P R A N K 'N S T E I N! His brain altered by a bolt of lighting, the legendary Prank N Stein, baptized Frank Ray EnderLaff, lives life as a compulsive practical joker. Will he get professional help to stop this behavior before he is destroyed? By Don Lewis Copyright-1999 Don Lewis 4271 North First #86 San Jose CA 95134 (408) 526-1116 I feel the urge to do it again! Cradling the phone on his left shoulder, Frank EnderLaff fought the temptation lurking in the back of mind, hunched over and pounded the keyboard on his desk dominated by a large personal computer rising up out of the clutter of paper and files like a Myan Temple in the overgrown jungle of the Yucatan Peninsula. The micro-computer was deceptively and humbly housed in an off white, finger smudged and post-it note shingled, out-of-date cabinet, but contained current and pre-release highspeed software and hardware inside. Reaching blindly for another quick shot of juice to lubricate the afternoon donut snatched from the conference room, Frank spoke soothingly into the mouthpiece as the phone buzzed, signaling yet another customer on the line, joining the three others waiting on the blinking buttons of his phone extension. Darn, the O.J. spilled again! Frank swears to himself as he watches the container gush out over the files and dribble into the partly open drawer. Dabbing the juice up with napkins from yesterday's lunch, he continues helping the customers with their computers. "So, then you hold down the ALT key and tap the F4 key. It's the one down by your space bar. Where's the space bar? That's the long one in the center of your keyboard. You found the ALT key? OK, now hold it down and press the... (Phone ringing in background) OK, sure...I'll wait for you to answer your other line. " Klingon Wart Hair, another computer novice! Frank grimaces, tosses the napkin at the trash can and misses, then changes to another phone line while they put him on hold. "Mr. Jerry? Are you still there? Oh, sorry, Mrs. Perry. Hey, thanks for holding. What was your problem again? Oh yeah, when you installed your new program we just sent you, you get a message on your screen saying "FILE NOT FOUND." [He clicks to another window on his screen to check his notes file. Oh! Oh! He says to himself, that's the customer I was supposed to add the special file to their install disk!] " Ok", he continues into the phone.." don't get upset, it's not our company's fault, we sent you the right one, it just happens sometimes, you know, the post office, on the lookout for letter bombs, will scan the mail with their x-rays and damage any computer disks inside the packages. They don't realize what their doing. So, we just need to send you another copy. Don't forget, we have to charge you our regular upgrade fee again because it wasn't our fault. It was the post office's, as I explained. Now, did you want to put this on your credit card again Oh, and I do have to charge you for this support call. Hey!, I know you don't treat your customers like this! They aren't our customers!...Just a minute, Mrs. Hairy, OOPS! Sorry, Mrs. Perry, I'll get your authorization..Hold please......" "Hello, A.L.L. Down Computer Tech Support line." Frank mumbles through his mouthful of very dry donut, wishing he had more juice as he pushes the new caller's line. "Oh, hello, Mr. Geshlab. Tell me how I can help you. .....Mmmm...You're still trying to get your hand scanner to work? ...Uh Huh....Yeah....OK....So....MMMM...Then you choose color....Yeah...OK...So it did scan in the picture....OK...Oh..just use flip vertical in the special features pull down...Yeah that's it....How do you what?... Get the Snapple off her breast? Oh, ...Sorry...how do you get the staple off her breast...OK just use the copy and paste....Oh God!...Yeah, copy a piece of the image with good skin...With no staple, you know,... Then paste it over the staple...got it! Yeah, sure..you can send me a copy....No! Not on my company fax! My boss, she'll castrate me...Oh...Sorry...I mean...she'll fire me! Anyway...Oh..All right, we'll bill your business account for this call....Hey, doesn't your mother own the business...Ha!...Got you, bye!" Frank jabs as he presses the flashing phone button. "Hello, Hello...[Click] Tech Support can I help you.... Oh...yeah...you were pressing the ALT...not the HALT key....the one by the "long key?"...Oh, we prefer to call that one the space bar, sir....Just got your computer today, huh...how nice...first one....Oh Really! it wasn't obvious! So, press the ALT key, as I said...At this rate he'll spend more on tech support than the computer! and hold it then press the F4 key....No! Not the F and the 4 key! Sounds like a Harvard Grad!.. Sorry....Sir....I know you are a Ph.D....it was so obvious,...sir....the F4 is a function key along the top of your keyboard... " Rolling his eyes skyward, Frank, in a moment of rare cleanliness, picks up a computer manual and shoves in the nearby bookcase. Most of the books and manuals are upside down and filled with slips of paper. It doesn't fit so he pushes it in sideways above the others. Three books fall out and scatter on the floor in front of the shelf as he turns back to face his computer. "Ok...now press the right arrow key....Nothing