My mother Maud was a para-legal and rode the bus to Daytona Beach, beachside every morning to Dockins-Randall Law Office where she worked. I went to 7th grade at Seabreeze Middle, close to where we lived across the river from the beach.
There was just mother and I and my older brother Sam, who lived somewhere in Port Orange, I was never sure where, neither was mother. Sam and I had different fathers, but both our fathers were lawyers mother said.
Kenneth Randall Jr. was mother’s current lawyer friend. Sometimes he brought her home at night. I never expected her to get home before dark. Sometimes Kenneth, a really big guy would eat supper with us and we always had Instant Better Dinners, they were a meat and three veggies. Really those dinners were about all I could eat and they were really tasty. So good I could eat one every night and never get tired of them. They were fine for us and enough when the lawyer ate with us. I could zap one for myself in one flat minute. The motto on the package was, ‘Freezer bag to mouth in a minute.’
Well mother was swelling up again with I guess another brother, the doctor verified it about on the night, before the night, when mother didn’t come home from work.
I called the lawyer’s office the next morning before school and Jennie a secretary told me, “Maudie isn’t here this morning George. I’ll have her call you when she arrives.
“She didn’t come home last night.” I told her.
“Oh no I’ll tell Mr Randell.”
Well I went to school and when I came home there was a curious note stuck to the door in a large brown sealed envelope.
Dear George, Your mother had to go somewhere for the firm. She will be gone for quite a while and she has asked me to look out for you while she’s gone.
Maud tells me that you’re a very mature boy for a guy age 12, almost 13. She is very proud of you and says you understand her relationship with me. That I have a wife and children myself, and that I have been seeing her is a deep secret from everybody.
It’s best George if you don’t tell anybody about me or your mother.
Now George let me explain about finances while your mother is gone — and it may be a long time before she gets back, or contacts you. She is on an important mission that involves the government and you probably know she was previously making 50 credits a week and got (sometimes) 25 credits for overtime per week. Her condo is paid for and the utilities come out of her checking account. There is plenty of money in her checking account to pay for taxes, utility costs, condo fees. Cindy my secretary at the offices will write these checks.
Now your mother is worried about things we haven’t planned for like if somehow you get hurt at school or home, then you should call Cindy.
I am sending with this letter 1000 credits for you to use anyway you like, but do not draw notice to yourself by buying things that will bring attention to you, by buying anything a 12-year-old does not usually possess.
From talking to your mother I understand that Sam your half-brother lives in Port Orange and comes to see you and your mother when he needs money. There are several dozen sealed envelopes in with this letter with about 50 credits in each. You can give or lend Sam this money when he comes around desperate, or keep it yourself. If Sam gives you trouble I can have the police arrest him. Boys age 18 who live on the beach are guilty of something. Tell me if he bothers you, by calling Cindy.
I have a special friend on the police force. If a female officer comes by from time to time and asks you how you’re doing, just know she was sent by me. Don’t tell this woman anything or talk to her about money or your mother. Just tell her if anyone bothers you.
George I have some advice for you, take it or leave it, but here it is — a thousand credits per week is more money than most professional men make. Watch what other people spend money on and invest your money in something you can sell for double.
Save some money to go to one of the Volusia colleges (in a few years), but now look at the local flea market down by the auto race track and invest in a business or buy a business. Some of the poor people who work there make 20 credits a week and have families. Going in business for yourself is a great education and adventure — even if you lose some money at first. By failure you will know what to buy next., and what not to buy, and why.
Keep your mouth shut George and just take the money, become independent.
If you need a friend, buy one. They sell slaves in the flea market, and then in downtown across from City Island. You always pay more in the high rent places. Start where you can buy cheap, slaves or anything else.
Sincerely,
Your friend and you know who I am, but I’m not your father.
I don’t know how many times I read the letter and made notes to myself about the curious things Kenneth Randell Jr. said in the letter.
My early conclusions were:
1. My mother was probably never coming back
2. The 1000 per week was hush money.
3. Mother was probably dead because other wise she would call me on the phone, fax me or something. ( I cried around for about 3 days, and moped at school, and then told myself, ‘Crying around is like a little girl. Mother is gone.’ So I got a new ‘business note pad’ and went to school in newer clothes — my Sunday School clothes (mother called it). It was dress up, business looking better stuff.
