Discipline

By Anikola or A. Bitter

Get ready for a roller coaster ride through sexual perversion and sadistic brutal murder.
It’s dead winter and frigid snowstorms envelop Philadelphia where an absorbing cast of characters, in complex relationships, hid dirty little secrets. They gradually unfold as the story twists and turns.
Bitter writes from inside the heads of Detective Savrini and several witnesses who are not interested in helping police solve the murders of three tortured murdered girls and the disappearance of young Elizabeth and her teacher.
Has Elizabeth come back to get even? Is she dead?
Who are the real victims? Who are not?
You'll be in suspense lasts the entire book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anikola or A. Bitter
• Release date: Nov 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311189295

Anikola or A. Bitter

Born in Philadelphia where author suffered on its streets and in its schools and institutions. Bitter competes in bridge competitions, dances salsa, and flies between homes in Philly and Miami Beach.

Book preview

cover.jpg

DISCIPLINE

A. BITTER

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 by A. Bitter

This work is fiction. Places, names, and events are the author’s creations.

Any similarity to actual persons, places or events is coincidental.

Front cover photo by Michael Albany Photographers

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1493705504

ISBN 13: 9781493705504

Table of Contents

THE DAY

THE WEDNESDAY BEFORE THE MLK WEEK-END

THE TUESDAY AFTER MLK WEEK-END

BEFORE MLK MAITRESSE MUSES

AFTER MLK—THE SCHOOL SECRETARY

BEFORE MLK -- MAITRESSE

AFTER MLK -- SCHOOL SECRETARY

PHILADELPHIA -- MAIN POLICE STATION

AFTER MLK WEEK-END

LATER TUESDAY AFTER MLK WEEK-END

AFTER MLK

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

AFTER MLK WEEK-END

AFTER THE MLK WEEK-END

LATER STILL AFTER THE MLK WEEK-END

AFTER MLK

AFTER MLK WEEK-END

BEFORE MLK-- MAITRESSE

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

BEFORE MLK

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

THE BALLROOM‎

AFTER MLK

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

DIARY BY NATALIE-- MIAMI BEACH

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

DIARY NATALIE SATURDAY JANUARY 18

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

BEFORE MLK

AFTER MLK

AFTER MLK

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

KEISHA

PIERRE

BEFORE MLK-- MAITRESSE

AFTER MLK

THE SCHMIDTS

AFTER MLK

AFTER MLK

LATER AFTER MLK WEEK-END

AFTER THE MLK WEEK-END

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

AFTER THE MLK WEEK-END

BEA’S THOUGHTS SATURDAY NIGHT DURING THE MLK WEEK-END

SUNDAY DURING THE MLK WEEK-END

LATER SUNDAY-- THE MLK WEEK-END

MONDAY OF THE MLK WEEK-END

DIARY BY NATALIE

MARIA THE DISPATCHER

AFTER THE MLK WEEKEND

AFTER MLK WEEK-END

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

BEFORE MLK—AUNT PENNY

BEFORE MLK-- MAITRESSE

MURPHY

BEFORE MLK WEEK-END

EDITH SCHMIDT

DIARY BY NATALIE IN FLORIDA

DAMARIS

AFTER MLK

AFTER MLK

AFTER MLK

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

AFTER MLK

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE SATURDAY AM

AFTER MLK

AFTER MLK WEEK-END

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

BEFORE MLK -- MAITRESSE

AFTER THE MLK WEEK-END

AFTER THE MLK WEEK-END

FRIDAY THE START OF THE MLK WEEK-END

LATER FRIDAY -- THE START OF MLK WEEK-END

SUNDAY OF THE MLK WEEK-END

SUNDAY MLK

THE THURSDAY BEFORE MLK WEEKEND

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

SUNDAY OF THE MLK WEEK-END

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

AFTER THE MLK WEEK-END

THE MLK WEEK-END

JUST BEFORE THE MLK WEEK-END

SUNDAY MLK WEEK-END

SUNDAY THE MLK WEEK-END

AFTER THE MLK WEEK-END

AFTER MLK

AFTER MLK

AFTER MLK WEEK-END

AFTER MLK

THE MLK WEEK-END

THE PURDYS

AFTER MLK WEEK-END

LATER THAT NIGHT

AFTER MLK

PENNY RETURNS TO MIAMI BEACH AFTER MLK

WHO IS SHE?

