Stieve Fernandez
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Hello am a 36 year old Jamaican national three years into my journey of creative writing
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Stories (60)
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Mother
I watched as my boy laced his shoes. My how he's grown! I remember the day I first brought him home. His little fingers gripping his shirt. What it was that caused him to fondle so much that shirt, I will never know! My little Richard Fernandez. My Nubian king. My warrior, my protector. How special it is raising boys to be men. I taught him how to cook. How to groom himself. How to select and treat a woman. How to stay in good health. How to stay away from trouble, To be a good man. How not to hate others just because they are different, That we are all Adam's children, Yellow,red, white, we're all right. I told him of our rich cultural and intellectual identity. How we conceived Helio centricity thousands of years ago. How all the famous scholars came to learn at Timbuktu, To understand, to be marveled. He knew, he knew we were the creators of civilization, of nations, of communication. He understood the source of enemity. The reason why we are hated. He knows the reality of our identity. Oh! My son, all grown up. He's quite a gentleman, an athlete. He loves football, basketball, Heck, any ball, Just a chance to play, to complete, to live! As he laced his shoes, I see in him, A world of potential. I see in him the, the present, the future. I see in him, forever. As he steps through the door, he turns his head, Looking back at me, he smiles, That smile which I've nurtured for 25 years now, The smile of a loving, Sweet child. That smile, which i will never see, ever again!
By Stieve Fernandez4 years ago in Poets
Powder
At the southern border crossing between California and Mexico, a commercial car transport is moving through the check point. An officer of the border patrol approaches the vehicle. He asks the drier a few questions before indicating that the driver pull out of line for a routine inspection of the unit. The rig driver obviously frustrated complies and takes his vehicle to the designated area. Once there he is asked to exit the vehicle and accompany the officer inside a building along with his paperwork. Inside the building a series of questions again are directed at him before his photo is taken and copies made of his accompanying documentation. “What’s the meaning of all this?” he asks “I have been transporting goods across the border for thirteen years and never had to go through such a rigorous interview.” He continues. “I’m sorry Mr. Orwell, but we routinely do random checks on vehicles coming across the border and it’s normally event free. Why your vehicle was chosen today I cannot say but we should be done with you shortly. I do apologize for your inconvenience.” Replied the agent who continued to leaf through the paperwork. A Walkie-Talkie radio on the desk before them rang which the agent answered, “Jackson!” said he. “Hey we’re all finished out here!” the voice over the radio stated. “Ok copy that!” officer Jackson responded returning the radio to his desk. Smiling he turned to the driver, “that’s you Mr. Orwell, looks like we’re all done here. Come with me I’ll escort you back to your truck.” They both got out of their chairs and walked down the long pale hallway towards the exit. A series of photos lined the wall on one side and a water cooler sat against the opposite wall. The forest green commercial carpet led to the front door. Once outside they made their way to the parked tractor trailer, crossing a concrete pavement as they do. “Again I apologize for any inconvenience and thank you for your understanding.” Officer Jackson said as Mr. Orwell mounted the vehicle. “Drive safely” Jackson said as he left the driver to his business “yeah I’ll try” replied Orwell. As he sat in his seat and ignited the engine of his unit. The Peterbuilt slowly crawled out onto the highway and Orwell began putting it through its gears. He glanced in his rearview mirrors and saw the check point slowly drift into the distance, “sons of bitches” he uttered as he resumed his heading reaching for a half-eaten tortilla wrap he was snacking on. The iconic Guerros name running across the grease paper wrapper in parallel lines. Something about Mexican food had always appealed to him, maybe it was the experience he had as a child growing up living in Texas. His parents would cross the border to on select occasions take them, him and his sisters both older than himself, to beach side camping, mainly for holidays or weekends. They would sleep in the family van of make tents depending on the availability of sites to pitch the tent. When all else was impossible they would get a cheap motel and spend the nights there. He particularly didn’t like those nights. The days spent frolicking in the salt water at Rosa Rito or Ensenada, those were the best days of his childhood life. He made memories there that have stained his perception of what the good life is like, met people who have remained a staple of his social life to this very day. Some people from these memories are no longer in his life or even in this world, but, in those memories, those sunny days in Mexico they still smile as bright as they did the day they walked the beach. ‘How crazy are our memories better than any video tape. I almost can smell the barbecues and taste the salty ocean air, families enjoying a birthday or a public holiday’ he thought. Sighing heavily he reaches for a plastic cup and sips the iced beverage from the straw before returning the cup to the holder. “Those were the days.” He said, returning to his current reality. He checked his GPS and put on his aviator sunglasses. Taking his phone from the holder next to the one containing his drink cup, he dialed a number from the contact list. The music form his stereo cut as the ringing sound came over the audio system of the rig. The phone had hardly rang three times when a quick “hola” came over the speakers. “Eh, como estas?” using the little Spanish he knew Orwell replied. “What’s happening Gordo?” asked the voice on the line “I’m in California baby and I will be there within the coming week all things goes well!” “Ah que bueno! When you get here I will give you directions for the delivery, so let me know once you hit New England.” “Ok sounds good, save me some good beers. I haven’t had a good bender in over a week. Those guys in TJ were stuck on stupid for a minute and everybody was all tense. Was my worst trip yet!” “Yeah it gets like that sometimes you know! The best part of the business is always over here…. Ok I’ll let you get back to the road. Be safe! See you in a few days.” “Hey you guys do the same! Talk then. Ciao! Ciao! With that Orwell disconnected his call and begun searching for some road music on his radio. Lighting a cigarette he turned the volume up on the stereo and tapped his fingers to the beat as he got his mind back to the long journey before him. “East coast here I come!”
