‘Willice Samuel Investigations, The Series’ Pt.1 ~“A Four Cornered Phling”~

‘Willice Samuel Investigations, The Series’ Pt.1 ~ “A Four Cornered Phling” ~

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‘Willice Samuel Investigations, The Series’

Pt.1

~ “A Four Cornered Phling” ~

By

Gregory V. Boulware, Esq., The Elder

(2.18.18)

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‘Willice Samuel Investigations, The Series’ Pt.1 ~“A Four Cornered Phling”~

“I should not have been born… I was supposed to be aborted. Now see what you’ve done. You’ve allowed me to come of age and become the monster that I am…”

Detective Willice Samuel of the Philadelphia Police Department recalled something…someone…somewhere, not long ago. There was a conversation that he’d overheard regarding justice.

“Ha! Justice in this place! Someone was making a joke.”

There were six murders of late. All of them occurred on the ‘Philly’ side of the bridge. Camden recorded fifteen as of late. Four of the victims were women. The other two, a homo-s*xual and a hetero-s*xual. Each of the Philly murders happened in all four corners of the city, on the same night.

Willice crawled into bed with his wife, Elizabeth. He’d been working all day and late into the night, racking up a grand total of 18 straight hours. It was a hot and sweltering night in “Mount Airy.” Summertime in Philly can be a deadly killer. The gripping effect of humidity and heat has claimed the lives of several elderly and physically challenged citizens. Many of the city’s homeless have been approached and sometimes gathered up in groups by authorities suggesting shelter of a mandatory nature.

Willice didn’t want to be saddled with the first victim of the case, let alone all six. His new partner and subordinate made a clumsy comment.

“Ya know boss, don’t cha’ think these deaths have something in common?”

Willis replied, “Yeah, they’re all dead…and don’t call me boss!”

Chasey (pronounced ‘Chazzy’) Deltaveino was an old Jr. high school chum when we both attended ‘Vare Middle School’ in South Philly. Chasey Del, as he was known, was a made members’ son. He knew anything and everything, especially if and when it concerned South Philadelphia and South Jersey goings-on known as business. Last week, a bar fight jumped off on the corner of 10th and Mifflin. One guy was pissed because he couldn’t get his car out of its’ parking space. Another patron’s car was double-parked, blocking him in. Mostly all of the South Philly residents were accustomed to this way of life. The average South Philadelphian didn’t blink an eye at the thought of not doing so. From Delaware Avenue to 25th Street and Snyder Avenue to Oregon Avenue was considered the zone for double parked cars.

If you were a member of the family’s business, you did whatever you wanted anyway. Made members were the elite in those particular neighborhoods. One could compare such a society to that of mob figures in New York. The South Philly Mobs were a force to be reckoned with.

When the old ‘Mustache Pete’s’ like ‘Angie-B’, ran things, there wasn’t a great deal of blood on the streets. There was only money to be made.

The two guys were squaring off outside after a pushing and shoving match occurred inside. Apparently, the “made-man” didn’t move fast enough for the guy who wanted to get his car out. The angry man didn’t know the guy who shoved him back was a made-man. He shoved harder and won out on the shoving match. The made-man punched him in the mouth with a solid blow from a straight right-cross. The angry man fell backwards into the bar, landing on a couple of patrons who allowed him to drop to the floor. More angry than embarrassed, he pulled himself to his feet and took a defensive posture. Realizing he was in more of a situation than originally ascertained, he quickly began to think of a way out of the situation.

“Yo man, all I wanted you to do was to move your fuckin car so that I could get out!”

The mobster replied, “Fuck You! I’ll move it when I’m ready…and I’m not quite ready, so take your best shot pal!”

The foolish man obeyed the suggestion and swung hard with his right fist. He attempted to hit the left side of the made-man’s face. He missed when the mobster took a quick lean back and recoiled with a barrage of deadly blows.

He hit the angry man squarely on the right side of his jaw. He then punched the man right on the point of his chin with a straight right, sending him out through the glass doors, into the street. Returning to his feet, the injured and dazed fellow hit the outside wall of the bar wall with a loud thud and fell down face first onto the concrete sidewalk from the blow of another pulverizing punch. Picking himself up from the ground proved to be a daunting task. His face and nose were bloodied from the punch and fall. In the attempt to get up, the man was struck again. The mobster kicked him viciously in the stomach. The man groaned in agony. The mobster was geared up to stomp on the man’s groin area when the injured man rolled over into a supine position.