AFTER MLK

SCHMIDT

AFTER MLK

DEAR DIARY BY NATALIE

The security guard crouches on his knees his body huddled against the house trying to elude the feathery flakes that saturate the air and blot out even the closest trees. Soon the cold wet will penetrate his clothes and chill his body.

He can’t leave. He’ll stay and peer into the house; see the girls’ fun morph into agony.

But he is not alone.

DISCIPLINE

THE DAY

Pierre is the security guard hired to watch 2204 Green Street. Tonight he witnesses the monster entrap three young girls. Watches the evil one undress them, rape them, sodomize them, and does nothing.

He knows his place, knows his job. All he can do is hunker down outside the picture window, riveted by the goings on in the teacher’s brightly lit house. He is cold and wet and wishes he could leave. But he’ll stay and watch the girls entertain themselves while he waits for his boss to arrive.

The youngest wears Maitresse’ red ‎patent ‎heels, toddles precariously on the stilts. The lassies mimic their French teacher, make fun of her walk, the Maitresse walk, the ‎pendulum ‎swing of her buttocks.‎

Dior powder ‎shrouds ‎their faces. ‎ Hot ‎Pink blush paints circles on their cheeks. Magic Noir pummels Channel No. 5, each seeks power over the other. The ‎mixture fails.‎

They emulate their teacher’s eccentricities, jab Maitresse’ canes at the imaginary students before them. Hurl commands and derisions just as their French teacher does.

"Dite moi!"

Bête!

S’il vous plait!

Maintenant!

They drew lips outside the lines with Lancôme Ruby-Red. Innocent eyes are ebony ovals. Auburn tresses are french knots á la Maitresse. Their bodies are gowned in swishy satins of amethyst, pink, and ‎black, the fabrics studded with rhinestones and semi-precious jewels.

All is wonderful.

Until…

His eyes round with astonishment. When Pierre was a child, he witnessed rape, murder and torture. Today is beyond that.

The girls realize the danger. But it’s too late.

Evil has appeared wearing a Mardi-gras mask. He augurs death.

The devil calms them so they will participate. He assuages their fears, massages them with kindness, suggests they indulge in girly fun.

Sashay! Model Maitresse’ clothes! Dance! Pirouette! Perform for the rolling cameras!

Pierre watches the monster seduce the three to acquiesce. Their fears subside. They believe they are safe. They are not. Pierre can see that.

The fiend bellows, exalts in his manliness, controls, subdues, shackles, and defiles the youngsters. The innocents ‎have become his pleasure.‎‎

WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP…

Sounds pound…the sweet lambs are killed.

The guard observes-- and does nothing.

How could he? ‎

Wails and yawls hammer his ears. The memory of this horror will repeat in his mind, play again and again, a youtube loop that refuses to close its endless re-runs. Nothing will ever extinguish this nightmare.

Aghast, his unblinking eyes are consumed by what takes place in the brightness inside just beyond the naked glass‎. ‎ He feels today’s onslaught as if to his own body.

But he performs his job.

He observes...

…and does nothing.

THE WEDNESDAY BEFORE THE MLK WEEK-END

Maitresse Henriette’s body shrivels. Hunched over, she feels powerless, angry that she can’t change her status. She needs to relieve her pressure cooker situation. If not--she’ll explode.

Tomorrow we’ll dip our toes in the warm Mediterranean. No more snow to shovel, poop to scoop, floors to mop, no more horrid, thankless, students, and no rotten administration. They’ll be sorry we’re not here to suffer their abuse. Mom can watch the house, and while we’re gone, she won’t be able to pull our strings to manipulate us-- her two marionettes. How selfish she is. It’s her house, but that doesn’t give her the right to discipline us. We’re adults, after all.