By Stieve Fernandez4 years ago in Criminal
Powder
“Son of a bitch!” a nondescript Chevy Malibu sits at a stoplight out in the Nevada territory. It has been on a long cross country path that had lasted the last four days. Inside, sits two occupants. One, a female who looks to be in her mid-twenties to early thirties. She is blond, with eyes a pale green. Her oversized prescription glasses denotes a design popularized in the 80s now a prominent expression of the feminist movement. She is clad in a yellow spaghetti strapped blouse with a smiley face of rainbow colours across the chest area. Her skimpy jeans shorts reveal long pale legs that end in petite shoeless feet sitting on the dash. Her companion, a Hispanic male early to mid-thirties wearing a blue fitted cap dark sunshades not unlike Ray Charles, black t-shirt and matching blue jeans. He is frantically tries to put out a joint he was smoking, which led to brushing embers and soot falling on his lap and the seat, much to his distress as the light in the turning lane just went green and the eminent approach of a cop car in said lane has him spooked. He seemed oblivious to the fact that the midnight tint on the windows makes it practically impossible for passersby to see what’s transpiring within the confines of the vehicle. “Chill out!” she told him “you’ll attract more attention the way your acting!” “Shut up nobody asked you!” he snapped at her as he continues brushing the remnants off his lap. The cop car went by, took a left and disappeared in the distance. “Wow! See how he looked at me?” he asked while looking around in his rear view mirrors as if someone was trailing him. “You do realize that he can’t see you right?” “Shut up! What do you know?” he again snapped at her. She hissed before taking a small Ziploc bag of coke from her bra. She scooped some of its contents into her fingernail before sticking the nail into her nostril and snorting hard, then repeating the whole process only this time alternating the nostril. “Give me some of that!” he demanded “The way your acting you ought not to have anything but bottled water!” she replied. “Fuck you! I’m straight. Pass it here before this dam light changes.” He’d barely finished speaking when the light indeed changed and he was forced to drive. As he drove he looked at her with disdain and lit the crumpled joint he’d been smoking earlier. “Puta mierda!” he quipped as he exhales the smoke. She ignored him and reached out to turn on the radio, he smacked her hand away and proceeded to change the station himself once he was satisfied with his selection he turned the volume to maximum and opened up his driver side window, ashed his joint and nodded his head to the beat of the song being played. She rolled the passenger side window down as well and stared out at the passing scenery. “I need to use the bathroom!” she said… his being in a world of his own coupled with the blaring music heard nothing of it. “I NEED TO USE THE BATHROOM!” she yelled. He turned the volume down and looked at her, “What did you say about me?” he asked. “I gotta pee.” She replied calmly “O ok hold on.” he replied. They drove another few minutes before they arrived at an exit to a rest stop below. He took the exit and before long they were at a service station parking lot. “Grab me some cigarettes while you’re in there.” He told her as they parked. She reached in her bag took her purse out and asked “anything else?” “Let me hold that baggie.” He responded She reached in her bosom and retrieved the baggie which she tossed to him before exiting the car. He watched her swish her waist as she walked away from the car and kept his eye on her till she slipped behind the service center’s door. Then he opened the Ziploc baggie and began indulging in its contents. Inside the store his female companion roamed the isles looking for items they needed. Her arms slowly began to fill as she grabbed snacks and other nix knacks. As she arrived at the refrigerator she struggled to get the door open due to the plethora of items occupying her arms. Within a moment a young man came over to offer her some assistance… “Thanks a bunch, I always forget to grab a basket you know.” She said slightly embarrassed. He opened the door and asked “What exactly would you like?” “Just two Heinekens and a two Red Bulls, oh and a bottle of water.” “Hope you’re not drinking and driving now.” He said quizzing as he removed the items from the fridge “No my boyfriend is doing the driving so I’m good” “Well for a second I thought maybe I was lucky.” “Lucky?” she repeated looking at him “with what?” she questioned. “It’s not often a pretty little lady like yourself enters this place alone… get so used to seeing couples I for a moment thought you must have been sent for me.. Ha-ha ….” He explained before laughing “Well that’s quite an assumption! Isn’t it? Well at least I know why you offered to assist me … or was it to my rescue you came... Shining amour and all?” she smiled at him as she finished speaking and walked towards the counter. “I came, I guess to assist a customer, and if possible kill two birds with a single stone ... I haven’t had any opportunity to look into the eyes of a deity before now.” “How charming…your longue has a silver lining I see.do you guys sell blunt wraps?” “As a matter a fact we do. 420 friendly are we?” “Who isn’t these days?” She replied as she laid he items on the counter. The clerk was now making his way to his station and reaching for the wraps he asked “You’re not from out here are you? What’s that accent?” “Boston Massachusetts, east coast baby!” “Wow you’re a long way from home, I’m Derrick by the way.” “You don’t say I for sure thought that was your brother’s name on that shirt! Well nice to meet you Derrick. I’m Cathy.” “So what brings you all the way out here?” “My boyfriend has business to attend to in California.” “And you just tagging along?” “Yeah and its boring in Mass. you know!” “Never been but I take your word for it.” “Trust me you aren’t missing nothing.” “Well if you ever want to see Nevada, I’ve lived here my whole life know every nook and cranny… so.” “Wow you don’t waste no time do you Derrick inviting me out already are you. Best be careful my BF is rather crazy so it’s best if I get going before he gets curious.” “Oh my bad!” “No you ok, just don’t need any extra drama. Got enough as it is. You guys got a restroom in here?” “Yeah it’s just beyond that half wall first door on your left… well all the doors are on the left, but yeah the first one.” “Thank you I almost forgot I had to pee so badly.” “You didn’t say how many wraps.” “Three!” She smiled and moved swiftly towards the indicated direction. As she does she glanced out the glass at the front of the store and noticed a patrol car slowly pulling into the parking lot. “Oh shit!” she exclaimed before quickening her speed. Derrick packed all the items in two bags and awaited her return. It didn’t take long for her to come hastily back from the bathroom. “That’ll be forty eight dollars and sixty eight cents.” He told he as she approached the counter, she rummaged through her purse before giving him a fifty dollar note and suggesting he keep the change, grab her bags and made her way out the door. “Bye Derrick shouted as she slipped out of view. The patrol car was already at the exit of the parking lot awaiting its chance to rejoin the highway. She made her way towards the parked car and opened the door. A plume of smoke rushed outwards as she entered. “What took you so long?” asked her boyfriend “you could have got me busted!” “Me!” she asked surprised “Yeah you! You didn’t see the cops?” he asked her “The restroom does not have windows!” she replied sarcastically. “What would you have me do shit right by the front door?” “Next time just hurry up!” he said handing her the joint. “Roll the windows down and let some air through. I don’t know how you can even breathe in here like that.” She stated as she took the joint from him. Removing the beers she opened them up passing one to him as she does. “You might want to finish this before we hit the road!” she said as he takes the green bottle from her hand. She then reclined her seat slightly and put a leg up on the open door, relaxing as she enjoys the effects of the marijuana she smokes. “I got us three blunt wraps” she said as she passed the joint to her boyfriend. “That’s why I love you Catherine.” He said leaning over to offer her a kiss. They share a quick moment of passion before he emptied his beer and rolled the bottle away unto the parking lot. Then he started the engine and before long they were out on the road. Reaching into the bag to retrieve an energy drink Cathy noticed a piece of paper akin to the receipt slip. Her boyfriend keeping his attention to the road while talking on the phone notices not her discovery. She retrieves the paper and notices derrick had written his number on it. Smiling and slipped the paper into her purse.
