The hustler explains another fact not well known in the county. The
law men do not even have a key to their own evidence vault. This was
explained by Judge Kelly.
The reason the good judge gave was equally odd.
He told of a case in which a horde of guns and ammo was stored at the
station, taken from a mafia startup setting up shop in Beaufort.
    “Several of tha’ officer’s was kill’d fo’ tha’ guns - pick’d off
like flies,” the creole relates.
        “It was hard put’in a case to’geth’a ‘gainst tha basti’ds.
They’all got off and  went back ta’ Italy.”
    “So fru’m then on, a station can have  an evidence vault. But its
keys and combination is stor’d in tha’ nearest city law enforcement
office.”
       “Anoth’a thing ,” the creole relates.
 Rising the hustler reaches for his sports jacket, pulling out the
burned remains of several of the deeds from his inner jacket pocket.
He shows everything to Flora.
Benjamin was able to take the deed remains with no trouble, since
nothing could be done with them.
But its what was on the back that caught his eye.


On the back of each burnt remnant seems to be a series of ghostly
shapes,maybe letters of some strange language,barely seen by the naked
eye.
    “I bet tha’ heat of tha’ fire mad’em symb’ls clear,” he says,
looking to the burnt papers.

The creole shows the blackened scraps of parchment to the call
girl,watching as her eyes light up. “Back in Puerto Rico, many of us
are descendants from Taino Indians - dating far back.”
   “These symbols look like what I saw in caves and on rocks in my
country’s rain forest - not exactly - but very close,” Flora beams.

Benjamin looks to the fragments,then to his lovely bed mate. “Can ya’
read this ..... language?”

Flora nods happily,the very thought bringing back wonderful
memories,summers spent with her grandmother,a full blooded Taino. As
Benjamin watches,the beauty handles each chard  fragment with care,
her long fingers flowing over a language that is barely spoken,almost
lost to the world.
    “Here .... this symbol means water and land,” Flora explians as
she points to a symbol.
  “But more like a huge body of water and small piece of land.”

Her interests growing,Flora’s fingers trace over another series of
symbols on the remains of another deed.  “Here, this symbols means
gold and gems, but not really the gems white men value. My native
people always found value in minerals that had spiritual signifigance
- versus shine and sparkle potential.”

As Flora’s eyes graze across the small pieces of  scorched vellum, she
looks up curiously.
    “Its as if information is given, but on several deeds. You would
need all of the deeds to get the complete message.”

     “Aint got tha otha’s ...,” Benjamin says impatiently though mesmerized.

Flora suddenly looks up, curious. “And these land deeds were for land
purchases  in America ?”



Benjamin nods. “Yep.”

Even more perplexed at Benjamin’s answer, Flora traces her fingers
over the back of another chard deed. “Ya’ know it is rumored that my
people traveled here long before old Columbus even came out his mama’s
womb.”
  “They taught the Creek,Coweta,Yamasi and Stono indians how to write.
Natives that were first on the land you now call South and North
Carolina.”

Benjamin nods,fascinated, watching Flora look over several other fragments.
After reading carefully, the beauty looks up with amazement.
   “ Each piece of paper is telling a story - how a white man came to
the land on ‘floating eagles’. Probably their ships from Europe.”
   “ And how he buried ‘gleaming yellow suns’-wooden boxes full, all
left in the ground.

Benjamin smiles as he looks over the young woman’s shoulder.
“Shiii-t,thats easy nuf’  ‘gleam’in yellow suns - thats gold ,” the
creole says.

Flora shakes her head,showing the creole a barely made out symbol, a
round circle with a dot  in the middle with, a line running through
the bottom.
  “Without the line, the symbol would mean sun or gold. With the line
at the bottom,the symbol takes on a more spiritual meaning. As if gold
of the spirit world,” the prostitute explains eloquently.

Sitting back, Benjamin smiles warmly at the beauty. He had no idea the
woman was so intelligent. Watching as Flora sets each burnt chard of
vellum down carefully, peeking over at admiring eyes,the puerto rican
beauty smiling to herself.
   “I did not always make my board and keep in my back,” she says softly.
   “ I was supposed to go to university in Puerto Rico - the first in
my family.”
   “That is until the night my father decided to come to my bed -
drunk on rum,” Flora says sadly.
   “ When all was found out,I was thrown on the streets - left to fend
for myself.”

Personally,  I  love that Flora has such a varied background, not only is the beauty a sexy beast,
she'd smart as a whip.  I love characters that have multiple dynamics to their personalities.

Disclaimer : This blog entry has course language and sensual situations - You have been warned.

Lets face it.....We ALL like to FUCK.

