The Amsterdam Repentance, Part 1

ONE

“Dear God,” he mumbled under his breath as the train whisked past the trees. It was autumn and they sported red-orange leaves – the type that showed the true beauty of nature, the type that he gazed at in true admiration, envious of their grace.

Every time before an expedition, he made the trek upstate to gather some supplies and to gain some sort of reconciliation as he prepared.

Internally, he was a fairly religious fellow – he knows that there’s a God, but he doesn’t take the Bible literally, and doesn’t feel like it should be interpreted as such. Externally, he looks like everyone else -- a fair-skinned man with a reasonable, or, depending on how you look at it, an unreasonable amount of facial scruff.

He wore his pair of immaculately polished black army boots to with his Military Service Uniform and badly craved a clove, to the point to where he was jittery — that was the only thing he was jittery about.

There was something about the uniform. Something that tricked regular folk in to tolerating corruption in its truest sense. It blinded people into believing that everything that soldiers do is for the good of Country. The good of Country is really an illusion, no one really obeys the Constitution and some of these commanding officers lead by example as they wipe their asses with it, just like every other criminal.

“Have mercy on me…I pray that justice always be served, and your will always done…”

He always spoke to God, He was like the only friend who listened to his problems and didn’t interrupt or offer any ‘better’ solution. But he wasn’t seeking solutions, just someone to vent to about the only thing that really had him vexed -- his love life.

Asking God for His forgiveness was a daily routine, he probably committed at least one sin everyday, but he never asked God for protection from his enemies…or his friends, who are always more likely to cause harm.

As a wise man, he understood that not even God could protect us from the insanity of humanity.

“They say that you’re a forgiving God…I pray that they are right…,” he mumbled.

The ticketmaster came around and collected the proofs from new passengers. The train car was suddenly occupied by a group of young girls, ranging from preteens to about 16 or 18 years. They were directed by an older woman with short, silver hair. She was at least 65 and wore an olive green v-neck sweater and blue denim jeans.

“I hope that you girls enjoyed yourselves and learned a lot. It was fun, but now it’s back to school tomorrow, young ladies,” the elder proclaimed. They countered with expected sighs and groans.

They spoke of morality -- shit like no sex until marriage and about how ‘inappropriate inter-gender activities’ were heavily banned and reprimanded. He silently scoffed.

He thought that you could tell people what or what not to do, but when it comes down to it, people will always obey what their bodies crave. People have told him and others to put those cigarettes down for years, but once that itch comes, you just have to scratch.

He entertained himself by thinking about how many of the girls will actually value those morals ten years down the line – five years down the line.

It seems that girls get faster and faster as times goes by – just like the newest technology, from cars to computers – everything. Speed = satisfaction – the faster it is, the more satisfied you will be. The faster she is, the more satisfied he will be, in one way or another.

But the boys aren’t much different, although there is an awful double standard.

Men applaud when their sons act lewdly – they encourage it – it is natural for men to act like beasts. Predators on the prowl for prey. Hunting…pouncing…hiding…attacking.

Denying them won’t deny them, men are naturally persistent. Men are like hungry lions willing to voyage across an isolated desert just for what they want to eat, not necessarily for what they need to.

But the argument that a lot of women make about how all men are the same is bullshit. Some men apply their natural beast mentality to other things besides women -- other goals besides sex and power.

Boys get more help at mastering the art of savagery than girls do. The father always takes the son hunting and leaves the girl at home with her mother – tamed and domesticated.

Ironically, the fathers are the very first ones to bitch and complain about their daughters when they want to break out to learn more about the world…and boys.

She wants to explore, to maybe even get in trouble. Girls are observant of how to get his attention and will usually do whatever it takes to keep it. And that’s what they’re taught to do – serve him, especially by these so-called God-fearing Christians -- people like the old woman in the train.

He knew this because he had children, Scotty and Joanna. That’s one of the reasons why he was on his way to Amsterdam – he hasn’t seen her since he and his wife separated about three years ago. She’s 17 now. Scotty is on a baseball scholarship at the University of Cincinnati, he’s 19.

They had a decent relationship, but it was a lot better before the separation. He was always a bit distant, especially as they grew older. Like most working Americans, his career ruled his life, and there wasn’t much he could do about it if they planned to eat.

They separated because he was never really there. He didn’t spend enough time with her, with them, as she wanted and especially when she needed him most. When her father passed, he went on a hunting trip up in Elmira.

