Trisha Sugarek's Blog, page 113

Read my novel....Free..."Women Outside the Walls" (part 51)

Chapter 23[image error]

Sandy

Sandy Gerrard let herself into her apartment. She turned on a lamp and tossed three days of mail and her keys on the side table in the foyer. She turned the security locks and walked down the hallway.  She’d just finished a successful negotiation with a father who had run off with his son.  Custody battles could be the messiest thing on earth and she hoped the Feds didn’t come down too hard on the poor schmuck.  At the end of the day, he was simply a desperate father worried about his child.

She walked into the stark living room and sat down on the charcoal leather sofa.  She kicked off her regulation black pumps and swinging her feet up, she let out a moan of relief. Federal negotiators were not allowed to wear her beloved, freshly f'd stilettos. And she had dozens of them in her closet.  She did love her shoes. But for work gray or black suits and plain black pumps, with heels no higher than one inch, were the dress code. Even pastel blouses would be pushing it.  At forty-two years of age Sandy was a compact package.  Five foot three and all muscle, thanks to her continuous training in Tae Kwon Do and kick boxing. Her shining black hair was cut in a neat short bob.  Her Irish heritage had given her dark blue eyes.

Her living room decorated in black and white and soft grays always calmed her.  Some would say the room was cold but she loved the clean lines of the furniture. The minimalist style of the room with only the huge, colorful impressionist painting over the gas fireplace.  It was the only piece of singular boldness in the room. Sandy rose and padded into her kitchen of stainless steel and black granite.

I wonder if the romaine is still fresh enough for a salad, she pondered.  A glass of that lovely white wine I opened a week  ago, a salad, a piece of the baguette and some cheese will be the perfect dinner after a shitty day. She opened the frig door and got out the makings.  Yep, the lettuce was still good for at least one more salad.  She opened the bread drawer.  The bread had not fared so well so she popped it in the microwave to soften it up. Sandy took the bottle of wine over to the cabinet where she kept her Waterford wine glasses.  Pouring out a half a glass she sipped the ice cold wine as she prepared her dinner.  She then loaded everything on a tray and took it into the living room.

After setting the tray on the coffee table, she turned on the television and the fireplace with the remote control and sat down to eat and watch the news. After a few bites she realized that nothing really had changed in the news; war, bloody murder, children lost, political scandal, a Hollywood starlet fake-dating her co-star to pump up the ratings. She muted the TV and sat back with her glass of wine and stared at the fire.  The kidnapping case she’d just come off had ended well.  Nobody hurt and the child back in the arms of the mother. The mother seemed like a bit of a loser. Heavy makeup, ripped T-shirt and dirty jeans.  Sandy was certain that she caught more than a whiff of alcohol on her breath as she cried big crocodile tears when reunited with her son. And the language she shouted at her ex would have had a sailor blushing. The father was carted off to jail and hopefully an understanding judge would hear the case.  Poor jerk.

Sandy had just finished her light dinner when her door bell rang.

“Who the hell is that?  At my door, unannounced at this time of night.”

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The next segment will appear Wednesday .  Hope you'll return to find out what happened next to Sandy and to the women outside the walls.....

DON'T MISS THIS WEEK'S BLOGS WHEN I START A NEW SERIES, "Behind the Scenes" INTERVIEWS with other AUTHORS!

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Can you write?

Can you write:  if your #2 pencils are not sharpened?  If your desk is messy or clean?  If you haven't showered?  If the wrong music is playing?

I have been writing non-stop since seven in the morning.  I got up, fed the dogs and the cat, put on my pot of tea,  put the dogs out, washed my face, brought the dogs in, and then sat down just to check my e-mail.  It's one o'clock in the afternoon and I'm still in my night-gown with a T-shirt hurriedly thrown over it, bare footed, , drinking cold tea, and still at it.  My cat is sprawled over my desk to the left of the keyboard (for once, she's not walking on it, adding words I don't want, like  ddddrrrrzzzzzzzzz and qqqqqqqppppbbb4bbbb.)  I am in my studio surrounded by art that I love, mementos that I have collected, photos of people I love or have loved, and my siren's song calls........

