From the Ashes

By Edward Acunzo

How does one rise from the ashes of a funeral pyre, like the mythical phoenix? How do you salvage your life from the depths of criminality and addiction? You’ll learn in intimate detail how it’s done. Join Ciro Angelista on his inspiring journey from an abusive childhood to eventually become a responsible parent himself.
Yes, the reader may be shocked by the brutality of his life, yet you will also be entertained, and ultimately fulfilled by his story as you follow his path to redemption. Though there are many “war stories” contained herein, this book is about hope most of all.
Come, get on this emotional rollercoaster, but remember to strap yourself in, because there are many thrills and chills along the way! The author promises that you’ll laugh and cry with Ciro as his story unfolds.

Edward Acunzo is a former Psychiatric Counselor who has worked in both inpatient and outpatient settings and is experienced in several modalities of mental health treatment.
This is his first novel. He’s both author and poet, and has published a short story that’s contained in the collection called “The Tainted Mirror Anthology,” by Valerie Coleman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edward Acunzo
• Release date: May 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463741375

Edward Acunzo

Edward Acunzo is a College graduate, Poet, father, and former Psychiatric Counselor who has worked in both inpatient and outpatient settings and is experienced in several modalities of mental health treatment. This is his first novel but has published a short story that’s contained in the collection called “The Tainted Mirror Anthology,” by Valerie Coleman.

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Dedications and Acknowledgements

This book is dedicated first and foremost to my son, Benjamin, as well as to my granddaughter, Isabella, and my brother, Thomas. My other family members are too numerous to mention. I’ve had a handful of lifelong friends that’ve stood by me, even when it wasn’t easy to do so. They were also instrumental during the research and development of this story line.

Julia (Judy).S. Goutierrez deserves special thanks for helping me to format this edition, among other things.

My tale is meant to be about the triumph of the human spirit; coming back from the brink of disaster and rising FROM THE ASHES of failure . I hope it will inspire some troubled soul to have the courage to change his or her life.

The following is a novel, a complete work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

I invite you to comment on my Facebook page From the Ashes.

Please be aware that this narrative contains graphic language that some may find offensive. It can’t be written otherwise while still maintaining authenticity. It’s about a character that is a product of urban streets, and all that this implies.

Covers designed by Edward and Thomas L. Acunzo

Chapter 1: A Day in the Life of a Fool

It was four A.M on a bleak and dreary February morning in 1975. Zero had just endured John Wayne saving democracy for the umpteenth time in a late night black and white movie rerun. Although you could’ve hung meat in their dingy little bedroom, he was dripping sweat into his long-johns beneath the electric blanket. The bed’s top sheet was twisted around them because of his inability to keep still. He could see the mist from his own winter breath in the flickering TV shadows, and he could smell his own funk.

Unfortunately the evening’s dope had already worn off, and consequently he couldn’t sleep. Withdrawal was staring at Zero over the edge of the footboard. Late night was always the worst time if he wasn’t stoned, and tonight he had nothing left to ease his jumpiness. The National Anthem was over, and the wailing screen test came on the TV screen. Zero could have muted the sound, but that would’ve required effort because he had no remote. He didn’t want to move, for fear disturbing his pregnant wife again. For the past half-hour his skin had been crawling, and now he felt like ripping it from his bones. He’d already accidently kicked Connie twice, and was starting to really piss her off.

Zero, damn it, quit squirming around!

‘Drip, drip, drip, drip,’ that relentless bathroom faucet mocked him.

He couldn’t even distract himself by squinting at the cracks in his ceiling, while trying to discern shapes and images there as if he was a child. But then fate provided a jarring distraction, and also gave him an outlet for his frustration. The figurative other shoe dropped in the slushy darkness outside his window.

Hey Lydia, throw me down the lobby key. Wake up, baby. Lydia,. LY-DI-A! Throw down the friggin’ key!

Hymie’s voice was like a nail being driven through Zero’s skull. A couple of days earlier he’d made what he thought had been a reasonable request concerning an unreasonable situation between them. Zero was hoping they could work it out. He flagged Hymie down in the hallway of their building. Hymie was a heroin dealer in the neighborhood.

Got a minute, bro? Say man, my wife is five months pregnant. You probably don’t realize it, but every time you come home late and yell in the courtyard, you wake her up. She’s having enough problems trying to sleep, and she needs her rest. Ya know what I’m sayin’, bro? Let’s be more considerate of each other; things are tough enough, right? I realize your business keeps you out late, but I’m asking you to please bring the key with you when you go, so we don’t have this commotion in the middle of the night!

Zero knew that he heard him, but Hymie was busy joking around with one of his homies at the time; too busy to even look at him! He stood there for a minute, growing more aware of the stench of urine on the staircase landing, and he wondered if Hymie was going to acknowledge his presence. Finally he responded without even looking in Zero’s direction.