Essentially, he just paid the bills, he might as well have just sent checks through the mail – they might as well separate. Women, especially today, have more needs – more demands, and if you don’t meet those standards, as Slim Jake found out, you will be replaced.

Adam Sylvester is the typical corporate business jackass, and pretty much nothing more than a dick for Flora to sit on. He practically lives at the house, but doesn’t pay for anything. Jake insisted to pay the bills – just to maintain some form of ownership, I reckon.

On the train, a pair of the girls shared headphones and danced to a song that whispered through the train car. They didn’t seem to know the words until apparently the chorus played. Bending their knees and jolting up and down, they screeched harmoniously,

“Boom boom boom boom, I want you in my room, Let's spend the night together, From now until forever… Boom boom boom boom, I want you in my room, Let's spend the night together, From now until forever… Boom boom boom boom, I want you in my room, Let's spend the night together, From now until forever…”

The lady squinted at them, her head angled -- favoring her strong side, “Only when you’re married, right girls?” she asked.

The young girls laughed – busted out laughing, almost as if they were mimicking her.

The elderly lady laughed, too, they laughed together – it was clear that the old woman didn’t believe what she preached, she couldn’t – she didn’t take it seriously, she couldn’t…something in her, in her mind, in her gut, had to let her know that her theological standards are delusional.

Maybe it was God.

The Amsterdam Repentance, Part. 2

After Reagan’s whole speech on how ‘Drugs are America’s main threat to security,’ and not all the kooks running around in this damned society, he was shocked at the lack of surveillance on the train. He expected more ‘random bag searches’ and so on, or at least some canines to sniff around.

But nothing like that happens in upstate New York. Up here…it’s not like it is in the city, where dirty immigrants come from all over the world, spread diseases, sell illegal drugs, and take American jobs. The savages don’t even pay taxes.

These gun laws under Cuomo are nothing but trouble for people like Jake and Boss…what ever happened to our constitutional rights? The governor and the rest of those left-wing liberals really annoyed him, and the funny thing about it is that it’s guaranteed that Mr. Governor himself own a few firearms.

“Next stop, Amsterdam, approximately 25 minutes!” yelled the conductor as he stepped his way through each car. He was twenty-five minutes away from seeing his Joanna again, from seeing Flora since the separation, from another job that he had to complete.

The notion that he only had 25 minutes made pry his forehead off of the brisk window and get in the right state of mind. He couldn’t worry about how the girls sounded, or how Christian-like they really are, or any other annoyance – he had a daughter to see – a job to do.

“Slim Jake” was given strict instructions by Boss – this could be his last job before retirement, where he’s free to go off to wherever he wants and able and enjoy the remainder of his life. He may even die in peace. But Boss knew that that there was no other place where Jake would rather be.

The rental car was good to go; all he had to do was show proof of identification.

A moderate-sized sedan. Boss figured that it would give off a friendly, family-man type vibe – to allow people around town to trust him and cops to back off, especially regarding his service uniform; it was as easy as cake. He had no real good memories in Amsterdam, outside of his children.

Everyone knew everyone else’s business, and he was certain that it was one of those loud-mouth good-for-nothing Army wives who convinced Flora to just leave him the way she did.

You see, Boss and Jake have a very close bond, and despite the fact that Jake hated doing jobs for him, he would do anything for him and respected him immensely – which is crucial in any relationship. They served in the Army together up at West Point -- Boss took him under his wing.

Jake was skilled with weapons and especially handy as a sharpshooter. Boss favored Jake so much, that he even allowed some forbidden shit to go down while Jake was serving. Shit like smuggling pills for the “prescription” that they put together for Jake’s “anxiety” and other type of paraphernalia.

The fact that Boss never got promoted higher than Major in over 20 years of service also had something to do with him helping Jake out with slanging pills to soldiers. The catch was that they split the profits – right down the middle, no bullshit, no monkey business. Although it was Jake who was seemingly taking all the risks, Boss had much more to lose.

He was never short on words when it came to telling Jake how he was putting his ass on the line for him, so in his eyes, Jake owed him. His debt only got deeper when Lieutenant Colonel Sanders put two-and-two together and discharged both of them without any hearings or excuses.

