Draft of 1st Chapter of the Novel: Nuthin' But A Hero!

"Number 13." The static-filled speaker bellowed "Number 13" again. Not certain and not caring what the previous number was that she had called, this young and already jaded bureaucrat said it once again,"Number 13."
Sandwich thought where do they get these motherf_ckers from. Give me a job doing this shit. In fact before he realized it, he had begun speaking his thoughts aloud.
"I wanna be able to sit my fat ass down behind a gova'ment desk and call out the wrong fucking numbers, na' mean" he let slip as if talking to an imaginary partner.
"Woooooord," the stranger in front of him said as if he and Sanwich had been engaging in a conversation for hours. But the stranger was not even listening to Sandwich, he was talking to his man, his partner...his ace. The conversation of the two young men in front of Sanwich was so tight, that they spoke in this undecipherable code obviously developed from some early bonding experiences. Sanwich once knew this type of bonding.
Sanwich thought oh shit...dam...I am fucked up. He wanted to say 'what a mind fuck:this guy (referring to the stranger) looks and sounds just like Jazz. And that is exactly what Jazz would have said in response to my statement and then just grinned for like a minute showing every tooth in his mouth and some that were not and those dimples....'
Then he quickly thought, oh no, here I go again. Just like that doctor said-every little thing reminds me of Jazz, certain sneakers, different type of girls, records and everything. Dramatic stress Disorder, is what Sanwich heard when the doctor describe his diagnosis to his mother. Then - just as had happened during most of the previous 800 or so days since jazz's death, sanwich went straight back to the night...


It was really no surprise that thoughts of that silent pitch black rainy night were so prominent in Sanwich's thoughts at this particular moment. No matter how hard he tried, Sanwich would never again regain that feeling of invulnerability that he shared with his closest friend on that joyful yet melancholy evening. Imagine that, Lisa was having his baby and her brother, Jazz, was probably more hopeful than either of them.
Sanwich was never really sure if he could take Jazz in a hand to hand contest. Jazz had his doubts about Sanwich's skills as well. They were both "nice" with their hands - so the doubt was the cement that bonded these would be brothers. Jazz's boxing abilities had only been of concern to Sanwich on three occassions. The first occassion came during their first encounter on the playground. At age seven an envious Jazz unsuccessfully attempted to relieve Sanwich of his toy cowboy holster as the "move-in fee" to live in Jazz's building. The other two instances that gave Sanwich occassion to question Jazz's niceness with his hands both involved Jazz's twin sister Lisa. Friends don't normally like that kind of thing. But Jazz was different - he loved Lisa and he had come to love Sanwich. Sanwich loved both of them - nevertheless Lisa's revelation was extremely difficult to share with Jazz.

"We been boys forever", Jazz said in a way that caused Sanwich to wonder if it was Jazz who had to tell Sanwich some deep hidden secret, rather than the other way around.

"Always will be". Not revealing his doubts that maybe because he had impregnated Lisa while they all were still in high school it would cause a rift in their relationship. He had to tell Jazz Now. After all, it wasn't like he planned to run out on her - or even that he wanted her to have an abortion. He counted his steps silently as a way to get up the nerve to say it. Seven, eight, nine - "I really dig Lisa" was all that would come out.

"I know - sh_t you better maf_cker or I'll bust yo a_s."

Normally such a challenge would have been enough to divert their attention to a couple of friendly rounds of slap boxing. "Naah, I really like her" oozed out of Sanwich's nervous mouth while the momentum was still present. "I mean like really... really.... really".

Although no one had ever decided it, or discussed it for that matter, Jazz knew that to say a word thrice with that certain rhythm was tantamount to a sworn affidavit in court verifying the validity of the prior statement. Which is why such a statement seemed so odd to Jazz in this context. The validity of the prior statement was not being challenged. Jazz knew that Sanwich loved his sister, he even knew that Sanwich "knew" Lisa - in the biblical sense. Jazz was comfortable with the relationship, in fact, only because he sincerely believed that Sanwich and Lisa loved each other long before they became romantically involved. "I know - so, what you saying?" Jazz did not want to assume.

"F_ck it, be a man", Sandwich thought in that very order. With his eyes fixed on some imaginary position in space directly in front of him beyond the flashing yellow street light at the corner of Market and State Streets, he blurted out , "I love her and I want to marry her and I want her to keep the baby", as if it were one long word in a foreign language. Silence. The blinking noise from the flashing yellow light became louder not only because they were approaching it on their way to the southside of Trenton to pick up the girls, but it also became louder because of the absolute silence of the two boys.

Even now and here, on the floor of the unemployment office, it made Sandwich chuckle to imagine how they must have looked
with him staring into space with his mouth open waiting for a response and Jazz staring at him with his mouth open wanting to say everything with nothing coming out. The chuckle quickly turned to sadness, as it had on many occasions in the preceeding two years. On that evening the symphony of urban street silence was interrupted by a blur of screeching tires and gunshots. These very same sounds always interrupted his recollections. Sanwich's only indication of Jazz's approval to the last words they shared was his dying actions.

Sanwich had been on the outside of the sidewalk when the dull black nineteen seventy-five Monte Carlo began its sudden approach from his and jazz's rear. Sanwich's eyes were fixed straight ahead - thoughts planted on the future. Jazz's eyes were fixed on Sanwich mouth open, attempting to reply to Sanwich's foreign word when he noticed the assailants approaching. Jazz grabbed Sanwich and threw him to the ground and dove on top to become a human bullet-proof shield protecting sanwich but not himself from the bullets. With each piercing bullet Jazz's body jerked violently in a new direction. A chorus of "yeah motherf_ckers" "mark a_s n_ggers", trailed away as the thick black tires scarred the freshly steam-rolled tar. The silence, that was never really silent, returned, accompanied with the smell of blood, gun powder, burned rubber and death.