Retaining his defensive gesture, the man rolled over again into a fetal posture. Recovering quickly, the man jumped to his feet. He was preparing to attack the made-man again. Reaching into his right trouser pocket, he produced something shiny. It flashed a brilliant silver-blue reflection from the bar-room glow and lights from the streetlamps. It clicked and snapped while it swung like a chained-stem “yo-yo” with its flashing recoil. The man mastered the tool like a pro. It was a switchblade knife with a nearly invisible edge equaling a straight razor. The mobster took a step back as his adversary prepared for the attack. The mobster then did something to cause the man with the blade to freeze dead in his tracks.

The mobster pointed a brand new blue-steel Smith and Wesson 9mm at his face, cocking the hammer with the slide bar on top.

“Listen boy, you got your ass kicked here tonight. So let’s call it a night and go our merry way…I’ll move my car so you can go.”

The knife wielding man cringed and swallowed with embarrassment and fear. He knew he was a dead man. But foolish is as foolish does. When the made-man turned to re-enter the bar, the man lunged forward. The mobster twisted around to his left and with deadly accuracy, pointed the gun from under his left arm and shooting with the right. He shot the knife-wielder in the left knee.

He screamed in agony as the red hot bullet tore through the joint, ripping it to shreds. The blood squirted everywhere. It hit the gawkers standing nearby and sprayed gore all over the wall of the bar and sidewalk. The knife wielder dropped his knife, gripping his leg in utter agony; fell back down to the ground.

The made-man walked over to him, placing his right foot on the man’s neck and pointed the Glock at his face and smiled down at him.

“Well son, the first rule of confrontation is to never bring a knife to a gunfight… So long pal, hope I don’t see ya in hell!”

Just as he was preparing to pull the trigger, a car pulled up with blinding lights and screeching wheels.

“Damn little Ricky, I see you’re still doing that gangster shit.”

“Yo Chasey…what’s happnin Bro! Long time no see, Homes!”

The foolish and frightened man’s life was spared. “Little Ricky” waved the guys; who made up his immediate crew; off. This gesture of mercy allowed the beaten irreverent loser the opportunity to live and see another day. Ricky’s gesticulation was completely understood by his men and the surceased and bloodied individual who was hurried by several tacit bystanders to his car. No one called for an ambulance because no one wanted to answer any questions the police would obviously have. They would not risk an interrogation by the leader of the group responsible for the foolish man’s injuries. He was on his own.

Sirens sounded in the distance. The sound grew closer to the bar’s location. Apparently, some one did call for medical assistance to the injured individual.

“Yo Rick, I need to talk to you for a mo.”

Chasey’s car pulled around behind the back of the building which housed the tavern. He didn’t bother to look and see where the driver parked the car. He wouldn’t be concerned because he wouldn’t have to move any further than the curb when his ride was needed.

Little Ricky’s boys automatically jumped to attention whenever Chasey showed up. They knew that penalty for disrespect. Several of them used to belong to him before he became the head “Knock-Around-Guy.” A few of them who were designated leaders, were with him back in the day when he was just starting his ascent to the top. Now that he is the current known “Capo di Tutti Capi,” Chasey’s ass was frequently kissed most everywhere he went. Little Ricky also bowed and scraped upon the “boss of bosses” arrival on any given scene at any given time.

“I’ve got this lil problem… One of our boys in blue took a trip to “never-never-land” a bit too soon. He owed us a great deal of dough. About ‘800 large.’ He departed this planet with a debt to heavy to forget or forgive.

Although he croaked on the job…he paid the ultimate price without our permission. He croaked at the behest of his superior…a Black.

Now, the thing that compounds my dilemma is that I know this Black Commander – I went to school with him – we were good friends, buddies.

Now I don’t, I’m not quite sure how to handle this situation. Somebody has to pay me my money.

Next: “The AR-15 Incident”

Til Next Time…

‘G’

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*/

…Where “Fairmount” ends, “Willice” begins!

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FAIRMOUNT:

~”FAIRMOUNT” – The Series~

By

Gregory V. Boulware, Esq., The Elder

‘BoulwareEnterprises&Publications’

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“The Horror of It All…!”

