Fictional stories by John Saccone

Fiction

recent posts

about

  • Vampiro 3

    At this time of the year, I usually have a great time checking out stores that sell costumes and other Halloween items. But this year is going to be different. It started out really strange. The last thing I want to see is someone dressed as a vampire.

    The Count asked, “Do you know if she has the same type of blood as you?”

    “She’s my sister.”

    “That doesn’t mean that she’ll have the same type of blood. I hope she does.”

    “Why?”

    “With the both of you as bait… it will be that much easier for me, to get the other vampires.”

    I didn’t know if I should be honored or horrified. It’s nice to feel wanted. But I’m not that thrilled about being used as bait. I feel like a worm on a hook.

    And I have seen the other side of the Count’s personality. The dark side. He can be vicious and cruel.

    I felt that the better part of valor would be for me to keep my mouth shut and keep my fingers crossed.

    And of course, as I was walking through the streets of the Village with the Count, I was looking for a sharp piece of wood… anything that I could use as a stake and drive it through the heart of the monster.

    Why do these kinds of strange things always happen to me? What’s next… will I be meeting Frankenstein or the Wolfman?

    I asked, “Do you know Frankenstein or the Wolfman?”

    The Count didn’t bother to answer me. He just hissed.

    We were on the subway platform, and the train was coming. Tons of steel barreling through a tunnel. This was my opportunity. I pushed the Count in front of the train.

    Our eyes briefly met as the train ran over him.

    Someone tapped me on the back of my shoulder. It was the Count. He said, “Don’t do that again.”

    He brushed himself off.

    I realized at that time that he was very resilient.

    We had to take the R train for three stops. We got off at 8th Street. Everyone on the train was looking at us. The Count had a black suit on, with a white starched shirt, and black tie. I didn’t notice it before — probably because I was scared out of my mind, and didn’t realize it — but he was extremely pale, except for his lips. They were really red.

    And he had really bushy eyebrows that needed to be trimmed and his black hair was slicked back. He had a nose like Lugosi. All he needed was the cape. And this jerk had me pay for his fare.

    I asked him at the time, “Can’t you hypnotize the token clerk, so that the both of us can walk through the turnstile?”

    “No!”

    “But I can’t afford the subway fare. I was saving this money to buy a couple of joints.”

    “No!”

    I had to pay his fare. I don’t know why he couldn’t jump over the turnstile like me. He said it was, “undignified.”

    Vampires are no fun. And the Count didn’t like to talk. For a guy that was several hundred years old… you would think that he would have a lot to say. He would just hiss at me every now and then.

    And when he really wanted to get my attention… he would stomp on my foot. And sometimes, even when he had my attention… he would still stomp on my foot.

    He thought it was funny. And he had this really weird laugh. He sounded like he was gasping for air.

    I opened the door to my sister’s apartment. I was surprised. She was there. It was a Friday night and she was home. Usually at this time of the night… she would be stretched out on some guy’s bed.

    I was surprised to see her clothed and asked, “I thought you had a date with Terrence?”

    “Don’t ever mention that asshole’s name again. I hate him. And who is this asshole?”

    I said, “This is Count Vampiro.”

    “Nice to meet you,” said the Count, as he grabbed my sister’s hand and kissed it.

    “You don’t have any STDs?” asked my sister Cynthia, as she pulled her hand away. “A girl can’t be too careful.”

    She went into the bathroom to wash her hand. She’s a germ freak. All vegans are.

    While she was in the bathroom the Count said, “She doesn’t have the same blood type as you.”

    I noticed the Count looking around the apartment. I felt proud. It was nicely furnished, and my sister bought most of the furniture except for the couch.

    I stole that from the elderly Hungarian couple that lived above us. Me and my friends one night, after smoking a few joints, thought it would be nice to have a more comfortable couch in the living room.

    We went out on the fire escape and started peeping through people’s windows. We were window shopping. We’ve done it before.

    And that’s when we saw the couch. We opened the window and entered the apartment.

    The couch was much more difficult than we thought it would be to carry down the stairs. The stairwell was very narrow. I still don’t know how we did it. And then we took my couch and put it in their apartment. We exchanged couches.

    The next day, when I was no longer high, I started getting nervous about the couch. But my best friend Michael told me not to worry. They would need a search warrant to enter my apartment. Just don’t let them in.

    I smoked a joint to calm my nerves.

    But my sister Cynthia was relentless. A real bummer! She wanted to know where the couch came from. And what happened to her couch.

    I tried my best to convince her that the couch in the living room was her couch… but she wasn’t buying it

    I finally told her, “I exchanged couches with our elderly neighbors in the apartment above us.”

    She asked, “Why would they exchange this beautiful couch for our ragged flea bitten one? Do they even know about the exchange?”

    I replied confidently, “They’re both senile. They probably won’t even realize it.”

    My sister took a moment or two to think about it, and then said, “Alright.”

    When Cynthia came back into the living room she looked at the Count suspiciously and asked, “Why is he dressed all in black? Is he an undertaker? And why is he wearing red lipstick?”

    “Here you go,” said the Count. “This will take the edge off of you.”

    He handed Cynthia a joint, and then he handed me one.

    The Count obviously knows how to talk to young people. That was so thoughtful of him. I’m 17 and Cynthia’s 19. He must have got the joints from the drug-dealing vampires.

    We lit up and started sucking away. We looked like two babies, with big smiles on our faces, sucking milk from our baby bottles.

    Cynthia and I smoked the two joints and had some wine. We were getting our buzz on.

    When I asked the Count if he wanted to join us, he replied, “I don’t drink or smoke.”

    Cynthia and I started laughing. And then we realized that he was serious.

    Cynthia whispered to me, “Strike one and strike two.”

    And while Cynthia and I were watching TV with rock music blasting in the background, the Count just stood by the window and looked out.

    Cynthia said, “Strike three! What is wrong with this guy? Is he a serial killer?”

    “He’s just a quiet guy that examines life through an introspective lens.”

    I thought that was a clever answer. That’s what this peeping tom told me, who lives in the building across from mine, when I caught him with binoculars looking through my sister’s bedroom window.

    At the time I was spying on his sister too. I called him and told him not to do that anymore or we couldn’t be friends.

    “What!” said my annoyed sister. She didn’t like my smart answer. “I think he’s probably a serial killer.”

    I didn’t know what to say. In a way… he was. But she wouldn’t believe me if I told her that he was a vampire. And he was using us as bait.

    There was a loud knock on the door. Someone was pounding on it. I knew who it was before I even opened it. It was the old lady Mrs. Jamieson.

    She is really annoying!

    I yelled through the closed door, “I’m turning the music off… don’t call the cops.”