4. Kenneth Randall Jr. was probably my father. I had never called him dad, but why did he give me advice and 1000 credits a week. with a condo paid for me and utilities I could live on 50 credits a month — live very nicely.
5. There was no use calling the police about my dead mother because Randall was in with the police. What he said he could do to Sam (not his son) he could do to me (his son). The police thing was a threat to keep me from talking.
He was a lousy dad because he killed his mistress, my mother, because she was pregnant.
On my pad I made lists of things girls and boys my age were buying, I also noted what the most popular students had gotten for Christmas, or wanted on their birthdays. I made a list of popular foods, and the best candy, and the most expensive shoes and backpacks.
I not only went to the flea market on weekends, and school holidays — I almost haunted the market. I watched and questioned venders. Some venders even pushed or dragged me out of their stands. They said things like, “Come back little buddy with a parent with you.” Some informed me that they couldn’t sell me certain merchandise. Guns, knives, swords, slaves and gas driven vehicles were not open for me to purchase. ‘Move on’ was something I heard quite often. A guy who sold kitchen cooking stuff said, “No kids or dogs allowed in my stand little fart.” I bought almost nothing at the market, but I was considering buying a few things for my kitchen that day. I didn’t buy from that creep.
I needed someone to protect me. There were bigger kids on the streets who would take smaller kids money. I had a hidden pocket knife but never pulled it out because they would probably stick me with it.
I rode the Sun-Tram buses and felt rather safe going all over during the day. but I didn’t get off just anywhere. In malls there were always big kids who looked for small boys like me, so malls were out. also on Main Street, by the pier was a really rough area, and I never shopped there. Beach side Daytona was very dangerous, even for adults. I read the Daytona-Beach Journal and knew where the people got mugged, killed, and robbed daily — it was close to the beach in Daytona. Ormond was rather safe, and so was South Daytona. I went to the dangerous places and watched the streets without getting out. Just looking out bus windows made me realize that certain streets were populated by bad people. Let’s put it this way, I wouldn’t even want to be a cop in those areas.
On the bus were all kinds of people, especially the very poor. Often I took a bus that went downtown and then along A1A beachside where all the fancy condo’s were down thru South Daytona and Wilber-by-the-Sea to Ponce Inlet.
On that route there was often a woman named Shirley who wore a name tag that said, ‘Shirley’s Clean Your House’. She always rode with 5 or 6 young slave women. I knew those with her were slaves because they had slave collars around their necks. She rode bus 102 because the driver Bosey would stop where girls went in to clean.
One day I sat behind her and started out by saying, “How many just run away Shirley?”
“Only 5 last year, and the police found 3 and returned them.”
“That’s good,” I said.
“What’s your average loss when you lose one?”
“I see you have a school uniform little man, which school?”
“Seabreeze Middle — I’m about ready to finish 7th grade.”
“Why? Are you interested in slave prices?”
“Yes I am. At the flea market they put me out of the slave sales parts.”
“For good reasons, those women are sold mostly nude. Your too little to see that. Why? Are you wanting to buy a slave?”
“Yes, I need one.”
“Why?”
“Well in my situation, I have a little money and I seek to invest in various going businesses, but I’m too small. I’m almost 13 but I could pass for ten.
I need a slave woman to pose as my parent and buy things in my name for me. I also need an adult to protect me from the bigger kids who would take my money.”
“You are looking to invest in a going business?”
“Yes I now own half of the bicycle shop on ‘H Row at Superflea Daytona Beach and half of the ice cream stand on the main row half way down.”
“Which makes the most profit?”
“Ice cream — and I own half a slave at that location. The other guy watches the stand, and helps manage it.”
“How much was your investment in that operation?”
“Two thousand credits.”
“Do you have a contract with the ice cream guy?”
“Sure, signed at a bank and notorized. I’ve been clearing 300 to 400 every month, but of course there are bad and good seasons. The guy is sorry he sold so far.
He calls me a, ‘Little punk kid.’ I’m afraid he might rip me off if he doesn’t see a parent soon.”
“Would you like to invest in a cleaning service. I can’t get loans from banks. I only have the slave girls, and as you said, they could run away. Banks loan on a building. I sleep in a rented room with 12 slave women.”
“Would 2000 credits buy me half of your operation? So you could invest in more women and do more business?”
