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Black Sun - White Sand
Black Sun - White Sand
Black Sun - White Sand
Ebook396 pages6 hours

Black Sun - White Sand

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Black Sun – White Sand is a work of fiction and was written to provide a source of thought provoking entertainment with regard to repeating events in human history. Any similarities between historical events, persons or places, living or past is unintentional. Time lines take advantage of certain historical events but are not intended to be precise. Black Sun – White Sand does not promote one religion over another, the only intent is to show that through faith, in whatever form that faith may take, individual adversity can be overcome.
LanguageEnglish
PublisherBookBaby
Release dateOct 24, 2014
ISBN9781483541914
Black Sun - White Sand

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  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Black Sun, White Sand. Great book, I couldn't put it down. The story line was very well done, kept you in suspense with subtle hints. I think it also portrayed a great reality of what is going on in the world around us. People now tend to live in their own little bubbles. I was surprised the book ended so quickly, even though it was a great ending. Another terrific reality check. I can see a sequel looming in the future.. RJM..
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    WOW! Great book. Very timely given the current situation in the Mid-East. Highly recommended.

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Black Sun - White Sand - Charley Blackwolf

ISBN: 9781483541914

BLACK SUN--WHITE SAND

INDEX

Forward -

Chapter 1 - Ruben’s City

Chapter 2 - Peter Roth

Chapter 3 - The Pillars of Faith

Chapter 4 - The Club Techatl

Chapter 5 - The Sands of Rub al Khali

Chapter 6 - The Munich Games

Epilogue

FORWARD

Yuri Dolmatov stood staring down at the dead bodies. He was wary. This was the second time in the past month he had seen something like this and the men lying sprawled in pools of blood before him weren’t the tattooed street thugs he was used to seeing. They were well dressed and capable looking. Hardened, but at the same time the type that even in death seemed to have certain sophistication about them. Several among them looked as if they may have been athletes at one time or another--weightlifters or perhaps wrestlers. Whatever it was they were involved in they had come prepared as several pistols and a sawed-off shotgun lay on the floor beside them.

As he looked around he saw that the stark concrete walls of the basement were splattered with blood and small pieces of their flesh and hair hung about in a haphazard patterns indicating that several of them had been killed at short range--probably with shotguns. It appeared they had been ambushed while setting at a small table but the silent weapons and spent cartridges testified that some among them had managed to fight back, at least for a short time. Bullet holes in the wall around the entrance door and a small, ground level window indicated that some of the executioners had fired from outside and that those who had died had returned fire in those directions.

While his thirteen years as chief of police had shown him that mob violence was not uncommon in the port city of Klaipeda the dead men appeared to be from outside Lithuania, probably Russians or Ukrainians, and their manner of dress told him that this was something more complicated than the usual cigarette-and-vodka smuggling scams he had to deal with on a day-to-day basis.

He kneeled down, picked up one of the shell casings and thought; Perhaps he was looking at some of Russia’s mafia. The new class of mobster. Computer capable, get rich quick entrepreneurs that surfaced following the rise of the new democracy and had linked themselves with crime bosses and crooked bureaucrats from the old Soviet regime.

When he began to stand up he noticed that a sheet of paper was lying beside one of the men. He picked it up, quickly looked it over and saw that it was a shipping invoice from the Institute of Energy Technologies in Sverdlovsk. A bit yellowed it dated from the mid nineteen nineties. The description was brief; Beryllium, 2000Kg.

Beryllium, he shook his head. He had never heard of it. He also noticed two words written in lightly scrawled handwriting. One appeared to be the name Dubkova and the other was the word Al-Qahm. Al-Qaham was unfamiliar it him. He wasn’t sure of whether it was a name or place.

It was late in the afternoon and while it was a hot, humid summer day for the rest of Lithuania it was cold in the bank vault. Special Agent Korataev was an old friend and had flown in that morning from Moscow to help investigate the case. They stood beside each other looking at the crates that had been moved from the basement. There were Seven in all now stored in the bank vault. Each had been filled with a number of ingots and odd shaped parts that had been machined from a gunmetal gray, metallic material.

Beryllium? Dolmatov asked.

Yes, yes it is Beryllium, replied Koratev. Looks to have been in storage here for a while."

So, this is the stuff men die for today. Tell me, Vladimir, what makes it valuable?

