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~ “The FAIRMOUNT Chronicles” ~
Uncensored: ‘The Willis Samuel Investigations’

*Chapters One Through Six

Without being redundant, before the year changes and introduces new and exciting events, I thought it fair to present to you, “Faithful Readers,” Here On The WordPress Network, the complete and un-Censored version of The Willis Samuel Investigations Saga in the “Full Tort Boogie ADVENTURE! ” – Chapters One through Three and Four through Six Package!

~ “FAIRMOUNT”: ‘The Willis Samuel Investigations!’-The Series ~
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/332195/willis-samuel-investigations-the-series

“Ironically Speaking!” (Intro):
By
Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/333148/ironically-speaking

A Rap Sheet: The Year 2013 – To Current…
“On the corner of 10th and Mifflin. One guy was pissed because he couldn’t get his car out of its’ parking space. Another patron’s car was double-parked, blocking him in. Mostly all of the South Philly residents were accustomed to this way of life. The average South Philadelphian didn’t blink an eye at the thought of not doing so. From Delaware Avenue to 25th Street and Snyder Avenue to Oregon Avenue was considered the zone for double parked cars.
If you were a member of the family’s business, you did whatever you wanted anyway. Made members were the elite in those particular neighborhoods. One could compare such a society to that of mob figures in New York. The South Philly Mobs were a force to be reckoned with.
When the old ‘Mustache Pete’s’ like ‘Angie-B’, ran things, there wasn’t a great deal of blood on the streets. There was only money to be made.
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/332195/willis-samuel-investigations-the-series

*

“Mask Of The Crime Czar”
“It is late Winter in the year of 1990. Jason Parks is an ex-NYPD Detective turned Private Investigator… and he’s also a Drunk. There’s nothing new about this combination; it happens all too often in detective stories. The difference here is that, through a billion to one accident he has acquired certain abilities. The accident opens up a whole new set of frustrations and tests of his resolve while dragging his psyche nearly to the breaking point.
Coping with his altered life while wrestling with the dilemma of whether he should use his abilities to assist local law enforcement or mind his own business, fosters an internal debate that has him questioning just about every move he makes. There is also the local media that can’t make up its collective mind if he is a champion of Good or a force for Evil.
The trail to catch the Crime Czar in his quest to take over and run the Mobs in the city takes Jason from Philadelphia to New York City where he must dispose of the demons of his past there, then back to the City of Brotherly Love to forestall a bloodbath between the local Mob Boss and his challenger. The trail of deceit and betrayal, suspicion and lies, takes Jason from the skies to the ground and deep under it
Will Jason overcome: the frustration, accusations, mistrust and his own internal strife and self-doubt or will he: turn his back, wipe his hands clean of it all and walk away? Even he is not sure of the outcome.”

*

“So you’re telling me is all we needed is a ‘C-4’ pack and a couple of whirly-bird yahoos to dispose of this beast, is that right Mr. Agent?” Glenn wasn’t even looking at the man. He was looking at the hole and burn scene while his gazing glances took his focused view to the ledge above.
The bomb exploded with a thunderous Earth trembling boom… The flash and:

*

“When There’s No More Room In Hell”

The pedestrians and equestrians reveled in the park’s courses of pathways and trails throughout the region. Another favored entranceway into the grotto like valley was Mount Airy’s Cherokee Lane from Allens Lane near the Lincoln Drive. The wondrous beauty and mystery of Philly’s Fairmount Park was simply adored by all and who resided and those who visited. But just as much as it is alluring it was also a most deadly place as well.

My name is Salestian Michaels. I’m currently employed by the ‘Philadelphia Sunny Globe Newspaper Organization and International News Network.’ I was born and raised in South Philly, the heart and soul of ‘Mafiosi Life.’ Angel Brondidi and Nick the Needle ran it all when they weren’t at odds with one another.

I was there when Captain Willis Samuel and National Forestry Service Ranger Commander Gerald Glenn confronted and eradicated the monster beast in the park. I didn’t like Glenn very much, although I admired him. He was damn good at what he did. It was his woman that I liked…loved and wanted.

Yeah, she was something else. Genailia put the whammy on me at the zoo. She definitely whipped my ass in that booth. But man, just to get the opportunity to be near her, to feel her voluptuously warm and supple body and that magnificent ass close to mine…was worth it. I guess I really shouldn’t have grinded on her ass though. I thought she might like it. I was wrong. I’m still searching for a way to apologize. They’re somewhere up in the Yukon or Alaska nowadays. I do hope that she gets back this way.

I wasn’t happy with the hospital bills either.

The ‘Dungeon Queen’ case hasn’t come to trial yet. And the Fairmount Park Rapist case was never solved – it’s still wide open, soon to become a cold case.

There’s been some talk around town and throughout the buildings downtown of something else. Rather than the beast, although that story will remain on many lips for a long, long, time; another frightful occurrence screams for resolve. Apparently, ‘The Wissahickon Kelpius Society’ is being looked at. There appears to be some sort of mystery surrounding missing kids and some dark robed monks…of course I had to twist a few wrists and ring a couple of ears in order to get the case. Albeit, my curiosity abounds with the want of knowledge about these characters and the missing kids, I wanted to be paid for the research and story as well.

Paying close attention to the ‘scuttle-butt,’ gossip, and rumors about, I remember hearing something about an occultist and his group back in history class. It was something about George Washington and a mystic back in the 16th or 17th century. It was during, I think, the French-American and British war of the colonies. The old mansions in Germantown reflect upon the general’s visit along with the French leader, Lafayette.

The mansions along ‘The Great Road’ held a complete and authenticated history of events from back then.
What I do know up to this point is what has been said, stored, and recorded:

~ “The Battle of Germantown” occurred at the Cliveden Manor. “It was also the country home of Pa. Chief Justice Benjamin Chew. On October 4, 1777, a British regiment occupied Cliveden and defended it from full assaults by the Colonials. Over 70 soldiers died on these grounds. Although it was an American defeat, Washington’s bold strategy helped to win French aid for the cause of independence.” – “The First Protest Against Slavery was here in 1688, at the home of Tunes Kunders, an eloquent protest was written by a group of German Quakers. Signed by Pastorius and three others, it preceded by 92 years Pennsylvania’s passage of the nation’s first state abolition law.” ~

What began as a summer retreat, to a colonial landmark, became the site of a viciously nasty war, “The Battle of Germantown.” Many have wondered if this was an accident in history.
Cliveden Manor is a story of a colonial family, the servants, and its slaves.
Before William Penn and the Mayflower, the Native Americans lived on the land now known as the United States of America. Here in the northwest, the Philadelphia-Germantown area is where the Quakers settled to farm and establish businesses. They were mostly of German descent, hence the name Germantown.

This area was also a haven for runaway slaves. “The Underground Railroad” ran through this region of the country as well. There existed a number of “Safe-Houses” for escaped African-American Slaves (not known then as African Americans) such as, The Mennonite Meeting House and the Johnson House. The route to freedom for Black people often led to Canada, although a number of African descendants decided to settle in Germantown where they felt safe from persecution.
http://nomoreroominhellwhen.blogspot.com/
*
On day two of the group’s hunt, the skies cleared at 8:30 a.m. The group of rangers set out to follow a creek bed upstream looking for tracks…some sign.

“Damn Man…he’s a big mutha, ain’t he?” That was all that Willis was able to squawk.

“We’ve gotta bag his ass.”

‘FAIRMOUNT’

The beasts eyes…
“Suddenly, out of nowhere it lunged and snapped its jaws…another man was gone!”

“We were sitting there concentrating when, a few seconds later, he pops up right in front of us, about 10 yards away and he was coming toward us,” A tracker said. “I don’t know if the wind was in our favor or what. We were dressed in camouflage. It might not have seen us.”

“I put the scope on him. I wanted to hit him in the chest, but all I could see was nothing but head!”
https://www.createspace.com/pub/community/give.review.do?id=1129978&rewrite=true

>

‘Willis Samuel Investigations, The Series’
(Pt.1)

~ “A Four Cornered Phling” ~

By
Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/332195/willis-samuel-investigations-the-series

“I should not have been born… I was supposed to be aborted. Now see what you’ve done. You’ve allowed me to come of age and become the monster that I am…”

Detective Willis Samuel of the Philadelphia Police Department recalled something…someone…somewhere, not long ago. There was a conversation that he’d overheard regarding justice.

“Ha! Justice in this place! Someone was making a joke.”

There were six murders of late. All of them occurred on the ‘Philly’ side of the bridge. Camden recorded fifteen as of late. Four of the victims were women. The other two, a homo-sexual and a hetero-sexual. Each of the Philly murders happened in all four corners of the city, on the same night.

Willis crawled into bed with his wife, Elizabeth. He’d been working all day and late into the night, racking up a grand total of 18 straight hours. It was a hot and sweltering night in “Mount Airy.” Summertime in Philly can be a deadly killer. The gripping effect of humidity and heat has claimed the lives of several elderly and physically challenged citizens. Many of the city’s homeless have been approached and sometimes gathered up in groups by authorities suggesting shelter of a mandatory nature.

Willis didn’t want to be saddled with the first victim of the case, let alone all six. His new partner and subordinate made a clumsy comment.

“Ya know boss, don’t cha’ think these deaths have something in common?”
Willis replied, “Yeah, they’re all dead…and don’t call me boss!”

Chasey (pronounced ‘Chazzy’) Deltaveino was an old Jr. high school chum when we both attended ‘Vare Middle School’ in South Philly. Chasey Del, as he was known, was a made members’ son. He knew anything and everything, especially if and when it concerned South Philadelphia and South Jersey goings-on known as business. Last week, a bar fight jumped off on the corner of 10th and Mifflin. One guy was pissed because he couldn’t get his car out of its’ parking space. Another patron’s car was double-parked, blocking him in. Mostly all of the South Philly residents were accustomed to this way of life. The average South Philadelphian didn’t blink an eye at the thought of not doing so. From Delaware Avenue to 25th Street and Snyder Avenue to Oregon Avenue was considered the zone for double parked cars.
If you were a member of the family’s business, you did whatever you wanted anyway. Made members were the elite in those particular neighborhoods. One could compare such a society to that of mob figures in New York. The South Philly Mobs were a force to be reckoned with.
When the old ‘Mustache Pete’s’ like ‘Angie-B’, ran things, there wasn’t a great deal of blood on the streets. There was only money to be made.

The two guys were squaring off outside after a pushing and shoving match occurred inside. Apparently, the “made-man” didn’t move fast enough for the guy who wanted to get his car out. The angry man didn’t know the guy who shoved him back was a made-man. He shoved harder and won out on the shoving match. The made-man punched him in the mouth with a solid blow from a straight right-cross. The angry man fell backwards into the bar, landing on a couple of patrons who allowed him to drop to the floor. More angry than embarrassed, he pulled himself to his feet and took a defensive posture. Realizing he was in more of a situation than originally ascertained, he quickly began to think of a way out of the situation.

