Joe, the bartender at the Chicagoua Café, a wannabe writer, creates Story Time Karaoke. A venue where writers, poets, and people from around the country come to tell their unique stories, to a live audience in the Chicagoua Café.

While Joe’s working, the bar is like Cheers on steroids because there’re always stories being told. 

Elliston, a commodities broker who frequents the bar, offers to let Joe in on a deal where he’ll turn $$$$$into $$$$$$$$$$ within a week. Joe borrows it from the bar owner and his new friends with the promise plenty of $$$$s in return in only a week. Elliston disappears with the money.

His friends become his enemies over the lost money. Elmo, once a friend, attempts to cut his eye out but is stopped by Joe’s enemy, Moose, a gangster from Boston who sought revenge because Joe and a friend had knocked him out in a barroom brawl. Moose becomes Joe’s only friend. Joe and Moose find Elliston and recover the money. They discover Elliston is gay and married to Joe’s girlfriend’s brother. Elliston and his husband defrauded more than one bar with their investment scheme, so Joe is able to take his money plus interest but is forced to return to Boston by Moose to prove Moose isn’t guilty of murder.

Once that is resolved, Joe returns to Chicago to discover that a famous author who promised to show his novel to her agent had published it under her name. She released it as nonfiction and is sued. The lawsuit makes headlines. Joe ends up with an offer from a New York publisher to write why a famous author stole his manuscript. 

Can Joe find the thief to prove to his friends he wasn’t the one who stole their money? Will his enemy from Boston break his bones?

Story Time Karaoke

@

The Chicagoua Café

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83,000 words

Copyright © 2010 by Joe DiBuduo

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2016

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ISBN-13:

978-1533140562

ISBN-10: 1533140561

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Joedibuduo.com

Chapter 1 –Joe and Luigi are robbed and write Dogs, (published) 

Chapter 2 -(Detroit) published.

Chapter 3 –Zooloo story. Luigi gives Joe book listing gov deviates.

Chapter 4 – Luigi wins the contest. Knocks out, Moose. Joe has to leave town. Goes to Chicago. He gets hired at the bar. Hears werewolf story.

Chapter 5 - Melody story

Chapter 6 - Kathy leaves 2nd poem  Red recites the 1st poem. Joe starts Karaoke story time.

Chapter 7 - Mac is legless man Robert Elliston is a commodity broker.

Chapter 8, O'Sullivan enters the story Coat thief takes Joe’s money.

Chapter 9  -Kathy tells biscuit and Gravy story. Reveals she’s a reporter.- Put’s Joe in a newspaper story.

Chapter 10 - gorilla story  Billy Bob.

Chapter 11 - Grandpa story Felix (published in LSS) ezine

Chapter 12 -Grand Canyon story

Chapter 13 -Turtle story and Saturday night. Aunt Paula in Hospital.

Chapter 14 Elmo tells the immigrant story. L.A.Story Goose in L.A. Story.

Chapter 15  Fish story and Joe getting investment money

Chapter 16  Cook County Jail

Chapter 17  Joe collects money magic mirror, (Published)  & Lions

Chapter 18  After the poet's talk & Peanut allergy

Chapter 19 Poet eats him and Special class. Kathy works as barmaid + 3 more stories.

Chapter 20  Fertile at any Age. Kathy spends the night.

Chapter 21  Geek Squad.

Chapter 22 Beware-mountain lion on the Peavine Trail stage play, Viagra-blue

Chapter 23  Love Hurts. Elliston’s pay off day.

Chapter 24  Frankenstein’s Bride

Chapter 25  Joe goes to jail after people ask for their money.

Chapter 26  Kathy makes up with her brother.

Chapter 27 Aunt isn’t dead as thought. Joe gets stopped at Logan Airport.

Chapter 28  Joe goes to Boston.

Chapter 29 The End.

