On the outside, he took a lot of guff from underhanded over-privileged individuals because he was short, because he was ill-spoken, because he dealt with setbacks summarily in an unsophisticated manner, while on the inside, he was in his element and became a group leader treating brusquely those who were shorter, who had worse diction, and who for the most part were unable or unwilling to prove themselves proactively to bullying in fear of reprisals from the rest of the gang or more likely conducted themselves discretely under the dubious promise of getting out early based on good behavior. Herman had been sentenced to thirty years with little chance of parole until much further down the line, and so under the constraints of establishing a second life in hostile surroundings, he first earned a change of nickname from The Dummy to The Hunlet by letting it be known that he had indeed hidden away $225,000 of the loot in such a secure place that it promised to be waiting for him and his “friends” upon his release, and later having his sobriquet shortened to The Hun by working out in the prison gym, toughening up his exterior, and beating up on those less fortunate who had already endured a lifetime of being kicked around. To be sure, he was not the Biggest Man on Campus, but he had his coterie, each of whom supported his whims while silently plotting how to do him out of his lion’s share of the money once the seal of its security had been broken, and the slightly more intelligent of whom were concerned lest he develop Alzheimer’s or some other mental debilitation and forget where it was during his time in the jug, for after all, he would be sixty years old by the time he was able to get to it and share it with them, and they had evidenced in their crime-ridden experience how mistreatment often turned the victim into a jabbering idiot incapable of remembering what the X on the map even signified. The Hun’s sovereignty soon came close to toppling, however, when his nemesis, Plutarco, with a reasonable possibility of having become aware of the stash and having incremented its value, came in for his own twenty-five years, but Plutarco had been taken during a car chase followed by a smash-up which left him severely incapacitated, and so needing some kind of protection from the thugs, he did not dissuade their surmise that he had masterminded the sequestering of an even greater fortune, and besides, never having been a smoker, it was assumed his heart was in better shape, and if he had been able to stand fully upright, he was taller than Herman, whom he had previously badgered into doing much of his dirty work. The henchmen looked from one to the other not knowing which to favor the more, so they fawned over both, and over time the hidden money became legend fostering plans and dreams less and less likely to be realized. In the end, Plutarco, addle-brained, crippled with arthritis, survived Herman, and two months after his release, just days after turning sixty-three, disappeared and was never heard from again.

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Comment by Jamie Hogan on October 11, 2012 at 8:58am

This is remarkable writing. 

Comment by Gita on October 10, 2012 at 7:42pm

Need to get one thing out of the way first:  the dubious promise of getting out early based on good behavior. Are you saying that good behavior thing is a myth? I'd always counted on that in case, you know, I ever succumbed to baser impulses.

Agreeing with Bill Floyd about the breathless flow of this and your success at telling the story. I love how you know cons and their superstitions and greeds.  A terrific tale.

 

Comment by Angela on October 10, 2012 at 7:29pm

Somehow reading your lengthy sentences did not put me off one bit.  (I am not a strong reader.)  Lovely flow you've got there.

Comment by Bill Floyd on October 10, 2012 at 2:26pm

The prose-stream is remarkable, especially in that you maintained the breathless flow while at the same time each sentence, followed through, made total sense.  (Most of us resort to grammatical gimmickry when attempting such blowouts.) Are there many more facets to this "How It Went Down" theme?  The poetical, romantic version.  The post-modernist deconstruction of how it went down?  If you can keep up the level of quality evident in the first two pieces, have at it!   

Comment by Paul de Denus on October 10, 2012 at 9:35am

Yes, I suppose "crime pays" for these two- a great romp Michael

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