“Yo man, all I wanted you to do was to move your fuckin car so that I could get out!”
The mobster replied, “Fuck You! I’ll move it when I’m ready…and I’m not quite ready, so take your best shot pal!”

The foolish man obeyed the suggestion and swung hard with his right fist. He attempted to hit the left side of the made-man’s face. He missed when the mobster took a quick lean back and recoiled with a barrage of deadly blows.
He hit the angry man squarely on the right side of his jaw. He then punched the man right on the point of his chin with a straight right, sending him out through the glass doors, into the street. Returning to his feet, the injured and dazed fellow hit the outside wall of the bar wall with a loud thud and fell down face first onto the concrete sidewalk from the blow of another pulverizing punch. Picking himself up from the ground proved to be a daunting task. His face and nose were bloodied from the punch and fall. In the attempt to get up, the man was struck again. The mobster kicked him viciously in the stomach. The man groaned in agony. The mobster was geared up to stomp on the man’s groin area when the injured man rolled over into a supine position.
Retaining his defensive gesture, the man rolled over again into a fetal posture. Recovering quickly, the man jumped to his feet. He was preparing to attack the made-man again. Reaching into his right trouser pocket, he produced something shiny. It flashed a brilliant silver-blue reflection from the bar-room glow and lights from the streetlamps. It clicked and snapped while it swung like a chained-stem “yo-yo” with its flashing recoil. The man mastered the tool like a pro. It was a switchblade knife with a nearly invisible edge equaling a straight razor. The mobster took a step back as his adversary prepared for the attack. The mobster then did something to cause the man with the blade to freeze dead in his tracks.
The mobster pointed a brand new blue-steel Smith and Wesson 9mm at his face, cocking the hammer with the slide bar on top.

“Listen boy, you got your ass kicked here tonight. So let’s call it a night and go our merry way…I’ll move my car so you can go.”
The knife wielding man cringed and swallowed with embarrassment and fear. He knew he was a dead man. But foolish is as foolish does. When the made-man turned to re-enter the bar, the man lunged forward. The mobster twisted around to his left and with deadly accuracy, pointed the gun from under his left arm and shooting with the right. He shot the knife-wielder in the left knee.
He screamed in agony as the red hot bullet tore through the joint, ripping it to shreds. The blood squirted everywhere. It hit the gawkers standing nearby and sprayed gore all over the wall of the bar and sidewalk. The knife wielder dropped his knife, gripping his leg in utter agony; fell back down to the ground.

The made-man walked over to him, placing his right foot on the man’s neck and pointed the Glock at his face and smiled down at him.

“Well son, the first rule of confrontation is to never bring a knife to a gunfight… So long pal, hope I don’t see ya in hell!”
Just as he was preparing to pull the trigger, a car pulled up with blinding lights and screeching wheels.

“Damn little Ricky, I see you’re still doing that gangster shit.”

“Yo Chasey…what’s happnin Bro! Long time no see, Homes!”

The foolish and frightened man’s life was spared. “Little Ricky” waved the guys; who made up his immediate crew; off. This gesture of mercy allowed the beaten irreverent loser the opportunity to live and see another day. Ricky’s gesticulation was completely understood by his men and the surceased and bloodied individual who was hurried by several tacit bystanders to his car. No one called for an ambulance because no one wanted to answer any questions the police would obviously have. They would not risk an interrogation by the leader of the group responsible for the foolish man’s injuries. He was on his own.

Sirens sounded in the distance. The sound grew closer to the bar’s location. Apparently, some one did call for medical assistance to the injured individual.

“Yo Rick, I need to talk to you for a mo.”
Chasey’s car pulled around behind the back of the building which housed the tavern. He didn’t bother to look and see where the driver parked the car. He wouldn’t be concerned because he wouldn’t have to move any further than the curb when his ride was needed.

Little Ricky’s boys automatically jumped to attention whenever Chasey showed up. They knew that penalty for disrespect. Several of them used to belong to him before he became the head “Knock-Around-Guy.” A few of them who were designated leaders, were with him back in the day when he was just starting his ascent to the top. Now that he is the current known “Capo di tutti capi,” Chasey’s ass was frequently kissed most everywhere he went. Little Ricky also bowed and scraped upon the “boss of bosses” arrival on any given scene at any given time.

“I’ve got this lil problem… One of our boys in blue took a trip to “never-never-land” a bit too soon. He owed us a great deal of dough. About ‘800 large.’ He departed this planet with a debt to heavy to forget or forgive.
Although he croaked on the job…he paid the ultimate price without our permission. He croaked at the behest of his superior…a Black.

Now, the thing that compounds my dilemma is that I know this Black Commander – I went to school with him – we were good friends, buddies.

Now I don’t, I’m not quite sure how to handle this situation. Somebody has to pay me my money.

https://boulwareenterprises.wordpress.com/2018/03/23/willis-samuel-investigations-the-series/

>

Part Two:
“The AR-15 Incident”

~ “FAIRMOUNT”: ‘The Willis Samuel Investigations!’-The Series ~
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/332195/willis-samuel-investigations-the-series

~ “The AR-15 Incident” ~

Willis Samuel Investigations: ‘Fairmount’
By
Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/333201/the-ar-15-incident-pt-2-willis-samuel-investigations-fairmount

‘Raphael Koheaven,’ a private lawyer for the ‘Don,’ has said he paid ‘Ms. Sarah Milfford’ $136,000 of his own money during the appointment to the “Capo di tutti capi” campaign. ‘Koheaven’ did not explain why he made the payment or say whether ‘Trappolli’ was aware of it. The fierce and ruthless competition for ‘Boss’ of The Washington D.C. province, has put a number of “The Brotherhood” on edge. An infamous Porn Star is Offering to Repay the $136,000 for her silence in Dispute over the alleged “Trappolli Love Affair!” The trigger fingers of high-ranking buttons were indeed hot and juicy with the anticipation of who the next leader would be as well as what the next order will be in the executions of and upon targeted identifications.

Koheaven, Trappolli’s lawyer, came after Stevie Cliff, whose real name is “Sarah Milfford,” in recent weeks, filed for court arbitration. A document signed by Milfford and Koheaven — but never Trappolli — promised Milfford $136,000 if she agreed not to publicly discuss the details of her relationship with Trappolli.

Trappolli did not sign the document, but Koheaven still sent Clifford the money out of his own pocket. Trappolli has reportedly not paid Koheaven back.

Milfford’s lawsuit rejects Trappolli and his legal team’s attempts to scare her and her mother, “Kristine Milfford,” into silence. According to the police complaint, Koheaven in last December, forced Milfford to sign a statement that her reports on the relationship weren’t true.

“To be clear, the attempts to intimidate Ms. Milfford into silence and ‘shut her up’ in order to ‘protect Mr. Trappolli’ continue unabated,” the complaint states.

“For example, only days ago on or about November 27, Mr. Trappolli’s attorney, Mr. Koheaven surreptitiously initiated a bogus arbitration proceeding against Ms. Milfford in the New York Court System.

Actress “Sarah Milfford,” who uses the stage name “Stevie Cliff,” has said the affair with Trappolli began in 2006 and lasted several months. Trappolli has denied he had an affair with Milfford. The alleged affair has become the latest distraction for Trappolli as he tries to advance his trade agenda and prepares for the bid to become ‘councilman of his district within the City of Philadelphia and a proposed meeting with Korean Crime leader “Kin Un-Dun,” for an expected large shipment of narcotics. It also threatens to erode the Don’s support among his local crew members and the neighborhood evangelical leaders.

“This is an extremely fair offer,” her attorney, “Aveno Michaelangelo,” said in an interview. “It accomplishes the goal of allowing the few people involved to decide who is telling the truth after hearing both sides.”

Rapheal Koheaven, has said he paid Milfford $136,000 of his own money during the leadership (Mob) transition. Koheaven did not explain why he made the payment or say whether Trappolli was aware of it. Regardless of whether Koheaven accepts Milfford’s offer, the money is the subject of a complaint by the watchdog group “Common Directions,” to the Federal Election Commission. The group claims it is an illegal campaign contribution for the esteemed seat of ‘Council Person.’ Because of the size and purpose of the illlegal payment, to shut the woman up about the alleged affair, in order for the legal petition to move forward.

Michaelangelo in a letter to Koheaven, a copy of which was seen by Reuters, said the actress would wire the funds to an account of Trappolli’s choosing by Friday. Michaelangelo set a deadline of Tuesday for Koheaven to respond.

Under the proposal, Milfford after returning the money would be allowed to speak “openly and freely about her prior relationship with the candidate and attempts to silence her.”
She also would be able to “use and publish any text messages, photos and/or videos relating to the ‘Don’ that she may have in her possession, all without fear of retribution and/or legal liability for damages,” the Michaelangelo letter said.

The letter also asked that the candidate’s lawyers agree that neither Trappolli nor the shaddy company Koheaven used to pay Milfford would attempt to block the broadcast of an interview Milfford taped with television News’ “The City Minutes” program last week. And it would require the agreement be signed by all parties, including the council seat candidate, who did not put his name on the previous nondisclosure deal.

Koheaven did not immediately respond to a request for comment on the letter, nor did Koheaven’s attorney. The Mayor and sitting council members also did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

We got news of the machine gun attack over the ‘Inter-National-Police-Communications-Wire’ as well as all of the televised news report programs.

>

The Feb. 14 attack in Florida killed 17 people – 17 confirmed dead in the ‘Horrific Attack’ on a Florida high school – as it happened:

“Don’t Look to The White House for Leadership After the Florida School Shooting,” wrote one online reporter.

“It’s at times like these that a normal leader would step up to reassure the country of its values and take action to protect its citizens. But we don’t have one of those right now. This is the leader who took a whole week to say he was “totally opposed to domestic violence” after his staff secretary quit, amid accusations from his ex-wives of just that. The man’s supposed condemnation came after he heaped praise on the guy for his job in the White House, wished him the best in his career, and suggested that he deserved “due process” against all these allegations. That’s the cost of doing business with a man who wanted the death penalty for five teenagers known as the Central Park Five, and claimed they were guilty even after they were exonerated by DNA evidence.”

“This happens nowhere else”: one senator decries gun laws after Florida shooting.

A 17-year-old junior at the victimized school, said “I used to be friends with him (the suspect), but that he started “progressively getting a little more weird, and I kind of cut off from him!”

What we know so far:

According to reporter,’Claire Phipps,’ “Here is what we now know about the terrible events that unfolded at ‘Marjory Stoneman Douglas high school in Parkland, Florida,’ on Wednesday.

Seventeen people; children and adults; were killed when a gunman entered the high school on Wednesday afternoon and launched an attack. Twelve people were found dead inside the school, two were killed outside the building, one in the street, and two died later in hospital from their injuries.

The suspect has been named by police as 19-year-old Nikolas Cruz. He was arrested at the scene and is being questioned by investigators. The killer was armed with an AR-15 rifle and “multiple magazines”, police said.