“Yes for half of that I can buy ten more women in Titusville and have money for a bigger place to store them and a monthly telephone service and that way I can get business all day and night. I can keep an ad on the computer and in the Daytona News Journal.”
“We can make a deal, but I get the pick of the litter to use as my psudo-parent.”
“It’s a deal, do you have a contract?”
JILL
Of course when I picked among the twenty-two house cleaners for a mother or aunt, I was looking for a nice looking woman. I was a good-looking boy and wanted a mother who was believable. If my mother had me at age 16 she would be thirty.
Jill the female slave I picked said she was 26, but after I established the master-slave relationship with a few swats, slapping a belt on her legs, she remembered she was 32.
My name is George Washington, and that was a problem name. My mother became Jill Washington. Jill had long brown hair and had a beautiful smile and very good teeth. Some of the other cleaners had rotten front teeth. Jill didn’t want to smile at first and even said, “What’s to smile about George?”
Three belt licks across her rump caused her to smile quite a lot. One good thing about Jill was that my mother’s clothes fit her. Even the shoes did fine with a wad of paper stuck in the toes.
I made up, and wrote down a story for Jill to learn. She grew up in Charleston S.C. and lived on the old Battery. I learned about the Battery in 5th grade American History. She married my father George, and I’m George Washington, Jr. Yes, we are, in replying to the basic question people ask, KIN TO THE FATHER OF OUR COUNTRY. It’s just that she knows very little about her husband’s side of the family. Jill thinks they were from Virginia.
Also Jill’s story included that I was born in the Halifax Hospital in Deland and I was her only son. My father died down in Miami of a fatal disease. She won’t want to talk about the disease. I wanted her to seem shy, and not want to talk.
Jill’s real story was that she grew up in Cocoa Beach in a Whore House where her mother did rather constant service. The whore masters let her go to school when she was little. It kept the kids from underfoot while the whores slept.
Jill started earning money for the house owners when she was ten or eleven. No one really kept up with birthdays, and there were plenty of kids.
Jill went to work full-time when she was in about 7th grade, in that same house with her mother. She was a real money producer until she was sixteen, or near about. It was then that the Florida State Inspectors found that Jill had an infectious sexual disease and her place of business called, ’100 Girls Dance Naked For 24 Hours’ was closed until she was disposed of.
Jill was sold to East Coast Spic-an-Span and served their clients by scrubbing floors for years. They sold her finally to Shirley Clean Your House because she didn’t work hard enough. Jill said that was true, “But one doctor gave me shots to cure my cunt disease, and then fucked me every day. He was retired and had lots of time. His wife came down in the basement one day and saw him going at me.”
The man I bought half the bicycle shop from was named Greg Bossenclerk. When I purchased the shop there were 391 bicycles in stock. Greg took my investment money and was supposed to buy about 20 bikes a week from his wholesaler, but shipping problems caused him to not get any. Unknown to Greg I called the company and they claimed he signed for the shipments.
When I bought Jill the store only had 300 bikes in stock. Greg had no story about how the missiong bikes got out. The bikes that were lost were expensive ones. He once said, “Maybe we have shoplifting.” That was rather hard, to conceal and carry off a bike!
I secretly put marks on the bike tires, so I would know which ones were gone, and replaced in the showroom. They kept moving out and the marked ones were gone. Greg was there every day. Most days I was in school.
Greg was bigger than me and much stronger, so I was afraid to claim he was stealing, even when I got Jill. I didn’t want to use the police because of how Randall, my probably father, phrased his letter. The police would ask for ID for Jill. I had gone to Ormond and had a slave chip inserted in her teeth and had a big G.W. branded on her butt. The locksmith put her to sleep before he did it. Lifelong slaves like Jill are not much fun to be around. For example when we were going home from Ormond on the bus, I told her, “Your bottom is probably really sore because I branded your butt with G.W. you can look at it in a mirror at home. Also I had him insert a device in your teeth so you can’t ever run away Jill.”
“Thank you George,” Was all she said. There is really no human life in slaves who were once whores.
Greg Bosenclerk was strong. He could bend some bicycle parts with his bare hands. He could fix bicycles and I think he was afraid to not give me half that fixin money. He didn’t know I couldn’t report him to the police for stealing, but around the flea market dealers didn’t call the police on each other. It was a sort of ‘code of honor’, but they were quick with thieving customers. The police were almost always roaming around the market and arresting somebody. There seemed to be the most trouble over at the slave sales. Lots of disputes were over who owned a slave. You had to possess the correct papers.