    Why couldn’t she be like the old Hungarian couple that lives above us. They’re both hard of hearing.

    Have you ever noticed that the time just seems to fly by when you’re drunk and high.

    It was 3am and it was time to go to sleep. I told my sister that the Count was homeless and needed a place to stay for the night. She refused.

    “Here you go,” said the Count, as he handed my sister two joints.

    She agreed. He could stay for the night.

    It was weird. I couldn’t sleep. I was wondering if the Count was hanging upside down… like a bat.

    I had the munchies and went into the kitchen to get a snack. I noticed that the Count was sitting on the couch, in the dark, staring straight ahead.

    The Count looked like he was in his late thirties. But I knew from what he told me that he had to be at least four-hundred-years old.

    He used to attack the Roman citizens as they were going home from watching the gladiators fighting at the Colosseum. He told me some awesome stories.

    When I woke up in the morning the Count was standing right over me.

    I screamed! I asked, “What’s wrong?”

    “I’m waiting for you to get up. We have to start walking around Greenwich Village. We have to see what we can attract.”

    That’s right. I remember now. I’m the bait.

    Did he say, “We have to see what we can attract?” or “We have to see what we can attack?”

    We walked so much that I was feeling dizzy. I was also having lower limb issues. I couldn’t feel my legs. They were numb. And when I could feel them… they felt like they were being pricked by little needles.

    We went from the East Village to the West Village. And back again. And back again. We went left… we went right. We even bunked into each other.

    But no vampires attacked us. I was hoping they would… I was exhausted.

    The Count watched as I ate my lunch at this nice diner on 13th Street and Broadway. The steak was delicious. I had another one. I didn’t realize it but endlessly walking makes you hungry. After I finished eating, both of us ran out without paying. We didn’t have any money.

    We even saw a movie. We had to sneak in.

    There was only one ticket girl at the window, and when the Count told her that we didn’t have any money and asked if she could “Let us in for free?” She said “No!”

    We went around the back of the movie theater and the Count opened up a window. We climbed through. We were in the bathroom of the movie house.

    The Count didn’t like climbing through the bathroom window. He felt it was undignified. I thought it was cool.

    I asked, “How did you know that this was the bathroom window to the movie house? Do you have x-ray vision like Superman?

    “No! I’ve been here before with Elvira.”

    I thought, that’s nice. Vampires like movies. I love them too.

    But when the movie started the Count was not even watching. He was staring straight ahead. That’s when I remembered hearing about several grisly murders in this area.

    While the movie goers were picking out their snacks and refreshments… the Count and Elvira were too.

    And that’s when I remembered the Count telling me, “We prefer vampires… but sometimes we get hungry and have a snack or two.”

    I responded, “I can understand that. I like snacking too.”

    What was I talking about?

    I’m not sure why… but I was feeling uneasy. Did the Count want to pick up a quick snack?

    There was a family sitting in front of us with two kids and a baby. And the baby looked plump and juicy.

    The story will be continued in Count Vampiro 4

    Photo by David Knieradl on Unsplash

    https://www.buymeacoffee.com/johnsaccone

  • Count Vampiro 2

    New York’s Greenwich Village Halloween Parade shouts with excitement. Creativity; style; imagination; no other parade comes close.

    A youthful exuberance for life fuels it.

    It’s a powder keg of anticipation and excitement, and the parade ignites the fuse.

    And afterward the bars and clubs are lit up with the intoxicated masses.

    It’s ready to explode.

    And when you’re partying on the highway of life, eventually you come to the realization that some people will lose their life, some their Soul.

    But it wasn’t Halloween yet. And spooky and weird things were already happening.

    I should have realized that something was wrong. While I was walking with the woman, I noticed that the full moon was covered by dark ominous clouds. Was it a sign? A Warning?

    Out of nowhere… a man and a woman came to my rescue. Good Samaritans.

    The man grabbed a hold of one of the drug-dealing vampires and snapped his neck back. It snapped, crackled and popped.

    The other vampire started running away but the woman jumped on top of him and started biting him on the back of his neck.

    She started tearing one chunk of flesh out after another and spitting it on the ground.

    Wow! These good Samaritans were vicious. I almost threw up.

    The beautiful woman, who was now a big fat worm like blob, with ugly fingernails, tried to fly away. But the guy jumped 20 feet into the air and grabbed a hold of her and flung her to the ground. He then ripped her wings off and her heart out.

    Before she died, she cried out for mercy… but the empathy in that man’s eyes… that light was extinguished long ago.

    I passed out.

    When I woke up… the guy was standing over me and looking at me. He had blood all over his face.

    “I’m Count Vampiro. It’s nice to meet you.”

    He sounded weird. It was like his tongue was stuck to his front teeth while he was speaking.

    I didn’t want to think about it. And I didn’t want to say it. But it was like he was reading my mind.

    The Count looked at me sternly and said, “Say it! Say it! Say it out loud!”

    I said, “You’re a vampire!”

    “Yes. But I won’t hurt you. Are you afraid of me?”

    “No.”

    I don’t know why… but I wasn’t afraid. I felt nauseous… but not afraid. He seemed so sincere.

    I asked, “Do you have superpowers?”

    “What?”

    “Can you fly like Superman?”

    “No!”

    “Can you climb like Spidey?”

    “No!”

    “Can you climb really big trees?”

    “No!”

    “Can you dance?”

    “No!”

    “Can you play the piano?”

    “No!”

    “Can you play baseball?”

    “No!”

    “What can you do?”

    “I can suck every drop of blood out of you.”

    The woman vampire was still sucking the juice… I mean blood from one of the vampires.

    She looked up at me… and the blood was drooling down her chin.

    When she finished, she walked over to me and Count Vampiro.

    “This is Countess Elvira,” said Count Vampiro.

    “Why is he still alive?” asked the Countess. “Did you save him for me? I’m stuffed.”

    “He has AB Negative blood,” said the Count.

    “That used to be my favorite beverage,” said the smiling Countess. “It’s very rare. The last time I drank that was when we were in the Arctic. Do you remember?”

    “How could I forget? We ran into that tribe and almost half of the thirty meals had that blood type. What a great buffet.”

    “We have to go back,” said the Countess. “It’s so peaceful over there. And I loved playing with the Polar bears and Wolves.”

    The Count stared straight ahead. It looked like he was thinking about something.

    The Countess burped and a little bit of blood and pieces of flesh drooled out of her mouth. It was disgusting.

    The Count said, “I’m going to use him as bait. He’ll lure other vampires to us. They’ll all want his AB Negative blood.”

    “What are you talking about?” asked the Countess. “Our plane leaves in two hours for Transylvania.”

