" THEY CALL IT THE CITY OF ANGELS " / CHAPTERS 11 To 22

"THEY CALL IT THE CITY OF ANGELS"

Editor and Publisher of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE Magazine

Announces a New Experimental Serial Novel about Los Angeles. 

Mr Joshua Triliegi wrote a chapter a day for several few weeks and 

posted the results immediately in various languages at the three blog 

blog spots 

that regularly showcase Art, Music & Cultural Community events.

" I thought it would be a good writing exercise to simply write about 

what I see and hear everyday on the streets of the city. To simply 

create a chapter a day based on the people and things going on 

in Los Angeles. Since we all come from so many backgrounds, 

styles, cultures and languages, I decided to structure the multi 

character novel to represent all of Los Angeles. I simply write a 

chapter a day by allowing the characters to unfold & the story to 

reveal itself based directly on the things I see and hear."

" Its pure fiction based on generalities. For instance, Chapter Three, 

which was inspired by a girl I saw on the bus earlier in the day, she 

had a sketch book with some nice artworks and I thought about her." 

Or Chapter One, based on a conversation I had with a guy who was 

entering back into society from a long stretch in the penitentiary. 

I thought about what other people in his life may have been thinking."

" Its a challenge to simply introduce a character and follow the creative 

line as it flows into something structured and complete. I usually know 

the beginning and the end of each Chapter, and simply let the middle 

fill itself out. I like the daily discipline as well as the audience being in 

on the process. In this particular case, I don't really take notes. I just 

start with an idea and let it flow. This is not a normal novel by any 

means, but it is a new and interesting challenge for both the writer and 

the readers. We are publishing it in three cities and a wide variety of 

languages, English, Italian, French, Chinese, Armenian, Chinese, Hebrew, 

Japanese & Korean so far. Its been a lot of fun I hope the people of Los 

Angeles and the world will follow it out as it reveals itself. As the writer, 

in this particular case, I am just as curious as the reader as to what will 

happen and how things will go. The cool thing about this project is how 

quickly the characters began to take on a life of their own. "

" Its an interesting way to work. I am putting together several other writing 

projects and decided that this would be a good warmer upper. We get 

anywhere from a 50 to 400+ views a day on our website for our Articles, 

Reviews and especially our Audio Interviews, so this particular literature 

project should be good exercise and at the same time, allow people to 

see how a novel is actually created day by day."

"They Call It The City of Angels"

A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI

CHAPTER 11 : JUNIOR      Written & Published Sept  6TH 2013

CHAPTER 12 : MOON        Written & Published Sept  9TH 2013

CHAPTER 13 : FRED         Written & Published Sept  10TH 2013

CHAPTER 14 : TURTLE     Written & Published Sept  11TH 2013

CHAPTER 15 : DORA         Written & Published Sept  12TH 2013

CHAPTER 16 : HOME         Written & Published Sept  13TH 2013

CHAPTER 17 : STONES      Written & Published Sept  16TH 2013

CHAPTER 18 : HOLE          Written & Published Sept  17TH 2013

CHAPTER 19 : ROOT          Written & Published Sept  18TH 2013

CHAPTER 20 : HEART        Written & Published Sept  19TH 2013

CHAPTER 21 : JOB            Written & Published Sept  20TH 2013

CHAPTER 22 : ASHES         Written & Published Sept  23RD 2013

They Call It The City of Angels

Chapter Eleven: Louis Junior  

The day you get out of the joint, they bring you into a room,

and bust out a bag of things that were in your possession 

the day you got arrested. Fifteen plus years was a long time.

He didn't even recognize the things they pulled out of the 

bag, kids stuff, some cash, the keys to his car, the key to 

his Mom's old house, a leather belt with his name inlaid, a 

pack of smokes, they didn't even make that brand anymore.

A wallet with a velcro strap along the top, inside it, a picture 

of his car, his mom and a school picture I.D. card of Josie.

He look at the wallet and tossed it back in the bag. 'F*%#'.

He walked outside and was waiting for a feeling of relief, 

some moment of freedom, but nothing happened. He looked 

at the sky and for the first time in a decade, he felt safe 

enough to cry, so he did. That was his freedom, the ability 

to show his feelings and not care who saw him. Junior had 

built up his armor, he was untouchable, nobody could get to 

him. He had been tested at every level. He'd been betrayed,

robbed, beat up, stabbed, lied to, yelled at, locked in the hole,

stripped naked, reprimanded, punished & poisoned, but he 

had passed every test that came his way. He learned about 

loyalty, strength, inner silence, concentration, focus and to 

some degree, friendship. During the first few years, people 

entered and left, that was difficult. He later realized that 

the only people worth getting to know were those who were 

doing as much time or more than you were. They'd always 

be there. You had to bond with someone dependable. Not 

that you could ever really depend on someone, but, having 

a connection in the kitchen or laundry or yard helped out.

Most of the stuff couldn't even be understood by anyone on 

the outside. He had become an animal in a human zoo. It 

took him a couple hours to get use to the fact that no one 

was watching him, no doors were shutting in front of and 

or, behind him. It didn't matter what time it was anymore. 

He had lived a life of clockwork bells, alarms, shouts and 

announcements on a p.a. system from the nineteen thirties.

It was hard to fathom that he could do whatever he pleased.

Louis Junior had not been the first or only member of his 

family to do time. Many of his Uncles and cousins had done 

a few years, here and there. But nobody had ever spent more 

than a decade. The first day in prison, he remembered a story 

that his uncle Ray had told him about spending time in prison.

"The first guy who even looks at you sideways, or calls you out,

no matter what color, no matter how big, no matter how crazy,

no matter if he's a prisoner or a guard, no matter what, you 

have to beat the living s+*t  out of the guy, no matter what."

So that's what he did. It worked, everyone left him alone, for 

a while. He eventually gave his mom permission to sell the car 

when she needed some money, as long as she promised to send 

him a few bucks every now and then. A guy needed things and 

you had to pay someone sometimes just to get by. Years 

past where he wouldn't even hear from anyone on the outside.

Not even his dad, after Juniors Mom had a stroke, things 

were hard for Louis Senior, when he recovered, they began 

to write each other regularly  and Junior would find that the 

old man had deposited a few dollars in his account. Which 

meant he could buy paper, stamps, a candy bar, this type of 

thing. Junior had been someone who really loved women. 

He had always loved his Grandmother, his Aunts, his Mom & 

of course Josie. During his stretch in the joint, it was the worst 

thing in the world to not spend time with a woman or a girl.

All those years deprived of the basic and simple touch of a 

woman's hand, the sound of her voice, the smell of her clothes.

Junior built up a world in his mind that was like a television 

show or a film or movie that he could repeat over and over: 

"The Summer of Junior and Josie". Not unlike one he saw 

in school during a social studies class, the teacher wheeled 

out a television and everyone watched a show that had 

been produced for boston public television, he never forgot 

it, it was called, "James at Sixteen", where this kid is trying 

to get through life and he's in love with this girl. One night,

they steal away and spend the night together out in the wild.

He and Josie had done that, they'd gone swimming, they'd 

gone to see The Shylites, they'd seen Fernando pitch for the 

Dodgers, they even went to a freaky punk rock concert at 

a burnt out church in Hermosa beach one night. So, in his 

mind, he just relived it all, night after night, day after day, 

month after month, year after year. It was like a regular 

show with different episodes, a mix between "Chico and the 

Man", "The Partridge Family"  and  "James at Sixteen".

That was how he survived it all. There were about a dozen 

or so episodes & he just watched them over and over again.

Of course there was that tragic last episode & unfortunately,

he was forced to watch that one just as many times as the rest.

The one thing he realized right away was the fact that he had 

no friends, knew nobody and nobody really knew him. Alone.

He had his dad, but that was not very solid. He had his sister 

and now she had three girls, but all they had heard of him 

was probably tainted. People feared ex-prisoners, mistrusted 

them, were suspicious and often blamed them for whatever 

went wrong in their lives. He had heard a thousand different 

stories through the years about guys returning home and coming 

right back due to some family member who dropped a dime 

because something had gone wrong, a valuable item had been 

misplaced or any number of things. He promised himself that 

he would never, ever go back, no way, no how, no, no, no. 

So as soon as he hit the street he headed straight over to the 

outreach where he had been receiving letters from a priest. 

It took him half the day to get over there by bus and the other 

half to get back down to the harbor where his Dad, sister and 

little nieces lived.  The priest had explained that they needed 

guys like Junior. Everything on the streets of Los Angeles was 

changing. There had been a truce between several rival gangs 

and guys like Junior had a place in the church. "All right 

Father", he had said. " We have work for you, come back and 

see me tomorrow morning, we have a lot of work to do."

The Father gave him five dollars for bus fair home, they shook 

hands and Junior walked back out into the street, a bit blinded 

by the light. He'd been living in dark grey hallways and closed 

quarters for years now, all this sunlight and open sky was new.

He wasn't ready to see his old man and hadn't seen the old 

neighborhood where they had grown up, so he made it a point 

to check it out. When he got there, the house was gone, in fact 

the entire block was gone, it had been razed by the city and 

nothing at all had been built on it, just a chain link fence.

Then he remembered hearing about how the local chemical 

factory had been polluting the fields directly behind their home 

and had to pack it in. They bought out anyone who could prove 

that they or their property had been damaged. They had never 

even owned the property and by the time his mother found out 

she had ddt in her blood, a year had passed and it was too late 

to collect. She had been visiting a sister in Texas when it all 

went down, never even heard about until after the fact. "Mom",

he said out loud. He stared at the open field & looked above him.

A red tailed hawk circled over his head several times, it landed 

on the only tree left in the entire field and screeched at him. 

The bus dropped him off in the harbor well after dark, he 

had been given the address and knew it was blocks away 

from where his Mother was buried. His old man had 

written that he would walk to her grave all the time. 

When Junior found their house, it was fully lit. A big 

house out of an old movie. He could see the table set 

for dinner through the windows and what must have been 

his niece's bicycles and toys splayed across the front yard. 

Music could be heard from the house next door and then 

he saw his sister Celia in a white cotton dress and what 

must have been her new husband, bringing food from the 

kitchen into the living room. The house glowed with a 

picturesque energy that looked like something he couldn't 

relate to. It was almost too perfect to the point where, it 

seemed fake to him. He became scared that maybe he 

would say the wrong thing. What did he have to talk 

about ? Junior realized all of this was happening too 

soon, he wasn't ready for this at all. He walked back 

down the street toward the waterfront and stared at 

the water for the next few hours. When it got past 

midnight, he strolled back up the hill, opened the front 

gate and found a yard chair under the tree in the backyard. 

He didn't really sleep anymore, so he just rested, looked 

at the stars and wondered what he would do with his life. 

After all the planning and scheming to stay alive and out 

of trouble while inside, Junior hadn't had much time to 

plan what to do when he finally got out. Well, he had his 

appointment with the Father tomorrow morning, guess 

he'd just take it one day at a time, as those dudes in the 

program say. Then, he couldn't help it, just like clockwork, 

he decided to watch an episode from "The Summer of 

Junior and Josie". The one where she can't stop laughing 

at his stupid jokes and they end up asleep in each others 

arms. When Junior awoke , it was morning, his new 

brother-in-law handed him a cup of coffee in a big white 

mug that said ' Support Your Local Police ', he looked 

kind of familiar.

They Call It The City of Angels

Chapter Twelve: Moon

Moon was once a lifeguard. Her older sister had been 

a forester and later joined the piece corp. They were a 

Venice Beach family from as far back as the late 1950's. 

Moon was what they now call old school, she baked pies, 

mixed her own essential oils, her special patchouli, sandal-

wood, mint and lemon with a touch of rosemary, was 

especially popular.  She sewed quilts, grew her own 

tomatoes, and occasionally imbibed a few herbs, but 

only for ceremonial purposes. One late Summer or was 

it early Fall ? Moon had been working the coast as a junior 

lifeguard, she was still in high school when a giant swell 

hit the Southern California beach side. It was strange to 

have such big waves so early in the season, tourists, locals, 

amateurs and professional wave riders all came out to try 

their luck. Every registered junior lifeguard was called in 

to watch the beaches. Already several kids had drowned 

along the coast. From Swami's surf spot down South, to 

the County line up North, there were reports of near 

drownings, accidents of all sorts. Moon had only been 

working officially a few weeks when the waves hit Venice 

Beach. She knew the locals were not going to sit this one 

out, swells in Venice were gigantic. Boards were being split 

in half by the pylons along the piers most notorious break. 