Service customers could or might come back in for an adjustment while I was there. And Greg paid me for bicycle repairs, but not for sales, where he pocketed the money. He may have told people they got a discount if they returned on weekdays?
Greg was married and had two little children. His wife was very good-looking. She was a blond and looked about age 16, but must have been 19 or 20, which was his age. Sometimes Laura the wife was out at the bicycle shop with Greg. She was a distraction from the bicycles. Customers watched her instead of considering the merchandise.
The bicycle shop named Beach Bikes should have been making me more than 100 credits per week (even in bad times). But my average from Greg was 50 credits per week. I had invested 5000 credits in the store. I had a contract with Greg. My take from all revenues was a flat one half.
The weekend that I got Jill I left her at my ice cream stand and went over to the bicycle shop and told Greg, “I won’t be over here this weekend. I’ll be busy doing other things.”
“So what George, the deal is I do all the work, so go screw yourself somewhere else. As far as I’m concerned your underfoot.” He had just looked up briefly from a bike he was putting a tire on.
I left and sent Jill over to spy and watch him from the stand directly across from Beach Bikes. That business was called ‘Three Balls’ It was a simple game where a crude likeness of President Lycus’ head was sticking up and the customers got 3 soft rubber balls to throw at Lucus. Lucus had been president 7 times, and no one claimed to have voted for him, but he was usually elected.
There was always a crowd around the game. It was fun to watch. You could win big rabbits, bears or dogs. The stuffed things were as big as the people who won them. Most of the animals were bright pink and blue, and fuzzy. With three balls you could possibly win three animals. The owner told me that, “About once a year someone wins three animals, but no human can carry that many.” Some winners gave their bears away to anyone who would take it. It cost a quarter credit to play, and no one who had a game business wanted to sell half — it was too profitable, they didn’t need partners. I was told the flea market management wouldn’t let new games start in the market — they considered they had plenty already.
Jill stood and watched the bike store all weekend as Greg sold 7 bicycles. Each one she described on her note pad. Jill went to part of the 6th grade in school while living at the whore house.
The 7 Deluxe Bikes that he sold, she described on her notepad, were worth about 1,500 credits. I should have gotten 750 credits as my part. So I went back Sunday night with Jill and said, “So how did it go this weekend Greg?”
“Really bad, nobody’s buying, or spending much of anything,”then he said, “I sold no new bikes, but I did 5 or 6 fixes. So you made something George.”
“My aunt, my mother’s sister, watched you sell seven bicycles Greg!” I said I then read him the description of each bike and a few words explaining the person who bought the bikes.
I had told Mr. Grainer the 3 Ball game guy that I might have trouble and slipped him 10 credits to “Back me up.” So I motioned to the 3 ball man and he came over. “So what’s going to happen Greg” I said really loud, “You’re caught stealing 750 credits from me. We don’t call the police out here and if you ripped me off for 750 credits this weekend, I don’t know how much you stole during the week. I figure you may have stolen 18,000 credits while I’ve owned half interest in this business. I want you to pay me now!”
Greg was much bigger and stronger than me and Mr. Grainer (the three ball man) was twice as big, and twice as thick as Greg.
“I think the quick thing George would be for me to take him into the back of my stand and beat him to death.”
“I don’t think he would be worth much to me dead Mr. G, but do you have a bank account at all Greg?”
“No sir,” Greg said, shaking with his head bowed. A few customers were watching as Greg cried and sobbed.
“The police would make him a slave on a work gang, but that wouldn’t pay you back for all he’s stolen, ” Mr Grainer said.
“If he agrees to be a slave for life I won’t have you beat him to death,” I said to Grainer.
At once Greg got on his knees and bowed his head.
Grainer looked down at him and said, “I have chains in my shop.”
When he left Greg said, “I can work real hard and pay you back.”
“As a slave of mine,” I said.
“I’ll sign an indenture for 3 years.” He said.
“No, maybe Grainer should give you 50 strokes with the whip?”
“No master please I’m a slave for life, please.”
“I think you need 50 to make you remember what bowing means.”