    “We can go later… after we find the other vampires.”

    “No! My brother is expecting me and so is his wife and kids.”

    “In that case,” said the Count, “I’ll meet you there.”

    She looked mad. I mean really pissed. She looked just like my sister does whenever one of her boyfriend’s disappoints her. But the Countess didn’t say anything. She just walked away while wiping the blood from her mouth and dislodging pieces of flesh from her teeth.

    Unlike my sister, she was obviously a dignified and classy woman. A real lady. She didn’t start dropping F-bombs.

    I yelled out to her, “Bye!”

    She turned around and hissed at me.

    The Count yelled, “And when you get there leave those two old witches alone. I still have lice in my hair and boils on my ass.”

    The Countess yelled back, “And you better stay away from that bleached blond niece of theirs or I’ll pull her hair out from the roots and shove that broom up her butt.”

    I asked, surprised, “They have witches in Transylvania?”

    “Yes. And they’re ruining everything. Since they started moving in… the neighborhood has really changed.”

    “I can imagine.”

    “No! You can’t. Last year, I was walking down a road, moon bathing, and I fell off a cliff. There was no road there. They made it look like a road. They thought it was funny.”

    I summoned up all my courage and said, “I’m not going to be your bait. My sister will be worried about me. I have to go home.”

    “That’s great,” said the Count. “I would love to meet your sister.”

    “What? No! What are you talking about? You must never say that to me… never.”

    “Why not?”

    “Because you’ll hurt her.”

    “You nitwit… I’ll be protecting her. If there are vampires around, they’ll go after her. They’ll be able to smell her blood type. And AB Negative type blood is the best. Well… a distant second best. Vampire blood is the best. That’s the only kind I drink. It’s a beverage for those of us with discriminating taste. But she’s in danger.”

    I didn’t think of that. The blood sucker had a point. But I didn’t know what to do.

    I asked him, “Are you related to bed bugs? They suck too. I mean, they suck blood too.”

    The story will be continued in Count Vampiro 3

    https://shorturl.at/s1zFa

    https://shorturl.at/80lLk

    Photo by David Knieradl on Unsplash

    https://www.buymeacoffee.com/johnsaccone

  • Count Vampiro

    Halloween in New York starts with the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade. That’s when the real partying begins.

    The parade starts around 7pm and stretches from Canal Street to 15th Street in Manhattan.

    I love it. It’s my favorite parade.

    Last year I went as a skeleton and my sister as a clown.

    It was fantastic.

    It’s in a few days and I still haven’t decided what costume to wear.

    I also have to get some pot. I smoked the stash that I had. And I don’t want to have the same problem that I had last year.

    Last year, I waited too long and all the drug dealers that I knew sold out.

    All the young people buy pot for Halloween. It’s part of the tradition. And I always wind up at a Halloween party. And the magic dragon’s smoke always makes the occasion more festive.

    I was outside of the Life Rock night club. And I knew the bartender inside. He was a bartender who sold drugs on the side. Or he was a drug dealer that bartended on the side. Either way… he sold pot. And good stuff. Not the stuff mixed with oregano, or parsley… or whatever.

    This stuff came from California. Where they also make wine and have all those beautiful vineyards. They have a good reputation for producing good wine and weed.

    I knew the bouncer, and he let me in. He knew what I was there for.

    But Leonard wasn’t there. They told me that he left early.

    A young woman approached me and said, “You smell so good.”

    It must’ve been from the pot that I was smoking earlier. It has a nice fragrant smell that clings to you. I smell just like burning weed.

    She was really good looking. She wore soft black mascara, and pink lipstick. And had on a tight-fitting black dress and black high heel shoes. And black stockings. Wow!

    She had an hourglass shaped body.

    I wiped the saliva from my mouth. I was drooling.

    I didn’t know what to say. I asked, “Do you sell pot?”

    She smiled and said, “No! But I know two guys a few blocks from here that do.”

    We left the club together and walked three blocks. As we were walking, I was hoping that I would get lucky tonight. She was gorgeous.

    We went down an alleyway, and there they were… the two drug dealers.

    She asked them, “Doesn’t he smell nice.”

    “Delicious,” said one of the male drug dealers.

    The other guy said, “Yummy.”

    I started blushing.

    Was I dreaming? Was I hallucinating? Was I smoking bad weed earlier? As I approached the two drug dealers, I noticed that they had fangs, and their eyes were blood red.

    And the beautiful woman… her nails had grown. They were now each four inches long. And they were black and ugly looking. She could definitely use a manicure. And I noticed that she had a forked tongue like a snake. It was split down the middle.

    And her arms looked like a bat’s wings. And she no longer had any legs. She was wiggling her fat body on the ground. That’s how she moved. She was changing her form right before my eyes. She was enormous.

    I must be hallucinating. It comes from all the weed that I smoke. They say that you shouldn’t smoke three or four times a day… but I do. And this is one of the benefits. Sometimes you hallucinate.

    She grabbed a hold of me, and I couldn’t break free. She was as strong as an ape. And had really bad breath. It smelled like a rotting corpse.

    I was frightened. This was no hallucination.

    I started laughing. She was tickling my neck with her forked tongue. Was she tasting me?

    She threw me to the ground. She was about to jump on top of me and crush me.

    The two drug dealers were standing next to her. They had ghoulish grins on their faces.

    The story will be continued in Count Vampiro 2

    Photo by David Knieradl on Unsplash

    https://shorturl.at/80lLk

    https://shorturl.at/s1zFa

    https://www.buymeacoffee.com/johnsaccone

  • The Soap Dish 2

    Not every door is meant to be opened. Nor should you peek behind every curtain.  

    During dinner I asked Jeffrey if I could borrow his new tennis racket. I wanted to try it out. Maybe I would play better. He told me that he lent it to Leon, and he has yet to return it. 

    I don’t why… but I didn’t believe him. 

    Jeffrey and I have a big rivalry going on over tennis. We both claim to be the better player. And whenever one of us loses to the other, we always make excuses. It’s either the tennis racket, the balls, the sun in our eyes, or the wind. Or anything else that we can think of.

    We have a great time coming up with the most outlandish excuses.

    I pretended that I had to go to the bathroom and went upstairs. But instead of opening up the bathroom door, I opened up the closet door. I just wanted to take a peek. I wanted to see if the tennis racket was there. 

    I didn’t see it. 

    I started moving some bags around. Maybe it was behind one of them. I picked up one bag and some of its contents fell out the side. A soap dish fell out. My soap dish. May’s soap dish. 

    What was it doing there?

    I started rummaging through the bag that the soap dish fell out of and found an envelope. I opened it and saw pictures of my wife and Jeffery naked. Naked and together. I felt like throwing up. I felt dizzy. 