Cruz was formerly a student at Douglas, but was expelled for disciplinary reasons. A teacher at the school said staff had been warned not to let him back on campus. The suspect had reportedly been receiving treatment for mental health issues.

Twelve of those killed have been identified, police said on Wednesday evening. The names of victims at this time, have not been released, but Sheriff Scott Israel said a football coach was among those lost. Fifteen victims remain in hospital, five in life-threatening conditions and ten with injuries that are not life-threatening.

Students who had been at school with Cruz said many classmates had predicted he could “do something” to harm them and that he had previously brought guns to school. One Teacher, Melissa Falkowski, said drills for a code red (active shooter) situation had been well rehearsed.
“We could not have been more prepared for this situation. We have trained for this, we have trained the kids for what to do, We did everything that we were supposed to do! I feel today like our government, our country, has failed us and failed our kids and didn’t keep us safe. This tragedy appears to be the eighth deadliest mass shooting in contemporary U.S. history. It is also one of at least eight U.S. school shootings so far in 2018 that have caused injury or death.
The so-called President tweeted his “prayers and condolences” to those affected, but decided not to speak about the attack, reports said. But others said thoughts and prayers were not enough.”

Chris Murphy, senator for Connecticut – site of the 2012 Sandy Hook school shooting, in which 26 children and adults were killed – said:
“This happens nowhere else other than the United States of America. This epidemic of mass slaughter, this scourge of school shooting after school shooting. It only happens here not because of coincidence, not because of bad luck, but as a consequence of our inaction. We are responsible!”

Another reporter, ‘Lois Beckett,’ said, “The emotional impact of school shootings has sparked a booming school safety industry. In 2017, the market for security equipment in the education sector was estimated at $2.68bn, according to industry analysts at IHS Markit. Some companies have capitalized on parents’ fears by selling bulletproof backpacks or whiteboards, as well as offering ways to fortify school buildings against attack. While refusing to pass substantive gun control restrictions, Congress has approved hundreds of millions of dollars in federal spending to help put police officers in public schools, including $45m in 2013, the year after the Sandy Hook elementary school shooting. Some gun rights advocates have pushed to expand gun-carrying in schools further. Andrew McDaniel, a state legislator in Missouri who introduced legislation last year to make it easier to carry guns in schools, told the ‘Guardian’ that, in rural schools where it might take 20 or 30 minutes for law enforcement to respond to a school shooting in progress, it made sense to have other armed citizens ready to step in.”

Sheriff Scott Israel adds:

“If a person is predisposed to commit such a horrific event; if a person is committed to committing great carnage; there’s not a lot law enforcement can do about it. We have to be able to mitigate, we have to be able to respond quickly. He says more money needs to go to treating mental health issues.”
Israel also says that, in his view, “people with mental health illnesses should not be allowed to use, own or purchase a handgun.”

>

The AR-15:

“An AR-15 style rifle is a lightweight semi-automatic rifle based on the Colt AR-15 design. After Colt’s patents expired in 1977, an expanded marketplace emerged with many manufacturers producing their own version of the AR-15 design for commercial sale. They are referred to as modern sporting rifles by the National Shooting Sports Foundation, a firearms industry trade association, and by some manufacturers. Coverage of high profile incidents where various versions of the rifle were involved often uses the shorthand AR-15.

Since 2010, AR-15 style rifles have become one of the “most beloved and most vilified rifles” in the United States, according to the New York Times. It has been promoted as “America’s rifle” by the National Rifle Association. It has also been the weapon used in many of the largest mass shootings in the United States, and is often legally classified as an assault weapon. The Federal Assault Weapons Ban restricted the Colt AR-15 and derivatives from 1994-2004, although it did not affect rifles with fewer features. There are an estimated 10-12 million in circulation in the United States alone.

Its’ Use in Crime and Mass Shootings:

Most killings and other gun crimes in the United States are committed with the use of handguns. As a result, AR-15 style rifles are used in a very low overall percentage of gun crimes in the U.S., but they have still played “an over-sized role in many of the most high-profile” mass shootings in the United States, and have come to be widely characterized as the weapon of choice for perpetrators of these crimes. AR-15 variants have been used in mass shootings in the United States including the 2012 Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting, 2012 Aurora shooting, 2015 San Bernardino attack, the 2017 Sutherland Springs church shooting, the 2017 Las Vegas shooting, and the 2018 Stoneman Douglas High School shooting.

Following the use of a Colt AR-15 rifle in the Port Arthur massacre, the worst single-person shooting incident in Australian history, the country enacted the National Firearms Programme Implementation Act 1996, restricting the private ownership of semi-automatic rifles with a capacity of more than 5 rounds.

Some Definitive Terminology:

1973 Colt AR-15 SP1 rifle with ‘slab side’ lower receiver (lacking raised boss around magazine release button) and original Colt 20-round box magazine

In 1956, ArmaLite designed a lightweight assault rifle for military use and designated it the ArmaLite Rifle-15, or AR-15. Due to financial problems, and limitations in terms of manpower and production capacity, ArmaLite sold the design and the AR-15 trademark to Colt’s Manufacturing Company in 1959. In 1964, Colt began selling its own version with an improved semi-automatic design known as the Colt AR-15. After Colt’s patents expired in 1977, an active marketplace emerged for other manufacturers to produce and sell their own AR-15 style rifles.

In 2009, the term “modern sporting rifle” was coined by the National Shooting Sports Foundation for its survey that year as a marketing term used by the firearms industry to describe modular semi-automatic rifles including the AR-15. Today, nearly every major firearm manufacturer produces its own generic AR-15 style rifle. As Colt continues to own and use the AR-15 trademark for its line of AR-15 variants, other manufacturers must use their own model numbers and names to market their AR-15 style rifles for commercial sale.

Another Comparison to The Military Versions:

The semi-automatic civilian AR-15 was introduced by Colt in 1963. The primary distinction between civilian semi-automatic rifles and military models is select fire. Military models were produced with firing modes, semi-automatic fire and either fully automatic fire mode or burst fire mode, in which the rifle fires three rounds in succession when the trigger is depressed. Most components are interchangeable between semi-auto and select fire rifles including magazines, sights, upper receiver, barrels and accessories. The military M-4 carbine typically uses a 14.5″ barrel. Civilian rifles commonly have 16 inch or longer barrels to comply with the National Firearms Act.

In order to prevent a civilian semi-automatic AR-15 from being readily converted for use with the select fire components a number of features were changed. Parts changed include the lower receiver, bolt carrier, hammer, trigger, dis-connector, and safety/mode selector. The semi-automatic bolt carrier has a longer lightening slot to prevent the bolt’s engagement with an automatic sear. Due to a decrease in mass the buffer spring is heavier. On the select fire version, the hammer has an extra spur which interacts with the additional auto-sear that holds it back until the bolt carrier group is fully in battery, when automatic fire is selected. Using a portion of the select fire parts in a semi-automatic rifle will not enable a select fire option. As designed by Colt the pins supporting the semi-auto trigger and hammer in the lower receiver are larger than those used in the military rifle to prevent interchangeability between semi-automatic and select fire components.

In the 1990s, sales of AR-15 style rifles increased dramatically, partly as a result of the introduction of the flat top upper receiver which allowed scopes and sighting devices to be easily mounted as well as new features such as free floating hand guards that increased accuracy. While only a handful of companies were manufacturing these rifles in 1994, by the 21st century the number of AR-15 style rifles had more than doubled. From 2000 to 2015, the number of manufacturers of AR-15 style variants and knock-offs increased from 29 to about 500. Today, AR-15 style rifles are available in a wide range of configurations and calibers from a large number of manufacturers. These configurations range from standard full-sizes rifles with 20 inch barrels, to short carbine-length models with 16 inch barrels, adjustable length stocks and optical sights, to long range target models with 24 inch barrels, bipods and high-powered scopes.

The AR-15 style rifle has been identified by ‘The North Korean Leader’ as the “rod of iron” in Revelation 2:27, and has been used in his splinter group’s version of the Unification Church mass wedding ceremony.”

Mrs. Willamina Trappolli was absolutely livid when she discovered her husband’s adultery…right under her nose! She got wind of it via the local news media when the story went international. Maximilian Diego Trappolli wasn’t very pleased to learn that his wife has gained knowledge of the lurid affair(s) that have surfaced.

>

Part Three:
“Bus Drivers Do It At Their Stops!”

 

‘Willis Samuel Investigations, The Series’
(Pt.3)

~ “Bus Drivers Do It At Their Stops!” ~

By
Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/333230/bus-drivers-do-it-at-their-stops-willis-samuel-investigations-the-series
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/332195/willis-samuel-investigations-the-series

Prelude:
Anna served a luncheon soirée. Four of her guests sat at the kitchen table while the others’ were seated in the dinning room.
Potted flowers lent to the permeating atmosphere. Air freshness and ventilation fixtures gave a hand as well. The guests seated throughout the house paid no mind to the hustling and bustling server woman. They simply sat in seemingly blind obedience.

He made it his business to get even…to even the score. They’ve taken his money, his car; after the death of his wife, they took his reason for living. She passed away when she didn’t have too. She was treated like a savage, a vagabond, and a harlot. She didn’t deserve any of it…the crass and brutish behavior, statements and accusations of ill-projected platitudes and non-sequitor.

He had a plan. He knows who all the culprits are – they will become the targets of his revenge; revenge for his wife…

It was raining pretty hard on Thursday. The training class had begun on Monday but he was hired on Wednesday. All he had to do was attend the remaining two days of training and catch the next three the following week.
The classes begin at 9:30 a.m. sharp. By that time nearly all the senior drivers and trainers will have arrived back at the terminal after the A.M. run.
The attendance roll is taken, usually by a sign-in sheet and then verified trainer via name call. The appropriate reading materials are dispensed and the lecture commences.

“As a result of the Federal Commercial Motor Vehicle Safety Act, Pennsylvania established a commercial driver licensing program. This program has been developed to improve driver quality, ensuring that commercial drivers have the skills needed to operate commercial vehicles, and to prevent drivers from having more than one driver’s license. The program requires you to have a commercial license (CDL) if you operate any of the following commercial motor vehicles (CMV’s):

A) A combination of vehicles with a gross combination (GCWR) weight rating of 26, 0001 pounds or more, providing the vehicle being towed is in excess of 10,000 pounds.

B) A single vehicle with a gross vehicle weight rating (GVWR) of 26, 0001 or more pounds.

C) A vehicle designed to transport 16or more persons, including the driver.

D) A school bus designed to carry 11 passengers or more, including the driver.

E) Any size vehicle which transports hazardous materials and is required to be placarded in accordance with department regulations.”