It was not unusual to see even the most seasoned locals 

washed up along the shore with a wound of some sort. 

Some of these boys considered it a right of passage.

One of them would soon become her most intimate 

companion.  

Mickey was not the best surfer in his crew, in fact he 

was most likely the worst. But he had guts. No one could 

judge him on style or bravery, he just needed a few more 

seasons in the water. Having been more of a so-called, 

grease monkey, rather than a beach bum, delayed his 

experience as a kid. While his dad was still around, he 

could always be found just about two or three yards from 

wherever and or whatever the old man was doing. Usually, 

fixing someone's Harley. These were not regular motor 

cycles, per se, these were incredibly complicated Rube 

Goldberg type contraptions that just happened to also 

be vehicles. Were talking about choppers with chrome 

beyond chrome, candy coated paint jobs with more coats 

of varnish than anyone could imagine. These were complete 

works of art. Upon inspection, it was hard to believe anyone 

actually rode the things. There were a good number of 

bikers who actually parked their bikes, inside the house. 

That was how important a man's bike was in his life.  If 

their wives or girl friends ever got jealous of anything, it 

was seldom another woman. Time, money, care, pride, 

attention, all seemed to be focused on the ride. When 

Mickey's old man disappeared, he started hanging out 

with the older surfers in his neighborhood, gravitated 

towards the older brother types, most of them had been 

surfing since childhood, many had even started shaping 

their own boards and some had gone professional, suffice 

it to say, he had some great teachers. But every man rides 

the waves alone, having a good teacher only got you so far, 

in the same way that having your bike tuned by another 

man only meant that if it broke down out on the highway, 

you might not know how to get it home yourself. The day 

Mickey paddled out on eight foot waves with ten foot swells, 

none of his pals could teach him the lesson only mother 

nature could provide. He dropped in on a wave that was 

so powerful, so beautifully shaped, so massive, that it gave 

him the ride of his life. People were shouting from the 

coastline, tourists took pictures and locals were in awe. 

And then, he had to pay the piper, hadn't gaged his exit 

properly, just by a few seconds too many, like cinderella, 

boom, way past midnight pal. The wave picked him up, 

about six feet mid-air, swiftly and without warning 

slammed his body into the grey sea, he might has well 

have been dropped from a roof onto concrete. That was 

just the beginning, from there, he was thrust under water, 

hit the bottom, bounced back up to the surface and back 

down again. And then, as if being spit from the mouth of 

giant, he was thrust upon the shore, like an octopus might 

shoot out the remains of a recent meal. Onlookers gasped, 

he was, as they say in the movies, dead in the water. Moon 

was the first person to reach him. She lifted his arms, 

cleared his breathing canal, pumped his chest three times, 

and for the first time in her life, began to push the life force 

from her body into another human being. Alternating the 

three point pressure pushes on his chest with the air in his 

lungs, for all of twelve minutes, she had been taught well. 

Mickey coughed up a half a gallon of salt water before 

coming back to full awareness. Looking up to see what 

appeared to be an angel of some sort. He was overcome 

with a strange mixture of fear and thankfulness. He reached 

up like a child might reach out of a crib, wrapped his arms 

around Moons waist and cried. He cried just like a new born 

baby. She joined him.

Some years later, Mickey would claim that he did the 

whole thing on purpose, just to meet her, some of his 

pals believed him, but Moon knew better. He had almost 

died on the beach that day and she was well aware of his 

appreciation. Not just for his actual life, but for all of the 

other things she was. Moon was the type of person who 

completes a man. Respected by women and admired by 

men. A lot of people fell for her. Mickey's family had never 

been able to deal with the girls he had dated in the past. But, 

to his Grandmother, Moon was a homemaker. To his Mother, 

Moon was loyal and trustworthy. To his little sister, Moon 

was supportive, caring and didn't judge her for being such 

a tomboy. She fit right into their family. The only thing she 

had to give up was being a lifeguard. Mickey became extremely 

insecure. He thought that maybe everyone who she might save 

would have the same reaction he did and begged her to quit. 

She eventually, a Summer and a half later, granted his 

immature request, on one condition, they move in together. 

She moved in with him and together, they looked after his 

grandmother. Mickey's Mom was often on tour with bands 

during those early years. So Moon and Mickey were like 

parents to his little sister. Grandma added a bit of old world 

spice to the mix. She was the original rebel. Grandma had 

opened one of the first and longest running bookstores in the 

beach area. Moon started working there part time and slowly 

began to manage the place. It was one of those historical 

literary spots where all the beat poets had read their work. 

There were two literary institutes in Venice beach, Beyond 

Baroque and their store. European writers, New York writers, 

San Francisco writers, Chicago writers, all had done readings 

there through the years. From Henry Miller to Arthur Miller, 

it was a great place to buy a book and had a long standing 

tradition with edgy, respected authors of all sorts. Moon 

became a familiar fixture. She was the go - to - Gal.  

When the phone rang, Moon answered it, she had been 

ringing up a couple from Europe who had heard about the 

bookstore from their hometown of Paris France. There had 

been a poster in the window of a bookstore up the street 

from their apartment called Shakespeare and Company. 

The two stores were like sisters. They shared an equal 

history and created an unofficial exchange program. 

Moon didn't know what to think of Mickey's quick and 

deliberate statement that his dad was alive and he would 

call her back later. She had never met the old man and 

wondered what it would do to Mickey. For years, that was 

all he talked about. His old man this, his old man that. 

She packed up the couples five vintage paperback novels 

and hoped he'd call back. All of the stories she had heard 

through the years about Mickey's infamous dad began to 

sift through her mind. She knew that everything was about 

to change. The entire life they had built up together. Moon 

got the sense that a new storm was about to hit the beach, 

she could only hope that Mickey wouldn't paddle out the 

way he tended to do when things got crazy. How many 

times could she save him ? When she got home that night 

Mickey and the old man sat at their table in their kitchen. 

Talk about Shakespeare and company. Moon got the sense 

that a king had returned and a prince was handing back his 

crown. She didn't like it one bit. " Moon, this is my father." 

His Old man looked up, smiled and said, with his trademark 

sarcasm, "The Son and the Moon ? Now all I need are the 

stars and I'm good to go." He took a shot. Moon tilted her 

head and quietly stared like a cat might look at a sparrow. 

She smiled & poured herself a shot, " Heres to you."

They Call It The City of Angels

Chapter Thirteen: Fred

Fred was not his real name, but like a lot of immigrants,

he had wanted to represent America, by becoming a real 

American and so, he started going by Fred. You know, 

like Fred McMurray, he would say to people. He knew 

three different guys from his region who had taken the 

name Sam. You know, like Uncle Sam, they would say. 

Mostly unaware that not everyone in America in the late 

sixties & early nineteen seventies related very much to 

either Fred McMurray from the television show, 'My 

Three Sons' or Uncle Sam, who had just sent thousands 

of young men to their deaths in Vietnam. But, these new 

immigrants had to believe in America, and they did.

Many bought property, businesses, and encouraged their 

first born to join the armed forces. Fred and one of his 

partners from back home had invested in a liquor store 

located in the center of Los Angeles. When they first 

purchased it, they had both been working in the local 

factories in the day, and by night, they held jobs as 

security guards. Full time all day, part time all night, 

for about a decade. Finally, they bought the store, put 

up a big neon sign, Fred & Sam's Neighborhood Market. 

Since the initial purchase the neighborhood had changed.

Los Angeles had grown into the proverbial melting pot 

that is always talked about in Sociology classes at big 

universities. In the old days, its was New York or Chicago 

that was often used as the example of a new America, 

now it was Los Angeles and Fred was happy to be a part 

of it. That was until Sam had a heart attack and Fred was 

left to not only run the store full time, which meant he often 

had to pull all nighters, but also keep the books, order the 

product and find a way to either, buy out his dead partners 

in-laws, who knew nothing about the store or business in 

general or continue to cut them checks. He was in a quandary 

and more and more the relationship between he and his wife 

became strained. Losing Josie was the beginning of a chasm 

that only deepened in time. On somedays, they worked in 

tandem.  

When Fred got word that Louis Junior was to be released 

from prison, he started thinking of ways to deal with it.

Imagined the worst things he had ever imagined, that he 

would like to run him over, shoot him, stuff like that. It 

was terrible, he knew it. The boy had been locked up for 

years and had paid his debt to society and still Fred was 

unable to forgive. Every thing he had ever been taught, 

philosophically speaking, had been thrown out the window.

He just couldn't get over it and it began to gnaw at him.

The liquor store was situated in a part of Los Angeles 

that bordered three different groups of people and within 

those three groups, there were sometimes factions between 

the groups themselves. There might be three rival territories 

for one particular group. Which meant his customers were 

sometimes clashing over issues he had no knowledge of.

For instance, The Strolling 40's might come into the store 

at say, 1:30 AM before closing, to buy a case of Cold Duck 

for a Ladies Night party that just wouldn't quit. Well, if it 

just so happened that some dudes from the 12th Street crew 

were looking to buy a pack of blunts and a tall sixer of Malt 

Liquor, 'Don't let the smooth taste fool you' , the advertising 

stated just above the register, with a half naked woman who 

had probably been paid less than a months rent to bare her 

body for the sale of this fine, cold beverage, than, there might 

be a problem. One night, just before closing, a Chevy Impala, 

full of locals, rear ended a group of kids in a VW, while one 

of them was exiting from the back seat through the drivers 

side door. The VW was thrust forward and the door slammed 

shut while the kids arm was still in its path, so he was standing 

outside the car, but his shoulder was pinned between the window 

and the door jam. No matter what they did, the door wouldn't 

open up. The kid is screaming, the dudes in the chevy don't want 

to stick around to meet the man, and all this is happening in 

Fred's parking lot.  What could he do about it ? Nothing. 

These incidents became more and more frequent and he 

became well schooled in the ways of street life in L.A. 

He had left his country to get away from things like this 

and here he was in the middle of a territory not at all unlike 

the very place he was brought up in. Killings in his region 

were rampant, there had been fields of dead bodies eventually 

discovered. Sometimes he would get home and have nothing 

to say, just plain numb from the day, didn't even want his wife 

to know about what was going on out there in the world.  

Eventually, he was forced to buy bullet proof glass, cameras 

and a permit to buy a gun. Then he had to learn how to shoot. 

On Saturday mornings, from eight to ten in the morning, he 

went to a local shooting range and slowly began to meet some 

of the local cops. When he told them where his store was 

located, they started to fill him in on a few inside tips. Fred 

learned about 'sweep days', certain days of the month when 

local cops scrutinized certain areas. He learned about quotas,

and which days would be especially, what they called on the 

streets, ' HOT '. Fred had heard his customers talking about 

these things through the years, but it was like a code he 

didn't understand, now he was in on it. Fred was wising up.

Through the years, Fred would be forced to call the police.

He knew there was a code and yet there were times when 

he absolutely had no choice but 'call the man'. He had met 

a bunch of these guys in the parking lot of his store in the 

early days and later would see them at the shooting range.

Fred and Chuck became friends outside of their official 

business and realized that they both had things in common.

Namely: Louis Junior. It was a high profile case, Chuck 

was a witness, but Fred had been in shock, he didn't really 

remember the faces of his lawyer, his judge or even Chuck. 

The only face that stuck in his mind during that entire ordeal,

was that of his dead daughter, "Daddy", he could hear her say. 

There was nothing comparable to losing a child to Fred. He 

had lost a piece of himself. That child, to him, was his Mother, 

his Grandmother, all the women in his family, it was his 

future and all of it had been taken away, over nothing at all.

Fred called Chuck at his home office the week before Louis 

Junior was released. He thanked him for the good work he 

had done and expressed that maybe they should talk some 

time soon. When Chuck got the message, he remembered 

the scene that night, thought about his own daughters and 

realized that no matter what, he still had to follow through.

Chuck got in his car, drove downtown & requested a wiretap.