    In the photos the both of them looked much younger. 

    I stumbled into the bathroom and threw some cold water on my face. I felt like I was in shock. I had to compose myself. 

    I went into Jeffrey’s bedroom and got a piece of paper and a pen. I wrote in capital letters, “ADULTERER.”

    I opened up the soap dish and placed the note inside, and also put one of the photos of them both in bed naked. I then closed the lid. I put the soap dish back in the bag.

    I went back downstairs.

    Jeffrey joked, “I was about to send a scuba diving team up there to look for you. I thought you fell in the water.”

    I tried to smile but I couldn’t. 

    I didn’t say anything about him and my wife. What I just discovered. How could I say anything? Jeffrey’s girlfriend was there. 

    I’m a very proud man. And a proud man like me doesn’t like being humiliated. Doesn’t like airing his dirty laundry out in public. 

    Is there any greater humiliation, than another man that is your best friend, sleeping with your wife? 

    I pretended that I wasn’t feeling that well. And I really didn’t have to pretend. I wasn’t feeling well. 

    We left early.

    When we got home I didn’t say anything to May about her affair with Jeffrey. I didn’t know what to say. My mind was so cluttered with emotions that I couldn’t think straight. 

    That night I couldn’t fall asleep. 

    The thought of Jeffery, my best friend, and my wife together haunted me. I found myself crying. I found myself wondering about how many years they were involved with each other. Were they still seeing each other? 

    And how many times when we were all together…  Were Jeffrey and my wife exchanging sly glances, whispers and smiles, as secret lovers do? 

    And how many other people knew? Her family and our friends? 

    Was I the only one left in the dark? Unaware? Was I the brunt of their jokes? 

    How sad it is to be betrayed by someone that you love. And I did love her.

    I knew it from the first moment that we met. The first time that I touched her. 

    I knew that I would be enslaved to her for all my life. For what is love but some kind of enslavement? 

    I would exhaust and spend my time and life pleasing her. I would do her bidding. I would place her on a pedestal. 

    Did she fall out of love with me? That’s understandable. 

    It happens. 

    Couldn’t she have let me down easily? Give me some time. If she no longer loved me… let me down gently. 

    Not like this! Not with my best friend! Not behind my back!

    A depression that I have never felt before… gripped my soul. I’m hurting terribly. Is there anything about my life that is free of lies and deception? 

    Negative thoughts seem to come in bunches. And when you go down that road… it gets darker and darker. 

    My love for May was turning into hatred.

    Betrayal by your spouse… the unkindest cut of all. 

    That morning I let out all my pent up anger. I knew I had to get away from her. I was so mad with May that I felt like hurting her. 

    And now I felt like turning the car around. I wanted to go back. I wanted to go back there and kill her. And afterward myself. 

    My thoughts were painting scenarios of horror. The canvas showed the corpses of two people… me and May. 

    My eyes were turning red. Blood red!

    The Story will be continued in The Soap Dish 3

    Photo by Stefano Pollio on Unsplash 

    https://shorturl.at/s1zFa

    https://shorturl.at/80lLk

    https://www.buymeacoffee.com/johnsaccone

  • The Soap Dish

    In life I have suffered the slings and arrows of a thousand misfortunes… but combined, they paled, compared to this.

     I have been lied to; deceived; conned; betrayed.

    And no one that really lives life to the fullest and inhales it deeply will tell you otherwise.
    It comes with the territory.

    But even a battle-hardened warrior of life like me… was left gasping for air. I was deeply wounded.

    I was incensed. Outraged.

    I started yelling and screaming at my wife about the soap dish.

    She thought I lost my mind. It was early in the morning, and we were in our bedroom.

    “What is wrong with you?” asked my wife May. “Did you have a nightmare?”

    I still had my toothbrush in my mouth. I was so mad that I was biting on it.

    “Where’s the soap dish?” I roared.

    I bought her that soap dish as a fifteen-year wedding anniversary gift. It wasn’t a regular soap dish. It was made of silver, with real gold trimming. Her name was engraved on it. It cost me almost a thousand dollars. That was ten years ago.

    “Where’s the soap dish? If you don’t get me that soap dish in five minutes I’m walking out of here and never coming back.”

    She looked at me like I was crazy.

    She said, “You know it got lost eight years ago. We looked all over and couldn’t find it.”

    I took the toothbrush out of my mouth and spit my saliva and toothpaste on the floor.

    I roared again, “Where’s that soap dish? You have two minutes left to find it.”

    “What is wrong with you?” asked May, with a fearful expression in her eyes and a confused look on her face.

    I yelled, “How could it get lost? Things just don’t disappear into thin air. Where’s that soap dish?”

    “We looked all over for it,” said a shaken May. “I don’t know what happened to it.”

    “You’re running out of time,” I shouted, my eyes ablaze with hatred for my wife.

    Whenever I took my wife on a business trip with me or we went on vacation, she would always complain about the soap. The soap in these hotels was terrible. At home she used a special soap called Fragrance. It was enriched with vitamin C and had organic shea butter… that was not only good for her skin, but the soap had a nice pleasant fragrant smell. It smelled like green tea.

    It looked and smelled so good that I felt like eating it.

    May told me that the soap “creates a rich, creamy lather that gently moisturizes and softens my skin.”

    She told me to try it, but I never did. It seemed too girly.

    And one bar of soap was five bucks. That’s right… five bucks.

    And May was the type of woman that loved to take showers and even baths. Sometimes, in the summer, three times a day.

    She was costing me a fortune in soap bars. But it was worth it. She was soft to the touch. And smelled exotic. Like Green tea.

    And that’s why I bought her the soap dish. She could now carry her precious, expensive soap with her, in a nice fancy soap dish.

    May grabbed a hold of my arm and I pulled it away. I continued packing as fast as I could.

    May started crying. She knew that I was a man of my words. I said… only what I meant.

    I am not the type of man that there is any subtlety in my words. My words don’t have a double or triple meaning. They are not nuanced. I say what I mean… and then do it.

    I was packing my bags. No soap dish… I’m gone.

    “What are you doing?” asked May through hard sobs. “We’ve been married for twenty-five years and you’re leaving me over a soap dish.”

    I ignored what she said, took the bag that I packed, went downstairs and slammed the door behind me.

    I’m gone.

    I decided to spend the day in a hotel. I didn’t bother to go to work. I had many things to think about and wanted to be left alone. I called to let them know that I wasn’t coming in. It was no big deal. I’m the boss.