The instructor continued to speak with a dulling autocratic and mundane tone of voice. He made it clear that no trainee can be tested at the DMV without first obtaining a ‘CDL’ permit.
The instructor spoke further. “As many of you know, there are separate classifications for drivers in this great nation. It may well be in place in other major countries around the globe as well. In my opinion, I think it’s a good thing. Right away it separates the pros from the novice motor vehicle operator…the elitist group, if you will. We are the pros, the classiest, and the elitist…the best! I will not quote verbatim because the text is contained within the manuals in your possession. I expect you to read the volume word for word. If you do, and retain at least 70% of the data…as part of your behavior or psyche, I guarantee that you’ll pass the examination. It means that you have the knowledge and desire to be amongst the chosen…the best drivers in the world!”
The class erupted in hand clapping and gestures of approval.

“The classes of driver licensing in these United States are as follows:

Class A, tractor-trailer drivers, super-cede all other driver classifications.

Class B, a single vehicle rating of 26, 000 lbs. and/or towing a vehicle not more than 10, 000 lbs., and Class C, a regular operator who qualifies to operate a vehicle not more than 26, 000 lbs. or any combination of vehicles, etc., etc.
You must be 21 years of age to operate any commercial vehicle out of state. That means Interstate to you low-brows.” The class responded in light laughter.

“In addition to the CDL classes, there are also special endorsements and restrictions that you must have in order to drive certain types of commercial vehicles, i.e., Haz-Mats, tankers, double-trailers and triples, 16 passenger mini bus, school bus (carrying sixty-six passengers or more), and metro buses such as the PTC or SEPTA vehicles. Many of the large vehicles are equipped with air brakes and other various restrictions.
Ladies and gentlemen, for those of you who are beginners, you can expect to serve and complete a minimum of twenty-five classroom hours along with scheduled continuing educational transportation instruction for the duration of your career in this industry. Not to mention, the random piss-test and/or blood analysis. So…for those of you who have smoked a joint and or something else of late, I don’t want to see you for at least two months from now. I know some of you have the cure-all for passing the test(s), think again. We have been alerted to the newest changes and technology for drug detection and the weeding out of abusers and users. It no longer takes thirty-days to get clean…it’s been updated to take approximately more than sixty to ninety days to get completely clean and system free, especially for older applicants.”

Douglas Anthony Dixon was successful in his venture to begin a new job and career. Training and certification classes were all behind as he was assigned his new school-bus route. After the first year on the job, his plan for revenge was laid out and awaiting implementation. He had endured all of the pressures of the job during his first tenure.
His disdain for the lack of respect from administrators, bus attendants who were supposed to supervise the young riders, their demanding dispositions, misunderstood driver duties and responsibilities as opposed their behavior on board the bus – (the driver is king-ruler-has the last word), the problems created concerning respect is disregarded by the riders, school officials, and parents alike, bread high animosity among the elite driving staff. The rift between the entities was ever so outstanding.

One of his stops brandished the constant complaints of one unattractive Black woman of means with two children who rode his bus, they were twins. The woman’s condescending, patronizing, and mean-spirited disposition gave ‘Tony’ reason to dislike her almost immediately upon introduction. On nearly every single occasion, the woman would bark orders and attempted to intimidate him with antagonistic rhetoric and threats…a real bitch.

At another stop along the way, was a voluptuous, full-figured blonde woman who happened to be the friend of Mrs. Willamina Trappolli…wife of Don Maximilian Diego Trappolli. Their house was one of many owned by the Don. This one happened to be in Philadelphia as opposed to the New York residence(s). Once in awhile, she would escort her two children, a boy and girl who were 11 and 12 years of age, to the bus stop in the morning. When she didn’t make the trip down the driveway of their Roxborough residence, it would be the maid who seeminigly was not much older than the kids she accompanied. She appeared to be of Scandanavian descent. Like many of the other parents of riding children, Mrs. Gayle Armanio met the bus on the morning pickup and the afternoon return trips. This woman always made sure to be noticed by every male driver who drove through the neighborhood, whether picking up her kids or by route drivers who happened to criss-cross along the way. She especially expressed a definite interest in this particular driver, the driver who drove her children. A party had been arranged. The winter holiday were fast approaching…he had been invited.

A cop who patrolled the area knew of the attention seeking mother. She didn’t like her much. She didn’t like the bus driver much either. She made it her business to watch every move the drive made. She watched him like a hawk. If he made one damned error out on the road of her beat, she’d be there to get him.

The Northwest section of town was on alert for the “Germantown Rapist.” The Northeast section was also experiencing this plague as well. The thug in the Germantown section has attacked and raped three women, the fourth escaped because a passing motorist distracted him while parking his car in the back lot on “Armat Street,” along the Germantown Avenue corridor.

A drug baron was apprehended and detained in a Philly jail by the “FBI” and “ATF” during a surprise raid on nearby “Price Street.” This major player had his hands in everything…whores, gambling, dope, auto-theft, truck hijacking, and real estate. He had the approval of mob kingpin “Chase Del” – a.k.a., Chasey Deltaveino of South Philly.
One of the kingpin’s dope house workers became a disgruntled employee. His money was never right and the managers deducted the missing from his meager wages. It was true the employee was skimming…but it wasn’t money.
His eventual arrest and testimony put his entire and completely innocent family in harms way. The sinister plot to destroy this family were seconds away from being approved. The meeting was nearing its end at the restaurant were “Anna” was serving them. A jail-house visit and an OK nod is all it would take to implement the destruction of innocents.

The riders on the “El” and “Subway” trains are on full alert when a madman is stalking, robbing, and attacking unwary travelers. Several attacks included people being pushed off of train platforms onto the tracks below, seconds before trains arrivals along the entire length of Philadelphia railway system.

The group sitting at the table with Trappolli were also discussing what is to be done about “Stevie Cliff.” She is set to be on television tomorrow night; being interviewed by “Salestian Michaels,” on the “City Minutes” program. Everyone at the table knew that this simply could not happen…it will not happen!

In Germantown, a naked, skinned, and bleeding body was found hanging upside down by the ankles and heels; was found by the police. The body was roped with a length of hemp and around his neck was a length of chain. It hung from a ceiling joist in the middle of the basement of a large house on “Church Lane.” In his mouth they found several one dollar bills and a large rat, forced deep down in his throat. Several cops, two of which were female, were forced to run outside in fits of vomit.

Entering the room(s) was “Willis Samuel, Captain of Detectives”; these four of six hot cases, landed upon his desk; squarely on his lap, his jurisdiction.

>

Chapter 4: “Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Cold!”

 

‘Willis Samuel Investigations, The Series’ (Pt.4)

~ “Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Cold!” ~

Willis Samuel Investigations: ‘Fairmount’
By
Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?blog_id=333689&cid=10

“Damn… Why’d they have to skin him? It probably didn’t suit them to simply kill the fucker, huh?”

Willis turned to look at his driver and get his take on the crime scene. Warren didn’t say a word. He just stared off in dumb-witted bewilderment. He didn’t listen to the Medical Examiner when he told him to breathe through your mouth…it was too late. The sergeant gagged and ran from the killing room. In between vomiting episodes, a subordinate attempted to inform him of the identity of the hanged and skinned dead man.

“Sergeant, I want this man identified a.s.a.p., and I want to know the time of death…I wonder who would take the time to do something like this. I haven’t seen or heard of something like this kind of shit being done to people in quite some time. It’s something right out of a “Voodoo” horror movie! This is a bit unreal…the mob doesn’t operate like this…the rat and the money, yeah, okay, but not the skinning and hanging upside down. This is made to look like something it isn’t.”

The sergeant managed to gather himself and get back into the exam room. He got the attention of the captain while he listened to the medical examiner. Warren informed the captain that the dead man was a cop.

“Captain, several of the officers seem to know this man, even without his skin…his physical makeup is recognized by one officer in particular…his partner.”

“Really, is that a fact?” The captain rubbed his chin and began to walk around the room, being careful as to not step on evidence or blood spatter. Okay, I’d like photos of everything in here and outside of the building. I want this entire floor, from front to back, dusted and fingerprinted, I want everything bagged and tagged…nothing is to be left undone or uncollected. When the examination is completed by the M.E., I want the names of his contacts personal and professional, and more than anything else…I want to interview his current partner.”

The sergeant quickly and diligently got to work.

“Captain, am I driving you anywhere before I get these things done?”

“No, I’ll drive myself…I need to see a few folks while we’re in the neighborhood. Get this info to me as quick as possible…I’ll see you later at the office. You can get a ride back with one of the other officers.”

Captain Willis’s mind wandered a bit. He couldn’t help thinking of the things that his ancestors endured back in the day…in the south as well as the north. His grandfather’s stories have carried him to time and lands that he would never see or experience…until now. He knew of people who have disappeared, been tortured, and killed in a fashion such as the hanging victim back inside.
He drove around the neighborhood for a little while, gathering his thoughts as he traveled. where, who would know of the type of rope (hemp) that was used in the hanging? Why was this man killed in that fashion? Was he tortured before his death? How did he get there and why was he there in that building? Who was it he was meeting with? Was he on duty at the time of his death? How many men did it take to string him up to the ceiling? What did he do to deserve that type of death?

Willis’s cell phone interrupted his thought processes…it was his sergeant.

“Captain, I’ve located the victim’s partner. She says that he had been threatened a while back. She also said that he had been threatened by the neighborhood drug dealers for coming down on them on a number of occasions. She thought her partner stepped on the toes of one of the “Big Shots” in the network…she thinks it’s a “Jamaican Revenge” thing.”

“Okay, get her ass in the interview room as soon as you can get her picked up…unless she’s coming in on her own. The next thing is I want copies of the duty roster of the two on my desk by the time I get back. It would also help to know about her comings and goings as well, Sergeant. I have a couple of stops to make…I’ll meet you back at the office in couple of hours.”

The captain concluded his ride around the hood and headed for the “Lincoln Drive” extension to the “I-76” expressway…South Philly was his destination. He wanted to speak with an old friend who would know about these types of deaths. Willis did not believe the sergeant’s analogy surrounding the dead man hanging from the ceiling.

The cell phone ringer once again disturbed his train of thought. The call was from one of the district attorney’s detectives who was assigned to keep tabs on “Stevie Cliff,” the porn star. Not only was this detective assigned to the detail, he was a long time friend of the captain. The detective also knew that Willis was overwhelmed with murder cases and wanted to see his friend complete the assignments with expert detail and successful completions. The all-white upper echelon want to see him, a Black cop fail – fail miserably.

“Yo Bro., here’s a heads up…the bitch who had the “Don” on the hook, has disappeared…she’s gone and we can’t find her! The word will come down real soon…they’re trying to keep this shit “hush-hush,” out of the papers and kept from the public at large. I’m sure you know who could be behind this, unless she took off on her own…and I don’t think that part exists. I wanted to let you know before they come at you with who’s to blame and shit! The shit is going to hit the fan and you have time to get the hell out of the way. I’ll catch you later ‘Sam,’

The captain hung up his phone and thought out loud, “I’m not surprised at this, I knew something would happen to squeeze this thing shut… Did she leave or was she removed? He’ll know the answers…”

Captain Samuel turned from “Snyder Ave.” onto the “Broad St.” corridor. Peering out the window of his car, the crowds of people utilizing the area reminded him of his childhood and growing up in South Philly. Albeit, the captain has resided in homes throughout the four-cornered city, he has often reminisced the adventures in this part of the city. He thought of his friends and acquaintances as well.