I'm probably undiagnosed ADD because, all at the same time, I'm editing my second children's book preparing it for audio production, writing this blog, and corresponding with my producer for the new audio-book.

These are some of my rituals as I greet each day.   I thought it would be fun to read about other authors' rituals and processes in a casual and intimate look behind the scenes into their world.  The new series begins this Tuesday, Jan. 15th.

I have had a wonderful response from other authors and plan on featuring an interview at least once a month .  I have invited such luminaries as:  Ann Purser (our first interview) Dean Koontz, Sheryl Woods, Jo-Ann Mapson, Elizabeth Gilbert, Walter Mosley, Nora Roberts, and many others.

So come along with me, we shall sneak into these writers' special places, be a fly on the wall and watch them create!

Read my novel..."Women Outside the Walls" (part 50)

[image error]                          (continued) ...........“Yes, Ma’am.”  Joe said as he opened the back door and unstrapped the car seat.  He pulled the baby seat out of the car, being careful not to wake Ruby.

“While you was in the hospital, a few of the guys and me…we moved all our stuff from the apartment to here.”

As Joe escorted Hattie up the front walk he continued talking. “If’n ya don’t like where we put the furniture, we’ll move it around so it’s like ya want.”

“Oh, Joey-boy, this is so nice.  How we gonna afford ‘dis here place?”

“We can, don’t you worry none.  That apartment of mine was way too small for us with a baby and all. I never knew such a tiny mite like Ruby could own so many things.” Joe laughed.  “Come on in and look around.”

He produced a key and handed it to Hattie. “After you, little-Mama.”

Hattie fumbled with the key; certain someone would come by any minute and snatch it away.  Tell her it was all a mistake.  That they don’t rent to nigras.  She finally got the door open and stood looking into the living room.

“Well go on, girl, step in and see what ya think.”

Hattie tiptoed in to the first room.  The sun shining through the windows gave the hardwood floors a warm honey glow.  Joe followed her in, carrying the baby, and closed the door.

“Is this really ours?” Hattie asked in a whisper.

“Well, I sure hope so since all our furniture and stuff is sitting right there.”

Hattie walked to the center of the living room and turned slowly around.  She touched her things as if to reassure herself that she wasn’t dreaming. Then Joe led her down a short hallway and into the bright kitchen.  The walls were painted the palest blue and the cabinets were white. The appliances were pure white and the linoleum was black and white squares.

Joe wrapped his arms around her from behind as Hattie took it all in. “Do you like the color?”

“Oh, Joey, I love it.  Did you paint this for me?”

“Yeah, after work I came straight over and did it.  It was puke green before and I know how much you love blue.”

Hattie hugged his arm. “Show me the bedroom, Joe.”

Joe took her hand and they walked down another hallway.  They stopped at the first bedroom.

“This here’s the nursery, if you say so.  I painted it too.”

She looked around. “Pale pink for our baby-girl.  Joey, I love it.”

“I think the smell’s almost gone.  But if you want we can have Ruby in our room for a couple of nights.”

Hattie laughed.  “Oh, new-Daddy, I got some big news for ya. Ruby be in our room a lot longer than ‘a coupl’a nights’.  Long as I’m nursin’ her she be right there by our bed.  You don’t wanna hav’ta get up every couple of hours and fetch her from the nursery, do ya?”

“Oh.  I never thought about that.  Well!  Thas’ okay ‘cause it’ll give me time to fix up her room the way we want.  Now, come this way and let me show you our room.”

“Joey, don’ you fool wid’ me.  ‘Dis cute little place got two separate bedrooms?”

“Yep.  Come look.” Joe said as he led Hattie to the next bedroom.

He opened the door as if opening the lid to a treasure chest. Their bedroom glowed in the afternoon sun.  The walls were painted a soft deep rust.  The woodwork was a shimmering cream.  Their bed was between two windows and was freshly made up with new linens.

“Joey!  We can’t afford all this.”  Hattie exclaimed, her eyes shining with delight.  “When? How did you get all this done?  I was only in the hospital  for two days.”