    I’m the boss. I’ve always been the boss. I don’t like working for other people. When you’re the boss, or self-employed, your success or failure depends on you. When you work for other people… there’s too much favoritism. Hard work is not rewarded… who the boss likes is.

    As I was driving to the hotel, I started thinking about last evening.

    My wife May and I were dining with my best friend Jeffrey and his girlfriend Diane. We were dining in Jeffrey’s home.

    Amidst the tranquility and fun of a peaceful evening… That’s when the storm arrived.

    Little did I know, but I was already engulfed in a fog that I was not even aware of.

    The truth came in the form of lightning and thunder. Shattering my ignorant bliss into a million pieces.

    That’s when the cloak of darkness and secrecy that surrounded my life began to unravel. And that’s when I was able to peek behind the curtain.

    That’s when this nightmare began.

    The Story will be continued in The Soap Dish 2

    Photo by Stefano Pollio on Unsplash

    https://shorturl.at/s1zFa

    https://shorturl.at/80lLk

    https://www.buymeacoffee.com/johnsaccone

  • The Burglar 5

    Anyone can do well in a sprint, but you have to remember that life is a marathon.

    The doctor told me that for the first two days that I was in the hospital I was in a coma.

    I’ve now been here for three weeks. I’ve lost two fingers on my right hand and three on my left. I have severe facial lacerations and part on my scalp was ripped off.

    I no longer have a lower lip and part of my nose was torn off. I have bites all over my legs and arms and chest and back.

    But not my neck. I made sure to protect that.

    I told the police that I had surrendered. I even told the couple that I didn’t have a weapon. Why did the woman have the dogs attack me?

    The couple told the police that when they entered the apartment their dogs were already attacking me. That they stopped them. That I was lying.

    When the cops started questioning me, I refused to say anything else. I wanted an attorney.

    I was confused. I was weak. I almost died.

    And when I saw my attorney, he told me to take it easy, and we would discuss the case in detail when I was feeling better.

    The couple must have a really good attorney. They usually tell you what to say… so that you don’t get into trouble. He had the woman deny that she commanded the dogs to attack me.

    What it came down to… It was my word against theirs. And you better believe that their attorney knew that. And he would make sure to have the couple use the same rehearsed script. They won’t be tripping over each other’s words. They would back each other up.

    I was a criminal, and they were two upstanding citizens. The cops didn’t believe me.

    I am currently thinking about a career change. Not sure what.

    My mom visited me in the hospital and handed me a letter. It was from my uncle. She went to see him in prison yesterday.

    It read, “Sorry to hear what happened to you. I always told you to carry a gun. I don’t know why you didn’t listen to me. If you had one, you could have killed them all. Keep track of the couple and the two dogs. I’m getting out next year, and I’ll pay them all a visit. And believe me… I’m not the kind of guy you want visiting you.”

    My mom told me that when her younger brother, my uncle, was a little boy that he would never tire of playing. He was a very playful little boy, and very friendly. I wondered how he learned to become a monster.

    I tried to forget what happened to me and move on. But every time I look in the mirror… I’m reminded.

    That couple should have never done that. They knew that I surrendered and was unarmed. And it won’t be just my uncle paying them and the two dogs a visit next year. We’ll be paying them a visit.

    It was Friday and I couldn’t wait to see my mom. She was bringing me some pastries. I have an awful sweet tooth.

    The aroma alone, from freshly baked pastries makes my mouth water. From flaky croissants to sweet Danishes… I crave them all.

    They’re perfect for breakfast… even lunch.

    When my mom arrived, she smilingly handed me the pastries. I didn’t even offer her one.

    She gently wiped the jelly from the donut off my mouth. After I devoured the pastries, we started talking about my case. I couldn’t believe what she was telling me.

    I just started laughing and laughing. My mom looked at me like I was crazy.

    She told me that the couple said, “The rare coins were stolen.”

    She looked at me for a reaction. But I didn’t have any.

    She sternly said, “When the police arrived at the couple’s apartment, they found the safe open and it was empty. And I was told that the combination number to the safe was found in your wallet.”

    I kept laughing.

    She sarcastically said, “Are you on some sugar high from eating the donuts.”

    I didn’t bother to respond.

    She added, “The couple also said they heard another man going down the fire escape. Who was he?”

    I kept laughing and laughing.

    “Are you alright,” asked a concerned mom.

    “Yes.”

    It was ingenious. That’s why the woman had the dogs attack me. She realized in a split second what she needed to do.

    It was a burglary, and I was the burglar. But it wasn’t me that stole the rare coins. They stole the rare coins.

    And more than likely she wanted the dogs to kill me. I was the only one that knew the truth.

    I would later learn that they filed an insurance claim for the theft of the rare coins for over 200,000 dollars.

    I would also later learn from my sources, that the weekend that the couple were going away was wrong. It was the following weekend. The date was wrong.

    That’s why the dogs were in the apartment. The couple never went away. They were home.

    Time goes by very slowly when you’re healing. The monotonous routine is mind-numbing. It felt like I was living in slow motion. Living under water. It was surreal.

    My life used to be like rock and roll. It had a pulsating beat. It resembled Las Vegas nightlife. It had a heartbeat.

    Being in a hospital was as exciting as a children’s petting zoo.

    I was bored out of my mind.

    Maybe that’s why I was having so many arguments with the staff.

    I’m an extrovert. Is that a flaw? It is when you combine it with boredom. We can become insufferable bullies. We crave attention.

    I was eventually released from the hospital.

    As I was leaving, I heard one of the nurses’ comments, “Good riddance!”

    When I went to visit my uncle in prison, I told him everything about that awful night. And I told him about the date mix-up.

    He smiled and said, “Don’t you get it. It was a scam from the beginning. The couple purposely left the wall safe combination number by the safe. They wanted one of the construction workers to see it and break in. Or pass the combination number off to someone else, and that person would burglarize their apartment.”

    “But why?”

    “Why? It’s so simple. That’s why they had the wall safe installed in their apartment in the first place. They wanted people to know that they had valuable coins stored there. I’m sure people knew that this guy was a rare coin dealer. That’s also why they let people know that they were going away for the weekend. It was a set-up. They weren’t really going away. They would be waiting. Waiting silently with their well-trained dogs in their three-bedroom apartment. Waiting silently with their well-trained dogs to attack and kill the guy that broke in and give the police the same excuse… There were two of them, and the other guy ran off with the coins. It was an insurance scam. It was all planned. By the way, you’re lucky to be alive.”

    I started crying.

    I felt so embarrassed, but I couldn’t stop myself. The tears were streaming down my face.

    I had been through so much.

    I knew that throughout my life, the scars on my face would haunt me and serve as a constant reminder about that dark night. Throughout my life, the memory would sting my eyes and be rinsed out by my tears.