‘Chasey’ was a special kind of guy. Samuel and Chasey, along with ‘Vincent Mason,’ were a tight knit three. On school days, you rarely saw one without the other. The three guys have been hanging out since the sixth grade. They stayed connected all the way through high school and went their separate ways just after graduating. Chasey kept tabs on Samuel by way of his outstanding accomplishments when he entered and grew in Philadelphia law enforcement. Patrolman Willis earned his strips up the ladder with his participation in community events, drug enforcement while undercover, public school involvement, the mayor’s special task force units, and special assignments along with his education and training. Mayors along the way have all liked him and usually asked for him by name when they wanted someone special to tend to delicate assignments, especially pertaining to community communications.

Chasey kept tabs on him…just in case he had to call on a favor or two. He never thought he would have to watch him due to a possible corrective action. The captain didn’t score any brownie points when he butted heads with Captain Jarard “Noodlehead” Noodles, former Philadelphia Police Captain of the 39th District.
Noodles was their go-to-guy. He was the “key-hole” for the local mob. He kept them appraised of impending action in and around the neighborhood(s) and the going-on’s downtown. The problem with this particular captain is that he liked to gamble, and gamble big. He also often lost his bets.

Willis had no idea that his schoolyard mate had any type of knowledge concerning the late Captain Noodles. Chasey knew of the rift between Willis and Noodles because Noodles attempted to take out a ‘contract’ on his hated rival during his many heated rants. He complained to the Don often about the Black Captain who continually stepped on his toes and kept him from growing in the division. Chasey always said no to the death requests. Noodles did not know of the childhood relationship between the two. Although the captain had nothing to do with the death of the police spy, he was still held to blame mainly because of the potential money loss and defunct “inside-information-man.”

Captain Willis pulled over to the curb of a darkened corner near ‘Twenty-fifth and Ritner Sts., just under the twenty-fifth st. train trestle. The bar on the corner was kept dark looking in order for them to be and remain incognito. Heads rolled as the captain entered the tavern. The made and non-made members of the club weren’t sure what to do when the Black Captain of Detectives walked in. They all knew who he was… He needed no uniform to announce his rank. Everyone wondered who it would be to get the order to “whack” the prominent city official.

Chasey stood up from the table in the dark corner to which he was accustomed to sit. He extended his right hand in a friendly gesture to the captain of detectives. The captain reciprocated the move. The two old friends smiled at one another and sat down to talk.

“Well Bro., long time no see. How’ve you been since our ole school daze?”

“I’ve been well, ole friend o’mine. I know you’ve been keeping a watchful eye on me as I have on you, yes?”

“Shit man, of course. I can’t tell you how proud I am and have been of you. The bad guys and crooks have a force to be reckoned with when dealing with you, my man!” Chasey smiled a grizzly “Cheshire Cat” type of grin as he drank from his cup. The red wine was being poured by one of the waiters as they spoke.

“Yeah man, we’ve done a lot of growing up in this city, haven’t we? I don’t know about how many bad guys are on the run because of me but I know they’d run like hell if it was you that was after them though.” The captain returned the slick grin that he’d received from his old friend as he sipped the red Italian wine from the tall glass that was offered him.

“Okay, good buddy, what’s on your mind…why’d you come to see ole Chazz?”

“Well…I’m having an odd problem trying to get the goods on a dead man we found in ‘G-Town’ yesterday. This guy was skinned damn near down to the bone. He had a rat and some dough in his kisser. Now that’s something “made” individuals suffer after they’ve done the unthinkable while belonging to or having business with any givin “familia!” We’re just not to sure about the skinning part. What’cha think?”

“I don’t know…we haven’t been having too many problems of late. No one that I know would bother taking that much time to do something so gruesome and defiling as taking off the skin of another. I hear that you’re having some other troubles keeping track of individuals…someone has disappeared, yes?”

“Chasey, I’m not sure as to what you are talking about…no one that I know of has disappeared from our surveillance(s). Is there something you’re trying to tell me or not trying to tell me, old friend?”

“No…I ain’t saying shit about nothing. All I know is what I hear from the streets. It’s not like I have ears in the department. Ya know? Have you heard from Vince?”

The captain tilted his head to the left in a kind of bewildering gaze.

“No Bro., I haven’t heard from him or his people in quite awhile.”

The “Capo di tutti capi” of Philly smiled that “Cheshire Cat” smile again. “Listen, Sammy, I’ll look into this skinning thing of yours and get back to you. Who knows, maybe you’ll do me a favor or two later on down the road, huh?

“Yeah, we’ll see Chasey. I’ll be talking to you later on my friend.”

The two men once again shook hands and smiled. On parting ways, they ventured a manly hug as an expression of endearment to their long time memories and happy times. The three of them did stay in the midst of mischief in those days.

The guys who sat along the bar and stood in the doorways, turned their backs to the captain as he walked out of the dark dubious establishment. Two cop cars were parked outside of the bar as he left. Samuel thought it odd that the two marked patrol cars were parked alongside his vehicle. No one knew that he’d be meeting with Chasey. He didn’t even tell Warren where he was going.

Upon entering his car, the phone rang. It was Warren.

“Yo Cap, I think we’ve got something on this killing. There’s been another victim…another cop on a hit list that was delivered to the precinct just after you left. It’s a female cop this time…”

>

Chapter 5: ~ “A Career Voiding Dance of Tomorrow” ~

‘Fairmount’– Willis Samuel Investigations Pt. 5:

~ “A Career Voiding Dance of Tomorrow” ~

By
Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/334330/fairmount-willis-samuel-investigations-the-series-pt-5-a-career-voiding-dance-of-tomorrow

When The Captain returned to his office, he didn’t expect to find “Sally” there waiting for him, unless there was going to be some sort of trouble. Salestian wasn’t one of Willis’ favorite people. He laughed to himself when he remembered how his friend’s girlfriend kicked his ass when he tried to moleste her during the “Zoological Uprising” by the bears. It has been quite awhile since he’d seen or heard from his friend, ‘Ranger Glenn.’

“Listen Captain, I know that you’ve got your hands full with all that’s going on right now. But I do need you to take a moment and look into this “missing kids” case. I’m certain that it ties in with one of the case you’re working right now.”

“How would you know what I’m working on Michaels? What makes you think you know which case are relevant to me or not? Would you happen to believe that your reporters nose is gifted with some sort of “ESP?”

“Captain Willis, I know you don’t like me much, but you know my reputation…you know I don’t go fucking around with stories that don’t directly help the people. This case is about helping all those parents who are grieving for the loss of their young innocent children. Do you care? Do you give a damn, being a parent…a father?”

“Okay Michaels, spill it…and don’t take all day to get to the point, man.”

“Well my Brother, do you remember my report a while back concerning a mysterious cult group that was discovered meeting and hanging out in “Valley Green?” Now bare with me…this shit was going on during your case surrounding the bear killings.

Now dig this…here is section of the hard-copy report that was filed”:

Just across the street, behind the mansion, the existence of ‘Slave Quarters’ stand erect today while being occupied by residents of color – remind us all, “Slaves were born and bred in this area of Philly (bought and sold in Center City – Head House Square), ‘Germantown,’ ‘Roxborough,’ ‘Mount Airy,’ ‘Chestnut Hill,’ and beyond…the suburbs of ‘Colonial Philadelphia’ and its ‘suburbs.’
The Suburbs? Are they truly a heaven from the rigors of city life or are they the heaven of retreat from the horrors of the past and present – the lying lie of “No Slavery in The North,” when there is no more room in hell, will the dead truly walk the Earth?

Are the ‘Kelpian’s’ continuing the tradition of Sabbat?

“The stranger, blessed to deliver the ‘New World’ to its destiny, is George Washington. The year is 1774. This data is from text discovered in the ‘Library of Congress,’ by an occult historian. His name is George Ballard.

His account is one of many legends inspired by a 17th century monk by the name of ‘Johannes Kelpius of Transylvania.’

He led a mystical and mysterious cult under the guise of religion. The so-called religious order was housed in the woods of northwest Philadelphia. The meditations commenced and continued undisturbed and unmolested from about 1694 to 1708, Johannes’s death, into and beyond current day society.

Ballard believes the members of the religious order in the Wissahickon-Valley Green woods of Roxborough – Chestnut Hill – Germantown – Mount Airy vicinity and woodland still reside there to this very day. For the past three centuries, Dracula has reigned supreme in tales of darkness and blood-feasting. But the Gothic and mysterious romance and blending ooze of hard facts tainted with fanaticism, has indeed planted the seed of intrigue into the minds of historians and imagination of people who believe in the mystical magical powers possessed in Kelpius and his ‘Philosopher’s Stone.’

The stone is an alchemical substance that has the ability to turn lead into gold.

Shady dealings and romance was the lore spun of Kelpius. His spiritual teachings were reminiscent of ‘Zen Buddhism.’

Kelpius was reportedly born in or about 1667 in Europe. His home town is currently known as ‘Sighisoara, Romania’ – where religious infighting fueled a protestant reformation. It was a devastating rift in European civilization.

Johannes was schooled in Bavaria (Germany) where he earned a doctorate in liberal arts. He became infatuated with a radical form of Lutheranism, deism. The order rejected the church and religious hierarchy. ‘The Society of The Women in the Wilderness, a band of forty or so like-minded followers, of which he came to lead, advocated a direct relationship with God.

Kelpius thought this devoted group that the world would end is the year 1694, when Heaven merges with Earth.

Kelpius believed the catastrophe would begin in the wilderness of Philadelphia. A vessel was chartered for the journey across the Atlantic to the Americas.

Kelpius’ followers grew to a large number by the time they boarded ship for the journey. Many of them died in transit. Several others decided to stay in Europe.

When they arrived in the new land, they settled on land donated by German settlers who arrived before them. The allotted parcel was located just outside the fledgling city soon to become known as Philadelphia. The village was called ‘Germantown.’ The main route from the city to the settlement was called ‘The Great Road.’ We know it today as ‘Germantown Avenue.’

Several of the group’s membership began to question the “End of Days” theory as the 1694 apocalypse never came to pass. Many of his disillusioned followers,’ followed him no more. They departed the fold and began families, living more secular existences throughout the young, fresh, and green northwestern region.

About a dozen or so surviving members remained in the group. They began to establish the beginnings of the American Chapter by erecting a series of huts and gardens. They built these around a large, log and muck hall of worship that overlooked the Wissahickon Creek. They founded a monastery and became known as hermits – they were portrayed as Philadelphia’s ‘Monks of The Wissahickon.’