“Do you like it?”

Hattie walked over to the bed and ran her hand over the new coverlet which had the exact same rust hue in the pattern as the color on the walls.

“Oh my, I love it.” She sat down.

“Wanna try it out?”  Joe teased.

Hattie looked at him sternly but with love lurking in her smile. “Now, Joe, you behave yourself.  You know that there can be no lovin’ for two weeks at least.”

“That long?”  Joe asked, crestfallen.  “Really?”

Hattie laughed at his expression. “Yes, you know what that doctor said.  No lovin’ until I’m completely healed up.”

Joe carefully set the baby carrier on the floor and sat next to Hattie.  He wrapped his arms around her and tipped them both back on the bed.  He nuzzled her neck.

“But cuddling is okay, right?”

Hattie kissed him. “Oh yes, Joey-boy, I loves ya more than life. You’ve made me so happy.”

“Thank you for giving me a beautiful baby daughter, Hattie.”

Suddenly the room filled with a hungry wail. Hattie laughed.  “A beautiful loud daughter.”

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The next segment will appear Monday .  Hope you'll return to find out what happened next to Joe and Hattie and to the women outside the walls.....

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Pushing out Experiments (part 2)

A Poet You're Not!

In talking more about experiments I need to go back to 2010.  I began writing poetry in my head.  Wait just a darn minute!  I thought,  I'm not a poet!  I don't know the first thing about pentameter, or phrasing, or any of that stuff!  Cut it out!,  I ordered my brain! ......No sale!

So I began to put it down on paper to see what I might have.  One day I remembered a little silver journal that sits in my bookcase where I keep quotes that I like and don't want to forget, tidbits of this and that, and (surprisingly) quite a bit of what I, myself, had scribbled over the years and tucked away.  (Remember what I said about the drawer and letting your writing rise like bread?)

So with my trusty 'delete' key at the ready, (the letters are practically worn off that key) editing and re-writing and with much trepidation I considered publishing my first book of poetry, "Butterflies and Bullets".......but a little voice (the one that keeps me from exposing myself and keeps me from experimenting)  kept whispering, "Who do you think you are?  A poet now?  HA!"

To protect myself  if someone actually said: "She thinks she 's a poet now?!" I subtitled the book: poetry, musings and other stories.  Then I showed a proof to an acknowledged poetess to see what she thought.  To publish or not to publish, that was the question.  With her encouragement  (she thought I had some good stuff) I told my 'little voice' to shut up; I was going for it.

Well, I've never sold a single copy to a stranger. Plenty of friends and family say they love it but no real customers buying it for the love of poetry.  An experiment that failed....or was it?

This opened my brain and my heart further and I began to write Haiku.  I had read the great Samurai warrior-poets for years and it must have rubbed off on me.  For months I had an unfinished book with all the poetry written but the pen & Ink art work that I wanted to include wasn't completed.

Enter my new website.......(May 2012) I started getting hits on my Haiku poetry. Almost every day!  There has been a wonderful Renaissance of this time-honored poetry and people were coming to my site looking for more.  So I put my book, "The World of Haiku" on the front burner and completed the art work.  My audience was calling!

It's only been out about eight weeks and it is selling!  No one is as shocked and amazed as I am. I have since added a companion book, a Journal to inspire others to try their hand at writing Haiku.

So, writers, keep pushing your experiments....keep writing....if one thing doesn't work try something else.  Yeah, the money's nice but what we, as writers, really want is for people to read what we write!  Right??

Wind Horse ©                                                            

running free, wild, brave

tail streaming high in the wind

hoof pounding the earth

horses turn their haunch

to show their scorn for the storm

and nature’s tantrum

allows man to think

he can command elegance

and tame the wild heart

Trisha Sugarek

(image used with special permission by Lori Smaltz)

 

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DON'T MISS NEXT WEEK'S BLOGS WHEN I START A NEW SERIES, "Behind the Scenes" INTERVIEWS with other AUTHORS!

