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Revitalization, My Lovely: Chapter One
April 26, 2005: Mayor Terry McConn heaved himself up from the E-Z Boy. He needed to go to the can. Good buddy and unofficial political consultant Bob Slotsky lay sprawled on the couch-- out like a light. "He never could hold his liquor" said McConn to Lara "Hottentot" Tremor, local development lovely. Lara smirked and twirled her brandy snifter. The hundred proof whirl-pooled like the new HUD bucked hot tub at the Peanut King Motel. Where Slotsky was silent partner. Though he wasn't silent now. His snores could raise the dead.

While McConn used the can, Lara reflected. Shoveling manure to neighborhood groups and covering up conflicts of interest were OK for laughs, but the second tier city scene in Slaugerton was getting to her. She was champing at the bit to take her act on the road and leave the state of New Jorksacutt behind. Preferably for Dee Cee. Dreams of federal appointments danced in her head like crack happy go-go girls at the Peanut King Gentleman's Club. Located smack dab in the middle of an Empowerment Zone. Where Bob Slotsky served on the board. Though he didn't seem bored now. He was twitching and mumbling in his sleep. Lara moved closer-- hoping he might say something she could hold over him.

When McConn emerged from the can, Lara was standing in the middle of the room. Her face chalky. For a minute McConn thought she'd gone overboard with the pancake. Then he saw she was upset. "Hey Tottie what's up" he asked. But instead of answering, Lara held a finger to her lips. With her other hand she pointed to Slotsky's chest. Which was collapsing and expanding like a pair of antique bellows. Though there was nothing antique about the wire taped to the hairy acreage revealed by his gaping shirt.

McConn recoiled. A vampire confronted by a cross. For a minute the earth spun out of orbit. Slotsky a rat! Why, he'd passed McConn his very first graft under a table at the old Peanut King Disco (now the Peanut King Assisted Living Facility for the Elderly and Recently Paroled). Furthermore, that disco was the very first property where he and Bob defaulted on an FHA mortgage. Only to buy the building back at auction prices. As Peanut Shell Ltd., they'd cut similar deals again and again over the years. Always laughing and joshing about their "limited" partnership. Now it looked as if McConn needed to limit the partnership for real.

Taking Lara Tremor by the arm, McConn pulled her out to the kitchen. He took a pad and pen off the fridge and started a new To-Do list. KILL BOB, he wrote. Lara nodded. She took the pen from his hand. WHEN? The answer was NOW.

McConn got a pair of wire cutters from a tool chest under the sink. Lara went for an electric carving knife. No need to draw a picture. The feds lost contact. And Slotsky died like many a development project. Only a whole lot faster and at no cost to the taxpayer.

After dumping Slotsky's body at the Peanut King Waste Transfer Station, McConn and Lara decided to hit the Peanut King Motel. They were feeling hot and sweaty. The whirlpool sounded good. McConn stripped down and waded right in, but Lara kept her thong on. Knowing a round of let's-pretend-you're-president would make McConn putty in her hands. Lara had just gasped Hail To The Chief when her cell buzzed.


"Ignore It."

"I better not. It could be news about DOJ funding for the Peanut King Homeland Security Center."


Nothing but breathing. Raspy and labored.

"Hello??" Lara's tone started to sound like the one she used on old people when telling them their home was slotted for eminent domain.

"Laaaarrrraa? Itssss Bob..."

Lara didn't lose it. The dead were no biggie. After all, they voted. Hell, she'd even helped them obtain mortgages. "It's Bob" she said and passed the phone to McConn. She climbed out of the tub. While dressing, she could hear the Mayor's end of the conversation. Alternately wheedling and threatening. Apparently to no avail. It sounded as if Slotsky was bent on revenge. And as if he were being as intransigent as a dead drunk bum in the doorway of Peanut King Liquors. Though this particular dead man was walking-- and what's worse, talking.

To be continued...

Carola Von Hoffmannstahl-Solomonoff

"Murder, though it have no tongue, will speak with most miraculous organ."

Hamlet, ibid., Act II, scene ii

Episodes of Revitalization, My Lovely

Revitalization, My Lovely; Chapter One
Revitalization, My Lovely; Chapter Two
Revitalization, My Lovely; Chapter Three
Revitalization, My Lovely; Chapter Four
Revitalization, My Lovely; Chapter Five
Revitalization, My Lovely Reloaded; Chapter Six
Revitalization, My Lovely Reloaded; Chapter Seven
Revitalization, My Lovely Reloaded; Chapter Eight

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Copyright (c) 2005 by Carola Von Hoffmannstahl-Solomonoff. This material may be freely distributed subject to the terms and conditions set forth in the Open Publication License. This license relieves the author of any liability or implication of warranty, grants others permission to use the Content in whole or in part, and insures that the original author will be properly credited when Content is used. It also grants others permission to modify and redistribute the Content if they clearly mark what changes have been made, when they were made, and who made them. Finally, the license insures that if someone else bases a work on this Content, that the resultant work will be made available under the Open Publication License as well.

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