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For our visitors reading pleasure we are serializing some of our short stories and articles.  Be sure to stop by every month and read the latest installment.
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General Jackson’s Last Hurrah

Part One

General Jackson wasn’t expecting company at midnight. He stifled a belch and listened to the moonlit conversation as the summer heat attacked his sweat glands.
“Robbing the Park Avenue bitch was stupid,” an angry male voice that sounded kind of young said.
The General poked his nose out of his South Bronx cardboard dwelling to catch a glimpse of the interlopers. He watched a young woman hide a burlap bag under an abandoned dumpster.
   “You were the one who messed up, Arturo.  Who told you to take Mrs. Weatherly’s jewelry? If she dies, we’ll go to the joint for a long time.”
She stepped away from the grime-coated dumpster and closer to the light. Decades had passed since the General’s last woman. God, what he wouldn’t give to fondle the firm, ample breasts protruding out of her blouse. He’d be so much better for her than this skinny pipsqueak.
Arturo squeezed the last bit of nicotine out of a cigarette pressed between flaking lips and threw it in the dumpster. “I should’ve cut out the old lady’s kidneys. They go for big bucks in the organ harvesting market.”
Carlotta slapped his face. “Get real and stop talking stupid. Watch what you’re doing, a fire will bring trouble.”
Arturo hoisted himself over the dumpster, found the butt, and smashed it against the corroded container. “Satisfied? Don’t worry about the old lady. When I left her townhouse, she was practically unconscious moaning about the cops. Besides, what can she tell them since she never saw our faces.”
Carlotta saw shadows of figures in the distance. “A couple of uniforms are coming. I’m out of here.”
 Arturo scratched his mustache. “I’m not leaving the stuff behind.”
She grabbed his sawed off shoulders. “If you hadn’t messed up, I’d still be working in Mrs. Weatherly’s house.”
Arturo spat on the pavement. “You’re in this too, stupid bitch.”
The curtain of fog lifted as night and day changed hands.
Carlotta pointed. “NYPD.”
She pulled on Arturo’s jacket zipper.
“You’re right we have to stash the jewelry.” He pushed her away. “Hey! Watch the hands. This coat is real expensive leather.”
Carlotta kicked him in the shin. “Do something, big mouth, before we land in a jail cell.” Arturo pointed to plants rotting in dirt. “Let’s leave it under there.”
When they left, the General crawled out of the box and dusted the street dirt off the Army jacket he’d preserved from the Vietnam War. He dug up the loot and hid it among his meager belongings. He could do with a bit of food. First, he’d freshen up at the hydrant down the block. Bathing was a luxury few in his position could afford, but the General always found a way to wash his face and hands.

  
VISIT US AGAIN IN THE FIRST WEEK OF JULY  FOR THE SECOND INSTALLMENT GENERAL JACKSONS LAST HURRAH

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