Chapter 1

I’ll never forget the day when I worked tending bar at the Palace Café and Luigi, my classmate, saved my life. He was a little shit, not much more than five feet tall with a slender build. Despite his size, he walked with a swagger. There was an air of danger wherever he went. He showed up not ten minutes after my shift, started, rubbed his hands together to warm them and said, Damn cold out there. Give me something hot to drink.

Coffee and Kahlua okay?

Sure.

We had begun attending Boston University six months ago. We were both twenty-one. Aside from our age and taking the same class, we didn’t have much in common. Luigi lived in the North End of Boston and had Mafia connections. I lived in South Boston with my Aunt Paula. I later discovered we had different reasons for enrolling in B.U.s, Introduction to Creative Writing.

Despite our differences; we had become pretty good friends. My 6’2" height made us look like Mutt and Jeff when we stood side by side. My blond hair and light complexion contrasted with his dark hair and skin. Our conversations were typically about weird shit, but we helped each other keep our creative stories coming. He sipped his drink and started talking.

I’m leaving that bitch, Luigi said.

Who, Your wife?

No! My fucking dog. Yeah, I’m talking about my wife, Maria. I’m afraid to go to sleep at night when she’s around.

Maria was a few inches shorter and slenderer than Luigi. You scared of a little woman like her? How could she hurt you?

You remember Bobbitt? Lorena wasn’t much bigger than Maria.

Yeah, but Bobbitt got famous for having it cut off and got opportunities he never imagined possible.

Luigi crossed his legs. That’s bullshit. What does getting your dick cut off open up for a guy?

I smiled. Luigi took this seriously. Did he believe Maria capable of mutilating him? You get it sewn back on, and if it still works, you can star in porn films like Bobbitt did.

You kidding?

He starred in ‘Frankenpenis’ and ‘Uncut.’

Fuck that. I’m sleeping in iron underwear from now on.

After gulping down his drink, Luigi walked to the pool table and began running balls. The entry door burst open with a bang, and two men stormed in and slammed the door against the howling wind.

Both wore black hoodies and masks—one of Trump and the other of Obama. The masks glowed in the darkened bar.  About to tell them trick or treat was a month ago; I froze when Trump yanked a pistol from his side pocket.

Give us all the fucking money in the cigar box.

Holy shit, robbers. Obama threw a nylon bag on the bar.

Today was the check-cashing day, and the cigar box hidden under the bar held several thousand dollars. My boss would kill me if I let these guys get away with his money. I grabbed the baseball bat I kept handy for troublemakers, gripped it tightly, and yelled; Behind you. Trump turned. I swung the bat hitting him on his head. He dropped to the floor. Obama backed up, pulled a .45 from his belt and aimed at me.

Motherfucker you’re goi. . .

I closed my eyes, wrapped my arms around my chest, and waited for the gunshot. Instead, THUNK. Luigi smashed a pool cue onto the top of Obama’s head. The masked man fell to the floor beside Trump.

Luigi yanked the masks off, and I recognized both guys, small-time hustlers who stopped in for a drink now and then.

My boss appeared at the top of the stairs. He’d seen everything. The two bouncers who’d been getting ready to go on duty charged down the stairs sounding like locomotives and dragged the robbers into the back alley.

When my guys are finished with them, my boss said. They’ll never dare come around here again.

Luigi picked up the guns the robbers had dropped. Want to keep these behind the bar?

No, you keep them. I owed Luigi big time for saving my ass.

He stuffed them into his jacket pockets and returned to shooting pool.

I mopped up the blood. This was how the Palace earned its nickname, Bucket of Blood.  Someday, I’d write a novel about the shit that happened while I worked here.

**

After things calmed down, I gave Luigi a drink on the Palace and we got to talking. Luigi said, "The reason I’m going to school is that my lawyer told the judge I’d be attending B.U.

What judge?

I got busted for defrauding banks.

How’d that work?

They’re good at paying their bills, so I sent out a bunch of bogus bills for supplies I never sent. The jerks paid almost everyone I sent.

So what happened?

One bank opened a new branch, and when they looked for the supplies they had paid for, there weren’t any. They tracked me down. End of story. Why are you going to school?

