Image via WikipediaBut now, many years later, the aging time-worn street had become filled with crime an violence. Where the wealthy once lived, poverty stricken people now made their homes.
Broken, boarded windows and unpainted weather worn signs and buildings now lined the street. All along the alleys, the homeless could be seen, sometimes sleeping in their own pool of urine with an empty bottle of alcohol next to them. Trash cans overflowed and the rotting debris inside them added another stench to the slums. Indeed, Hush Street was now a slum.
The sky had been gray and overcast all day. When he was halfway home it finally began to rain. Luckily he was expecting it and had brought his raincoat with him. Sharp streaks of treacherous lightning ignited the late afternoon sky, followed by the echoes of loud boisterous thunder as it rumbled against the tall brick buildings.
Looking atop the buildings, he saw darker, more hideous clouds approaching from the west. He chuckled as he saw a wino, still passed out near a bus stop, not even aware that it was raining.
The rain began to fall in sheets, pounding against his body. Because of the forceful howling wind it was becoming harder to make any leeway. The forecast had said severe thunderstorms but this was more like a tornado. Reluctantly, he decided to seek shelter temporarily, running to the nearest building and darting inside.
An acrid smell of vomit permeated throughout the hallway, invading his nostrils. He fought back the rising urge to vomit himself. Instead he covered his nose with a handkerchief, attempting to filter the odor.
Jack Berger had lived in Cincinnati almost his entire life. His parents had immigrated from Germany during the first World War. Finding no work in New York, his father moved to Cincinnati, taking a job in a trade he knew best, beer-making.
At that time Cincinnati possessed several local breweries. His father, with his considerable skill and knowledge had quickly moved up the ranks of the company and had eventually became the companies President and CEO.
That was when their family had moved to Hush Street. Jack's father had invested wisely and had left Jack, an only child, a considerable inheritance when he passed away.
Jack knew the destruction of Hush Street was occurring. Every morning he read in the paper about the murders, burglaries, and rapes which had occurred. It saddened him to see such a royal area being destroyed, overrun by thugs and murderers. Jack could have moved from Hush Street long ago, and had even considered it only six months earlier when his apartment was robbed.
He changed his mind. Hush Street was his home. He was raised here and was not about to leave. He would stay until the end. The only thing that would make him move from Hush Street was when he was hauled away by a hearse.
The storm began to subside and Jack decided to start back for his apartment. There was only four more blocks and he would make it before the rain had a chance to start again, he thought.
When he stepped out of the building, he returned his handkerchief to his pocket and looked down the street. He shook his head in disgust. The drunk who had been sitting against the stop sign was still there, clothes drenched with rain, but still in the same position.
Someday, Someday, he thought. Hush Street will change. The scum that inhabits the streets will be run out. Hush Street will once again be the highlight of this town. If nobody else will do anything about it, I will. Jack took a shortcut down the alley, taking the fastest route to his apartment and hoping to stay dry.
That brings us to the end of part one of Hush Street. In part two, we will see this area of town from the eyes of another. Stay tuned.
Hush Street was a shitty place to live, he thought to himself. But what the fuck, as long as I do what I do here, and as long as the old lady keeps getting those welfare, checks, it's a helluva' lot better than working. And besides, he thought with a light chuckle, these apartments the welfare office put you in were once owned by the wealthy.
He reached into his left front pants pocket and removed a switchblade. Pressing the trigger, a smooth, silvery blade shot out from the end. Using the side of a building, he shoved the blade back into the case.
The rain had finally stopped but the sun remained hidden behind the clouds. Another storm was approaching, Felipe thought.
Felipe Martinez was a Mexican-American, born and raised in San Diego. He had left California when he was sixteen, ending his cross country expedition when he arrived in Cincinnati. The money he had stolen from his Mother was exhausted. For two years he supported himself by bussing tables in restaurants and by pumping gas. He had tired of that and decided he wanted to be a pimp, hustling whores like his Father in California. Within a year he had six girls hustling for him. One of those he married. Felipe would have continued pimping if his life hadn't been threatened from one of the towns biggest pimps for cutting into his territory. His wife began drawing welfare checks when their first kid was born.
He hated the little bastard. The brat was always waking him in the middle of the night crying. One night he could take no more and proceeded to slug the little fucker. His wife told the hospital that her son had fallen from his bed. It was a state run hospital with little resources or little interest in the poor and indigent and had not bothered to seek any investigation into child abuse.
Felipe had become a mugger along Hush Street. Although he looked mean with the knife, Felipe had never used it on anyone. They always handed over their money, cowering liked scared little babies, ready to piss their pants.
Felipe looked down the alley and saw someone coming. He was an average looking man in his late forties, maybe early fifties. He couldn't tell much about the man as a long black raincoat hid his body features and thick black-rimmed glasses hid his face. This one would be easy, Felipe thought.
Officer Pinkerton had patrolled the Hush Street area for the past twenty years. He was one of the few remaining cops in Cincinnati that still enjoyed "walking a beat". It saddened him however, to see Hush Street deteriorate before his very eyes. When he was originally assigned to Hush Street it was still a thriving neighborhood. But, as buildings aged and federal housing projects were constructed in the area, more and more crime set in. Dale Pinkerton had almost lost his life once as he tried in vain to stop a gang fight. He had been stabbed in the chest by one of the sons-of-bitches. When the suspects were brought in for questioning however, Dale, even as an experienced officer who was trained to take mental notes of faces and identifying features, was unable to pinpoint his attacker. It had just been too dark and had happened to fast.