By Stieve Fernandez4 years ago in Criminal
Powder
The dry encrusted blood stretched from my eye straight down my cheek. Parallel by its kin from my nose, around the edge of my lip and down my chin. Heck I should say my skin sat in streaks across my face encrusted in blood. At least it had stopped dripping. For a while I thought, I would have bled to death. My chest painted in the dark deep red of stale blood, one of my teeth sat upon my lap in an admixture of blood saliva sweat and cloth from my boxers. My hands were still tightly bound and had been chaffed by my struggle to get free and by natural reflex as I tried to protect my face from the blows it was receiving, not that it helped. But a drowning man still catches at a straw right? I had fully accepted the inevitable, though I still hoped somehow a change would come. My insides felt weird from the stab wounds that had been inflicted upon them. At one point I could feel the blood draining into the bottom of my torso. But now I couldn’t tell what I feel. Death was a guarantee at this point. All I did was try to remain relaxed if that was possible. As I sat there I hoped for all purposes they had been gone for the day. I could not endure another episode, not at all. I thought of my life, how I would be home now just having a beer, Enjoying being alone. Yet, now I’m alone, I want to have them here in my final hours talking to me, comforting me. I had failed them all. Failed me. It’s hard to think everything could go awry in so short a time. How did I let this happen? Did I have a choice? Could I have done things differently? I almost chocked on my saliva just now, the coughing hurt so bad. Its like getting stabbed all over again. God I’m so thirsty! It’s unbelievable. Inside my mind I secretly hoped the shutter would slide up and rescue would come rushing in, if only to give me some dam water. Christ! Yet it never comes. At least not yet. My eyes had grown so badly swollen, I couldn’t see shit! The light entered them in a fuzzy spotted scene, no definition no texture. They could have left the tools to free myself on the table across the room … they could have even left them at my feet it wouldn’t matter I couldn’t see it anyways I wonder if my tooth is even still sitting upon my lap? Probably had fallen on the floor by now. Ah fuck! Some water and a cigarette! Then I could give a fuck less if I died! Least I would have gotten rid of this wretched thirst and had a last bit of pleasure.
By Stieve Fernandez4 years ago in Criminal
Powder
“Dale wei!” a group Hispanic males moved feverishly back and forth bringing packages to a parked minivan. The location is quite remote and suggests a forested area. Nothing stands out as to the location except for the thick jungle foliage and mountainous scenery. A soft fog skirts the valley and the leaves of the plants still hold the remnants of the afternoon shower of rain that recently subsided. The earth is a deep reddish brown which hangs unto most surfaces within its reach. Mud puddles litter the immediate vicinity and makes splashes as the exhausted men scramble with huge bales upon their head or shoulders. There are a series of huts some of modest sizing others quite grand. Their roofs made from palm fronds intricately woven, designed to hold the wrath of nature at bay. The floors are raised platforms with at least eight feet between it and the ground. The space underneath seems to be for security and or storage. The huts were place with a randomness suggesting convenience as the deciding factor during construction. The occupied land has been stripped of vegetation in a wide area covering at least four acres. This creates a dramatic contrast where the bare earth coupled with the effects of human occupation stands out against the lush jungle greenery which surrounds it on all sides. Three dark green minivans sat beneath a roofed structure lacking the flooring of the other huts. There were a few men who occupied vicinity of the vans they were dressed as though they had only recently arrived to the jungle and probably would be leaving just as quickly as they’d arrive. They sported cowboy hats and leather boots, their shirts neatly pressed tucked into jeans adorned by oversized ornately engraved belt buckles. Chatting nonchalantly they each held onto glasses containing a brown liquid. Next to them was a wooden shelf which ran the length of the canopied area they shared with the vans. A radio played softly from the shelf and what appears to be the bottle from which they obtained their beverage sat next to the radio.