“The race against time begins in Philadelphia’s Fairmount Park. Dead bodies were compounded from one side of the river to the other. From Alaska and down through Canada the dealers of death are pursued in the hope of bringing the killing to an end. The city’s officials are at odds with one another. The populace is on edge and demanding closure…an end to the terror that has the city in a grip of fear, turmoil, and a cold sweat of terror.

Anger, racism, and greed are exposed among the highest order. Philadelphia Police commanders are placed under tremendous strain to control its inner city workings to quell this evil overshadowing of the town. One Black Cop and the Native American Ranger are in the battle of their very lives and careers with the confrontation of white apprehension in the capture of the killer!”

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Pt. 1: ‘Strawberry Mansion’

~”FAIRMOUNT” – The Series: Pt. 1 ‘Strawberry Mansion’~

Pt. 2: “Smith Playground In North Philly”~

~Part 2 of FAIRMOUNT the series: “Smith Playground In North Philly”~

Pt. 3: ‘A Sweet Briar License’

“Fairmount” – The Series Part 3

Pt. 4: ‘A Pillar of Salt’

~ “Fairmount” Part Four: ‘A Pillar of Salt’ ~

Pt. 5: ‘The Myrtlewood Street Funeral’~

~”Fairmount” – the series Pt. 5: ‘The Myrtlewood Street Funeral’~

Pt. 6: “Physical Alterations”

~Fairmount The Series Pt. 6: “Physical Alterations”~

Pt. 7: ‘That Damned River’

~Fairmount, the series: Pt. 7 ‘That Damned River’~

Pt. 8: ‘The Rush’ of “34th St. and Girard Avenue”

~ ‘The Rush’ of “34th St. and Girard Avenue” ~

Pt. 9: “Captains – Philly Style!”

“Captains – Philly Style!”

Pt. 10: ~‘A Tacony Civilian Affair’~

~ ‘A Tacony Civilian Affair’ ~ Chapter 10 “Fairmount” – ‘The Series’

****

~ Willice Samuel Investigations ~

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All Chapters

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Chp. 1 ~ “A Four Cornered Phling” ~

http://hbcu.com/content/332195/willis-samuel-investigations-the-series

Chp. 2 ~ “The AR-15 Incident” ~

http://hbcu.com/content/333201/the-ar-15-incident-pt-2-willis-samuel-investigations-fairmount

Chp. 3 ~ “Bus Drivers Do It At Their Stops!” ~

http://hbcu.com/content/333230/bus-drivers-do-it-at-their-stops-willis-samuel-investigations-the-series

Chp. 4 ~ “Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Cold!” ~

http://hbcu.com/content/333689/willis-samuel-investigations-revenge-is-a-dish-best-served-cold

Chp. 5 ~ “A Career Voiding Dance of Tomorrow” ~

http://hbcu.com/content/334330/fairmount-willis-samuel-investigations-the-series-pt-5-a-career-voiding-dance-of-tomorrow

Chp. 6 ~ “Without A Trace” ~

http://hbcu.com/content/335026/fairmount-willis-samuel-investigations-pt-6-without-a-trace

Chp. 7 ~ “Loose Ends!” ~

http://hbcu.com/content/336010/fairmount-willis-samuel-investigations-pt-7-loose-ends

Chp. 8 ~ “A Reckoning Is A Coming” ~

http://hbcu.com/content/350315/fairmount-the-series-the-willis-samuel-investigations-part-8-a-reckoning-is-a-coming

Chp. 9 ~ “The Games Afoot!” ~

http://hbcu.com/content/352051/fairmount-willis-samuel-investigations-pt-9-the-games-afoot

Chp. 10 ~ “Payback Can Be A Bitch With A ‘Loup Garu’ In The Hood!” ~

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Chp. 10 of ‘Fairmount’s: “The Willice Samuel Investigations” ~“Payback Can Be A Bitch With A ‘Loup Garu’ In The Hood!”~

Ten Free Chapter’s of “Fairmount”: ‘Terror In The Park!’ and ‘Fairmount’s – “The Willice Samuel Investigations,”

An upcoming brand new ‘Paper-Back’ novel of the continuing saga of Philadelphia’s finest law enforcement officer and his team of dedicated professional protector’s!