Sparking the imagination, romantic novelists and poets began to take notice of the monks. Their hermit lifestyle fascinated one particular writer who happened to be a friend of ‘Edgar Allan Poe.’ His name is George Lippard.

Mr. Lippard wrote of the monks. He is quoted as saying “The Wissahickon Valley, outside of Philadelphia City, is a hot-bed of eerie activity.” He wrote and published a string of books accounting for the occult practices of witchcraft, devils, spells, and debauchery.

Researching and tracing the truth is what I’m after, not fables, legends, and flowery prose. I seek truth and facts. It appears, thought Sally while sitting behind his desk, the more I dig into this so-called legend, the murkier it seems to become.

When I went to the public library, the records were partly vague. I’ve discovered that hermits tend not to keep copious records if any at all. I’ve successfully been able to dig up third and second hand accounts coupled with a few generations of opaque comments and opinions on the legend by nearby residents and family members.

I knew then that I had to dig a bit deeper. Little did I know this intrepid trip would take my research and investigation to Transylvania, Romania, Africa, Istanbul, Morocco, Italy, and back to the States?

One resident of the Roxborough neighborhood who’s residence was near the Ridge Avenue, Port Royal Avenue, and Henry Avenue intersection told me of a man who went walking in the woods; like many who visit the Wissahickon – Valley Green trails. He spoke of how the man stumbled upon a prayer meeting of sorts. He began the tale with a recollection of another individual who transplanted from Europe to the States near or around the same era as Johannes. He didn’t remember his name.

“Like his father and grandfather, this descendant of Attila also remained in seclusion and clandestinely shrouds of secrecy and darkness near the ‘Bells Mills Road’ area.

The man, a rather large and tall Black; a Nubian born prince to the best of my knowledge, was hardly seen out in the bright of day.” He continued saying, about thirty years ago, I remember hiking through the park near Hermits Lane in Roxborough when I heard a ghostly singing nearby. There was another man walking not far in front of me. He noticed the bizarre happenings as well.

We heard “Rom mom, rom mom mom.” The chanting chorus resounded over and over again.” The speaking man continued, “It was gloriously creepy.” Following the sounds of singing and chanting, we came upon an equally, if not more, creepy sight. We saw a circle of figures huddled around a large yawning stone portal embedded in the hillside. Immediately, I, we recognized who they were.”

Listening to the man speak about the park, I remembered reading about their journey from Europe to the America’s during my research. They were ‘Rosicrucian,’ members of a secret society very similar to that of the ‘Freemasons.’ The portal was purported to be the cave of spiritual prayer and conjuring of one ‘Johannes Kelpius’ of Transylvania – the wizard and mystic of the Wissahickon woods. The group had, in the past, explained to uneasy and nervous neighbors as well as the authorities, “the cave was only used for Kelpius’ meditation and prayer rituals.” The stumbling hiker continued on with his recitation and discovery. “The group told me they gathered there because its members believed Kelpius was the first “Master” of their order to reach North America, and that day, the summer solstice, was also purportedly the day he arrived in Philadelphia.”

The second hiking man’s name was reported as ‘Alvin Holm.’ His posted and published report further stated, “I was so struck by this chance meeting with the worshipers in the green glow of the forest, I decided to join them. I became ‘a Rosicrucian!’ I was already a ‘Free-Mason.’ I did fall in love with the order and an essay written by Kelpius. It’s called “A Method of Prayer.”

One such essay reads:

“Dost thou promise that when the appointed time arrives, thou wilt be found ready, sword in hand, to fight for the country and thy God?”

The group of followers – the membership all came to answer, “I Do!”

“Then in his name who gave the new world to millions of the human race, as the last altar of their rights, I do consecrate thee its deliverer!”

Holm was quoting the dutiful anointing he’d learned from another reporter by the name of ‘Ryan Briggs,’ whose report included, “Then, after that a priest of the Wissahickon Order would dip hid fingers into the anointing oil and inscribed the outline of a cross upon the receiver’s forehead. He then prepared to place a wreath made of branches and thorns upon his head after reciting:

“When the time comes, go forth to victory.”

And then the priest turned to one of the followers and said that Kelpius’ instructions for the mysterious box, is to be thrown into the Wissahickon Creek. The mysterious “wooden casket,” that sat next to the alter; was picked up by the worshiping member. The worshiper sensed there might be something of value in the box, disobeyed the instruction. He pretended to do as instructed by going through the motions. Visibility wasn’t all that great. The torchlight and candles of various shapes and sizes provided illuminations of macabre shaped silhouettes and shadows of eerie ghostly spectres dancing about in the darkness. The deceiving wooden casket handler instead, hid the box from sight – hiding it for him.

I wasn’t seeing the relevance of all this until this ‘Sabbat-type’ of gathering occurred. I don’t know why, but a cold and bone shivering chill ran up and down my spine.

“I would advise you to take another look at this information. I know your superiors don’t think it’s worth a shit…but then again, they don’t cotton to you, me, or anybody else of color to get them thinking and moving for any cause that we think worthy. Brother, I wouldn’t go fucking around with not getting this thing out in the open. It may create trouble for you or it might get you the mayor’s seat…possibly the good graces of the public at large. Do it Willis…it’s the right thing to do and you know it.

…Later Bro., I know you’ll let me know what’s happenin.

http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/334330/fairmount-willis-samuel-investigations-the-series-pt-5-a-career-voiding-dance-of-tomorrow

>

Chapter 6: ~ “Without A Trace” ~

 

‘Fairmount’– Willis Samuel Investigations Pt. 6:

~ “Without A Trace” ~

By
Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/335026/fairmount-willis-samuel-investigations-pt-6-without-a-trace

The Brother had no problem disappearing into the cold dark night. The next morning, he arose to the clatter of noises caused by the happy feet of children. The kids in the neighborhood knew who he was. He was never, ever noticed by those who resided in the neighborhood. He simply wasn’t known. No one knew his name. The children knew him, but didn’t know him by name. Everyone knew him when walked down the street. No one impeded his direction. No one dared to get in his way. He had the look, the style, the cool, the look of someone you just didn’t fuck with…and no one did.

That morning the Sun shined brightly. It glowed with a sense of renewal. The ice cream truck had just turned the corner. Its noise polluting song, chimes, annoyingly loud jingles, bells, and whistles, alerted all who listened and those who hated to hear the peddlers approach. The children jumped too…they gleefully ran from every corner and house to that sound that everyone finds familiar at that certain time of year – “The Ice Cream Man!”

Some knew him to get a bit of “weed.” Some knew him to ask a favor. Some knew him as someone you could talk too. And then, there are those who simply knew him to be someone you could go to in order to get something done…in order to fix something that no one else could fix. He could make the deal that no one else could ever dream of making. If you needed a loan to help feed your family or pay a bill that would take something away from you children, he was the man you wanted to know and be able to go to for help. He made himself available for such situations.

“Jamal” was certainly there when the “Monster Bruin” attacked the bus on 33rd Street. It’s quite possible, his bullet(s) was the killing force. There can be no argument that Jamal played a most important role in the demise of the ‘Monster’ that night.

Brother Jamal tried to help a cop. The cop happened to be a female…a Black Female. Well before he attempted to speak, she had an opinion of him. It was apparent that she was a rookie. She was out of her element and every soul on the scene knew it. Her instructions to all on the scene came out all wrong. People began to laugh. She was simply ignored… The Brother rolled up on the scene, witnessing the sight, he immediately came to the aid of the hapless police officer.

“Yo Get The Fuck Off Of The Car…Allow This Officer To Do Her Job!” Jamal wasn’t playing around. Many of the folks in this part of “Roxborough” hated the thought of any Black Person telling them what to do. And “Rasheeda” wasn’t the first or the last. She looked at the crowd of onlookers witnessing the crash. “Yeah, these so-called witnesses,” she thought to herself.
The Transit Bus was basically on top of the little foreign made import. The poor little car hadn’t a chance in contesting such a large vehicle. Traffic on the ridge was pretty tight and congested. Everyone hated travel on this venue during these hours, especially in the afternoon. Henry Avenue was always crazy during the morning at “rush hour.” Ridge and Shawmont was no exception. The heavy traffic flowed continually up “Shawmont Avenue” into “Ridge Avenue” and “Henry Avenue” in the morning rush as well as the rush in the afternoon hours. The drivers who rushed this route every singly day rode past the ‘Elementary School’ that sat on the right side of the road when facing Ridge Avenue, coming up the hill of Shawmont Avenue. They all knew of the school crossing and its’ elderly ‘Crossing Guard.’ She has directed traffic at this intersection for many years. This particular morning, she took ill and the city saw fit to place a rookie cop to the post. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Officer “Rasheeda Marilyn Johnston” directed traffic to the best of her knowledge. It wasn’t her fault when the transit bus plowed over the “Volks Wagon Jetta” when it was attempting to make a left turn from “Eva Street” into “Shawmont Avenue,” in order to access the parking lot of the elementary school across the street, as it did on every other morning for a host of children; from the first grade to the eighth. The office in charge of the corner this particular morning, waved the big bus through with her left hand in a forwarding circular motion, while waving her right hand in the oppossing direction.
The left hand signaled the bus driver to continue through the intersection on Shawmont Avenue to the downward incline, heading for the “Umbria” exchange. The right hand; in the drivers mind; indicated a go-ahead-motion for a left turn into Shawmont avenue from “Eva Street” while children were crossing the street.
Needless to say, the ‘VW’ driver turned directly into the path of the bus while all of the crossing children scampered for safety. It was too late for the driver of the car and the bus – they had followed the direction(s) of the cop-on-duty to their dismay. The occupants of the mini-car found themselves to be the subject(s) of bus undercarriage removal or the extraction of victims from scrap mettle debris, via the “Jaws of Life!”
Fire-Rescue Worker(s) freed the passengers of the Volks Wagon once the bus was lifted to a considerable height in order to free them from the wreckage. The driver of the passenger-less behemoth, was unscathed except for his nerves and uncontrollable anger. His anger was directed towards the bewildered and stupefied cop.

Rasheeda didn’t know what to do…she lashed out at the nearest target, the one who interfered with her will-full duties at hand… She blamed Jamal for butting-in. She out-and-out pointed at this good Samaritan and blamed him for the crash.
“It’s all your fault man, you had no business telling anyone what to do!” she shouted this craziness for all to hear.

“Yo Sister, all I was trying to do was help you! Shit, I wasn’t even here when the crash occurred! What the fuck were you thinking…what the hell did you see? Why are you trying to blame this shit on me? I’m supposed to be your Brother!” exclaimed Jamal.

“I didn’t need or want your help! Who in hell do you think you are to take things into your hands…I’m a duly appointed police officer…I’m the one in control of this goddamned corner…Me, and no one else! You should have minded your own business.”