“Oh please master, I’ll do anything. I’m a slave for life. Please don’t hurt me.”
He said that as Grainer chained his arms and also padlocked chains from one leg to the other, so he was able to only take baby steps.
Even chained I was afraid of Greg. Probably because he was so much bigger than me.
Grainer caused a problem that Sunday late afternoon by saying, “You know George the next thing you need to do is make Greg sign a lifetime indenture for his wife Laura and his two little children — the boy and girl.
A boy your age would probably want to keep the wife as your slave — she’s better looking than this other woman.” He pointed to Jill.
“Good idea,” I said.
“The point is George my wife would like to have the boy and girl. They would be underfoot at your house. I’ll pay 2000 credits for the two, boy and girl.”
I saw Greg sort of transform in his face from forlorn, hopeless and weeping to a fierce look like one before a hungry animals eats his prey.
LOVE
My mother Maud must have died somehow. I was real close to my mother, like best friends. We slept in the same bed together. That was not something I went to school and bragged about. I know boys in the 7th grade don’t suck their thumbs or sleep in the bed with their mothers, but we were all we had.
There were no aunts or uncles or grandparents. My mother was an only child and her parents died. So we were really alone in the world except for one older half-brother I had Sam.
Sam was mother’s leach — he sucked her blood. For as long as I was alive (12 years) Sam never spent one day at home. Not even during hurricanes. He lived other places and was a really big boy. He was what others call a beach bum. He wore ragged tee shirts and had skin parched and dried by the sun — like dark leather.
As a para-legal mother made 50 credits per week and sometimes 25 extra for overtime, if the firm had a big case. Mother had firm goals:
1. Pay off her condo — she did that by the time I reached seven years old.
2. Save enough money so I (George) could go to Stetson University in Deland Florida. It was only a few miles down the road from Daytona — actually down Highway 92. She was far away from that goal because of Sam.
Sam Washington had a car, a beach car, contraption, mostly painted orange. It always had one or two surfboards tied to the top of it. The car had a beach sticker that had mother’s address on it. One-o-seven Golf Drive Daytona Beach. He had to use her utility bill to get her beach driving discount. So Sam probably didn’t have an address of his own. He probably had a place to park the car and slept in it.
His visits to mother were when he needed money. Mostly his needs were car related. In Florida you have to have insurance on your car or the tag is revoked — Sam often didn’t pay his insurance bills.
At least once a year Sam needed to be bailed out of jail. Mother had to hire a cab to visit the bail bondsman and post his bail. Those bills were 10 to 50 credits.
From the day I got the lawyer’s letter – Reynolds (my maybe father) I expected Sam to appear.
I went to school and studied geography, English, commercial math, and primary science. I took also PE and industrial arts every other day. I no longer had problems with bullies because my make-believe Aunt Jill came in a cab each day and took me home. The bullies attacked small boys when they entered school and as they left. Jill was there both times. The only other place where attacks were frequent was the bath rooms. I paid a boy in my same class Erine Denter to enter and leave the bathroom with me and beat up anyone who tried anything. believe me before I hired Denter the biggest boys extracted money from the smaller ones daily. I almost expected to have hands in my pockets. Of course any money at school, before Denter, was well hidden. Denter just beat one boy bloody — Rodney Dell and no one else touched me. Erine was my best investment. He failed 7th grade twice and was almost 15.
It was three and a half months after mother was gone when Sam first contacted me.
He called me about 10 PM on a Saturday night and said after my “Hello.”
“So let me speak to Maud.”
“She’s not here Sam.”
“Well where is she Charles?”
“She’s out-of-town for the legal firm. What do you need her for?”
“Where?”
“I don’t really know the place, but I think she’s out of the country right now.”
“So she just left you alone?”
“No the law firm watches out for me and I have this woman who stays at the house with me as her only job.”
“Well fart-brain I need 27 credits can you get the babysitter or the law firm to gather up that for me?”
“What do you need it for?”
“The car, as if it’s your business.”
“Well I work at the flea market and I could loan you that much if you promise to pay me back and sign a promissory note.”
“You would make your only brother sign a note to get a loan?”
“You never paid mother back.”
“She never calls it a loan. Maud is my mother.”
“Well I’m your brother and I work for my money and want it back. Ninty days should give you enough time.”
“Sure, sure, when can I pick it up?”