happens....Oh...Try turning off the NumLock...no, that doesn't make your computer go numb or freeze...it's Ok to press it....Wait...just tap it, don't hold it down..." Frank sighs..."No sir, I wasn't sighing, its..its hot in here...it was the fan... I know.. sir... yeah..ok...Now..you should get a box...God save me from another educated idiot!" Hold on a second...please...sir!...don't worry...I will come right back on the line....no, it's OK to call me Sonny!" YES SIR! Frank says to himself as he presses the hold button, his bladder complaining loudly. Ouch! Standing up from his broken down office chair, he yelps and grabs his neck because he forgot to remove the phone headset and the cord was to short for him to stand up with it on. Rubbing his neck, Frank heads for the co-op bathroom while the phone sits there alone with it's five lines on hold, blinking on and off, the customers helplessly held hostage by their lack of knowledge and poor documentation. Sitting in the grungy bathroom stall, Frank contemplates the prose writing on the walls, wishing he was checking out the buffed girl joggers in the park or hacking instead of doing this dumb job. As he gets up to leave the restroom, he pauses for moment, as if he has something on his mind and isn't sure he should do it. Then.... Frank hears the rumble of distant thunder, lightning tracks across his eyes and he remembers seeing his boss, Susan, coming down the other end of the hallway towards the bathroom. His back arches and he reaches out with a shaking hand and swipes the last half of roll of toilet paper from the holder, peels and carefully lays one thin piece across the rusty bar where the roll of paper usually waited. Smiling, his pulse quickening, he stuffs the roll under his arm as he considers the consternation on the face of the next person (his boss, he hopes) using the bathroom when they discover only one tiny thin sheet for them to use. Ha! Take That! She's such a short haired, irritating boss. Even this morning she had thrown him a note for being two minutes late. Exiting the cramped bathroom, Frank nods courteously at a huge guy who was waiting in the hallway to go in the bathroom. Oh Oh! Wrong victim and he knows where I work!...Oh Well! Back in his cubicle, Frank sighs and stares at the blinking phone, hating to go back to giving phone support...he considers his possibilities...imagines the surly co-worker, William, reaching out for that single sheet of toilet paper then walking out of the stall with his pants around his ankles to get a paper towel....of course I removed the paper towels too! (Distant thunder sounds again and Frank's eyes are back lit by lightning.) "Someone will be with you in a moment to help you. " Repeating the phrase five times, Frank converts all the waiting customers to a phone conference call and lays the phone down on his desk without hanging it up. The customers listen, their blood pressure rising after being on hold for so long. They don't see their computer technical support person scribbling a note and pasting it on his computer, I quit!, Frank, it says. Pulling open the drawers, he grabs up his personal items; candy bars, some favorite trade magazines and a short letter from his confused ex-girl friend. Why did I save her letter, she just used me? He thinks as he stuffs the sloppy pile into his back pack and exits quickly through the sales room where the sales staff are huddled around a computer displaying the latest game. Five minutes later, the customers are talking to each other on Franks phone. They're comparing notes and sharing gripes about the service. Two of the callers are arranging to meet each other for lunch, they have so much in common. "Frannnnnnnk!" Just as Frank has predicted, big William Stevens is standing in the bathroom, his pants around his ankles, looking at himself in the mirror over the sink. In one hand is a single piece of toilet paper. The other hand is trying to feel up in the paper towel dispenser to see if , by chance, there are any towels stuck up inside. Nope! Damn! William can't get the image of the towels and odd white roll tucked under Frank's arm as he exited the bathroom ahead of him. Funny things had been going on around here! William realized as he disgustingly pulls his trousers up and bursts out of the tiny bathroom, his balding head down as he bounced off the hallway walls in his blind determination to make Frank suffer for this indignity! Reaching the technical support area, William has it all worked out as he whips around the partition into Franks work area. "I'm going to make you pay and pay and pay and pay for this!" William shouts. On the abandoned phone, the customers stop visiting with each other, stunned as they listen. "Your mothers going to be notified of your recent sex change today!" He continues his barrage of insults, enjoying the anger hot in his face, not caring that the desk chair is empty and Frank is no where to be seen. "Something is wrong here." William thinks, puzzled as to why he feels a pain in his chest. The phone. Frank left his phone off the hook and it's making noises like there's people on the line. His hands shaking, William picks up the phone and gingerly moves it up against his ear. Lawyer....he