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fairmount-willis-samuel-investigations-pt-9-the-games-afoot

Chp.9
‘Fairmount’ ~ Willice Samuel Investigations Pt. 9: “The Games Afoot!” ~
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‘Fairmount’: The Willis Samuel Investigations, Pt. 6: ~”Without A Trace”~

Chapter 6: ~ “Without A Trace” ~

‘Fairmount’- Willis Samuel Investigations Pt. 6:

~ “Without A Trace” ~

By
Gregory V. Boulware, The Elder
https://gvb1210mine.wordpress.com/

‘Fairmount’: The Willis Samuel Investigations, Pt. 6: ~”Without A Trace”~

The Brother had no problem disappearing into the cold dark night. The next morning, he arose to the clatter of noises caused by the happy feet of children. The kids in the neighborhood knew who he was. He was never, ever noticed by those who resided in the neighborhood. He simply wasn’t known. No one knew his name. The children knew him, but didn’t know him by name. Everyone knew him when walked down the street. No one impeded his direction. No one dared to get in his way. He had the look, the style, the cool, the look of someone you just didn’t fuck with…and no one did.

That morning the Sun shined brightly. It glowed with a sense of renewal. The ice cream truck had just turned the corner. Its noise polluting songs, chimes, annoyingly loud jingles, bells, and whistles, alerted all who listened and those who hated to hear the peddlers approach. The children jumped too…they gleefully ran from every corner and house to that sound that everyone finds familiar at that certain time of year – “The Ice Cream Man!”

Some knew him to get a bit of “weed.” Some knew him to ask a favor. Some knew him as someone you could talk too. And then, there are those who simply knew him to be someone you could go to in order to get something done…in order to fix something that no one else could fix. He could make the deal that no one else could ever dream of making. If you needed a loan to help feed your family or pay a bill that would take something away from you children, he was the man you wanted to know and be able to go to for help. He made himself available for such situations.

“Jamal” was certainly there when the “Monster Bruin” attacked the bus on 33rd Street. It’s quite possible, his bullet(s) was the killing force. There can be no argument that Jamal played a most important role in the demise of the ‘Monster’ that night.

Brother Jamal tried to help a cop. The cop happened to be a female…a Black Female. Well before he attempted to speak, she had an opinion of him. It was apparent that she was a rookie. She was out of her element and every soul on the scene knew it. Her instructions to all on the scene came out all wrong. People began to laugh. She was simple ignored… The Brother rolled up on the scene, witnessing the sight, he immediately came to the aid of the hapless police officer.

“Yo Get The Fuck Off Of The Car…Allow This Officer To Do Her Job!” Jamal wasn’t playing around. Many of the folks in this part of “Roxborough” hated the thought of any Black Person telling them what to do. And “Rasheeda” wasn’t the first or the last. She looked at the crowd of onlookers witnessing the crash. “Yeah, these so-called witnesses,” she thought to herself.
The Transit Bus was basically on top of the little foreign made import. The poor little car hadn’t a chance in contesting such a large vehicle. Traffic on the ridge was pretty tight and congested. Everyone hated travel on this venue during these hours, especially in the afternoon. Henry Avenue was always crazy during the morning at “rush hour.” Ridge and Shawmont was no exception. The heavy traffic flowed continually up “Shawmont Avenue” into “Ridge Avenue” and “Henry Avenue” in the morning rush as well as the rush in the afternoon hours. The drivers who rushed this route every singly day rode past the ‘Elementary School’ that sat on the right side of the road when facing Ridge Avenue, coming up the hill of Shawmont Avenue. They all knew of the school crossing and its’ elderly ‘Crossing Guard.’ She has directed traffic at this intersection for many years. This particular morning, she took ill and the city saw fit to place a rookie cop to the post. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Officer “Rasheeda Marilyn Johnston” directed traffic to the best of her knowledge. It wasn’t her fault when the transit bus plowed over the “Volks Wagon Jetta” when it was attempting to make a left turn from “Eva Street” into “Shawmont Avenue,” in order to access the parking lot of the elementary school across the street, as it did on every other morning for a host of children; from the first grade to the eighth. The office in charge of the corner this particular morning, waved the big bus through with her left hand in a forwarding circular motion, while waving her right hand in the opposing direction.
The left hand signaled the bus driver to continue through the intersection on Shawmont Avenue to the downward incline, heading for the “Umbria” exchange. The right hand; in the drivers mind; indicated a go-ahead-motion for a left turn into Shawmont avenue from “Eva Street” while children were crossing the street.
Needless to say, The ‘V.W.’ driver turned directly into the path of the bus while all of the crossing children scampered for safety. It was too late for the driver of the car and the bus – they had followed the direction(s) of the cop-on-duty to their dismay. The occupants of the mini-car found themselves to be the subject(s) of bus undercarriage removal or the extraction of victims from scrap mettle debris, via the “Jaws of Life!”
Fire-Rescue Worker(s) freed the passengers of the Volks-Wagon once the bus was lifted to a considerable height in order to free them from the wreckage. The driver of the passenger-less behemoth, was unscathed except for his nerves and uncontrollable anger. His anger was directed towards the bewildered and stupefied cop.

