readjohncarson.com Blog

Name Game

JohnC — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 00:16:39 +0000

He had chosen the name because it sounded good. DeSilva was a far better choice than Carlson. No one would respect a John Carlson but “Johnny DeSilva” had an undeniable ring of power.
His light skin and tall slender body, a liability when he had been a boy now brought him a different kind of attention when clothed in the dark blue pinstripe suit and custom bent white hat.
The piercing blue eyes, warm and disarming when cloaked in a smile became as cold and hard as ice when the smile faded. Hardened by time and the realities of the Depression, those eyes could turn as silent and swift as an approaching shark.
And Johnny’s eyes were wary as the Lincoln rolled to a stop in front of Al’s Garage, where a dozen hoods, some local, some not, waited for the suicide doors to open, ready to shoot if one hair on DeSilva’s head looked out of place.
Flanked by two lieutenants with Tommy guns, Johnny stepped out of the car and looked into the darkness of the garage. To his right a row of wooden work benches held parts from the three cars in the bays on the left, their hoods open in expectation, waiting to swallow the repairs and get back on the streets. The empty oil drums placed here and there for the dirty rags were only lightly used; most of the grease catchers missing the target and piling up on the floor around them. The smell of gasoline and oil permeated his nose and Johnny knew from years of being a grease monkey in this same garage that he made a perfect target silhouetted against the brightness of the early afternoon behind him.
Looking down at his polished shoes and then at the slick and gritty floor of the shop, he seemed unconcerned about the guns he knew were trained on him and his two lieutenants, Butch and Marty. Posture was important in the world, especially the world of gangsters.
“Hey DeSilva! You gonna stand there all day?” One of the dark figures shouted from the depths of the tool and pin-up lined cavern. Slowly, confidently, the three newcomers moved into the shadowy darkness willing their eyes to quickly adjust to the change in light in case their guns were needed. Johnny had not responded to the taunt, choosing instead to ignore it as if it were beneath him as he approached the nearly closed circle of men with guns, neither smiling nor scowling. Keeping your opponent off guard was good strategy; like the shark circling his prey, raising its panic level until it darts off in the wrong direction-straight into the jaws of death. Rather than enter the circle, the three stood just outside of it, a move designed to draw out the one they had come to talk to. It would be this man that Butch and Marty’s guns would be trained on.
Johnny knew that the shop had been cleared prior to their arrival. The mechanics had all been sent to lunch and Al was not sitting in the worn, wooden swivel chair at his cluttered in the office behind the ring of hoods.
This is where it had all started, Al’s Garage; Johnny’s second home as a boy and neutral ground in the protection racket game that had brought North Minneapolis to its knees in front of the gangsters.
This is where the man known as “Big K” had risen from the streets with broken bottles and crowbars, recruiting bullies from the hoods of Polish, Irish, and Italians, coercing one business at a time to his “protection” and paying off cops along the way to watch his back or turn theirs as he built his organization to a level that drew the attention of the hungry predators in St. Paul and Chicago.

And this is where Johnny had watched and learned as “Papa Al” shielded him from his abusive father and the neighborhood toughs as he walked his tightrope of neutrality, sometimes dancing across the tight strand, protecting his own as rival factions met within his non-committal walls to iron out their differences. No bloodshed was allowed and all “debts” were to be settled off the premises.
And Al waxed prosperous indeed as the only garage trusted by gangsters and their bosses on any side of a dispute to handle their cars. After all, one did not want to be driving a rolling bomb or a coffin with no brakes!
“Johnny DeSilva,” Big K finally spoke up, forfeiting his advantage in the waiting game that demanded the other side make the first move. Normally he would have waited for Johnny to speak but the day was wasting and he had other business to attend to. Besides, he thought, these three punks were no match for him and his twelve guns.
“Johnny DeSilva,” K repeated thoughtfully, “been hearing that name a lot lately, seems you been taking over some of my key accounts and skimmed thousands from my operation.”
Johnny, still silent, just nodded.
“What’s the matter,” Big K asked, “cat got your tongue?”
Now Johnny looked into Big K’s muddy brown eyes. A slow smile spread across his face as he saw the puffy eyes and bloated face of a man succumbing to a life of comfort food and padded chairs.
“Seems you’re doing all the talking so far,” Johnny said, his smile easing the tension on the trigger fingers in the room.
“So it does,” Big K nodded in agreement as he searched the blue eyes of the DeSilva, sensing a young lion about to take out the old one. “Something familiar about you,” he continued, “where do I know you from?”
Johnny’s smile widened a little more, energized by Big K’s spark of recognition. He and his lieutenants had been careful to hide their true identities, showing up out of nowhere and attacking quick, claiming the accounts from Big K and knowing he would come after them with a swift and deadly vengeance. Their only hope was to make a big enough dent in his operation to spur a meeting like this and there were only three possible outcomes; cut them in, hire them or kill them and say good-bye to the several thousand dollars they had successfully skimmed from him.
Johnny shrugged at the question. “I get that a lot,” he said. Even if he had told him that he had been the young blonde boy scraping the floor of the garage they were standing in and picking up the greasy rags all of these last ten years, Big K’s ego would not let him believe it.
“Word is you might be from Chicago,” Big K continued doing the talking, “maybe yes, maybe no. I’ve been waitin’ for the Chicago boys to come and talk. I could use some more muscle to expand my operation. You verify that and we’ll do business, you don’t, you die.”
DeSilva’s smile faded, “Here’s the real deal, “K”, is that what they call you? You turn your operation over to me, right here, right now, and I let you retire with a pension; a percentage of what you’ve built. You live fat and happy and we all walk out alive and stay that way.”