Read my novel..."Women Outside the Walls" (part 49)

[image error]Chapter 22

Hattie ~ sixteen years ago

                    Joe drove carefully down Longwood Drive on the south side of Chicago.  Beside him Hattie sat looking out the window.  She frequently turned around and gazed at the baby in the car seat in the back.

“I can’t get over how pretty she is, Joe.”

“I know. What I can’t believe is that we made something so beautiful.”

“She look just like her Daddy.”

Joe patted Hattie’s knee.  “Uh-uh, she’s the spit of you, darlin’ girl.”

Hattie turned back to look out the window. “Where ya takin’ us, Joe? This ain’t the way to our apartment.”

“You’ll see.  It’s a surprise for you and lit’l Ruby. My girls.”  Joe grinned.

“Well, let’s not be too long, I wants to get this chil’ home before she wakes up and wants another meal.” Hattie laughed.  “This chil’ has one big whopper of an appetite.  Where is it ya’ll takin’ us?”

“This here is the Beverly neighborhood.  Nice, ain’t it?”

“Yes, it’s very nice, Joe.  But can’t we sightsee another day?  What with the baby and me just now getting’ outta the hospital, I really want to get home.”

As Hattie spoke Joe pulled to the curb.  The block was filled with modest but well kept homes.  The green lawns were well cared for and there were flowerbeds full of pansies and daisies.  The thwack of sprinklers could be heard through the open window of the car.  Joe cut the engine and looked past Hattie at a little cottage that he had parked in front of.  It was newly painted with a cheery light yellow color.   The shutters sparkled with a new coat of forest green.

“What you doin’, Joe?  Do you know someone ‘dat lives here?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”  Joe opened his car door and stepped out.  He sauntered around the front of the car, grinning through the windshield at Hattie.  He stepped up to her door and opened it.  He bowed from the waist and laughed.

“Ma’am.  Could you please join me here on the sidewalk?”

“Joe, wha’ mischief you up to?”

“Just step outside, I wanna show you somethin’.”

Hattie stepped out and looked up and down the block.  “Sure is pretty.  Who lives here, Joey?”

“You do!” Joe crowed. “This is our new house; yours, baby Ruby’s and mine.”

Hattie stared at the cute little yellow cottage, her hand crept up to her mouth in shock.

“What ya goin’ on ‘bout, Joey? This ain’t ours…is it?”

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The next segment will appear Friday .  Hope you'll return to find out what happened next to Joe and Hattie and to the women outside the walls.....

To receive my posts sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; On the right side you'll see a box where you can enter your email address. Click on "join my blog".   You need to confirm in an email from 'Writer at Play' .  Thanks!

'My momma always said, "Life was like a box of chocolates....' (part 3)

    I can't believe all this time has whizzed by without my revisiting my love of new and old words. (Blog Oct. 18th)  In this series I was telling you that my 'box of chocolates' contains words.  I love the sound of these, the way they feel in my mouth, the images they evoke.......oooh, that's a good one:

'evoke':   to call up, to summon, call to mind, conjure up.

'milquetoast':  now this is a word you don't see every day.  It might even be obsolete.  When it was used (18th-19th century)  it was referring to somebody regarded as timid or submissive, especially a man.

'trenchant': forceful, direct, caustic or scathing way of speaking.

'mews': a residential street; This is a British word for a small street lined with former stables that have been converted into housing.  While still used in England, the closest word we have in the US is an 'alley-way' or down south we call them 'lanes'.

'sagacity': reasonableness, wisdom, prudence, shrewdness.

I own a carriage house in what could legitimately be called the 'mews'.  The carriage house was used at the turn of the 20th century to house the town carriage and horses.  It is now a two bedroom apartment.  Somehow mews is a much more romantic, prettier word than the 'alley'.  Don't you think?

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I'll be 'positing' more to this series of favorite words.  Feel free to send me some of yours!!

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DON'T MISS NEXT WEEK'S BLOGS WHEN I START A NEW SERIES, "Behind the Scenes" INTERVIEWS with other AUTHORS!

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Read my novel..."Women Outside the Walls" (part 48)

[image error]                  (continued) ..............Joe placed the phone on the table then he crossed back to the chair next to Hattie and sat down. Charlie moved over to the telephone with Kitty held tightly to his side.