Rasheeda didn’t know what to do…she lashed out at the nearest target, the one who interfered with her willful duties at hand… She blamed Jamal for butting-in. She out-and-out pointed at this good Samaritan and blamed him for the crash.
“It’s all your fault man, you had no business telling anyone what to do!” she shouted this craziness for all to hear.

“Yo Sister, all I was trying to do was help you! Damn, I wasn’t even here when the crash occurred! What the fuck were you thinking…what the hell did you see? Why are you trying to blame this shit on me? I’m supposed to be your Brother!” exclaimed Jamal.

“I didn’t need or want your help! Who in hell do you think you are to take things into your hands…I’m a duly appointed police officer…I’m the one in control of this goddamned corner…Me, and no one else! You should have minded your own business.”

The crowd of people didn’t agree with Rasheeda either. Many of them saw the entire episode unfold. They all saw this cop loose it and not have control of the situation from beginning to end. The cop glared at the crowd and again turned on Jamal. She began and immediate mental search to escape this ordeal…someone else to blame, a “Scapegoat!”
She thought to herself, “Shit, I can’t be to blame for this, I can’t be held accountable, I have to prove that it wasn’t my fault; damn, there’s a lot of white folk here…what am I gonna do.?”

The acrimonious and exasperatingly cold, contemptuous officer, with an ostentatious display of cowardice; placed her right hand on her service weapon. The holstered blue-steel 9mm Glock Smith and Wesson changed right along with her demeanor.

“Alright, motherfuckerer, put your hands behind your back…I’m taking you in!”
She motioned Jamal to follow her direct orders. The crowd was awe struct! They couldn’t believe what they were witnessing… The cop, at nine forty five in the morning, was attempting to arrest the very person who had come to her aid in dealing with this pissed off crowd.
Someone shouted “Why in hell don’t you call in for a supervisor – this guy hasn’t done anything wrong! What’s the matter with you? Are you nuts?”
She ignored what was being said…she went on with her bogus arrest…Jamal was more pissed with himself than anything else. He cursed himself for bothering to stop and help a cop, even one who is female! “Why in hell didn’t I mind my own business…so much for helping…even if it’s a ‘Sister!'”

Arriving at the fifth police district, the sergeant on duty, an experienced Black Man, asked, “Yo what in hell did you arrest him for, why’d you bring him in here? I’ve already got fourteen fucking calls, telling me what happened on that damned corner! What’s wrong with you?”

Rasheeda glared at her sergeant and said, “He disrespected an officer of the law and I’m locking his ass up!”

The old man shook his head in disbelief and disgust. It was her collar and there wasn’t much he could do about it other than state his disapproval…and he did, in writing. Jamal was released inside of an hour. The older cop just looked at him upon his release, and offered a gesture of apology. He nodded in acceptance and departed the building.

“Another officer will take you back to your car in a moment.” said a white-shirted, ranking cop. While waiting, he stood on the outside steps of the building. During the wait, Jamal noticed the arresting officer parked at the side street’s curb. He thought of approaching the cop to give her a piece of his mind. Wanting badly to confront the woman, he was averted when the cell-phone vibrated in his pocket. All of his belongings were not confiscated when he was arrested. They would have been returned anyway, he wasn’t charged with anything, including what Rasheeda wrote in her report. The report simply disappeared when it was filed…she was notified of such at the end of her shift.

The call received by Jamal was another assignment. Chasey needed him to erase and/or remove all of the loose-ends attached to the ongoing investigation. It was that of the de-skinned individual found in the Germantown warehouse. Just like on the night of the bus attack, he was to disappear afterwards…like any other assignment. Jamal was highly skilled in his craft…becoming invisible was never a problem.

Til Next Time…

‘G’
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Next:
“Loose Ends!”