He couldn't go directly to a judge, but he went to his pals at 

the division and they put forward a formal request. On the 

way back home , he exited the 110 freeway and walked into 

Fred and Sam's Neighborhood market, he was in plainclothes,

" I got your message and don't worry, were working on it. "

Fred smiled for the first time in a few months, said nothing.

He didn't charge him for the soda pop either. It was a 'HOT' day.  

They Call It The City of Angels

Chapter Fourteen : Turtles

Turtles lived a long time. Ancient and modern Native 

Americans know that some turtles live over a hundred 

years. In fact, if circumstances allowed, just about any 

living being could live an extraordinary amount of time.

Jordan had been given a set of brushes that was his 

grandfathers from the early nineteen thirties. It came 

in a black leather case that housed two or three brushes, 

a glass container for some type of hair tonic, a stylized 

scissors and a container that might have held a bar of 

soap. He had never used the family heirloom and now 

that he had some time off, he unpacked it. He decided 

that this would be a safe place to put this newfound 

package of dollars bills he had recently acquired.

When he opened the container for soap, what appeared 

to be the oldest and largest daddy long legs spider ever, 

peaked from out of the soap container. It was ancient 

and had a vibe to it like no other animal of its kind. 

It's eyes had lids and lashes, it's face, expressed some 

kind of emotions: pain, regret, loss, just plain tired. 

Jordan right away knew that this was a spider that 

must have been living in the kit as far back as the 

nineteen thirties, when his own granddad was just a 

boy . He'd heard of things like this and immediately 

and quite carefully put the spider back into the soap 

case, zipped up the brush kit and as far as he was 

concerned, that spider actually was his grandfather. 

 Jordan drove up the coast to where the accident 

happened, pulled over and just sat there. He began 

to study the landscape from every imaginable angle 

and point of view, there was the derelict in the trailer 

who pulled out without looking, there was the beach 

comber, there was the turtle and of course his own 

point of view. He'd been having some strange dreams 

ever since the thing with the turtle happened. It all 

had something to do with nature and his connection 

or maybe disconnection with the elements, the basics. 

Maybe he just had too much time on his hands. Or, 

maybe it was the money. Either way, he was noticing 

things that had never meant much in the past. Jordan 

had never gone to the bookstore in Venice Beach 

when he wasn't driving a bus, but for some reason, 

he decided to head down there. They had a whole 

section on native americans and animal medicine, 

he bought a book on turtles. He had been experiencing 

a recurring dream of swimming with a group of turtles, 

but the image was from a whole other lifetime, it was 

weird, you know how dreams can be, a whole other set 

of rules. 

Apparently, animals had been popping up all over 

Los Angeles in strange and unexpected places. 

There had been a coyote sighting in the middle 

of downtown, a family of raccoons had been seen 

swimming across a pool which had been built for 

the nineteen-eighty-six olympic games, a rattle 

snake on the streets of Westwood, these were not 

your run of the mill animal sightings, something 

was going on. What was the deal with that turtle 

and where did it go ? As he was walking out of the 

store, he noticed Moon getting off the back of a 

motorcycle in the front of the store. This was 

probably her boyfriend and he didn't want to 

make a big deal out of anything, so he just 

smiled and waved, but she jumped off the bike 

and pulled him over to the edge of the street.

"Hey, I want you to meet my old man, Mickey."

Jordan was a little embarrassed but felt obliged,

" Mickey, this is one of our customers ..."  He 

extended his hand, looked into Mickey's eyes and 

said, "The names Jordan, nice to meet you." But 

he was thinking, 'Damn, that's the dude who was 

on the bus that day.' Mickey recognized the face, 

but didn't make the connection right away, "Nice 

to meet ya." Mickey drove off thinking that maybe 

they had met somewhere before. Jordan drove 

off thinking that life was pretty weird and getting 

weirder by the day. When he pulled up to the stop 

sign, he looked down at the cover of the book and 

noticed that the tile on the turtles back was the 

exact same shape as the stop sign, it had eight 

sides. Like a Pythagorus pattern he had admired.

Some of the ancient tiled patterns through the 

centuries utilized the octagon as a sacred symbol.

They hinted at the idea that we are all connected 

in one way or another, the patterns of life.

He hadn't smoked anything for over a year, not 

since the quartet disbanded, but he was beginning 

to feel kinda, out there. He looked left, than right,

then left again, put his foot on the gas pedal and 

noticed a group of fire trucks parked a block down,

they were spraying water onto a giant palm tree.   

He didn't know what to do with himself, nor did he 

make any decisions as to what he might do with 

the money. He hadn't counted the bills but he did 

peel back the brown paper, which, upon inspection 

had lots of little designs and was broken up into 

squares in perforated form, like a postage stamp.

They were hundred dollar bills, so he had to guess 

that it was a hell of a lot of money. He got nervous 

thinking about it. When the cops had showed up,

he had seen them scoop up the other packages 

along with the guys other things, a bag of clothes,

a few blankets, they gathered  everything into a 

bag marked 'evidence' which had been dated with 

a black marker. When they tossed it in the trunk 

he wondered if a guy like that would even miss it.

Since then, he had been talking to some of the 

more experienced drivers about incidents such as 

these and several had suggested that he ought to 

get a lawyer. You could never be too careful. 

Jordan figured that he could definitely afford one 

if he needed to and wouldn't it be ironic that he 

would be using the funds to protect himself from 

the very dude who he might go to court with. But 

that wasn't what the other drivers meant. They 

were suggesting that he get a lawyer in case the 

transit authority fired him. They might just use 

this as an excuse to can him, even if it wasn't his 

fault. He was already the odd man out. What 

his fellow drivers didn't know was that Jordan 

had gained a few franklins recently and didn't 

really care about his job driving a bus. He had 

become fixated on the turtle. He was tripping.

They Call It The City of Angels

Chapter Fifteen: Dora 

Dora worked for a very big firm, right out of 

college. Their clients were large corporations,

food chains, car dealerships, hospitals, major 

sports teams and entertainment personalities.

She would often be one of a dozen different 

lawyers assigned to a case. They were extremely 

powerful people who had ways of influencing 

decisions that went far beyond what everyday 

people could even comprehend. If her firm had 

been defending a food chain for say food poison,

then they had the power to have articles placed 

in newspapers, opinion pieces on the radio, even 

news stories on how that particular company 

was doing good community work and improving 

its nutritional value or helping kids with polio or 

donating funds to a particular recent tragedy.

She learned a lot about how things worked 

and after five years, became so disgusted with 

the firm, that she flat out quit. Dora had watched 

hundreds of individuals cheated out of situations.

They had been poisoned, they had driven cars that 

were ill equipped, they had been plagiarized, they 

had been injured and still sent out to play the game,

they had been operated on the wrong bodily organ,

all sorts of situations where the individual was 

wronged and her firm defended the large company. 

She realized that after all she had learned in school, 

she had been working on the wrong side, for the 

wrong people. So she went back to school for three 

years and came out a new human being. She had 

learned in those first five years how the big boys 

wielded their power and was ready to take them 

on for the sake of the individual and she did. 

  

Dora took on cases that involved most of the same 

types of issues that she had worked on those first 

five years, but now, she was working for the person 

who had been wronged. When a football player 

had been injured, an employee had been crippled,

a resident had been stricken with a disease which 

had been prolonged by chemicals, she prosecuted 

the big companies. She never spoke about cases in 

public, was aware of illegal wiretaps, never met her 

clients in public places, she had learned well. Dora 

knew that there was nothing the large firms wouldn't 

do to win a case. During the first five years she had 

seen it all. Placing individuals at designated locations 

to get information on a witness, getting the low down 

on a certain assistant's personal habits and indeed 

utilizing any technical device to further the source 

of information for one side or the other, it was a 

game of one-up-man-ship with no regard for the law.

At least not until the actual day in court, prior to 

that day, anything was possible and just about every 

one could be influenced, scared, cajoled, even bought.

As soon as she found out who was being sued in a 

conversation with a new client, she would hold up her 

hand and pass the victim a blank sheet of paper, as 

if to say, 'Here, write it down for me.'  She trusted 

no one. That is why she won so many cases and 

became well known for being extremely dedicated.

Even feared. She had friends in the universities, 

forensic scientists, professionals who trusted her 

opinion on wether the fight was worth it or not.

People knew that if Dora thought it was a worthy 

cause than, it was indeed, a worthy cause.

When she got a call from a bus driver who said he 

had recently been in an accident that was entirely 

the other persons fault and feared he was actually 

being fired for his religious beliefs, she met with 

him. Sure enough, as soon as he mentioned the 

Transit Authority, Dora raised her hand and passed 

him a piece of paper with a pen. There had been a 

series of cases involving the transit authority and 

most of them had settled out of court. There was 

even a current case involving a group of people 

suing over the schedules not being met, a union 

had been created among the actual riders and they 

were seeking to keep the transit authority honest 

about the hours in which they claimed to be servicing.

Dora knew that religion had become a point of 

reference in not only the united states armed forces,

but also in many large companies, corporations 

and even in schools. She had been raised believing 

that church and state were a separate institute 

all together. Dora had once been surprised, even 

shocked to find a sculpture of Moses and the ten 

commandments attached to the side of a courthouse 

where she sometimes worked. After a few days of 

investigation, she told Jordan that if indeed he was 

fired, that she thought he may have a case. She was 

not a trial lawyer anymore, but knew one who had 

specialized in this rather successfully in the past.  

The events he had sited in his casual deposition had 

exposed a system of favoritism that was based on 

affiliations and not on seniority or performance. She 

wanted to know if some of his friends or fellow workers 

would back him up. She called a friend who had tried 

this type of thing in the past, some were race related, 

others were systematic. They needed to get witnesses 

who had been retired early for the same type of charge. 

Witnesses who had nothing to lose by testifying for a 

just cause. Dora put the word out among her circuit.

That night, after picking up Cliff , Dora and Stan 

discussed how best to handle this recent event at 

Cliff's school. They decided it was best to correct 

the school and request a change of policy before 

taking it any further. They liked the school, it was 

close to home and her office. If the school were to 

utilize trained employees with certifications during 

outings, then they would not sue. Cliff had friends 

there, they felt it was more important that they make 

changes rather than waves and indeed they did. The 

school swiftly rid the volunteers and hired three new 

employees to handle the excursions. Dora was disgusted 

that someone would do such a thing, who were these 

people that would dress her child a certain way to send 

a personal message to someone else ? Unfortunately,

one of the volunteers got a copy of the letter Dora had 

drafted with her letterhead and the address of her office.

Not only was Dora about to find out what kind of person

does such a thing, she was about to find out just how 

disgusting some people will go to attempt to make two 

wrongs a right. There was a sickness in society and 

Dora had always been someone who had worked to 

heal that disease. She had been tested thousands of 

times and had almost always achieved her goal, but 

coming up against a vindictive ex volunteer would 

soon prove to be more challenging than her previous 

accomplishments. This particular volunteer was insane. 

Dora put Cliff to bed and her and Stan shared a glass 

of sherry as they had done customarily for many years.

He told her about the recent release of this kid he had 

put away fifteen years ago, the boy had been Cliff's age 

and had been tried as an adult. He was now having some 

second thoughts about the whole case. Dora reminded him, 

' Once the decision has been made, there is no turning back, 

your a judge. Evidence is presented, a jury made a decision, 

end of story.'  He didn't want to tell her about the wiretap 

request, so he simply let it go. He was good at that. He also 

knew, deep down inside that the only places where stories 

actually ended were in movies, plays and books. This was 

real life, where the story never really ended, it just lingered.

They Call It The City of Angels

Chapter Sixteen: Home

God had a lot of different definitions to a lot of 

different people. Junior wasn't exactly sure if he 

totally understood the concept of what god was.

He had seen how people who believed in god had 

sometimes transformed themselves. He had been 

accepted by a group of firm believers and felt a 

certain amount of gratitude for being accepted.

Deep down inside, he still had some real doubts.

For the past two weeks, he had settled into his 

new home, had been given a key, so he could 

come and go as he pleased, but had no idea of 

the kind of culture shock that pervaded his 

every thought. That many years away, locked 

up, had taken away his identity as a person.

He had become a unit within a machine and 

was now searching for who he actually was.

Louis Senior had brought out boxes of old 

family photographs that junior sifted through.