I’ve always wanted to be a writer, and I promised my Aunt Paula I’d get a college degree.

She going to give you something if you do?

No. She doesn’t have much, but Paula took me in when I was 14 and a runaway from Lyman School.

Why’d that happen? Luigi asked.

Shit happened when I was around eight. A judge sent me to the Youth Service Board for delinquency.

Why?

Who the fuck knows the real reason? They said it would be in the public interest to get me off the streets so there wouldn’t be any more fires. They sent me to Lyman School.

That sucks, they must have thought you were a firebug? So, why did you run away?

I reached under the bar where I’d put yesterday’s paper and gave it to Luigi.

He read out loud, "The exhumations at the Dozier School for Boys that closed in 2017 continue. Stories of abuse at the school, including beatings, torture, sexual abuse, killings and the disappearances of students are alleged by former inmates.

Hope the bastards get the electric chair.

Not likely, I said. Same shit happened at Lyman School. No one ever went to jail. So when I was 13, I ran away.

Where’d you go?

Lived on the streets for a year.

Homeless?

Yeah, I’d find an abandoned building or house and live there as long as possible. No heat, so in winter, I’d go to the library to get warm. I got into reading. Every day there the librarian gave me something to eat. At first, I thought the librarian was a cranky gray haired frustrated old lady, but she turned out to be a sweetie. I called her, Aunt Paula. She helped me find books and explained any parts I couldn’t understand.

Your aunt worked there?

"She’s not my blood aunt, but she treats me like a nephew. I’d read and write at a corner table. I’d make sure I had a poem or short story to show her every day. She’d comment on it and then wanted to know if I understood the book she offered me the previous day. She asked what school I attended, I didn’t have an answer. So she figured me for a runaway and then tutored and encouraged me to read books she thought would help me. After a few weeks, she started bringing me what she said were dinner leftovers.

"Then one night when she was leaving the library a guy snatched her purse. I tackled the guy and took it away from him. She told me that South Boston was a scary neighborhood for her. This was the third time in three years her purse got snatched.

To show her appreciation, she invited me to her house for dinner. That night we discussed Shakespeare.  I’d been reading his plays since reform school, and I shocked her with my knowledge. After a few months of having me over for dinner a few times a week and giving me books to read, that she considered classics, she said I could stay at her house if I’d go to school. I’ve lived with her since then. Now I’m working to pay for college. She’s almost old enough to retire, and I’m hoping to repay her by making her retirement comfortable.

That’s good. Ya know, I got connections, Luigi said. If you ever need to make some easy money,

I figured his connections would engage me in criminal activity, so I ignored his offer.

When things were slow, he’d tell stories about growing up in the North end of Boston. One afternoon he said, I got five older brothers. Every one of the fuckers used me as a punching bag until I was twelve.

I figured because of his diminutive size, Luigi was the family runt. What happened when you turned twelve?

Paybacks. If any of my brothers hit me, he’d find one of his prize possessions gone or destroyed.

Didn’t that piss them off?

Yeah, they’d beat my ass, but I got used to it. After I turned twelve and my two oldest brothers whipped my ass, I put rat poison in my oldest brother’s food, snuck into the next eldest’s room while he slept and dumped gasoline on him. He was gasping from fear when he woke up saw me holding a flaming lighter. ‘Next time you touch me, I’ll be serving you like barbeque beef,’ I told him.

Did your oldest brother die?

Nah, they pumped the rat poison out of his stomach. After that, not one of them dared to hit me. Being a kid was fun. I got away with so much shit because I was a runt. My parents didn’t believe I did half the things I did.

Looking into Luigi’s eyes, I knew I’d better never cross him.

On a quiet Friday afternoon, Luigi sat at the bar writing in his notebook. It wouldn’t be calm for long because the bar cashed payroll checks on Fridays and it became a madhouse once the working men came in. Since the attempted holdup, one of the bouncers wore a gun belt and had a shotgun beside him when he handled the check cashing duties.

