On PHILADELPHIA
Gangs of Philadelphia
Benjamin Franklin looked out from the portico of Independence Hall and saw the city of Philadelphia in flames. This was the dark side of the people that he had always heard about. He grabbed his shooting pistol and walking boots and strode out into the streets of Philadelphia.
He ran into a policeman who was looking fearfully at the flames, striding aimlessly under a lamp post.
“What is your name, officer?” Benjamin Franklin asked.
“What’s it to you?” retorted the man.
“Aren’t you going to go and put a stop to this nonsense?” demanded Franklin.
“ I ain’t going in there. That’s Gang part of town. If you’re smart, you won’t go either,” said the cop. “Who are you?”
“Benjamin Franklin,” he replied.
“There ain’t no Benjamin Franklin.” Said the man, scowling. “He long dead, and this town gone to shit since.”
“Well alright. I’ll see you another time, officer,” said Franklin, and he pushed past the policeman into an alleyway, past drunks and slums and onto the outskirts of town. He knew enough not to travel into the riot area, not now. A horse ran into view, having bolted from the fire, and Franklin leaped up onto the horse, calming it down and directing it west. He had an appointment in the village of Haddington with Mr. Tex Samuels.
Ben Franklin reached the industrial hamlet of Haddington and hitched his horse outside the Whitesides Inn. He walked in through the main door and sat down in the first table he saw. Soon a man with a handlebar mustache sat down opposite him, silently.
“How are you?” asked Benjamin.
“Very bad,” drawled Tex. “A group of vigilantes are reckoning themselves up to do away with us.”
“How many?”
“I reckon about ten or so?”
“Tombstone Allen?” asked Ben, arching an eyebrow.
“Yup. Sounds like you’ve got the long and short of it. Now what can you do for me?”
Ben looked around the tavern. There was hardly anyone down in the main room, most had holed up in their rooms, afraid the violence might spread from the downtown. There was a young woman in a bonnet, pecking at a plate of potatoes, and disheveled gentleman in a shapeless hat and a mostly unbuttoned shirt. He had a couple of bottles of beer in front of of him, and had the air of someone who wanted to get drunk, but didn’t have a lot of experience doing so. Who he didn’t see was Eddie the Shooter, with his narrow, lined face and dark eyes. Either Shooter was off on another assignment, or he was remaining hidden. Either way, Tex wasn’t going to meet with anyone without a backup watching from somewhere.
“The sherriff here, McCoy, is a friend of mine,” Ben said.
“I bet he is,” answered Tex skeptically.
“I have a few friends in town. I know that you and the Bummers aren’t the real problems in Philadelphia county, I know you and Eddie and the rest didn’t start what’s happening downtown. But I know you know who got killed last night at South and 4th.”
“Why would you say that?” asked Tex.
“Tell me more, and I’ll get Bones McCoy to lay off you boys for a while.”
“How long?”
“Two weeks,” said Ben. We wasn’t sure it would be enough.
“That’s all you can do, huh,” said Tex, leaning back in his chair. “I figure as much. Look, I’ll tell you whut. You do what you say you can do. Get Bones to walk out on Chestnut Street, look me in the eye and give me a nod. Get him to show me a little respect that way. Then, I’ll give you whut info I can gather tonight and you’ll have a clue to your mystery. I can tell you what I know right now, though: Italians and Blacks. Don’t have to look much further than that.”
Showing posts with label Philadelphia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Philadelphia. Show all posts
Monday, March 9, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
On THE LIBERTY BELL
January 2nd
I figure out the puzzle before being hanged, having only a head and two arms in the noose.
On THE LIBERTY BELL
I know two twin brothers, Steve and David Pukin. Steve lives in Toronto, like me. David lives in Chicago now, taking forensics at a college there, but in 2005 Steve and David lived together in a big pink house on Bellevue Avenue in Kensington Market in Toronto. Steve and David are from Winnipeg, Steve was part of our group of friends at McMaster in the drama program, and we met David through him. They don’t like to play it up that much, but both Pukins really like the Smashing Pumpkins. Steve, at least, is well known in the online Pumpkins community, and has organized several tribute concerts.
So, when we were out at our local pub on the Pukins’ birthday, we ended up talking about the Billy Corgan concert tour that was going on that summer. Steve and David were bummed because the only show that would have fit into their schedule was in Philadelphia, which was eight hours away. I was a bit drunk (others would tell you I was very drunk) and suggested a road trip. Well, I told them that I would drive them to Philadelphia as a birthday present, and told Krista she would be coming too. When Steve called the next day I told him I always keep my drunken promises, and so I arranged procurement of the Barcmovan (my parents’s minivan) and picked up Steve, David, and their Pumpkins friend Erin, and off we went towards Philadelphia, PA.
The first incident we had on ‘the road’ (before we had left Erin’s driveway), was when I backed into a wooden porch and broke the right taillight. Krista spent the next little while taping the plastic shards of the taillight together with duct tape, I think because she thought it would help explain the whole ‘taillight situation’ at the border. Sometimes my wife (girlfriend at the time) has a logic that is all her own. We trundled along, Erin sleeping in the back and only waking up to complain, and the Pukins chirping in the middle seats about Philadelphia and the Smashing Pumpkins. It became clear that Krista and I would be the parents on the road trip. When we got to the border, Krista turned around and told the twins to stay cool and say nothing.