The crowd of people didn’t agree with Rasheeda either. Many of them saw the entire episode unfold. They all saw this cop loose it and not have control of the situation from beginning to end. The cop glared at the crowd and again turned on Jamal. She began and immediate mental search to escape this ordeal…someone else to blame; a “scapegoat!”
She thought to herself, “Shit, I can’t be to blame for this, I can’t be held accountable, I have to prove that it wasn’t my fault; damn, there’s a lot of white folk here…what am I gonna do.?”

The acrimonious and exasperatingly cold, contemptuous officer, with an ostentatious display of cowardice; placed her right hand on her service weapon. The holstered blue-steel 9mm Glock Smith and Wesson changed right along with her demeanor.

“Alright, motherfucker, put your hands behind your back…I’m taking you in!”
She motioned Jamal to follow her direct orders. The crowd was awestruck! They couldn’t believe what they were witnessing… The cop, at nine forty five in the morning, was attempting to arrest the very person who had come to her aid in dealing with this pissed off crowd.
Someone shouted “Why in hell don’t you call in for a supervisor – this guy hasn’t done anything wrong! What’s the matter with you? Are you nuts?”
She ignored what was being said…she went on with her bogus arrest…Jamal was more pissed with himself than anything else. He cursed himself for bothering to stop and help a cop, even one who is female! “Why in hell didn’t I mind my own business…so much for helping…even if its a ‘Sister!‘”

Arriving at the fifth police district, the sergeant on duty, an experienced Black Man, asked, “Yo what in hell did you arrest him for, why’d you bring him in here? I’ve already got fourteen fucking calls, telling me what happened on that damned corner! What’s wrong with you?”

Rasheeda glared at her sergeant and said, “He disrespected an officer of the law and I’m locking his ass up!”

The old man shook his head in disbelief and disgust. It was her collar and there wasn’t much he could do about it other than state his disapproval…and he did, in writing. Jamal was released inside of an hour. The older cop just looked at him upon his release, and offered a gesture of apology. He nodded in acceptance and departed the building.

“Another officer will take you back to your car in a moment.” said a white-shirted, ranking cop, while he stood on the outside steps of the building. During the wait, Jamal noticed the arresting officer parked at the side street curb. He thought of approaching the cop to give her a piece of his mind. Wanting badly to confront the woman, he was averted when the cell-phone vibrated in his pocket. All of his belongings were not confiscated when he was arrested. They would have been returned anyway. He wasn’t charged for anything, including what Rasheeda wrote in her report. The report simply disappeared when it was filed…she was notified of such at the end of her shift.

The call received by Jamal was another assignment. Chasey needed him to erase and/or remove all of the loose-ends attached to the ongoing investigation. It was that of the skinned individual found in the Germantown warehouse. Just like on the night of the bus attack, he was to disappear afterwards…like any other assignment. Jamal was highly skilled in his craft…becoming invisible was never a problem.

>

Chapter Seven:

https://boulwareenterprises.wordpress.com/2018/09/26/fairmount-willis-samuel-investigations-pt-7-loose-ends/

http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/336010/fairmount-willis-samuel-investigations-pt-7-loose-ends

‘Willis Samuel Investigations, The Series’
(Pt. 7)
~ “Loose Ends!” ~

 

Til Next Time!

 

 

Note:

Chapters Eight through Ten will be posted and available in the “New Year!” …the remaining adventure is to be available in ‘Paperback’ and ‘Kindle’ formats!

Thank You All For Reading, Being a Good Sport, and Supporting “The Willis Samuel Investigations!”

Be Sure To Get Your Copy When It Becomes Available In The Year “2019!”

Peace and Love,

“G”
“Twitter”

‘The Platforms of “Boulware Publications, Data Information, and Entertainment Enterprises”
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“The Fall of Light” Chapter 8:

“Arc-Light From Atop” 

By 
Gregory V. Boulware, Esq. 
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/338151/the-fall-of-light-chapter-8-arc-light-from-atop 

Chapter 8: “ArchLight From Below” 
‘Stroudesburg,’ ‘Tannersville,’ ‘Jim Thorppe,’ ‘Big Boulder.’ ‘Big Bear,’ and ‘Still Water;’ “Mount Pocono” 

On the way out of town, it was just as ‘G’ and the mountain guys said, there was nothing. And yeah, we were able to get scraps from the farmland region along the way up North, into the Pocono’s. 

We weren’t the only ones, it seemed, headed in this direction. We did see and come across many who have had the hind-sight to get the fuck out of Philly while they could. The farmland fields up from “Old Stenton Road,” paralleling “Germantown Pike” had been littered with debris while the crops all along the way had been picked clean. The five of us weren’t really comfortable in the cab of the truck, albeit, a ‘Ford F-150 Crew-Cab.‘ We had to take turns in our seating arrangement(s). We were not very small individuals. ‘G’ was larger than Me and Russell. The two mountain boys, “Arch” and “Sandy” were even bigger than him. When we slept, we utilized the bed of the truck, the backseat, and the undercarriage with sleeping bags, heavy blankets, and such…

We were able to gather some grain and corn from a couple of the farms along the way. The houses had been ransacked and devoid of sustenance. The furnishings, what was left, was all but destroyed and tossed about the rooms. Windows had been smashed along with mirrors, pictures, and other household goods. Many of the families had vacated the region for higher and safer grounds. They had been beseiged by vandals and attackers who raided their properties in search of food and supplies due to the unavailable resources within the city. The hapless farmers were preyed upon by roving bands of scavengers who cared not for anyone but themselves, in the name of “self-preservation.” They invaded their homes, stole everything in sight, confiscated animals, and if they had young daughters…the violent gangs took them too. Many of the farmers and their families fought back against this form of terrorism with weapons of their own, from shot-guns and pistols to sickles, hammers, swords, and axes. The successful ones remained on site, on constant guard against invaders of any kind; man or beast.

There were also those kindly farmers who took people in temporarily… They offered overnight shelter and whatever they had to eat to displaced travelers escaping the death and horror of the invaded urban regions; the conquered city of Philadelphia and surrounding area. Hunting in the vicinity was sparse as the wild animals who roamed freely; deer, birds, etc., evacuated in great numbers to the far rural north. They instinctively were aware of the danger all about…they knew before people did. Fortunately for us, the two mountain fella’s knew what to do with the grain and corn that we happened upon. They ground the grains into what could be described as a powder, ditto for the corn. The corn was mixed with grain, water, and whatever was growing about into a sort of spongy dough…they turned the stuff into bread that we were very happy to eat. The bigger of the two brothers, “Sandy,” used some of what was left of the grain and corn, turning it into something that we could drink…booze!

“Damn, man, this shit is booze, one hundred percent get-high booze! Where in hell did you learn to make this shit…where did you get the sugar? asked ‘Dre.’ I mean, how in hell were you able to cook this shit without a “Still” or some type of cooking apparatus?”

Sandy simply smiled and said, “I can’t tell ya…it’s a family secret only known to us folk in the Mountains.” 

“Aw c’mon man, who in hell am I gonna tell…you can tell me?” 

The big mountain man smiled again and laughed a big hearty laugh aloud and replied, “I bet you can’t wait to get things back to normal…after what you think or hope will happen, so that you can go and tell your “Homies” all about how you survived the holocaust of Philly and got a few secrets to sell, while making a fool out of a big dumb mountain man…right dude?”

“Aw, no my man, I wouldn’t think of such a thing…now as far as making a fool out a big dumb mountain man, such as yourself…I wouldn’t do that…and I’d make a fortune just the same.” Dre thought he was being funny, no one else laughed or smiled except him.

“Look you little punk-ass piece of shit…I wouldn’t tell your little black-ass a damn thing…nor anyone like you! I’d let your little punk-ass stay out here, get lost and starve to death as soon as look at cha! Now go fuck yourself…” 

The camp-fire blared and crackled as we sat there in the barn of the family who allowed us to stay for the night. Our faces were all glowing and shadowy silhouette(s) which appeared to dance upon the barn walls from the after-light. We were comfortably warm and sheltered.

“What the fuck did you say man?” Shouted ‘Dre,’ as he jumped up from the circle in an attempt to confront the big mountain man. Before he could make another move, ‘G’ reached up and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. The mountain man never moved, he simply smiled as he sat there attending his drink.

“Listen fool, this ain’t the city…it’s gone, long gone. If you want to survive out here, you need to learn some brand new skills and forget about all that bull-shit from back-in-the-day! …Got It? Now sit your stupid ass down, smoke this joint, and enjoy this man’s booze. It’s a gift…It’s impolite and insulting to belittle a man’s gift…especially one that is life-preserving”

“G” released him. ‘Dre’ was more than embarrassed…he walked over to ‘Sandy,’ extended his right hand and said, “I’m sorry Sir, I meant no insult or harm, I apologize.” He was sincere in his gesture.
‘Sandy’ let loose a bellow of roaring laughter and with one heavy arm, reached up and pulled ‘Dre’ down to were he was sitting. The startled young man was gasping for air as the mountainous-behemoth smothered him with a bear-hug.
“Here, let’s forget all about it…here, have a drink.”

He did.

The men felt relaxed and comforted as they ate, drank, farted, and laughed. They hadn’t had this much fun in a very long time. They joked about women and their past experiences before the invasion. They smoked some of the “Pot” that was picked up from one of the “Germantown” stash-houses on our way out of the city. We were now in what we thought was a safe zone…we were in the mountains.

We successfully worked our way up route 309 into the “Allentown” area of Pennsylvania. We continued on past “Bethlehem,” working our way into “Easton.” We stopped off at an abandoned fueling station just outside of the town. The entire region seemed to be empty of life, of people. Our fuel tank was nearing empty, just below the quarter mark on the gauge. Traveling into “Easton” we hoped to find people out and about, not thinking about the danger of the machines being here or having arrived. The danger here wasn’t the machines, it was the roving bands of gangs; on bikes, and otherwise; they who saw fit to take advantage of and victimize the citizenry of all they owned or possessed… They raided the stores, warehouses, and homes of the residents and merchants alike. The town had that bombed-out look…a surreal appearance of a city besieged with desolation, disease, death, and destruction. It was like the stuff one saw on television or in the movies.

We didn’t know what street or road we were on because the area residents ripped down the signs in hopes of roving bands not knowing, recognizing, or remembering where they had previously assailed. One family recognized that we were not the enemy and welcomed us. They explained all that had previously occurred and what was available and what wasn’t. The fueling stations were empty of gas and oil… ‘Archie’ intervened and asked where the nearest fueling station other than the one we’d passed, was located.
Arriving at the location; after a warm reception and meal, ‘Archie’ got out of the truck and examined the abandoned gas pumps. He motioned to ‘G’ to run over the pump(s) with the truck. I shouted at him, “Are You Fuckin Crazy? Do You Wanna Blow Us All The Fuck Up, Fool?” 
‘G’ ordered us out of the truck. He then put the F-150 in reverse for a few yards and revved the engine to a mighty roar and charged forward into and over the fuel pumps. Fortunately they weren’t mounted on islands. The truck went straight over and through the gas pumps, ripping them from their foundations. The twin pumps lay in tattered and shredded metal upon the ground as ‘Archie’ peered over and into the well(s), down into the tanks below ground.
“Learn this, even if the tank is empty when it is pumped, there is always something at the very bottom.” He proceeded in dropping a long hose down into the wide-opened neck of the tank. I don’t know where he dug up that old hand-cranking-pump, but he was very successful in getting the last drops of fuel from the underground gas tanks, without blowing up the place. We got enough to fill the truck to a three-quarter mark on the truck’s dashboard indicator.