Sure man, sure, no problem," Hymie said as he pushed past him, heading for his place on the fifth floor. Because of this lackadaisical, dismissive attitude, Zero knew then he’d probably have more trouble with him in the future. He guessed maybe he didn’t overwhelm Hymie with his imposing physical presence.

Now what am I supposed to do, politely ask him again? I don’t think so! Z decided.

He leaped out of the bed and hurried to grab the pot from the stove top. Their kitchen bordered the center courtyard of his tenement building at 1576 Taylor Avenue, in an area called Stratton Park.

Whatcha ya doing? Connie asked.

He’d prepared for this eventuality. It was lesson time! He quietly opened the storm and kitchen windows, then launched a pot full of cold water onto Hymie’s uncovered, permed head.

That’s your key, bitch. Are you listening to me now?

Of course this amounted to a declaration of war! Zero knew he probably had just a couple of minutes to prepare before Hymie came knocking on his door.

Connie asked in disbelief, Are you kidding me? Zero, don’t we have enough problems?

We live in this building too. What? I should let this punk run over us and disrespect our rights? No way! Connie, take the .38, go down to the end of the hallway, and stay there. I’ll handle Hymie when he gets here. Just follow my cues, okay? Get ready, because he’ll be here in a minute. Make sure you stay behind the wall. Don’t worry, you’re gonna be safe; it’s gonna be alright. He’ll have to kill me to get into our apartment. Trust me, that ain’t gonna happen! But if it does, let ‘em come down the hallway, aim for center mass, and shoot ‘em. If the cops find him in our house, it’ll be ruled self-defense. She was a pretty good shot!

How do I keep getting into this shit? He mused.

As Zero moved up the hall he turned on all the lights, and then he unlocked the police lock that secured the front door. Zero heard Hymie’s big feet pounding down the marble staircase. When he banged on the door, something went ‘click’ in Zero’s head. He went to that place where things slowed down and he became numb. Now it was all about the game. It all boiled down to winning or losing!

He opened the door clutching his cocked 9 mm pistol and found Hymie standing in the doorway with a twelve gauge shotgun in the ‘port-arms’ position! Hymie was gangly, about six foot three, maybe 200 pounds, and his wet afro was dripping jheri-curl all over his leather collar. He was quite a dashing figure! He looked like Gumby on cocaine. On the other hand, Zero was an impressive five foot nine, and was a strapping 120 pounds when soaking wet. He stood there with his greasy hair and glasses, dressed in his sweat-stained thermal underwear, and wearing Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers. He wasn’t exactly a matinee idol himself!

The instant Zero saw him, he knew he ‘owned’ Hymie. A small chuckle escaped his lips.

What the fuck are you laughing at?

You come for a shave with that shower, motherfucker? Zero asked. You ain’t nearly ready for this. That shotgun’s not even cocked, but you better notice that my pistol is. I can put two caps in your head before you can even raise your weapon, much less cock it. Twitch and you’ll see if I mean it, dude!

Now Hymie looked more closely at the gun in his hand, which Zero had raised to point at his head. He was into it now, and began to play the role of semi-nutcase, with relish.

I got all the lights on in the house, did ya notice?

Now Hymie’s eyes began to dart all over as he also tried to keep a watchful eye on Zero. He chuckled again.

Don’t move a muscle, hoss; you don’t wanna make me nervous!

Then Hymie saw Connie peeking around the corner of the hallway, holding the revolver. His eyes grew larger, and jheri-curl or sweat began to roll down his face.

Take a coupla deep breaths, bro. No one’s gotta get shot here, but that’s up to you. Me, I don’t really give a fuck what you do next, because I know you’ll be the stiff in the morgue, not me. Concetta, tell the man your instructions, which she did, verbatim.

Zero said, Look Hymie, I’m gonna do whatever you force me to do, and you’re gonna get what your hand calls for. You can bank on it! After all is said and done, if you make the wrong move right now, even the dumbest legal aid will be able to prove this a case of self-defense if I gotta kill you!

You got it all figured out, huh Zero?

"I hope so for both our sakes, brother, but it’s all up to you. I’m protecting a pregnant wife, and I’ll do you in a heartbeat to protect my family. Believe dat! So I’m gonna give you instructions one time. If you do what you’re told, you’ll probably be in your bed in thirty minutes. If not, you’re gonna be laying on a cold slab next time Lydia sees you.

Gimme the shotgun right now. Lemme pat you down, and then come inside so we can have a chat. Now make your move, because I’m not gonna tell you again, hoss."

He looked one more time at the cocked 9 mm pointed at his head, as he considered his options. Then Hymie reluctantly handed over his gun, and Zero checked him for other weapons. As if he was walking to his own execution, Hymie started a snail-walk to the kitchen. Zero broke the shotgun barrel open, dropped the shells on the floor, and then walked down the hallway behind him.

Have a seat. Look, understand I got nothing against you in general. But I tried talking to you man to man. I made my request respectfully, didn’t I? But you blew me off like I was a chump, so what else am I supposed to do? You responded with disrespect, now I’ve answered back in kind, got it? What would you have done in my situation?

