So I thought I'd give you all some idea of what I've been doing here. This last month I've been submitting short stories I've been writing on the side to magazines and websites. I've only heard back from one so far, this publication that's only put out two issues, (I think) and will publish a story next Spring. I won't put that one up here because I'm pretty sure I can't do that. No one's told me I can't but until I ask.... Anyway, I'm putting one below this message and hopefully this site won't mess the paragraphs up too bad. This is one I've submitted to a couple of places but haven't heard back from anyone yet. All these places get a few hundred stories a week to read through so I'm going to be waiting about half a year at least to hear back from anything.

I'm warning you right out of the gate here that even though this short isn't really weird or anything, it's told in a kind of different style. I've had people read it and have gotten votes of it being cool and also it being a horribly oppresive style for a mediocre story. Why am I choosing to share this one with you then? Because it's on my data-stick right now and the idea to share a story on the blog hit me about ten minutes ago. I could go home and get another one but...no, that's ridiculous.

I really hope there are no speeling errors-it would be embarassing:




Some kind of movie story.

In the darkness of your mind you hear a voice. It says, in a Brooklyn accent: “Hey, if you want to make it in business you got to keep your mind on your money and your money on your mind.” Then like opening your eyes your brain replaces that darkness with images, a view from nearly the top of a tenement apartment building staircase. You’re looking up past the few remaining steps to the top at a door. It opens. Out steps a young man who you immediately presume belongs to the voice you heard just moments ago. He steps out, lights a cigarette and then walks down the staircase. Your viewpoint dollies in front of him and like walking backwards you focus in on his face and study this character. He blows smoke nonchalant and cool-guy out the side of his mouth. Eyes are stark blue, hair short and brown, a uniquely handsome face. This is Cody Fort. He’s nineteen years old and in the last ten months he’s made almost five hundred thousand dollars hustling tax-free cigarettes with his friend Harry Reede, aka “Crazy Fish,” a Long Island University student attending classes for free on account of him and his family being from the Shinnecock Indian Reservation, across the Bay from the Hamptons. Before the sun sets over the Bridge, Cody will be dead.

Cody’s now out in the street, Hoyt Street. It’s early morning, early April. Early risers and go-getters are doing the daily commute thing and going about their business. Cody turns the block and walks east on Pacific street. He’s heading towards a diner, Junior’s, across the street from campus where he’s going to meet Harry and pick up a garbage sack full of untaxed cigarettes that he’s brought from the reservation. Then Harry’s going to cross the street and make his nine o’clock class in Business Calculus. Afterwards he’ll hang out in the courtyard until his next class at four thirty and sell Marlboros for five dollars a pack. They go for two-fifty on the reservation, about twenty by the carton. Last June the new tax hike went through, making the New York cigarettes the most expensive in the country. People buy cigarettes from Cody and Harry because in the store they’d be paying nine to thirteen dollars for just a pack. They can save twenty-thirty bucks too and get a carton for fifty five. The two save the customer a lot of money plus sparing them the hassle of going out of state or halfway to Montauk. The demand is present, happy and only too willing to part with their money. The two could have sold drugs but there are all the liabilities with that. It’s a tough racket.

When Cody starts walking you can imagine music playing in the background, something light and energetic, heavy on the rhythm and keyboards. The track Groove Holmes from the Beastie Boys album The In Sound From Way Out! would fit nicely. Picture him walking the crowded streets and scanning the passing faces while your eyes flit from his face to bodegas with Arabs stacking oranges in front of the windows, concrete porches outside of dwellings sufficiently sat upon by dark-skinned people with nothing to do. The streets are saturated with yellow taxi cabs. You’ve seen this staged version of New York many times before. Cody walks a block, turns left on Bond Street and then goes north five blocks. There’s much to see on the way. Use your imagination.
Interior of Junior’s is half lit by half drawn shades over the windows. Cody walks in and stands by the entrance trying to spot Harry. His point of view reveals a raven-haired youth sitting with his back to him, a stack of folders and a math book on the table, a steaming cup of coffee beside it. This is Harry. The backpack on the floor next to his chair is packed tight and the edges are square. You get a tracking view through the diner, following Cody as he goes to join Harry. You pause next to the table, medium close to the two young men sitting on opposite sides.