Continuing on our way, we changed direction and headed toward route 611 from 309. We then entered and passed through “Stroudsburg” and into “Tannersville.” We saw signs that gave directions for “Big Boulder,” “Jim Thorppe,” “Big Boulder,” “Big Bear,” and ‘Still Water Lakes; on “Mount Pocono.” We opted for “Blakeslee” on route 940. There was minimal population here. We were greeted by several of the locals and invited to stay at their place(s). We accepted the invitation from an Indian Family. We don’t know what “Nation” or “Tribal affiliation” they belonged to. And we didn’t ask. The Father of the family warned us of the local ‘White Folk.’ Some of them held a bit of prejudice for folk of Colour…especially those who are deemed to be successful in residing in this area. He said people like his family either cut them off by not patronizing their businesses or establishments; pretending they don’t exist. It works, according to “Frank-Eaglefeather,” the Grandfather. “Although, Some families have been attacked at one time or another. The racial element here, is alive and well.” It was here, at their ranch, we decided to stay.

We had forgotten to lay low… The sounds and noises carry far and wide in the mountain night(s); not to mention the smells and aroma’s. Mr. Eaglefeather brought us some bear-meat he’d cooked earlier in the day. ‘Archie,’ ‘Sandy,’ and ‘G’ accepted the meat with gratitude. ‘Me’ and ‘Dre,’ “Hell No! We Ain’t Eatin No Bear Meat!” 

“Boy, let me tell you, when you get hungry, you’ll be glad you had this meat to eat. Your attitude tells me that you ain’t never been truly hungry…have ya?” The “Rhienstein” brothers looked at us with disdain…the look(s) almost ruined the festive mood. They looked at each other and laughed. “Wait until we pull out the snake for breakfast tomorrow!” ‘Me’ and ‘Dre’ looked at each other and then at ‘Archie.’ We laughed too…only we didn’t mean it.

Suddenly there was a loud and thunderous boom from up the hill, at the family house. Then we all heard a scream…we bolted for our weapons and the door. There was another thunderous boom. It came from the south-side of the barn. The wall fell in…it was pushed in from the outside! The wooden barn-wall splintered into a thousand pieces as the humongous beast burst in on us… It was the biggest grizzly that I’d ever seen. I’ve only seen them in “the Zoo,” never up close and in person…never like this!
In what seemed like an instant, the beast was in the room and charging for ‘Me’ and ‘Dre!’ ‘Archie,’ with weapon in hand, turned and threw himself in between me and the bear. His Cross-Bow had already discharged well before he became airborne. ‘G’ firing his “M-16” automatic rifle as he also moved to place himself between us and the beast.

The steel-jacketed arrow struck the grizzly squarely in the neck while bullets from ‘G’s’ automatic weapon raked holes throughout his torso and face. The animal was simply after the food it smelled. It had no idea, it would lose its’ life when entering this barn. It had no clue that these big “Jewish” mountain men where expert hunters, anglers, and all-around outdoorsmen. They reveled at this opportunity to take down a bear…especially one of this age and size. They were born and raised in the city of ‘New York.’ The family acquired real estate in the “Pocono’s.” The boys fell in love with the move and would be unhappy with any other location; the family left that life for that of the mountains; somewhere around the age of seven or eight.
The weight and forward motion of the bruin, carried it straight into the camp-fire. As it lay there becoming scorched, the attention was re-focused on the noise from the house. We all charged off in that direction…the smell of burnt fur permeated the barn as the fire was being extinguished from the fallen bear.
A body was on the ground upon our approach. It wasn’t one or the family members. It was a stranger…a white man. The front door flew open as we hit the first step of the front porch. The double-barreled ’18-gauged shot-gun was pointed right in the face of ‘G.’ The gun-holder managed to restrain himself just in time. He pointed his gun toward the ground as did his sons who were holding ‘Smith and Wesson Field Master 30-30’s. His daughters held bow and arrow, ready for launching. Knives were in every waistline sash of the Indian Men. The mother was screaming while the other children and relatives were crying. The Grandfather lay dead in the back hallway of the house, just outside the door-way of his granddaughter’s room. He had a bullet-hole in the middle of his forehead.
The window of the young girl’s room was shattered into a thousand pieces. Her bed was empty…
The remaining family members screamed to us, telling us of the exchange of gun-fire between the kidnappers and their Grandfather. They think it was four men…one in the front of the house while one came in through the kitchen. He kicked in the door. The other two burst in through the young girls bedroom window… Mr. Eaglefeather stuck him good, the one in the kitchen. He died before he hit the floor.

“Grandfather managed to stab and cut him from the waist up to his sternum. One of the men who came in through the window shot Grandfather as they carried away out sister.” 

I shot the motherfucker coming in the front door!” said the younger Mr. Eaglefeather. “Now I must go after the bastards who stole my daughter.” He and two of his sons were armed to the teeth with weaponry…light enough to not slow them in their haste. The other two were assigned to take care of and guard the remaining family members.

“Yo, my brother and I will aid you in this hunt. We cannot simply leave and know that we have left you and your loving family in such a state as this. I’m sure that my friends, our traveling companions will provide assistance as well, Brother Eaglefeather!” ‘Archie’ said as he reloaded his weapons.

“I’m coming with you.” said ‘G.’ 

‘Russell,’ you and ‘Dre’ remain here and help out with the family. The brothers will help you sort out the bear in the barn. Just sit tight until we get back…I don’t think there will be any cops to worry about. Many of them are too spread out to bother concerning themselves with the troubles of common folk, especially Indian(s). Besides, with the invasion and in-flux of immigrants, they’ll have their hands plenty full. The “State-Troopers” probably won’t bother either…not until they can clear their plates as well. Don’t worry, the family will know what to do…they’ll take care of the dead bodies. You boys don’t have to concern yourselves with all that…keep your weapons at the ready – at all times!” 

Next…

~ “War-Paint – The Hunting-Party!” ~ 

Til Next Time… 

“G” 
“Twitter” 
https://twitter.com/AuthorBoulwareG 

http://blackauthorsconnect.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?id=641608 
http://blackauthorsconnect.com/cgi-bin/search.cgi?processSearch=1&keywords=the+fall+of+light&go=Search 

“The Amazonian”
https://www.amazon.com/Gregory-V.-Boulware/e/B00OI16PDI/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0%20

>

Posting List Links and Locations to Articles by Boulware
‘The Platforms of BoulwareEnterprises/Publications’ 
~ ‘The E-Store for Books by Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.’ ~
http://boulwareenterprises.com/-_A_Portentous_Epoch_~.html
http://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profiles/blogs/the-e-store-for-books-by-boulware
New BCID: 823-13940945
http://www.bookcrossing.com/journal/13940945
New BCID: 823-13940945 – Hallow

~BoulwareEnterprises~ 
http://www.BoulwareEnterprises.com
https://about.me/gregory_boulware

“Article Posting Sites”
https://www.blogger.com/profile/10910946197037982583
https://boulwareenterprises.wordpress.com/
http://www.linkedin.com/pub/gregory-boulware/10/435/44b
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7237172.Gregory_V_Boulware
http://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/GregoryVBoulware
http://www.wattpad.com/user/GregLitideas
https://literarygreg10xsmenow.tumblr.com/
http://koobug.com/GregoryVB_Author?p1498
https://about.me/gregory_boulware
http://www.pinterest.com/writerauthor6bk/pins/
https://plus.google.com/111976345290342184104
http://www.bookcrossing.com/mybookshelf/GVBoulware/all
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100009002895659
http://ezinearticles.com/?expert_bio=Gregory_V._Boulware

~The Connect Platform~ 
http://hbcu.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?id=641608
http://blackhistory.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?id=641608
http://hbcuconnect.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?id=641608
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http://blackinamerica.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?id=641608
http://chocolatepagesnetwork.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?id=641608
http://escapeintotheword.connectplatform.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?id=641608

“Amazon” 
http://www.amazon.com/Gregory-V.-Boulware/e/B00OI16PDI/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
https://authorcentral.amazon.com/gp/profile
http://www.authorsden.com/gregoryvboulware

And

“Twitter” 
https://twitter.com/AuthorBoulwareG
https://twitter.com/hashtag/BoulwareBooks?src=hash
https://twitter.com/AuthorBoulwareG/status/541394366842281984

https://www.academia.edu/
https://independent.academia.edu/GregoryVBoulware
http://knowledgeisking.ning.com/profile/GregoryVBoulware
https://www.authorsden.com/visit/author.asp?id=168361

ThePaper.Li.BoulwareDaily 
http://paper.li/~/publisher/5445ebb6-59f5-4aaf-bbbb-4bfc6689d423

>

Quatro! The Pack of Four…
https://www.amazon.com/Gregory-V.-Boulware/e/B00OI16PDI/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0%20 

Kindle Editions:

1.
“The Spirit of The Soul and The Death of Morals” Kindle Edition 
https://www.amazon.com/Spirit-Soul-Death-Morals-ebook/dp/B0795FCKZS/ref=la_B00OI16PDI_1_1_twi_kin_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1522506689&sr=1-1 

2.
“Fairmount”: ‘Terror In The Park’ Kindle Edition 
https://www.amazon.com/Fairmount-Terror-Gregory-V-Boulware-ebook/dp/B076G976LX/ref=la_B00OI16PDI_1_2_twi_kin_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1522506689&sr=1-2 

3.
“Hallow” Kindle Edition 
https://www.amazon.com/Hallow-Gregory-Boulware-ebook/dp/B01MDRWT7P/ref=sr_1_9?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1516147882&sr=1-9&keywords=Gregory+Boulware 

4.
HALLOW II – A Portentous Epoch of Sagacious Redolence and Epiphany Kindle Edition 
https://www.amazon.com/HALLOW-II-Portentous-Sagacious-Redolence-ebook/dp/B06WRVL9QF/ref=sr_1_4?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1522507717&sr=1-4 

KDP: 
The Four Pack: 
https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=dp_byline_sr_ebooks_1?ie=UTF8&text=Gregory+Boulware&search-alias=digital-text&field-author=Gregory+Boulware&sort=relevancerank 

~”Boulware” in ‘Kindle!’~ 
https://www.goodreads.com/author_blog_posts/16447677-boulware-in-kindle 

“Fairmount” – ‘The Series’ 
https://gvb1210mine.wordpress.com/ 

*/

 

 

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