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Always in the Wrong Flock

March 27, 2017 Leave a comment

I came from an upper-middle class family. Sufficiently ‘upper’ to belong to a top country club, an exclusive yacht club, and to have a fine city home and a fine summer home on a lake. The catch is; I hated it. I liked having a speedboat, a sports car and a free credit card; after all, I was a teenager. At the same time, I hated the kind of people among whom I lived. I hated the country club ways, and the people that gathered there. If you’ve seen ‘Goodbye Columbus’, you get a look at what it was like. It wasn’t for me.

I like simple people. Honest people with car payments and rent problems like average people. So I lived among simple, hard-working people. I became a simple, hard-working person. I worked in a wholesale fabric warehouse, assistant to the shipper. But I was always separate. Most of those people are devoted Christians. I’m a devoted Atheist. I speak in a more accurate way than my neighbours, and it’s obvious to them. I know some things about art, theatre, and music. They know country music, agriculture and animal husbandry. The people in my area tapped the trees and boiled sap into maple syrup. I helped neighbours with that, just for the love of the experience.

After a few years, I had some friends in the area, but still at arm’s length. I dated women I met on the Internet, so I could seek some that were from a somewhat similar background to mine. They were just small social events among people who wanted to spend less time alone. I believe some of the women would like to have formed relationships with me. To avoid misunderstanding, I always made it clear that my intent was to enjoy with her, some dinners, some movies or concerts, some picnics and goodnight. Each always agreed that it was simply keeping company. These women were usually up to twenty years younger than I was, and a relationship wouldn’t work.

I felt fed up with being semi-accepted in my community and in my private life. I decided to change up, although I’m not sure that the wealthy community is up and not down. Especially during the era of Trump. In any case, I sold out and took my talents into advertising. I used my art and writing commercially. I also created and wrote a television series. I was soon able to buy my way into the pinnacle class of Private Clubs. The average member family had at least a billion dollars. I wore the right suits, I spoke the right words and dated the right ladies. Still, I was again on the fringe.

It was the reverse of the simple, hard-working people. These people never worked. They only lived high and wasted excessively on grandpa’s efforts and innovation. They collected art by price more than quality. They supported operas but rarely attended. Their children were ghastly and destined to replicate their decadent parents. I didn’t fit in. I couldn’t stand them.

Finally, I realized that I’m deeply antisocial, and all of these different levels of society don’t fit me, nor I them. I took a job as a lighthouse keeper. Now I sit out there on that rock, the sea around me leaping and dancing, while I make lunch. Sometimes I paint pictures. Sometimes I watch seabirds, plunging and rising with their struggling prey held tightly in their sharp beaks. I have my dog. He and I have an excellent, calming relationship, and all is well in the lighthouse. My flock is me and my dog.

Lured Into A Secretive Squad (continued 19)

April 27, 2015 Leave a comment

I didn’t sleep very well that night. I have to admit that knowing a splendid amazon was asleep in my guest room at the other end of the hall was the cause. As you can imagine, I suffered with fantasies of her coming down the hall to my room and crawling under the covers with me. Fantasies also of me going down the hall to her room and crawling under the covers with her. I didn’t like that scenario. I preferred the scenario when she comes to my bed. Anyway, neither thing happened and I finally fell asleep about four in the morning.

I woke up at almost nine to the pungent fragrance of bacon frying. I felt fried myself. I dragged myself into the bathroom and made myself presentable. It wasn’t easy. Anyway, I wasn’t about to seduce Naomi Cheslow. She was ‘way out of my reach. She’s rich and smart and beautiful and tall and strong. What would she want with me? On the other hand, she came to my apartment with delicatessen treats and spent the night here. And the fragrance of the very not-kosher bacon must be caused by Naomi. So now she’s making breakfast for me. It was as though a night of sex had just ended and my lover was making breakfast for me. I wish. I jumped into a jogging suit and went to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” she said when she saw me. “I hope you don’t mind. I saw that you were a secular Jew like me when I saw some of the things you have in your kitchen. There’s nothing Jewish in the place except for the menorah.”

“I hope you were comfortable,” I said. I poured myself a mug of coffee from the pot she’d already made.

“Very comfortable,” she said. She stopped and looked up from the frying pan and straight into my eyes. “Seriously, I’m kind of frightened. Can I stay here for a while? I need to hide and I don’t want to be alone. I promise I won’t get in the way. I’ll stay in my room and…”

“You’re being ridiculous, Naomi. You’re very welcome to stay as long as you’re comfortable. Don’t hide in your room. Just enjoy the place. Order anything you need, on line. Personal things, clothes, things like that and have them delivered,” said I.

“I could have Aileen Schachter go by my place, pack up some stuff and bring it here,” she said.

