARK HOTEL AND CASINO, (1969-1990) WAS A COOL PLACE TO VISIT. BUT FINANCIAL DIFFICULTIES AND EVENTUAL BANKRUPTCY LED TO ITS IMPLOSION IN 1995.  FILM OF THE DEMOLITION WAS USED IN THE 1996 MOVIE,"MARS ATTACKS!" AND IN THE CLOSING CREDITS OF 2003's, "THE COOLER."

Shirley blushed from the explanation but didn't protest. Ciro took it as a positive sign and led her to a booth in a dark alcove.  Soon, she hinted at her unfulfilled life.  Two red house-wines later, she revealed intimate details of her domestic disharmony.

     She added, “That fat bastard is the one who looks like he gave birth three times. Jeez, if he wasn’t so stupid, lazy and cheap, maybe he wouldn’t be so bad.”    

     “Your Morris sounds like a real winner.”

     “You don’t know the half of it. Damn, I probably don’t know the half of it either.”

     “You’re funny.  I like that...”

     “Who’s trying to be funny?  Now, enough about me...how’s your love life?”

     Ciro offered little information, “But, I’m a free agent now.”

     She primped her hair as Ciro asked, “What's up with your hand?”

     “Burnt it making breakfast...I’m such a klutz.”

     “Looks bad.  Working in casinos, you should keep that clean.  It could get infected.” 

     “It’s no biggie.”

     “No. It is a big deal.”  
                                                                     Ciro got up to get ice and two band-aids from the bartender.  He caressed her hand and dabbed the ice onto the wound.  Shirley tingled more from his touch than the iciness.  

     He responded to her glow, “I feel better knowing you feel better.”                                                                                                                                     The hour spent together was therapeutic for Shirley; Ciro had made quite an impression. 

     At her car Shirley twirled her hair and said, “I’m off tomorrow. Are you free around noon?”  He nodded as she continued, “Can I bring my baby to your apartment?  I’d like to chat more.”

                         *                                                                        
                                                                                                                                    I recognized Otto when I came into the Alpine Village’s bar. Doug was chugging a twenty-ounce beer as he introduced us. Doug polished off two vodka martinis before Ciro joined us.

                                                                     Otto and Doug ordered weinerschnitzel. Ciro got a steak and I tried sauerbraten.  Doug seemed composed as he downed another gigantic beer but he neither ate nor spoke much. 

     We were done with our entrées as Doug made a circular motion with his hand and said to the waitress, “A round of peppermint schnapps.” 

     I said, “I hope you won’t be operating any heavy machinery...” 

     Otto pounded Doug’s back and in a grating voice that sounded like he gargled with lye said, “You know he’s our pilot.  And Ciro's flying back to Indiana with us.” Cryptically, Otto toasted their anticipated windfall and added, “Then he’s taking us to Brooklyn.”

     Doug burped, “And Jersey t-too.” 

     Ciro got up to use the restroom and I went with him.

     He bragged, “I'll have us selling so much shit; they’ll need a bigger plane.”                                                                                                                               I asked, “How can you fly with that sot?”

     “He’s okay...booze is his fuel. Besides, the ends justify the means.”

     I shook my head and Ciro changed the subject, “That cashier from the Landmark is a Jew from Queens. I bet she’s a minx in bed.”                                                                           Back at the table I interrupted his blossoming fantasy, “A woman wouldn’t bring a kid, if anything other than...” 

     Doug ordered more schnapps as Ciro cut me off, “She just said that to get her foot in the door...no way she brings the vonce.”

                         *                                                                                                                                                                          
                                                                The next morning, Ciro opened his blinds.  The rush of warm sunlight bathed his third floor apartment.  At 11:45, he stood outside his door and looked past the pool, Jacuzzi and sauna to watch for incoming cars. Three cigarettes later, his half hour vigil got stale.  Ciro figured she stood him up.
                                                                     The phone rang, he ran in and grunted, “Yeah."  Ciro listened and injected, "Uh-huh", as he scribbled, NLV Airport, 5:AM.                                                                                   His concentration was broken by the blithe drumming of long fingernails on his big window.  Shirley, wearing shorts and a crepe, sleeveless shirt came in through the open door carrying her child.  Adam saw Ciro and cried.  Ciro wasn't thrilled either, but scrambled to free her of the heavy diaper bag.                                                                                                         Under the big window, Shirley laid her son on the sofa in front of the TV.  She handed him his bottle and asked Ciro to put PBS on.                                                                           He shrugged, “PBS?”

                                                                     Shirley muttered, “Another useless man.” 

                                                                     She put a pacifier in Adam’s mouth, swaddled him in his blanket and changed the channel.                                    

CIRO CLAIMED HE SPENT TWO HOURS SPRUCING-UP HIS APARTMENT.  IF SO, HE PROBABLY USED THE WHOLE TIME  CLEANING THE ASHTRAYS AND THE ASHES OFF HIS COFFEE TABLE.

                                                                Ciro led her outside and left the door ajar.  They leaned on the railing, looked down at the pool area and softly spoke.                                                                                       Shirley asked, "Your neighbor saw your girlfriend ‘doing it’ with someone else from up here?”                                                                                                             “Ex-girlfriend,” Ciro clarified. “Yeah but her exact words were, 'at 4:AM, your Brandee was bouncing on a guy’s lap in the whirlpool.'” 

                                                                     Shirley shook her head in disgust. 

                                                                     “I confronted the bitch but she said, ‘I swear on my daughter’s life!’ I knew she was a lying sack of shit, Brandee palmed that brat off on her mother in Connecticut years ago.” 