Boss is a bitter guy, and not the easiest person to get along with. He loved to talk shit about everything from pool games to who jogs the fastest; from who did the most push-ups to who puffed on their cloves the manliest. Sometimes he tried too hard, and he’s made quite a few enemies in his day – foreign and domestic.

Jake’s quiet nature was the exact opposite of Boss’s, which is probably what attracted him, when he found out that Jake was all about his business and kept quiet – he needed no more evidence, Jake was his guy. Boss is a bitter man.

He couldn’t quite grip why he wasn’t at least a Brigadier General yet, while serving for so long. No one could have possibly figured him out, he was the typical loud-mouth Army superior. What grinded his gears even was the fact that Sanders shot up to Lt. Col within 10 years!

Boss felt betrayed by his brigade, the Army, and his country. Slim Jake – a natural rebel – anarchist almost, but ironically very mild-mannered, was his reparation. Boss nicknamed Jake “Slim” because, well obviously, he was as skinny as chick. But no one could really tell just how brutal and relentless he could be, so he nicknamed him “Slim.”

Luckily for them, they wound up with enough money from slanging those fucking pills than they needed – they didn’t really need to depend on the Army anymore for finances. Getting discharged could have been a blessing, because now, they can just live their lives instead of hiding.

With the money, they bought out a $10,000 timeshare in Elmira and Jake paid off the house that Flora and Joanna were staying at in Amsterdam.

Boss was really close with someone on the inside – an operator who was looking for people to help him eliminate suspected KGB spies on American soil. He wanted the executions to seem as random and natural as possible and didn’t want them to trace back to him or his organization. Although Boss wasn’t necessarily the most likable fellow, he was both resourceful and he knew his shit.

Through the operator, Boss hired Jake as the marksman – that was about two-and-a half years ago. Jake has eliminated all the suspected spies in a fashion so brutal, that authorities didn’t even expect the Army or any other known organization -- they just labeled it as random.

The train slowed to a stop, “Amsterdam, ladies and gents, exits are toward the rear, wherever you see an employee,” declared the captain.

He sighed, grabbed his knapsack and briefcase, turned left and walked off the train and into the terminal – he didn’t make any eye contact, not even to the girls who were still bouncing up and down. At the rent-a-car station, he didn’t even speak a word – just placed his ID card on the counter JAKE F. MARSHALL the card read.

“Your car is ready, sir,” said the worker, an innocent-looking youngster who seemed like he couldn’t yet pee straight. “Here are your keys, welcome to Amsterdam, Mr. Marshall,” he said with a smile.

He took the keys and made his way to the nearest NYNEX booth. He called Boss to let him know he got there and was ready to proceed. A Ford Taurus four-door sedan – definitely seemed patriotic enough to handle his business in relative secretion, “In the glove compartment, you’ll find a gift with the registration…just in case anybody gives you shit,” Boss said.

“Also, in the trunk, you got some extra equipment if you need it, okay? Go make this bitch regret every decision she ever made…” he said in his raspy voice. The type of voice that proves that cloves don’t do much good for the body. But yet, Jake found comfort in that voice – a sense of security. He thought of it as his better half, almost, his voice of logic.

Joanna usually has softball games or at least practice on Sundays. He wanted to make this quick and easy and it would complicate things so much more if she got in the way.

He took a deep breath while he was strapping himself in and lit himself a clove. He kept the windows closed and allowed the smog to swallow him.

He reflected on how everything seemed to go downhill since he got discharged. When he told his fiancée, she didn’t know how to react, she was happy – ecstatic, that he might be able to spend a little more time with them.

But when he told her that he was going to be spending a little time at a timeshare in Elmira, she lost it. She panicked and said that he might as well stay his ass there, called him a homo, and told him not to come back.

A few weeks later, via forwarded mail from the service, he got some divorce documents and a letter from Flora:

Jake, you left me no choice. I had great hopes for this family, but I had to move on. I can’t let you hold me back anymore. His name is Adam, and he is a pleasant man, he loves me and looks at Jo-Jo as if she were his own.

Yours Truly,

Flora

He sent her about $50,000 in the mail the next week to take care of the remaining expenses on the house.

The car was now moving and it instantly seemed like just another job -- just another day. Just in case, Boss informed him of where Adam lived too, but most of the time they stay together at Jake’s. His was also informed by Boss, who somehow got a tracking device planted on Adam’s car, that he was at her softball game and Flora was home alone.

Within minutes, he pulled up across the street and down the block from the house. This gave him an easy place to stakeout for a minute and was far away enough to not build any sort of suspicion.