We pulled up to the customs officer and she asked us where we were going. We told her, to the Billy Corgan concert in Philadelphia. She responded, in customs officer deadpan, “Did you hear the Smashing Pumpkins are getting back together?” Steve and David jumped out of their seats with excitement, responding with a torrent of rumour and hearsay that they had picked up online. David tried to open the side door to the van to talk more freely with the border guard, but the Barcmovan doesn’t allow doors to be opened while the engine is on, so the van just beeped angrily, and David tried to stick his head between the driver’s headrest and the window as we pulled away.
Shortly after Krista started her driving shift (we split the duties into 3 shifts, Me, Krista, and then Steve, because David didn’t have a license) we were pulled over and Krista got a speeding ticket. Not only was that bad for the obvious reason that we now had to pay a speeding ticket from a foreign nation, but it also turned out to be a lesson Steve and David really took to heart. Which is why, during Steve’s shift, we ended up driving five miles under the limit at three in the morning on a Pennsylvania highway with no cars for miles around. I gently suggested we could drive a couple miles over the limit, and the fuzz probably wouldn’t bother us. The fuzz is what we all called the cops the entire trip. I said it first as a joke, and then Steve and David started yelling ‘The fuzz!’ anytime we saw a car that looking like a police car. So whenever Steve got a little brave and started creeping up his speed, David would remind him that the fuzz were probably watching and he’s slow back down. Krista was asleep.
Once we got into Philadelphia, we did usual touristy things: we climbed up the Rocky steps and had our pictures taken at the top in celebratory poses (except for me, I feigned exhaustion), had cheesesteaks from Jim’s Steaks (which is one of at least three places which were ‘the famous one’) and went to the Liberty Bell. I wanted to spend longer reading the accompanying exhibit, but we had to run to try and catch the Duck Boat tour, which we didn’t make. It’s true, though, the Liberty Bell does have a crack in it.
We drove back after a lovely night with a few more ridiculous incidents, and we all agreed that it was a road trip for the ages, and we would have to do another one soon.
I figure out the puzzle before being hanged, having only a head and two arms in the noose.
On THE LIBERTY BELL
I know two twin brothers, Steve and David Pukin. Steve lives in Toronto, like me. David lives in Chicago now, taking forensics at a college there, but in 2005 Steve and David lived together in a big pink house on Bellevue Avenue in Kensington Market in Toronto. Steve and David are from Winnipeg, Steve was part of our group of friends at McMaster in the drama program, and we met David through him. They don’t like to play it up that much, but both Pukins really like the Smashing Pumpkins. Steve, at least, is well known in the online Pumpkins community, and has organized several tribute concerts.
So, when we were out at our local pub on the Pukins’ birthday, we ended up talking about the Billy Corgan concert tour that was going on that summer. Steve and David were bummed because the only show that would have fit into their schedule was in Philadelphia, which was eight hours away. I was a bit drunk (others would tell you I was very drunk) and suggested a road trip. Well, I told them that I would drive them to Philadelphia as a birthday present, and told Krista she would be coming too. When Steve called the next day I told him I always keep my drunken promises, and so I arranged procurement of the Barcmovan (my parents’s minivan) and picked up Steve, David, and their Pumpkins friend Erin, and off we went towards Philadelphia, PA.
The first incident we had on ‘the road’ (before we had left Erin’s driveway), was when I backed into a wooden porch and broke the right taillight. Krista spent the next little while taping the plastic shards of the taillight together with duct tape, I think because she thought it would help explain the whole ‘taillight situation’ at the border. Sometimes my wife (girlfriend at the time) has a logic that is all her own. We trundled along, Erin sleeping in the back and only waking up to complain, and the Pukins chirping in the middle seats about Philadelphia and the Smashing Pumpkins. It became clear that Krista and I would be the parents on the road trip. When we got to the border, Krista turned around and told the twins to stay cool and say nothing.
We pulled up to the customs officer and she asked us where we were going. We told her, to the Billy Corgan concert in Philadelphia. She responded, in customs officer deadpan, “Did you hear the Smashing Pumpkins are getting back together?” Steve and David jumped out of their seats with excitement, responding with a torrent of rumour and hearsay that they had picked up online. David tried to open the side door to the van to talk more freely with the border guard, but the Barcmovan doesn’t allow doors to be opened while the engine is on, so the van just beeped angrily, and David tried to stick his head between the driver’s headrest and the window as we pulled away.
Shortly after Krista started her driving shift (we split the duties into 3 shifts, Me, Krista, and then Steve, because David didn’t have a license) we were pulled over and Krista got a speeding ticket. Not only was that bad for the obvious reason that we now had to pay a speeding ticket from a foreign nation, but it also turned out to be a lesson Steve and David really took to heart. Which is why, during Steve’s shift, we ended up driving five miles under the limit at three in the morning on a Pennsylvania highway with no cars for miles around. I gently suggested we could drive a couple miles over the limit, and the fuzz probably wouldn’t bother us. The fuzz is what we all called the cops the entire trip. I said it first as a joke, and then Steve and David started yelling ‘The fuzz!’ anytime we saw a car that looking like a police car. So whenever Steve got a little brave and started creeping up his speed, David would remind him that the fuzz were probably watching and he’s slow back down. Krista was asleep.
Once we got into Philadelphia, we did usual touristy things: we climbed up the Rocky steps and had our pictures taken at the top in celebratory poses (except for me, I feigned exhaustion), had cheesesteaks from Jim’s Steaks (which is one of at least three places which were ‘the famous one’) and went to the Liberty Bell. I wanted to spend longer reading the accompanying exhibit, but we had to run to try and catch the Duck Boat tour, which we didn’t make. It’s true, though, the Liberty Bell does have a crack in it.
We drove back after a lovely night with a few more ridiculous incidents, and we all agreed that it was a road trip for the ages, and we would have to do another one soon.
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