He rebuilt his existence by putting together a 

sort of road map of his life before the accident.

He had taken a series of odd jobs, but none of 

them seemed to fit. The priest had introduced 

him to a social worker who gave him a bunch 

of temporary job options, a program wherein 

you could work for three days at various jobs 

to see if you had the skills. He had tried his hand 

at cleaning windows on skyscrapers downtown 

with a crew of guys, but the height prove too 

much for him. He spent a few days cleaning out 

the public bathrooms all along the harbor, grunt 

work that only reminded him of prison. He had 

gutted fish in one of the last canneries that still 

existed in the harbor, came home smelling of guts.

None of it meant anything to him, but he was thankful 

for the opportunities and had, on several occasions 

spent time in the church to show his gratitude.

The priest explained that, on some days, even he 

had questions about faith that could not always 

be answered directly. He would tell Junior that,

"It's an ongoing relationship, have patience my son."

Junior had seen a lot of different types of faiths,

while in the joint. There were all types of believers,

he was very interested in the native american dudes 

who believed in the animals, let their hair grow long 

and had ceremonies that allowed them to practice 

their own belief system, they fasted, held prayer circles 

and chanted during certain moon and sun phases. He 

had also respected and became friends with a group 

of Buddhists who shaved their heads, meditated and 

had found a way to tolerate just about any type of abuse 

that the system or other inmates could dish out. There 

were plenty of Muslim's who had strict rules on what 

to eat, when and how to bathe, what direction to pray.

Of course, he had plenty of friends who were down with 

the Jesus thing and having been raised in that faith 

himself, naturally gravitated toward it. Most of the 

people in that circle believed that Jesus was the only 

way, but somewhere in Juniors mind, he had built a

map that had more than one way to get home and he 

quietly tolerated those who felt differently about it.

He had a common sense about him that allowed for 

there to be a, 'constant maybe', to just about anything.

There were no guarantees in this world, that was clear.

One of the big boys had given him an address, that if,

in case of emergency, he could go to, for work. He had 

done enough favors, cooperated enough with heavies 

to gain their trust and respect. He had the address 

memorized. It was the kind of work that no one actually 

talks about, no applications to fill out, no supervisor 

to report to, no waiting two weeks for your first check.

You were paid in advance and you did the job quickly.

It was the last thing he wanted to do. Since finding 

out that his brother - in - law was a cop, he became 

cautious about anything he said or did at all times.

He still hadn't put it together that Chuck was the cop 

who had testified against him. Back then Chuck was 

clean shaven, with a full set of hair, no glasses. Now,

Chuck was balding grey, with a mustache and specs.

Junior had come to admire what his sister had done, 

built a family, bought a home, taken in their father 

after his mother had passed away. His little nieces 

were funny, sarcastic, nerdy, the way that kids can 

sometimes be, they said stuff that had more truth 

to it than some of the adults. He respected people 

who told the truth more than those that put up a 

front. Chuck and Celia had done something with 

their lives, they had created a family. Junior was 

almost positive that he would never do such a thing.

One day, while Chuck was at work, Celia and Junior 

were having lunch in the main house, she ran out 

front to catch the delivery driver who was just down 

the street. Junior had walked down the hall towards 

the bathroom and accidentally opened the door to 

Chucks office which was normally locked. He entered 

the room to find himself surrounded by a litany of facts 

and graphs regarding the things going on the city. 

Recent arrests, murders, rapes, drug busts and the 

recent palm tree burnings that had pervaded L.A. with 

news clippings, photographs and police reports. When 

he looked at the top of Chucks desk he read a tear 

sheet that had been faded and worn. It was a headline 

that read, 'Local Teen Tried as Adult for Manslaughter'.

He had never even seen the paper the day he was 

convicted, but there it was in plain sight. He looked 

closer and studied the photographs, one of him, the 

day of his arrest, one of the vehicle, a picture of 

both Josie and Ryan from the high school yearbook 

and a picture of a young Officer Chuck. 'MotherF*#@'.

He looked out the window which faced the guest house 

and saw a cord that ran from the guest house roof 

over to Chucks window and into a phone jack unit 

that looked freshly installed, pieces of paint had been 

scraped away, exposing wood slivers around the jack.

He closed the door and rushed to the dinner table 

before Celia came back in with a big box containing 

some dresses she had ordered for one of the girls 

upcoming birthday party. He smiled and said he 

had some work to do down at the church. It wasn't 

a total lie, he had promised the father that he would 

stop by and mow the lawn sometime in the next few 

days. But instead, he got on a bus and headed for the 

address he had been given. He was scared for the 

first time since leaving prison and it wasn't the fear 

of god.

Junior remembered a story he had been told long ago.

It was about the town where his people had come from.

Back when his grandfather had been a small child, there 

had been a sort of Robin Hood, who was an outlaw, but 

had protected his townspeople, had gotten rid of a local 

merchant who had been abusing his power. When the 

authorities came to arrest him, the people of the town 

got together and decided to do what they could to assist. 

From his window in the local jail, they would put on a 

sort of show, 'Teatro de la Calle'. By wearing certain 

costumes, affecting certain body types, they were able 

to send him messages about what was really going on. 

It didn't take him very long to learn how many days he 

had left and where and how his fate was to be sealed. 

It was an amazing effort how the citizens were able to 

communicate in this way and he felt honored. He did 

escape, but was eventually killed in cold blood. Since 

that time, the system that had been created was still 

in existence. Whenever there had been an injustice by 

the authorities, the people had gathered to help inform,

in one way or another the Robin Hood's of the region.

Word got out and this way of communicating became 

well known. It was exported and utilized throughout 

the regions where oppressed peoples had little power.

Junior began to relate to that story and decided that 

he had to tap into that same type of tradition. How 

could they have not told him? His own father ? His 

own Sister ? He felt betrayed and indeed, he had been.

He walked up to the house, checked the address again,

rang the bell, the door opened, he walked inside, the 

door closed.  'Welcome back', a voice softly said. He 

was finally home.   

  

They Call It The City of Angels

Chapter Seventeen: Stones

The Stones had been reunited. For the past few weeks, 

with Charles back at home, the house became full of 

energy. For years, it had been more like a place with 

a large memory. Now it was, once again, a real home.

Charles, Maggie, Micky, Calley, Grandma and Moon 

found themselves thrust into the public eye, due to the 

sudden return of Charles 'Big Daddy' Stone, as he had 

been known throughout the art world all those years.

He had been a part of the nineteen sixties counter culture 

revolution that included guys like Robert Crumb, who 

had famously designed the 'Keep on Truckin'  image 

which had been tattooed, reprinted & even bootlegged 

ever since it's inception. Charles had been made famous 

around the time that Andrew Wyeth' s son Jamie had 

painted a biker riding one of Charles' famous choppers.

Charles began to sell drawings and became collected 

by the top notch musicians & later by everyday hippies. 

Mickey had kept the legend alive by reprinting his fathers

famous, 'Dude on a Chopper' logo on stickers, t-shirts 

and posters. It was the family business, helping to pay 

the bills, as well as make ends meet at Grandma's 

bookstore and of course, it payed for the house they 

were all now living in. Since Charles' return, a slew of 

interest in his art had created a bit of a controversy.

When an artist either retires or dies or in this case 

disappears, the value of the work goes up, since there 

will most likely be no more new works. Charles 'Big 

Daddy' Stone's sudden arrival had coincided with an 

interest in counter culture art and graphics worldwide. 

His generation' s contribution to the art world was now 

being celebrated, accepted, lauded. A new credibility 

was being attributed by the current art critics. Due to 

his mysterious disappearance and sudden return, the 

'Dude on a Chopper' logo was slated for the cover of 

Artforum magazine, he was about to be rediscovered. 

Charles had disappeared in nineteen-eighty one. At that 

time, there was absolutely little to no interest in his work.

Since then, people began to realize that American Rock 

& Roll and the images that defined it, were valuable. His 

generation had changed the way we think about our lives.

People all over the world had been influenced by guys like 

Charles and the bands that his wife Maggie had taken on 

tour. It was a new world and for whatever reason, Charles 

was being welcomed back with full honors across the board.

Rolling Stone magazine had called recently for an interview.

Before the kids were born, Charles had been a roadie 

and later handled security for bands up in Woodstock. 

He had met Maggie while she was managing Bob Dylan. 

It was rumored that Dylan had written the famous lyrics,

' Everybody must get stoned ... ' for Maggie and Charles.

They had become an item after being married on the road, 

with Robbie Robertson as their witness in Nashville, they

had become known as ' The Stones '. When the film, "Easy 

Rider" hit theaters and Peter Fonda was seen riding one 

of Charles' trademark choppers, he became the man, with 

a new waiting list for client orders and enough financial 

security to actually have children. When Mickey was born, 

they moved  to Venice Beach, closer to Maggie' s mom. 

The center of the music business, by then, was shifting 

from New York to Los Angeles and they moved with it. 

After the disaster of Altamont, the last place they wanted 

to be was in Northern California. They had plenty of friends 

there, but by nineteen sixty-nine, the whole movement 

peaked & Maggie was touring with a new group of bands. 

By the time Calley was born, she was working with a new 

writer who just penned a tune that personified everything 

that had happened in America in the past ten years. ' Bye, 

bye Miss American pie, drove my Chevy to the levy, but the 

levy was dry and good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and 

rye singing this will be the day that I die, this will be the 

day that I die. For ten years we were on our own and moss 

grows fat on a rolling stone ...' . Music now, had a sadness. 

Vietnam, the Kennedy's, Martin & Malcolm, Hendrix, Janice, 

Kent State, had all left it's mark and artist' s like Carol King, 

Burt Bacharach & Don McLean were explaining to the world 

what we were going through. Bands from the sixties, like the 

Rolling Stones, the Who & the Beatles were all going through 

a transitional period. Phil Spector and his 'Wall of Sound' 

vibe ended, Brian Wilson & the Beach Boys took it's place. 

Maggie had managed Wilson's tours, up until he lost it.

The person most happy to see Charles was his daughter.

Calley had recently become a hair dresser & esthetician. 

She sat Charles down, trimmed his hair and beard, cut 

his nails, soaked his feet and even gave him a pedicure. 

His toe nails had grown over his toes like talons. Like 

so many homeless men who drift through life unnoticed, 

Charles had let himself go. Calley had immediately forgave 

him for disappearing. 'You bad boy, how dare you run off 

like that.', she said to him jokingly. Maggie was struck by 

how handsome he still was. A full set of hair, tan skin, he'd 

lost his beer belly and after Calley cleaned him up, Maggie 

got rid of the boyfriends and found herself admiring Charles 

in a way that she had years ago. By the first week of his 

return, they had slept in the same bed together. That 

Sunday morning the entire family ate breakfast together. 

The only doubters among the group were Moon & Grandma, 

like a couple of birds on a wire, that chortled and fidgeted 

their way through the morning, before driving off to the 

bookstore together. They had wanted to ask Charles the 

obvious questions like, "Where the F@%! have you been 

for the past ten years ?" But they didn't want to ruin the 

family reunion, so they talked about it on the way to work.

Calley was so happy to see Charles, she brought her girl 

friend to the house for Sunday breakfast and announced 

they were moving in together. Everyone knew that Calley 

had been more than disinterested in men. Mickey always 

figured it had more to do with the line of men his mother 

had brought home since Charles' disappearance. In any 

event, Charles' return gave Calley a new found strength 

and she used it to be herself immediately. She announced 

that they wanted to open their own shop and needed some 

help from the family. Charles donated five thousand dollars 

on the spot, it was the least he could do .

Mickey and Charles sat in the back yard playing catch up.

Charles' old studio had been preserved with a few minor 

updates which included a modern hydraulic rack to lift 

the bikes six feet high. Mickey had poured a slab of new 

concrete inside and out. They had an account with Snap-

On tools & endorsements from a dozen small companies 

that had created accessories of one sort or another. 

Charles explained where he had been and what had 

happened.Mickey didn't really want to know, "It doesn't 

matter." But Charles knew it did , he had abandoned 

the kid without word, without warning, just up and left 

the boy to fend for himself. Charles had been around the 

world and back again. He had a post office box in five 

different cities where his partners sent him his cut of a 

business he had long since walked away from. Charles 

had been a dealer of various substances back in the day. 