"Right Sis? Answer me!...... I’m waiting!"

"Do this. Do that."

"Mom says, ‘Now! No, not after you grade the exams. Now!’ Maybe she’ll die while we’re away. How delicious that would be. Merveilleuse n’es pas? What do you think, Sis? Sis!"

Sis, you never answer when I talk to you. Answer me!

----------------------.

"Oh, you ‘don’t want to hear what’ I ‘have to say?’ Okay. Be that way! I don’t care what you think either."

---.

That’s right, Sis, I just have to drop out for awhile. I’m sure Administration isn’t happy that we’ll be gone for such a long time, but I gave them more than sufficient notice. We’re to take off Thursday, right after our language classes, the day before the Martin Luther King holiday week-end begins.

-------------------------------------.

"What do you mean, you ‘don’t remember why’? Sister, you’re the one who said, ‘The children don’t accomplish anything the day before holidays, so let’s leave early and have the extra time to enjoy ourselves. And anyway, there are no classes Thursday afternoon or Friday. All they do is show movies about Martin Luther King and have assemblies so the boys and girls can listen to his speeches about the plight of his people."’

----------------------!

"Yes, you did say that. Then you said, ‘What a loss when productive time is squandered. Shameful! The board has a duty-- every school minute should be worthwhile. Teachers should teach, and students should learn. They won’t do that, so we won’t bother to stay.’ Then you said, ‘Let’s skedaddle like everyone else! Let’s vamoose!"’

-------------!

"No. I didn’t say it! You did!"

----------------!

Yes you did!

"Don’t misquote me. What I said was, ‘Philadelphians make a big deal about the MLK week-end and it’s not even historical. On top of that, King was a philanderer. I said there are better role models than a man who couldn’t even keep his pants zipped. Sis, I know you hate when I talk like that but I have to tell it like I see it. Can’t help myself. You say, ‘Henriette, learn to hold your tongue; it’s going to fetch you big trouble someday, and there are already plenty of people who whisper that we’re crazy.’ We’re not crazy. But anyway, I don’t care what people think. You shouldn’t either!"

THE TUESDAY AFTER MLK WEEK-END

School is back in session at the Benjamin. Students chatter, pack the hallways, anxious for class to begin. The din clangs against the walls. Rebounds from the ceilings. Drums the ears.

The school secretary, Jane Simmons, sits at her desk filing her nails. She doesn’t believe she is in control of much of ‎anything, but it is Jane who must engage the school’s gears. She’s in charge but views her job as ancillary, dismisses her duties as unimportant and ignores her obligations like the one today.

She disregarded the note delivered in June, the end of the last school year, the one from Maitresse, the French teacher; that her sabbatical would begin in January, just before in the Martin Luther King holiday. No one read the note because at the exact time it was delivered, Jane was distracted by a call from her friend. She failed to open the envelope before filing it in the folder labeled, Future Reference. The contents were not examined until long after the murders. Because she ignored it, some considered Jane accountable for the horrors that transpired.

Today, the day after MLK week-end, the blonde secretary observes the empty line on the Sign-In Sheet. Maitresse Henriette has not arrived. She wonders. Who’s to teach the language classes?

It’s Jane’s job to do something. What is she supposed to do? She struggles to decide but can’t come up with anything easy.

Her mind drifts. Elizabeth Judd would solve this crisis but the young girl disappeared last Thursday. Friday the police came to investigate, but hardly anyone was here. Most had left for the MLK holiday.

Jane is sure Elizabeth would be in school if she were all right.

Where could she be?

Gone forever she fears and wonders whether she will see her sweet clever helper again?

The secretary had dialed Maitresse Henriette’s phone over and over ever since Jane arrived this morning.

No answer.

The language teacher is always the first in. Not today--an ominous sign.

Jane must decide what to do about the absence, but decisions are difficult so she postpones them into the future with the expectation that time will solve every dilemma.

