Cesspool Read online

  Cesspool

  A Novel

  By

  Phil M. Williams

  Copyright © 2016 by Phil M. Williams

  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

  Phil W Books

  www.PhilWBooks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-943894-11-6

  Cover design and interior formatting by Tugboat Design

  Contents

  Chapter 1: White Slaves Get Sunburnt

  Chapter 2: WOD

  Chapter 3: Guest

  Chapter 4: Dr. Dicks

  Chapter 5: Protect and Serve

  Chapter 6: The Girl Next Door

  Chapter 7: Pie in the Sky

  Chapter 8: Help Wanted

  Chapter 9: Detect, Barricade, and Evade

  Chapter 10: Payback

  Chapter 11: Reckoning

  Chapter 12: Into the Slurry

  Chapter 13: Information Is Power

  Chapter 14: Preparation

  Chapter 15: If You Ain't First, You're Last

  Chapter 16: Chucky

  Chapter 17: I Love YouTube

  Chapter 18: A Tangled Web

  Chapter 19: Melty Chocolate Chips

  Chapter 20: Take a Bite out of Crime

  Chapter 21: Time to Go

  Chapter 22: Exodus

  Chapter 23: 48 Hours Mystery

  Chapter 24: Math and History

  Dear Reader,

  If you’re interested in receiving my new book releases for free, go to the following link: www.PhilWBooks.com. You’re probably thinking, what’s the catch? There is no catch. I hope you enjoy the book!

  Sincerely,

  Phil M. Williams

  Chapter 1

  White Slaves Get Sunburnt

  James Fisher sat at the dining room table, his laptop open. His coffee steamed within reach of his pasty arms. He grabbed the mug, took a sip, and scanned the headlines on the screen.

  Tent Cities in the Heart of Silicon Valley

  ECB Supports More QE

  Ponzified Pensions in Pennsylvania

  National Debt Ballooning Beyond $18 Trillion

  Health Insurance Costs Outpacing Wages

  Russia’s Economy in Decline

  Greece’s Stock Market Collapsing

  Portland-Area Water Rate Skyrocketing as Pipes Burst

  He moved the cursor over the Ponzified Pensions in Pennsylvania link and clicked it. He scanned the graphs and quotes from officials, grappling with the unforgiving nature of mathematics. Coming soon to a state near you. He heard quick steps down the wooden stairs. The first floor of his home was open, with no dividing wall between the kitchen and the living room. He turned toward the kitchen, where the stainless steel appliances glistened in the morning light. A small round table for two sat against the bay window.

  Lori’s sneakers squeaked as she rushed into the kitchen, her keys in hand and an Adidas bag slung over her shoulder. Her straight brown hair was pulled back in a long ponytail. Her nylon jacket was unzipped to chest level, showing her ample cleavage held together by two sports bras.

  She opened the fridge and removed a bottle with greenish liquid. James stood with a groan and trudged across the hardwood to the kitchen. She shook the bottle, avoiding his gaze. Lori rifled through a drawer, grabbing an energy bar and dropping her keys in the process.

  “Damn it,” she said as she bent over and snatched her keys from the tile.

  James saw the outline of her labia through her yoga pants. The guys at that stupid-ass gym see her vagina more than I do.

  “Won’t you be cold?” James asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “The box gets pretty hot.”

  “Why can’t you guys just call it a gym?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” she said as she unzipped the side pocket of her bag and shoved the energy bar inside.

  “Maybe you could wear regular shorts and a T-shirt. That would be comfortable.”

  She glared at James. “This is what everyone wears now.”

  “It’s just a bit … revealing.”

  Her pale face flushed red. “What do you want me to do, James? I can’t change now—I’m late.”

  “You just have a lot of … curves.” He winced.

  She crossed her arms, still holding her green drink concoction. “You think I look fat?”

  Shit. “No, you look great. You’ve always looked great. I loved your body forty extra pounds ago.”

  “I’m late.” She brushed past James and slammed the door on her way out.

  * * *

  James fast-walked down the empty hallway, a loaded backpack over his jacket. Classroom doors were closed, decorated with snowflakes and snowmen. A murmur of preteen chatter spilled into the hall. He stood at his classroom door, fishing his keys from his khakis. He caught a glimpse of himself in the door window. His nose was too large, his eyes too squinty, and his chin too small.

  “Mr. Fisher, I’d like a word.”

  James took a deep breath and turned around.

  The principal was short, with narrow shoulders, low body fat, but a big head. It looked as though he had the body of one of his middle-schoolers, with an adult head shoved on top.

  James smiled, looking down at his principal. “Good morning, Dr. Richards.”

  “We need to have a talk—now.” The principal marched toward his office, without waiting for a reply.

  James skulked after him. Dr. Richards didn’t look back or hold the door as he entered the main office. Two middle-aged women worked behind the L-shaped reception desk. One was on the phone; the other glanced at James and went back to her work. He shuffled into the principal’s office, shutting the door behind him. Dr. Richards sat at the wooden desk with his fingers interlaced, as if he were praying. James sat across from him in a wooden chair that wasn’t built for comfort. He might be five three, but at least he has a man’s chin. My chin’s like a girl’s. If only I could grow a decent beard.