Big K and his boys looked at each other, smiles breaking into snickers and growing into full fledged laughter until Johnny and his boys were laughing as well. Soon there were tears streaming down the faces of Big K’s men and the big man himself was red in the face, possibly in danger of a stroke. K’s hoods were weak from the experience and could not have lifted their guns if they had tried.
Finally, Johnny raised his hand to Butch and Marty and the laughter stopped, returning the stone cold stares to their faces. Big K stopped his laughter as well, showing the side of him that had gotten him here.
“What makes you think that we are just going to let you walk in here demanding anything and walking out with my whole operation? Look around you, DeSilva; you’re outnumbered four to one!”
Johnny did not look around but stared straight into K’s eyes. “This is neutral ground isn’t it?” He replied with a question.
“Yeah, always has been,” K started.
“So, whatever arrangements we arrive at will be settled off the premises?”
“That’s the rule,” K affirmed.
“Do we have a deal then?” Johnny asked.
“I don’t think so,” K answered, disdain rolling off his tongue, “I think we’ll find out who you really are and settle this elsewhere.”
“I’m a busy man,” DeSilva said, “It’s now or never.”
“Then it’s never,” Big K replied, “Chicago boys or not.” Hey, he reasoned, the boys in Chicago could not blame him for killing DeSilva if he didn’t know who had sent him and if he wasn’t no one would care. This crap was getting on his nerves. Glancing at the men around him, K put them on alert. The last remnants of the laughter were gone from their faces.
“Matter of fact,” K said, “we’ll settle this right now, across the street.”
Raising their weapons, his men motioned the three would-be takeover artists toward the open garage door.
“What about the missing money?” Johnny asked. “If you kill us you’ll never get it back.”
“Oh, we’ll find out where it is. You’ll watch your friends die slowly until you tell us.” K said as he followed behind
“Why should we tell you if you are just gonna kill us anyway?” Johnny continued. Big K just rolled his eyes. “Keep moving!” He demanded.
“Looks like we don’t have a choice,” Johnny said, motioning for Butch and Marty to continue walking. Tommy guns shouldered, neither man showed any signs of stress at their plight.
With a smirk on his face, Big K followed as they walked through the door into the bright light of the sunny afternoon, his men flanking him and squinting as they crossed the threshold, watching for Johnny and his lieutenants to try to escape in the waiting Lincoln.
“You really want to do this?” Johnny asked as he led the way.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” Big K assured him.
“You’re sure?” Johnny repeated.
“Yeah, I’m sure! Now move, get across the street!”

