Liam Sweeny's Posts - CrimeSpace2024-03-28T21:36:05ZLiam Sweenyhttps://crimespace.ning.com/profile/BigOlePapaSweenBeanhttps://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/60987115?profile=RESIZE_48X48&width=48&height=48&crop=1%3A1https://crimespace.ning.com/profiles/blog/feed?user=BigOlePapaSweenBean&xn_auth=noVic Meets the Word Thugstag:crimespace.ning.com,2007-06-10:537324:BlogPost:474642007-06-10T21:52:21.000ZLiam Sweenyhttps://crimespace.ning.com/profile/BigOlePapaSweenBean
<br></br><br></br><font size="3">The bright lights of the box-stores reflected their hypnotic dance on Vic's black-plastic shades as he cruised College Drive. In a well, practiced move, he pulled out a matchbook with his free-hand, flipping a match over the edge of the book and brushing it across the strike-pad with his thumb. It sparked heat in a flash, and he brought the flame to the half-burnt Marlboro dangling from his mouth. The hard lines of his face illuminated in the rear-view.<br></br><br></br>With a…</font>
<br/><br/><font size="3">The bright lights of the box-stores reflected their hypnotic dance on Vic's black-plastic shades as he cruised College Drive. In a well, practiced move, he pulled out a matchbook with his free-hand, flipping a match over the edge of the book and brushing it across the strike-pad with his thumb. It sparked heat in a flash, and he brought the flame to the half-burnt Marlboro dangling from his mouth. The hard lines of his face illuminated in the rear-view.<br/><br/>With a puff of smoke, Vic extinguished the match, bringing his gaze to the <i>Hooters</i> parking lot. <i>Strange place for these motherfuckers to meet</i>, he thought, <i>Figured they'd meet at a fuckin' book-club or somethin</i>'.<br/><br/>He whipped his car into a handicapped spot, confident that the stolen handicap sticker he had plastered to the window would keep him from being towed. He felt justified in using it; he had a heart problem. Well, his lack of one was certainly a problem to the people that crossed his path. <br/><br/>As he started walking, an elderly woman walking out of the craft-store next to <i>Hooters</i> shot him a disapproving look. <br/><br/>He returned the favor by twisting his nipple through his shirt, licking his lips provocatively. He laughed as she clutched her purse, shuffling through the parking lot like an old cow. <br/><br/>He pulled out the piece of paper he'd gotten from Slim. <i>Word Thugs</i>. How the fuck was he supposed to find these assholes? He opened the door.<br/><br/>Big tits and bright orange blinded Vic as he breathed in the atmosphere. He breathed in the fragrance of lust mingled with Louisiana shrimp. As he pulled up to the bar, he spun around on his stool, giving the restaurant a quick scan. A mixed crowd; this wasn't gonna be easy. <br/><br/>"Can I get you anything to drink?" A voice behind him made Vic give the stool another spin. <br/><br/>A cute Latina with never-ending cleavage stood there, doe eyed. Vic placed his order of a Corona with her breasts. <br/><br/><br/>He wondered how many dollars he'd have to stuff between them to get her home. Then he wondered how far he'd get before she smacked him, calling one of the beefy guys she worked with to escort him out. He couldn't chance it. <br/><br/>This was business, and this was important, unlike women. They were simply entertainment. <br/> <br/>"You Vic?"<br/><br/>He spun around again. <br/><br/>Standing there was a guy, couple years older than him, bald head with a black mustache and goatee. Orange fly collar shirt; silk, by the look, unbuttoned at the top. <br/><br/>He wore a sport-coat over the familiar bulge of a shoulder-holster. Subtle, but Vic knew it well.<br/><br/>"Who are you?" Vic asked the man after he finished a slug of his beer.<br/><br/>"You called <i>us</i>, didn't you?" The guy's face was granite. <br/><br/>Vic had to admire a guy like this.<br/><br/>"You the <i>Wreck</i>?" asked Vic.<br/><br/>"Come with me." was all the guy said, and he started walking to the back of the restaurant. Vic grabbed his Corona and smiled lustfully at the waitress before making his way to the back table. <br/><br/>"So this is the infamous Victor Ray Tanner." The guy in the black tuke said. "I've read much about you." He offered his hand, and Vic shook it warily.<br/><br/>"Vic, meet J.R." the Wreck said. "J.R., Vic."