“Okay, Duchess, pick up the phone and hold it to my ear.” Charlie told Kitty.  Kitty fumbled the receiver and in doing so banged up against the gun being held to her head.

“No, Goddamn it!  My other ear!” he told Kitty. Charlie yelled into the receiver. “Yo!  …”  He listened for a second. “Cut the crap!  I want outta here, that’s what I want.” Charlie listened for another minute and interrupted.  “You ain't in no position to tell me you can’t do that. Last time I looked I’m the one with five hostages … No, you listen! I’m gonna call ya back in a little bit.  Nobody is gonna get hurt if you do what I say, you got that?”

Charlie grabbed the receiver out of Kitty’s hand and  slammed it down.

“Okay, everybody just stay put.  Washington, get up and find something to tie Kowalski up with.”

“Listen, Baldwin, I don’t want no part of this.” Joe replied. “I'm gonna serve my time…”

“You ain’t gonna serve shit if I put a bullet in ya. Now find somethin’ and tie that bastard up.  Wait!  I got a better idea.  Get his cuffs and hook ‘em to the leg of that table. That’s…what’d ya call it?… poetical justice,” Charlie laughed. “Using his own handcuffs.  You! Pig! Get up. Come on, hurry it up.”

Joe and Brad rose and moved to the table that Charlie had indicated. Joe cuffed Brad’s wrist to the table leg.

“Sorry, Mr. Brad, I don't got much choice.”

“I know, Washington.  It’s okay.”

“Ain't that touchin'.  Always the model prisoner, huh Washington?  Now, throw that key over here to me.”

Joe tossed the key to Charlie.  “Good. Go sit back down.”

Joe crossed over and sat with Hattie again.

“Alma!”

“Yeah, sugar?”

“You got any idea where that son-a’bitch, Rick, might be?  Him and Chels?”

“Well, ya know Rick likes to gamble. A casino somewheres?”

“Do ya think ya could narrow that down just a little, Alma?”

“Well, Jeez, baby, how should I know?”

“Yeah, I forgot who I was talkin’ to…”

“Wait!”  Alma held up her hand. “Chels told me once that Rick promised her a trip to Atlantic City. He said he hated the desert and Las Vegas. She wanted to go to Vegas but…”

“Jesus, Alma, give it a rest, will ya?! Why didn't ya tell me Rick was promising her stuff like that?”

“I donno know, hon. Chels and me was just talkin' one night. Ya know, like girls do…”

“Good Christ, Alma...” Charlie sighed. “You’re not ‘girl friends’; you’re her mother.”

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The next segment will appear Wednesday .  Hope you'll return to find out what happened in the visiting room and to the women outside the walls.....

To receive my posts sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; On the right side you'll see a box where you can enter your email address. Click on "join my blog".   You need to confirm in an email from 'Writer at Play' .  Thanks!

Read my novel...Free..."Women Outside the Walls" (part 47)

[image error]                (continued)  ............Charlie noticed some movement under one of the tables.

“Alma!  What the fuck are you doin'?!”

Alma peered out from under the table.  “Nothin‘, Charlie. Honest.”

“Get the hell out from under that table!  What’s wrong with you?”

“Sure thing, hon.” Alma scrambled out.  “Don’t hurt me.  I promise I’ll get Chels back for you.”

“Oh, for Chrissakes sit down and be quiet. I gotta think this out.”

“Okay, hon. Just don’t shoot nobody, Charlie.”

“Alma, please! Stop talkin’.”

“I hope you know what you're doin', baby. This is  gonna add so much time to your sentence, ya know?”

Charlie’s smile was filled with an odd tenderness. “Alma! Please! Just shut up for one minute, will ya?”

Alma smiled back at him. “Sure, baby.”

“ Listen, Baldwin, why don’t you let the women go, huh?”Brad asked.  “Then we can work on getting this thing straightened out.”

“Sure, sure that would put me right where ya want me. No, I like the odds jus‘ the way they are.”

The shrill ringing of the telephone on the Brad’s desk startled everyone. Brad stared at Charlie as it continued to ring.