By Stieve Fernandez4 years ago in Criminal
Powder
A semi operator stood on the tire of his rig’s front driver side wheel, peering beneath the hood of the unit. He was travelling for a few days and was close to the end of his journey when his dash illuminated the check engine light. He had owned the vehicle for some time and was quite up to date ion his servicing guidelines, so he initially assumed it was some glitch in the sensors and as such decided to ignore it least until the next rest stop. He continued his journey for some time and had almost forgot its existence. Having journeyed another fifty or so miles he started recognizing an unusual rattling sound emanating from the vehicle. He could have stopped but again there was not too much cause for concern since he thought it was another ten miles to the rest stop ‘Perky Parrot’. “Valves needs adjusting!” he said to himself. That however was not an immediate issue, not five minutes later the rattle gave way to a loud explosion and bits of metal falling from the rig unto the road way. Acting quickly he put the engine into neutral gear and maneuvered the rig to the shoulder of the highway, killed his engine and hit his brakes. The behemoth came to a halt on the shoulder of the road its tail end sticking ever so slightly onto the highway. There came a peculiar smell of heated metal entering the cab of the semi. “What the fuck was that?” He asked himself as he quickly descended from the cab, he grabbed a series of orange emergency cones and proceeded to lay them out along the length of the semi. He then placed two triangle caution reflectors one at the front of the unit the other at the extreme rear. Once he’d done the precautions for traffic, he circled the unit looking for any signs of catastrophe. Nothing was obviously wrong externally, no hanging bits along the undercarriage. He took out a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, then retrieved an engraved silver plated lighter from his denims, lit a cigarette and exhaled in a sighing breath. He took a few moments to observe the starry sky which seemed to be a lot closer than normal due to the remoteness of the location and lack of light pollution. The big dipper was leaning away from the top of the sky and making its way toward the horizon. A feeling of insignificance overtook him as he stood there beneath the plethora of stars that formed the Milky Way. Amongst them our technological advancement was obvious as a single satellite moved steadily across the expanse of the sky. His cigarette exhausted he returned the pack to his pocket and made his way to the front of the vehicle deciding to view the engine. He waited to allow it to cool of prior to attempting a diagnosing of the issue. Undoing the latches he pushed the hood backwards exposing the engine, climbing upon the wheel to gain a better vantage point of the engine compartment. As soon as he got up on the wheel he could see the cause of the explosion. A large gaping hole was to be seen on the lower half of the engine block as if some force from within had made its way outwards, taking the path of least resistance. Looking closely he noticed a curved bit of foreign metal wedged into the edge of the hole. Taking a pair of leather gloves he had stuffed in his back pocket, he proceeded to attempt removing the bit of metal. However the intense heat produced by the small piece of cast iron was too much for his gloved fingers. “Agghh!” he shrieked as he let go of it “son of a bitch!” Stepping down from the wheel of the rig he checked his gloves which were burnt with a distinct crescent shaped char mark imprinted upon them. “That shit must have been white hot!” he exclaimed as if telling someone. It was only then that it dawned upon him that this was a piece of the pistons from the combustion chamber. “Holy fuck!” that explained its shape and intense heat. So there he was having blown a piston through the wall of his engine block, he realized the helplessness of his situation. Reaching for a second cigarette he sighed and remarked “this is not good!” Sitting on the driver seat inside his cab. He retrieved his cell phone, dialed a number before lighting his cigarette. “Roadside assistance?” he asked of the voice on the other end of the line.” Yeah I’m around roughly five miles from the ‘Perky Parrot’ rest stop northbound on I-75. Yeah I think I’ll need a towing, blew a piston through the block wall... Ah not really, I’m on the shoulder just waiting. If you could make it sooner than later it would be greatly appreciated…. O...Ok gotcha… guess it’s just a waiting game now then? … Oh by the way you got any number for engine suppliers in the area I’m sure that’ll come in handy. You could shove a fist through the hole in the block and god only know what all else is going on inside the engine you know... ok thank you … yes this is my cell call me if you need anything or have any updates.” He got off his first call and searched his contact list before placing a second call. “Oh yeah capo. Como estas?” speaking in Spanish he gets into a lengthy conversation with the contact on the line. A headlight appeared in his rearview mirror off in the distance, he kept watching its approach which seemed quite rapid. Retrieving a third cigarette which he lit using the butt of the prior. “I’m certain I will be a few days late.” As the car in the rearview approached he stepped down from the cab and standing at the side of the unit waved his arm in a signaling manner. “Tomorrow I will see if I can get a engine replacement, if not you guys will ha….” BOOOM! A loud ear rattling explosion interrupts the quiet ambience of the area. Within a fraction of a second his eye caught a glimpse of something flying in his direction at such a high velocity his only reaction was to cover his face with his arm.
By Stieve Fernandez4 years ago in Criminal
Powder
Kash sat quietly staring out the passenger window. He was stuck in a state of deep thought as the traversed the journey toward their home state. Moving to the USA was a dream come true for him yet, he couldn’t help feeling like he was still controlled by the life he’d left behind in Jamaica. He was responsible for several murders prior to his being given a visa by the mayor of his town as a reward for the most high profile killing he had completed. The mayor had gotten himself involved in a loan sharking operation ran by a group of Norwegian expats and somehow it had led to a falling out amongst his (the mayors) political party. Most notably between the mayor and the number one contender for his position an up and coming politician by the name of Peter Beck. Being quite outspoken, beck had garnered significant support for the ousting of the current mayor. This created an air of animosity amongst the supporters of the current mayor and those who opposed. As is normal in the political circles in Jamaica most politicians have on their payroll gang leaders locally known as dons. Who, would use force and threats of violence and or death to control the direction of votes and support. A quick call to a certain don known as Malta, led to and eradication of the up and coming Peter Beck. The don had made arrangements for them to receive visas as part payment for the job upon successful completion. Before long Kash had found himself on a flight to Florida. In the US he was taken by the contacts of the don back home to a drug house, where, he was at first tasked with guarding the location and its operators. After several months he was moved to Texas and after some time brought to Connecticut. He had been living in Connecticut since and was pretty much an employee of the gang back home in Jamaica though he was given some room to maneuver on his own. The local boy of Jamaican descent slowly became his friends and eventually he and Tommy and ratty became a thing. They went everywhere together. While for tommy and ratty it was a joy to be acting out and proving themselves as tough guys, for Kash there was no option! His was a life of perpetual servitude, and eventually a violent death. Many a time he would ask the other two why they didn’t go to college get themselves right but was constantly provided the same answer. “We wanna come up like you did!” he would tell them they were idiots but left it at that. As the trees went by in the shadows he wished he could simply disappear. Start a new life and just be an average Joe. He reached over to the backseat to collect a flask bottle being passed by ratty behind him. “Good looking!” he said as he accepted the flask. Tommy smoking leisurely, speeding down the lonely stretch of highway attempt to ash the blunt out his window. As he does the gusty wind knocked the hot ash and a few stray embers into his face some landing in his eye. “Oh fuck!” he screamed as he panicked and making a split second reaction he attempted to brush the embers and ash from his face which caused the steering to veer sending the car slamming into the back of a disabled rig at the side of the road. A huge inferno ensued which engulfed the car and the rear end of the semi. Inside the raging inferno a voice could be heard screaming in a heart wrenching, stomach churning tone of desperation! The flames burned brightly illuminating the darkness of the countryside and consuming the entire body of the car.