<br/><br/>The Wreck continued his introductions. "The man stuffing his face with hot wings is Drake Lightle." Drake grunted.<br/><br/>"My hot-wings, motherfucker." J.R. said, glaring over.<br/><br/>"I already told you, I got the next round."<br/><br/>"To my left here is Debra, and to my right is Crimson." Vic looked at Crimson and winked. <i>Hottie</i>, he thought. Suddenly he felt the tip of a stiletto placed strategically on his groin.<br/><br/>Crimson shook her head. "It's not in your plot, buddy, " she said, "so get it out of your mind."<br/><br/>"Anyways, " the Wreck continued, "Rob and Mike are over there trying to start shit with the rednecks."<br/><br/>"It happens every fuckin' time." Debra said, "Wreck, I'm tired of cleanin' up their messes."<br/><br/>"So you guys are the Word Thugs?" asked Vic. <br/><br/>"The one and only." The Wreck motioned with his head to one of the waitresses, and she came over to the table. Vic eyed her tits, and she eyed him with disgust. <br/><br/>"Hey, hon.." said the Wreck, "Can we trouble you for some more hot-wings?"<br/><br/>"Sure thing, sweetie, " she said. Vic kept his gaze attached until he felt the <i>ping</i> of a penny bounce across his forehead. He looked over to see the Wreck with a look on his face that said <i>Don't go there</i>. Vic looked at all four of them. Four stone faces.<br/><br/>"We don't tolerate that here." Debra said. "It ain't easy gettin' a waitress that'll give us extra weight on the hot-wings, " Debra looked at the waitress from across the room with a smile and a shrug, "Be damned if a fic' is gonna fuck that up for us."<br/><br/>"What's a fic'?" asked Vic, rubbing his head.<br/><br/>"<i>Fic</i>tional character" said Drake as he wiped the hot-sauce from his mouth with a napkin. "Which is what you are."<br/><br/>"I don't appreciate your tone." Vic said coldly. "People who underestimate me wind up dead."<br/><br/>"I <i>love</i> this guy!" J.R. said.<br/><br/>"I like him better on paper, " Drake said, "where he <i>belongs.</i>" Vic got up, pushing the seat back with his legs. Drake matched the motion.<br/><br/>"Now now, guys, " the Wreck said, "Calm down, both of you!" He pulled out a silver pen from the lapel of his coat. He wiggled it at Vic. "See this?" He pulled out a napkin, and began scribbling. Suddenly Vic didn't feel so good. His legs began to wobble.<br/><br/>"You ready to calm down?" asked the Wreck. Vic never felt panic before, but he felt it then. It was all he could do to nod. The Wreck scribbled again, and his leg-strength returned.<br/><br/>"How did you do that?" asked Vic as he sat back down slowly. Drake had already retaken his seat.<br/><br/>"Magic." replied the Wreck, stone face, staring straight at him as he held the napkin in his left hand, crumpling it up. He let it drop to the table, where it was picked up by J.R. They were out of napkins.<br/><br/>"You came here for a reason." the Wreck said. "And the way I see it, we got about ten minutes before Mike and Rob succeed in pissing off those two big rednecks over there." He pointed to the table by the dartboard. Vic could see two guys ducked behind the jukebox, launching peanuts. "We might be a bit busy after that."<br/><br/>Vic looked at the Word Thugs. <i>Cold motherfuckers.</i> Vic admired them. He couldn't kill them, so what other option was there?<br/><br/>Vic pulled out the piece of paper he had brought. He was lucky. He caught Liam nappin', and was able to steal the page references he needed.<br/><br/><br/>"I need someone taken care of." He said, handing the page to the Wreck. "I'd do it myself, but, " he hesitated. He hated to make the admission. "he's got me over a barrel."<br/><br/>The Wreck looked at the paper before handing it to Drake. Drake scanned it with his finger as J.R. looked over his shoulder. J.R. laughed. "No fuckin' way!" he said.<br/><br/>"J.D. Fisher, " the Wreck said, "Hmm...."<br/><br/>"So can you help me?"<br/><br/>The Thugs all looked at each other with the same look.<br/><br/>Vic recognized that look. He'd seen it before many times; he knew it well. <i>There was a problem.</i><br/><br/><br/>"So can you help me out on this?"<br/><br/>The Wreck looked over to Drake Lightle, the <i>punk</i>. He shrugged. <br/><br/>"It's you're call, Wreck." He said. "You're conducting the train today."