Welcome to Your Poetry Dot Com - Read, Rate, Comment on, or Submit Poetry. Browse Poetry Forums, or just enjoy other parts of our poetic community.
One of the largest databases of poetry on the net, now over 198,500+ poems!
Welcome to Your Poetry Dot Com    Poems On Site: 198,500+   Comments On Poems: 427,000+   Forum Posts: 105,000+
Custom Search
  Welcome ! Home  ·  FAQ  ·  Topics  ·  Web Links  ·  Your Account  ·  Submit Poetry  ·  Top 30  ·  OldSite Link 22-November 05:59:33 AEST  
  Menu
  Home
· Micks Shop
· Our eBay Store· Error Submit
 Poetry
· Submit Poetry
· Least Read Poems
· Topics
· Members Listing
· Old Site Post 2001
· Old Site Pre 2001
· Poetry Archive
· Public Domain Poetry
 Stories
· Stories (NEW ! )
· Submit Story
· Story Topics
· Stories Archive
· Story Search
  Community
· Our Poetry Forums
· Our Arcade
100's of Games !

  Site Help
· FAQ
· Feedback

  Members Areas
· Your Account
· Members Journals
· Premium Sign-Up
  Premium Section
· Special Section
· Premium Poems
· Premium Submit
· Premium Search
· Premium Top
· Premium Archive
· Premium Topics
 Fun & Games

· Jokes
· Bubble Puzzle
· ConnectN
· Cross Word
· Cross Word Easy
· Drag Puzzle
· Word Hunt
 Reference
· Dictionary
· Dictionary (Rhyming)
· Site Updates
· Content
· Special Content
 Search
· Search
· Web Links
· All Links
 Top
· Top 30
  Help This Site
· Donations
 Others
· Recipes
· Moderators
Our Other Sites
· Embroidery Design Store
· Your Jokes
· Special Urls
· JM Embroideries
· Public Domain Poetry and Stories
· Diamond Dotz
· Cooking Info and Recipes
· Quoof - Australian Story

  Social

Big Al 19

Contributed by ramfire on Thursday, 26th July 2007 @ 07:30:18 AM in AEST
Topic: Lifepoems



When I entered my office the next morning there was a plain white envelope on the floor put there through the mail slot in the door. It wasn’t addressed. I carried it to my desk and opened it.
A single piece of paper fell out showing a claim ticket for a piece of merchandise being stored at the Madison Street Terminal Warehouse on First and Madison. I knew the place. It was five stories of old brick and dark windows. I put the claim ticket inside my wallet,
A messenger boy arrived bringing a sealed manilla envelope from the Fidelity Trust and Title Company. I opened it and read their report carefully. The bottom line was that title for the Lakefront Drive property was held by a Mister Jesse Abercombie who in turn was now leasing the property to Roger Forsyth.
It seemed Forsyth was putting Gloria DuPrey in that house for whatever reason he had. That too wasn’t surprising considering all the duplicity I’d already gone through with Miss DuPrey.
I took a shot of booze from the desk bottle, lit a cigarette and gave it more thought.
The old Regulator clock on the wall ticked off the minutes and I didn’t get anywhere with my thinking. I needed to see what was at the warehouse. I put my hat back on.
The Madison Street Terminal Warehouse was located on the same street as the Hixson Hotel where Danny Boy had been murdered. The warehouse was about a mile away from the hotel but still in a rundown area of the city. Wind was blowing loose papers along the sidewalks as it was in front of the Buick. as drove the street. A gray sky promise to bring rain and I believed it. From the car’s radio a voice said the stock market was busting through the ionosphere and that life was just a bowl of cherries for smart investors.
Parking close to the warehouse, I went in the office door. An old man with a green shade visor and garters around his upper arms was bent over a ledger book following the postings with a tobacco stained forefinger. He was sitting at a weather-beaten desk, a drop light over his head. I broke into his concentration.
“ How do I go about finding a piece of merchandise. I have a claim ticket.”
He looked up at me not fully understanding what I wanted. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. I waited. He stuffed the handkerchief away and continued to squint up at me. ”What did you say?”
“ I want to look at a piece of merchandise. I have a claim ticket.”
He adjusted the green shade visor over his eyes and through very bad teeth said, “ You have to see Andy. He does all that kind of stuff.”
“ Okay, let me see Andy.”
“ I need to buzz for him. He’s somewhere around here, but I don’t remember where.”
“ Okay buzz for him.”
“ Let me see your claim ticket.”
I took it out of my wallet and handed it to him. He put the claim ticket closer under the drop light. He sucked air through his bad teeth and gave me his opinion. “Yup, you’ve got a claim ticket alright.”
He pushed a red button on the wall behind him. A strong uggah, uggah sounded
throughout the building. In time a heavy set man appeared in bib coveralls, an apple wool cap and work boots. He came out of the freight elevator to see why he’d been called. He saw me and walked over. The old geezer let him know what I wanted. . He took my claim ticket, inspected it and walked away expecting me to follow. We went up in the freight elevator shaking and chucking all the way to the fifth floor where he pulled back black vein scissor gates to let us out.
With a flashlight he found a hand switch turning on a ceiling of drop lights.
The place was partitioned into files and ranks like a chess board, files being alphabetized and ranks numbered. Files against three walls were risers of three tiers, each tier supported by a wooden pallet. The fourth wall was for painted-over windows controlled by hand cranks attached to chains and gears. I don’t think the windows had been opened in a dozen years.
My claim ticket read C-4 and he led me to a square where there was a large wooden boxwith dimension I would guess of six feet in length by four feet in width and three feet in height.
I asked for a crowbar and hammer. He left returning in a few minutes with the tools. I didn’t want him around when I opened the box and said, “ Why don’t you take a break and come back when I push the button by the elevator.” He thought that over, removing the apple wool cap and wiping the sweatband with a rag from his back pocket, looking both ways not knowing what he should do. “ I’m not suppose to leave you alone. You won’t tell Bode, will you?” “ Not me.” I took a buck from my pocket and gave it to him. He went to the freight elevator and clanked himself and the cage down. I had the box opened in ten minutes revealing an expensive executive desk like only CEO’s had.. I opened the top desk drawer finding dead president notes staring up at me signed by the Secretary of the Treasury, Andrew W. Mellon. The notes ranged from Clevelands to Madisons. I counted their total value at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I closed the drawer quickly reboarding the desk. This was a bribe by DuPrey and friends to sell them booze from Canada. My life was worth more than one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.. I was scared of Casino for he’d find out sending me to a quick hell. I pushed on the button and Andy took me to street level where my feet took me out the front door as quickly as possible. I needed a shot of booze badly.










Copyright © ramfire ... [ 2007-07-26 07:30:18]
(Date/Time posted on site)





Advertisments:






Previous Posted Poem         | |         Next Posted Poem


 
Sorry, comments are no longer allowed for anonymous, please register for a free membership to access this feature and more
All comments are owned by the poster. Your Poetry Dot Com is not responsible for the content of any comment.
That said, if you find an offensive comment, please contact via the FeedBack Form with details, including poem title etc.


While every care is taken to ensure the general sites content is family safe, our moderators cannot be in all places; all the time. Please report poetry and or comments that are in breach of our site rules HERE (Please include poem title or url). Parents also please ensure that you supervise your children well when they are on the internet; regardless of what a site says about being, or being considered, child-safe.

Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©

Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster

All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com

All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.

Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com