Modern Scrooge IV

Feeling like a child castigated for not eating his vegetables; Mike rode blindfolded and hand bound in the trunk of the car, following their drive through fare.

After what seemed and eternity which thoroughly disoriented Mike, he heard the car engine shut down, and the trunk door finally open. He was assisted by four hands to make an unceremonious exit, his body having become a cold, twisted lump.

Mike was solicitously supported and guided to sit on a wooden chair.
He was secured by the ankles and arms surrounding the back of this chair, and was left to sit there still shivering as the space they were in was also cold as the trunk had been.

Mike strained to hear what was happening around him, as he heard another vehicle drive in and more footsteps approach him, accompanied by the bark of a ferocious dog.

-“How does it feel to be powerless Mike?” an almost familiar voice taunted Mike.

-“Do I know you from somewhere?” Mike asked almost sure, though not quite.

In response Mike felt his lights knocked out. The punch to his stomach made the chair topple backwards.

-“Hey! Hey! Please settle down, we should not treat our guest like this – unless it becomes absolutely necessary.” Boris arbitrated, as Mike’s chair was straightened.

-“Alright, eventually I will have my fun with you.” The man without the Russian accent threatened.

-“Please don’t hurt me anymore! I want to return safely to my kids. I am a father of two precious little girls…. PLEASE…PLEASE… DON’T HURT ME!” Mike wailed as the image of his kid’s faces became a beacon of light in the midst of the insanity and terror, shaking his frame with tremors that went beyond the coldness seeping through his clothing.

-“Okay, here is the deal Michael. I know it’s very cold, and it’s getting late, and you probably have a date with your little girls’ tomorrow morning, and lots of good times ahead.
This is how it’s going to play out. Listen to me please. You can decide how early we drop you off somewhere and leave you alone in your car.

Judging by the bank withdrawal slip, and by the assets we have been told that you have, I think that making a small contribution of fifty thousand dollars, is not going to brake you.

Obviously we would need to wait until the bank opens for you to make such a withdrawal in person, but that would only prolong the duress and length of this transaction.

You see, not only would you have to wait for the bank to open, and pass the night seated on that cold and uncomfortable chair, but I would need additional collateral as well, simply to assure me that you would not alert the authorities while inside of the bank.

I would need additional collateral Michael – do you know what I mean?

I believe that it would be best overall if you somehow avoided withdrawal from the bank, and perhaps broke your piggy bank.” Boris said in a persuasive yet chilling tone when the implications of what he said sank in.

-“You’re crazy. I am not rich; I’ve also been hit hard by the market crash- what do you think, that I keep all my money gathering dust under my mattress?” Mike answered in panic mode.


The direct kick on his groin made him see stars, these followed by repeated slaps which loosened the scarf covering his eyes.
Mike was able to make out the inside of a warehouse, and to also recognize the man who was delighting in hitting him incessantly.



To be continued….

Modern Scrooge III

-“Michael, which is your pin number please? The guy seated next to him cordially inquires as they park in an obscure corner of the parking lot of Bank of America.

Mike supplies the code, as he perspires profusely by this time.
Suddenly Mike breaks down to cry as he remembers that the pin code represents the name of his first born. He wants more than anything in the world for this awful ordeal to be over with, and to embrace his daughters close to him again.

The guy exists the car after putting on a cap to cover his features. The driver in front keeps and eye on Mike directly from the rear view mirror. He looks with derision at Mike, as if asking what kind of man he is to cry like a baby.

Mike wipes his tears with his sleeve, and composes himself. That was just a moment of weakness induced by a stark reminder of our mortality, and what is truly valuable when conducting a quick inventory.

-“Hand me your cell phone please.” The driver with the shinny eyes orders with authority. To ascertain his authority, he pulls out his revolver from the inside of his leather coat.

The driver peruses the pictures on the cell phone. There are several pictures of two girls about ten and eight years old.

-“Pretty girls, were you on your way to meet them?” The driver asks casually.

-“No, I…I was just going home to rest. I only see them on the weekends.” Mike supplied with a knot in his throat.

-“I have a little girl too. She is the apple of my eyes. You see Michael; I am also a father and business man – like you. Please don’t think awful badly of me. My name is Boris by the way.” He volunteered.

Mike’s nerves, as taut as a rubber band stretched to the limit caused him to snap. - “Like me? I am an honest, law abiding citizen. I work very hard for my money, how can you be like me?” Mike spewed from clenched teeth with barely contained fury.

-“Come on, we are simply standing on different street corners you and I.
Yet, what is so different from me, than white collared crooks robbing non-profit agencies that helped the needy?
Or those making a profit off the misery of those evicted from their homes, and out in the cold? Did you know there are approximately seven thousand foreclosures daily?