  “Mr. Fisher, are you paying attention?”

  “Yes, every word,” James replied. He’ll repeat it.

  “What I asked was, ‘Do you remember what we talked about last month?’”

  “Shoot, I’m sorry about being late today. I had a family emergency.”

  The principal sat quiet, his eyes on James.

  He’s trying to get me to talk. Not going to happen, Dr. Dicks.

  “It’s not just today,” Dr. Richards said.

  James raised his eyebrows. “As far as I know, I’ve been on time since our last conversation.”

  “We had a complaint that you haven’t been monitoring the hall at the start of school.”

  “That’s surprising.”

  “Now I know you have your planning time first period, but you cannot show up late just because you don’t have class.”

  James nodded along with his principal. “Absolutely. I agree 100 percent. That’s why this is so surprising, because I’ve been here on time. Did you check my scan card?”

  The principal tightened his jaw. “It appears you haven’t been scanning in.”

  “That’s odd. I definitely scan. Doors won’t open if you don’t.”

  “I assume you come in through the main entrance.”

  “No, the back by the gym.”

  The principal narrowed his eyes. “And why would you do that? Your classroom is on the other side of school.”

  James smiled. “I like to stretch my legs early in the morning and walk a bit.”

  “We’ve had some problems with that door.” The principal exhaled. �
�It will be fixed. It has been moved to the top of my list. Do you understand me?”

  “Loud and clear, boss.” James saluted his principal as he exited.

  He entered the nurse’s office across the hall. The placard on the open door said, School Nurse Yolanda Mendez. There were two rooms, one with a desk and an exam table, and the other with cots. A heavyset Latino woman in peach-colored scrubs sat at the desk. She had short wavy hair with brown highlights. James knocked on the open door.

  “Knock, knock,” James said.

  She turned with a toothy grin that stretched her wide nose and round cheeks. “Good morning, Mr. Fisher. Dare I ask what you’re doing in the principal’s office?”

  “Apparently Dr. Dicks had a complaint about me being late.”

  She shook her head. “Probably that little tart across the hall from you. You better watch yourself.”

  James shrugged with a grin. “She’s just mad that the kids like me better.”

  “Don’t you have work to do?”

  James put his backpack on the floor and sat on the examination table, the paper covering crinkling under him. “I don’t really function until nine. It’s insane that we start so early. The kids are zombies in the morning anyway.”

  She laughed. “Well, I have work to do.”

  “I guess that’s my cue.” James stood up, the paper cover hanging off the table.

  “And look what you’ve done to my table.”

  He straightened the paper. “Sorry. I’ll see you at lunch.” He started for the exit.

  “James,” she said.

  He turned around. “Yeah?”

  “I know you stay late, but you need to be here on time. You can’t keep sneaking in the back. Dr. Dicks is just looking for a reason.”

  James smiled again and blew the nurse a kiss.

  * * *

  “The Emancipation Proclamation—what did it do?” James scanned his classroom. The faces were blank. A dark-skinned boy in front was turned around in his seat, whispering. “Vernon, pay attention. This will be on the quiz tomorrow.”

  Vernon turned around with a half-smile. He had a thin mustache and acne bumps on his cheeks and forehead. He was built more like a linebacker than an eighth grader.

  “Can we just get through this?” James asked. “We only have a few more.”

  “On the real, Mr. Fish, this is borin’ as hell,” Vernon said.

  “Sometimes we have to follow the curriculum.”

  “Come on, Mr. Fish,” Maurice said from the second row. “Tell it to us for real, like you do.” Maurice was dark-skinned, thin, with high cheekbones and a bright smile.

  James smirked. “I’ll tell you the real story of the Civil War, but you guys have to promise me two things. Number one, we have to learn the real story and the government propaganda version. Number two, what happens in Room 124 stays in Room 124.”

  “Y’all better not be snitchin’,” Vernon said, glaring at his classmates.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Fish. We got your back,” Maurice said.

  “Okay, let’s play a game,” James said.

  The class sat up straight and leaned forward.

  “Everyone take out a blank sheet of paper and a pencil.”

  The kids argued, begged, and borrowed, but eventually everyone had a piece of paper and a writing utensil.

  James continued, “I want you to imagine yourself in 1860, living in the South.”

  Vernon turned to Maurice. “You’d be picking that cotton, nigga.”

  The class laughed.

  Maurice smirked. “You’d be gettin’ your black ass whipped.”

  The class hooted and hollered.

  “Cut it out, guys,” James said with a frown. The boys and the rest of the class composed themselves. “For this game—”

  The classroom door swung open, and a short young blonde stomped in. Her face was red.

  “Mr. Fisher, we are taking a test,” she said. “Your class is much too loud.”

  A spattering of oohs came from the class. Someone said, “Bitch be crazy.”