“Bad idea,” I said. “If they’re watching your place and see Aileen go in and come out with stuff, they’ll follow her here.”

“You’re right, of course,” she said. “What would I do without you?” I believed she was schmoozing me. How could a powerhouse like her, need me?

Lured Into A Secretive Squad (continued 6)

April 4, 2015 Leave a comment

southern_pickup-620x412Clark McCracken’s face went white and his eyes bulged as he stared at the photograph of himself with a penis in his mouth.

“Where the Hell did you get that?” he cried.

“Where we got it is not interesting,” Aileen Schachter said. “What’s interesting is that we have it, McCracken. But don’t worry about it being exposed. You can easily stop that from happening.”

She was still kneeling on his chest while he lay there, blood trickling from his nose, his arms out wide in surrender. I had to smile at this bizarre sight. Aileen was thin as a stick and about five feet four inches tall and weighed barely one hundred pounds. McCracken, on the other hand, was six feet three inches tall and built hard at about two hundred and twenty pounds.

“What do you want?” McCracken growled. Aileen stood up from kneeling on his chest and stepped back. McCracken jumped to his feet and glanced at me. I leveled the Glock at him. He stepped back from Aileen. “How do you mean, exposed?” he said.

“I mean exposed,” she said. “We’ll print up posters and put them up on lampposts all over town. We’ll put them in store windows, plaster them on fences and of course, there’s the Internet.

“Oh, fuck,” said Clark, looking at the ground, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. The poor guy was tearing through his feeble mind, looking for a way out. “What do I have to do to get that picture?” Without hesitation, Aileen flipped the print at him. He tried to duck, but it hit his upper lip and picked up some blood before it dropped into his hands.

“You can have this picture, Clark, to remember your happy time. But don’t worry, we have lots of copies,” Aileen said. “What you’re going to do, superior Aryan, is first; give us the names and addresses of your two helpers in the Hahn family atrocity. After we take care of that, you will be our eyes and ears inside the Aryan Nation. You will advise us in advance of any attacks that you slugs plan.”

“You’re crazy!” Clark said. “I can’t do that!”

“Oh God,” Aileen said, “That’s terrible because I can’t stop that photo from being published.”

“Maybe we can make a deal,” said McCracken.

“Of course we can,” Aileen purred. “You’ll be our spy and we’ll lose that photo. If something goes down that we don’t know about in advance, we’ll find that picture and bring it to you again.”

“Have a heart, Aileen!” McCracken said.

“We have hearts as sympathetic as yours was when you stuck your smelly cock into that poor little girl’s pussy,” she said. “Right now, I want the names of the two assholes that were with you.”

“How do I know you won’t flash that picture around anyway?” Clark said.

“You know because you have a permanent position in our activities. You’re our inside man at the Aryan asshole club,” Aileen said. “If I advertise that you’re a cocksucker, I lose that advantage. I hope you don’t fail me and make me ruin your image.”

Lured Into A Secretive Squad (continued 5)

April 3, 2015 Leave a comment

I knew I was going to open up a lot of potential trouble when I opened up about what N3 could use against Clark McCracken. I hesitated, thinking through the situation, trying to anticipate any severe repercussions.

“What’s your problem, handsome?” Aileen Schachter said. “Cat got your – uh – tongue?”

I lost my train of thought. Was she flirting with me? Probably she was just urging me to come across with my knowledge of a weakness in the Aryan group that had brutalized Mr. Hahn and raped his daughter. Her rather stern, officious manner in the N3 meetings was gone. She seemed warm and friendly, but flirting seemed unlikely.

“Why is it so hard to say?” Aileen said. “Did he kill somebody?”

“I think he’d be proud of that. But this…,” I said, “is worse for him.” I handed her a copy that I’d prepared, of a photograph. I watched her strong, angular face go from puzzled to awestruck in five seconds.

“Where did you get a photograph of McCracken sucking off some guy?” she said.

“A gay friend of mine was there. In fact, he was waiting to be the next recipient of Clark’s fellatio,” I admitted. “He’s a tech-nerd and had a camera that looked like a button.”

“Why did he take the picture?” said Aileen.

“No reason except that he had this invisible camera and wanted to do something daring with it.”

“This is a break that will help us find the other goons,” she left her chair on the other side of the food-laden coffee table. She sat close beside me on the sofa. I was pleasantly surprised but a bit uncomfortable because I was unsure about her. She held the photo of Clark with a penis in his mouth out in front of us and leaned her small, warm body against me. “I’m eager to stick it in his face,” she said.

“How are we going to get to show it to him?” I said.

“We’ll go over to where he lives and show him. He rents a house with three of his fellow assholes,” she said. She slung her ubiquitous tote bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Don’t you think it’s reckless for just the two of us to rattle the cage of a bunch of thugs who’d like to beat us to death?”