Fuck on the bed
Fuck in the car
Fuck in the shower,
Hell...fuck ANY WHERE. Its natural, the primal formation of two remade into one, bringing every human being into physical existence on this earth (though a few seem to be hatched from serpent eggs, but I will that judgement call up to you).
As with every red-blooded American, I love the sensual touch of that special someone. It makes me whole, feeling special, even powerful. That is  the type of feeling I want to exude through 'The River'.

Now, don't get me wrong, Slick and Benjimen are not choir boys, more than often, like most men of their ilk, they 'Fuck' versus 'Making Love', which is a WHOLE other animal in itself, trust me.
But that is the difference; "hard smashing of wet lips,igniting laden lust made silky and hot"
- versus
"soft pecks,admiring feats into the smallest of glorification and light".

As you can see or read, there IS A DIFFERENCE.

As an author,it is my job to understand the said difference, celebrating each with the right prose and imagery. But here comes the inner battle I fight, more so with this book.

Can I let out my 'sexual beast' and not be shunned ?

Sexual beast you say....
Here I'll give you an example,utilizing the same imagery from the above sentence.

"Hard smashing wet lips, igniting lower as Slick's thick creamy cock presses between Kelly's silken thighs. Suddenly, as the lovers gently maul each others  lips, lust laden needs are ignited,made silky and soft,hardened flesh prying  open, deeper,sliding  into  a hot wet need made even more bold."

Its kind of 'flowery' for my taste, but its so much better than saying this - now brace yourselves.

"Slick kisses Kelly hard, feeling his fat thick dick press against  her tight sweet cunt,sliding it in slightly,hearing his wife gasp."

Ok...to me - that's simply disgusting. I love it....but Its disgusting and will NEVER find it way into my writing. EVER!

But even in that lovely filth just written above, the reader gets the point, it aggressive and virile, off putting as if one is watching these two about to get it on - BUT its hot as fuck!

So, how can I STILL be 'flowery' and still HOT AS FUCK!

That's the trial I am arriving at while writing "The River'.
These men are killers, they love and adore woman and they LOVE TO FUCK.  So I find myself saying ; 'Pussy', 'Dick',Cock' as well as a host of delicious words within their southern accented  dialogue.

Not a problem, but when that happens, is my writing transformed into 'Erotica' ?

Trust me, in 'The River', there is a LOT of sex. I guess  I am just trying to prepare the world for a sensual part of myself to be shown,scrutinized and judged. DO I really care.

Naw....just as long as it turns you on.

Understand this, and do not let the title fool you. Prostitution was the underbelly where the Devil thrived. Sex Traffic, Human Sex Slavery, Rape, and Murder where ONLY some of the travesties the 20th century 'street-walker' had to endure each and every day of his/her life.

That being said, let us explore the more 'Luxurious' side of  the 'Skin Trade' often conducted in brothels so full of wealth, many of their patrons, men that were wealthy in there own right, seemed like paupers.

Benjimen and Slick, investigating the thefts and killings of a number of land owners by Northern and Southern companies, often find the MOST useful information and leads in such 'houses of sin'.
Let's face it, a man will say anything to a pretty face, especially is that pretty face is in between his legs.

'The River' dives into this world head first, no goggles or pretense of a life guard nearby. What the readers experiences is a world that  its seedy, corrupt and dangerous, but oh so very fun! With graphic detail and crafty prose, I tell how the killers meet new friends that will make their investigations fruitful, as well as old flames that will do just the same, though in the nether regions of the men's strong powerful bodies.  I wanted to create a world that is lavish but cynical, beautiful but tragic, around every corner, in the side glance of every lovely face, there is a clue for the boys to discover, all while doing what daringly beautiful men do when around equally beautiful, cunning woman.

The madame of one of the brothels in 'The River' is actually fashioned after a real black madame that lived in the early 20th century. Mary Ellen "Mammy" Pleasant and Sarah B. "Babe" Connors. Pleasant was born a slave but became one of the most influential women in early San Francisco. Both operated boardinghouses in which wealthy businessmen were paired with prostitutes. With the revenue from her primary business, she invested in mining stock and made high-interest loans to the San Francisco elite. Pleasant also filed suit to desegregate the city's streetcars, making her "the mother of the civil rights movement" in California. Connors's brothels in St. Louis were among the most popular in the Midwest. Known as "the Castle" and "the Palace," they featured luxurious rugs, tapestries, art work, and crystal chandeliers. The parlor of the Palace was famous for its floor, which was made entirely of mirrored glass. Connors herself was always elegantly appointed with drapes of jewelry on her body and gold and diamonds embedded in her teeth. Many of the most famous songs of the ragtime genre -- the principal precursor to jazz -- were invented by Letitia Lulu Agatha "Mama Lou" Fontaine, who performed as the house act at Connors's brothels.