Perched on her high task chair, legs crossed. The short skirt exposes grey stockinged thighs and the fastenings that attach the garter belt. She is clothed today as usual in sparkling sequined cocktail attire and shiny black high-heeled patent pumps. Teachers at the Benjamin Academy gossip that her manner of dress is inappropriate for daytime wear.

Jane often clck clacks back and forth in the business area to check for the arrival of anyone of interest. She likes the exercise. Never complains because the ballroom dance three times a week is not enough to keep her in shape.

She doesn’t call to obtain a substitute for Maitresse’ language classes until nine-thirty.

First try. No answer. Second, I’m sorry I got sick just this very morning. Call some other time when you need someone but please give me some notice.

Jane bristles. I would if I’d had any. What do you think? Do you think I’m stupid or something? What’s the matter with you? Do you maybe want me to take you off the sub list? That what you want? Ya don’t have to be rude!

Jane bangs down the phone.

The third is home. She’ll come even with this short notice.

"Be there toute de suite. I live right around the corner."

Jane sighs with relief. To land a substitute in advance is an achievement; to scare one up on the same day rates a gold star.

The secretary has learned from experience that subs are lazy, independent, and unavailable when you need them most. She’ll reap brownie points because the staff is unwilling to take on extra classes, besides, none of the teachers speak French or Latin.

Done. Arranged the most important job of the day. What else? Jane sighs and settles into her chair to weigh what actions or inactions she might have to take.

She wishes Elizabeth were here. Tears well in her eyes and she falls into a funk.

Her mind focuses on Maitresse whose attention to punctuality never wavers unlike the others whose absences attack like computer viruses. We expect Maitresse Henriette to be in school--on time. She’s trusted. Today her presence is missed.

But Jane has her priorities and decisions are not high on that list. She does nothing to check on Maitresse’ well-being.

BEFORE MLK MAITRESSE MUSES

"I did so agree with you, Sis. You said one note was not enough. The first gave the school sufficient time to obtain substitute French and Latin teachers to cover our classes during our sabbatical. I even included the names and addresses of several with excellent references who live nearby. Remember?"

--------------------.

"Yes. I did, too! I handed the first one to the secretary in June, the end of the last school year. It had the dates and times of our planned ‎ absence. ‎I thought that was all we needed to do. Not you. You said I better send a reminder—’just in case.’ You said, ‘Administration, including the secretary, is very incompetent. They likely forgot.’"

-------------------------.

Sis, you know I always do whatever you say, so today I gave another note to little Susie Purdy to take to the office. It says we leave tomorrow, right after our morning language classes. Says we’ll be out from Thursday, January 16, return by April 15. My memorandum was as clear as crystal. As you know, I am very exact.

----.

"Listen Sis, Je suis très heureuse, happy about our decision to take time off in the dead of winter. You suffer from the cold more than I do, and Philadelphia is very cold of late. Horrid! We used to have mild winters until ‘global warming."’

------------------!

"Sis, I know you know. What can the scientists be thinking? It’s upside down reasoning and this is a prime example. They announce that it will cause steamy weather. Instead it’s cold."

--------.

"‘All political?’ Sometimes we bicker but on this we agree.

--.

You know, Sis, I’m not sure we should ever come back. I hate this place. I despise Philadelphia, the school, the children, the teachers, the administration, and the parents. But most of all, I detest Mother and her awful house. Sis, you and I see eye-to-eye on that too.

--------------.

AFTER MLK—THE SCHOOL SECRETARY

Jane opens her compact, inspects her reflection in the tiny mirror, observes that her platinum hair and make-up are perfect. She smiles, likes her reflection, the blue eyes, the full lips, the unblemished white skin. Jane knows she is pretty. Everybody says so. She’s also aware that staff whispers that she wears too much make-up and over-dresses. Jane doesn’t care what they think so long as she keeps her job.

She swivels around, plants her heels on the wooden floor and straightens her body to the full extension that her five foot five will allow and boogies off.