Nothing lethal, never anything heavy, he didn't believe 

much in poison. He had once taken the fall for a famous 

rock & roll star. He did a year & a half for possession of 

illegal substances while crossing the border from Canada 

into the United States. Since then, he had been supported 

and respected by that particular person. By taking the fall, 

Charles saved the entire North American Tour which netted 

over eighty-five million dollars. It was well known, among 

the underground, that he was royalty and because if this, 

received royalties. He had spent a good amount of time in 

both Amsterdam & Mexico, finally drifting closer to home 

along the coast of California for the past few years. Once, 

he told Mickey, he saw a group of kids wearing his art on 

T-shirts. When Charles inquired wear they had gotten them, 

the kids said, 'From a department store'. That's when Charles 

knew that Mickey had preserved the catalog. But, it wasn't 

that simple. Charles had no idea how hard Mickey had 

fought bootleggers and rip off artists. Constantly sending 

cease and desist letters to protect Charles' legacy. Mickey 

didn't bother to set him straight. Not now anyway. Father 

and son sat in the back yard, drinking beers & telling stories 

late into the night. The Stones had finally been reunited. 

  

They Call It The City of Angels

Chapter Eighteen: Hole

Fred hadn't been home in days. He had no reason to be.

Running the store on his own now was his only purpose.

When he did go home, it was just a reminder of what 

once was, a daughter and a wife that he had survived.

Fred had set up an old army cot in the back of the store.

It was easier to just stay there, especially since he had 

begun to smoke and drink. He hadn't been golfing for 

over a month and his pals began to get concerned. He 

was a great golfer, the best in his circle of friends. They 

all owned shops along the central portion of Los Angeles. 

Serving the community by supplying liquor, furniture, 

toys, glass, sporting goods, all kinds of small businesses.

Fred's ex-partners in-laws had been pressuring him to buy 

them out. But he had no way of keeping the store together 

and buying them out at the same time. He would either 

have to sell his house or sell the store to do so. Fred and 

his wife had never been particularly close to his ex-partners 

family. Through the years and especially since her death, 

his relations with them had gotten worse. He had no idea 

how desperate they had become for money. They had a 

bunch of grown children who knew that if Fred would buy 

them out, that they could put down payments on their own 

homes. One of the young men was especially distraught 

about his own dilemma, he had recently gotten engaged 

and was expecting a child in the next few months. Every 

one in their house seemed to blame Fred for their problems.

The young man had been hearing his mother & uncles talk 

discouragingly about Fred ever since their dad had died.

The young man had been rummaging through his dead 

dad's legal documents for the past year, thinking of ways 

in which he could get Fred to buy out their partnership.

They had made a false complaint a few years back, which 

got Fred audited by the Internal Revenue Service and only 

ended up hurting their own income. His books were clean 

and in the end, he proved to be an upstanding and loyal 

business partner. When the young man came across the 

insurance policy, he noticed that they had full coverage 

for theft, disaster and for fire. Strangely enough, the policy, 

which had originally been drafted way back when, also 

included the parking lot as well as any living creature on 

it's premises. That would include a security dog, which they 

once had, back when the store first opened and the giant 

palm tree which was not like the other trees that were 

planted along the sidewalk. Those trees were owned by 

the city. Their palm tree was situated behind the store,

it had cost them a pretty penny to trim it once a year 

and in itself had raised the value of the property by about 

fifty thousand dollars. The insurance on the tree would 

give Fred enough money to buy out the partners, or so 

thought the young man, who was not entirely educated.

He heard about the famous 'Palm Tree Burnings' in the 

papers and on the news and got a bad idea in his head.

 Fred was awoken by the rattle of the chain link fence.

It was four in the morning. He took out his pistol, climbed 

the ladder in the rear supply area & unlocked the skylight.

He could see a young man pouring water all around the 

base of his palm tree which sat just feet away from the 

cinder block store and inches away from the power lines 

up above. He shouted to the figure, "Hey you, what are 

you doing there?" The young man lit a book of matches,

tossed it on the ground and the entire base of the tree 

lit up in flames. Fred was a perfect shot, he could have 

easily, taken the life of this person, but instead, he shot 

him in the leg. The bullet passed through the young mans

calf and entered the palm tree. The young man ran toward 

the fence. Fred climbed back down the ladder, opened the 

back door and ran toward the young man, "Stop right there."  

Fred ripped the hat off the young man's head & recognized 

him right away. He was the splitting image of his dead 

partner Sam. "What are you doing ? Why would you do 

this ? Why ?"  The young man had no proper answer. 

The roar of the fire was immense, it was reaching the top 

of the palm tree and was beginning to melt the power lines.

Fred opened the padlock on the back fence and instructed 

the boy to leave. He owed it to Sam, who had been a life 

long friend, to take care of the boy, even under this type 

of circumstance. " Don't go to the hospital, you'll have to 

just sweat it out. Don't tell anyone you were here either.

Don't even leave your house until you hear from me.

Understand ?"  The young man said nothing. "Understand?"  

Fred repeated, the boy was now openly crying, he shook 

his head, yes, that he understood and limped down the 

side street out into the darkness, leaving an orange orb 

of light that could be seen from miles away, it lit the sky 

like a giant torch, by now the power and phone lines were 

on fire and fred had to run across the street to call for help.

By the time the fire department showed up, all the power 

lines had been downed and half the block, including the 

street lights, had gone dark.  Fred explained what had 

happened in all it's detail, except for the last part. There 

was a police report. Several detectives were assigned 

to the case. Because it was a part of the famous, "Palm 

Tree Burnings", he also had, not only the Feds, but a local 

reporter for The Weekly, which had been following the case 

since it's original inception. She had solved a series of cases 

through the past ten years and got the sense that something 

was different about this particular burning. Fred didn't get 

to sleep that entire next day and the store had to remain 

closed for the next few days. Of course, all the news teams 

came out and it became another item for conversation.

When the insurance investigators came out, they asked 

to view the video. Fred had installed three video cameras,

one inside, at the register, one out front and one out back.

The cameras took stills every ten seconds or so. Fred could 

only hope that the power lines had been severed before he 

had opened the gate and let the boy run to safety. When 

he finally got back inside the store, he looked up, there 

on the wall, was a picture, it was a snap shot which had 

been enlarged and framed, a smiling image of both Fred 

and Sam, with cigars in their mouths, wearing sports shirts 

out on the golf course. They had both been so hopeful of 

their new enterprise. Fred looked closely at the picture, 

Sam seemed to be looking at his partner from the grave, 

saying, "Thanks."  Sam had always been lecturing Fred 

about this new generation. "You have to believe in these 

kids Fred, their the future."  Fred thought to himself, 'If 

this was the future than were in a hell of a lot of trouble.'

Little did he know, that this was the future and yes, he 

was in a hell of a lot of trouble. He closed up and for 

the first time in a month or so, he went golfing.

Fred hadn't golfed alone for years. But he was in no 

mood to talk to the other members of his unofficial 

golf club. He would have to lie to them and didn't feel 

like acting. He had done so over five times since the 

fire and hadn't the energy to do so over a game of golf.

He had repeated the story to the fire department, the 

police, the feds, the detectives and the insurance guys. 

Later,he had the choice to talk to reporters & had a 

feeling that the lady from The Weekly knew her stuff. 

Maybe it would be good for business, he figured that 

he would do as he had always done. Go with the flow.

Fred had always prided himself on only needing three 

clubs while playing golf. He used a putter, you had to 

have a putter, a Three Iron, for Bogies and the like & 

a Nine Iron. He had an awesome swing that seemed to 

utilize all of his frustrations and anger and loss into a 

single guided focus that harnessed his concentration.

He had been called a lot of names through the years.

The kind of monikers that people gave to foreigners. 

Things that had enraged his friends only solidified his 

resolve to be successful, to be good at what he did, to 

be what he considered a good American, a good father 

and in the case of Sam's youngest son, to be a good 

partner. His pals were enviable. Fred was not the 

jealous type, if a guy was better, he would simply 

study his technique. The sun was setting, Fred was 

the last guy on the course. He had the green all to 

himself. The course was peppered with palm trees 

and he had to laugh, otherwise he would have to 

cry, he laughed and laughed and laughed. If anyone 

was there with him, it was the spirit of his pal Sam.

They had been golfers from the first week they came 

to this country. It was the thing you did in America.

They had seen it in the movies and on television. All 

great business men in America played golf. Business 

deals all went down over a game of golf, everyone 

knew that. They had decided to buy the liquor store 

together at this very golf course and had made a pact 

that they would get the hell out of the warehouse 

together. He stepped up to the Eighteenth Hole, 

the sunset glowed, the sky seemed to speak to him.

Fred swung, he watched the ball as it hurled toward 

the green. It landed in the hole. The flag shook for a 

second or two and settled. He slowly and methodically 

walked toward the green. Fred was an American.

They Call It The City of Angels

Chapter Nineteen: Roots

"Gimme some skin." , his Dad's friends would say as they 

walked in the door. Jordan would put out his palm flat 

and the dudes would slide their hands across his as they 

walked past and into the living room to hang with Pops.

Jordan had lost touch with all of that in the past decade 

and was now making up for it. He had ' Gone Native '. 

That is what the fella' s in the park called it. Shook off 

all that urban vibe and was searching deep for his roots. 

He'd been dipping into his new found savings in the past 

few weeks. Every time he opened the black case where 

the money was hidden, he would unwrap the brown paper 

that it was encased in and, like his dad often did, he 

would lick his thumb and count out a few bills, than he 

wrapped the money back up, in that funny paper design 

and stashed it away where it couldn't be found by Wanda.

Jordan had no idea that the bundle of cash was actually 

wrapped in a very precious substance that had not been 

on the market for decades. It was a sheet of the purest 

L.S.D. that had ever been produced, the very best.

The money had originally sat in a post office box before 

the beachcomber picked it up and had been carrying it 

for the past few years. So, although Jordan didn't exactly 

know why he was having strange new ideas about life, 

he was actually, 'Tripping - the - light - fantastic' as it 

was commonly known in the old days. Every time he even 

touched the paper it absorbed into his skin. He had never 

partaken in anything like that voluntarily before, so he 

had no reference point for what was going on. It wasn't 

like he was ingesting it fully, but this stuff was so strong 

that he was definitely 'Out There'. So much so that, when 

he went to the pawn shop to pick up his bass guitar, he 

saw a ring, bought it for Wanda and totally forgot about 

the instrument. Another time, he had gone down to the 

park to pick up that incense she liked and ended up buying 

a drum that had been made in Mali and stretched with a 

real goat skin by an ancient shaman, or so he was told.

He bought a bunch of fabric and some rugs, original 

bamboo tiki lamps and started digging up a fire pit in 

the back yard. Wanda had seen this kind of thing before,

but she was still concerned for him. He borrowed Old 

Man Withers truck the day they were cutting down an 

Oak tree, grabbed a bunch of the stumps and created 

what they called a tribal circle around his new drum-

circle-fire-pit. When she got home, he was in the back 

yard stripped down to almost nothing, playing his drum 

with a bunch of cats he had met in the park. The house 

was full of new plants, a few sculptures, he had even 

redesigned the living room with all of this original fabric 

from the motherland. Bought a bunch of weird vegetables 

that even she was unaware of, some kind of macrobiotic 

root vegetables made from lotuses. When he gave her the 

ring, she really got scared. It was a real diamond with 

little rubies set all along the top and emeralds all along 

the bottom with some kind of amber along the sides. 

She hoped he wasn't doing anything illegal, getting into 

trouble or messing up. Of course, she was also elated, 

proud, even turned on by this new identity thing he was 

going through. When she asked him where it all was 

coming from, he said that one of his uncles had passed 

away back East and had left him some money. "What 

Uncle?" she asked. "On my Daddy's side, he had a piece 

of property that they sold and I got a piece of it, just in 

time too."  It sure was on time, because the Transit 

Authority still had him waiting for an answer. Wanda 

made good money, but they depended on his income too.