Cut to a close up of the face that stares into the coffee cup before it and wonder, isn’t this guy Chinese? You’re almost right. His mother was Chinese, but she married a Shinnecock who brought her back to Long Island and had her son on the reservation.

While you continue looking at Harry’s face you start to notice a deepening crease between his eyebrows. This is the physical manifestation of Harry’s disappointment, anger and sense of betrayal he feels over the suspicion that Cody has been underselling him by a dollar a pack. Since the two split the cost of the supply and can buy at any amount they chose it hasn’t put him in any kind of a sticky situation with anybody on the reservation, but none the less, Harry feels that that Cody’s been stealing clients away, under the radar, by secretly underselling him. Since it’s just little birdies in Harry’s ear, hearsay, and the two are good friends, Harry is confused about how to react. However, if there’s anything that makes Harry even more angry than being betrayed, it’s being confused.

Cut to Cody’s face as he begins the dialogue. When Harry responds you cut back to him. You keep tight on these faces while they talk throughout this short scene. In a way their faces are what you are most interested in as all this plays out, then the words.
Cody: You skipping breakfast again?

Harry: Coffee and cigarettes.

Cody: Yeah? Is that me there?

Back to your establishing view from the side of the table and you notice a garbage sack full of what is assuredly cigarette cartons in a chair next to Harry. He looks over to it and then back to Cody, nods and takes a sip of his coffee.
Back to close ups.

Harry: There’s fifty in there. In the off chance that you have another day like Thursday just give me a text and you can come meet me on campus and get my keys. I got another two hundred in the car.

I’ll tell you that in Harry’s mind he’s seething when he says this, mostly because he doesn’t want to say anything, just wants to forget his suspicions.

Cody: Only two hundred? What happened?

Harry: Stupid Following Deer’s getting paranoid, convinced Home Land Security is going to find out…I don’t know something, thinks he’s being watched. It’s just all the money’s he’s making. Figures it’s about time the other shoe dropped.

Cody: Well don’t rattle the natives-we need ‘em. Miss?

Back to your establishing view you see a waitress walk up and Cody orders something. She walks away and you hold this view for a few beats as silence permeates the table until Cody begins talking again.

Cody: Got to have a healthy breakfast before a long day at the office. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

Harry: Only a fool’d eat here.

Cody: Well not everyone gets to be as educated as you.

There’s a beat.

Harry: Speaking of education, Tonia won her appeal against the school board yesterday and so’s having a party tonight. You want to go? I’m going.

Cody: Yeah sure…God, what would you have to do to get fired in this state?

Harry: Video tape it maybe-sign the tape and give it to the principal? Or maybe doing it in front of the class?

Cody: Maybe.

Harry: Yeah maybe.

Cody: Maybe we should join a union.

(Laughing)

Harry: Yeah, if only.

Back to your establishing view you see Harry drain the last of his coffee, look at his watch, mutter a few words about needing to press on and then leaves. You’re not sure you even heard him say anything. Cody gives a sign of farewell but Harry ignores it, remembering his frustrations he is now so overcome with confusion and anger his priority is to leave immediately before doing something violent.

The waitress comes and gives Cody a plate of eggs and bacon, a plate of two pancakes and a cup of orange juice. Cody begins to eat his breakfast in a heavy silence. Perhaps two forkfuls later you jump cut to…

Outside, the corner of Nevins and Fulton Street, where the early morning traffic and hustle bustle is going full throttle. Cody has a line going five or six folks deep. You watch Cody do his business, trying to stay close to hear and watch, and to not miss anything. Underneath it all you can just barely hear the Biggie Smalls radio hit Mo’ Money Mo’ Problems.

Cody: Dave, good to see you Dave. Lucky you I’m hockin’ your brand all day long. You finish this carton up and see me before five won’t you? Yeah that’s right, you’re a fiend Dave, a fiend…Good to see you stranger five, five and five, you know what I’m sayin’? That’s a carton for fifty five and if I got to bust one a pack’s for five…good doing business with you…Billy, Billy boy, this one’s got your name on it….