Michael, we are in the midst of the worst financial calamity since the Great Depression. Just read the papers. Everyday Joes' are now resulting to shoplifting as a last recourse.

This is only the beginning. It will get worst, and with it, anarchy flourishes like rosebuds bloom in spring.”

Their conversation was cut short by the guy in the cap returning to the car with a withdrawal receipt in hand. They drove out at a leisure pace.

-“What do you feel like eating for dinner Michael?” Boris asked solicitously.

-“I’m not hungry at all.” Mike answered as he felt vile running down his throat.

-“I would suggest that you revise your answer Michael, for we will be together for quite a long time.” Boris foretold.



To be continued…

Modern Scrooge II

Mike felt a sudden chill run the course of his nervous circuit. Without a fight he carefully deposited the keys on top of his car and proceeded to sit in the back, gently prodded by the guy holding the gun to his lower back.

-"I am only going to say this once my friend. You will be very quiet, and not make any attempt to draw attention to yourself. If you do, I will squash your balls myself, and I will tie you up like a piglet, and then throw you in the trunk." The man holding the gun cordially advised Mike, in a thick accent.

An inexorable feeling of dread, made Mike's blood pressure drop when it dawned on him that these two men did not simply intend to rob his wallet. Keeping a low profile, from the corner of his left eye he stole a glance at the front mirror.

The driver could be considered good looking, clean-cut, and sharply dressed. He gauged that he must be in his late twenties. Their eyes met for a moment in the mirror.
The driver’s eyes were dark and intense, with an eerie brilliance to them. Perhaps he was under the influence of cocaine. He kept up the intense eye contact without pause, even as the traffic rushed forth.

Mike was the first to break eye lock, if only to save the whole lot. What did his eyes speak to them? Mike bemused. That he was about to shit in his pants? He had to maintain his cool. These looked like professional thieves; surely they would simply let him be, once they got some cash.

-“Listen guys, I have some cash on me. Please take it, and let me be. Please don’t hurt me.” Mike pleaded as he felt his stoic resolve crumble with each additional mile the milometer showed traversed.

There was an exchange in a foreign tongue which Mike did not recognize; they seemed to be speaking Russian amongst them, by the few words that he could make out.

-“OK buddy, give me your wallet please?” Asked the man seated to Mike’s left holding the gun aimed at his midriff. He spoke as casually as politely asking him to pass the salt.

With clammy hands Mike searched for his wallet, and then handed it over. He was sorry to have spoken. Now they had not only his cash, but also his home address.

There was another exchange in the foreign language, as the guy counted the money and the contents of Mike’s wallet.

Meanwhile, Mike looked at the car next to them as they waited for a light to turn green.
He observed the car with normal people going about their business, perhaps they were just returning from a visit to their families.

They seemed blissfully unaware that everything was so precarious that it could tumble down like a stack of cards by the hand of fate. That nothing in life was guaranteed, not even another day to live.

Suddenly he remembered what Monica had said to him that morning. That he was a scrooge for not letting his employees have that Friday off with pay.
Yet, he was frugal with himself too. He did not go out and blow his hard earned money in ultra-fancy restaurants or in sumptuous vacations.
Mike basically lived to work. He not only worked at his company, but also took a lot of the work home too. The only vacation trips he took, melded into business pursuits too.

He had sacrificed his personal life he mused, even neglecting his family in the process. Yet, could he be blamed for wanting to secure their financial well being? No, that had not been enough to his wife, and daughters. His divorce had made him dive even deeper into his work.

Mike now felt a tinge of regret for not giving enough time to his family in the relentless pursuit of money. If something happened to him tonight, what use would all that hoarded money be for? His ex-wife would probably use it for plastic surgery, and the pursuit of younger men.

-“OK buddy, now we will make a quick stop at the ATM, and then we will go to get some dinner to go, OK?” The guy next to him said as nicely as inquiring what he wanted to order for dinner.





To be continued….

Modern Scrooge

-“My eggs are frozen.”

-“Like for harvesting?” Mike asked.

-“No, silly goose. The eggs are frozen, so I can’t make an omelet now. There are only avocados, wheat bread, and canned beans." Monica said.

-"Why don't you ever have any real food here?" Mike said exasperated.

-"What the fuck! You know that I'm vegetarian. Go eat your crap elsewhere." Monica stated, also exasperated.

-“Well fucking post Merry Christmas day to you. Can’t you ever start a day with a smile?”

-“Botox permiting, I only elicit those facial expressions in the throes of earth-quacking orgasms, and even those are lacking of late.” Monica answered impertinently.


-“You know what? I’m out of here! I’m going to Mc Donalds for a solid breakfast, and then I am going straight to work.” Mike said as he gathered his jacket and car keys.