“Tonight, tomorrow morning early or when I get back from school.”
“Six o’clock tomorrow morning?”
“See you then.” I said.
“Hay Charles what do you sell at the flea market?”
“Anything that will make me money. Right now that is ice cream.”
“You were always a tight-wad capitalist pig with any coins you had.”
“That’s me,” I said and hung up.
I was proud of myself. At age 12 I owned one half of a profitable ice cream business, one half of a not so money-making house cleaning business and all of a bicycle business. I tried selling the bicycles myself, but I was too small to get the confidence of buyers.
Greg Bosenclerk stole money from the bicycle business and agreed to become a slave of mine, rather than get into a legal process. I didn’t trust him to sell bicycles, but he could fix them while chained by the left foot to a metal ring on the floor, at the central support of the shop.
At first I was afraid to go near Greg. When on the night of his ‘voluntary’ enslavement Greg heard Mr Greiner (the 3 ball game guy) who had his game right across from the bike store tell me to, “Go chain up Laura, the wife and sell me the two little children.” Well Greg got fierce and said, “Pull all my teeth and pull my toenails out, but I won’t sign away the freedom of my children! Kill me first!”
He said that to me, not to Granier. That night I locked him like a monkey in the middle of the bicycle space (free of bicycles) and went home with Jill, after locking the store.
Monday thru Thursday were no real business days, but people in the market who advertised had customers wandering around.
Monday I skipped school and that was unusual because I loved school, since I had solved the bully problem. I went in my hired school cab to the market.
The hard ground around Greg had been dug up with his fingers. His fingers were bloody form digging with them. He was trying to dig out the concrete post he was chained to that supported the roof. He had raged during the night against the roof support and ground around him.
The night guard at the market Santa Fe told me later, “He howled like a wounded dog in there all night.”
I called Grainer (the game guy) to seek his advice, after I saw all the digging. Greg probably thought I would only come in the store after school to feed him. who knows what he thought.
Well the big game guy met me outside and said, “We should have finished this last night George. Men have to be beaten into slave submission. They are not natural slaves like women. Give me the form paper that needs to be signed and you stay outside the shop while I make Greg a good slave.
He just started to give up when he bowed down to force and was afraid for you calling the cops. Now I need to whip him good. I have to beat him till he gives up being a man.
All I want in return is those two kids of his to raise as my own two children. Kayla my wife and I want babies. I will pay you 2000 credits for them and guarantee that Greg is tame to fix bicycles for you as a slave.”
“You’ve got a deal.” I said.
I listened all morning to Greg getting his beating. He howled and the few people who passed by wanted to know what was going on. I said, “A slave is being trained, he tried to get away last night.”
Some people gave their opinions about slavery. A few men tried to hit on Jill who was sitting in a chair next to mine outside the store.
One guy who looked 22 and was deep beach tanned like Sam said to Jill, “You’re a beautiful lady, sitting here without a marriage ring on your finger.”
All that Jill was supposed to do was smile at people and talk if my left fist was closed. She smiled big as he said, “You look my age 19 and are as beautiful and bright as the sunlight here in Daytona.”
I closed my fist for her to talk. She said, “Thank you sir, but this is my nephew and I am 32 years old and lesbian. If you were a 19 year girl I might marry you.”
Well the boy walked away without saying another thing.
It was not that Jill was inventive and made up the lesbian thing or that she was 32, it was just phrases I taught a slave.
Sam became like a bad penny he began coming to the flea market to ‘borrow’ money from me. He got in a pattern of paying me back ten credits and then 2 or 3 days later trying to get 25. When his total owed me was 100 credits I said, “No more Sam. You need a job.”
“Who would give me a job? He said.
“Who have you asked?”
“No one, I never wanted a job. I guess I need one to keep up the car. Of course I could ride in cabs with you little brother.”
“I ride in cabs to school Sam, if you enroll in school I’ll pay your tuition and pay bus or cab fare to school.”
“What would I go back to 8th grade?”
“Adult education, they have that in Port Orange.”
THE SECOND LETTER
My birthday was June 6th and that was a day after school was over and I was promoted to 8th grade. Usually Maud, my mother would celebrate some way, but she had been gone more than half a year.