Jane is a dancer. She doesn’t walk. Her knees flex and her buttocks roll with each step‎. Today she shimmies a bolero ‎accompanied by Besa Me Mucho via her omni-present I-pod headset.

She undulates into the teachers’ lounge, a dusty space somewhat brightened by the floor-to-ceiling windows that face east. The morning sun lights up the motes suspended in the air enlivened by an invisible ghost. Tan rings mark yesterday’s coffee cups. This room is never cleaned.

She drips a pot of coffee, pours herself a cup, adds cream and Splenda, and takes a sip. She crunches into a crisp juicy apple which sprays ‎onto her blouse.

Jane takes a long restroom break to scrub off the stains, returns to her desk and shuffles papers in case someone’s watching.

Sandy the sub arrives at ten‎. Jane greets her with joy, not sure until this minute whether the woman would show. Subs are notoriously unreliable.

Jane had eyed the woman’s application but only to check her age. Sandy has filled in the number 35 but the secretary decides Sandy must be older by far. Dark curls circle her face. Deep dimples, bow shaped mouth, and a pixie round face all combine to give her an impish look when she smiles. She bestows a broad one on Jane.

Sandy exudes a positive attitude which seems ‎strange for a teacher about to be confronted by twenty-two ‎boisterous out-of-control kids. What’s wrong with this picture? Jane thinks there must be something up with this woman. Is she a brainless dolt to be so carefree? Has she no idea what she’s up against?

That’s when Jane begins to wonder how ‎many times, if any, this sub has taught. The secretary had neglected to read ‎the Experience Section of the application or maybe that part wasn’t filled in. ‎Truth is--Jane had read none of it.‎

The secretary discards her concern. Sandy is a body and that’s all the school needs today.

The sub beams a happy Hi! at Jane who returns the same.

Hello I’m Jane, the secretary. I’m the one who called you this morning. Thanks for coming on such short notice.

I’m Sandy Rosner. You’re very welcome. Glad to help.

Jane wonders how this woman can afford the Hermes Birkin Chocolate Brown purse she carries. They go for fifteen thou new! Curiosity piqued, she makes an effort to find out.

Married? Jane asks innocently.

"Was…Divorced now. My husband’s an accountant…well…he was…I mean my ex--a total bore, but his clients are sooo rich. Sometimes I keep him company, you know, tag along when he goes to their houses to do their books but I only…you know… when no one’s home. He likes my company. It works for me. I love to snoop in their closets, you know…at the clients’ clothes, their jewelry, shoes and such…Blows my mind the quantity of designer stuff in there, things they forget they have. I’ve seen shoes and bags, still in boxes, tags attached. Unopened. You can tell it’s been years since they were purchased. I’m interested in that kind of thing…you know, designer stuff."

Jane murmurs, Oh? Really?

"Oh yes absolutely! One of his richest clients is Edith Schmidt the billionaire banker’s wife. Wow! What an enormous condo they have…and her clothes--to die for! But is her husband a doozy. Fatter than a pig and a dick as tiny as a chicken’s. I saw him naked as a baby once. The Schmidts weren’t supposed to be home. I’m still not sure if he was expecting me to go into that room, the one where he was. I think...I’m not sure but I think he wanted me in there so I would look at him, at his...you know. What I, ah…I believe is…he’s a… an exhibitionist. It was weird! He just stood there in the doorway waving his tiny thing at me. Needless to say, I was out of there in a flash. I told my ex to make sure Mr. Schmidt is out of the apartment when I visit."

‎Jane surmises that’s where Sandy picked up the Birkin. Sticky fingers. Better watch my stuff.

Did you bring lunch? She smiles at Sandy.

No, I’ll stop by home during my break… Remember? I told you I live nearby.

Sure, that’s how come you got here so fast.

Yeah. I do get a lunch break…Don’t I?

Sure, sure, you just have to be quick about it.

At least an hour...I mean...I should. After all, subbing is hard work-- common knowledge. Right?Right?