Johnny smiled as they stepped onto the patchy tar- over- brick street. Turning to face Big K, Johnny saw him and the hoods, so long in the darkness, struggling to adjust to the day’s brightness.
“Last chance, K,” Johnny said.
K and his men chuckled coldly. You had to admire this guy’s spirit.
“Up against the wall,” the big man said as Johnny and his guns were shoved back against the bricks of the side of a neighborhood bank.
Facing the twelve guns Johnny said loudly, “Okay boys, we’ve given them enough rope.”
Exasperated, Big K shook his head, “I told you DeSilva, we outnumber you four to one.”
“I think you miscounted,” Johnny said, looking up toward the roof, “we’ve got you by three.”
Following Johnny’s gaze Big K and his men looked up and saw where the missing money had gone, counting the twelve cops pointing Tommy guns at their faces like harpoons at a barrel of fish.
Johnny stepped out and turned, smiling and said, “Looks like we got a deal, Chief.”
“Better start planning your “retirement”, K!” the Chief hollered down.
As K lowered his head the men around him looked hopefully to DeSilva.
“Meet your new boss, boys,” Butch finally spoke, raising his Tommy to silence any objections.
The hoods nodded in respect as Johnny and his lieutenants crossed the street, climbing into the shiny black Lincoln with the suicide doors and pulling away from the curb.
“Yeah,” Johnny thought to himself, “DeSilva has a much better ring to it.”

John Evan Carson
9/17/2009

CALL FOR LITERARY AGENT

JohnC — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 02:16:02 +0000

John and Marlene Carson, authors of the novels currently listed on this site, have agreed to participate in an experimental program to connect authors and agents and/or publishers by putting out a call for agents to represent their new novel, the title and subject to stay under wraps until a deal is struck.

In a recent survey, test readers of the new novel have unanimously rated it a best seller.
If you are interested in possibly representing the new book please contact the webmaster at www.readjohncarson.com.

Only serious inquiries will be considered.

SAY IT AGAIN, SAM

JohnC — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 21:45:24 +0000

Each generation achieves veneration
By the characters put on the stage-
The times will be mirrored
By those loved and feared
Whose acts bring laughter or rage.

We hoist up the sails in breezes and gales As we navigate the ocean of life…
Then sit on the docks
In gray beards and locks
Telling tales of glory and strife.

The ones who before us have raised up a chorus Now sing to the dust on the shelves They fade in the sun Of those on the run Who in turn will laugh at themselves-

And this work is destined
Like each one before
To knock at the door of time…
So in consideration allow this summation The story told once more, in rhyme.

John Evan Carson
2009

Bedtime Stories

JohnC — Thu, 25 Dec 2008 07:18:48 +0000

Were I to lay
My head to sleep
What tales into
My dreams would creep?

Within the blanket
Of the night-
The things remembered
And things that might…

Reveal themselves
As they are led
To the files
Within my head

Some are merry
As I slumber
While others march
Lurch or lumber

Through the hours
My mind beguiled-
I watch transfixed
Like a child…

To glean what meaning
That I can
When the morning
Comes again.

What thoughts within
My memory stir
To write of things
That never were?

And bring them out
In all their glories
As I write
My bedtime stories.

John Evan Carson
2008

Woodbury Show

JohnC — Thu, 25 Dec 2008 07:18:23 +0000

Recently, John and Marlene had the opportunity to view the art show by the artist Juliet L. Anderson displayed at the Library at Central Park in Woodbury Minnesota highlighting the paintings inspired by John’s poetry and the paintings that have inspired poems by John.

It was a great show with many of the artist’s paintings on display all around the beautiful library. Each of the paintings on display featured the corresponding poem by John and the show has generated much excitement among the library staff and patrons. One poem in particular was of interest to the staff; Cover To Cover, a poem about books and the magic of reading seemed especially appropriate to the event.

Normally highlighting art, this combined show of art and words is unique to the venue. For those who live in the area, stop in and ask to see the wonderful art of Juliet L. Anderson.

All in all, the show was another blessing the authors are thankful for this Thanksgiving.

May you all enjoy this coming Thanksgiving Day!

See you in December!

Dont Turn Around

JohnC — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 19:15:57 +0000

It’s All Hallows Eve and the cold North breeze
Sends the wails of spirits whistling through the trees…
The moon is full behind dark clouds
And the fog is hiding vampires and werewolves in its shrouds.

The children are gathering in hordes on the street
Thinking of candy and the ghouls they’ll meet…
And if you are alone on this magic night-
Beware! Lest your imagination take flight…

The cupboards hold monsters and scarier things-
Snakes and bats and crawling things!
There’s a banging in the hallway and a slither on the floor…
Pretend you don’t hear and you’ll only hear more!

Don’t pull back the curtain- for a face you may see!
Sit in the chair and gather your knees!
Remember this rule as the goblins abound-
Whatever you do…

DON’T TURN AROUND!

John Evan Carson

Originally published by the Monticello Times Halloween Edition, 2003.