keeps hearing them say lawyer, they're agreeing on one....Oh God. ****************************************************************** "I tell ya, mister, the quickest way to pill hill is to go this way. I been dis' way a million times, jerk! Sorry, I mean, sir." The unshaven cabbie, checks to see if Frank is angry in the rear view mirror before he continues. "I know you think you know the best way to get there, but there's too much traffic that a way. Shit. You white shoits always think you're better 'n us woiking stiffs. You better, g-d damn have the right cash with you too. Last rider was three dollars short, I had to take her back to the retirement home. Bony old b..ch didn't like it when I left her off at the corner. Hey, I had another call, what could I do?" Revolted by the abusive driver, Frank blocked the guy's right wing, ranting, cursing and mumbling out as he thumbed through his bill fold and checked his folded cash. Thank goodness he had a steady side business in computer consulting. After a couple of days to relax, he'd hit the street looking for another day job. Still feeling a rush after the small bathroom prank, he wondered if everything fell in place for the conference call inspiration. Did the customers hear William explode as triggered? Frank laughed as he began the next one. Pausing only for a moment, his mind racing ahead of his pen, Frank scribbled some notes on the back of an old receipt. When they pulled up to 21st and Pine, Frank slipped out of the smelly and dented cab, looked down the street and frowned. I can see the Tower Center from here. He smoothly took me for a long ride around the city just to jack up the fare. Still not sure if he should do what he had planned, he leaned in the front window to the expectant cabbie. "Eleven fifty five, Buddy" Frank handed over a twenty. The cab driver looked back with hard eyes, not saying anything or even reaching for his wallet for change, as if to say the change should be his tip. That bit of ruditity clinched it and Frank pulled his notes out of his shirt pocket to the sound of distant thunder as he scanned they guy's posted cab license for his name. "Listen, Gene, why don't you just keep the change and meet me at this address in two hours. There's a forty dollar tip in it for you when you get there. But remember, don't get their early, you must be there exactly at the time I wrote down. OK" "Yea, I'll be glad to be there buddy. Anything you say. " The city worn cabbie said as his thick fingers took the slip of paper with Frank's instructions. Frank couldn't help seeing the hard look in the man's eyes and the obvious F---- Y-- on his lips as he drove off in a cloud of exhaust. Imaging the look on the cab driver's face when he turns that last corner and pulls down the driveway as explained explicitly in the instructions, Frank grinned and felt another head rush as he danced up the stairs of the building. Sorry, guy, you brought it on yourself, treating people the way you do. Finding the doctors name on the lobby index, Frank walks down the hall to the door labeled 3-A and enters a modernly decorated waiting room. Hearing the door chime, a pretty middle aged woman in white opens a small window above a counter and says. "Mr. Enderlaff?" Frank nods to the affirmative and she hands him a questionnaire form. "Have you seen Dr. Mingione in the past?" "No, I just picked him out of the phone book. I've never met him." "OK, just fill out those forms in detail and he'll be with you soon for your consultation." After a few minutes, another assistant ushered Frank into the doctor's softly lit office and had him sit in a comfortable chair. "Doctor Mingione will be in to talk with you in just a few minutes." The slender uniformed girl said with a polite smile as she quietly shut the door behind her. "Why don't you talk with me instead of him", Frank said after she was gone, wishing he was more outgoing. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the soft fabric pillows of the heavy chair. Will this guy be able to help me? Has anyone else ever had this problem? The real question was, Do I really want to quit? Probably he'll say...(Frank pushes his glasses lower on his nose and speaks in exaggerated dramatic foreign accented authoritarian tones as if he's the doctor) You have a serious problem, young man. You got here just in time. I specialize in this kind thing. We can help you, but, of course it will take some time and cost some money. Just as Frank stops speaking, the door opens a little, he hears someone giving muffled instructions in the hallway. The door closes part way then opens wide and Doctor Mingione enters. He's a very respectable looking man with gray stirred through his rich black hair. Smiling, one eye twitching, he takes a moment to look directly into Frank's eyes and says in his accented voice as he points at the clip board with Frank's registration forms. "I read your explanation of your problem....and (as if in an echo chamber with serious look on his face) You have a serious problem, young man. You got here just in time. I specialize in this kind thing. (Frank's eyes get big when he hears exactly what he had playfully predicted) We can help you, but, of course it will take