I wouldn’t know about that. I’m not a teacher. Take the hour when you’re hungry, between classes, that way no one will figure you’re away. She hands Sandy her class schedule, helps her fill in the required forms, then escorts her through the hallway to Maitresse’ classroom where Sandy will teach for the day.

Jane hopes it’s only for the day.

The room is chaos. Rowdy students circle the desks, send a cacophony of voices out into the hall; not unexpected when there’s no authority figure. Kids perch on their desks, laugh and point at the chalkboard where student artists stand, concentrated on the caricatures they’ve drawn of Maitresse. Each depiction includes a beret, high heels, and a walking stick. None display her as the attractive woman she is. Other than that, the renditions do have a semblance of talent.

Jane claps her hands twice and raises her voice a notch to attract their attention. She’s too ‎genteel to shout. The students look up and quiet down, curious about this smiling brunette who accompanies the sexy secretary.

Jane introduces Sandy. Boys and girls… this is your substitute teacher, Mrs. Rosner. She will teach French and Latin today because Maitresse Henriette is not here. Now children--I insist that you return to your seats. She can be strong-willed when the situation warrants.

The students smile and whoop unable to contain their joy. A substitute in place of Maitresse spells happiness. They follow directions and head to their ‎assigned seats, all except one.

‎Natalie! Natalie! Please take your seat.

She lowers her voice. "Listen up Sandy, that ‎red-head is out to Mars. Look at her, just stands there and stares out the window. What can she be thinking? Try to keep an eye on her ‎so she doesn’t wonder off. I should tell you, if you haven’t heard, kids have disappeared from here, from the Benjamin."‎

‎Sure, I know. I’ll watch out for her. ‎

BEFORE MLK -- MAITRESSE

"I still say people should celebrate all the brave French soldiers who helped this fledgling country break free of England. The U.S. would still be a colony if not for France and their brave men who fought and died for us. A French sculptor made the Statue of Liberty the U.S., but nobody talks about that. I’ll bet if I ask my students, not one would know it was from France. Well, maybe Natalie Krill would; that’s if we could break into her reveries long enough to get her attention. She’s smart, but the pretty fifth grader is lost in her own private world."

----------------.

"C’mon Sis, she’s in your Latin class. You do so know her!"

----------------------!

"Sorry. You’re right; I am too serious. Of course you know Natalie. It was a silly question. But maybe you can’t figure how smart she is because all you teach is Latin."

---------------!

"Sis, it’s true. Latin is worthless. Stop fuming. I just want to tell you what I know about her; that she’s well-read, and remembers everything she hears, but sadly, she lives in her own private dream world. We have talked about this. I remember now. We try to draw her out, but nothing seems to work. Au contraire, whatever we do, makes it worse. She continues to gaze out of the window or down at her desk or anywhere else, never at me or up at the blackboard, a perpetual dreamer. You think so too?"

---------------.

"Thought so. She’s detached, focuses off into… I don’t know where. When I call on her, she responds with exaggerated resentment and fear-- yes fear. I feel provoked? You too?

---.

"We have to correct her, not to punish, but to encourage the child to assume responsibility for her education. What else can we do? We have to try. Why is she afraid? Is it school? Authority? Of her mother when Natalie receives less than perfect grades? Maybe she thinks she’ll be kidnapped. As you know, it happens even at this school. And her parents are not together."

------------!

"Of course you knew that. I’m just thinking out loud. You’re so short-tempered, Sis. Anyway, as I was saying, that’s the norm these days. People no longer view divorce as the ultimate disgrace. Couples used to have self-respect. How one lived one’s life was important and children could count on their parents."

----------------.

Remember at the parent-teacher conference, when I suggested to her mother that she obtain counseling for Natalie. The woman became furious, her face mottled with red splotches I was sure she’d have a seizure. Said not to meddle where we don’t belong. Then she turned and stepped right in front of me—really close--not more than an inch away. I could feel puffs of air when she said, ‘Pay attention to your own problems.’ Wonder what she meant by that. There was no pleasant, ‘How do you do,’ smile. And that was even before we made our observation that Natalie see a psychologist.