“Stop acting so helpless and come on,” she said. The hard attitude was back in her manner.

I shrugged and went with her. We drove to the rural house where we believed Clark McCracken lived. I was instructed by Aileen to stop in the gravel driveway because the road was a secondary highway full of trucks.

We stepped out of the car. Immediately, Clark was standing on the front porch.

“You Jews got a lotta nerve, coming here. I guess you want a beating.” He brandished a baseball bat and slowly descended the porch steps to the lawn.

“What do we do now,” I whispered to Aileen. She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a Glock gun and shoved it into my hands.

“I’m not going to shoot anybody!” I gasped.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “You won’t have to. Just hold it properly. The safety’s on.”

“What about you?” I said. “You need a weapon!”

“I have one,” she said. Clark was a few paces away from Aileen, the bat held high in preparation to crack her skull.

In a blur of action, Aileen suddenly whirled and came around with one leg in the air and Clark found himself flat on the ground, the bat gone from his hand, his hands holding his stomach as he gasped to catch his breath. Aileen knelt on his chest and held the photograph in front of his face.

Lured Into A Secretive Squad (continued 4)

March 31, 2015 Leave a comment

I didn’t want to do anything to taint the face-to-face meeting with Aileen Schachter. It would look stupid if I was to have flowers and candles on a linen tablecloth. In spite of my actual reason for joining N3, which was to get close the Aileen, I staged the supper as the strategy meeting that she was expecting. My head ached from the effort of coming up with some kind of strategic idea with which to strike back at the Aryan bullies that had beaten Mr. Hahn and raped his daughter.

In the end, I laid out the food on the coffee table between the sofa and the easy chair. We could sit opposite each other, eye-to-eye and try to bounce ideas off of each other. The food was self-serve: cut your own bagel, spread your own cheese. Only the borscht would be heated and served by me. I didn’t put out any beer, wine, or whiskey because I wanted to avoid any suspicions that I had ulterior motives – because I did.

Ms Schachter knocked firmly on my door at exactly the agreed time. I welcomed her, took her coat, and showed her to the living room setting where I gestured her into the easy chair.

“This looks very nice,” she said, looking at the food. She lifted her head and looked around the room. “You have a nice place here.”

“Thank you,” I said and hung her coat in the hall closet. She had a well-worn document case that she carried with her to the chair. She laid the case on the floor against the side of her chair while I sat on the sofa opposite her.

“Do you have any thoughts on how we might avenge the Hahn atrocity,” she said while she sliced a bagel.

“Would you like to have a bowl of borscht first,” I said. “I have boiled potatoes and sour cream to put in it.” She smiled at me with a tolerant expression, like a patient teacher with a misguided student.

“Perhaps later,” Aileen said. “About the Hahns …”

“All I can think of is that we know the identity of one of them, Clark McCracken,” I said, “so we should find the other two through him, somehow.”

“I was thinking the same thing. You knew him didn’t you?” she said.

“Yes, we grew up in the same neighbourhood. We stayed apart though, all through the years. He and his friends and me with my friends just always stayed away from each other. They were tough kids from the working class neighbourhood on the west side of the school. We were from the east side of the school where the families were more entrepreneurial and we had a more luxurious way of life. Not mansions or anything like that, just nice centre hall homes on tree-lined streets with two cars in each driveway.”

“I guess your past knowledge of him can’t help us much, if you’ve always been consciously apart from each other,” said Aileen

“Except that there were things said about him. I can’t be certain they’re true, but you know how things are in high school. Rumours spread through the student body like a flash fire. Maybe we can use blackmail to get some cooperation from him.”

“What do they say he did?” she said.

Lured Into A Secretive Squad (continued 3)

March 26, 2015 Leave a comment

The whole N3 squad as I knew it was at the next meeting. The debriefing was held in front of the whole crew to enable every member to get the full story of the other members’ experiences. I didn’t know it at the time, but we were to get assignments at the end of the debriefing meeting. I thought things were moving a bit recklessly fast, and intended to protest the speed with which things were advancing. Actually, I had never intended to be a guerrilla fighter, and decided to quit.

Before I had a chance to approach Aileen Schachter and tell her I was opting out, she announced that we were to work in teams of two, and she assigned the pairings. In the end, she looked at me like a sergeant looking at a rookie and announced she’d be teaming up with me. Needless to say, I immediately abandoned my plan to quit and dedicated myself to any supportive role Aileen might have for me.

Aileen asked if we could get together the next night at my apartment to plan our own N3 strategy. I stifled my surprise and assured her it would be a good idea. I suggested we have supper together at my place while we develop a strategy to deal with the anti-Semitic activities of the Aryan bullies. She agreed in an off-handed way as if my suggestion was barely worthy of attention. I vowed to myself that she would have a more attentive attitude in the future.