Korataev sighed, It’s used in the manufacture of nuclear weapons. Something to do with making them more powerful.

Really! But why would the mafia be involved? Why would men from the Institute sell such material to them? These are educated men, scientists and engineers why would they do such a thing?"

I’m not sure Yuri. A few years back it was very difficult to make money in Russia without breaking the law. There was a time when some scientists, physicists, and chemists didn’t get paid. It was the same for me. At one time neither the men in my department nor myself were paid for nearly three weeks. It was worse for the military. I know of that one of the submarine crews refused to take their ship to sea unless they were paid.

A nuclear submarine? Asked Dolmatov.

Yes. Replied Korataev, I believe it was.

Hopefully they weren’t were selling things to the mafia.

That’s one of the problems, I’m afraid they and others may have been selling things just to feed their families, sighed Korataev. The situation becomes more serious as we begin to uncover what happened to these types of nuclear materials when the Soviet Union fell apart. There was little accountability at the time.

Dolmatov was silent for a moment, then spoke, Tell me Vladimir do you know the legend of Prometheus?

I think I remember something about it. replied Korataev thoughtfully. Greek, I think. Wasn’t Prometheus the one who stole fire from the gods?

Yes, yes that’s right. He was tied to a stone by the gods for his transgression and each day birds would come and tear away his flesh. In the night he would be made whole and then the next day the birds would come again and it would start all over again. When I think of man and atomic energy that story always comes to my mind. I hope we too aren’t tied to a stone.

They both stood in thoughtful reflection for a moment and then Dolmatov spoke again, What about this fellow Dubkova. Do you have any information about him?

Yes, we have known about him for some time. His file in Moscow shows he was once a KGB agent. He is now an arms dealer that sells his wares, to the Arabs and the Africans. He works out of a small coastal city on the west coast of Saudi Arabia and sells mostly small arms--rifles, pistols, a few rocket launchers and such. This is new turf for him though. We have never known him to be linked with anything nuclear before. We know he has ties with the North Koreans. Could be something to do with their nuclear weapons development. Maybe he’s dealing with the Iranians but they seem to be well on the way to creating their own enrichment program despite the American and Israelis attempts to stop it. Actually, it may surprise you but I personally am more concerned about a certain German terrorist group obtaining this type of material than the Arabs or North Koreans. Our intelligence indicates that there is an active group who wish to re-establish Hitler’s Riche. It seems they want to create some sort of Aryan-based land of their own. Lebensraum I think they call it. They are well financed, sophisticated and highly technical. We are concerned that they may try to obtain enough nuclear material to construct a crude weapon and threaten the rest of the world. Unfortunately, with today’s computer technology all that really stands between a terrorist group and an atomic bomb is the ability to obtain the necessary materials to make one. As you can see, he nodded toward the recently opened crates, Smuggling this type of material has become lucrative enough to attract some of our friends in organized crime. If this group, or anyone like them can get their hands on the right stuff, it could be a very serious situation.

What do you intend to do? Does your office have any plans? Dolmatov paused, that is, is there anything you can share with an old comrade?

Korataev shrugged his shoulders and replied, Nothing that I know of. There really isn’t a lot we can do. I will forward the information to Moscow. He laughed, They will probably just tell the Americans, and let them worry about it. They are the only ones with any money.

CHAPTER ONE - RUBEN’S CITY

Bennie! the voice hissed. Bennie, wake up! The black leather sofa cushions squeaked in protest as the skinny brown body bounced up and down with the force of the man’s push. Again the voice pleaded, Come on man--it’s Ruben! He must have overdosed.... I think he might be dead!

Slowly, amid a haze of distant sirens that screamed their cries in city’s night, Bennie’s mind struggled to focus through the opiate fog that deadened his brain. Someone was shaking him. Why? He wondered. He rolled over and groaned, Leave me alone! It was so peaceful ... The drugs were good. He liked opium. Why wouldn't they leave him alone? All he wanted to do was sleep and dream the dreams of distant places. Places of multicolored trees and small dark women with big breasts. If Ruben had a problem, too bad, fuck him.

But again he heard the persistent voice and felt hands pushing on his back. Pushing ... pushing. Then again harder and harder. His face went deep and down into the pillow and cut off the air to his nose. Trying to breath he opened his mouth and saliva began to run out on the pillow. He felt his cheek grow damp as a wet spot slowly spread and darkened the silk pillow case. Then again his face was shoved down and his breath lost. He gasped for a moment, choked and then suddenly rolled up on one elbow growling at his assailant, Damn it Man! Then he yelled, What the fuck?!