                                                                     Ciro reacted to Shirley's sour expression, “We all know that sex is the most important part of a relationship.  Couples have such different interests; the intimacy of the bedroom is usually their strongest bond.” 

                                                                     Shirley didn't flinch and thought that sex with Morris was like washing windows; an annoying, seldom done household chore.

                                                                     Ciro put his hand on hers, “Building the sexual experience over time, a couple learns to give ‘it’ better and better, in the expectation of getting ‘it’ better and better.”

                                                                     She recalled her legal background and purred, “Quid pro quo.”

                                                                     Ciro didn't understand her mewing but plowed on, “After, the bed becomes the great open forum. Both partners are equal, on pillows side by side...face to face.”

                                                                     Shirley found wisdom in those words.  Their eyes met.  They gravitated to one another. 

                                                                     Their lips were about to meet when she snapped out of the trance and said, "Gotta check the baby.” 

                                                                     Ciro followed her inside. The sun was causing Adam to squint in his sleep so Shirley innocently drew the blinds.                                                                                             She shuffled to the kitchen with two empty bottles.  Ciro ignored her frumpy posture and gaped at her long, smooth legs.  He gently locked the front door and followed her to the sink.                                                                                   From behind, he put his hands on her hips, kissed her neck and cooed, “How’s your boo-boo?” 

                                                                     Shirley sighed, “I dunno about this.” 

                                                                     Ciro pressed against her back and cupped her breasts.  
                                                                     She said, "I can't do this."                                                                                                             Ciro's tongue glided around her ear, "Do what?"                                                                                         His technique was all new to Shirley. Her modesty was no match for her rising hormonal rush.                                                                                                               She was losing control and bleated, "I can NOT get pregnant."                                                                           "Don't worry.  I have protection."                                                                                                       Her body relaxed as Ciro scraped his thumbnail down and up the center of her buttocks.  He encountered no resistance as he probed lower each time.  Shirley looked back and smiled through puppy-dog eyes.  He took her shorts and panties down to her ankles.  Ciro got on his knees.  He was grinding his face into her posterior as his hand drifted up her leg.                                                                                                                     “Ciro stop; the baby,” she panted in a breathless tone. 

                                                                     Shirley broke free and advanced to the kitchen transom without adjusting her clothes.  At the opening she spied her tranquil son.                                                                           She waddled back and whimpered, "Please don't hurt me."                                                                                 Their prolonged foreplay accelerated and they made love standing up.                                                                                                                                 Shirley picked her bra off the floor and Ciro asked, “What are you doing?”

                                                                     “But Adam...”

                                                                     “He’s okay. We're just getting started. Let’s do it again.” 

                                                                     The idea seemed absurd as Shirley said, “Again?” 

                                                                     “That was sex. Now, let’s make love.  Because, with a little more help from you...”                                                                                                                       "The better I give it, the better I'll get it."                                                                                         He gathered their clothes and led her to his bedroom.  

                                                                     Thirty minutes later arms locked, they emerged fully dressed.  They went by the contented sleeper and returned to overlook the pool.  Shirley basked in the warm after-glow as they necked.  Her mind wandered to Morris snoring seconds after he was done with her and Mel kicking her out, as if she were a whore.                                                                                             Shirley was in heaven when Ciro suggested another tryst for the following Thursday.  She nodded, massaged his crotch and kissed him deeply.  
                                                                     She murmured, "All Thursdays are good for me," as her hand wandered under his shorts. 
                                                                     Two units away, a door opened and Ciro pulled away. A senior woman in a red tam came out toting a large faux-rattan handbag. 

                                                                     Ciro stopped the seventy-year old, “Shirley, this is Mrs. Duff.”                                                                                                                                       “Please, please call me Nona.”

                                                                     He pointed to the pool area with his eyes, “Mrs. Duff, I mean Nona, was the friend that told me about the Jacuzzi.” 

                                                                     The perky woman slapped Ciro’s shoulder and said in a subdued Irish brogue, “Now Shirley’ll never trust me.”  She feigned secrecy and continued, “I could see that one was trouble but you look very nice.  I’m pleased to meet you.”                                                                                                             Ciro’s door creaked open and disoriented Adam stood, quietly rubbing his eyes. 

                                                                     Shirley picked him up as Mrs. Duff said, “Well, who’s this bonnie lad?”                                                                                                                                 The youngster smiled at the stranger and cooed.                                                                                         Mrs. Duff tickled under his chin as Shirley said, “He doesn’t usually warm up to new people.” 

                                                                     Adam was beaming as the woman said in a dulcet tone, “Saint’s preserve us...look at the time.  It’s my bingo day at the Western.”  Mrs. Duff marched to the elevator and called back, “If he’s always this good, I’ll sit for him if you ever want to catch a matinee.” 

                                                                     They waved good-bye as Ciro called out, “Mrs. D., you’re my best friend in the whole complex.”

                              *

                                                                A week later, at North Las Vegas Airport,(NLV) Ciro and Otto loaded empty suitcases and their own baggage onto Doug Mueller's plane.  The hung-over pilot examined his instrument panel and scratched notes onto a clipboard.  Ciro and Otto buckled their seat belts as Doug obsessed over his ball cap before cleared for take-off.                                                                                 Doug taxied towards the runway, cracked open a Bloody Mary Cocktail and proclaimed, “Breakfast time.”                                                                                                   Upon liftoff, he downed three Tylenol and sucked the can dry. 