some time and cost some money.....Why are you laughing? " "Oh nothing, Doctor. What is more important is what is wrong with me? Why do I constantly turn into this calculating prankster?" The doctor sits down and looks earnestly at Frank. "Well, that is exactly what we plan to do, Frank. Find out why you are doing these things. So, just relax, I'll make some notes and you tell me how it all started." Frank is silent for a few moments, not sure how to explain it. The good doctor waits patiently, making doodles of round breasts on his note pad while he lets Frank gather his thoughts. His eyes fixed on the statue in the corner, thinking there are sure a lot of statues of nudes in this office, Frank sighs softly then says. "I guess I have to begin when I was eight years old. (The doctor drew a pair of young breasts on his pad) It was Halloween night. (The doctor sketches a pair of breasts that look like jack-o-lanterns) I was out trick or treating with my friend, Henry, knocking on all of the doors in the neighborhood when we got to the house where the twins, Karen and Trisha, lived. (Doctor Mingione draws two pairs of matching breasts) Frank can see himself again with Henry. They're both dressed up as hobo's with patched pants and shirts and they've put charcoal marks on each other's faces to make them look tough and old. Like true vagabonds, they have their cotton picker's sacks over their shoulders, full of their Halloween bounty. "Ring, ring, ring....nnnng.. " It's his turn, so Henry leans long and hard on the door bell button. It pops open and Mr. Jonas, the twins father, is standing there, beer in hand. He shouts, "Get away from our door! No candy for kids on Halloween from this house!" Still ranting, he pushes open the screen and we're forced off the porch onto the huge front lawn. Retreating, we cut across his grass, in the direction of the next rural home. What really got us though was when he turned on the sprinklers. Surprised by the night time spray of water we bumped and fell screaming in a pile, our candy flying. Soaked, scrambling to gather up our two months supply of candy and goodies, we were interrupted by the chilling sound of barking by the Jonas' hunting dogs as they tore a hole in the screen door and ripped their way through to get us. "Come on Franky, run!" Henry called out, his voice high pitched from fear, as he abandoned his scattered bag of candy and dashed through the sprinklers towards the safety of the street. Reaching for my precious bag of candy, I slipped sloppily on the wet grass and ended up helpless on by back, watching Henry disappear through the spray and when I looked the other way I saw two fat Labradors bounding my way from the house, their long tongues flapping in the wind, teeth white and abundant like dinosaur predator beasts hungry for meat. Evidently, I was to be was their evening snack. I heard Mr. Jonas laughing by the porch. "Wolf, Wolf, Wolf" The dogs reached me and stiffened their legs to stop. The water on the newly cut grass, however, was a super lubricant and the four legged creatures of the hunt were sliding wildly like wide receivers at a rainy football game. "Thump! Whack! Wolf!" The two dogs crashed into each other, lost their footing and rolled like hot dogs on a grill right over me. While they were scrambling up, I too, reached my feet and faced their bared fangs and strident barking. Doing the only thing I knew how, I stuck out my hand and said. "Hey doggy, want some candy?" They immediately, stopped barking, wagged their tails and looked at my hand hopefully, whining. I peeled a tootsie roll and dropped it on the war zone between us. They fought over it while I frantically stripped the wrapper off two more candies and tossed them at the dogs and ran before they could realize I was gone. A dog always thinks of his stomach first. I learned that. To add to misery's company, it started to rain and thunder. Ducking under a tree, Henry and I shivered, dripping wet, and looked back at the Jonas' house not sure we were filled with enough courage to pass back by there and head home. Our candy was gone. Suddenly, the street lights went out and a long rolling thunder pounded through the trees like God's bowling ball headed for mile high pins. "Crack! Boom!" The forest lit up and a bolt of lightning struck and lit up the tree we were standing under. To the sound of cracking and popping, I saw Henry outlined in sparks, his precious wire rimmed glasses shattered, then my heart jumped and I passed out into the blackness. "Mmmm, Go on." Dr. Mingione scribbled some more on his pad, though Frank couldn't see what he was writing. "Well" Frank continued. "I woke up the next morning in the hospital. My mother and my father were standing at my side, very happy to see me open my eyes." As a matter of fact, I was happy to open my eyes, too. It was scary in the dark after the lightning struck us. Lots of weird shapes all white and blurry trying to take me to a white door in the distance, while I protested, saying I needed to do my homework and clean my room before meeting God. Waking up in a normal world was great. I hate those near death experiences. My mother's friends from church are always claiming they had one here and another