By Stieve Fernandez4 years ago in Criminal
Powder
“Could you state your name and title for the records please?” Inside a courtroom in Connecticut, a prosecutor walking from his desk to face the witness stand asked of the witness sitting on the podium. The witness, a middle aged man wearing transition lens prescription glasses along with a dark grey pinstriped jacket and matching pants. He straightened himself in the chair prior to leaning forward and speaking into the microphone. “My name is Bob Sylva, That’s B.O.B. S.Y.L.V.A.N. I am a thirteen year employee of the Connecticut highway patrol. I currently hold the position of lieutenant.” He leaned backward in his chair as he completed his response.as he does he glances across the room at the grand jury, its twelve members sat almost motionless, staring back at the witness stand. “Thank you!” replied the prosecutor who was now leaning against the wooden rails surrounding the witness stand. “Could you describe the events of 11th August 2016?” He continued. A confident, experienced member of the district attorneys’ office, Joe E. Dorsey had spent the better part of his last thirty years working in the courtroom of eastern Connecticut, now a staple figure on high profile cases. He was known to be almost surgical with his precise questioning and firm adherence to the law. “Should I start at the beginning of my shift? Or just the parts that relate to this case?” returned Lieutenant Sylvan. “Well I’m not sure the members of the jury would be interested in your choice for breakfast!” Mr. Dorsey replied sarcastically which solicited a laugh amongst the population of the courtroom. “Please start at the point you believe is most relevant to the case.” Taking a moment staring at the ceiling as if to recall from the air some lost bit of information, “For the most part it was a normal”… “I’m sorry could you speak into the microphone please.” The presiding judge commanded of the witness. “Oh sorry about that!” the witness a bit embarrassed blushed as he adjusted his posture to take better advantage of the audio device “As I was saying it was a normal day, I had been about halfway through my shift, my patrol took me down the I-90. I was approximately ten to fifteen miles from the perky parrot, which is a truck stop on the I-90 route. Normally I pull into the parking lots of these stops and spend some time observing the area before moving along to other stops or to do a speed check. Things like that. But that day was different! As I said I was on my way toward the perky parrot. When the call came in over the radio. The dispatcher said there was an accident on the I-90 westbound which happened to be the exact direction I was travelling in. oh! She also mentioned that vehicles were on fire. So as one would with any call for assistance, I turn my siren on and headed as an increased travel rate towards the scene intending to provide whatever assistance I could immediately.” Taking a sip of water from a glass sitting before him on the desk Sylvan concluded his speech. “I take it you eventually arrived at the said scene?” Dorsey quarried. “Yes sir I did!” replied Sylvan “Could you describe the scene of the accident upon your arrival?” asked Dorsey “Well that’s easy! Utter destruction” quipped Sylvan “I mean the most striking thing I saw probably the first thing I saw was a severed arm laying almost in the middle of the highway. There was a parked semi on the side of the highway which from the front end looked quite normal except the hood was opened and stuck in the air, which was the only indication something was amiss. At the rear however a thick dark plume of smoke rose confidently into the air. Its thick black grey body hung like a low calumnious cloud. The closer I got the more pronounced was the smell of what I at first thought was burnt barbecue. However there was a rancid, rather pungent aspect to the odor which, I guess the best way to describe it was as if a rotting animal was burnt. I had never smelled burning human flesh before and so I never considered this unusual aroma to be associated with my own specie. There were traffic cones laid out by the fire fighters, who, were still hosing the back end of the semi. The fire engine stuck out in the night as its flashing lights created a rather dramatic display in the otherwise dull landscape. The silhouette of trees lining the landscape came alive in the lighting. There was an ambulance whose white body stood as a stark contrast to the fire engines bright red. The EMT crew was just about to shove the wheeled stretcher into the back of their ambulance I figured there was a person recovered and strapped onto the gurney, as I could see crew members holding IV bags in the air as they worked on getting the stretcher into the ambulance. Within a minute or two they were all loaded up and on their way to seek medical attention at some hospital. The debris field covered a fairly large section of the highway at least thirty five, forty feet in length and spanned the breadth of both lanes. I parked my cruiser and got out, observing the semi as I moved along its length walking. I at first didn’t notice any other vehicle and thought it to be a peculiar scene. I pondered whether the semi was somehow burning due to its contents or maybe some catastrophic mechanical failure a brake caliper got stuck and overheated leading to the fire or something like that. I at that point saw the arm up close laying alongside the yellow line separating the lanes on the highway. I must admit a cold hard shiver ran down my spine, causing me to retrieve my asthma pump and take a pull. It helps calm my nerves you know! That’s around when I noticed a mass of something underneath the rear of the semi about the area of the rear axle. It seemed to me then that the fire crew was focusing primarily on this mass. Once I got close enough I realized that an entire vehicle was wedged under the semi. Only then did the reality of the scene hit me. A parked rig got rear ended at tremendous speed by some sedan and the arm laying in the roadway was from one of the occupants of the sedan. Around this point a pair of cruisers pulled in from the opposite direction to my arrival and after some formalities we proceeded to attempt piecing the events together. The absence of skid marks indicated that the sedan had never attempted to brake so a loss of control at high speed was assumed to have occurred which saw the ultimate sudden braking. All indicators were pointing to maybe a sleeping driver.” “Did you speak with the firefighters?” looking at the members of the jury as if directing his question to them Dorsey asked. “Ah... At first no as I joined with the other police officers to attend to the scene and we started to take photographs as well as mark the locations of any and all bits of debris we could locate, stuff like that. Also due to the restriction of the usable area on the highway we had one officer posted to direct any oncoming traffic. Which was not something the drivers enjoyed too much I can tell you that, we had to force them to use the extreme right shoulder which itself was trouble for we still could not be certain they weren’t driving over bits of evidence. But it was the best we could come up with! The other two officers and I did our best to locate as much debris and mark them so the accident reconstruction team would be able to best complete their job. There was a sort of anomaly encountered by the fire fighters which was the initiation of our dialogue with the fire crew.” “Could you look at exhibit #1 please?” Dorsey commanded “could you explain what we are looking at?” Dorsey continued. “That I know to be a picture of the stated anomaly.” Sylvan replied “And did you ascertain what this anomaly was?” Dorsey asked “Yea in my profession we call that a simply a bullet hole.” “And where was the bullet hole located?” “It was rather peculiar for as the car was crunched up from the impact with the rig and the bullet hole was through the top of the rear left door frame. It’s almost hard to describe, oh and