                                                                     Over mountains in northwest Arizona, the plane was rocked by violent turbulence.  Ciro readied an air-sickness bag as impulses of nausea hit. The previous short deliveries were simple but as the plane dipped and pitched, Ciro was certain that he’d wretch.                                                                                 In a cold sweat, Ciro's queasiness wasn't helped by Doug gulping a second Miller High Life.  He kept thinking of Doug’s drunken father crashing and how fragile life is.  To block his suffering Ciro thought of Shirley and made a mental note to bring her back something special from New York.  They hit a series of air pockets and Ciro barfed.                                                                                                                     Later, Ciro held his stomach and whispered to Otto, “I’ve never seen your boy sober.” 

                                                                     “Neither have I.  And I’ve drank with him since we were kids. But since his folks died, even I can't keep up with him.” 

                                                                     To occupy their time, they projected their profits.                                                                                     Ciro said, “It's a safe guessimation with a few runs a year, we can retire on Easy Street.”                                                                                                                  Otto said, "No.  We'll be the Emperors of Easy Street."                                                                                  At an airfield in eastern Kansas, they refueled.  Ciro kissed the ground before gathering Doug’s empties for the trash. Back in the air with Doug steadfast at the controls, refreshed Ciro and Otto slept for three hours.

                         *                                      
                                                                                                                                         Doug pierced the long silence by crushing an empty beer can in his fist and announcing, “There she is.”                                                                                                     Ciro stretched and yawned.  He happily looked down at Mueller’s farm until the plane vibrated while banking into their final descent.  His stomach turned.  Doug's touch down was routine but Ciro christened his arrival in Indiana by running out of the plane and vomiting in their corn field.                                                                                                             Young Fritz Mueller guided them into a Quonset-hut barn that served as a hangar.  Otto introduced Ciro to Fritz as they removed the luggage.                                                                                                                                 Doug took out a joint and belched, “Be in after I-I refuel.”                                                                             Ciro hurriedly followed Otto and Fritz with empty suitcases between a tractor and a combine, through a side door.  Along a broken, weedy path, he braced for an explosion as they entered the house.                                                                                                                           The shabby exterior was contradicted by a contemporary, yet messy, interior décor.  In the disorderly kitchen, fresh from the trash compacter, a hundred, one-pound marijuana bricks encased in plastic wrap were ready for transport. 

TRASH COMPACTORS WERE VALUABLE TOOLS FOR POT GROWERS 

     The new cargo was loaded into suitcases and stowed in the plane.

                                                                     Ciro wandered to the back porch, looked out onto the Mueller’s property and commented, “I like it here.” 

                                                                     “Oh yeah,” Otto laughed, “with you, the population here’ll be five hundred and one...and that’s including the graveyard.” 

                                                                     “Before you move in,” joked Doug, “remember, it’s twenty minutes to civilization.” 

                                                                     Otto croaked, “He means Freelandville.  Yeah, if you like Manhattan, you’ll love going to town there.” 

                                                                     Fritz chimed in, “C’mon take me with you to New York.” 

                                                                     Doug snapped, “No!”  He stood up, downed a bottle of Michelob and said, “Ciro, his dream of excitement in the big city is ‘cutting the mustard’ at the cat house in Vincennes.”                        

VINCENNES INDIANA (POPULATION 19,000) IS THE COUNTY SEAT FOR KNOX COUNTY.  FOR FOR THEIR NEIGHBORING BUMPKINS , IT WAS THE BIG CITY.

                                                                     Otto was laughing loudest when Fritz got in his face, “Fuck you Shorty!  I cut the mustard more'n a hundred times. AND, I don’t need no whores!”

                        *

     In Las Vegas earlier that morning, Shirley gave Nathan four more quarters to deposit into his bottle bank.  But during breakfast, he complained about dizziness and a headache.  Aspirins didn't help and it was decided that he stay home from school.  Barry challenged this preferential treatment and broke his week-long, self-imposed vow of silence.  He demanded to stay home too and Shirley, with a more capricious outlook agreed.  However she placed a condition that both boys clean their closet and the garage. 

                                                                         Nathan painfully nodded as Barry groused, “I thought Lincoln freed the slaves.”

                                                                     Shirley responded, “Quid pro quo.”                                                                                                       Her sons were puzzled.                                                                                                                   “Barry, you want to stay home?  Well, I want you to stop feeling sorry for yourself. From now on, I’m going to give you back exactly what you give me.  That means; you will give me better and better respect and you’ll get better and better privileges. It’s time to grow up and pull your weight.” 

                                                                     Two hours later, Shirley brought folded laundry into their bedroom.  Neither boy was there but the closet was neat.  In the garage she was gladdened to see progress and them working in concert. 

                                                                     She smiled, “Keep up the good work and we’ll go out for lunch.”

                                                                         At Burger King, rejuvenated Nathan had already brought ketchup, napkins and straws to the table as Shirley arrived with their bounty.  But Barry’s moodiness returned after opening his bun. 

                                                                     “Pickles, I hate pickles, I told you to tell them no pickles,” he whined.  The boy stood up, “This sucks! I’m throwing it away.”

                                                                     Shirley pointed at this seat and said, “Sit.” 

                                                                     Barry stared off into the distance.  His mom reached across the table and gracefully removed them.

                                                                     “See, it's easy to get what you want.” While eating his pickles Shirley added, “Want me to have your burger too?”                                                                                             He sat down, grabbed it and took a big bite.                                                                                             Shirley grinned, "I didn't think so."