one there. I never told them what I saw, even when they tried to bribe me with a whole plate of cookies at the church pot-luck dinner. I ate all the cookies though while I pretended to try to remember if I saw any angels. "OK keep going, we still have time left in your session. Tell me when you noticed your problem starting." Dr. Mingione queried, his pen busy on his note pad. "The next few days" Frank continued. "I had to stay home from school to fully recover from my shock from the lightning. Boy, oh boy, how I loved the idea of staying home from school. Some of the kids came to see me and bring me cards they made in class. I heard from them that Henry was OK too, but his parents had decided it was a sign that they should move away. That made me sad. I never heard from Henry after that. Maybe he lost his memory or something, 'cause I never got a letter from him telling me his new address." "Anyway, after a few days of laying in bed I snuck out while my mom was at the ladies' Wednesday afternoon meeting at church and went down to see the tree where we were when the lightning hit us. While I standing there taking in the sight of that toasted pine tree, Karen, one of the Jonas twins I mentioned, came up and said a shy hello to me." "Hi Karen, how you doing?" "OK, are you feeling better?" She said as she twisted her pigtail nervously. "Who found us?" "Some of the other kids trick or treating." Suddenly, I heard distant thunder and had an inspiration of how to get back at her father. I could see it clearly. "Karen, is your father going hunting tomorrow with his dogs?" I knew he had Thursdays off. "Yeah, he's been talking about it all week. " She sighed and continued. "I hate those stupid dogs, he treats them nicer and feeds them better than he does mom and us." "Yeah, I know." I answered. "He does spend a lot of time out training them in the woods. Well, anyway, thanks for the nice get well card. I better go home now before my mom gets back from church and I'm real tired, I sleep deep all night, every night." I said as we parted company and I headed home through the back yard short cut. Early the next morning I was hiding in the bushes across from the Jonas' home waiting to see what would happen. Even I was amazed at the courage I had now. Oh, Oh, here they come. Whistling, Mr. Jonas opened his front door to the beautiful morning and pushed aside the newly repaired screen door so his hounds could run out and get in his truck for their ride to his favorite place for hunting. Full of energy and excitement, the dogs bolted off the porch. However, instead of waiting at the tail of the pick-up, like they usually did, they suddenly stopped and began sniffing the grass, right where I had left the drum stick from last night's Col. Sander's Chicken. When they began fighting over it, I started winding my fishing pole and the chicken leg bounced across the lawn with them chasing it. Mr. Jonas was not aware there was a problem until he turned from where he stood by the truck and called out. "What the heck? " "Hey, (whistle) you boys come back here, we gotta get going, ya hear!" He stood with his hands on his hips, not able to see what they were after as they ran towards the tree where my nearly invisible nylon fishing line was looped, pulling the chicken bone. Suddenly, I jerked the line and the meaty drumstick flew up the three white wooden boxes stacked under the tree and dangled over the top box where a big pile of spicy chicken radiated tantalizing smell to the starving dogs. "Wolf ,Wolf" they rubbed shoulders as they leaped up on the lower boxes then climbed on the top box where their prize was waiting. Only, the problem was, the top box was delicately balanced on a dozen of my favorite marbles. So, when their weight hit the top box, it rolled back and forth on the marbles like soap moves in the bathtub, and they all fell in a pile, chicken, broken beehives and dogs. Yes, those white wooden boxes, I borrowed from the neighboring orchard, were chuck full of slumbering honey bees, used to pollinate the blossoms. When the boxes tipped over, the wax trays tumbled out dumping honey, wax and angry bees all over the chicken. The dogs didn't really notice the bees and the honey on their paws, so intent they were on the delicious fried chicken. However, when the bees began to sting their legs and their faces, they ran around in circles in fear and anxiety. "Hey, what are you eating, what....." Mr. Jonas was almost to the buzzing confusion when the dogs decided they had enough and ran, blinded by bees and fear, right at and over their master, leaving a trail of honey and incensed bees across Mr. Jonas. Racing with a cloud of bees around their heads, the two big Labradors flew up the steps, across the wooden porch and exploded through the screen door back into the house, pieces of torn screen and broken door frame flying everywhere. Mr. Jonas stumbled after them, waving his hands to bat away the bees until he reached the house just as his wife and daughters shot out the side door, screaming. Cutting the line to my fishing rod, I slipped away and headed home to my warm bed. Mom would be getting up soon to fix me a nice breakfast of hot oatmeal and toast. I heard from the twins a few