Above him the voice pleaded, Hey! Come on Bennie. Wake up. We need your help. It’s ... its Ruben. Uh, he ... well he doesn't look so good, man. He’s in the living room lying in a pool of bloody puke. I ... I think he’s dead. We've got to get him out of here!

So ... fuck him! Call 911!

Ahh, Bennie I can't do that. My dad will kill me if he finds out we've been partying up here in his penthouse.

Bennie’s long black ponytail swayed from side to side as he slowly sat up and shook his head, "Dave I told ... man, I told you! I don't care what he done in the past, or what good friends you used to be. Ruben is a fucking junkie! He’s a goddamned heroin addict! Man, I keep trying to tell you--forget him. He’s one of the walking dead. You can't trust those fucking guys! They don't have friends. The only thing they worry about is where their next fix is coming from.

You're a damn fool. He was higher than a kite when he got here. I don't have any sympathy for you Dave. You know better! You give a guy like that a couple of hits off of an opium pipe and he’s gonzo! I don't give a shit if you were roommates at Harvard you should of never let him in the door. Do what you gotta do, man! He looked down at his watch and then mumbled, Shit, I've got to get going anyway. It’s a good thing you woke me up. Alberto is probably climbing the walls. I was supposed to have delivered his stuff yesterday."

No ... no, wait Bennie, the man pleaded. I don't know how to go about taking care of this kind of thing. I mean dead bodies and that sort of stuff. Can't you get some of your friends to help us out?

What do you want to do Dave? Dump him in the fucking river?

Well ... uh ... yeah. I mean if you could. Maybe the Long Island Sound would be better ... uh, with some weights tied to him. You know, to keep the body down. I mean, jeese Bennie, you've got the connections. I don't know any of those kinds of people. You're the dealer. You sell dope and stuff. Is it such a big thing? You street people deal with this sort of thing all the time. Don't you?? I ... I can't have him found dead here ... not from an overdose. My family man ... I mean, you know. You understand--don't you?

Yeah I fucking understand! snarled Bennie. You don't want your lily white, rich assed, muther-fucking family to find out one of your dumb, rich, Jewish friends died in your living room because he’s strung out on heroin! And, you want some poor Puerto Rican street dealer to fix things so they don't find out! Bennie’s eyes smoldered as he glared at the tall, slender man standing in front of him. Naw, fuck you Dave. He’s your friend, it’s your problem. You solve it. Bennie stood up and with his back to Dave started putting on his shirt.

They both turned as they heard another voice--a female, No, David, Bennie wait! He’s alive. He’s still breathing but I think he might be in a coma. She paused, What about his mother? Can't we call her?

The two men stared for a moment at the attractive young blond woman standing in the doorway. It was nearly dark in the den but they could still see the long shining curls that hung down to her mid-back and bounced light into the room from the huge crystal chandelier behind her. In one arm she had gathered a blue satin sheet about her mid-section in a manner that allowed her to walk but left most of her long shapely legs exposed. With the other hand she held the sheet tightly at the top and a set of gentle protuberances gave elusive hint of the round, perfectly formed breasts hiding below the material.

What? Asked Dave. Janet, you can't be serious. Are you suggesting we call the Mrs. Silverstein! She doesn't give a damn about Ruben or anything else. The only thing she cares about is what the stock market is doing. That bitch would sell her soul for a point on the futures market. Why do you think he’s a junkie? It’s the only independence he ever had."

I don't know David.... I'm sorry. She never seemed to be that way to me. I know dad didn't like her but I thought she was really nice. I didn't mean to interfere. It’s just that we grew up with Ruben ... you went to school with him. He wasn't always like this. It was the pain ... the drugs ... it all started after he got hurt. She looked over her shoulder and then went on, He’s ... well he’s breathing but he definitely needs a doctor. Maybe we could take him back to that drug rehab center. The one by Central Park. He was there once before--wasn't he? If we take him to the local emerga-center dad will probably find out."

Dave nodded his head, Yeah I know, somebody on his staff down there is sure to tell him. He'll shit a brick if he finds out about this!

Smiling, Bennie quietly whispered, Get me one full night with your sister Dave, and I'll kill him for you! You'll never have to worry about him again.

