The Last American Martyr Read Online Free PDF Page B

other. Billy, having the malicious streak he did, was wrenching every car antenna he passed, breaking them at their bases. I told him how “fucked up” that was, but he wouldn’t stop. That is until he spotted a very frail, very old lady one streetlight ahead of us.
    “C’mon,’ he said, picking up his pace, ‘let’s catch up to her.”
    “Whoooa,” I said, “What the hell have you got up your sleeve, Shea?”
    It wasn’t until we were two steps behind the tiny, defenseless woman that Billy whispered, “I’m gonna snatch her purse, man.”
    I told him he’d better not dare try something like that, but Shea said it was easy money and he was doing it whether I liked it or not. With that, he grabbed the purse and started to run. But there were two problems. One, the woman must have sensed what was about to take place because, tiny as she was, she would not let go of that purse. Number two, the strap was a metal chain that was very tough to break. Billy dragged the screaming woman in the darkness. She slid face first on the cement sidewalk for probably fifteen feet before the chain broke.
    Having no other choice I beat heels with him around the next corner and ducked into the basement of an apartment building. Minutes later three police sirens shrilled past the basement’s small windows. I watched their red lights strobe across Billy Shea’s maniacal face as he happily fished his booty from the purse. I was eighteen, and that was the last time I’d ever be involved in a theft.
     
    Thanks to a strong tailwind, Flight 1402 touched down at Kennedy eight minutes ahead of schedule. When we disembarked shortly after, Elaina and I still weren’t saying much. But that quickly changed when we reached the end of the exit ramp and stepped inside the terminal.
    “Oh my god, Tom,” Elaina said as she surprisingly grabbed my hand. “Look at all those reporters over there.”
    Beyond all the rows of blue plastic chairs in the waiting area were dozens of press people; CNN, ABC, CBC, MSNBC, and all the rest.  
    “Oh shit, I didn’t want to go through this now,” I said.
    “Just be careful what you say,” Elaina came back, “half the world will be seeing what takes place here. Don’t lose your temper.”
    “Yeah, yeah, ye—”
    “That’s him! There they are!” one of the press corps shouted. Then, as if on cue, all the cameras started rolling and clicking simultaneously. So did the questions.
    “Mister Soles,” the heavyset guy who first spotted us shouted above everybody else, “with your humble background, how does it feel to be a million dollars richer?”
    “Not a whole lot different than it did the first time. By the way, do you do background checks on the side?”
    Elaina tightened her small grip on my hand.
    The entire assemblage chuckled from the remark, but the reporter fired right back, “What do you plan on doing with the money this time?”
    “Don’t tell me you’re into financial planning too.” There was another round of hearty laughs before I added, “It will be put to good use, I assure you.”
    A tall, handsome, blonde woman with spectacles, a necktie and a no BS demeanor asked, “I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, Mister Soles, but a major book retailer here in the U.S. announced just hours ago that they are going to take your book off their shelves. Does that bother you?”
    “No I haven’t heard, being so busy and all. But yes, of course that bothers me. It also doesn’t surprise me.”
     
    “Why doesn’t that surprise you?” someone from the back of the still clicking, filming mob shouted.
    “Have you yet read Enough is Enough , my friend? If you have, you know darned well there are some people in high places who are going to resent the truth.”
    “Mrs. Soles,” a very familiar female face in the media world began, “do you support your husband’s mission one hundred percent? And by the way, you are a very pretty lady. You must like nice things—jewelry, clothes,