    And for me, the world will change. That’s inevitable. It looks very different when you see it through scars and tears.

    Don’t get me wrong… I’ll still dance my way through life. You can’t change what you are. But I’ll tweak it here and there. And I’ll always be looking over my shoulder.

    My mom told me, “Even after the darkest storms… afterward, the sun shines.”

    That’s true. But sometimes after a bad storm, a tree is uprooted. Or a baby bird is displaced from its nest. The storm leaves its own scars.

    I didn’t realize it when I was younger, but the bill for choosing unwisely in life… always comes due.

    The postman always rings twice.

    I would never rob anyone again.

    I now knew what it was like to be caught in a spider’s web, and to be at the mercy of a spider. And the spider’s gaze is cold and merciless.

    Photo by Aconitum on Unsplash

    Hospital bed photo by Author.

    https://shorturl.at/s1zFa

    https://shorturl.at/80lLk

    https://www.buymeacoffee.com/johnsaccone

  • The Burglar 4

    Encumbered? Aren’t we all? Along with the gift of life comes a dubious present… a gift of hardship and tears.

    We toil and labor for our keep.

    But the Benefits of life… clearly outweigh the inconveniences.

    The inconveniences?

    In the midst of life there is a constant struggle.

    In the midst of life there is sickness and death.

    And yet, in the midst of life even though we are battle weary… we march on.

    I looked around the darkened closet with my small flashlight for a weapon. Anything that I could use to defend myself. There was nothing.

    All I had on me was the glass cutter. Would that be enough to ward off the two big dogs? Would it be enough to defend myself?

    I found a wire hanger and bent the hook. I made it straight. I made it into a pointy weapon. If I had to, I would stab the dogs with it.

    I took the shoulders of the hanger — the triangular part that holds the clothes — and bent them together. I was trying to make it into a handle so that I could grasp it better. Turn it into a better weapon.

    I was ready. But I knew I had to calm myself down. My hands were shaking. And I was breathing heavily. I was wondering if I was having a panic attack.

    Calm down! Calm down! I didn’t want the dogs to see that I was scared. Or scent it.

    The thought of just staying in the closet briefly flashed through my mind. Why risk being attacked by the two big dogs? But what if someone heard them barking? What if they called the cops?

    I couldn’t take the chance.

    And the dogs seemed to be much calmer now.

    I started thinking about the beach, and a warm summer day. Girls all around… with hardly anything on.

    I started thinking about Vivian. We both loved to dine and dance and party. Life for the both of us was a never-ending roller-coaster ride.

    I thought about the cruise ship that we went on together. And that one starlit night, when the fragrance of love was in the air.

    It was magical.

    We were near the ship’s bow when I proposed.

    And with her long golden hair blowing in the breeze and the backdrop of the moon and stars… She looked like a goddess.

    She accepted, and smiled lovingly, looking at me bending down with my knee on the floor.

    We had a big party afterward to celebrate the occasion. Though neither of us ever really needed a reason to party or celebrate.

    I calmed down.

    I was ready!

    I came out with a big smile on my face and started petting the dogs. And while I was petting them… I was talking nicely to them.

    My heart was beating so fast that I thought it would break free from my chest. The two vicious dogs were now acting like playful puppies. One even jumped on me and almost knocked me down.

    The light was on! Someone turned on the light. It was the couple. They returned. But they were supposed to be gone for the weekend. I put my hands up. And dropped the hanger, and glass cutter. I surrendered.

    I said, “I don’t have a weapon.”

    The woman yelled, “Caesar, Brutus attack.” She pointed her finger at me.

    The playful German Shepherds turned into the monsters that they were trained to be.

    I tried to protect my neck. I read that is the first place they like to attack.

    I was screaming, begging… pleading.

    I felt the pressure from the dogs’ powerful jaws as they bit into my arms and legs.

    I screamed, “My hand! My fingers! My fingers! Call them off!”

    I was down. I was on the floor. The dogs were on top of me.

    The side of my face was being ripped apart.

    I was being torn apart.

    The story will be continued in the Burglar 5.

    Thanks for reading. And your comments are always welcome.

    Photo by TSI on Unsplash

    https://shorturl.at/80lLk

    https://shorturl.at/s1zFa

    https://www.buymeacoffee.com/johnsaccone

  • The Burglar 3

    There is a world that breathes fire and brimstone… but rather than be afraid, its enticing green allure intoxicates many people.

    There is an underground network of deception and fraud. A huge snake slithering under the very fabric of a civilized society.

    The scent of money fuels its passion.

    Those that are hypnotized become part of a culture that scams, cons, steals, and deceives. And even kills.

    They become part of the snake. And their voracious appetites are never satiated.

    Trapped in this maze are the gullible citizens that the snake preys upon.

    It’s only a matter of time before you fall into its grasp and become its next victim.

    It’s only a matter of time before you’re gasping for breath.

    The players that roll the dice, come from all parts of society. And they play a wide variety of deceitful games very well.

    The black market helps them. The internet helps them.

    Need a fake ID? No problem. Need a fake Social Security number? No problem. Need a fake degree that you can put on your office wall? No problem. Fake death certificate? No problem. Fake work permit? No problem. Fake naturalization papers? No problem. Fake passport? No problem. Fake tax return from the IRS? No problem. Fake vendors license? No problem. Fake Sales tax number? No problem.

    The list goes on and on.

    I received information that a couple was going away for the weekend. They live in the well to do Brooklyn Heights area. The husband is a collector of rare coins. He keeps them in a wall safe.

    He either shows the rare coins off whenever he has company, or transacts business in his home. That’s why he needs them to be readily available.

    Can you believe the ego this guy has? What a narcissistic personality. He probably thought that he would never get robbed. Is he someone special?

    This was an easy score. I canvassed the area. I always do that before a job. It’s just common sense.

    They live on the second floor and the building is on the corner. There is no other building across the street. Just small businesses that would be closed late at night. Perfect. No prying eyes to be worried about.

    Amazingly, they have a fire escape around the back of the building. Easy for me to climb up. Could this get any easier? They should just hand me the keys.

    How am I going to get the wall safe open?

    The wall safe was installed a month ago.

    One of the people cleaning up the mess that the construction workers left after putting in the wall safe, found a paper with a combination number on it. It was carelessly left by the safe. The guy took a picture of it with his cell phone.

    All his contacts needed now was a time when the couple were going away. A time when they won’t be home. When they found that out, they would contact my people.

    ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

    It was easy getting the window open. Do you know what a glass cutter is?

    It is a tool used to make a scratch on the surface of glass, creating a weak point that allows the glass to be broken cleanly along the scratched surface. I made a hole big enough for my hand to get through, and unlocked the window.