weeks later that those dogs would whine and hide, their tails between their legs, under the girl's bunk beds anytime they even thought they heard the sound of "Let's go hunting." "So, that's how it all started, Frank. Am I right?" Dr. Mingione said, underlining something on his notepad. "Yeah, it was the first of many pranks." "Then what occurred?" "Let me think. It was a while before I did another one, unless I'm forgetting, the next time I did a prank was in junior high school. Yea, it must be the time the Cook boy and his high school aged gang jumped out of the bushes and ran me off the road and stole my bicycle. I was about twelve then and really loved my new bike. I 'd just bought it with my own money from my paper route." Frank continued, even now a little quiver of emotion coloring his voice. "When I tried to hang on to my bike, Scott Cook, his arms thick from lifting weights, sneering, just shoved me aside like a flea and jumped on and rode it off with his friends laughing and cheering, mocking my pleas and angry tears. I really heard thunder pounding in my ears that day. Did I tell you I always hear thunder when I think of these pranks?" "Mmmm Huh", Dr. Mingione mumbled and nodded affirmative, his pen very busy. In as much as Scott Cook's father was the county sheriff, I got little respect when I told him his son had taken my bike. He just looked at me with his puffy red face from his fat patrol car and spit out the window and said. "You watch your mouth, boy. No son of mine would stoop to stealing a bike. I better not hear more from you all. Now get on home. Don't be bothering the law." He dismissed me as he pushed his slipping dark glasses back up his bulbous nose and roared off in a cloud of dust. All that did was raise the stakes. This was going to be a tricky prank. It had to look like I wasn't behind it. I had to wait for him to forget that I might be wanting revenge. It was difficult, but I eventually found the opportunity. Waiting patiently through summer vacation, I prepared my moment of opportunity carefully. After the prank was completed, I found out through friends just how successful I was. They told me, barely able to contain their laughter, that.... It was Homecoming night, the first big game in our own stadium, and our county champion home town football team, the Eagles, was locked in a death struggle with the rival team from Ridgewood, a school with an equally respectable record. Standing high in the warm Indian summer weather you could see the new lighted score board donated by Uncle Bob's Chevrolet Dealership. The score was tied with both teams having 10 points. With only fifteen seconds left on the clock, the crowd on their feet, all of the Cook's family cheering their throats sore with most of the county sheriffs and deputy sheriffs and families screaming alongside, quarterback Scott faked a field goal and ran for the end zone. You could hear the noise all the way to the moon when he made his dash through a wall of grunting defenders with fingers clawing desperately to bring him down. Finally, like a greased pig, Scott shot through the last two Ridgewood players and crashed to the ground with one battered arm stretched out to place the ball just over the chalk line. To say the least, Scott felt like a king coming home to his kingdom when the team and the home town crowd surrounded him and lifted him up on their shoulders to carry him to the locker rooms. A couple of minutes later, glowing in the light of new fame, surrounded by the other exhausted players in the sweaty locker room, Scott fielded questions from the local press about how it felt and why did he decide to make that play. "I don't know why I decided to make the change in plan." Scott said, wiping his forehead with a towel. " I saw the coach signaling to proceed with the field goal, but my guts just said run. How does it feel? It feels great!" The locker room thundered with cheering. "So, what are you going to do now, Scott?" Someone shouted at the back of the crowd. Pausing, Scott looked back at the people stuffed like sardines in the cement walled locker room. Everyone grew quiet. His fellow players looked silently at him. His father and other officers in their uniforms, beer bellies and all, beamed with pride waiting for his perfect answer. "Why, I'm going to get dressed and go to the dance with my date!" Scott shouted as he reached to lift the lever to open his personal locker. Everyone cheered again. But, the cheers turned to hoots and laughter when Scott's locker flew open from the pressure released on the fluffiest, pinkest, prettiest, most feminine evening gown anyone had ever seen. Before Scott could react, one of the other players, not a member of Scott's gang, I'm sure, grabbed the hanger and waved the dress around shouting, over and over. "I wanna be your date, Scotty! I wanna be your date!" Soon all the players were shouting along with him..."I wanna be your date." Pushing and fighting, they fought over who had the dress to dance with. Scott's face was crimson red. His gang wasn't here to protect him, they were not the kind to play football. It got worse when someone else pulled a big white bra and a bottle of perfume out of the locker. All of Scott's street clothes