Cody is doing well with no signs of stopping. You think to yourself that the prohibition by default technique of the most liberal state in the union has done nothing to curb demand for tobacco. Perhaps you start thinking about the eighteenth amendment and the war on drugs, and that thing they were talking about earlier with the teacher’s union. What was that about? Perhaps you think of nothing and just watch as your view of Cody in his element pulls back a ways and time moves quicker, everything speeds up like you’ve seen before in time elapsed photography. You notice the quality of daylight change and understand the hours are going by, and Cody’s pockets are filling with dollars. After a few moments of imagining Cody on his corner, serving his clientele at lightning speed, you see the crowds become less and less until finally he is alone. He looks into his bag.

Close up, you see there are maybe five cartons left.
Back to a medium view of Cody as he meditatively looks up and down the streets for anymore customers.

You see Cody’s point of view. There are a few people here and there, across the street, down the way, one coming out of a bodega. All going about their business and ignoring Cody.

At this point Cody is debating the risks in his head, weighing out the pros and cons. He knows that this is the dead part of the day. He’ll snag a few sales sometimes but things will only really pick up again when people start back from work, around five or six. The real afternoon business is going down just a few blocks west of him at the Fulton Mall, a place he’s not supposed to hit because it’s not his turf. A couple of Coney Island toughs, middle-aged guys, one a Lebanonese cab driver and the other a bleach-blonde bounty hunter, they both butt-leg down on that end whenever they have the spare time, which isn’t all that often. But still, the risk is huge. They notoriously defend the spot from others and Cody’s heard the bounty hunter guy had once beaten up somebody with a bat, broke his back. But the rewards: one step closer to a baller’s paradise, and just a little bit quicker. It’s what it’s all about anyway.

Cody decides to risk it, to at least look. If they were there he’d move on. If not, maybe he’d stick it out for a few hours. Perhaps he thinks he could outrun them if they find him. You’re impressed with Cody and consider him capable. He looks plenty fit too so you’re confident he should just go. You pan over as he crosses the street and heads west. You hold the view a few beats as Cody walks off down the road.

Cross dissolve into an across-the-street view of the Fulton Mall. The words are in big red capitals over the glass doors that lead in. Cody steps into the frame.
Cut to his eyes darting around.

Cut to his point of view as he looks over at the crowds going in and out of the mall as well as those mulling around about the entrance. The view zooms in on a few clumps of people scattered here and there, searching for someone in the middle of all of them handing out cigarettes. But there is no one. The coast is clear. The area is prime.

As soon as Cody steps off the curb in the direction of the Mall, Paper Airplanes by MIA starts and the moment dissolves into a montage that plays out with various snippets of Cody making a sale, looking around him nervously, making a sale, looking about him nervously. At first the both of you are wary of somebody coming up to him suddenly. But he gets more and more ballsy as time goes on and drops the nervous eye rolls. He calls out to people like a hot dog vendor at a baseball game. It ends with Cody wadding up the garbage bag in his fist. He’s out. He needs to call Harry and get his keys to dig out some more of his van.

From across the street watching Cody head off in the direction of the University, again you pan over as he crosses over to the next block. You keep your distance and track along with him, staying level. He’s about in the middle of your field of vision, and because he’s in profile you can see what is both in front and behind him. In his mind currently is wave after wave of euphoria. Not only has he avoided any and all types of trouble but he’s sold out his whole day’s quota already, hours ahead of the end-of-day rush back on his own corner, which he plans on returning to with another fully stocked garbage bag ready to go. As he walks you notice he takes his phone out of his pocket and calls Harry. After a few beats Harry picks up his phone and Cody starts talking.

Cody: Harry bean-bag I’m having another Thursday....Yeah, I’m out, I’m completely out. I’m heading towards you right now….Where are you…? Well I’ll be there in like, five minutes…yeah, wait for me.

At this moment you notice coming into the frame from the left are two men walking fast. They are both rather large. One has bright, almost white, blonde hair. Cody has no idea the two are behind him.