During the past year, Jordan had seen a lot of weird 

things and heard a lot of strange stories related to 

bus driving in Los Angeles. There had been a stabbing 

on Alameda, a lady had broke water up on Wilshire, 

an old man had a stroke down in the Harbor. Some 

times a group of people would aggravate someone,

all along the route, a different person would bump,

push, start an argument with some unsuspecting 

person. The drivers were sometimes aware of it and 

even worse, they were sometimes a part of it. It was 

a battle ground for all kinds of people. Homeless folks 

used the night lines to have some shelter, they would 

ride all night, and who could blame them ? Religious 

groups used it to recruit stragglers of all sorts. Drug 

dealers were sometimes peddling. A Driver was some 

times briefed by the Transit Authority prior to a shift, 

if there had been any recent or on going incidents. 

The drivers were expected to do a whole lot more 

than simply drive a bus, they were expected to role 

play, ask questions of certain riders and even get 

information. Jordan wasn't interested in being a 

soldier for the man, he simply wanted to drive a 

bus, take a check and have a regular life. Half the 

dudes he grew up with were being shipped out to 

fight a war in The Gulf. Now he got a call to have 

his vision tested again. He had already done all of 

that before. The beachcomber was not even pressing 

charges, it turned out that he had been missing for 

years and the entire incident had reunited his family.

Why were they stressing me ? He wondered. He knew 

drivers that were cool, but he also knew some pretty 

mean dudes that, one way or another, for whatever 

reason, just didn't like the job and therefor didn't like 

the people and ultimately,  were not good drivers.

Maybe they were just unhappy at home or were going 

through a tough time or had recently had some illness.

Whatever it was, they would tend to take it out on 

the passengers. If a driver was a racist, he or she 

might just pass someone by, in the middle of the 

night, in the rain, on the last route. Or if they saw a 

mixed race couple or some regular passenger who 

had once complained, they might not make a stop.

Jordan was the youngest driver and so he was most 

likely the least jaded. Some of his fellow drivers had 

been doing it for thirty years, they had been either 

burnt out or had become excellent. He knew both 

types. He wanted the certification after sticking it 

out for a year, so he played along with the process.

He was told that the goat skin would eventually speak 

to him. Drums were the original way that people would

communicate with, back in the day. "Get in touch with 

yourself." , the dude had told him, play that skin." Skin. 

Skin. Gimme some skin. Give - Me - Some - Skin. He 

kept thinking about his Mom and Pop and all that sh*t 

they had gone through. All that history. He had some 

deep history, part Indian and part French, they had all 

kinda names for it, be it didn't matter to him anymore.

He stared to get in touch with his roots, not just H-I-S 

roots but the real roots, the roots of primal energy. 

Sound, light, color, taste, the sky, the wind, the earth,

fire, back to the elements in a big m*%$+*@&!ing way.

His lovemaking had become absolute. Wanda had always 

appreciated his attentiveness, his sensitivity and all of 

that. He had once shared a story with her, the first time 

they had ever stayed the night with one another. Jordan 

had been just a boy, his mother was in the kitchen making 

breakfast, she looked down at him & said matter of fact,

" Jordan, when you become a man, don't you ever pass 

out on the woman you love." He looked up at her and 

although he had no idea what she actually meant, he 

looked her straight in the eyes and said, "I won't."  It 

was one of the few pieces of advice he had ever received 

from the woman. Now that he was rediscovering this 

whole new way of being, he would look at Wanda like   

she was the first woman who had ever walked the earth.

The women at work noticed how she began to carry 

herself. "What's up with you?", they'd ask, "Oh Nothing", 

she lied. Jordan was 'up with her', sometimes late into 

the night. Now that he wasn't working, he would make 

breakfast, a salad for her lunch and when she got home, 

he already had dinner on the stove. Not always. There 

were some nights where he was off on some adventure. 

He'd gone to some sweat lodge with a bunch of guys or 

went walking clear across the city. He'd gotten in the habit 

of using a walking stick and wore a pair of old sandals.

One day, he drifted downtown, walked into a bank, got 

change for a hundred dollar bill, "Gimme-a-bunch-a-ones." 

The teller gave him the change and walked the hundred 

dollar bill over to her manager. She explained that she 

was having second thoughts about the recent exchange.

He took down the serial number and made a call. The 

bill had been put on a circulation list twelve years ago.

By now, Jordan was down on Main street handing out 

dollar bills to every person on the street. People were 

downtrodden all up and down that area: homeless, run-

a-ways, hungry, strung out, drop outs, stragglers, drug 

addicts, the forgotten. Who knows what had possessed 

him to do such a thing. Maybe the goat skin had spoke to 

him. The man at the bank called the authorities and they 

downloaded a picture of him walking out of the bank. 

It wasn't a very detailed rendition. You couldn't see his 

face. With his ancient outfit and walking stick, he looked 

like Moses parting the Red Sea, one of the disciples or 

even Jesus himself. The image was reprinted & sent out. 

It became another item for the strange and regular events 

that seemed to happen only in Los Angeles. A week later, 

the photograph was reprinted in The National Inquirer, 

right between an article on a recent UFO sighting and 

a baby that saved a dogs life in the family swimming pool. 

The headline read in bold letters, "Jesus Passes Counterfeit 

Bills to Feed Homeless". They had never actually found 

'Jesus' and Jordan never even knew what had happened. 

He got home late that night. The Moon was full. A few 

clouds had splayed across the sky. He had been reading 

the clouds and the landscape like a student might read a 

textbook, it all had a new meaning. One of the clouds was 

shaped like a giant turtle, he smiled. After all, he had 

recently found himself. Jordan had finally found his roots.

They Call It The City of Angels

Chapter Twenty: Heart

Cliff was up all night. He'd been working on the 

largest painting he had ever created. The entire 

wall had been covered with large sections that he 

would attach with stickpins. It was Sunday morning 

and Dora had several appointments at the office. 

Many of her clients were nine to fivers who were 

unable to visit during the week, so she had begun 

to take hours during the weekend. Plenty of days,

Cliff would accompany Dora, he would draw, listen 

to music on his headphones, he had a little area in 

the back with toys, a table, a stereo system with a 

lot of Stan's old records: live recordings of the L.A. 

Philharmonic, The Who, Oldies but Goodies, Early 

Jazz, all kinds of odd recordings from The Poetry of 

Robert Frost to Stan Friebergs satirical stuff. There 

was even a recording of Richard Pryor Live at the 

Forum. Once, while Dora made pancakes and Stan 

grabbed a cup of coffee, Cliff looked up and said,

"The God Damn M*$%#@^&F+!@# just sat 

there staring at the B*&^%!, Now what you gonna 

do with a White C*^&%$#@!%* like that, F*&^!"

It took them by surprise to say the least. They eventually 

had to remove that particular album. Cliff was funny 

like that. He had a lot of heart, is how Dora put it.

Stan decided that he wanted to take Cliff for the day.

He hadn't spent much time with the boy and wanted 

to maintain an open channel of communication.

So, after Dora went off to work, Stan and Cliff made 

breakfast. Cliff would crack the eggs into a big bowl 

and Stan would stir them up. They made it a point to 

do things with Cliff instead of for Cliff. Stan hadn't gone 

into the boys room, so he had no idea he'd had up all 

night creating, 'a new masterpiece', as Dora often put it.

After breakfast they jumped into Stan's car and headed 

through Topanga, down towards the coast.

Stan had been a professor at U.C.L.A.  after receiving his 

law degree. It was a wild time to be teaching there. You 

had Vietnam, Richard Nixon, Chicano and Afro American 

Cultural Issues, Kent State, The Hippies, Tune in turn on 

and drop out, The Black Panthers, Patty Hearst and a sort 

of Native American resurgence. One of his former students 

had become a Professor there and he invited Stan to the 

campus. He was receiving an award and felt that without 

Stan's help, inspiration and guidance, he might not have 

made it out of his neighborhood, let alone, become a teacher.

It was to be a short presentation and then Stan figured, he 

and the boy would drive down the coast to a place where 

Dora and Stan had spent a lot of time prior to Cliffs birth.

The radio was blaring, '... Roll down the window, take down 

the top, crank up the Beach boys baby, don't let the music 

stop, look at these women, ain't nothing like 'em nowhere,

I love L.A. ... ' Cliff sang along until Stan joined in. They 

both kept singing the chorus together. He loved this kid.

They drove down the coast, past the Malibu pier and into 

Sunset Boulevard, a sharp left hand. Down a few miles 

and a quick right into the campus. There were signs that 

read, NATIVE AMERICAN POW - WOW WEEKEND.

Not much changed around here, Stan thought to himself. 

They parked in the faculty only space and headed inside.

Cliff could hear the drums and immediately tapped into it.

They walked over to the law library and sat in the back row.

The presentation was short, an introduction had been made 

and Stan's ex student came to the podium and made his 

acceptance speech. Stan had not been expected to make a 

statement, but when his ex student asked him to step up to 

the microphone, he looked at Cliff and said, "Hold tight kid, 

I'll be right back." Stan told an anecdotal story about the 

first time this particular student had walked into his class 

and how he knew right away that the man had potential. 

Stan was honored to see that some thing good had come 

from those first few early years. He met the man's family, 

added a few more stories to round things off, then looked 

in the back row to see Cliff. But the back row was empty.

He looked around the library, ran out front, than back 

inside, checked the restrooms, then out back. The boy 

was nowhere to be seen. He ran outside to the kiosk and 

asked the security guards, had they seen a young man ? 

No they hadn't. "Would you like us to call it in sir ? What 

was he wearing ? Could you give us a description ?" Stan 

could hear the drumming from the Pow Wow and said, 

"No, thats o.k ." He ran to the other end of the campus, 

the Pow-Wow was taking place on the football field. 

Teepee's had been set up in a circle and in the middle, 

Native American dancers were competing from all 

across the U.S. They alternated between the Fancy 

Dancers competition, the blessings & donations and 

then onto to best drummers, costumes, singing, chanting 

and honoring the elders. Stan ran down the hallway which 

was normally an entry way for star quarterbacks and 

entered the field. He asked the guard if he had seen a 

young man with long hair, wearing a pair of blue jeans, 

white converse tennis shoes & a black turtleneck sweater. 

The guard, who was giant, looked like the classic model 

of what people all over the earth had thought of when 

they pictured what a Native American Chief might look 

like: dark skin, deep, thoughtful eyes, a nose like an eagle, 

long hair, in this case, in a pony tail, strong hands, with 

just a touch of sorrow on his forehead's brow. The man 

laughed at Stan and pointed to the center of the teepees.

Stan slowly walked towards the middle, the drumming  

became faster and louder as he approached the circle.

He could smell burning sage, meat and the sounds of 

instruments here and there: flutes, rattles, sticks. A 

group of women were clapping and chanting. Furs,

dream-catchers and antlers hung along strings that 

surrounded each teepee. He got closer an there in the 

middle of the circle, dancing among the best fancy 

dancers in the entire country, was his son Cliff. No 

one seemed to mind. The young man was dancing next 

to a very famous dancer who had been in movies and 

on television. The men were wearing giant eagle, hawk  

and turkey feathers. Their costumes were extremely 

colorful. They danced in elliptical semi circles. Cliff 

was holding his own and then the drumming ceased. 

The dancers began to walk back to their respected 

tribes teepee's, Cliff looked around and walked over 

to Stan. The man didn't know what to do, he reached 

over, grabbed the young boy and lifted him high.

A Woman walked by and handed Cliff a piece of fry-

bread on a paper plate. "This is for your son, he's 

got a lot of heart."  With her accent, Stan had thought 

she said, He's got a lot of Art. "Yes, he does, thank you."

Stan and Cliff got back into the car and drove down 

the coast. There had been a Lighthouse down at the 

edge of the harbor. It sat high on a cliff at the southern 

most point of the city. He and Dora had spent a lot 

of time there and had thought that maybe they had 

conceived Cliff the weekend they had been invited to 

stay with Stan's brother, who had been working there.

There was a beautiful guest house attached to the 

main house and then the actual lighthouse tower with 

a powerful beacon light that once had guided ships  

through storms along the rocky coast. They had 

named him CLIFF because of this particular place. 

A beautiful and picturesque location that somehow 

defined their welcoming life together as a family.