were gone. He had to wait while his mom went home for more clothes. "I tell you" Frank continued. "My friends were certain that a record was set on the number of red faces that night and Scott's father never was able to stop the jokes down at the court house." "Mmmm. OK, Frank" Dr. Mingione said as he closed his note pad and stood up. "I will be reviewing my notes before our next session. When you return, I'll tell you some of my conclusions and suggestions. Please make an appointment with the receptionist or one of my assistants before you leave. You have, I might say, a very interesting case." Taking another cab home, Frank was wondering how the obnoxious and abusive cab driver he had used earlier was doing. It was a couple of minutes before the time they were supposed to meet. ******************************************************************* Frank's promised forty dollar tip very big on his mind, checking the instructions carefully, cab driver, Gene, scratched his unshaven chin as he turned off Mission and started counting the streets. He didn't like this part of town, too many rough people and even rougher kids ruled the car packed streets. It reminded him of his own neighborhood as a teenager. Starting to sweat, Gene tried to ignore the hard stares the lanky kids and loitering young men gave him from their porch perches as he slowly drove the cab by, looking for the street address matching the one Frank had given him. This narrow street was especially scary. The cocky driver swallowed hard, trying to keep up his courage. There's the house. Gene looked again at Frank's notes. Now I have to drive on the driveway along side the house and look for a garage in the back behind the three story Victorian style home. The wooden home was in poor repair and painted several different colors. This was the worst. He thought, sliding low in the cab seat. There's even more shifty looking characters around this house. They're waving me in, pointing towards the back. One guy with a Hitler mustache was signaling for the cabbie to follow behind him and pull into the dark garage. They closed the garage door behind the cab with a eerie squeal from the hinges and springs. It is really dark in here, the cabbie thought as he used his sleeve to wipe the beads of sweat from his brow, he didn't feel so tough, himself, now, instead, maybe even a little religious. Our Father who art in heaven. He wasn't sure what was next as he prayed. An enormous figure walked up to the cab door out of the gloom, he had a welding torch lit in his left hand, the hot blue tip lusting for metal to cut. "So, you got a nice used BMW cab for me? I heard you were coming with this cab you ripped off. Pretty gutsy of you to take a cab away from a cabbie. Did you kill him? You must be a real mean SOB. I think I can loan you two hundred for the parts I can sell out of it. Though, it will take some to time to cut it up and I will have expenses you know. Why don't you get out." Gene was having trouble breathing. He stepped out of the cab and stumbled over the tools and auto parts strewn on the floor. Suddenly, he didn't care about the cab any more. Life was more important. He never paid his mother back the money he borrowed years ago for the car anyway. "I gotta go. Just send me the money." The cabbie said as he escaped out the skinny warped side door, happy to be out of there. There was a dozen gang types hanging outside. Oh, No! I'm zoo food! They smiled and nodded at the cabbie. One spoke out of his locks of dark hair tied in many braids with beads, his arms covered in crude tattoos. "Thank you for the car, man. You are very nice. Bring us some more, eh!" The middle aged cabbie forced a grin on his pale face, pulled his hat down and walked slowly past them. Hey! There's a cab waiting for me! He started to run toward the waiting cab, anxious to leave the area. The gang members cheered him on. "Hey" Gene called out to the driver of the idling blue and white cab, a competing company. "Can you take me downtown?" He reached for the rear passenger door handle. The driver looked back and said, "Yeah, are you the guy who said he would pay a forty buck tip if I came right now?" Gene halted in his tracks, stunned. He smiled after a brief moment. I've been set up so beautifully I have to admire him. "Absolutely, man. I'll pay fifty bucks to get out of here! Just go!" He said as he dove in the back seat. ******************************************************************** Two days later, Frank was up early doing his morning walk. The city was already busy. Cars, buses and trucks flowed like the blood cells of the city as they rushed up and down the crossing streets. Horns honked, seagulls called out as they fought for scraps, sirens sang on distant streets, somewhere a burglar alarm rang. Walking up to Sophie's small hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, Frank thought about how much he loved the sounds of the vibrant, living city. "Morning, Frankie, how ya doing? Did you go? What did he say?" Sophie said as she set down a tall mug of hot coffee for him. She always had a twinkle in her eye for Frank. The only one he'd ever told about his "problem," it was her idea for him to look up a therapist. Warming