it was obvious that it originated from the inside the car as the metal blew outwardly. If you will notice that the ruler is held right next to the hole so one can assume the size of the projectile by the hole it created. Also the hole was unchanged even though the car was destroyed.” “What significance does this have?” “Well it suggests that the bullet struck the metal either upon impact of after impact. This is the reason I considered, or it was considered by those on the scene an anomaly as the occupants of the sedan either side at the moment of collision or from the flame which ensued.” As the witness finished speaking the prosecutor then depressed the button on his remote which changed the image displayed by the projector. “Please look at exhibit #2, can you identify this image? “Dorsey Continued. “Yes I can!” Lieutenant Sylvan replied “And what do you identify this image as?” returned Dorsey. “That I know to be the photo of the weapons in the positions they were recovered.” Dorsey walked over to the podium where Sylvan sat and asked “What weapons?” “Well during the removal of the remains of the three individuals from the sedan we encountered what was identified as there handguns though they were in a burnt state. The wooden and polymer segments had burned away leaving only the metal frames. Which were unmistakable to one who knows about such weapons. Also due to the intense heat the rounds in the magazines had discharged themselves. So if you look carefully at the photo you can see several brass jackets next to the weapons.” Thank you, so these weapons did they initiate any action from yourself or any other member of the responding crew?” “At first not really, it is the norm in the great United States of America that guns are in cars so no one was alarmed. Our initial assumption is that they were legal. “You say at first, why?” That’s because we simply bagged and tagged all items as evidence and moved on to the cleanup of the crime scene. The sooner we get done the sooner the highway can resume to its normalcy.” “We were removing the car from the undercarriage of the semi in order to get the remains of the two front seat passengers removed. But a chop saw had to be employed to cut away some of the metallic parts of both the car and the semi in order to completely retrieve the sedan. This led to a second anomaly if you would.” Taking a sip of water Sylvan paused as if awaiting further instructions or questions. “So would exhibit #3 be a picture of your second anomaly?” changing the slide Dorsey asked bringing up an image of the semi featuring its rear axle co-mingled with the sedan’s front end. Both charred from the inferno which recently consumed their paint and flammable segments. “Yes sir that is a picture in which the anomaly can be seen.” “And what is anomalous in that picture?” “well if you notice right at the there is a cut which was made by the chop saw just about the middle where that bit of twisted metal is protruding upward into the base of the flooring on the trailer.” “Would that be here?” Dorsey using a laser pointer mad a circular motion at the area on the picture indicated by Sylvan. “Yes sir it is” “Again explain what we are looking at and why this is considered to you then to be anomalous.” “Can you see the white waxy substance along the cut made into the bumper?” “You mean this” aging using the pointer to indicate what Sylvan is speaking of Dorsey asked. “Yes sir, note how that area is almost like a sore thumb, everything else has a charred appearance, but once we cut into the bumper that white substance presented itself. Normally the bumpers of semis are entirely hollow tubes of metal. So finding one filled in is instantly intriguing.” “So what steps did you take upon this discovery?” “We than attempted to get a sample of the item in question and have some emergency checks done before proceeding. Due to potential bio hazards and things like that, better to be safe than sorry right? But really we had our own suspicions!” “And what suspicions did you have?” “Well! The witness let out a small chuckle “when you’ve been in this profession for as long as I have you immediately upon discovering white substances in hidden compartments are always some sort of illicit item primarily drugs.” “Did you, or were you able to dispel or confirm those suspicions?” “Yes as a matter of fact we were able using a drug sample testing kit we carry able to identify the substance to be fentanyl.” “What steps were taken at the point of such confirmations?” “We immediately called my chief to have them notify the DEA and the FBI as the discovery took things out of our control, interstate commerce is the jurisdiction of federal agencies. So after removing the sedan and having both vehicles towed to a government garage lot. I left to visit the hospital where the semi driver was taken for he would most certainly be place under arrest.” “Do you not require a warrant to arrest him?” “Well given the discovery the warrant would be issued in short order, but not knowing the state he was in we had to make preparations to at least detain him while we awaited the warrant” “And I assume the arrest went as intended?” “As a matter of fact the driver was unconscious for a number of days so his fleeing prosecution was not possible he remained under police guard until he came out of his coma at which point he was placed under arrest. But the FBI had taken over by then so I was not there when this actually transpired” “Ok lieutenant Sylvan thank you for your time no further questions at this time.”
By Stieve Fernandez4 years ago in Criminal
Powder
It was sunny outside, a typical San Francisco day. Wisenburg felt overly tired as though I simply hadn’t slept well the night before, or his body failed to absorb the sleep he gave it. I did my regular morning routine, you know shit, shower, shave! Told the family goodbye and left for the office. He had only six months into my new position as head of the Fugitive Apprehension Team or F.A.T and he kind of liked it for one thing this office overlooked the bay and Alcatraz was always a hub of activity, He would often times open up the blinds or even remove them entirely and just get lost if you may into the heart of San Fran bay. The other thing he loved about this job was the lack of action. Nothing to do almost always, and that might just be my favorite part of the new position. My wife particularly loved it as he would no longer return home depleted from chasing some guy through the local neighborhoods, to the point of missing out on time with the kids. And her! One can appreciate her position though as it is normal to hear of some crazy event in which a local cop was shot or shot at and, while he accepted that it comes with the territory, No one wants to be that guy who never comes home you know. His team was made up of fifteen guys who had been around the block as we like to put it for at least ten years, so one could say they were quite seasoned. Though he hadn’t pick them himself they all had a major bust under their belt and were selected for that very reason, to join the unit. Their job was a little better paying than regular detective and our insurance almost double that of patrol units. Still they all sometimes complained of missing the action. It was the morning of June 4th 2016. Captain Wisenburg got in the office to a series of emails from a special agent Munstin of the Massachusetts FBI field office. He had never interacted with the F.B.I directly before so he was quite... intrigued by the idea to say the least. The overwhelming quantity of correspondence he had mailed was also quite impressive. ‘They must have been up all night’ he thought, as the last received email was sent at 4:23am, “they don’t play around” he thought. One by one he began reviewing the contents of these pieces of communication. As he did, it became clear our department had its first real engagement on its hands. He must have been on the third email when he received the now famous phone call. The phone rang and as he picked up a rough firm voice came over, “hello captain Walsenburg?” “Hello yes this is Walsenburg. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” “Hey this is special agent Mark Munstin of the Boston Massachusetts F.B.I office. How’s your morning?” “Oh hey Mr. Munstin! Well my morning is great so far, trying to brief myself on the document you’ve sent. Ahh! quite the task I might add. Only on the third email as we speak. How is your morning? You guys don’t sleep in Boston do you?” “Quite the average, and sleep comes when we die does it not? But yeah the job here is always the same just different bad guys to catch! But I’m glad you got my emails” “Oh yes all thirty two of them I might add!” “Ha-ha well we do have limits on the attachment sizes do we not? And you might note there is a large cache of files to cover this case!” “As a matter of fact I did notice that! It took a while to review only the first two attachment packets. I had come to conclude that I might need to print these files and take them home or I might never get to review them all.” “Please do as you feel necessary, just be reminded there is a confidential aspect to these documents.” “Oh of course! It may be my first time working with you guys but I assume the same rules apply as to any high level investigation.” “Good man, good man! I want to give you a quick rundown as to what we are dealing with and then I will leave you to acquaint yourself with the details.” the conversation continued for another forty-five minutes as Munstin divulged into the state of the investigation and the requirements they had for Wisenburg and his team. “Well I look forward to your assistance ,and hope this is the start of a new alliance between our two departments” he said as they bid each other good bye for now. Placing the phone back on the hook, Wisenburg leaned back in his chair and swiveled himself around to face the bay. A ferry was departing Alcatraz laden with thrill seekers who were bursting at their seams with enthusiasm and awe. ‘I never understood what about danger that creates such an emotion of thrill inside us. From carnival rides to horror movies humans and fear seem to have a love hate relationship, never breaking up they dwell together in such ebb and flow. Who tours an old dilapidating place of suffering? What makes the asylums of the early 1800s and 1900s so appealing to thrill seekers? Why do we possess adrenaline? Is it only to entertain our pleasure receptors or does it serve a purpose?’ he thought Smiling Wisenburg turned back toward the desk and retrieved a pack of Marlboro reds, he had always been a smoker and while he did look forward to the day give up on smoking, it surely won’t be today. “Smoking calms my mind and thoughts above anything I know.” Said he to himself His wife has always said she is entertained by his demeanor whilst he smoke as he “appeared like the calmest seas”. But being a nurse by profession she never hesitates to encourage his quitting. Searching his desk for a lighter, he couldn’t help but observe the emerald green lamp shade so iconic of corporate spaces. ‘I wonder if some guru of interior decorating wrote a sort of Holy Grail of office designs where they recommended the use of the lamest ugliest colours and dimmest most underperforming lamp for your desk. The company who supplies these lams must be owned by the very Gideons who infect all public places with their version of the holy book of Christianity. I simply cannot find another item to rival the former two in public distribution.’ Thought he. His office was an off white colour at the top with a wood trim halfway to the ground that was a general oak brown. There were a few insignias painted on the walls that referenced our unit and the San Fran P.D. above the door was a kind of mural of a banner carried by two doves bearing the departments motto, a coat hanger stood by one side of the door and the other side was manned by a flower pot sitting on a wall desk containing a spruce bonsai plant his granddad had planted and which had traveled from his granddad to his dad and eventually to him. Snapping back to reality he sift through the desk drawer and locate his incendiary device “there you are!” he said grabbing it from the drawer and proceeded to poison his lungs with the taste and smell a good old Marlboro was now inflicting upon my senses. He let a deep slow exhale go before a long smooth pull…euphoria!
By Stieve Fernandez4 years ago in Criminal
Powder
Bang! Bang! Bang! Gunshots rang out in the middle of a providence Rhode Island club. The patrons of which panicked and a stampede ensued. It was a calculated move. And the perpetrators went almost unnoticed through the frantic crowd toward a rear exit! “Get the fuck out the way!!” “Move!” Don’t do it!” the group waving guns at those in their way commanding the crowd to allow them a passage through the exit. Once outside a car parked across the way makes a beeping sound while simultaneously flashing its headlights. The deactivated alarm system coupled with a remote starting capability prepared the car for it’s soon to be occupants. The three men made quick work navigating the street and into the waiting car... “Fuck dat bitch ass nigga!” the driver said as he pushed the German engineering machine to its limits. “Yow bad chargie, you dun know I don’t take disrespect from no boy! Born killa! yuh see mi!” a short dark member of the group mentioned as he broke down a section of the car’s interior around the sun roof feverishly shoving three pistols into the gap between the roof and its lining. He spoke with a thick accent indicative of the Caribbean. ------------- The night was quite young and the three friends were on a mission to get drunk and high, they had grown accustomed to the fast life and was enjoying the moment. They truly loved clubbing and drinking and above all else taking home a new woman at every given occasion. They all lived on the same street and had been supplying coke and weed to the locals in their area. Recently they had advanced to pills and heroine as the market demand for this had steadily increased as did the profit margins. But popularity of a new comer called fentanyl was all the rage and they just couldn’t keep enough of it, “this shit sells itself “ they’d joke as no longer did they have to seek customers, “once you got it they will find you” was the statement. The only downside to this drug was its extreme lethality, lots of users would get a ride from which they never returned. There was an epidemic of overdose cases and the government, in an effort to crack down on the spread of the drug, had implement severe punishments for those caught selling the deadly product. But as one rapper put it “get rich or die trying”. And they were getting rich fast. On an average day they would see upwards of ten thousand dollars in sales. The more people your product killed the more people wanted to buy your shit. It was like everyone was in a race to die. Given the price of the ‘Fetty’ as the fentanyl was called in the street, they could buy it in bulk added to its potency, they could then ‘add a cut’ or dilute it with caffeine which was also rather affordable and make two kilograms from one. This would still be strong enough to be lethal. Bought for seven thousand a kilogram. Plus the eleven hundred dollars for the kilogram of caffeine. They’d sell it for two hundred dollars a bundle (a bundle is a ten pack of vials containing a gram per vial) would fetch them a profit of around thirty one thousand dollars. But the drug game has its risks. Rival vendor often fight over control of territory and the customers that come with it. There were geographical boundaries separate from those established by the federal government which gangs administered as if they were a local ad hoc government. Groups would be locked in wars over redefining boundaries of these areas as different gangs looked to expand their own control. It had been a pretty profitable day for the trio and they had decided what better way to celebrate than to go to the clubs and get laid. They