I lived at my same home, a condo on the first floor on Golf Blvd. in Daytona Beach Florida. Now I lived with two women Jill a slave of mine who pretended to be my aunt and Laura who had been the wife of Greg Bosenclerk who once owned half my bicycle shop. Greg now just fixed bicycles at the shop. Like Laura he belonged to me, but he was chained in the shop nights.
The day after my birthday I spent the day riding around on the Sun Tram Bus with my partner Shirley of Shirley Clean Your House.
I had been going to school and working at the bike shop in the flea market and I let Shirley come to the flea market on Sunday and give me my half of the profits. She on average gave me 5 or 6 hundred per week. Then she would explain about girls running away or customers not paying the agreed amount. The day I watched all day she got 520 credits in pay from the girls and then another 300 in tips that mostly were hidden on the girls.
Jill watched the girls while Shirley and I went in a private room and talked about the missing money. Her excuse was, “You only invested 2000 credits in the business.”
“My comeback was, “I, by contract, own half the business.”
I just calculated that she owed me around 5,000 credits. I told her, “Pay me now!” She looked at me with wonder, at I guess my nerve in asking for all I was owed. I replied by giving her a vicious pinch on her arm. Shirley might give a 13 year old small boy some trouble, but she knew she had been stealing from me, and as much as admitted it. She bowed her head and cried when she was pinched.
It was the night after I made Shirley cry and scream, and took over the house cleaning business, that night I went home leaving Jill in charge of my converted slave Shirley. That night I found the 2nd letter on my door. It was scary leaving Jill in charge of Shirley, or anything, but she could phone me and I planned to phone her.
So it was another fat letter taped to my condo door.
Laura spent all day cleaning my condo and she knew the messenger was putting the letter up but did not take it in. She always took in the mail from my mail box, but something taped all around to the door she didn’t touch.
It said, Dear George,
You’ve been watched during the time you’ve been on your own and everyone at the law firm marvels at your accomplishments.
We know about your cleaning business, bike business and ice cream venture.
The way you kept going to school and made such a great record in 7th grade is excellent. Using a slave to pose as your aunt is genius.
Now George you are a brave boy and I know how you have protected yourself against school bullies. The teachers even admire how you have subdued them.
Probably unknown to you there are enemies of yours in the flea market. Especially watch out for others who sell what you sell, like ice cream and bikes.
Also worry about too much investment in the flea market. You don’t own the land your stores are on and the market manager can think of a reason to evict you. Beware the market management.
This leads me to a recommendation — George get 2 very big slave bodyguards for yourself. I know you can afford it now.
Your biggest enemy is your brother Sam. I know he owes you a hundred credits and another 45 of interest.
Getting him the maintenance job at the flea market was a bad idea. He does his job, but also talks about you. He talks you up like he is part of your business. Like he watches your stores for you.
Another thing he often says around the flea market is that, “When George is dead, Sam will own his business and he owns stuff all over Volusia County.”
He frequently chats with Vince, the flea market manager in chief. Vince doesn’t like anyone owning more than one business in the flea market. With Vince around you need at least 2 bodyguards. If you buy other business interests at the flea market maybe you should keep it secret from Vince and Sam.
I know Sam is your brother, but it would be best if you made him sign an indenture and then put him to work away from Vince.
Also stay away from Sam — he may be doing something to kill you.
The Race Track Markets, including the market in Daytona beach (where you work) are sold in shares on the Orlando Florida Market. On this day the 7th of June the market value of one share of RTM is 2 credits. Some days it’s more other, other days it drops.
So George if you buy 500 shares per month it will cost the one thousand credits I send you. I know you really don’t need to pad your bank account, but owning a part of the market will give you control over arbitrary actions of Vince. Also the physical property is worth more than all the shares.
There are 320 RTM Markets in 6 states. If the share price drops buy more shares if it goes up buy more shares.
People get in and out of local stocks almost every day.
That is one idea for you George here’s another one.
Give people at the flea market and in business around the city and county small loans. Make the amounts small — maybe not over 25 credits. Or with big security up to 500 credits.
For a loan of 500 credits the security should be saleable (quick sale) at 3000 credits or 6 times what they are getting. In your contracts have good interest (better than the banks) but service charges and huge late payment penalties. Be able to revoke loans after one late payment if there is good reason.
For the big loans make them sign lifetime indentures. The banks would make them, but most banks won’t loan on flea market business. You will be in a competition free business.