I glanced through the Writer’s Digest Luigi had put on the bar, Hey, look at this. All we have to do to win a thousand bucks is write a Sci-Fi story.

That’s a gimmick, Luigi said. They get a thousand suckers to pay $20 as a reading fee and they give away one grand and keep the other nineteen.

Luigi always tried to figure the angles, but this time he was wrong. Not true, I said. There’s no entry fee for this one.

Let’s see.

I handed the magazine to him.

After he read the submission guidelines, he said, Hey, I’ve got a story for our class assignment that’s pretty good.

Yeah, me too.

I’ll read mine. You tell me if you think it’s good enough to win. Then you read yours, and I’ll tell you, good or bad.

Deal.

Luigi leafed through his notebook and found his story.

Okay. My story is, ‘Fisher Creatures.’

He read in a subdued voice. The guy sitting two stools over moved closer to listen.

Fisher Creatures

Something’s moving on the mountain. Let the dogs loose, I told Jacques. He released our four hunting dogs. They charged up the snow-covered hill barking with joy to be in pursuit. They disappeared over a hill and a few seconds later flashing lights lit up the daytime sky and yelps of fear echoed over the mountain.

What’n the hell are they afraid of? I asked.

I can’t imagine, Jacques said. Those dogs usually fear nothing.

Something’s sure scaring the hell out of them, I said as we came to the top of the hill. The dogs rolled and barked on bloodstained snow. 

The dogs must be in a feeding frenzy, I said.

Probably caught a rabbit or two, Jacques looked at the pink snow.

I pointed to an area where the snow had melted into a three foot deep and a hundred foot long trench, Do you think that ditch in the snow had anything to do it?

Don’t know, but maybe it’s connected with those flashing lights? looks like something melted that depression into the snow.

Jacques walked to where the dogs ate. In shock, he exclaimed, Holy God, there were four dogs when we started, and now there are eight.

Must be somebody else’s got mixed with ours.

We stood scratching our chins. Who had four dogs identical to ours? Suddenly all eight dogs simultaneously coughed out balls of flesh like material about six inches in diameter. The fleshy orbs squirmed through the snow as though alive. We watched as each one blew up like a balloon and burst into an exact duplicate of the dog that had choked it up. Eight dogs became sixteen.

Jacques and I looked at each other in amazement. What’ in the hell is going on? I said.

Don’t know, but whatever the dogs got is going to get us too if we don’t get out of here.

We’ve got to get away before we catch whatever it is they’ve got. Jacques started running down the hill.

Halfway down he stopped, began coughing, and choked up a round ball of flesh. It hit the snow, squirmed around for a few seconds, expanded and exploded into an exact copy of Jacques.  Almost as soon as he duplicated, both Jacques spits up balls of flesh that squirmed through the snow. Terrified, I sped down the hill followed by thirty-two dogs and four Jacques.

Luckily for me, I hadn’t gone near the area of melted snow that Jacques and the dogs had. I had to warn the villagers before the contamination spread, but I should have known I couldn’t outrun the dogs. One bowled into my legs. Once I hit the ground, the dog stood over me and dripped drool onto my face.

The dogs transmitted the infection at an astonishing speed. One minute the dog drooled on my face, the next minute I choked up a ball of flesh that almost instantly became a likeness of me when it hit the snow. Not only a resemblance but another me. My thoughts came in stereo, and within a few minutes I doubled again, and quadraphonic thoughts filled my heads.

The dogs ran through the village infecting everyone. I doubled again and now used eight different brains to wonder if this were a gift or a curse. If it could be restricted somehow, it would be a boon for humanity.

With all eight brains, I concentrated extremely hard, trying to figure out how I could control the process. All eight of me coughed, and eight balls squiggled in the snow. Almost instantly I was thinking with sixteen brains. They came to the conclusion that if this contagion could be controlled, one cow could feed the world.