    I learned that it’s a good idea to put fast acting cement glue in the middle of where you’re scratching with the glass cutter. I usually glue a small handle to the window. This way, instead of pushing the glass in… you can pull it out. That way the glass won’t fall to the floor and make any noise.

    I was in.

    I don’t know why, but I always tiptoe around. I turned on my small flashlight so that I could see. I thought I heard something. What was that? I ran into the closet and closed the door behind me. I left it open wide enough so that I could take a peek.

    Through the crack I saw two enormous German Shepherd dogs. I don’t know if they saw me or could smell me, but they started barking viciously at the closet door.

    I was trapped.

    I wondered if any of the neighbors could hear them. They were making quite a racket.

    I was afraid.

    If the dogs didn’t get me the cops would. Someone is bound to call them.

    The dogs are making too much noise. Why didn’t they hear me earlier? Before I opened the window. If I would’ve seen them… I would have left.

    Were they asleep? Were they eating? Were they humping on each other?

    The information that I received was bad. It was bad. No mention of dogs.

    And these were not small or medium sized German Shepherds. They looked like they were on steroids. I thought of calling my uncle. What was I thinking about? He was in jail.

    I had to use my brain. I had to calm myself down. I had to think.

    I started talking nicely to the dogs. “Here boy… nice boy. Do you want a treat? A dog bone?” I kept talking and talking. “Do you want to play fetch with a ball?”

    They weren’t barking as much. They were calming down. I continued talking to them softly and then I opened up the door wide enough so that I could stick out my left hand. My right hand held my glass cutter. My heart was pounding. I started petting one of the dogs. They both started wagging their tails.

    I continued talking to them. “Good boy… good boy.”

    Were they playing me for a fool? If I came out… would they tear me to pieces?

    The story will be continued in The Burglar 4

    Thank you for reading, your feedback is warmly appreciated and anxiously awaited.

    Photo by Siora Photography on Unsplash

    https://shorturl.at/s1zFa

    https://shorturl.at/80lLk

    https://www.buymeacoffee.com/johnsaccone

  • The Burglar 2

    One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

    Where does the time go? They say that time flies by when you’re having fun. And I’ve had plenty of fun. A non-stop party.

    I’ve danced. I’ve dined.

    Romanced. Laughed. Lived.

    I’m twenty-four now. And for the past five years I’ve been a burglar. I’ve robbed over fifty homes and have only been caught once. I pleaded guilty.

    My attorney told me to tell the judge that, “I needed the money to pay my rent. I never did anything like that before and would never do it again.”

    Two years’ probation. I couldn’t believe it. I almost started laughing in court, but my attorney gave me a stern look. My mom was so relieved that she started crying. That happened three years ago, and I haven’t been caught since.

    When I first started this business, my uncle taught me what to do and introduced me to people that would help me. I was so naive.

    Do you know that there is an underground network of people that provide professional burglars with information, and they get paid for the information? In the beginning I didn’t know that.

    The information can come from a waitress working in a diner in a rich neighborhood that learns that the rich family is going on vacation. It can come from a postal worker that delivers their mail. It can come from a bartender. It can come from a cop. It can come from a real estate agent working in the area. It can come from a nanny.

    It can come from anywhere dark.

    All you have to know is who to give the information to. The average person doesn’t know. But those that do make a nice side income. There is an underground market for everything. And people get paid for referrals.

    There was one guy I knew that made over 50K referring people to guys that would set them up with fake Social Security numbers. And other fake State IDs.

    Fraud everywhere. Corruption everywhere. Everyone is looting the government piggy bank, and no one is held accountable.

    Even dead people are receiving government checks. They even received Covid checks.

    Too much fraud. Too much corruption. Impossible to track it all down. And we know that.

    If you’re a criminal, the prison system is like going to college. It’s a great place to learn or refine your craft. My uncle learned many things there.

    He learned how to use a computer. And he learned how to rob people using it.

    Simple scam.

    Attack them with a virus. It will freeze their computer and have a warning appear on their screen.

    “Warning! Your system has been compromised by hackers. All your private information is at risk. Contact this number immediately.”

    A telephone number starts flashing on the person’s screen. And to make the warning even more ominous… It is accompanied by a loud sounding alarm.

    When people call the number on their computer screen the con artist pretends to work for the computer company.

    The mark, not thinking and worried that his bank information and other financial information is at risk… allows the scammer access to his computer.

    The scammer has him download a program that makes that possible.

    And while that is happening the scammer tells him not to hang up. He needs to resolve this issue immediately. And starts asking him a series of questions about his computer.

    Part of the scam.

    The scammer wants to keep the mark focused and worried. The scammer also doesn’t want the mark to call someone else. Someone that might be thinking more clearly. Someone that might question what is going on.

    The program has been downloaded.

    The scammer now has access to the computer… and he now steers the mark to his bank account, and other financial accounts, on the pretense that they needed to check to see if anything was stolen.

    The scammer can see the mark enter his password into the different accounts.

    Once the scammer assures the mark that his account is safe, he tells the mark that he will receive an email — part of the scam — so that he can rate the help that he received.

    The scammer says goodbye and hangs up.

    But the scammer still has access to the marks computer and starts transferring money from the marks bank accounts or other financial accounts. The scammer robs the guy blind.

    Out of one hundred people: how many people would fall for this scam?

    All you need is one. And you’ve made a nice score. And seniors are the most gullible. Not only because of their age but also because they are not technologically savvy.

    And that is why they like to do the scams in the afternoon. When the adults that a senior citizen might be living with are at work or at school.

    Easy prey.

    Just one of many scams.

    When my uncle found out that a friend of mine, Gerard, who moved to Pennsylvania, was working at an upscale watch factory there, making these really expensive watches, he challenged me to a bet.

    He said to me, “Let’s see how smart you are. How can you steal watches from that factory? If you don’t figure it out… you owe me a steak dinner.”

    I took the bet, but I knew that it was impossible. Gerard and I had already talked about it.

    But I was curious. Maybe my uncle really could figure out a way.

    No one could enter the factory with a bag. Not even a jacket or coat.

    They had a separate room, away from the factory entrance, for employees to keep their personal belongings.

    And after their shift finished, the employees had to leave through an exit in the rear of the factory that had a metal detector. And from there they could go and pick up their belongings.

    It was impossible.

    I finally figured it out. I felt like I was struck with a lightning bolt. I had an epiphany.

    I proudly told my uncle, “You can take the expensive watches and throw them out the window, and someone outside can catch them.”

    My uncle started laughing. And so did his two friends, Sally and Patrick.

    I started oozing red. I felt like a fool.