They were jumping into the ocean of life and had 

promised to weather the storm together. Stan 

pointed to the lighthouse and said to Cliff, "We 

made you here."  Cliff looked back at him, cocked 

his head, looked back at the giant white house and 

smiled. They walked down toward the cliff and Stan 

pointed at the rocky mountainous edge, this is your 

cliff. This is where we came up with your name. The 

boy smiled again and said nothing, but he knew 

exactly what Stan was saying. They had lunch at 

a local cafe, it was the longest running Cafe in the 

Harbor. Truckers, cops, locals & tourists frequented 

this spot. When they got ready to sit down. Louis,

who had been a busboy there since way back when,

cleared their table and smiled at Cliff, He remembered 

when his own son had been that age, before all the 

troubles had started and he lost Junior to the system.

The two men looked at one another , neither men had 

any idea how their lives had originally intersected.

By the time Stan and Cliff had made it back home,

the boy was sound asleep. Stan lifted him out of the 

car and carried him to his room. He put the boy 

on the bed, turned around and noticed the giant 

work of art on the wall. It was an entire mural of 

Los Angeles. Stan's heart began to beat when he 

saw that the boy had painted everything they had 

just experienced. The entire day had been crudely  

documented, the freeway drive along the beach,

the lighthouse to the south and in the middle 

a circle of teepees. Stan didn't know what to 

think. When he looked closer, parts of the city 

were on fire, a multitude of buildings were topped 

with orange and red tipped flames and whirls of 

black and grey wafted high above like smoke 

signals. He looked closely at the image in the middle 

of the teepees. There, in the center was a small 

drawing, a self portrait of Cliff. He appeared to 

be dancing right in the middle of a giant heart. 

Stan looked over at his son, sleeping in the corner 

and said to himself out loud, "He sure does."

They Call It The City of Angels

Chapter Twenty One : Job

Junior had been invited into a world that he had 

only heard about through, sometimes, unreliable 

sources. Fifteen years locked into the system and 

who knew what to believe anymore. He had no idea 

what to expect by entering into it. On day one, he 

was briefed on what was happening in his father 

and sister's house, of course, he had already figured 

most of that out for himself, that's how he ended up 

making the decision to make a left instead of going 

straight. Who could blame him ? If you saw a disaster 

up ahead in your path, would you keep going, stop or 

make a quick swerve ? Junior flipped a U turn, straight 

out, burned rubber, foot to the peddle, peeled out quick.

He still had to keep things cool at the family house, so 

that know one became suspicious. He was directed 

to keep a somewhat regular schedule and stay close to 

his new brother-in-law, whom had recently made a big 

mistake. If Chuck had only waited for his wiretap 

request to come through from the boys at the division 

and the judges downtown and throughout the circuit,

everything would have fallen into place, but because he 

jumped the gun, installed his own version of a wiretap,

Junior got hip to what was happening and Chuck ended 

up squashing his own better interests and the interests 

of the State. He wasn't the first person to 'push the river'  

as it was commonly called and probably wouldn't be the 

last, but one thing was sure, he would never make it to

Detective, if this was how he planned to get there. One 

might do this sort of thing 'after' you made detective,

but to overstep on your way into it, was disastrous.

Chuck was going to learn this lesson the hard way.

Junior's first assignment was a three day experience.

He was given a series of envelopes and directed to 

use the one way bus ticket that was in envelope number 

one, which also had a new identity card that he would 

use in the event that anyone hassled him. When he got 

into town, he was to report for work as the janitor of 

a large hotel on the strip. The identity card was that of 

a man who actually was the janitor and had also been 

instructed to, 'Take a day off '. They had searched for 

look-a-likes for Junior, ever since he had been released 

and had found a dozen or so, from here to half way 

across the world. Look-a-likes were extremely important, 

everything was switching from physical enforcement to 

psychological. In the old days, it was all strong arm, 

more and more, things were being done differently. 

Junior had tapped into that mythical story he had been 

told about, the old world robin hood character, or so he 

thought. He had been given a room number and a time 

of day in which to enter the room. He was directed to 

give envelope number two to whomever was in the room, 

tell the person that their services were no longer needed,  

they were free to leave town by using the bus pass and 

the currency as soon as possible and to communicate 

with no one prior to doing so. Then he was to stay in 

the room and wait for another visitor. When that person 

arrived, Junior was to empty the contents of envelope 

number three and explain to this person that if indeed  

he was interested in staying in his current position than 

he should highly consider a reversal on his current case.

Junior would return the contents of envelope number 

three, hand it to the second party and exit the hotel 

room. It all sounded matter of fact, to the point, step 

by step. And, for the most part, it was. When Junior 

got into town,he checked in for work, spent the morning 

emptying trash cans and at noon, he walked up to the 

designated room, opened the door with his pass key and 

saw, laying on the bed, a twelve year old girl who looked 

like she had been dressed for a beauty contest. She looked 

at him, became startled, she had been expecting someone 

else & ran into the bathroom. Junior slid the envelope 

under the door and told her that she could leave, it was 

all over. This wasn't what he had expected at all, he 

found himself sweating.  The little girl began to cry, 

Junior tried to assure her that she could leave, go back 

home, use the bus ticket, as he was directed to tell her. 

She was scared, explaining that the people she had been 

living with would hurt her if she left without telling them. 

Junior assured her that she was safe to leave and that 

there would be no problems. Even as he spoke the words, 

he knew that people didn't just let others walk and he 

became conflicted by the situation. Speaking through 

the door didn't help any. When party number two arrived, 

Junior instructed the girl to stay in the bathroom and 

everything would work out. Already things were getting 

complicated. Such was the job. Party number two entered 

the room. When he saw Junior, he backed out and looked 

at the number on the door, Junior assured him that this 

was the correct room, pulled him in and threw him to the 

floor. Junior slapped him around simply out of reflex, 

lifted him up and sat him on the edge of the bed. He 

hurriedly emptied the envelope & together they viewed 

it's contents, a series of photographs with party number 

two and other lunch dates such as the girl in the bathroom. 

Now Junior really lost it. He had been directed to simply 

empty the contents, suggest a reversal decision and hand 

the envelope to party number two. Instead, he began to 

beat the man about the face, Junior was disgusted by  

the photographs, he began to pound the man with every 

ounce of anger that had built up over the years. Junior 

realized that he had swayed from the assignment, he 

had lost control and had to get out of there quickly.

He convinced the girl to open the door, she saw the 

man on the bed, his face was swollen, bloody, he was 

passed out. Junior, washed his hands, noticed the little 

girl and whispered to her, "Don't you dare cry for him." 

He had to put on the janitor gloves to hide the broken 

skin on his knuckles. "If anyone asks, your my niece, 

I'm taking you to the bus station to send you home,

understand ?" She nodded yes. He had no idea where 

her ticket had been bought for, nor did he know for 

sure where she was headed. He had to put his trust in 

the assignment now and found the resolve to do so.

When she got on the bus, his work was completed.

Junior did as he was directed and returned to work, 

he completed his duties as a janitor and clocked out 

at the end of the day. The whole thing had been a lot 

more complicated than he had imagined. He promised 

himself not to cross the line next time, be in control. 

Wether there was to be a next time, he didn't know.

When Junior returned, he was taken to a room and 

given a copy of a video cassette with a visible time 

code. He watched himself beat the man to a pulp, 

then he watched himself deliver the girl to the bus 

station. When the movie was over, he was told that 

if he ever veered from exact directions again that 

he'd end up back in the joint. They'd toss him over 

to Chuck and the boys downtown so quickly, he 

wouldn't know what happened. Then they had 

congratulated him on a job well done. Gave him 

his payment & suggested he lay low for a while, 

"Get out of town, take a breather."  What they 

didn't tell Junior was that after he left party number 

two in the hotel room, an entire clean up team had 

been brought in to fake the man's car accident, some 

how explaining his recent facial injuries. It turns out, 

he'd gone right through the wind shield. Lucky for 

Junior, the man was well enough to return to work 

and reverse his decision as directed. The little girl, 

who had been working for a rival group had been 

returned to a trusted family member who had 

promised to care for the girl privately. Junior's 

bosses had paid her families debt and they had 

killed two birds, so to speak. Maybe cleaning 

windows downtown wasn't so bad after all. At 

least now he could put a down payment on a car. 

They didn't want him moving out of his fathers 

guest house. A plan was being cooked up involving 

Chuck's phone line.  

After a few days, Junior returned home driving an 

early model car not unlike the kind he drove as a 

younger man. It was a straight standard model. 

Nobody at home had suspected anything. He brought 

flowers for Celia and some trinkets for the girls. 

The people Junior worked for wanted him to start 

making phone calls about deals that were supposed 

to be happening in the city. He was given phone 

numbers to three different phone booths and a very 

simple and easy to remember schedule. They directed 

him to small talk for a few minutes, then begin to 

discuss exact times, locations and describe participants. 

They were setting Chuck up. A situation would be 

discussed based on an everyday 'Joe Citizen type' who 

held a regular schedule. So for instance, if a particular 

up standing person was known to frequent a certain bar 

on his lunch break and could be relied on like clockwork, 

then Junior and the person on the other end of the phone 

would begin to discuss how that person, with a full 

description, was involved in some illegal action.  At 

first they started with small stuff, "Oh yeah, I heard 

about that guy. Isn't he the dude supplying so and so 

with such and such ?" Usually their targets were totally 

straight people who had never done anything wrong in 

their lives. Entirely false leads that confounded whoever 

was listening to them. What better way to get back at 

people who shouldn't be listening to private conversations, 

than to bullshit ? It was beautiful, Junior was good at it. 

They did this for the past few weeks and already several 

people had been hassled for no reason at all. The boys 

downtown got word that Officer Chuck had implanted 

his own wiretap system just days before the judge actually 

granted them permission and he was docked. Junior had 

to play it cool at home and he did so. After all, Junior 

had a job to do.

They Call It The City of Angels

Chapter Twenty Two: Ashes

By the Fall, Mickey and his extended family had adjusted 

to Charles' return relatively well. Except for his grandma,

who had been waking at odd hours, sometimes leaving the 

house, wandering about the streets of Venice aimlessly. 

On Halloween, she had taken a walk along the beach, on 

her own and somehow fallen into the water. Now she was 

in the hospital with hypothermia, in and out of awareness.

Moon spent most days at her bedside, Mickey spent most 

of his evenings there and everyone else dropped in when 

their schedules allowed. Calley and her new girlfriend were 

taking care of the bookstore. Maggie, who had always had 

a tempestuous relationship with her mother & had mixed 

feelings about her parents relationship and the early death 

of her own father, went awol. Moon could never understand 

this part of Maggie, nor could she adjust to Charles new 

presence in their lives. She had always been torn between 

Mickey's adoration of the man and Maggie' s stories of the 

man's neglect of his responsibilities as a father. Moon was 

stuck between two viewpoints and couldn't find any middle.

Grandma's most recent incident had brought all of these 

issues to the forefront and Moon finally confronted Mickey.

"Your grandmother's in the hospital and your own parents,

can't find enough decency to come to her side. What the 

f@#$ is wrong with them ? Jesus christ Mickey, do some- 

thing." He just looked at her, "Do something? Like what ?

Everyone in this family has a different relationship with a 

history all it's own. What can I do about it? You and I are 

doing all we can. You can't change, history or people or 

what they've been through or how they do or don't relate.

Look, I love the way you can stand up for what's right, 

but my parents come from a whole other world. I can't 

even pretend to understand what they went through.

Either can you. So if you've had enough, if you don't want 

to be here or put up with it, I understand. But Charles is 

my dad, he put me on the planet. I have to respect that." 

Moon just stared back at him for all of a minute. "Were 

not talking about respect here, were talking about an old 

woman who is on her way out. Your parents need to get it 

together enough to overcome all their bulls*&% and stand 

by her side."  Now he was upset. "Stand by her side ? Who 

do you think helped that bookstore to survive ? Do you 

know how many times my Mom and Dad bailed that place 

out through the years? When Maggie couldn't make a 

payment, Charles gave her the money. It was always a 

big secret, because Gram wouldn't take any support from  

him, so he did it on the sly. They've been there for her 

all along. I don't know why things are the way they are,

I just know that it's our turn to take care of her and that's 

what were doing. Stop trying to change everyone else, 

these people won't change, so forget about. To be honest,

I don't think the old gal even cares about them being here.

So lets just deal with it ourselves."  Moon wasn't satisfied 

with that response, she walked back into the room with 

grandma and sat next to her side. Mickey followed her.  