generally avoided partying in their own town as their reputation tended to attract too much attention. As such they had chosen to drive two hours to providence out in Rhode Island as their destination for that evening. They had been scoping out a few clubs there during this past week while there doing some ‘drops’ as they called the delivering of drugs., and had decided once they got a chance they would definitely go check them out. Having called themselves G-city, they had thought was only right they went to the club called G-spot. They had asked around while they were working the area and most had recommended G-spot as a great starting point to see the town, its popularity was second to none amongst those they’d ask. They were in the process of seeking out a clandestine parking spot, not too close to be noticed upon arrival or caught by club security camera, nor too far from the as to be out of reach in case they had to resort to a speedy escape. Their usual mode of operation at clubs was to make their way into the club and after a moment they would go hang out with the security guards at the entrance or the rear if one existed, at which point they would spark up a fairly lengthy conversation, offer some drinks and even smoke some weed with the staff all while they would be meandering back and forth across the threshold of the door in an attempt to distract the guards from the need to search them once they reentered for good. after some time one of them, the one with the Caribbean accent, known as Kash had made his way to the car while the other two kept the guard busy, he then returned, having hid the pistols upon his person, and after rejoining the conversation slip beyond the door and thus would they smuggle their weapons into the club. It was an unspoken rule they’d learned to live by wherein they would never enter and location they couldn’t manage to smuggle their weapons into. “What’s good OG?” tommy a short stocky built member of the group asked of the guard as they all got together at the door and sparked up the conversation. “What do you mean what’s good the bitches inside is what’s good, you aren’t from around huh? Cause everyone out here knows these bitches is good to the last drop…ha, ha, ha.” The guard replied which caused the guys to all break out in laughter. “You right. You right!” Tommy added “OG is it ok to spark up a blunt out here?” the third member of the group known as Ratty asked. “Shit! As long as you got me some it is.” The guard replied “Well that we do OG that we do!” Tommy added as he broke out a baggie and passed half of its contents to the guard. “Oh Hell no! Y’all better pass me some of that blunt as well!” the guard requested which again got the group into a laugh. They obliged and handed the blunt to the guard who took a strong pull. “Damn that’s some strong shit!” he commented as he took a second hit. “California’s finest that’s what that is!” replied tommy “that’s Grand Daddy Purple right there” he told the guard who was now smoking like a locomotive engine. “Yeah I love the G.D.P but, we don’t get enough of it out here you know?” The guard added before passing the blunt to Kash. “Hey OG you able to have a drink with us would they mind?” Tommy asked “Well we could have energy drinks! But you could just toss me the cash you know this job isn’t on Wall Street you know.” Replied the guard. “You real smooth OG!” Tommy added They chatted for a while before Kash did his thing and was back with the group as if he never left. “Hey OG nice chopping it up see you in a while, we might as well go look at these bitches before someone else takes ‘em.” Ratty said and they all made their way inside the club. Inside the club they made their way to the male restroom and each was handed his weapon by Kash, a fist pound and they returned to the general area, they stood for a second outside the restroom door scoping out the layout of the club before deciding on the dark area located next to what was obviously the rear exit. They posted up backs against the wall watching the girls ride the poles on the dance stages. Several half naked girls made their way around the floor offering drinks and taking orders from the crowd. The guys ordered some drinks and started getting loose, whispering in the ears of the passing women. They had been in the club for some time and were having a great time by their standards. Tommy had asked if they wanna blow some cash and the group decided a bit of a celebration would be nice. They had located an empty table and drew it over to their spot. Then asked three different waitresses to bring them bottles of Champagne and Cognac and an ice bucket with a dozen Red Bulls. The women obliged and were returning shortly with the requested items and even stuck around for a moment given the sizable tip that the group had handed them. Tommy was soliciting the phone numbers of one of the waitresses when some guy went buy and bumped into the waitress before stepping backwards in shock apologizing, as he stepped backward however he’d unfortunately stepped on the shoes of Ratty who had without thinking open hand slapped the guy across the face. The guy turned and started swinging his fists wildly which caused Kash and Ratty to break out in a full brawl with the guy. At some point a bottle was removed from the table and crashed into the unfortunate guys face. Blood gushed fourth and the security of the club had begun closing in on the scene of the incident. Alarmed and uncertain as to the guards’ ultimate action, Kash retrieved his pistol and let off several rounds in the air. A stampede ensued as the frightened patrons frantically ran for the doors. The trio also made a desperate push to the exit next to them which was now so crowded it might as well been a mile away. They all brandished their pistols and waving them in the faces of the crowd they started carving a clearance through the stampede to the door. They were now speeding across state lines in an effort to disappear before anyone could provide a description of them or their car. Inside the car they remained silent for a great portion of the drive, as if in a contemplative state. The glow of the blunt they were smoking moved around from person to person like a trapped firefly exploring the confines of his enclosure. The route by the almost fugitives was quite lonely, only the occasional rig laden with goods of whatever sort went by belching loudly as they did and expunging the thick diesel fumes so iconic of their metabolism. The two lane highway lined on either side by shadowy trees and the occasional lamp poles which seemed to be conducting some sort of reunion of the flying insect association, for they darted in and out of the light casted by the poles. Their motion created quite spectacle as their wings caught the light at certain angles which created reflective surfaces and thus it was like the winking of Christmas lights on an intensely decorated tree. The distance of each pole coupled with the rural setting of the area created a sequence of light and dark light and dark, which at the speed they were travelling made the light to appear pulsing across the faces of the occupants of the car as they traversed the highway, their face appeared as phantoms in some horror movie standing in a dark room where a hanging lamp swayed heavily back and forth bringing their grotesque face into view before quickly casting them back into the silhouettes. A single cough broke the silence within the car as the lit blunt went from the back seat to the driver who, without taking his eyes off the road simply reached out and had it place between his fingers by Ratty. The transfer complete, he took a deep pull on the burning blunt before a long exhale. “Oh fuck I forgot we had the vodka back here!” exclaimed Ratty who then proceeded to retrieve the flask bottle of vodka in the pocket behind the driver seat. Taking a quick gulp he passed the bottle to Kash in the front passenger seat “good looking” was the only words to escape Kash’s lips.
By Stieve Fernandez4 years ago in Criminal