<br/><br/>"Wow, that's fuuuucked." said J.R. The waitress came back with a plate of hot-wings. Vic stared at the table, looking not once in her direction. <br/><br/>Debra grabbed a napkin, and moved some of the wings around. She turned to the Wreck.<br/><br/>"See?" She said angrily. "No extras. Dammit! She was the <i>best one!!!</i>"<br/><br/>"There's always <i>Reynaldo</i> at Benny's," said Crimson, "I'm sure <i>he'll</i> hook ya' up!"<br/><br/>"Oh please," Debra gave Crimson a disgusted look, "Ya' know he still calls me?"<br/><br/>"Last time I drink Vodka." She added. "You'd think a <i>brain surgeon</i> would know when someone's drunk!" Crimson laughed.<br/><br/>The Wreck pulled a silver money clip from the inside pocket of his sport-coat, containing enough Benjamins to cast a new George Lucas prequel. <br/><br/>"We'll be in her good graces by tomorrow." He said, tucking the clip back in his pocket.<br/><br/>"Why aren't you paying tonight?" asked Drake as he turned over. "You know, not all lawyers are loaded."<br/><br/>"Yer a lawyer?" asked Vic. "I could always use on of them..."<br/><br/>"I only take on clients that <i>might</i> be innocent." <br/><br/>Vic growled. <br/><br/>The Wreck flicked his fingers across the silver pen, and Vic cooled it.<br/><br/>"So what're we doing here?" J.R. asked. "I mean, we can't do <i>both</i> of 'em, right?"<br/><br/>"Might be fun, " said Crimson, swirling her beer as she stared into it, "Paradoxical, but fun..."<br/><br/>"What!?!" exclaimed Vic. "Can y'all say whatever the hell yer talkin' about in <i>English</i>?" <br/><br/>The Wreck sighed. "Vic, " he said, "We have a little problem with your request." He reached into the same inner pocket that contained the money clip, and pulled out a piece of paper, neatly folded. He opened it up and passed it across the table. Vic looked at it.<br/><br/>"Page numbers, " he said, "What the hell is this? Who gave this to you?"<br/><br/>"Have you ever seen J.D. Fisher's handwriting?" asked Drake. He and J.R. looked at each other, with matching grins. <br/><br/>"No." Vic said. "He always calls when he needs something."<br/><br/>"Now you know what his handwriting looks like." Drake and J.R. started laughing.<br/><br/>"Guys..." The Wreck put up his hand. The two of them calmed down. <br/><br/>"This time yesterday, Fisher sat in that very seat." said the Wreck. "Well, actually over there; we weren't sitting here yesterday."<br/><br/>"God-damn rednecks!" Debra shot an angry glance at the table Mike and Rob were launching at.<br/><br/>"The point is this; you seem to both want each other," he paused, "<i>pacified</i>." He reached for the paper. Vic thought to hold it back, but the Wreck gave him a look that said they could honor <i>either</i> request. He gave up the paper, lest he be on the losing end.<br/><br/>"Most kind, sir." said the Wreck.<br/><br/>"How often does he hear <i>that</i>?" Drake said to J.R., nudging him, "<i>Sir</i>..."<br/><br/>"OK guys, seriously." The Wreck grabbed the paper Vic had given him, and held it together with the paper Fisher had given them.<br/><br/>"Vic, I can't speak for everyone here, but I'm pretty sure we're all in agreement on this issue." He looked at the assembled thugs. <br/><br/>"J.D. Fisher is a ruthless prick." He said. "And you are a sadistic fuck."<br/><br/>"Damn straight." said J.R. quietly.<br/><br/>"But if we cut the balls from <i>either</i> of you, the story would become thin." The Wreck then tore both papers down the middle.<br/><br/>"So this pretty much makes you two even." He said, holding up the halves to Vic.<br/><br/>"Son-of-a-bitch!" Vic said, sinking back in his chair.<br/><br/>"You're welcome to stay, " said the Wreck, "have some hot-wings, 'long as you promise to be-, "<br/><br/>The Wreck was interrupted by a loud crash, followed by a thick, burly voice saying "What's wrong wit'choo, boy?"<br/><br/>"Aw Jeez, " Debra said, rolling up her left sleeve. "Here we go."<br/></font><br/>War on a Wordtag:crimespace.ning.com,2007-06-04:537324:BlogPost:457182007-06-04T01:37:33.000ZLiam Sweenyhttps://crimespace.ning.com/profile/BigOlePapaSweenBean
<p class="MsoTitle"><font size="4"><b>War on a Word</b></font></p>
<br />
<p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><i>By Liam Sweeny</i></p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal"></p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">“We are fighting a War on Terror” the President said, soon after the tragic events of Sept. 11<sup>th</sup>. What the world wanted, what Americans <i>needed,</i> were answers, assurance, and the security of knowing