Dave scowled back, My sister is off limits.

To Porto Ricans--right?

Dave didn't reply he just glared at Bennie.

Bennie stretched then quietly laughed, Yeah right ... brother! I tell you what though, amigo, if your sweet little sister keeps lighting up that crack pipe and snorting white shit up her nose it won’t be long until half of New York City is butt-fucking her. He paused, looked around and grumbled, Fuck! I lost one of my socks. You see it anywhere?

Dave spotted the missing article under the couch. Placing one hand on the deeply carved, ebony, frame he bent over, picked up the sock and handed it to him saying, Come on Bennie, we've got to do something with Ruben.

"No man! What you mean is ... you want me to do something with Ruben! This little favor is going to cost you plenty my friend."

Whatever, he sighed. You know I'm good for the money. Just do what needs to be done and don't tell me about it.

As they started for the doorway they noticed that the blond girl had gone. Bennie smiled in memory of her shapely form. Janet Kopell, he thought. She couldn't be much over eighteen. Such a pretty little thing. Round ass, big tits and long blond hair. Probably hadn't even sucked her first cock yet and she was already strung out on crack cocaine. He shook his head thinking, Stupid little rich bitch. Probably started doing dope with her friends when she was in junior high school to be cool. He shrugged, Oh well, she’s just like the rest of them, Alberto, Carlos, the Wall Streeters. They start doing it, they think they can handle it and then one day they wake up broke and living on the street, cars, houses and family gone.

He bent over and turned on the stereo. House of the Rising Sun, he smiled. Fuck them, you have to respect drugs. I tell them ... all of the assholes. I tell them that before I sell them a single gram, but they never listen. They think because they are rich they are immune. They are all fools--fucking fools. They start doing their pain-killers then when they can’t get them they go to the streets. One of these days it’s going to come crashing down around their ears and they will all wonder why it happened. But, then I'm just a small time dealer trying to make a living without the government taking half of what I earn. It’s not my fault the whole place is fucked up, everybody does drugs now. He shook his head, Hell even the President’s son got kicked out of the Military for snorting coke. He tucked his shirt into his pants and tightened up the belt. I've got to get in touch with Rizanno’s boys, my supply is getting low, he thought. They should have a new shipment coming in soon. I hope it’s not that low grade shit from Brazil.

He noticed that the song had ended. He looked over at Ruben, shook his head in disgust, then started for the door and began mentally counting up what he was going to charge Dave for getting rid of him.

With his legs comfortably crossed Bennie sat slumped in the low red leather chair quietly sipping a rum and coke. He was a frequent customer at the Club Techatl and along with the owner he also knew all of the bartenders. It gave him a pleasurable sense of power to know that whenever he came in he didn't have to tell them what he wanted and that they would always make his drink from the best island rum. His favorite was from Saint Croix and mixed with shaved ice, a twist of lime and only enough coke to color it. Just the way he liked it.

The lights were low and on the circular stage in front of him an Asian girl, nearly nude, danced rhythmically to the beat of an old Chuck Berry rock and roll tune. Her breasts were noticeably large for a small woman and he noticed that they seemed to lightly bounce with each of her steps to the music. He began to pick up the beat of the song and drummed his fingers on the table to the tempo. Then, with mild sense of interest he shifted in his chair and began to watch more closely as she walked along the outer edges of the stage playing the crowd for tips. He smiled when he saw that each time she bent down, her long black hair would swish back and forth briefly tickling her light brown nipples. Man, I'd like to be that hair, he whispered quietly to himself.

She moved to center stage, stretched up on her toes and looked out at the crowd. Then dropping her head to her chest, she suddenly stopped dancing and started slowly removing the bright yellow sarong that was tied snugly around her hips. As it fell away she took an end in each hand and begin running the cloth back and forth between her legs. She smiled out at the crowd letting the bright material linger briefly as she stretched it tightly across her crotch and pausing at the end of each stroke to momentarily expose a small patch of dark pubic hair.

Bennie felt a sense of male excitement growing along with a gradual sniffing in his groin. He changed his position for a better view and as he did so he noticed several thin lines of a blue tattoo that surrounded the upper part of her right arm. Vietnamese, he mumbled. They're getting to be everywhere. Fucking boat people, they've taken over all the old neighborhoods. He sighed, Must be cheap. Alberto is starting to use a lot of them here at the club.