                                                                    

                              *

     At 2:AM, the three would-be drug moguls landed at Allaire Airport in Central New Jersey. Ciro soldiered through the tough flight despite a vivid nightmare with horrific plane crash images.  

     Ciro's lowlife cousin Nunzio met them with a rented Ford Econo-van. While Doug completed the airfield’s paperwork and paid the landing fees, Ciro and Otto off-loaded the heavy valises.                                                                                     Doug was drinking Crown Royal from a hip flask as Nunzio returned from a pay phone, “Duh ‘meet’ is on.”                                                                                               During the twenty-minute drive south on the Garden State Parkway, Otto and Ciro switched their commodity from the suitcases into black, plastic trash bags.                                                                                                              Nunzio exited the highway, looked at his watch and said, "Dat's good. Weh plenny early."

     An uneasiness gripped the van.  Everyone's fear was stoked as they drove west through the empty eeriness of the Pine Barrens.  

     Ciro poked his head up front.  He didn’t like being in the middle of nowhere.  He agonized with so much money at stake that a petty criminal like Nunzio, blood relative or not, could be setting them up.  Plus, he was the only one armed. 

                                                                     They turned right onto a blacker, more remote road and Ciro barked, “Where the fuck you taking us?”                                                                                                       “Good dis is it,” Nunzio announced, "and we beat dem here."  He tried to hand Otto his pistol, "Can yuh handle one-uh dese?"                                                                                 The little man refused it and rasped, "No way!"                                                                                         Doug hiccuped, "Give it h-here."                                                                                                         He checked the chamber and nodded as Nunzio said, "Dese is good people but if duh shit hits duh fan, yuh should watch our back from duh woods."                                                                                                                                   Nunzio inched forward onto the unlit, unoccupied, gravel parking lot of the tiny Popcorn Zoo.  

SINCE 1977, THE POPCORN ZOO IN FORKED RIVER NJ, HAS BEEN A SANCTUARY FOR ABANDONED, INJURED, ILL, EXPLOITED, ABUSED AND ELDERLY ANIMALS.

                                                                     At the far end, he made a U-turn to face the entrance.  Before Doug could get out, an unmarked step-van appeared. Ciro saw the set-up and regretted Doug not getting into his position.  
                                                                     A Latino in a black hoodie got out. Nunzio met him halfway. They spoke.  The man signaled his truck by spitting on the ground. A hyper redheaded lieutenant advanced to his side as an ethnic mix of four stoic henchmen spread out in a wide breadth behind them.                                                                                 Nunzio whispered aloud, "Ciro."                                                                                                         Ciro joined the three officers. Doug's steady hand targeted the black sweatshirt's chest as Otto hid, cowering behind trash bags.                                                                             The dead-pan leader said in a Spanish accent, “Got dee gudes?” 

                                                                     Poker-faced Ciro responded, “Got the cash?” 

                                                                     The redhead motioned past the parking lot and told Nunzio, "Tell your guy to pull up behind those bushes.”                                                                                               Hidden in an inky clearing, they used flashlights to weigh the merchandise and count the money.  The jittery transfer was completed without a hitch. 

                                                                     The step-van disappeared and Ciro sighed, “Andiamo!”                                                                                     Nunzio said, “Where’s duh rummy?  Did dey kidnap him?” 

                                                                     Ciro aimed an obscene tirade at Nunzio until a lion’s blood-curdling roar ended the verbal onslaught.                                                                                                     Otto's scratchy voice cried, “Dougie’s never been to a zoo.” 

                                                                     Ciro huffed, "Fuckin' strunza."                                                                                                         They ran, hopped a short fence, passed the thin, single chain that held the “closed” sign and jumped a turnstile.  Inside, Doug was straining his arm through the lion enclosure's wire fence.  
                                                                     Otto screamed, "Get your arm out of there..." as the giant cat pounced from thirty feet away. 
                                                                     Doug pulled his arm free.  Two feet away, safe from harm, they felt the irritated beast's rancid breath as another roar cued their exit.  A watchman appeared but couldn't chase them down.  Through the woodlands, the guard failed to identify them or the van.  Without evidence of wrongdoing, the incident wasn't reported. 

                                                                     Nunzio accelerated onto the paved country road, grabbed the gun from Doug and said, "Fuckin' alky rube..."                                                                                                  Doug giggled, “I wasn't going to shoot it.  I wanted to touch him.” 

                                                                     They were nearing the parkway when Otto noticed that Doug’s forearm was bleeding and hoarsely crackled, “Don't fuckin' laugh! Yeah it’s just a scrape but another second, and we'd be calling you Lefty.” 

                                                                     Doug tugged at the bill of his cap and crowed, “With my lucky hat, I’m invincible.”

                              *

Nunzio drove them into Brooklyn to celebrate the "Syndicate's" payday.  At a 24-hour bar on Emmons Avenue, Doug swilled beer, as Otto was introduced to raw clams, calamari and scungilli.  Across the street, they relived the highlights of their day on a pier among anchored fishing boats.  At dawn, they greeted the new day with coffee and cake, at the Sheepshead Diner. 

                                                                         They slept on the floor of Nunzio’s tiny basement apartment in Bath Beach.  At noon, from inside a backgammon case, Nunzio showed Ciro a cache of stolen jewelry. 

                                                                     “Cuz, jus' fuh you, half price.  See anyting yuh like?”                                                                                 Out of curiosity and “professional” courtesy Ciro looked.  Among the baubles were tangled chains, a knock-off Rolex, a locket, a gold crucifix, a cameo and lesser items.  He was unimpressed until he moved away an ugly beaded bracelet and found a unique necklace. 