The captain of the precinct wanted Dale transferred for his own safety, but he refused. Three months after the incident occurred, Dale was back on the beat he loved.
He knew he couldn't rid Hush Street of crime by himself and that aggravated Dale to no end. It seemed to him that he was the only one in the department, or the entire city for that matter, who gave a damn about what happened to Hush Street. Was he the only person that remembered Hush Street in all of it's glory and splendor?
The thunderstorm must have kept everyone in for the day, Dale thought to himself. He liked it when it rained. It seemed like all of the crime and violence of Hush Street was temporarily washed away. He was approaching an alley when he heard the voice of someone threatening somebody for money. But, he thought resignedly, it was only an idea. The criminals just like fucking rats, always come out of their holes after the rain. Cautiously, he removed his pistol from his holster.
"That's right you four-eyed son-of-a-bitch, get on your fucking knees before I blow your god-damned brains out!" That always scared them shitless, Felipe thought.
"Fuck you! No!" Jack fired back, anger seething inside him. He was furious that this animal would try and do this. This was the same sickening bastard that was destroying his neighborhood.
"Hey man, you better watch your step. I can drive this knife into you so fucking deep that your stomach will be looking out your ass. So just give me the friggin' money and I'll think about letting you live." Felipe was shocked when the man had said no. He decided to get the money and get the hell out.
Jack wasn't fazed and fired back, "I'm not giving you a goddamn thing so just go!" He turned and began to walk away. He could tell that this punk was just a pussy and would back off if threatened himself.
"You crazy bastard!" Felipe screamed. No one could do that to him. He ran to the man, grabbing him from behind by his chin, as his other hand brought the steely knife across Jack's throat, immediately realizing that he had probably just killed a man as the blood began to pour from his neck and the blood from the artery spurted out in a spray with every pulse.
Jack turned around and looked at the man who had probably just ended his life. His face grimaced in pain and he fell to his knees as his legs became weak. He was struggling to catch his breath as his hands gripped his throat, trying to stop the overwhelming flow of blood. He knew it was going to be useless. He struggled to speak, choking on his blood that was spilling down his throat and down his torso. With every word spoken, a spray of blood speckled his killer.
"I-I hate you." His voice was becoming extremely weak. "But you'll get yours you dirty bas-" Jack fell face first onto the alley way and expired.
"Alright you goddamn mother fucker. Hold it right there or your going to see your brains splattered on the side of that building.!" Officer Pinkerton had been too late to stop the stabbing. He was poised at the end of the alley, feet firmly planted, gun cocked and ready to fire.
"Now wait. Wait. Don't shoot. Please. Please don't shoot. It was an accident. That's all." Beads of sweat trickled down his face. Felipe knew he was pretty much screwed and lifted his arms in surrender.
"Alright, hands against the wall, feet spread and don't you move an inch." Martinez did as ordered, too scared to disobey. That man was right, Felipe thought to himself. I am just a pussy.
As he walked towards the perpetrator, Dale thought of being a vigilante and killing this worthless piece of shit. That's what he should have done when he first saw him. His finger touched the trigger but the thought of doing so made him realize that he would be no better than him if he didn't let this bastard go through the motions of the justice system. He wasn't the judge. He wasn't the jury. He could only round them up and let the citizens that he was sworn to serve decide what this man's fate would be.
"It's too bad that Jack couldn't be here today," the mayor said. "If it hadn't been for his love of Hush Street, then this moment could have never been brought to fruition. Before his life was brought to a tragic end, Jack Berger had planned on initiating this project himself. He had made all of this possible through provisions in his will."
"Ladies and gentlemen it is my pleasure to present to you--Hush Street." The mayor had the honor of cutting the ribbon and the crowds began to enter eager to experience the gourmet restaurants, upscale stores and theaters, and to just bask in the beautifully refurbished buildings and spotless landscaping. Hush Street had returned to it's former glory.
EPILOGUE:
The frail old man walked down the grimy rat-infested streets of Fountain Square. Only a few years ago, he thought, Fountain Square was the safest place anyone in the country could visit. Activities abounded on the square year round. That's all over with now though, he thought. Ever since they started building that government housing nearby, nothing but trash hangs around. It was like nobody cared. People ignored the decline of the Square, being content to go to safer neighborhoods, such as Hush Street.
A couple of interesting things about this story. I based the name Hush Street after a street named Worth Street which was off of Kellogg Avenue not to far from downtown Cincinnati. Unlike Hush Street however, Worth Street was merely a residential street where my Grandparents lived. When I was growing up the streets and houses were already very old and I often wondered what Worth Street looked like when it was first built. Officer Pinkerton was based on one of my uncles who was actually on the police force in Cincinnati. Finally, when you're reading this you will probably be thinking that the character of Felipe Martinez is a terrible stereotype. At the time I wrote this I had very limited exposure to Latinos. I am guessing that this character was based only on what I had seen on television and the movies and there was no intent to show any racial bias.
Coming up next, will definitely be a lighter story, one that I reread for the first time last night in more than 30 years. Even though I wrote it, I still had a pretty good laugh while reading it. Keep checking back for "How I Conquered Christie Marie" (How Christie Marie Conquered Me).
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