I’m gearing up to start writing reviews in a few weeks (Thanks to a couple of readers that sent me some sticks). Won’t be every day but we shall see how it goes. Will have to see if I have the stamina to sit and write for 3-4 hours.
My healthcare provider cut me off from any further lab work, procedures, or surgeries until I start making substantial payments. I’m allowed doctor visits but that’s it.
In the meantime, I want you to read the 18 chapters I wrote on my other blog called “Blue Star Adjustments” about my mother’s side of the family in the Jewish Mafia. I met them as a kid but they were all gone by my late teens…either in prison or dead.
One note if you take the time to read it all….Two stories are 100% true. I won’t say which. You will just have to guess.
It Begins….
I stood there panting like a greyhound after a race. My .44 hung at my side….smoke still emanating from the barrel.
Uncle Sam was laying on his side.
The man that Uncle Sam shot was on the floor splayed in a strange way…legs akimbo, his arms above his head and his head partially gone.
The man I was supposed to shoot stood there breathing heavy. He was looking straight at me without an expression. He hadn’t reached for his gun in the melee.
I snapped out of it and aimed my gun at his mid section. Before I could pull the trigger, he turned and ran, grabbing for his own gun.
He got to the front door and pulled instead of pushed. Those split seconds gave me my opportunity. I put the gun to his head and told him to freeze. He did.
“Take your hand, slowly, out of your jacket. And drop it on the floor.” He complied. I told him to turn around slowly as I backed up. I didn’t want him grabbing the barrel of my cannon.
Breathing heavily, he said, “Look kid. We can work something out here. You need money? I got lots of it. I know this was business and I won’t come looking for you.”
I was young. Not stupid.
I marched him to a clothes closet about 30 feet from the entrance.
“Get in there. All the way into the corner with the clothes covering you. You move, I shoot.”
Again, he complied with my orders.
I knew I had to attend to Uncle Sam. Was he alive? Was he dead?
I was going to walk over there but my instincts told me not to walk away from the closet. So while I was talking softly to the guy, I told him I want him to stay there while I checked on my Uncle. My hands were shaking and the next thing I knew…I fired twice into the closet door. I slowly opened the door. At first, I didn’t know where the shots hit because of the clothes covering him.
But then his body fell forward to the floor and I could see two large holes in the back of his jacket. They were both chest shots; through and through.
I ran to my Uncle. He was breathing. But not conscious. I carefully dragged him to the floor so I could see where I shot him. I really couldn’t believe he survived a .44 slug at close range.
As I turned him, I saw blood coming from his shoulder. Thank you Jesus! It wasn’t a life threatening shot….unless he bled out.
I found a phone and called Uncle Victor and told him what happened. He told me to remove his coat and stick some cloth into the hole and apply pressure. I was to stay there and not call anyone else. And keep my gun handy.
While I waited, I whispered into Uncle’s ear that I was sorry for what I had done. I would make amends. Anything he wanted me to do, I would do. I told him that I loved him…and then I repeated over and over again, “I love you.”
20 minutes after the phone call, Uncle Victor showed up with 4 guys I had never seen before. One was carrying a doctor’s bag.
Uncle Victor took me by the shoulders and helped me up from the floor and motioned for me to step away.
The “Doc” tore Uncle’s shirt off. He removed the cloth I had shoved into the bullet hole and then he whistled. “Holy shit! That’s a big hole!”
Three of the guys looked at me and then at the .44 that was still in my hand. They shook their heads.
The Doc told me that if I hadn’t closed the wound with the cloth, Sam would surely have bled out…so I had saved him after trying to kill him.
The Doc said, “Let’s get him to my place. Pronto!”
The three guys lifted Uncle Sam and headed towards the back door where a car was waiting. They opened the back door and slid him in. Two of the men, and the Doc, drove away leaving one man and Uncle Victor behind.
I fell back into a chair and began to cry. It finally hit me what had happened. Uncle Victor came over and held my head against his chest. Whispering something I could not hear.
The other man sat down and lit a cigarette and just watched the two of us.
“Victor. It was an accident.”
“Kid. Tell me what happened.” So I went through all the details, although they were fuzzy.
Afterward, Uncle Victor told me not to feel guilty. Shit like this could happen to anyone.
“And by the way, nice job on the other guy in the closet,” Victor said. I looked up at him wondering how he could make light of this situation.
The other man picked up the two bodies one at a time and took them out back to his car. It was a huge Cadillac with the trunk open. Painter’s plastic sheets covered the trunk’s interior. One at a time, he threw them into the trunk…grunting and groaning.
Victor said to me that I had to clean up. I looked down and I was covered in everything internal in a body. It was disgusting.
Victor walked over to the clothes closet and grabbed some pants and a shirt. “Put these on. And bring me your clothes.”
I did as he said. I went into the bathroom and spent a considerable amount of time washing myself. Dried blood and matter are hard to get off. I then cleaned the sink.
I came out of the bathroom. “Kid. You’re white as a ghost.”
Uncle Victor told me we had to get the hell out of there. I asked for him to wait a minute. I opened the cylinder of my .44 and replaced the spent rounds with new ones. Victor said, “Phillip…you planning on doing some more shooting I don’t know about?”
“No.”
As I slammed the cylinder closed, the front door came crashing down. It was three men. I didn’t know who they were but two had pistols drawn and the other had a shotgun.
The shooting started immediately. I dived behind a counter as Uncle Victor did the same. These shooters were cowboys and not aiming. I never heard the whiz of a bullet flying by me. But they offed the cigarette man in the first volley.
Uncle Victor pulled his 1911 .45 from his shoulder holster and shot in the direction of the bad guys without raising his head above the counter. I couldn’t do that. The kick on the .44 would make my shots wildly inaccurate. And the gun fly from my hand.
I slithered on my stomach for about 9 feet. And then I stood up behind the three men. They scattered forcing me to the opposite side of the room. I fired off all 5 rounds at them and they fell like rag dolls. The noise stopped and the room was full of smoke. I didn’t hear Victor.
As I ran towards his postion behind the counter, I could see a giant hole in the middle of the vertical face of the counter. Oh no!
I saw Uncle Victor laying motionless. His jaw was gone as well as his right ear. Blood was everywhere. I fell to my knees and called his name. He didn’t reply. Of course not, I shot his jaw off.
I put my ear to his chest and listened for a heartbeat. There was nothing so I felt his neck but the rushing blood made it hard to feel.
I collapsed on the floor with my feet in front of me…my back up against the counter. Uncle Victor seemed lifeless. I had done it again all in the space of an hour.
This was going to piss some people off big time.