                                                                     To imply it was worthless Ciro dangled it, “How much?” 

                                                                     Nunzio scratched his inner ear with his pinkie, “I sold one just like it fuh one-forty. But yuh can have it fuh a C-note.” 

                                                                     “I’m not even sure I like it. I’ll give you thirty.” 

                                                                     “C’mon ‘Money,’” Nunzio moaned. “Yous scored yesterday.  Plus, Um takin' yiz tuh my main man fuh a biggah deal tuhday.” 

                                                                     “No sfacim, Finley's our man."                                                                                                           "Yeah but..."                                                                                                                           "Hey! Get this straight.  My guys did right by you.  Remember, this ain’t my operation,” Ciro lied. “I’m just in for a taste.” 

                                                                     “Yuh cheap bastid, yuh killin' me.  Dat’s uh eighteen-carat Egyptian Rope.  A quality item.  I’ll meet yuh halfway; eighty.” 

                                                                     Ciro knew Shirley liked Middle-Eastern culture from her Global Imports days.

                                                                     He really wanted it for her but continued to hard-line, “Eighty? Good math Nunz. I’ll go forty, take it or leave it.”

                                                                     Nunzio caved-in, “I love dat piece and I ain't gonna break-up with her for unda forty-five."  When Ciro nodded he said, "Trust me Cuz, yuh scored again.”

                                                                     The next day at 1:AM, hidden by a copse of European elm trees in Prospect Park, their big Brooklyn deal was consummated.  Ciro knew this crew from the old neighborhood but was relieved that everything went smooth, (Doug didn't even wander into that zoo).

                                                                     Later that morning, at Newark International, Ciro was dropped off.  Under an assumed name, he flew a commercial carrier back to Vegas.  Nunzio's next stop was Allaire Airport. On the way to Doug's plane, he hustled the Indiana boys into an extra hundred-dollar tip, (Ciro had cautioned them to expect it).

                              *

     The following Thursday, Ciro and Shirley came out of his bedroom.  They passed angelic Adam napping and continued outside to the balcony.  From his pocket, Ciro removed the unwrapped gift box he got for her necklace.                                                                                                                     Shirley sensed it was jewelry, “I-I can’t accept...” 

                                                                     Ciro said, “I want you to have it.  C’mon open it.” 

                                                                    "I shouldn’t,” she said and looked inside. “Oh it’s beautiful but I could never wear it.” 

                                                                     “But you can. Hubby has his head up his ass and won't notice.  Even if he does, just say you bought it off a down-and-out player.” 

                                                                     “I never saw one like it...must've cost a fortune.” 

                                                                     “It’s called an Egyptian Rope. The jeweler said they’re the ‘hottest’ thing in New York.” 

                                                                     “Egyptian,” she pondered. “Put it on me.” 

                                                                     At a mirror he fastened the clip and said, "Gorgeous! You make the necklace look even better."                                                                                                               He squeezed her breasts, kissed her neck and led her back to his bedroom.  Later, Ciro carried the diaper bag down as the baby slept in his mother’s arms.                                                                                                                   Shirley secured Adam in his car seat and said, "Thanks, I love the necklace.  It's been a long time since I got a personal gift."  

                                                                     Ciro said, “Whatever we do, wherever we go, I hope you can always imagine the ropes twirled together, as a symbol of us.” 

                                                                     Shirley was startled by the implication, “Are you going away?” 

                                                                     “No, no.  It’s just that...with or without me, it's time for you to be your own person.  You know, make yourself happy.”

                              *

     The following Wednesday, Ciro surprised Shirley by visiting her at work.  She feared that he was canceling their Thursday “matinee.” So she was overjoyed that he had arranged a special outing and got Mrs. Duff to give up bingo, to baby-sit.

                                                                         The next morning, Shirley followed Ciro's suggestion and arrived two hours early, in sneakers.  They left chipper Adam with “Granny Nona” and got in Ciro's car. 

                                                                          Ciro amazed her with a prepared picnic lunch as they sped off to Red Rock Canyon.  He was surprised that she’d never been there and realized the severity of her stifled life when she confessed that she never heard of it.                     

RED ROCK CANYON IS A POPULAR SCENIC DRIVE THROUGH THE DESERT.  IT GETS ITS NAME FROM THE OXIDATION OF THE IRON DEPOSITS DOWN THROUGH TIME.

                                                            
Westbound on Sahara, the city’s development ended at Buffalo Avenue. Eight miles into the desert, they entered the park.

                                                                     Ciro passed three parking areas until he found one without visitors.  At a picnic table overlooking a valley, they ate and laughed.

                                                                     Ciro said, "Let's walk off lunch with a hike.”                                                                                           Shirley lovingly placed herself in Ciro’s hands as they trekked through the never-ending flat wasteland between mountains. 

                                                                     A half-hour later Ciro stopped and whispered, “Listen.  You can hear absolute silence. And if you really concentrate, you can hear your heart beat.”                                                                                                                             It was true.  The pure quiet held a special significance for both New Yorkers.  But for Shirley this introduction to nature represented a deeper importance.  She rarely realized a moment’s peace raising three kids with no help, two blocks from an airport.

                                                                     These isolated dots continued their Eden-like walk as their course took an imperceptible upward slant toward the base of a mountain.  
                                                                     Twenty minutes passed and the novelty got played out. Shirley felt disappointed that she was missing her weekly thumping and claimed to be tired.  She wanted to go back and he agreed.                                                                                   Ciro said, “But wait."  He put his index finger to his lips, "Shush, listen.” 

