I love consensual stories. I like the break from rape fantasies. The consensual story allows me to write something much closer to the kind of relationship I actually love to have with women, a relationship where sex, empathy and love go hand in hand. However, me being me, my women of choice will always have a tendency to be dainty and raven haired.It was September 1956. I had been living for six months in a shack at the border of a nondescript road in Ohio, working as a cook in a nondescript roadside diner. I had a 1948 Studebaker and a brand-new roadmap, still sitting on a coffee table because I kept forgetting to put it away in a drawer.
Earlier that year, I had got in a jam in New York City. We hit a bank and got away with 75 grands. My partner got shot by the fuzz. I escaped thanks to being well prepared. I discarded my Stetson hat and my great coat and quietly walked down the street in a neat hazelnut suit and fine fedora hat, suitcase in hand – the dough was hidden in plain sight! I ran a calculated risk: Most of the time, you walk with a suitcase and nothing happens. It’s the bad crooks who are too nervous... they’re the ones who act strange and make mistakes, so they are promoted from crooks to cons. As for myself, I kept walking undisturbed as the police cruiser zoomed away.
Of course, do what you will, there's always the chance risk that a sidewalk policeman will stop you for a routine verification when you are a colored person. This was a calculated risk. I made good my escape. My partner made good his escape from this world as he laid in the morgue with one State-funded bullet in his heart. I figured it was better this way; he was the kind of guy who ends up making mistakes and who did too much guesswork for my peace of mind. I never guess; I measure the odds. With him dead and me having vanished, the fuzz were left with no lead to go on. This was my lucky break!
I had worked on trains as a cook, so I figured I would get hired as such and work in some diner in the middle of nowhere. Thus, I lived quiet and cozy somewhere in Ohio, cooking the food at a local diner who wouldn’t serve me ‘cause I’m colored, but the landlord is OK with my manning the kitchen, as the customers can’t see much of me. Yeah... Be nice and civil, and stay out of sight! But I’m not complaining. Complaining is for the little boys who still need their mother to hold their hand. Enough said.
My shack is tiny, but I’m proud of my tidying it and making it as liveable as can be. I’m fine! The job isn’t too hard, just tedious at times, but most jobs are more or less tedious. I read book and do some push ups and chin-ups. I did some amateur boxing, and I was quite a prospect once. Still, I prefer to use my head rather than having some other fellow hitting it.
With 75 grands stashed away safe, I could afford to lose my job, but I like it better that way and it keeps me busy. Besides, it makes me look much less suspicious, as people usually don't expect someone from my people to be loaded enough so they don't have to work; they would automatically think that I stole it somewhere. You gotta live with what you can't change. Later, I'll retire and get some place else, and I’ll do some painting or I’ll write a novel... Who knows?
I live about 200 yards from my nearest neighbor, a nice family of very nice people to put it like Arthur Godfrey of the Godfrey Show. There’s no Television set and no phone either. Very quiet!
At night, there’s one car passing about every five minutes.
On that famous night of September, it was rather cold. It was about 8 PM and I was listening to an episode of Dragnet on the radio. I love Dragnet, ‘cause it oftens feature some interesting cases, usually quite outlandish, but nonetheless interesting. When the criminal gets caught at the end, there's the trial result. Most of the time, it's a grand theft case or a second-degree murder, and the crook is bound for St. Quentin, but when it's first-degree murder without mitigating circumstances, the jailbird gets “the works” (i.e. the Lethal Gas Chamber).
The story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.https://youtu.be/U4HIdbRMzQIThe program was about to end, when I chanced to look at the window... Through the thin curtain, I noticed the headlights of a car stopping on the roadside. Probably some fellows who needed to consult their map... At any rate, it was very, very unlikely to be a copper looking for me.
I had started to make some coffee and I was about to sit ‘til 11 with my half-read novel (
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes), when someone knocked at my door.
TO BE CONTINUED.