his hands on the thick ceramic mug, Frank nodded and took a quick sip and reached under the plastic cover for a bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon. He stole a big bite while she went to serve another customer. They had been friends ever since he moved to the city after college. She treated him as nice as any mother would treat her favorite son, even called him her "long lost adopted son." He watched her affectionately as she worked her way back to the counter where she could watch the street and keep tabs on her many regular customers. She slapped the counter. "So, spit it out, Boy! What happened at the shrink's office?" "Not much yet, I just started telling about when I was a kid and how it all began." "You tell him about the rubber ducky?" Frank laughed. "No, I didn't." "What! What about the time you went hunting?" She giggled as she remembered Frank telling her what happened. "No! Sophie, I haven't yet. Sheesh! Keep quiet." Frank smiled and looked past her out at the trucks going by. A lot more heavy trucks passed this part of town lately since they began the big complex of buildings on the next block. Some people complained that the city had moved too quickly to tear down the old businesses and apartments to make this glamorous new redevelopment zone. When Sophie had to go and help some new customers who had just entered noisily, Frank waved good-bye to her and ducked out on the busy sidewalk. As he dodged people rushing to work he noticed four city police cars escorting a long black limo with darkened windows. The lead police car flashed it's lights and hit it's siren when they were forced to slow down for the heavy traffic at the intersection. Surprised when one of the long windows rolled down, Frank caught a glimpse of a dark haired young woman looking up at the row of buildings. He wanted to say to her, your eyes are perfect. She looked at him for a moment with half a smile starting before someone inside with her said something sharp and the glass covered her again and they disappeared into the weaving river of traffic. Walking fast to exercise, heading back to his apartment, Frank passed by the huge new cluster of buildings, the first part of the redevelopment area. Stopping to watch the many trucks unloading the beautiful furnishings for the new exclusive shops and apartments, he rested his back by leaning up against the old rough brick of the corner store. "Sure is a shame. Ain't it, Mister?" A raspy voice said nearby. Frank looked around to see an old man had joined him by sitting down against the same wall. Judging by the assortment of bags and his mismatched clothing, the guy must be a homeless street person, Frank thought to himself. "Yeah, it is sad. To bad they tore down those proud buildings and moved out the businesses and people living there." Frank replied, nodding as the long gray bearded man went on in his choppy language. He seemed to be short of breath. "Yep. Worse, though, there was a small deli there. With a nice lady. Used to give us sandwiches...they had left over...at the end of the day. Fed our whole ...company." Feeling for the guy, Frank bought a couple of bottles of juice and some rolls and they shared them together squatting on the sidewalk watching the long line of men move the carpet and furniture into the new complex across the street. Laughing often, they talked about old times and joked about the fancy name on the new complex. Just about to get up and walk the rest of the way to his apartment, Frank was surprised when a couple of patrol cars pulled up and two burly policemen jumped out and confronted the old man. "Pick up your stuff and come with us." The buzz haired beefy cop said to the old man. "What's he done, sir?" Frank asked. "None of your business, mister. You run along and don't give us no trouble." His blood pressure rising as he witnessed them unceremoniously shoving the old man in their car and tossing his personal stuff in the trash, Frank walked up to the patrol car. "It's not right. What you're doing isn't legal. We were just talking and enjoying something to eat. You have no right to haul him away." Frank said, his face turning red with emotion. The cop, barely fitting in his bulging black uniform, stared blankly back at Frank then, in a blur, grabbed his wrist and bent his fingers back in a funny way. "Ouch. My God that hurt. Stop! Please." Frank cried out. The people walking on the sidewalk looked away and walked hurriedly past. "You shut up and quit interfering. Get in there with him" With that the officer bundled Frank into the back of the car with the crumpled old man. The door slammed shut and they roared off into the traffic. "I was afraid this would happen" The old man whispered while he kept his eyes looking out the window so the policemen in the front wouldn't notice they were talking. The one officer was busy talking on the radio anyway as they twisted through the streets. "Why is that?" Frank whispered back, watching the building fly by. This part of the city was unfamiliar to him. "You'll see." .....Continued.... Send an e-mail to del@wenet.net if you would like the next installment. By Don Lewis Copyright-1999 Don Lewis 4271 North First #86 San Jose CA 95134 (408) 526-1116