                                                                     Shirley shook her head, “What?”

                                                                     “Water,” Ciro exclaimed, “I hear running water.” Revitalized, he said, “Let’s climb those rocks and see where it’s coming from.”
                                                                     Shirley was not athletic and said, "I'm not sure about this," as she persevered.                                                                                                                           At the higher elevation, they followed the sound of water along a path and found a minuscule rivulet trickling down.                                                                                   Ciro went ahead as the trail snaked upward through boulders.  The flowing sound got louder until he found a little, glistening waterfall that formed a small pool.

                                                                     “C’mon slow poke, check this out,” Ciro called.                                                                                         Disenchanted Shirley turned the corner and was awed by the beauty of Ciro’s discovery.  He scooped some water and splashed her.  She went to return the favor until noticing in the miniature lagoon, dozens of froglets and didn’t want to disturb them.

                                                                     Further up, their trail ended and Shirley said, “Ciro, thanks for the perfect day.  It couldn’t get any better.  But it’s a long walk down, we should get going.” 

                                                                     Ciro checked the time and said, while pointing higher, “Where's your pioneer spirit? It’s early. Let's see what’s up there.”

                                                                     To bolster their assent, they grabbed bushes and braved loose gravel. Ciro playfully slapped her butt and urged Shirley higher by poking her bottom. Suddenly, she dislodged a chunky stone and slid backwards. Shirley went past him but Ciro prevented a dangerous fall by clinging to a sapling and grabbing her wrist. He steadied himself, got a strong foothold and helped her to the next crest.

                                                                     High above the desert floor, they found a wide, flat formation jutting out of the canyon wall. Ciro rested on a small table-like ledge in the mountain face and lit his last cigarette. Shirley stood near the edge, mesmerized by the majestic vista.

     He discarded his empty Parliament pack on the pristine ground and called to her, "Wouldn't it be cool if we were the first people to discover this spot."

                                                                         Teary-eyed, Shirley comprehended her sorry life and the tragedy of missed opportunities.  Ciro admired her red figure as it eclipsed the sunlight.  Aroused, he flicked the cigarette butt over the side and got off his perch.  Ciro nibbled her neck, fondled her breasts and took down her shorts. 

                                                                     “Ceer-Ro," she pleaded. "Someone’ll see us.”                                                                                             Shirley tugged up her shorts as Ciro reasoned, "This ain't the Jacuzzi.  Out here, it’s just me, you and the froggies.  Besides, if someone did see, they’d be happy for us.” 

                                                                     Ciro undressed her. Soon, their nude bodies embraced.  He laid down on the giant rocky slab to make her more comfortable on top.  Shirley was uncertain about this new position but her instincts kicked in and she became increasingly enthusiastic.                                                                                           He shouted, “Bounce baby, bounce!” 

                                                                     Unencumbered by walls and unbridled by conventions, she wildly controlled her own pleasure.  Eventually, her thunderous screams of emancipation echoed the canyon louder and louder until she celebrated the eruption of her first-ever orgasm. 
                                                                     From their aerie, naked to the world, they stood arm-in-arm surveying the complexities of the beautiful yet rugged terrain.                                                                               Shirley picked up her panties, "I loved it that way."                                                                                   Ciro scratched his chin, "Really."                                                                                                       He gathered all their clothes.  Ciro arranged them on the table-like ledge and had her bend over it.  He ground his body against hers and from behind entered.                                                                                                         The new sensation was uncomfortable and Shirley gasped, "Please don't hurt me."  Their passion accelerated.  "Ciro, I think you're in the wrong er, um...spot."                                                                                                                 "You don't really want me to stop..."                                                                                                   She ignored feeling dirty and the raw ache as her uneasiness subsided, "No, do it to me."                                                                                                                 Her mind emptied as the pleasure mounted with each quickening thrust.  When he exploded, she let out a primal scream until mellowing into groans of unimaginable satisfaction.

                               *

They returned to Ciro’s apartment.  Granny Nona and Adam were playing paddy-cake. 

                                                                     “You’re so lucky,” Mrs. Duff sighed. “You have the sweetest son.  He’s brought me a lot of joy but he doesn't speak."                                                                                     "I know.  My pediatrician suggested a pathologist.  But it may be natural with two, crazy older brothers."                                                                                                   "Makes sense," Nona said. "Thanks for sharing him with me.” 

                                                                     The compliments kept coming, but in mid-sentence the happiness left the old woman’s face.  At the telephone, Ciro read a message she had taken.  He hurried into the bedroom and slammed the door.

                                                                     Mrs. Duff whispered to Shirley, “Do you know Doug?”                                                                                     Before Shirley could answer, they heard Ciro’s garbled rant.   

                                                                     Nona said, “Someone named Otto called while you were out.  He said Doug was dead.”

                               *

     Perched atop a gradual rise, surrounded by lush green fields and a white picket fence, Ciro and Otto parked at the unassuming Knox County Lutheran Church.  The splendor of its spire, bathed by the glorious Indiana morning sun encouraged their gaze beyond the cloudless azure skies, to the heavens above.                                                                                                 They left this idyllic setting and inside found the funeral in progress. Forced to make last minute travel arrangements, they felt conspicuous as the curious gallery turned from the proceedings.

                                                                     Fritz sat in the first pew.  An austere aunt and uncle sat to his right.  To the teenager's left, a small female in the fetal position, shrouded by a black hat and veil snuggled him. 
                                                                     They soon learned more gruesome details of their partner’s fate; he was threshed to death after falling into his combine.                                                                               Later, Ciro viewed the corpse.  He wanted to say that the twenty-four year-old looked better dead than alive.