“Ya gonna let me answer that?”

“No.  Washington, get over there and answer. You say what I tell ya ta’ say.  One wrong word and the first bullet is for you.  The second one goes into your ol’ lady’s head, ya got that? Now, go.”

“Joe, no.” Hattie held onto Joe’s arm.

“It’s gonna be all right, Hattie girl.  Just doin’ what the man tells me.”

Joe rose and crossed to the podium.  He looked at Charlie.  Charlie nodded and Joe picked up the receiver.

“Hello.  This is Joseph Washington, number 330407.”

“Tell them where we’re at in this deal.  Tell ‘em I got fancy-pants here. Tell ‘em I got four more hostages besides.”

“Baldwin wants me to tell you what the situation is here…He's got Mrs. Lancaster.”  Joe listened for a moment.  “A shank in his shoe.  He was gonna cut her. Now he’s got Mr. Bradley’s gun.”  Joe frowned while he listened again. “No, sir, I ain’t no part of this.  He tol’ me to answer the phone and tha’s what I’m doin’.  Ms. Gaynor here with my Hattie, er… Mrs. Washington, my wife.   No, sir, he ain’t said what he wants…”

Charlie interrupted.  “Okay!  That’s enough!”

Joe didn’t hang up and seemed to listen intently.

“Hey! I said stop talkin’.” Charlie yelled. “Put the phone on that table there.  I got somethin' to say.  Then go sit back down.”

“Hold on, sir. Baldwin wants to talk to you.”

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The next segment will appear Monday .  Hope you'll return to find out what happened in the visiting room and to the women outside the walls.....

To receive my posts sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; On the right side you'll see a box where you can enter your email address. Click on "join my blog".   You need to confirm in an email from 'Writer at Play' .  Thanks!

 

 

Hope that your story doesn't come out the way that you had planned!

Lillian Hellman once said, "Nothing you write, if you hope to be any good, will ever come out as you first hoped."

As a writer, that has happened to me over and over.  At first, in the early days of writing, I was appalled that the story was going somewhere that I had not planned for.   The characters would lead me down paths that I had no intention of going down or writing about.  Now I accept this strange phenomenon that happens not just to me but to other writers as well.

I've been dying to tell you this story.  But I had to wait until a segment of my novel was posted so that I would not spoil the shocking surprise in Part 42 . (Dec.21st)

[image error]     A glaring, or perhaps glorious, example of a story taking an unexpected turn was when I was writing "Women Outside the Walls".  My plan for the story line was that this would be a cozy little story of three very different women coming together while visiting their men in prison.

A third of the way through this project, Charlie, while sitting in the visiting room of the prison, jumps up, grabs Kitty and holding a shiv (knife) to her throat,  takes her hostage.  I  sat at my keyboard and literally wailed aloud, "No!  No you can't!  I don't know anything about hostages......or hostage negotiations!" Too late! He'd already dragged Kitty to the back wall and pandemonium had broken out.  The prison went on emergency lock down and there was nothing I could do! There I sat at my keyboard, dead in my tracks.

It took me four months of research on hostage negotiations before I could resume working on my novel.  I had not the faintest clue as to how I would finally resolve this room being taken hostage.  And I want to stop here and thank the federal and state hostage negotiators who assisted me in my research. While they would not share any of their techniques, they agreed to look over my story and tell me where I was off base.They allowed me to send them this segment of my novel for them to critique and assisted in keeping my portrayal accurate.   Before you CO's jump all over me about the gun, I did take dramatic license with that.

I have learned to anticipate and enjoy it when the story takes on a life of its own.  It's my fondest wish to become the 'typist'.  When my characters take control and tell me the story!

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Read my novel..."Women Outside the Walls" (part 46)

[image error](continued)........“How do you kno….?” Brad asked.

“I’ve noticed the same bulk under your pant leg for months now.  I figured you weren’t retaining water maybe it was swollen ankles ‘cause of your flat feet.” Charlie snickered at his own joke. “Hand over your piece, slow-like.”

At the mention of a gun, Alma slipped to the floor and hid under the table.