My thirty-two eyes turned skyward. A large sausage-shaped craft hovered above the village. What at first looked like a cloud falling to the ground turned out to be a silky substance that acted as a magnetic web attracting every living creature within fifty feet into it, including four of me and five of Jacques. Once full, the web was hauled back to the floating craft, and its catch dumped onto a vast deck. The Jacques and four of me were gasping for air in the airless chamber, so were the animals taken along with us.  Two-legged-creatures, including one of me and two of Jacques, were picked up by freaky aliens that were small, thin, and hairy. They threw them overboard. The disposed bodies spun in a circular motion towards the ground at speeds sure to kill.  When Jacques and my duplicates hit the ground, all of us felt the pain and trauma of dying. Because there was so many of us, it was only like losing a finger or toe.

All other gasping life forms were pushed into a hole in the floor, lined with ice to keep them fresh. As my three remaining clones fought the hairy, long-legged stick-like creatures trying to throw them over the side, One creature asked in perfect English, Why do we need to throw the two-legged ones back?

One of his mates with three rows of teeth answered in flawless French, They’re full of toxins, better to eat poison mushrooms than one of them any day.

***

Chapter 2

Got that right, the guy sitting next to Luigi said. Goddamned food is poisoned nowadays. Give me another whiskey. He slapped a twenty on the bar. Him too. He pointed to Luigi.

When I served their drinks, the guy said, Tell your story. Having an audience was good. My story is longer than Luigi’s. You got time to listen?

Read the fucking story will ya?

Okay, here goes.

Detroit—Where Has the Population Gone?

I never thought I’d be chosen, but I applied for a free home from a group that claimed their mission was merely to enliven the literary arts of Detroit by renovating homes and giving them to authors, journalists, poets, and other types of writers.

The Arizona Mountains were nice, but small town living got old after six years. I figured I’d already met anyone I’d ever meet here, and life seemed to be the same day after day. I needed a change—excitement, danger, or some type of stimulation so I wouldn’t feel as though I was just waiting to die.

Wishful thinking caused me to tell my family and friends that I’d be moving to Detroit if I was selected. They greeted me with derision.

Don’t you know how dangerous Detroit is? My friends said.

I grew up in the slums, served time, and lived in some of the worst cities in the United States. I’ve never been to Detroit, but I think I can handle it, I answered them.

My lifelong training told me I could never back down, but being a bit smarter in old age than as a youth, I figured I could talk my way out of most situations unless I were attacked.

When I was chosen to receive a house, I became ecstatic. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t decline after telling everyone I’d move there. A week after being notified, I arrived and was pleased with the newly refurbished 3 bedroom house. I called and had the utilities turned on and walked around to survey the neighborhood. As I closed my front door, I waved to an older woman standing on her porch across the street. She smiled and waved.

Three little ones around five were playing on the sidewalk in front of my house. When I came through the gate, they stopped playing to stare at me. I was probably the first white person they had ever seen in the flesh. I would have been a bit friendlier toward them, but in today’s society when a man is intimate with strange children he’s suspected of evil intent, so I smiled and waved goodbye.

There were abandoned houses on each side of my new home. Curiosity has always been my weak point, so I had to take a look at the one on the west side and banged on the door. When my fist hit the door the second time, it sprung open.

Hellooo, I yelled in case there were homeless or druggies inhabiting the house. No answer so I stepped inside. To my surprise the interior condition of the house wasn’t too bad, peeling paint and wallpaper, but no holes in the walls or ceiling. I jumped when the furnace ignited, and warm air blew from the vents.

Shit, someone must live here. I backed out the door and closed it. I could’ve been shot for walking into someone’s house uninvited. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. As I walked around the block, I found three abandoned houses to every occupied one. I returned home to write for a while about my first day in Detroit.

When I finished writing, the computer clock said a quarter to midnight. I looked at the stars, but the sky was overcast so there were none in sight. Drum beats came from the house I had entered the day before, not jazz or blues, but the deep sound reminded me of American Indian drums.

Light shone through thin window shades and shadows moved inside. Sounded like they were having a great party in there. Too bad I wasn’t invited. The noise caused me to have a restless night’s sleep. Sure hoped that didn’t go on every night unless of course, they invited me to the party.