                                                                     Instead he commented, “Morticians are artistic geniuses.” 

                                                                     Otto lamented, “Considering how badly he was cut up, look how natural they made him.” 

                                                                     In the casket, placed next to Doug’s head was his lucky San Francisco Giants cap.

                                                                     Ciro was tempted to say, 'shouldn't he be buried with his liquor cabinet,' but said, “Look Ott, the brim of his hat is bent exactly how he liked it.”

                                                                     Otto rasped, “Freaky.”

                                                                     He jabbed Ciro's ribs to notice the diminutive girl attentively at Fritzy's side, "What's Holly doing here?"

                                                                     The young couple avoided eye contact with Otto and Ciro. 

                                                                     “How old is your sister?”

                                                                     “Fourteen,” Otto scowled.

                                                                     “Are they ‘with’ each other?” Ciro posed. “She looks twelve.”

                                                                     Otto avoided the question, “She better not fuck-up our deal.”
                                                                     Fritz was getting consoled by others as Otto sensed hostility.  Each time he approached, the boy slipped away before he could be cornered. 

                                                                     A neighbor whispered to Otto, “Y’know, their folks didn’t have no in-surance and neither did Doug.  I doubt poor Fritzy will be able to keep the place up.”

                                                                     “Fritz is pretty sharp, " Otto said.  "You never know what that little weasel has up his sleeve.”

                                                                     The man continued, “Hadda be some shock.  Y’know, it was Fritz who heard the screams and found the body. Musta been an awful sight.  The cops figure Doug was soused when the combine’s elevator got jammed.  He musta climbed up and a gust of wind blew that dang hat off.  They guess he lunged to get it, slipped and the damned contraption started back up.  Funny, the ball-cap hit a snag in the wall and sorta got hung-up.  That’s why it ain’t all tore up too.”

                                                                    


                         *



     Behind the Mueller’s farmhouse, Doug was laid to rest next to his parents.  Otto and Ciro lingered until everyone left.  Alone at the family plot, nestled beside a shallow brook under a sycamore tree, they approached Fritz. 

                                                                     Unsympathetically Otto spewed, “Everything’ll stay the same. You keep fifty percent and we split the other half.” 

                                                                     Politely, the kid said, “Be right back...” 

                                                                     Fritz pulled his tie off and strode up the back stairs of the house.  Minutes later, he emerged barefoot and shirtless, wearing bib overalls with only one strap fastened.  Under his arm he carried a double-barrel twelve gauge shot gun. 

                                                                     Atop his back porch he stated, “Get off my land and never come back.” 

                                                                     Otto’s gravelly voice barely croaked, “But;” as Fritz drew a bead on them and cocked the trigger. 

                                                                     The retreating duo backpedaled as the boy shouted, “Nothing. Zero percent!  Scram or I’ll shoot you trespassers dead.” 

                                                                     Holly appeared from inside the house wearing an over-sized Ball State tee-shirt like a dress.  

LOCATED IN MUNCIE INDIANA, BALL STATE, FOUNDED IN 1918,  IS A PUBLIC UNIVERSITY.  OTTO AND HOLLY'S MOM WAS ENGAGED TO A HOSPITAL ADMINISTRATOR IN VINCENNES WHO WAS A BALL STATE ALUM .

                                                                     She put her arm around Fritz's waist and watched Ciro and Otto get in their rented car. 

                                                                     Otto turned on the ignition as Bad Company’s, ‘Shooting Star’ blared on the radio.  

                                                                     Ciro looked back at the teenage couple, “I guess Dillinger and his moll are ‘with’ each other.” 

                                                                     Otto kicked up dust and sped away.

                              *

On a Monday two months later, Shirley sang in front of her full-length mirror as she posed in her new, lacy, white sundress.  She anticipated wearing it for her next liaison with Ciro.  The phone broke her fantasy.  She listened and was frozen in astonishment.  Shirley scrambled to angrily change clothes, put Adam in her car and race to the MGM. 

                                                                     She confronted Morris in the lobby, “We gotta talk!” 

                                                                     “Not here," he said in a cocky tone,  "I’ll be home at 5:30.” 

                                                                     Shirley turned heads by shouting, “We gotta talk, now!” 

                                                                     Morris led her to a recess behind pay phones, “Now what?” 

                                                                     “5:30? You never come home at 5:30.  You always get home after seven.  What the fuck are you doing all that fuckin' time, every fuckin’ day?”

                                                                     “Shush, watch your language, the baby...I work here.”

                                                                     “Don’t change the subject...I got a call from Little ‘fucking’ Caesar’s today.”

LITTLE CAESAR'S (1970-1994), WAS CADDY-CORNER FROM CAESAR'S PALACE, (THE PROPERTIES WEREN'T RELATED).  DURING MY STAY IN LAS VEGAS,  (1979-1984),  LITTLE CAESAR'S HAD THE REPUTATION OF BEING THE WORSE CASINO TO WORK FOR WHILE ATTRACTING SCUM-OF-THE-EARTH CUSTOMERS.  THE NOVEL "CASINO" SET THE  DUMPSTER BEHIND THE BUILDING AS AN APROPOS SPOT FOR THE MOB TO DUMP A BODY.

                                                                                                                                                                              Morris' voice quivered, "O-oh..."