  “Quiet down, guys,” James said to the class. He turned to the teacher. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Scribner.”

  The teacher turned on her high heels and slammed the door behind her.

  “Damn,” Vernon said. “Why she always trippin’?”

  “Where were we?” James asked.

  “You were tellin’ us about the game. Then she interrupted us,” Maurice said.

  James grinned. “Right, … for this game, you will be wealthy plantation owners.”

  “Could I have white slaves?” Vernon asked.

  “There weren’t no white slaves,” Maurice said.

  “Yes, there were,” Janelle said from the back. Her hair was black and braided, her skin a shiny chestnut brown.

  “Janelle’s right,” James said. “There were white slaves.” He rubbed his chin for a moment. “Raise your hand if you would like your slaves to be white.”

  Half the class raised their hands.

  “I’ll give each of you one hundred slaves. So write down one hundred white slaves—or one hundred black slaves, if you prefer.” The kids scribbled on their papers; James wrote on the whiteboard. “Now write 1 million dollars next to the one hundred white slaves and write 1.5 million dollars next to the black slaves.”

  “Hold up, Mr. Fish,” Vernon said. “Why are the white slaves less?”

  “White slaves weren’t as productive. They cost less and were worth less because, in general, they did less work, and they were more likely to get sick and die.”

  Vernon frowned. “Damn. I shoulda went with the brothers.”

  “I bet them white slaves were burnin’ up in the heat too,” Maurice said.

  “No sunblock neither,” Janelle added.

  “I’ll also give each of you three hundred acres of land,” James said. “So add three hundred acres of land and write 3.5 million dollars next to the land. And you’ll all get a barn and housing for your slaves, and a great big plantation for yourself and your family. So write housing and barn with 1.5 million next to that.”

  “Damn,” Vernon said, “even with these busted-ass white slaves, I got six million dollars.”

  “Not exactly,” James said. “You have six million dollars invested in land, slaves, and buildings. Now that’s in today’s dollars adjusted for inflation. At the bottom write income $1,000,000 per year and expenses $600,000.” The kids scribbled on their plantation balance sheets. James wrote on the whiteboard.

  100 Slaves (Black) $1,500,000

  300 Acres of Land $3,500,000

  Housing and Barn $1,500,000

  Income per Year $1,000,000

  Expenses per Year $600,000

  Profit $400,000

  “A $400,000 profit,” a girl said, as James wrote it on the whiteboard.

  “We’re doing pretty well, right?” James scanned his audience.

  “We’re gettin’ paid,” Vernon said.

  “In those days,” James said, “if you were from the South, you bought a lot of your manufactured goods from Europe, because it was cheaper than buying from the North. The government stopped that by levying a tax on European goods to make them more expensive. So, just like that”—James snapped his fingers—“you have to pay more for almost everything. Change your expenses from $600,000 to $700,000. What’s your profit after the tax?”

  “$300,000,” Maurice said. “We’re still okay.”

  James continued, “In response to the tax the US government levied on Europe, the Europeans stopped buying US cotton. Now change your income to $800,000.”

  “We still have $100,000 left,” Janelle said.

  “We’ve lost 75 percent of our profits, and the North is talking about abolishing slavery, the same slaves who you paid $1,500,000 for. As Southern plantation owners, how do you guys feel about that?”

  “Slavery’s wrong,” a girl said.

  “You’re absolutely right,” James replied. “Upton Sinclair said, ‘It
is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends upon his not understanding it.’ What do you guys think Mr. Sinclair meant by that?”

  Vernon had a crooked grin. “We’re not gonna think slavery’s wrong if we’re gettin’ paid.”

  James nodded. “I agree, Vernon. And we see that every day in our society, with people rationalizing what they do because of the paycheck.”

  “So that’s why we had the Civil War?” Janelle asked.

  “That was a big part of it,” James said, “but there was a spark from Europe that started us on the path to war. The European bankers wanted a war to divide the United States. If they had a war and two broke countries that were in debt, the bankers stood to make a lot more money than with an intact United States that was self-sufficient and debt free.” James glanced at the clock. “We’re almost out of time.”

  The class groaned.

  “We’ll finish this tomorrow. I have a homework assignment for you.”

  The class grumbled.

  “Come on, Mr. Fish,” a boy said.

  “Relax, it’ll be interesting,” James said, walking over to his desk. He picked up a stack of papers. “I have a quote for you guys. I want you to take it home, read it, and think about it.” He handed a small stack of papers to each person in the front row to pass back.

  “And what else do we have to do?” Janelle asked.

  “Nothing, just think about it. We’ll discuss it tomorrow. And I expect everyone to have an opinion to share.”

  The quote read:

  I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of bringing about in any way, the social and political equality of the white and black races; that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of making voters or jurors of negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people; and I will say, in addition to this, that there is a physical difference between the white and black races which I believe will forever forbid the two races living together on terms of social and political equality. And, in as much as they cannot so live, while they do remain together there must be the position of superior and inferior, and I, as much as any other man, am in favor of having the superior position assigned to the white race.