that our government was doing everything it could do to physically…</p>
<p class="MsoTitle"><font size="4"><b>War on a Word</b></font></p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;" align="right"><i>By Liam Sweeny</i></p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">“We are fighting a War on Terror” the President said, soon after the tragic events of Sept. 11<sup>th</sup>. What the world wanted, what
Americans <i>needed,</i> were answers, assurance, and the security of knowing<br />
that our government was doing everything it could do to physically strengthen<br />
our nation against another attack. What they got was a War-on-a-Word.</p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">Let’s look at our “Enemy”. “Terror” could accurately be described as a heightened state of
psychological fear. Is this even an enemy? On what grounds do we wage battle?<br />
How do we determine “victories” and “losses”? And since the most common<br />
emotional product of fear is anger, are we at war with anger as well?</p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">No, perhaps, as most do, we equate the “war on terror” with a “war on terrorism”,
or a “war on terrorists.” At least now there’s something more concrete to<br />
battle. But the concrete is fraught with cracks. We can see, and therefore<br />
recognize, groups like Al-Qaeda, Hamas, and Hizbollah, among others, as enemies<br />
in this new war. And we can see the suicide bombers as the enemy’s<br />
“foot-soldiers.” But this will inevitably lead us down the path of another<br />
famous (and failing) “War-on-a-Word”, the “War on Drugs.”</p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">In this war, it is the drug-dealers and traffickers who are the “Enemy.” And over
thirty years after Nixon declared this “war.” We’ve seen that for every<br />
vanquished drug-dealer, <i>ten</i> show up to take their place. Users, put in<br />
jail, will get out and use again. A drug taken off the street will either find<br />
its way back, or will be replaced with a new drug.</p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">We cannot win the “War on Terror” any more than we can win the “War on Drugs.” This is
because drug use and terrorism are human conditions. When people feel<br />
powerless, they take up the drug. When they feel powerless, they can also take<br />
up the bloody banner of guerilla warfare, which we call “terrorism.”</p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">The problem with a “War on Terror” is that we look to the Arab world as the source of
terrorism. Yet Arabia has no lock on<br />
terrorism. As many as are nations on this Earth are terrorist groups within<br />
these nations. For the United States to “fight” this war conventionally, or <i>geo-politically</i>,<br />
would entail taking over, or having a substantial military presence in, the<br />
entire world, requiring the man-power (or woman-power) of the whole U.S.<br />
population.</p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">Of course, I may be exaggerating (just a little), but you get my point. Terrorism is an
aberrant social behavior. It is a problem, not an enemy. It requires a<br />
solution, not a war.</p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">If we can ever hope to break the hold of terrorists, we need a balance of proactive and
reactive measures. We seem to be driven to reactive measures by instinct. But<br />
unfortunately we’re driven to proactive measures by insight, and that isn’t<br />
hard-wired in like instinct. You can only gain insight through the active pursuit<br />
of knowledge, and wisdom, and that’s a choice one has to make for themselves.</p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">If we, not as a nation, but as a culture, prized knowledge and education more than we pay
lip service to, we would, generally, know more about what the world has gone through.<br />
We would know that our government, and our corporations, commit, condone, or<br />
support atrocities committed in the under-developed world, well below the<br />
American public’s radar. And we would know what murderous megalomaniacs like<br />
Osama Bin Laden are using to draw support, logistics, and recruits from the<br />