He sensed movement behind him and turned slightly to see a black girl dressed in the frilly pink dress of a cocktail waitress busily cleaning off the table next to his. As she bent over to wipe the table off he could see that she wore a pair of cross-netted stockings that ended in a black garter belt and an ivory colored G-string that left most of her nicely rounded butt exposed. Smiling at the pleasantly muscled structure before him he reached out in an attempt to fondle her saying, Hey bitch, what’s happening?

Hearing his voice and deftly avoiding his hand the girl shifted the tray full of glasses she held, glared at him and said, Leave me alone Bennie.

Hey, come on Betty, he hissed, You’ve got to get off your fucking high horse. You're not at that fancy University any more. Here you're just another one of Alberto’s cocktail waitresses. He settled back in his chair, reached up took his drink, You know ... Alberto and I ... we go back a long way. We were on the streets together. You better be nice to me. Then he smiled, hey, you know, I could do a lot for you. I could talk to Alberto....

I don't need or want anything from you Bennie.

"Well, Miss `I don't fucking need nobody'--too bad you got busted--maybe you would still be jumping over those hurdles or whatever it was you were doing at that fancy school rather than waiting tables and dancing naked!"

She began to walk away and he laughed, Say speaking of drugs.... He reached in his pocket, took out a small vile filled with white powder and said, I got some first class coke her. Just got it this morning, came in from Colombia. How about you and I go to my place after you get off and do it up?

With fiery dark eyes looking over her shoulder she replied, I don't do drugs Bennie.

What do you mean bitch? Don't give me that shit! You got busted for drugs!

Not drugs Bennie ... steroids. I got busted for using steroids.

Bennie shifted his gaze, paused for a moment then asked, So, tell me Betty, you get high on that shit?

No, Bennie it’s different. She bent over and starting wiping off another table. You wouldn't understand.

So, what did you take them for?

So I could run faster Bennie. I was a sprinter. I wanted to make it to the Olympics. You don't get high on steroids they increase your muscle mass. They make you stronger that’s all. It’s not like that crap you sell.

Oh yeah. He smiled flexing his skinny arm. I think I'll get me some of that shit. Get me some muscles. Hey, maybe I should start selling the stuff. You know, expand my product line. I bet the brothers on the street could really get into it. He laughed, They would probably get so fast that they wouldn't even need to use a car to do their drive-byes. It would cut down on their expenses."

Betty shook her head, Sorry Bennie, it doesn't work that way. You can't just take them; you have to know what you're doing. And, they only work if you're already an active athlete. In your case and in the case of the rest of the scum-ball pushers you hang around with it would be a total waste of time. You would just shrink up your balls and screw up your livers. Not only that you're all too lazy and stupid to mess with anything that complicated.

Hey, watch your mouth bitch! I'll have Alberto ... uh ... have a little chat with you. You fuck with me I'll cut off his drug supply for a couple of days. So, you go right ahead and push it and see where that'll get you! Besides, it might surprise you to know that most of the people I sell to are the suit and tie types off Wall Street. Just keep in mind that if I really want your black ass I can have it! Maybe I'll tell Alberto I gave his stuff to you and you lost it!

Betty looked him up and down with steely eyes. He shifted away from her glare and then said, "Oh by the way, I've got some news about your boyfriend. He almost cashed in last night and as a very special favor to some rich friends of mine I dropped him off at one of the detox centers."

A shadow of concern suddenly crossed Betty’s face. Where? She put her hands on her hips, looked up and sighed, Damn! Not again. He’s been clean for nearly a month! Where is he this time?

Not so fast, Bennie smiled. Like I said, I might want a little favor from you. What do you see in that junkie anyway? Shit, he probably can't even get his dick up. You should quit supporting that asshole and his habit. He spread his legs and ran his hands across his crotch. Get yourself a real man--like me.

Betty sat the tray full of glasses down, walked over to the table and suddenly plopped herself in Bennie’s lap. Surprised he didn't move and in his moment of hesitation Betty pulled out a pencil from the check-pad in her waistband and quickly drove her hand down between Bennie’s legs and pushed the sharp end up into his groin. Then she grabbed one of his ears in her mouth and began to slowly bite while at the same continuing to push on the pencil so the point penetrated through the material of his pants and into the area of his genitals. Bennie tried pull his head away and began pushing at her hand. It surprised him to find out that she was stronger than he was and he couldn't move her hand away. He mumbled, Hey! Come on Betty--let go--stop! That hurts!