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*/

~ ‘The Rush’ of “34th St. and Girard Avenue” ~

 

Chapter 8 of

“FAIRMOUNT”: The Series

By

Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.

 

‘The Rush’ of “34th St. and Girard Avenue”

It didn’t matter how soon the guards reacted to the alarms. Their actions would make no difference in what could have been prevented. They could not have prevented what they found. There was nothing they could do…nothing to prevent the damage and destruction encountered at the bear exhibit and the front gate. The guards were magnificent in their actions and reaction time. Buttons to lock down exits and entrances. Buttons and levers were tripped to activate intruder and destruction prevention. All security systems were activated to precision timing and perfection. The guards assigned to various sections of the zoo were vigilant in the pursuit of their job endeavor. Upon radio checks from the shift supervisor, while she monitored the video cameras and screens, which covered an enterprise wide viewing area – the guard thought aloud, “My wife will be so very proud of me.” He was thinking of his adept and professional attentiveness and dispatched speed in the performance of his duties. He was proud of himself. All of that feeling was rewarding. It was a fulfilling and self-alluring experience. In an instant, it was all shot to hell when he arrived at the bruin exhibit. The cages were all ripped to shreds. He could taste his heart muscle in the back of his throat. It tasted like a glob of icky, nasty, and vile taste one gets first thing in the morning and during battle with sickness or a hangover; that gunk at the back of the mouth upon waking from a deep, a short forced sleep – a long dream of drunken intoxified unconsciousness – waking up with that glob and foul breath before brushing and gargling. He felt sick at the sight of the destruction.

The brown and black bear exhibit was destroyed…it was obliterated. The bears where on the loose – no one knew where. Six brown bears, five black bears, two grizzlies, and a female Alaskan Kodiak were roaming the streets. The supervisor of zoo guards franticly searched the terminal screens. They were nowhere to be seen. Another call came into the guardhouse. The guard on the east side of the campus reported the fence being smashed and bear prints leading out into 34th Street! In the darkened evening sky, two little ones huddled together during the excitement and exposure to sudden freedom. No one knew of their existence.
Emergency calls went out to various agencies. Police, Fire, Zoo Administrators, and City Officials as well as the Federal and National Park Rangers were notified. Captain Samuel was at home asleep when he got the call. Jarard Noodles was in a bar near Thompson Street, in Fishtown. “Fuckin Niggers can’t never do anything right.” Patrons and the bar tender laughed heartily. “Don’t forget the Spics and Gooks, Cap,” said one of the male patrons. A young white female patron looked up from her beer and asked, “Ain’t you got no shame?” The captain replied, “They call themselves Niggas – Niggas with attitude!” All of the white guys in the bar roared with laughter. The bartender and the woman looked at each other. In unison, the bartender and the barfly smiled at each other and in rap style, they sang, “Yeah baby, but they sho can rap!” Laughter erupted again throughout the taproom. The captain rose from his stool and shouted. “Now that’s my bitch!” He snatched his gun and cell phone from the bar surface while downing his bourbon. Leaving the bar and stepping into his unmarked car, he seethed. “Shit…I ain’t in the mood to deal with this shit.” Noodles turned the car on and sped away towards the zoo.

Ranger Glenn arrived at the zoo at approximately 11:35 P.M. His team got there 5 minutes later. Genailia popped open her investigator’s kit and began taking samples and scrapings of scratches on the bars, ground, and walls of the bruin exhibit. Glenn and lieutenant Wells headed to the 34th Street side of the zoo. After examining the tracks in the snow, they followed the trail from the broken gate to the east side of the street. The trail ended at the curb. Wells ran to that side of the street. Signs pointed to a trail down the embankment outside of the pavement. In the dirt, trees, shrubbery, and mud that headed down towards the I-76 Expressway, there where more prints and signs that the animals who tracked through the area were heading towards the river. Asa Wells motioned to Gerald Glenn to come and see what he’d found. The ranger jogged across the street to where Wells was standing. Wells pointed at the shrubbery, broken limbs, marks on the tree, and the bear tracks in the mud and snow. Several paw prints lead down the hill into the expressway corridor while many others aimed in other directions. The rangers were able to tell the difference in the size and species of the escaped bruins.

Many of the tracks were those of fully-grown bears. The two sets of tracks that pointed towards the railroad overpass proved to be of high interest to the men. They were two sets of tiny paw prints.