Make every loan a private loan. Notarize loans at your bank. Get an office and buy a secretary to arrange appointments.
When school starts just see clients after school or at night. After this business gets going buy some business men who can do exactly as you tell them.
The key is, NO BIG LOANS.
Put all excess funds (or maybe half) into your flea market stock RTM.
You don’t have to do anything very fast except to get the bodyguards this summer and be careful about your enemies.
Screw them George, before they do you!
I am sending you 10,000 credits in big bills as a bonus for your work and an extra 1,000 so you can either give Same some money to maybe move him to Marion or Alachua Counties or give him nothing.
Another thing George is about your growing to be a young man. You are living with two very nice looking women.
The Jill woman, can maybe play the role of a very shy Aunt of a 7th grade boy. When she enrolls you in the 8th grade they may ask for her ID and drivers license. before school starts send her with a bodyguard to 107 Beach Boulevard in Daytona. This is near City Island. All the papers should cost 50 credits. Have the bodyguard bring them back and you keep them till she needs them.
Now the Laura woman is 20 years old. She was married so is well versed in sex acts. If you have not done her yet, then have her right away. She of course is not your age, but think of her as a training device. Have her explain and do to you all that she knows.
I know a boy your age sees and compares women. I was once your age. Let me explain from an adult perspective, son (and I’m not your father) this Laura is a knockout. She could be in beauty pageants and win, this is like Helen of Troy (look that up). Now Jill is very pretty and many men have married much worse, but Laura could cause you trouble. Keep her licked up and really don’t show her off to people like Sam. Enough said.
Live your life as best you can and always keep the warnings of the first letter in mind.
Sincerely,
A friend in the background.
Buying and selling stock was a new experience for me. It was all done using a hand-held device, and then I transferred funds out of my account to buy stock and selling I got funds put back in my account. The key was watching all day to see how the stock was going. Most people didn’t watch.
To me it was as close to a magic money tree as anything could get.
I rented an office near the flea market and got a city and county occupational license under a fictional name called 1st In Peace Investments Corporation. George Washington was said to be, ‘first in war, first in peace and first in the hearts of his countrymen.’ So in my case I was going to be first to get a piece of Race Track Markets.
I found that Shirley had bank accounts with money that I grabbed when I took her over and that Gary Bassencheck and Laura had a nice house in Ormond where their money went. Well I sold that and banked the money. I got more than my money back, so I used about half of my funds to buy RTM stock from the market in Orlando.
I watched for a week and noticed there was little movement, but for no reason on one Wednesday the stock went down half a credit. Who would know why, but then I bought 52,000 shares of the company.
My activity must have caused other people to invest, like I knew something they didn’t. The stock zoomed to 7 credits a share, so I sold half my shares and the stock then sank to 3 credits a share. That was my first day in stocks. I owned 26 thousand shares of the company and had all my money back.
I began to love local stocks, but I realized for me to gain so much, many had to lose. Well tought stuff!
After that I became systematic in buying the flea market stock and played with other stocks. I found that when a good stock went low and I shoved 20 or 40 thousand credits in it, then the market almost always reacted by buying and then I could quickly sell half my holding at a profit.
My first five successful stock grabs after RTM were Beach Fuel Cells, Florida Groceries, Sanford Gas and Oil Trucking, Beach Condos, and Hillsborough Housing. My only losing stock was Hawthorn Root Beer. It was a good product, but didn’t soar in price after I bought in. I just kept that stock
WHAT HAPPENED
I didn’t die, and wrote the last of this at age 27. I finished writing it in Deland Florida at Stetson University where I am a graduate student. I sent Sam to the Hawthorn Root Beer Factory in Alachua County Florida to serve out his 20 years indenture. He is doing very well there.
Laura taught me sex and later trained Kerry who had been in the 6th and 7th grades with me. Kerry is better than a mother in bed.
With money I looked for mother, but decided to not injure a probable father to dig out her bones — if we found her.
I graduated from 8th grade and wrote this to help figure everything out.
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Your comments are appreciated, write them here, or send me your comments. My e-mail is rcates2@cox.net or I get mail at 121 NE 13th Ave. Ocala Florida My fax is 1-352-629-1573
Some of my other stories with links are: http://unsightlyteeth.wordpress.com http://goconstitution.wordpress.com http://maybekillyou.wordpress.com