Happy Halloween everyone! To stay in the mood, pick up a copy of Last Resort, a haunting mystery suspense ghost story available through your favorite bookseller. See the You Tube trailer on this site for a preview.

Midwest Book Review

JohnC — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 06:38:10 +0000

The Current issue of Midwest Book Review’s Children’s Bookwatch reviews The Chinese Fortune Cookie.

“Every story has some root in reality, no matter how out there it may seem. “The Chinese Fortune Cookie” is a novel about young tween Ramblin’ Rose who looks up to her grandfather as the ultimate source of wisdom. She and her family are after an art thief, a pursuit which takes them around the world. A touching story, “The Chinese Fortune Cookie” is great for young people just getting started on chapter books. Also highly recommended is “The Secret in the Arctic Ice” (9780980003406, $8.99), another tale sure to entertain fans of the Ramblin’ Rose series.

Flying Monkeys

JohnC — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 06:12:52 +0000

Acting on yet another arts link, John and Marlene accepted an invitation to appear at the Flying Monkey Arts on Saturday, July 19th and participate in the Artist’s Market from Noon to 4pm.

Located in the historic Lowe Mill in Huntsville, AL the Flying Monkeys Arts group uses the building to promote the creative arts; sponsoring classes, theater, music, and visual arts and providing opportunities for artists and writers alike to display their talents.

John and Marlene were pleased to showcase their books as well as the works of other AMI authors for the event and met many creative people, including one man who makes jewelry using ancient chain mail patterns, weaving bracelets, key chains, ear rings and even garments from copper and aluminum wire.

From fine art paintings and sculpture to metal work and magic wands, the range of creativity impressed the authors greatly.

The afternoon passed all too soon and since there was not enough time to man the table and see all the Flying Monkeys had to offer, John and Marlene are planning a return visit in the near future.

You can accept their invitation as well; simply check out their website at www.flyingmonkeyarts.org for more information.

NEW EVENTS!

JohnC — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 18:17:02 +0000

The staff at Readjohncarson.com has just been informed of three new events that showcase the poetry side of John’s writing.

John’s poem, On Eagles Wing, will be displayed alongside of the artist, Juliet L Anderson’s 22×30 acrylic on watercolor paper painting of the same name inspired by John’s poem. The painting will be on display at The Galleries in The Phipps Center for The Arts at 109 Locust St. in Hudson, Wisconsin from June 6th-July 6th as part of the 25th Anniversary Celebration of the Center. See their website at http://www.thephipps.org for more information.

The artist continues her event list with a month long display at The Hartford located at Hwys 494 and 94 in Woodbury MN, showcasing many more of her paintings with John’s poems alongside from September-October of this year.

Wrapping up the year, about a dozen of Juliet’s paintings and corresponding poetry by John will be on display at The Library in Central Park also in Woodbury, MN. from November thru December 31st.

John and the staff here are excited about the upcoming events and the chance to share the other side of his writing with his fans. He is also humbled and honored to be on display with a great artist like Juliet who puts her whole heart into her works, to the delight of her many fans.

Stop in and see Juliet’s works at any or all of these venues; and if you have a moment while you are there, read a few of John’s lines, maybe they will inspire you as well.

The Phipps Center For The Arts
109 Locust St.
Hudson, WI
54016
(715) 386-2305

The Library at Central Park
Washington Co. Branch
8595 Central Park Place
(651) 275-8500

The Hartford
Hwy. 494 & 94
Woodbury, MN
55125

RAMBLIN’ ROSE SERIES IN HUNTSVILLE LIBRARY

JohnC — Thu, 22 May 2008 02:55:35 +0000

John and Marlene Carson, authors of the recently released, Ramblin’ Rose Series, are proud to announce that the four books are now available in the Local Author section of the Huntsville/Madison County Library located in downtown Huntsville, Alabama.

“Huntsville is a city with many respected authors; a progressive city with a mix of tradition and high technology, Huntsville treats books and authors with respect and we are honored to be included in their library,” said John after receiving the news.

The news from the library came on the same day as a new book signing at the Waldenbooks in the Madison Mall on University Avenue, adding to the excitement of the authors and their family. (See the latest event information and also AMI’s website for details.)

To paraphrase the cover of Ramblin’ Rose and The Internet Newsletter; “It’s every author’s dream as Rose makes her way from Minneapolis, Minnesota to Huntsville Alabama, winning new hearts and friends along the way.”

Stay tuned to this newsletter for more exciting news to come!