Arab world.</p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">As we begin to realize the consequences of the actions of those who represent us in the
world, we would see, specifically pertaining to the middle east, that for<br />
nearly a century, we have exploited the oil reserves of the Arab nations.<br />
Though we paid for the oil, we did so knowing that the money paid would never<br />
reach the vast majority of the people in these countries. “Billionaire<br />
Sheikhs”, armed to the teeth with the best weapons the U.S. Arms industry can<br />
provide, are able to repress the “common” people. This leads to a feeling of<br />
powerlessness, and repression, and despair. All of which form the cloth of the<br />
bloody flag of terrorism.</p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">By trying to understand the root causes of terrorism, we would have to face hard facts,
about the world, and about ourselves. This may be the only opportunity we’ll<br />
ever have to open a meaningful dialogue with the world, <i>as equals</i>. We’ll<br />
see ourselves in them, and we’ll fight for them to have the same rights that we<br />
do. More importantly, we’ll not force our form of government on them, because<br />
that’s not something that equals do. If we want to promote democracy, we’ll<br />
just have to become the example that people around the world would want to<br />
emulate. In the end, a serious reflection on the state of world affairs would<br />
create popular sentiment with the people most at risk for becoming<br />
“radicalized.” Kind of takes the wind out of the sails of the terrorist groups,<br />
doesn’t it?</p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">As far as the “War on Terror,” if we need to fight our fears, we look to the
administration as if they, and only they, can protect you. But let us rewind to<br />
that dreadful day in September 2001. The only ones in government that helped<br />
you that day were the front-liners, NYPD, FDNY, Port Authority, and rescue<br />
personnel of various stripes in NY and in Washington. These people we hold in the<br />
sacred shrines of our heart. But those who had the greatest part in preventing Sept. 11<sup>th</sup> was<br />
not the administration, who was scrambling to preserve continuity, or the<br />
military, who didn’t seem to know what was going on until it had already<br />
happened, but a small group of civilian passengers. It was they, who, armed<br />
with nothing but their cell-phones, learned of the plot, and sacrifice their<br />
own lives to attempt to retake Flight 93.</p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">The lesson here is that we are the first line of defense, and we’ve always so willingly
pawned our individual responsibilities to the government, that we now expect<br />
the government to do what is really our task as citizens.</p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">And this has consequences. If you want to know why we haven’t been attacked in 3 years,
just look at the Patriot Act. All the buildings Osama can blow up in America can’t<br />
but a dent in a single Amendment of the Bill of Rights. But the Patriot Act, an<br />
overreacted response to the threat of terrorism, has moved through the 4<sup>th</sup>,<br />
5<sup>th</sup>, and 6<sup>th</sup> Amendments in one fell swoop. In short, the<br />
Administration is able to do damage to this country in ways that Al-Qaeda has<br />
only dreamed of. They haven’t attacked us since then because <i>If it ain’t<br />
fixed, don’t break it.</i></p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal">Instead of trading our civil rights for the convenience of not having to get to know our
neighbors, why not just suck it up, take our rights back, and assume the responsibilities<br />
that being a citizen/owner in a democracy are all about? If we, as a series of<br />
communities, can find ways to make things safer within these communities, we<br />
should do it. Plus we need to realize that, as tragic as Sept. 11<sup>th</sup><br />
was, it is not a situation of “a terrorist behind every corner”. You’re more<br />
likely to get hit by a bus in this country that to be the victim of a terrorist<br />
act. Or another way to put it: You’re more likely to be a victim of the<br />
“War-on-a-Word” than you are of being a victim of the “Word” itself.</p>