I realized that setting up for a romantic style dinner would not be the right thing to do. I had to present myself as ready to serve N3. I had to develop a genuine passion for the vigilante work of N3 for two reasons: first, I was getting hooked on this unique woman of strength and intelligence, and second, as a Jew, I could fall victim to these anti-Semitic white supremacists. They set themselves up as superior, while in fact they are inferior. If they were actually superior, they could run things the way they want to by actually earning positions of power and influence. Instead, they try to use brute force to gain superiority. That’s the way a primitive, ignorant society might get things done, but when dealing with a guerrilla group of dedicated vigilantes, their technique would have only temporary results.

I was the only one that had known Clark McCracken when we were growing up in the neighbourhood. Aileen asked me if I thought I could do what might be necessary in dealing with the skinhead he’d become.

“I’ll need some help in learning what we can do,” I said. “I’m a writer in an ad agency. I don’t know anything about vigilante warfare.”

“The main thing is to remember that we are not a ‘secret’ organization,” Aileen said. “We are a ‘secretive’ organization.”

“I understand the difference,” I said, somewhat impatient with her addressing me like I was a confused child.

“I’ll be at your place at seven. We can eat – nothing fancy, please – and hammer out a strategy,” said Aileen. She turned and left the room, left me standing there.

I drove to the supermarket while mentally figuring out a menu. I didn’t think to ask if she ate only kosher. No, she must not, I concluded, or she would have made a point of telling me. She also would be unwilling to eat with my dishes and cutlery because they’re not kosher.

I went to the kosher section of the market, just to be sure. Besides, it might be comfortable for Aileen if the meal is ethnically familiar. I bought beet borscht, gefilte fish, sour dill pickles, bagels and dry cottage cheese. For good measure I bought challah bread and headed home, eager to meet with the fascinating Ms Aileen Schachter in private. I wanted to know all about her.

Lured Into A Secretive Squad (continued 2)

March 25, 2015 1 comment

I struggled to stifle my emotions as I sat facing Mr. Hahn. We sat at the kitchen table in the small walk-up apartment over his barber shop. His aged face was bruised and swollen, his eyes blacked and a bandage covered a cut on his forehead. I knew him to be a kindly, timid man and I wondered how much he was suffering internally at the thought of the brutes raping his daughter.

Mr. Hahn was able to give me a rather good description of one of the three suspects because he remembered him from the neighbourhood. He was raised just one block over from Hahn’s barber shop and moved away with his family when he was seventeen.
His name was Clark McCracken and he’d developed into an Aryan warrior between the ages of seventeen and 22. Mr. Hahn did not know the other two offenders, but he did notice that those two committed the rape on Molly, but Clark did not. In fact, he seemed to be trying to discourage his cohorts, claiming that Molly was only fifteen and a shy, well behaved girl. One of the brutes turned to Clark before he pushed his way into Molly’s room.

“Always fuck a Jewess,” he laughed. “Let them see how an uncircumcised dick feels. Once they feel foreskin, they never go back.”

Poor Molly’s father could do nothing to help his daughter. He was sprawled in his barber chair, stunned from the blow to his forehead that was delivered by the barrel of Clark McCracken’s revolver.

“What happened to you, Clark,” Mr. Hahn had said. McCracken looked at the old man.

“I learned what the world is really like,” he said. “It’s a cesspool of greed and power in the hands of you Jews. You’re planning to manipulate all the markets and all the governments to take complete control over society.” Mr. Hahn shook his head slowly.

“As you can see, Clark, I am wealthy and powerful in the same place doing the same thing as I’ve been doing for more than thirty years. Where is my wealth and power?”

“You’re probably sending everything you steal to Israel, for their military leaders.”

I took notes on everything Mr. Hahn told me. He said it would be a few days before I could speak with Molly and Mrs. Hahn. I was not looking forward to it, I can assure you.
I learned that the two rapists had Nazi style tattoos. One had a swastika soaring in the claws of a hawk. The other had an Iron Cross over a broadsword. I thanked Mr. Hahn and he thanked me. I promised to see him again in two days, when I hoped to speak with his wife and daughter.

At home in my hi-rise apartment, I organized my material neatly in preparation for presenting it at a meeting later that night with the N3 group. I was actually eager to see Aileen Schachter again. I was attracted to her by her magnetic, feisty character in such a slight, slender young woman.

I wondered about her background and what had led her to be so fierce in her drive to protect the Jewish community. I decided to look for an opportunity to speak with her one-on-one. I was attracted to her and curious about her – and her connection to the young guy she seemed to go to at the meeting.