He rolled down the window a little bit on the passenger side of the blood-red sedan. He hated wind directly in his face – it likened the chances of getting a piece of dust in his eye, which would then break his concentration.

Boss tried to convince him not to be fond of Flora, not to be too fond of women at all. To him, they weren’t equals -- they were sneaky, conniving, and would never be as loyal and respectable as men. He felt that women should be used just as trophies to show up with at shit like banquets and high school reunions.

The clock switched to 3:14 and he stepped out of the car. It seemed as natural as possible, almost slow-motion. He fixed his clothes a bit.

He put on his leather baseball gloves, chucked his knapsack on his back, and camo duffle on his left shoulder, locked the rental and made his way toward 930 GORSKI ST., right off of Church St. and a few minutes away from the cemetery.

An experienced marksman, he scoped the pad out a little before he proceeded. He forgot how it felt and what led to where. He spent too used to the house in Elmira, and he was only concerned with the moans and groans that that house made when someone invaded its surface – he forgot how it felt. He was too used to feeling Boss’s presence and listening to his silent movements.

But it was all coming back to him.

He remembered that the basement window was always unlocked and made his way toward it with no sign of hesitation and the stealth of a saint, but.

He jittered -- almost uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop shaking, all over his body, from his protected breasts under his tightly knit long-sleeved shirt, to his engulfed toes, buried snug in his thick socks.

A match lit his clove as he sat on dead grass, soil, and twigs for a minute to get it all together. He knew that he had to keep on moving; he had no idea when Joanna was going to be back, so he had to make it fast.

Just as suspected, the basement window was not locked and it was large enough to maneuver his way through without any disturbance or much struggle. It was frigid and he left the window the way he found it – closed to prevent a draft from getting in and alerting her.

He stepped lightly. From the sounds of quarreling pots and pans, the ticks of a flame starting on a gas oven, and a television blasting the script from her favorite sitcom, Scarecrow and Mrs. King, he could tell that she was in the kitchen about to prepare something to eat or maybe tea.

The timing of her activity let him know that he didn’t have much time – no one likes a cold supper.

He took off his boots and left them in the basement. He knew that if he dared step foot on those aged wood stairs in boots, they would squeal and let Flora know that someone is here.

But those silly stairs – they are heavy sleepers. Slim Jake knew. He knew that if he stepped lightly, on his tip-toes and with careful haste, they wouldn’t even know that he was there.

He got to the top of the staircase successfully and Flora still had no idea as she hummed a peaceful lullaby – she had no idea what she was in store for.

The entry door for the basement was adjacent to the kitchen. By sneaking a peek out of the door and using his great sense of sound and awareness, he was able to determine whether or not she was still in the kitchen and whether or not she was facing the door.

He stood there -- cold and jittery, but with no time to waste. He could tell that her back was facing the basement door and he cracked it a bit and stuck out just enough of his face so that he could see her.

She hummed…

“Are you just going to stand there, or sit down for a cup of tea?” she asked as if she had the eyes of an elementary school teacher.

He shut the door in a hurry, without a sound, assuming that she was having a conversation with someone else who was home.

“You didn’t really think…that I didn’t know you were here…?” she begged.

Jake held his breath and stood still behind the basement door.

“You know, Jake, you’re probably the only person who still smokes those fucking cloves. How would I not know that you were here? You know, you’ve always thought that you were too good for me, too smart for me…”

Itchy, sweaty, and jittery, he gripped his stainless steel as if the roles were reversed. As if she was KGB and sneaking up on him.

The basement door creaked as it stretched open. He walked out and made his way to the kitchen in his white tube socks. She turned…

They stared at each other. He gave her a deep, blank stare -- like a mouse in a maze – a blind child in a soundless labyrinth.

She stared at him with curiosity, synonymous with fear.

He let go of his weapon and all of his annoyances disappeared.

His sweat evaporated.

His itch was relieved.

Euphoria hit him as if he inhaled the best clove ever made.

His eyes were bloodshot as he approached her. Innocent and vulnerable. He grabbed her at the biceps, put his arms around her, and held her tight.

No one else in the world existed. He loves her…just as he loves Boss, the way Boss loves him, the way she loves Adam…he gave her one last look, a deep stare in the eyes and left.

“Thank you,” he mumbled to God, on his way back to Elmira.