    But my mom wasn’t laughing. She was listening behind the door.

    I never saw her hit her younger brother, my uncle before. But she came storming into the living room and started pounding on him while yelling, “Why are you teaching him these things. You’re teaching him to be a criminal.”

    I didn’t find out that day how to steal the watches from the factory. But eventually my uncle told me.

    Have you figured it out?

    You never will. It’s so simple.

    You throw the watches in the garbage. Four or five a day. Eight or nine a day. Whatever you can.

    At this watch factory, every night, after the workers went home, the owner, accompanied by a security guard, would watch the maintenance worker take the garbage to the front of the factory, exit, and go to the service area elevators.

    These elevators left the worker off in the back of the factory, in the garbage area.

    One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

    Gerard started doing what my uncle told him. Just a few at a time.

    Benny, an accomplice and friend of Gerard’s who also lived in the area, would pretend to be a homeless man.

    And every night, he would go to the garbage area in the back of the factory. He would open up the bags of garbage. But he wasn’t looking for food, or a place to sleep. He was looking for expensive upscale watches that sold for around two thousand dollars each.

    Gerard did it for only one month. My uncle didn’t want to get greedy. He felt that even the dumb factory owners would eventually figure out that their inventory was disappearing.

    In one month, Gerard threw in the garbage a total of one hundred watches. The average retail value for each was 2,500 dollars.

    They stole 250,000 dollars.

    I would later learn that this way of stealing was not unknown.

    Professional thieves would even work regular jobs to infiltrate a company.

    And throwing out merchandise with garbage has been around for decades.

    That’s why they say, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

    The story will be continued in The Burglar 3

    Photo by Lumensoft Technologies via Unsplash

    https://shorturl.at/s1zFa

    https://shorturl.at/80lLk

    https://www.buymeacoffee.com/johnsaccone

  • The Burglar

    The titillating wisp of life, while fleeting, is still something to behold.

    I like to party like there is no tomorrow. And I hang out with people that are

    like-minded. We inhale life to the fullest, and for us there is no other way to live.

    We empty the glass. And then the bottle.

    The vagaries of life have instilled in me a desire to flaunt the moment and live it.

    I like girls. I always have. I like fancy clubs. I always have. I like dining in classy restaurants that serve great food and wine. I always have. I am just like my uncle.

    My uncle Don is my mom’s brother. He’s the black sheep in the family. When I was younger, and he would disappear for a few months or a year or two, my family would tell me that he was in the Army and being deployed.

    As I got older, I realized that he was a criminal, and he was going back and forth to jail. He was also a jack of all trades. He didn’t specialize in any type of criminal activity. He just robbed whenever he could.

    I also heard he was a low-level drug dealer. And he would also work from time to time with Mr. D’Angelis, who was a loan shark, and he collected money that people owed him.

    I was afraid of my uncle’s buddies.

    I was fourteen when I met Sally and Patrick. Neither guy looked like nice people. And you could tell by the way they spoke and the coarse language that they used… they weren’t choir boys.

    I can still vividly recall that day my mom got home from work, and she saw the three of them sitting in her kitchen and playing cards. She went berserk. She didn’t mind putting her brother up when he needed a place to live — he was her flesh and blood — but she didn’t like his friends.

    I didn’t understand it at the time. I felt my mom was very rude to my uncle’s friends and they were both always very nice and respectful toward her.

    As I got older, I realized that their nice demeanor was just like the mask of a clown. Behind the mask… their true personalities hid.

    And don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t because my mom was afraid of my uncle’s friends. She just didn’t want them around her son. They were a bad influence.

    I remember one day coming home from a party, and it was very late at night. I was a few blocks from my home, and I saw Patrick inside Mr. Carrell’s car. I hid behind a van and watched.

    The car’s hood was up.

    Mr. Carrell owned the butcher shop, and he drove a Lexus. Patrick drove off with the car. He stole it.

    Since the arrival of my uncle and his friends, there were all kinds of strange things happening in my neighborhood. Guys with license plates from New Jersey and even Connecticut would pull up in front of a grocery store two blocks from me. They would go inside and stay a few minutes and leave without buying any groceries.

    One time I saw a cop car pull up, and the cops got out, and walked over to Patrick, and he handed them a black plastic bag. Was it money? Was it drugs?

    There were also a few burglaries in the neighborhood. The richer people in the neighborhood were being targeted.

    It was a Saturday afternoon, and I was watching a football game. I just turned nineteen a few days ago.

    My uncle asked, “Do you feel like going for a ride?”

    “Where to?”

    “New Jersey.”

    I asked, “Do you know people in Jersey? Who are we going to see?”

    He abruptly asked, “Do you want to go or not.”

    I went. It was a nice drive. And the area we were in had really big homes. You could tell that the people that lived there were very affluent. Instead of smelling the green grass, you could smell the money.

    We stopped at this one house, and my uncle pulled the car around the back. Away from the main road. The nearest home was over 2500 feet away.

    We got out of the car, and he handed me a balaclava which covers your entire face and neck. People wear them in the winter to protect them from the cold weather.

    I saw enough movies, where the crooks wore the same thing. Something was about to go down.

    I was surprised. I wasn’t afraid.

    My heart was racing. It was exciting.

    My uncle gave me a sledgehammer to carry. He had wire cutters, and he quickly disabled the alarm. He easily broke the lock on the back door, and we were in.

    Once inside, he knew exactly where he was going. He climbed up the stairs like he owned the place. I was tiptoeing.

    We went into a bedroom, and he took down a painting. There was a wall safe behind it. He handed me his backpack.

    He told me, “Fill it up with money, jewelry, and anything that looks valuable.”

    I started with the bedroom that we were in and then started searching the other rooms. While I was doing that my uncle used the sledgehammer to break the sheetrock and concrete around the wall safe.

    In one of the rooms, I found a jewelry box with a mirror in it. It had all kinds of jewelry.

    Chains, bracelets, watches, rings. I didn’t know if it was junk jewelry or not. I would later learn how to tell the difference.

    I took everything.

    My uncle called me on my cellphone. He was finished.

    The both of us pulled the wall safe out of the wall and carried it to the car. That was the hardest part of the job. The wall safe was heavy.

    That was my first burglary. We stole almost twenty-five thousand dollars in half an hour.

    My uncle gave me four thousand dollars. And while he paid me, he crowed, “I knew you were just like me. Pretty girls, fast cars, and a carefree lifestyle.”

    The story will be continued in The Burglar 2

    Photo by Michael G via Unsplash

    https://shorturl.at/s1zFa

    https://shorturl.at/80lLk

    https://www.buymeacoffee.com/johnsaccone