“You know I can't give you my weapon, Baldwin.”

“I know if ya don’t you gonna see some blood.  How much blood ya wanna see, Kowalski? I'll stick her! Shall we see if she bleeds blue… or red like the rest of us mortals?”

“Oh God no.” Kitty pleaded. “Please don't hurt me.”

“Okay okay, steady, Baldwin. Look, we can work this out. What's wrong? Why now?”

“Never mind. I don’t need to tell you nothin’. Gimme the gun now or watch her bleed.”

Brad carefully raised his pant leg and eased the snub nosed revolver out of its holster.

“This is going to cost me my job,” he told Charlie.

“Boo hoo.  Now sit down.”

Brad didn’t move.  He stared at Charlie.

“Do it now, pig, or she gets cut. I ain’t playin’.”

Brad slowly placed the weapon on the table. “I’m layin' it down right here. This is not gonna end well for you, Baldwin…”

“Washington!  Get his gun and come over here.”

“Joe, no!”  Rising, Hattie cried.

“Listen, Charlie, you’re never gonna see daylight again unless you give this up now…” Brad said.

“Shut up. You heard me, Washington, get his gun and bring it to me.  Do it now!”

Joe hesitated and then reached for the gun.  Brad lunged and picked the gun back up, aiming and swinging it between Joe and Charlie.

“Washington! You are not to approach me!  Stay over there with your wife.”

Charlie pressed the knife to Kitty’s throat again and Kitty moaned.

Then he said to Joe. “Boy! Do what I say! You want me to cut her? I swear to God I will!”

“Please, please do it.” Kitty begged Joe.

“Shut up, bitch!”

Joe stood perfectly still, looking from Charlie to Brad.

“Now Washington!  Goddamn it! I swear, I’ll slit her fuckin' throat!”

Joe made no move toward Brad.  Slowly, Brad reversed his grip on the gun and held it out to Joe.

“Calm down, Baldwin!  Take it easy… I’m giving the gun to Washington, see?”

“Joe, no!  Don’t!” Hattie cried.

“Shut up!” Charlie yelled at Hattie; then turned back to Joe. “Washington, tell your ol’ lady to shut the fuck up and you do what I told ya.”

“Hush now, Hattie, it’s gonna be all right.”

“Oh, no, Joe, please don’t go near 'dat white man.”

“Do it! Gimme his gun.”

Joe took the gun from Brad and, holding it gingerly, started to walk over to Charlie.

“Get his two-way and check his pockets for any extra ammunition he might be carryin’.”

Brad handed Joe his two-way radio. “I don’t carry any extra bullets.”

“Bring ’em here, Washington.”  Charlie ordered.

“You!” He indicated Brad.  “Sit down. You! Missus, sit next to 'im.

“Go on now, Hattie, do like he says. It’s gonna be fine.” Joe spoke to Hattie in a reassuring voice.   Joe patted Hattie’s shoulder and then turned and walked over to Charlie.

“We gonna get outta here, Washington.” Charlie said, taking the gun and radio.

Raising both hands into the air Joe began backing up.  “Uh-uh, Baldwin, I ain’t goin’ nowheres.  I just deliverin’ the gun like ya told me.  Now, I'm gonna walk back real slow over to my wife and sit down.”

“You’re nuts.  We can get outta here, man.”

“Uh-uh, not me.” Joe said shaking his head and continued to back up.

Not making any sudden movements, Joe turned and walked to the chair next to Hattie. He sat down slowly and reached out to hold Hattie’s hand.

“Okay, be stupid.” Charlie sneered.  “Ya gotta a chance to break outta here.”

“Nope, not this way.” Joe said.Charlie broke the revolver open and checked the chamber to make sure it was loaded.  Satisfied, he put the knife in his belt and held the gun on Kitty and the room.

“Okay, what’s next Baldwin?  What do you want?”

“I‘ll let you know in a Goddamn minute.  Now, everybody just chill… I gotta think.”

************

The next segment will appear Friday .  Hope you'll return to find out what happened in the visiting room and to the women outside the walls.....

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