In the book, Mary Ellen "Mammy" Pleasant and Sarah B. "Babe" Connors are transformed to one woman whom is a force of nature, "Ms. Lolly". Rich beyond what very few woman could ever understand - black or white, Ms. Lolly is a very crafty book character to write about. Audacious and ruthless, just as she is caring and very much a 'Mother Hen' to her 'girls', this madame has been known to kill to get the most beautiful woman from around the globe.  From murdering abusive husbands, paying off over-bearing fathers, to bribing and killing pimps, Ms. Lolly always gets her girl. Once that young woman is in possession, the beauty's life will change dramatically.

The first to utilize a new procedure called 'Plastic Surgery' out of California, Lolly will re-create a woman  into an image the matronly skin trader sees fit.  All types of procedures are done; some simple and mundane, others completely body altering, but the finale results are always stupendous. The girls are always happy to be on board with Lolly,because they know her brothel attracts the creme'-de-la-creme' of southern high society, as well as men from all around the world.
In the book, we learn about Lolly's broken past, but we also learn of her will to win at all cost.

Dangerous and brutal but  so very fabulous, Miss Lolly will probably be a character that will always be in "The River' publications.

Bessie Smith (April 15, 1894 – September 26, 1937) was an American blues singer.

Nicknamed The Empress of the Blues, Smith was the most popular female blues singer of the 1920s and 1930s.[1] She is often regarded as one of the greatest singers of her era and, along with Louis Armstrong, a major influence on other jazz vocalists.[2]

Researching my families history all through the South is very interesting indeed,but there was always a common thread, Bessie Smith,especially back in the 1920's.

My great Aunt Jet would play her records when I was very young and even at that age, I knew the legendary singer had an effect on my 'nana'.

Digging back through family folklore, which is what 'The River' is loosely based on, I understood why. During the 1920's ( I could never get the exact date) Ms. Smith traveled to Texas on tour with a host of other artist. As the story was told to me, my 'Aunt Jet', named because of her jet black skin and long hair, was 21 at the time. It was said that Ms. Smith's performance was the very first time she was ever in a juke-joint, as most of my family at that time where church going people.

I was told that Aunt Jet was sitting near the singer, Ms. Smith belting out tunes so powerfully, 'It seemed the building would come down' .

Well, as the legend goes, my dear great aunt was so shy, Bessie pulled her up on stage for a few moments. Later, the world famous 'Queen of Blues' bought my aunt her very FIRST alcoholic drink, a bourbon straight.  I have no idea if this is true, but it has been a story that has been floating around in my family for some time. Check out the video above, a WHOLE collection of the wonderful singer's talent. I am sure at least a few of those songs were heard my  late aunt that wonderful night when she met the most influential woman known in Blues.

To say that my family has a colorful history based in folklore and legend, well that just like saying that sugar is sweet.....it just is.

From the mouths of my elders as well as their long gone elders, I have heard stories about my family being linked to everyone, from Marie Catherine Laveau, world famous  voodoo practitioner, said to be my great-great-great cousin, to Robert Johnson, legendary blue singer, said to be a beau of my great-great aunt, the stories that run in my family are deeply woven in who we are as a clan.

For example, it has been said, and I have heard this from several elders on both sides of my french creole family, that it was Marie Catherine Laveau  that taught her one of her cousins how to seduce a wealthy white land owner into making her a 'kept woman of color'. That woman was my great-great-great grandmother, the man in question had several babies with her .

Another story I have heard, and this one was told only once and it was in a 'grown-folks' conversation that I was eavesdropping onto as a child. The story was about the legendary blues musician, Robert Johnson.
The young genius was known for playing 'speak-easy's  and juke-joints all around the south, as the story goes, he met my great-great aunt in Louisiana and feel deeply in love. It was said that his guitar and song writing skills were good, but my relative saw so much more in the fire that was his beautiful soul. It has been said that my aunt, a creole voodoo woman from Marie Laveau's side of the family, taught Johnson how to call up  (and it was NOT the devil) Papa Legba, a voodoo god known for helping humans communicate with the African gods of old.  It has been said when the young man got the fame he wanted, he broke my aunt's heart and she cursed him,hence the reason why he died at such a very young age.

As you can see, my family is full of folklore, and I hope I can share as many stories as I can with the world.

Doing family research for this book was like bumping my head against a brick wall,especially when it came to my great-great uncle (the book character 'Slick' is based off of him) No one knew anything about this man, except  that he was white, with a half Native American mother who passed away when he was a very young age while sharecropping in North Carolina. (around 1889-1901)
One day, with a cousin, we were scanning Youtube, and a artist came across our screen.

It was Christian Kane.

