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News Worthy

Eric Burbridge

    Dammit! The cops sped up behind me and hit the lights. I pulled over. Both officers got out, the medium height and build sergeant stayed back behind the door. The rookie approached and adjusted his gun belt. I lowered my window. “License and insurance card.” I pulled the cards out my wallet.
    “What’s the problem, officer?” <>ILike I didn’t know.
    “Speeding...you doing 50 in a 35.” He bent down, looked in and gave the interior of my Avalon the once over. We stared at each other for a second. Damn, it couldn’t be the kid on the bike in the projects. The same stab wound on his right cheek. His eyes still cheerful, but probing. The thick lips and long pointy nose the same. Eight years hadn’t changed him for the most part. But, that squeaky voice shouting out on his bike, “Little guy coming through” matured. He walked back to his cruiser. I adjusted my mirror when they got in. His supervisor answered his cell and laughed. The rookie’s eyes were fixated on the computer screen.
    That day in the most dangerous housing project in the city came back to me.
    “A thousand degrees in the shade.” They said. The only shade in the projects, park the mail truck where the sun shines opposite the driver. I rolled the window all the way down, leaned back and closed my eyes. The heat and humidity zapped my energy and I nodded off.
    “Yo, mailman...mailman.”
    Somebody nudged my shoulder. My eyes popped open; I didn’t know where I was for a second. I wiped my mouth and turned. A tall muscular white guy with long blonde hair in baggy bleached khaki pants and a bare hairless chest stood by the door with a huge yellow python wrapped around his neck. “Whoa!” I leaned back against the mail. I was trapped by some asshole that looked like Tarzan or Conan the Barbarian.
    “Relax, he won’t hurt you!” The viper curled and stiffened with its head below its owners chin.
    “What do you want...you scared the mess out of me?”
    “Wake up, you drooling.” He walked away.
    Where in the hell was he going with that snake?
    The sun slapped me in the face when I u-turned, but I had to see the show. He stopped at the corner liquor store and turned slowly to display the snake. The brothers paid little, if any, attention. Ante-up on a drink had priority. That crazy white boy, they’d seen before; I hadn’t. A couple of kids spoke, but kept they’re distance. Typical street activity increased that time of the afternoon outside the rows of high rise buildings. Gunshots echoed from “The OK Corral” the nickname for the big parking lot behind the high rises. Time to go. Several times residents warned me of upcoming disputes between rival gangs. Nobody wanted the heat for shooting a federal employee. Thank God, my truck never got hit, but there’s always a first time.
    I cruised two blocks north on Larrabee and parked, but drug dealers argued with customers and gang members started to gather. I zipped around the block and when I returned the low-lifes had dispersed. I parked in front of the store and got a cold bottle of water. A teenager on a bike yelled, “Little guy coming through.” He zoomed around me and others. He’d changed from a black T-shirt to a blue sleeveless shirt, but I remember the stab wound on his cheek. He could be a drug mule or a dealer. He stopped by the lunatic with the Python. That’s when I first noticed “Exotic Pets” in bright colors on a black panel truck parked on the next block.
    So that’s what he’s up too, selling snakes.
    Selling exotic pets in the projects? I didn’t think so.
    The kid tossed Tarzan a plastic bag. Drugs, I knew it, but what idiot buys drugs with a snake around his neck? Leave it in the truck. He tossed a roll back and the kid rode away and cut the corner. Tarzan stopped between two old store front buildings. The kid on the bike shot out from between the structures; stopped, pulled a small pistol, fired at the snake and sped off. Blood gushed out the snake’s torso. It coiled around its owner’s neck. He grabbed at the thick yellow vipers body while spit flew out his mouth. Gasps were cut short by the constrictor’s painful efforts to recover from the wound. The guy tried to run, stumbled and landed on his face. His spun over and over again; the snakes grip couldn’t be broken. Veins bulged on his face from the strangulation that turned him cherry red. His bluish tongue hung out his mouth while he kicked and rolled. I stood close by the guy, helpless like the rest of the crowd. The snake made its final death squeeze; that’s when the victim’s terror filled eyes shot out their sockets. The crowd screamed in horror. I looked away and almost heaved up my lunch.
    “Dumb ass, deserved it for bringing a snake out here anyway,” People said.
    Some people have no compassion, even for stupidity.
    Sirens... the crowd scattered; I followed and headed back to the station. A dead white guy with a snake around his neck meant trouble.
    Who would believe this story? But, I still couldn’t wait to tell my fellow carriers especially the guys who worked the projects.
    Not all of them laughed, but they said, “You lying, Charlie. A Python in the projects? Yeah right.”
    “OK laugh, I bet it’ll be on the news. Who’d make up this stuff?” When I swiped out curiosity got the best of me. I made a beeline for the projects. I passed a Metro Ambulance and an Animal Control Vehicle headed in the opposite direction. The cops barricaded the entrance to Larrabee Ave, but a news truck was allowed through the road block. Now they’ll see I wasn’t lying.
    The Ten O’ Clock News promised a bizarre tragic story later in the broadcast.
    They lied and said the usual thing about the projects. They always decline to mention the outsiders who stir up trouble while supporting the drug trade.
    I lucked out; management approved my transfer the next day. No more deliveries in the projects.
    The cop got out the cruiser. I saw a piece of paper flop in the breeze. I hope he forgot I witnessed him being responsible for someone’s death. He pointed at the citation. “Well, mailman I put you down for below the ten miles over limit.” So much for him forgetting. “Go to court, I won’t be there...and out it goes. Slow down.” He gave me a hard look. “You know mailman, people do change...right?” I nodded. He got in his car and they drove off. Not a bad way of saying “Live and let live.” He will not see me speeding on that street again if I have anything to do with it.



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