-“I can’t believe you did not give the Friday after Christmas off to your employees so that they could enjoy an extended Christmas holiday with their families; you are such a scrooge!”

-“Time is money, and I can’t be giving my money away indiscriminately. They should be grateful to have a full time job in this stinking economy.” Mike said as he slammed the door shut.

The day was slow and uneventful. Yet Mike was a creature of habit. He managed to employ his time productively, as well as making sure his employees did not slack in their productivity. Constant vigilance of the security cameras made sure to keep everyone in line.

The fluidity of traffic on the freeway, now eerily empty for a Friday eve, was a welcome respite from the perpetual gridlock chocking the arteries of Los Angeles.
This makes the daily commute in the city of Angels, almost an odyssey and a test of the patience, civility, and risk taking quotient.

Mike looked at the clock. It was 5:50 PM and already dark and cold. He decided to get groceries before going home.

Upon loading the grocery bags in the trunk of his car, he felt the cold cannon of a gun on the back of his neck, as someone instructed him to give up the keys and to get in the back seat immediately.





To be continued…

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve




It’s a wet night, yet different than the rest
There is a vibrant vibe permeating the night
Some stress about the long register lines
Others of facing the prospect of a very lonely night


I personify the scrooge of Christmas time
I only bought toys for Manuel’s tots
The rest don’t look at me for giving
I have no more left of myself to give


I look with derision at those overloading shopping carts
They’re so manipulated by consumerism drivel
Then a holiday songs plays over the speaker and touches my heart
Oh my God! It’s all about the birth of Jesus Christ! I realize


I look around the store in a different light
The mechanical reindeers bow their heads in reverence
There is joy in my heart; this represents love of the purest kind
The sacredness of life, and of the eventual sacrifice – for the love of mankind


It’s a wet one alright
A song triggered a memory as I drive through the rain
I ditch family; I don’t want to see anyone tonight
I don’t want them to see me cry as I do while I drive





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Spatial Odyssey II

Back to the original starting point.
I am careful to shake hands cordially with Manuel; I intuit that respect, and self-respect have been scarce commodities of late.

-“Where have you been Manuel? Did your wife tell you why I’m here?”

-“I was in jail for a week.” He said shyly.

-“Why where you in jail?” I inquire.

-“I was in Highland Park collecting aluminum cans, and I asked some guys for a beer.
I drank it openly in the park without covering it up, and I was stopped for that. I was arrested because they found false documents in my wallet, and they tore those up.”

I was livid because of a moment of weakness, he was disrupting my plans. Before my eyes, which were eloquent enough, I was seeing someone sinking into bottomless despair.
Just then his wife and little daughter come out. His three year old daughter embraces Manuel’s legs, and doesn’t want to let go.

I give him a thorough sermon about the evils of drinking problems away, which in turn create a whole new set of problems. I ask him if he can fix this problem since I can’t take him to the company to get hired empty handed.

-“Yes, I know some guys.” He said finally.

-“Is it too late to fix it now? Do you have money?” I inquire knowing time is running out.

-“I think I can, and I don’t have money.” He said expectantly.

I look around my surroundings, stalling for time. I purposely ignore the implications, since as a law-abiding citizen, I just don’t do any illegal activities.

-“Look, it’s getting late. Do you need a ride somewhere? You find a way to fix this mess, because it was due to your stupid drinking that you put yourself and your family in jeopardy. We need to be there tomorrow morning at eight; my cousin is too busy to keep changing appointments – fix this now!” I said very seriously.

We arrive near Mc Arthur Park. As if guided by instinct, I drive into the parking lot of a doughnut shop, where I decide to wait it out and get coffee.
I order something to eat for both of us, and before I finish preparing my coffee, Manuel is consulting someone just outside of this establishment.

I notice that several men are seated in individual tables facing the window with cell phones in hand, as if working from their office cubicles to serve the next client in line.

I sit inconspicuously in the back, consuming my bran muffin and coffee, as I strain to hear the contents of their conversations.

After twenty minutes, Manuel comes back to the table and eats. He said it would be about another forty minutes. That guy is a friend of a friend, who will do it on credit.

We make small talk about the people in the company, and his stint in jail. I asked him if he'd slept in the park, since I had been looking for him there.

-“There are a lot of people sleeping in the park. I met an older man who lost his job, and place to live. He’s trying to make money to return to Guatemala. By the way, thank you for your help.” He said with sincerity.

-“There’s no need to thank me Manuel. Simply promise me that you will stop this bull shit drinking. Do it for your little daughter. Did you see how scared she was that you would leave, that she did not want to let go of your legs? That beer money should be used for food and diapers.” I said with intent.