The two young bear cubs, one female and the other male, were found under the train trestle. They were huddled together under the bridge attempting to elude their hunting enemies. They appeared to be cold and frightened. The rangers approached the twins with stealth and caution. They didn’t want to take a chance at scaring the cubs into bolting. The rangers moved slowly with a reassuring posture. The cubs watched them intently but didn’t run. They allowed the rangers to approach and touch them. The human contact was not threatening to the cubs. They had experienced human contact before. The handlers at the zoo were they’re first human contact. The rangers also knew if the cubs felt threatened and cornered, they would attack with the natural intent of defending themselves. The claws of a young cub are capable of leaving a nasty wound in flesh and their bite can be equally vicious.

34th Street was cordoned off as well as the surrounding area of the west Philly neighborhood. On Girard Avenue from 33rd Street to 40th Street and Girard on 34th Street to Spring Garden Street. The two men crossed 34th street back to the zoo campus, each cradling a bear cub in their arms. Once safe lodgings were set for the twin babies, the hunt was on for the other fourteen escaped bears. The ranger ordered photographs of every inch the campus especially the damaged cages and trespassed areas – from the zoo trails and broken fences and gates. A zoo official and bruin handler was standing near the broken fence on the 34th street side of the campus. He approached with an obvious demeanor of anger. “What in the hell are you idiots trying to pull?” Other zoo reps looked at each other in confusion and replied, “What do you mean, sir?” Glenn interjected, “You know…you people really know how to piss me off! First you go up to the top of the world and fuck with the animals up there, causing them to do shit they don’t normally do! Then you stick them with all kinds of shit that only God knows what – and now you got two kidnapped cubs in your zoo! Where is the record of their adoption and housing? How’d they get here in the first place – why the secret of their being here? And now you’ve got fourteen fuckin bears wandering through the park and the Goddamn city!” The Ranger screamed.

 

“FAIRMOUNT”
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“FAIRMOUNT”
by
Gregory Vernon Boulware

The Series:
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~Fairmount, the series: Pt. 7 ‘That Damned River’~

 

“Fairmount”

the series:

Pt. 7

‘That Damned River’

By

Gregory V. Boulware, Esq.

/*

The ides of December brought no new activity from the beast. The people went with their daily activities as they prepared for the upcoming Christmas and New Year Holiday events. The ranger and his team were mapping out strategies for their assault on the “Killer Kodiak.”

There weren’t any new signs or tracks to be followed along the banks of the Schuylkill River since the last attack. There were no signs of activity or attacks. Glenn and his team started their search at the last killing scene along the West River Drive in Fairmount Park. They contemplated setting up bait traps, steel claw traps, and prowler stations. The river was now in a state of sporadic ice packs scattered out on the water. Ice platforms gathered at the edge of the dam where the majestic view of the Art Museum peered out over the river. The mini glaciers piled up along the edge of the dam where the East and West River Drives meet in the park. A driveway bridge connected the two roads that allowed access into the Benjamin Franklin Parkway and I-95 corridor via route 676.

Snow began to fall at eleven a.m. on December Seventeen, a Saturday. It began to form heavy flakes at four p.m. The layer of snow on the ground measured at two and a half inches from the ground. At 6 p.m., the snow fell heavier and the layer on the ground exceeded the earlier measurement. The wind was mild. It blew about five to 10 miles an hour at a nor’ easterly direction that eventually blew nor’ westerly. The ranger wondered where this beast had gone. Did it just up and leave? Did it eat enough? Did it decide to hibernate? If so, where? “Where the fuck did it go?” He began to stare at the dam along the river and wondered about the pumping station wells underbellies.

The ranger shouted aloud…”Damn!” His staring at the river-dam evolved into an all-out eyeball examination of the location. He turned to one of site searching rangers with the communications backpack. It contained a field radio and satellite telephone. “Get the city archeological engineering department on the horn – I want to know what’s under this dam and pumping station shacks – pronto!”

The City of Philadelphia Records Department, city archives division, responded to the call almost immediately. They could not get the original plans out to him for fear of disintegration – exposure to air and light. The electronic facsimile was available but could not be made immediately available. It could take more than an hour to locate the electronic backup. The field unit also needed to get a notebook computer out to then as well. The portable computer delivery would not necessarily create a problem to dispatch… The date would. It was faster to go to the source – the records department at city hall. Glenn was just five miles away.

