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it
and began to shake the pile from the bottom. His dog barked wildly,
sensing he was about to be rewarded for his efforts.
    I had to get out of there some way,
somehow.
    There was a lower stack of mattresses not
far away. I figured if I could just get to them, and then to some
nearby bookshelves, I might be able to knock one over and block the
dog from getting at me.
    Just as the madman got the sofas to topple,
I jumped onto the mattresses, twisting my knee and losing my cell
phone in the process. I bit back the pain, watching as the dog went
for the phone as if it were part of me.
    Knowing this might be my only chance to
escape, I quickly bounced off the mattress and ran to the
bookshelves. With all my might, I managed to rock one till it fell
over just as the dog was charging.
    It fell short of squashing the dog, but
scared it enough to back up and look baffled.
    I used this as my moment to make a break for
it, running toward the entrance as fast as I could with a sore
knee.
    "Go get 'em," I heard the man say.
    I peeked over my shoulder to see the dog
easily sidestep the shelf and once again charge toward me at full
steam.
    My legs felt like lead weights as I
scampered toward the exit, nearly out of breath. I took one big
stride and got my foot caught under a cord, tripping.
    Turning around, I watched as the dog lunged
toward me. I blocked my face and waited for the unimaginable horror
of what was about to happen.
    A shot rang out and I saw the dog fall to
the floor just short of me. It whimpered, but was no longer in
attack mode.
    Looking up, I saw my dad and one of his
deputies come in, guns drawn.
    Dad knelt over me. "You okay?"
    My heart was still beating rapidly and my
knee ached. "Yeah, I think so."
    "Good," he said. "We'll have a doctor check
you out anyway."
    "What about Stewart?" I asked, fearing the
worst.
    "We found him. Looks like he'll live, but
he's got a broken leg, fractured jaw, and some other injuries."
    I watched while the deputy handcuffed the
crazy man.
    "Guess I really screwed up this time," I
said apologetically.
    "You both did and paid a hefty price for it.
I hope you've learned your lesson the hard way," he said
sternly.
    I had and was betting that Stewart had,
too.
    My vandalism days were over for good, but I
feared my nightmares had only just begun.
     
    # # #
     

 
    GONE BUT NEVER
FORGOTTEN
     
    I made my way down Seven Mile in the Bagley
community on the Northwest side of Detroit. A grayish tint hung
over the city like smog and the smell of sulfur blew in the window
along with stagnant hot air. The radio was on an A.M. station that
played jazz music.
    I passed by a chicken joint on one side of
the street with a few cars in the lot; on the other, there was a
liquor store with bars covering the windows and door. Next to it
another building was boarded up altogether as if the owner had fled
to Florida and wanted to keep the place sealed from the outside
world in case he changed his mind and came back.
    Maybe I should've gotten the hell out of the
Motor City myself years ago when it might have made a difference.
But the truth is I never wanted to be anywhere else at the time. I
was too caught up in a trap of my own making. Leaving it behind
would have only fed my dark hunger and caused me to turn it on
others.
    I flipped to a different station. There was
a commercial about the dangers of smoking. I drew in the nicotine
of the cigarette in my mouth for one last round; then tossed it out
the window, watching in the rearview mirror as it sailed in front
of oncoming traffic.
    Turning right onto Outer Drive, I lit up
another cigarette and drove slowly down the boulevard. On both
sides of the street were large brick homes built in the thirties
with well-manicured lawns and old oak trees standing guard. The
occupants were largely second generation middle class, and
newcomers escaping the higher prices of the suburbs for the
affordability of the inner city.
    I drove by a young woman. Her raven hair was
in