-“I know. I will stop.”

-“Look, I’m very tired. It’s 7:48 PM. Please be ready tomorrow at 6:30 AM, I will pick up and take you there. Can you make your way straight home alright?” I inquire ready to split. I don’t want to ride with him in case there are monkeys on the coast.

“Yes, it’s pretty close walking distance. I will be ready and waiting outside at 6:30.”

At 6:32 AM, I flash my headlights to Manuel to get in. The rain is pouring hard this Monday morning.
With hot coffee in hand, we resume our light bantering and joking to alleviate the pain.



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Spatial Odyssey

It's 5:46 PM on a frigid Sunday evening; I brace myself to leave the sanctuary and warmth of my car to find this address.

I feel apprehensive about parking here, yet more so, about carrying my purse with me. Clutching only the address, and my wool coat in front of me, I walk rapidly to my destination.

I came upon an old grey building surrounded like a maximum security prison by an iron gate. There was no intercom to make my presence known, so I was direct, and to the point.

-“MANUEL!” I yelled out his name over and over again, as an incantation accompanied by the wind.

After about five minutes of no results, a couple came out, I thanked them, and ran upstairs to number 203.

I knocked on the door insistently without response. Crestfallen, I asked a neighbor if he would lend me a pen, in order to leave a note. Just then, several locks are turned, and out comes Manuel’s wife.

-“Hi, do you remember me? I used to work with Manuel. I need to find him please; I found a job for him.” I said with urgency, worried about my car.

-“Yes, I remember you. Come in, Manuel is not here.”

A little girl of about three appears; a mini replica of Manuel she seems.

-“Sit down. I have not seen Manuel in two weeks. He’s taken to drinking and hanging out with other drunks, and looking for work.”

Her eldest daughter from a previous relationship chimes in. “He can’t handle the stress and the accusations from my mother. They fight all the time. So he simply has stopped coming here. I hope he does to pay the rent next month.”

-“I need to find him. I got him a job in a company where my cousin is in charge of production. He’s mostly all the time in China now, yet he just arrived for the holidays to see his family. It’s crucial that I take Manuel there tomorrow morning at eight.” I explained my urgency – still worried about my car.

-“You can find him early morning in Home Depot where he says he looks for day labor. He also hangs in Mc Arthur Park with other drunks. I don’t know which Home Depot, he does not tell us anything.”

I drove about eight blocks, and parked a block away from Mc Arthur Park. It's 6:40 PM.
The area was still bustling with the activity of the holiday shopping. I was glad to find parking in front of a well lit 99 cent store.

An old man sitting on the window sill of this establishment eats a Salvadorian tamale. The informal business’ here, thrive more so than the formal ones; the latter are guarded by uniformed security guards.

-“Excuse me, do you know a Manuel? He is tall, late thirties? He’s not come home in two weeks, and I’ve been told he hangs around the drunks in this area.” I ventured to inquire.

-“No, I don’t know of a Manuel. But the drunks hang out in clusters around the corner here, or next block in that shopping center, or in the park."

After inquiring where he specified, I walk to the shopping center where a man with blood shot eyes, tells me that he will help me. He offers to drive my car around so that we may find Manuel.

I roll my eyes and walk away lured by the elaborate sanctuary of "La Santisima Muerte" (Blessed Holy Death), inside of the shopping center. A life size skeleton elaborately dressed representing death sits upon a shrine. Chairs are situated in front, just like in a little chapel.

With null results, the last place to look is Mc Arthur Park. I amble there acutely aware of my surroundings, drinking in the people, sights, and of course, looking out for Manuel in all the desperate faces I encounter on my route.

Again I stop and inquire at the park if they know of a Manuel. I am intercepted by a young man about twenty-three who tells me that he does not know a Manuel, but asks me not to go. Do I want to make love? To which I said no.

-“Let’s make a deal, I’ll pay you. Just follow me to the bathroom.” He said.

I explained that I’m busy as I walk away towards a couple of older men. I inquire again, and tell them that Manuel might be sleeping at the park, since he has not come home in two weeks.

-“There are a lot of people sleeping here now. Just last week the papers took a picture of a white woman sleeping on that bus stop bench during the rains. She was front page news, yet she is still around here sleeping.” The old man said.

I walk away, again intercepted by the young man who tells me, “Look there’s an underground tunnel which connects both parks. Come with me there; I have a hard on.”

Just then, my cell phone rings. It is Manuel’s stepdaughter telling me that Manuel has finally come home. I thank her and rush the two blocks to my car, lost in the crowd of Christmas shoppers.

As I insert the ignition key, I quickly lock my door. My heart jumps when I see the same horny guy appear in front of the hood of my car. He motions with his hands "What's up?"


To be continued…


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