--------------.

"Yes, I remember. I gave up on the mother. You did too. So we work with Natalie ourselves. We have not been successful so far, but we will make the effort. We have to. It is our job."

AFTER MLK -- SCHOOL SECRETARY

Her work accomplished, Jane returns to her office, makes some calls then uses the microphone in the main office to read the announcements for the day.

Good morning boys and girls. We hope you had a very nice Martin Luther King, Jr. week-end and you are ready to settle down to work.

Fun Day is Saturday. Mark your calendars.Tickets may be purchased from your teachers. Make sure to tell your parents about it. There will be amusement rides, even a roller coaster, hot dogs and hamburgers, fries, cotton candy, and ice cream. You’ll be allowed to make your own sundaes with chocolate sauce, sprinkles, and Smoores. We’ll have target shooting and all kinds of other activities including the parade and band playing. Members, remember to practice and bring your instruments. Don’t miss the fun.

Oh, and don’t forget, along with Fun Day is the bake sale. Please tell the pastry chef in your family to prepare something special, a fudge cake or brownies or even store-bought will help our school.

Have a wonderful productive day.

Jane heads to her desk, sets her beauty parlor appointment for Saturday, polishes her nails and calls her lunch date to make sure the time has not changed.

Her lunch date is George, the supply salesman, one of her regular benefactors. Jane makes sure he gets to see the Headmaster, that it is his company chosen to fill the ‎school’s ‎paper needs. In exchange, the secretary receives a generous commission under the table.

It will be lunch at The Palm. A fillet mignon, medium-well, Caesar salad, no croutons (Jane watches her weight), fresh strawberries with cream and a very fine Chardonnay, all on her admirer’s dime.

Later, back in her office, she yawns, wishes she could nap but there is no place for that. Instead she picks up the phone to chat up her gal pals and detail her latest male conquest and newest handbag purchase, a blue leather Fendi half-price at Macy’s.

How do you find those bargains and how can you afford them on your salary? Her friends ask, jealous of her good luck. They ask, but they already know. She proudly admits to using her feminine wiles to elicit expensive dates from her admirers. In addition she is compensated by the vendors she aids.

‎The other plus is that she works downtown proximate to the shops. She can leave school whenever she likes, ‎free to make a bee-line for bargains at first sniff. Her ‎cushy job is no secret to anyone.

Jane remembers to up-date her face-book, twitter, and email accounts.

Young Elizabeth would have handled the office drudgery which has become a mountain atop her desk.

Where has that sweet young girl gone? Jane sobs. She knows the truth. It can’t be good. Doldrums set in.

She calls one of her friends, tells her that Maitresse Henriette has not shown up.

You need to call the police! Now! Unless you can find someone else to go over to Maitresse’ house.

There’s no one to send and she won’t go herself.

Despite her friend’s advice, it’s not until mid-afternoon that she makes the call.

PHILADELPHIA -- MAIN POLICE STATION

The pulse of the city radiates out from this place. Any crime worthy of newspaper notice is investigated in this antiquated building that houses the ancient unworkable useless system of justice, an anachronism, same as the city.

The new Police Commander took the helm a year ago. Chief Elijah White is an ebony black man sandbagged to relocate to Philly. The bait-- the down-payment on a house large enough for his seven minor children, the wife, and her parents.

Not until the moving van was parked out front, did he become aware that the house was as old as the city and in dire need of major repairs from years of neglect. The restoration would be his financial responsibility and more complicated than any run-of-the-mill house because of its location in the historic district. All repairs must meet the design and special building code set by the Philadelphia Historical Commission.

Poor Elijah is saddled with mortgage payments, high city taxes, and ‎humongous repair costs. ‎ No one informed Chief White about any of that before he’d pulled stakes and resigned from his ‎former job as Chief of Police in Jefferson.

White is ‎stuck.‎

Philadelphia’s city fathers insist on diversity, and the list of candidates had been bereft of competent local African-Americans. Truth is--no one wanted the thankless stressful job.

The Commission had