                            * 



Morris came straight home that night and found much of his clothes and personal items at the curb in trashcans or haphazardly strewn about the driveway.  He also discovered that the house locks were changed and Shirley wouldn't let him in.  The next day, she retained a divorce lawyer.                                          

    *

                                                                                                                                    On Thursday afternoon while Adam napped at Mrs. Duff’s, his liberated mother, two doors down, screamed through a series of orgasms. 

                                                                     Afterwards, while luxuriating in the Jacuzzi, Ciro handled her Egyptian rope necklace as he grazed her excitable breasts.                                                                                   He said, "This looks dynamite on you.  I'm glad you came to your senses and wear it."                                                                                                                     Ciro stroked her face and lovingly bit her neck. Shirley wanted to tell him that for a month she had already been dating an analyst from the Landmark’s legal department.  She wasn’t sure how Ciro would react so she began itemizing Morris’ indiscretions instead.

                                                                     “I almost died.  Some goon from Little Caesar’s called and said Morris had eight-fifty in unpaid markers.  They were worried about losing a valued customer because over the years, that doofus lost thousands, playing quarter video poker.” 

                                                                     Ciro placed her hand on his crotch, “He’s a bigger loser than we thought.”

                                                                     “No,” she freed her hand and continued, “it gets worse. I pieced it together when I heard quarters.  So I didn't ask if, I asked Morris, 'how many quarters did you steal from Nathan?'  Babe, my whole body went limp. He said, ‘first it was twenty dollars, then fifty-seven and the last time, one-ten.’  That fat prick let me blame Barry.  And to shut the poor boy up, he put him in the goddamned hospital...if I didn’t scream, it could’ve been worse.” 

                                                                     Ciro's hand wandered up between her legs.  His fondling caused a lull in the conversation.  Lost in pleasure, this was no time to mention the gentleman she was seeing and risk her coming ecstasy for the long shot of a secure yet dull future.

                                                                     Kids splashing in the nearby pool disturbed Ciro's rhythm and broke Shirley from her daydream.                                                                                                             They exchanged tender kisses until she straightened up and continued venting, “That day at the MGM, I really went off. Adam was crying and fatso's boss came by to see if he was okay.  I didn’t plan it but as I was leaving, it just popped out of my mouth, ‘is there anything else I should know?’  Check this shit out; he admitted lying about getting the vasectomy.  I didn’t understand.  That worm stared at the ground and confessed, ‘I never had the operation. I faked it and pocketed the money to pay-off markers.’  I screamed and ran out.  When I was sticking the baby in his car seat, I hated Adam for screwing up my shot at a second chance. I almost smacked him.  But he giggled...and I hugged him. He looked so innocent...I cried, all the way home.” 

                                                                     Ciro sucked her neck and squeezed her inner thigh, "C'mon upstairs. I got something that'll cheer you up."                                                                                             Shirley wiped her tears and smiled, "Definitely."                                                                                       She looked up at the balcony in front of Ciro’s apartment and saw Mrs. Duff holding Adam.  She held his little hand, pointed down and together they waved. 

                                                                     The pleasant scene caused Ciro to lose his urge.  But he brightened at the prospect of taking a new chambermaid at Hotel Fremont out for drinks that night.

                                                                     Glossy-eyed, Shirley gathered herself, waved back and whimpered, “He’s been cute all along...I never noticed.”  



                          *



In 2010, I saw Ciro for the first time in twenty-six years.

Between repeated rants compounding the fact that he was now a total loser he said, "I cudda had the world by the balls but that asshole drunk, (Doug) went ace-deuce, (died).

In 1985, Ciro got one of his dalliances pregnant and married her.  The woman had a fourteen year old delinquent son, was over her head in debt and was a regular drug user. Ciro's life began spiraling out of control after the son was stabbed to death in a youth gang altercation.  From it, his wife's habit evolved into addiction and he divorced after a second try at re-hab.

Ciro was never a good step-father and failed as a single parent.  In 1998, his daughter ran away and he felt no remorse that he never heard from her again.

Otto didn't take well to Doug's demise either.  He took the idea of being the Emperor of Easy Street too literally and resorted to pedaling marijuana and pills.  Two arrests later, his Las Vegas Sheriff's Card, (casino license) was revoked and his reliance to liquor led to acute alcoholism.

In 2002, Otto was diagnosed was cirrhosis of the liver.  His half-hearted stabs at sobriety were meaningless.  His condition worsened and he was put on a transplant list.  Finding a suitable liver donor was difficult.  Years passed.  His mom had re-married a hospital administrator in Vincennes and he pulled some strings.

Otto moved back to Indiana and cleaned up his act.  On the morning of the procedure, he showed up intoxicated and was turned away.

Ciro said, "As far as I know he never came back to Vegas.  Then a few years ago, I got a call from his sister Holly who said he died in Los Angeles.  I didn't go back to Indiana for the funeral."

Fritz Mueller, (a week before turning 17) was arrested and convicted for growing pot with intent to sell.  To avoid lengthy imprisonment as an adult, his aunt and uncle took control of the property and sold it to pay lawyers.

Shirley Birnbaum married the boring legal analyst from the Landmark. During their courtship, her weekly flings with Ciro continued until Adam started speaking.  What sounded like gibberish to her fiance was clearly "Ciro" and "Granny Nona" to her.

Several years later, he divorced her.  She received a generous settlement and lived happily.



                                                                                                *



Despite using Shirley, Ciro was instrumental in rescuing her from a dead-end life.  Too bad he never matured enough to uplift himself.  Before we went our separate ways, I realized that I had no interest in ever seeing or hearing from him again.