Cody: By the way did I tell you that I started looking at places over in Flushing? I’m ready to start diversifying man, lookin’ at real estate, gettin’ Trump on this….Yeah, that’s how he made his millions, right here in New York too.

The two men are now at Cody’s back. They have slowed their walk to match up with his.
Cody: You know Schwarzeneggar made his money in real estate, invested in apartment complexes with the money he made winning Mr. Universe titles…I’m telling you…yeah and the government’s so obsessed with pushing home ownership that you’ll get a good tax break…yeah I’m sure that had nothing to do with the housing crises.

You skim over the thing about the government because something else concerns you now. The darker skinned man has pulled what looks like a knife out of his pocket and is trying to give it to the blonde man. He is refusing but the other man is insisting. The two look to be having a very quiet but very intense argument. They stop walking and concentrate on each other. Cody continues on his way ahead of them unperturbed, listening to Harry.

Cody: Hey, if you want to make it in business you got to keep you mind on your money and your money on your mind.

Cut to Harry sitting on a park bench in the University’s courtyard, smoking a cigarette, happy because he’s not so confused anymore. He found out from the same guy who told him Cody was underselling him that he’d made a mistake, it was someone else. There are new butt-leggers popping up every day.

Harry: Hey man I hear you. I’m just saying slow your roll now, you’ve got to make sure you’re investing wisely. You know what I want to start looking into is this whole offshore account thing. As good as things been going for us I’m running out of room under the mattress, you know what I’m saying? By the way do you know what your gross is?

Harry takes a drag off his cigarette and waits for Cody’s response. Close up as Harry blows smoke out.

Harry: You getting’ out a calculator or what?

Silence.

Harry: Yo, Cody? Cody, what’s up? Yo, was there an accident or somethin’ I can hear a lady screamin’?

Cut to a close up of a young black woman screaming.

Cut to a bird’s eye view of Cody lying in a pool of his own blood. There are multiple stab wounds in his back. From your vantage point you float down towards his body. You see somebody come and stand over him, kick at his lifeless form a few times, yell hello, pull their phone out their pocket and then walk out of frame. You keep floating down until you come level with a storefront window parallel to Cody’s body. You tilt up now and look into the window where there is a row of TV’s playing and facing the street. Your perspective allows you to see both what’s playing on the TV and the reflection of the street at the same time. In the background you can hear the sound of the screaming woman fading out as she puts distance between herself and Cody as well as the distorted voice of Harry still trying to find out what is going on.

Playing on the TV is some kind of political debate show. Two male personalities argue back and forth. As they do you can hear their voices over the noises of the gathering crowd seen in the window’s reflection. Most of them have taken out their cell-phones but are calling no one, instead they’re flipped open and pointed down at Cody.

TV personality #1: So you’re telling me that even though the government can’t run the post office, school system or the DMV, keep 12 million illegal immigrants from taking disproportionate use of social services while paying little to no taxes…

TV personality #2: Okay…

TV personality #1: No, no, or fail to prevent the S&L crises, the credit crises, 9/11, the housing bubble, the dot-com bubble or keep the tax code under a mere seventy five thousand pages long I’m supposed to indulge them the authority to make personal decisions for me?

TV personality #2: These laws provide necessary guidance to…

TV personality #1: …Ignorant people? Who’s so ignorant that they don’t know cigarettes will kill them, or that fatty food make you, uh, fat so we need federally mandated warning labels, calorie counts and the absolutely….

The picture in the TV screen flickers and then is replaced by snow. The signal has been lost.
In the reflection of the window you can see that time has sped up again. It starts to get even darker. The sun is almost gone. Police pull up to the curb and officers jump out. They start dispersing the crowd. The red and blue lights of their sirens mix with the chaotic scrambling snow on the TV screen. Soon an ambulance pulls up too.

A random voice in the crowd: God damn, ambulance just now getting here? Obama-care’s gonna make things go so much smoother.

Another voice in the crowd: I heard that!

You can still, just barely though, hear the sound of Harry screaming through it all.

Harry: Cody, what’s going on? Is anybody there? Can anybody tell me what’s going on?