That moment, we BOTH knew, from the man's husky voice to his southern accent, we would fashion 'Slick' after him. 

Needless to say, that was a year ago and  I have become a true #Kaniac. 
Everything just fits, Mr. Kane has native blood, he is from O.K., my lost relative's family was from the same state, ofcourse with native ancestry as well.  It has been a series of serendipitous moments all year, one after the other and we are both having so much fun.

That being said, I am a BIG believer in the 'Ole Big Guy' in the sky and I know there is something here.
Other artist inspire me, sure, I am NOT an island unto myself, creating in a void away from humanity. That is a given.

BUT - I AM NEVER 'star-struck' .....EVER.

I was in the fashion business for nearly 20 years. I have cursed out Calvin Klein, sent an irate email to Ralph Lauren (and still kept my freelance job 'cause he knew I was right) told Donna Karen she needed to "chill out before her head popped of her body", as well as told the Head of The Council of Fashion Designers of America that she was an "over important bitch with too much time on her hands".

So, as you can see, I'm not impressed by celebrity or authority and  the following that it 'spawns'.

So, when my steely gaze came upon Christian Kane, you can imagine the shock I felt to my rather fussy
and stoic disposition. To be frank - I AM star struck for the VERY FIRST time in my life.

If I was to ever met Mr. Kane, I would probably babble incoherently, cry and faint, all in precise sequential order.

So knowing myself the way I do, hell, I've lived in my skin for nearly.....a long time (whew almost gave it away) deep inside, I am constantly wondering to the universe.

Why?

Let's face it, Christian is a eyeful of sexy deliciousness that keeps on giving. From that husky voice that drips in middle Oklahoma dialect, to those piercing blue eyes that seem to be able to look right through people's bullshit , the  man is a 100 lb bag of 'fine as hell'.

That maybe all true, but why him, why has this man inspired me so, especially in relating to a long lost member of my family that NO ONE seems to know anything about (more family bull -we'll get into that in other blogs. This book has seemed to ruffle a lot of feathers)

Personally, being a spiritualist and a proud elder of my tribe, I think something bigger is going on and I am being used as an instrument for a bigger reason or purpose. "The River' is a book about two killers; half brothers, white and black. That's a given. But the book is also a real, no holds barred, honest look into Jim Crow Deep South and how it effected Blacks and Whites.  Yes, Black were brutalized, that will be a legacy this country will never live down.

 But what about the white folks that risks their lives because of love and doing the right thing?
What about the countless white families that helped hundreds of thousands of blacks live HUMAN lives, their front lawns being scorched by clan crosses?

MOST of all, where is the story about how we as black and white people grew closer as madness seemed to surround our lives?

My mama always told me 'Its always tha' one rotten egg that make ya throw out tha' rest of'em '.


Its time we STOP throwing each other away because of the past or what has been assumed. We need to start living as a FAMILY of a wonderful country.

In this horrid era of American history, there is only Black and White ways of seeing things, the HATED and the HATEFUL.  But what about the hundreds if not thousands shades of grey, whites and blacks that truly loved and cared for each other, in spite of it all, not giving a flying rabbit fuck what anyone thought or did?

Where is THEIR story ?

I look at myself in the mirror everyday and I see a family of native , french creole and white as well as African blood boiling in my veins,creating the unique human being that I happen to be. And my family is the same, as vast as we are as a multi-cultural and ethnic  clan, we are all THE PROOF I need.  I am the PROOF that there was love and passion back in those days, a love that would have gotten people lynched and shunned for life. Inside my blood is the FACT that there is a story that needs to be told. And tell it I will.

I'm not going to sit here and say that 'The River' is based on anthropological facts, its not.
My book is based on urban legends, family folklore as well as community based folklore derived from countless conversations with elders on all sides of my family racial spectrum. Though the book is fiction it is MY story, in its most essential essence, about brotherhood.

It just so happens that the protagonist are blood thirsty-foul mouthed-skirt chasing hoodlums.

Hell....we all can't be damn perfect.


Please CHECK OUT Christian Kane,a seriously talented singer/actor DYNAMO  his band's music can be bought on I-Tunes , Amazon as well as other sites. Also peep a visit at his site: If you love great music with heart Chris is your man: www.christiankane.com  

Also follow him in Twitter @ChristianKane101  (and say hello to the #Kaniacs for me - I'm sure they would love to hear from you! )

And yes, ALL fellow #Kaniacs - You get a FREE copy. Simply tweet me your contact information . This applies to E-pub books only.

PLEASE be advised, this is a book meant for MATURE READERS( ages 18+): Frank Sexual Language, Graphic Violence, Explicit Sexual Situations and Descriptions. When sending out free copies, I WILL be checking ages on Twitter accounts.  Sorry younguns.