Sirens screamed down the Benjamin Franklin Parkway and Pavilion into the City Hall Courtyard. The police car drove directly up and onto the sidewalk surrounding the building – through the breezeway into the courtyard and entrance doors nearest the records department. Ranger Glenn exited the vehicle and dashed through the double doors into the first floor corridor. The records room was just off to the right. The records staff was ready and waiting. They were at the rangers beckon call. The data was being uploaded as Glenn and Police Sergeant Macauleany, the officer from the Smith Playground attack site, and a ranger lieutenant by the name of ‘Asa Wells’ stood by.

It was Lieutenant Wells who noted the fresh footprints in the old snow on the bike and jogger trail. The jogging trail continued into the other side of the river from under the overpass of the west river drive that lead down to the Southside of the Schuylkill River.

The prints in the snow were out of the team’s search area. They could not see them. The trail of prints was pounding a path in the direction of the Philadelphia Zoo.

At the records department, Glenn was able to pull up the archived data on the river’s dam. He was not surprised to discover an underpass right under the water at the dam’s edge. The underpass lay directly at the base of the dam. It is an existing access causeway for the construction crews to make repairs on the dam. No one ever realized such a space existed. It’s been there since the dam’s construction and has never been used. The records staff watched the ranger as he researched other unknown tunnels under the river and along its banks. They were surprised to see all sorts of underground passageways. These excavations were established about the time the dam was built by the “Free Masons of Pennsylvania.” The research brought to light, even more tunnels of ingress and egress points appeared throughout the city’s underground realm. The ranger instructed the department staff to make him copies of the maps immediately. They complied with an exuberant amount of excitement and pride in their ability to jump too in an emergency. The time was three forty five in the afternoon.

At five o’clock in the afternoon, staff of the Philadelphia Zoo, closed its gates for the day. At 10 p.m., one of the zoo guards was completing his 30-minute rounds. The guard who patrolled the area near the polar bear exhibit noticed their agitation. He thought it unusual. The bears are usually calm and settled at this hour. He made note of it on his report sheet attached to a clipboard. On his way to the brown bruins exhibit alarms rang throughout the establishment. They were quite loud. The surrounding neighborhood knew something was amiss when these alarms went off. It drove them out of their sleep…out of their beds.

The guard froze at the sounding of the alarm. The alarms screamed the scream of the wailing witches of Othello fame. The shipmates of Ulysses could bear witness to the screams. The ship in which they were traveling did crash because of it. The covering of their ears didn’t help either. Odysseus was warned of the screaming witches…the alarms of warning.

Realizing his ass was on the line should he shirk his duties, thought the guard. He recalled the fire. Members of an endangered species, a family group of six lowland gorillas, a family group of three orangutans, four white-handed gibbons, and ten lemurs (2 ruffed, 6 ringtail, and 2 mongoose), died in their sleep from smoke inhalation – carbon monoxide poisoning.

At about 10 pm., two security guards smelled smoke by the Philadelphia Zoo’s primate house as they made their rounds. This happened on Saturday December 24, 1995. They took no action. They dismissed the smell as coming from nearby trains on the railroad tracks as had happened frequently. Almost three hours later, at 12:40 a.m. Sunday, the guards returned and found flames on the roof. Fire and zoo officials pinned the blaze on an electrical malfunction caused by improperly installed wires that heated ceiling pipes. Snow on the roof of the 10-year-old World of Primates building muffled any noise that might have been produced by smoke alarms, and fire officials discovered upon investigation, no one who had heard them sound. This engagement happened within the walls of the world famous landmark.

The guard was not in the frame of mind to receive blame for any wrongdoing. He wanted to be recognized as a guard who was Johnny on the spot…proficient and steadfast. “Shit…they caught me once for sleeping on the overnight shift. Two years ago they caught me for drinking a fuckin beer on New Years Eve in the parking lot. It was my lunch break for Christ’s sake. Shit, I’ve got five fuckin years to lose…unemployment just ain’t gittin it!”

The frantic guard snapped too – and like greased lightning, he bolted towards the designated report station. Once there, another guard was dispatched to the power and alarm and shut-off terminal and grid shack. It’s still called the shack after the new building was erected since the fire. No longer was the guard focused on himself and his troubles. His mind was on his job performance and the saving of animals and zoo property. He thought of all the animals and his designated patrol area. The bear exhibit. The bears needed him.

*/

 

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