The last place in the world the old girl wanted to die was 

in a hospital. A week later, they took her home and she 

gladly let go of her body while sleeping in her own bed.

It was the same bed she had created the child who had 

created Mickey who had met Moon and so on and so 

forth.  "We are gathered here today to pay tribute to 

a woman who singlehandedly championed the great 

writers, poets and artists of her time... "  Everyone 

was present at the ceremony. Moon had insisted on it.

A few days before Thanksgiving, Fred got a call from the 

detectives downtown, apparently, the video camera had 

captured more than a few seconds of the exchange between 

Sam's youngest son and Fred, the night of the fire. If Fred 

didn't come clean about what really happened, they were 

going to charge him and the boy together. They knew 

Fred had no part in the burning of the palm tree, but 

how else could they get him to cooperate? He had  

opened the gate and let the boy escape. He had lied to 

everyone including the feds. The insurance company had 

it's own investigating team and if they got word or were 

given the videotape, any number of things could happen.

Fred came clean and explained what had happened. He  

said that if worst came to worst, he did not want to press 

charges against the boy, it was his dead partners kid,

how could he ? The detective explained that the situation 

had become much more dire than Fred realized. The boys 

downtown, the Mayor and the federal team were going to 

pin more than this palm tree burning on the boy. They 

needed to wrap the case up and were willing to provide 

evidence that would put him at more than several of the 

burnings. "You'll lose your license. You'll lose the store.

It's not just about your property here Fred. This is about

solving a much larger issue. Are you willing to lose it all 

over something you didn't even do ? You are going to have 

to testify in a court of law about everything that happened 

that night."  Fred shook his head in disbelief, "The boy 

made a mistake" The detective countered, "He sure did. 

Thats a fact. But you made a bigger mistake. You tried 

to cover it up. That makes you an accessory. We need you 

to come with us downtown." Fred closed up the store and 

locked the back gate. The detective took out his handcuffs, 

placed them on the man's wrists, put him the back seat. 

The boy, who was actually in his early twenties, was 

already in lock up. He had denied the entire event, even 

while watching the footage. "That's not me." He had said. 

The scar on his leg begged to differ. Before Fred even got 

downtown, a call was made to the reporter at The Weekly, 

the headline read: "Palm Tree Burnings, Case Closed ?" 

Hardly. The Weekly had a tendency to dig a little deeper, 

they felt that something wasn't right about the official story.

It would be just an opener to an ongoing series of articles.

Fred was out on bail the same day, his golfing pals had 

pitched in, the boy, on the other hand, was sweating it out.

In early Spring, Wanda got tested and came up positive. 

Jordan was gonna be a Poppa. He had been back on the 

bus line now for several months. Certified at last. Things 

had mellowed out in their lives and with a regular paycheck,

he had no reason to dip into his new found savings account.

They did all the things that couples do when expecting, 

except for marriage. They made a list of names, they had 

a few customary parties and they notified their parents.

Well, Wanda notified her parents, Jordan wasn't so sure 

he wanted to open that door just yet. So, he told the dudes 

down at the park and over at Transit and Old Man Withers.

They had rented the place and had jokingly told the old man 

that if he ever wanted to sell, they were interested. Now it 

wasn't a joke. Jordan thought that whatever happens to 

animals when that ol' stork comes to town was not a myth.

He was feeling the roots pretty strong now and the idea of 

having his own place was tugging hard at him. Wanda was 

all for it. She was not a young woman and saw this is a 

sorta pleasant surprise. Everything was falling into place.

Jordan was back on his regular route when the verdict in 

a high profile case was announced on the radio. A man 

had been beaten severely by authorities, someone had 

actually caught it on camera and it had been played over 

and over and over on news channels and outlets through-

out the world. It was brutal. The man had been pulled over,

resisted arrest and was beaten with clubs by a group of 

men mercilessly. It had been talked about for the past 

six months and when the verdict was announced that the 

men had been innocent of any charges. The people of 

Los Angeles, everyday citizens became confused. Every 

person, no matter what color, what age, had seen the 

footage. It had been the focus of conversations since 

the footage had been released and repeatedly shown 

everywhere. Jordan heard the news on his break and 

instinctively knew that something was going to happen. 

He had five more rounds to make before his shift was 

over. Already people were talking about it on his bus.

By the time he made his second to last round, the sun 

was going down and their were now several reports of 

protesters who were doing more than carrying signs. 

A kiosk at a police station downtown had been turned 

over, several bricks had been thrown through windows.

As the local news channels reported each incident, the 

people of Los Angeles watched and eventually, joined in. 

Quickly, the reports of violence became a sort of map,

people watched it spread, stores were sent ablaze and 

the decision had exploded into a full on riot. Jordan's 

bus was empty, he had one more round to make before 

heading back to Transit. When he got word that people 

were attacking and burning liquor stores, pawn shops 

and 99 cents stores, he immediately thought of the 

bass guitar that his uncle had given him. It still sat 

in the window of the pawn shop. He made a left hand 

turn, veering from his routes schedule on Martin Luther 

King Boulevard and onto Crenshaw. Three blocks away,

he could see a pick up truck ramming into the front 

door of the pawn shop. On the first try, it broke open 

the metal gated door, on the second try, it broke off 

the corner of the stucco beam, by the third try, the entire 

corner of the building had fallen away, leaving a gaping 

hole large enough for a group of people to enter and exit.

That's exactly what they did. Jordan pulled the bus to 

the curb directly across the street. He ran up to the shop,

climbed in and over the pile of metal, stucco and broken 

wood. He jumped up and over the glass barrier, grabbed 

his uncles red bass guitar, strapped it on his back, climbed 

back over the bullet proof glass window and out onto the 

street. While Jordan ran back across the street to his bus, 

a news camera transmitting live footage pointed its lens 

directly at him. He was back in the spot light once again.

He climbed back onto the bus and headed straight for 

the transit authority. The fact that he had a pawn ticket 

for the item in question sitting directly in his wallet didn't 

mean much to his superiors. To Jordan, the red bass guitar 

was a precious item that would one day belong to his son. 

It was an heirloom. He and Wanda watched the city burn 

to the ground. People elsewhere couldn't understand why 

anyone would do such a thing. Jordan and Wanda didn't.

They knew exactly why. Some time later, they bought the 

house from Old Man Withers for a fraction of the price it 

would have gone for the year before. This was their 'hood,

this was their city, this was their country. They were here 

to stay. Jordan plugged in his bass and played a lick he 

had learned while working with a rock band back when 

he was a kid. Some dudes who were deep into the MC5.

Doot - Doot - Doo - Doot - Doot - Do - Do - Doot - Doot -

Do - Doot - Dooooo , and the lyrics went, 'Smoke on the 

water, Fire in the Sky, Smoke on the Water', Doot - Doot 

- Doo - Doot - Doot - Do - Do - Doot - Doot - Do - Doot - 

Dooooo . 

Stan was given a high profile case that had been moved 

to his district. The lawyers had chosen their jury carefully, 

cautiously, selectively, judiciously. Stan knew very well 

that this was a case that everyone was watching. He had 

seen the footage as had everyone else in the world. Dora 

and he had discussed the case almost everyday of the trial.

It was hard not to. the man had been beaten by clubs more 

times than stan would actually pound his gavel during the 

case. the pounding of the gavel and the pounding of the 

man had become an image in Stan's mind. He had been 

through so much in the past year that sometimes he 

thought of doing something else altogether. But these 

were ideas that quickly came and went. He had made it 

to the big time. Presiding over a case like this was every 

law students dream. Stan knew very well that when the 

dream becomes a reality,all the real work begins. He was 

presiding over a trial that the entire world was watching. 

Every question, every answer,every objection, every ruling 

would be scrutinized by law professors and students for 

years to come. Not just here in the United States, but 

around the world. This had become a human rights issue. 

He knew exactly where Dora's heart was, on this particular 

issue, but, as a judge, he felt the need to separate his own 

personal opinions. He was the king of departmentalizing, 

always had been, even as a kid. He would never judge his 

dad for being distant, nor his mom for being authoritarian. 

Stan had a keen sense of equal balance. But when the jury 

announced their verdict, Stan was flabbergasted. He looked 

over at the jury and his eyebrow lifted several inches.

He did a sort of comic double take, but there was nothing 

funny about it. He looked over at the man who had been 

beaten. Visible scars both physical and otherwise were 

obvious. The men had been found not guilty of overstepping 

their authority. Their lawyers had argued that the man had 

struggled. The man had threatened. The man was dangerous.

They argued that what you saw on camera was not the entire 

story. They had explained carefully, quietly, diligently and 

they had won their case. It was over. The men were given 

back their jobs and that was the end of the story. Or so  

they thought. When Stan and Dora had dinner that night,

they watched the reaction with everyone else, on television.

Well, not everyone, those on the streets: the angry, the poor,

the forgotten, the struggling, the downtrodden were in it.

Dora felt terrible for Stan. She hated to see the city divided 

into sections and colors and categories that would put it 

back for decades. They stayed up all night. Cliff was 

surprisingly quiet, peaceful, rested. He had already seen 

and drawn it the same week that Stan had been appointed 

the trial.  By now, Cliff was way ahead of the game.

Louis had kept busy in the past few months. The recent 

strike down in the Harbor hadn't affected business much.

But it sure was affecting everyone else. The Longshore 

Locals had gone on strike for its dock workers. It had 

been years since they had a pay raise. More ships lined 

the Harbor than had been seen since the beginning of 

World War II. Full of product: Electronics, toys, house-

hold goods, automobiles, leather goods, just about every 

thing you could think of that was imported came through 

the port. Ever since the Air Traffic Controllers union had 

been busted up, the powers that be had been attempting to 

dismantle every union in it's path. What was once a proud 

American tradition was now being trashed by a group of 

powerful entities, including some in government. Why 

would anyone ever try to break up a union that ensured 

people a safe place to fly a plane? Safe for the worker, 

the controller, the pilots and ultimately the passengers ? 

It took everyone by surprise and was really only the 

beginning. The longshore union was strong. Several ports 

along the West Coast decided to back up the harbor workers. 

It looked like the entire public as well as distributors were 

going to learn a serious lesson this Christmas. No new cars, 

electronics or toys. It was as if Santa Claus wouldn't be 

coming to town. Maybe it was time for Celia and the girls 

to appreciate the elves that did the hard work. Louis had 

bigger problems, his cataracts had gotten so bad, he could 

hardly see. He had begun to walk to and from work because 

he was afraid to say anything. Of course there were operations 

for this sort of thing, but he had concerns, had never been 

in a hospital a single day of his life. Besides the day his wife 

had the stroke. He was of the generation that sweated it out.

When Junior noticed that his father was having trouble, he 

looked into it and found a place that would do the operation,

which was a relatively new process. He paid for it himself.

When Louis Senior asked how he could afford it, Junior said 

he had an old friend who would help out. The truth was, he 

had a new friend. She was a divorced lady he had met at 

a meeting recently, he was now in the program. All the 

stress of his new job had given him concerns about falling 

into some bad habits that he needed to avoid. She lived 

in the Palisades. They didn't seem to have a whole lot in 

common, but as they began to discuss things, they slowly 

realized that his fifteen years in prison & her fifteen years 

in marriage, were somehow corollary. When her girlfriends 

asked what he was like, they didn't mean his personality.

Louis senior had the operation just days before the union 

settled its differences and that was just as well. The cafe 

extended its hours, due to the now twenty-four hour a day 

work load to get the long armada of ships onto shore and 

products into the homes of citizens, not just in Los Angeles, 

but from here to the Mid West. Millions of dollars had been 

lost on a daily basis. Officer Chuck had learned a serious 

lesson about overstepping his boundaries, but was at least 

back in a patrol car. When the verdict came across the air-

waves, he and his buddies had all cheered in celebration.

But within a matters of hours their district was being overrun 

by angry protesters, several stores had been vandalized and 

the department was once again put on alert by the people 

who paid for that coffee he drank everyday. When Chuck 

drove up into Ma Fritters that night, Louis senior had put 

his order together. "Tell Celia, I 'll be working late tonight.

How did the operation go, everything All right ?"  Louis 

Senior stared into Chucks eyes and yes, "Yes my son, Yes. 

I can see clearly now." 

END OF PART ONE