Betty released his ear but immediately placed both hands between his legs and began to push up on the pencil even harder. Betty put her face next to his and hissed, Look you little brown, street dealing creep you might think you can have me anytime you want, but right now if you want to leave here with your both your balls you better tell me where Ruben is! Now!

Feeling the point hit flesh and afraid to move Bennie sat rigidly still. In a strained but quiet voice he answered. All right ... fuck man ... can't you take a joke! Let go! He’s at the one across from Central Park. I think it’s called The Roosevelt Medical Center. As he felt Betty release the pressure he thought to himself, Shit, that bitch is strong.

Betty felt a hand on her shoulder and heard a male voice say, What’s going on?

She turned and looking up into a stern dark face smiled sweetly, Oh nothing Alberto. Bennie and I were just fooling around. You know how it is. He’s such a cute little guy.

Yeah. Well, you get your ass back to work. Swap spit on your own damn time!

She quickly jumped up and as she left to pick up her tray she overheard Alberto quietly mumble, You shouldn't be fucking with my help Bennie, not when they're working. That bitch is already pain-in-the-ass enough without any encouragement from you. You got my stuff?

Walking away Betty heard Bennie say, It’s in the bag, Alberto. There on the chair. It’s good stuff, just in from Colombia. Be careful when you use it. You only need about half as much as that crap from Brazil. He stood, put his hand on Alberto’s shoulder and said quietly, Hey amigo, you really ought to get off that crack for a while. You know, take a break.

Betty looked up at the clock. She had been waiting for over two hours and it was nearly four in the morning. She had left work just after the last show and though she had stopped long enough to put on a simple pull-over dress and flat shoes, she hadn't taken the time to change anything else and still wore the black net stockings that Alberto demanded all of his cocktail waitresses wear. Her dress was of an unadorned ivory color and with its bare shoulders and low back hugging tightly against her dark skin it tended to accent her nicely rounded hips and slim waist line.

Shifting her weight from foot to foot she rested her hand on her hip for a brief moment and in the process remembered that she also hadn't changed out of the tiny G string that she used in her dancing act. She felt the ridge of the tight elastic band around her waist and noticed that it and the garter belt that held the stockings in place were beginning to become uncomfortable in the sticky heat. Again she looked at the clock, noted the wasted hours and silently wished she had taken the time to change into her regular underwear.

She gazed down at her shoes and smiled, thankful that she had, had the good sense to put on a pair of flats rather than continue to wear the stiletto high heels that were also part of the compelled wardrobe for the girls that worked at the Club Techatl. Techatl, the thought drifted through her mind, it was supposed to be some sort of Aztec god that Alberto had named the club after.

Finally her turn at the receptionist desk came and as she heard her number called and stood to walk over she noticed that the medical center smelled strongly of disinfectant. She also noticed that even at four in the morning the place seemed to be a chaos of human bodies rushing here and there but going nowhere. Somewhere someone was screaming. Friday night at the zoo, she mumbled as she heard the blaring siren of an arriving ambulance and leaned forward on the small white counter with her numbered ticket in her hand. Waiting for the receptionist to acknowledge her presence and wanting to make sure she could hear what she said when she did Betty turned her head in an attempt to minimize the distress placed on her ears by the mixed clamor of human and mechanical noises that seemed to continually reverberate through the hallway. But it was a futile effort for she quickly found that simply changing cranial position did little to provide relief from the pandemonium of tones that seemed to be crying out in anguish to a neglecting world.

Waiting for the sound of the siren to die down a little and in an absent minded moment she looked up and noticed that the overhead lights were encased in wire baskets and seemed extremely bright. She shaded her eyes and as she did so she heard a voice from behind the glassed enclosed reception area say, They're bright for a reason sugar. Stabbings, gunshots, drugs--we get them all. It’s not unusual for the doctors to have to operate right here in the hallway.

Betty looked down, saw an elderly lady with thick glasses smiling up at her from behind a desk and mumbled, Yeah, tough neighborhood.

What can I do for you? the receptionist asked.

I'm looking for someone. I think he may have checked in here earlier tonight.

I'll take a look. What’s his name?

Betty paused for a moment then said, Silverstein, Ruben Silverstein. Sitting directly behind the receptionist one of the night nurses, a large black

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