Hymie, you left him no choice, Connie said emphatically.

Connie, stay out of this, it’s between Hymie and me.

Zero was irritated because she knew he wanted her to keep her mouth shut. Nothing should dilute the exchange between them.

But I’m not a vengeful guy. I’ve made my point, and if we can reach an understanding now, I’m willing to forget about this incident with no hard feelings, if you’re willing to do the same. We’ll keep this entire episode between us.

They made eye contact, and Zero said with a crocodile smile,

But maybe you should tie a string around your finger to remind yourself to bring the lobby key when you go out next time. I can’t have you waking my wife up like that, man. She’s needs her rest. So, does it end here, whatcha you wanna do?

After a pause, Zero extended his hand and left it in mid-air, as he continued his toothy smile and held Hymie’s eyes with his own. There was a few seconds of uncomfortable tension, then Hymie said, I hear you bro, and broke eye contact.

They shook hands, and Zero allowed himself to relax. He took satisfaction in the fact that Hymie’s hand was cold and full of sweat. But they agreed to let bygones be bygones. Zero told him he’d return his unloaded shotgun the next day, and he escorted him to the door, as he pulled his long-johns up. The waist band was worn and stretched, so the crotch hung half-way to his knees, making it hard to strut in triumph. Zero tried to add a little ghetto-roll to his gait anyway. It was important to keep up appearances.

Hymie might have taken the suggestion about the finger string, because he never yelled in the courtyard at night again. To carry this pissing contest further didn’t make sense for either of them. It just wasn’t worth it.

But now that family honor had been preserved, and the adrenaline rush was over, Zero was feeling jittery again. His nose and eyes were leaking like the bathroom faucet that kept him up earlier in the night. He wiped his face on his shirt sleeve and they got back into bed. Zero’s methadone was supposed to hold him for twenty-four hours, but he always confused his body’s tolerances by ‘subsidizing’ his dosage, and taking other drugs also. Like a dead man lying in a coffin, Zero laid on his back, crossed his arms across his chest and flipped one leg over the other. Sometimes wrapping himself up like that made him less likely to twitch. Commercials today talk about that ‘restless leg syndrome’ where people get an irresistible urge to move or twitch. He knew that feeling all too well. Zero watched his foot jiggle back and forth like it had a mind of its own.

Goddamn it, Zero.

Yeah, I know Connie. Sorry. I’ll go into the living room so you can get some sleep.

He realized that he couldn’t wait any longer. He should have known better than to go to bed without a morning ‘wake-up’ dose. Zero’s clothes were where he’d left them in the living room. The field jacket in the hall closet held his 9 mm again, so he grabbed the jacket and slid quietly out the door on his way to the methadone clinic. No need to wake her up to say goodbye. His daily routine had to begin; the gerbil had to jump on the spinning wheel again and start scrambling in place.

State run methadone maintenance clinics were often the last stop on a junkie’s one way ticket to oblivion, or the grave. Catastrophic life failure usually brought people to these places, and it followed them there as well. Zero was no exception. His methadone program was in Clauson Point, which was a ghetto neighborhood. He’d become a fixture there. He arrived early when the action was just starting, so after he got his methadone, he surveyed the local terrain while he waited for the healing powers to kick in. Zero saw one of his running partners from that area, a guy named Flaco.

Flaco was skinny and stood about five foot four. He had a pencil moustache, and pizza-face. He was vinyl and polyester-clad under his grey felt fedora hat.

Yo, what’s up Zero, my man? That was his nickname, given common expectations of him on all fronts.

Nothing but the rent, hoss. What’s happenin’ out here this morning?

I need your help, compadre. I bet you got somethin’ goin’ on, you little rice and bean eatin’ Puerto Rican! Remember, who threw five placidyl on you last week when you were in need? You play well with others, don’t ya?

Flaco laughed and said, Now that you mention it, you guinea pendejo, I do have a new croaker downtown that I can turn you onto, if you hang out for a while.

Oh baby, you know what I like!

A ‘croaker’ was a doctor who would knowingly writes narcotic prescriptions for drug addicts. They asked the right questions, and more importantly, avoided the wrong ones. The city was full of them, and they were more than happy to play the game for profit.

Zero paid via cash or Medicaid.

Later Flaco’s doctor asked him, What seems to be the problem, Mr. Angelista?

I’m a n-n-nervous wreck, Doc. I’m fulla anxiety about my f-f-future. My wife is pregnant and I’m outta work. My mind’s always racing, and I feel like a time bomb ready to explode. My hands s-s-shake and my stomach is always in knots. I need something to calm me down, and something to help me sleep.

The croaker nodded his head knowingly and asked, What do you think would help, sir?

Zero responded with unnecessary wide-eyed innocence, A prescription for ten milligram valium for my anxiety, and some tuinal for sleep, Doc.

After ‘cracking the script,’ his afternoon was spent getting high with Flaco and others. But later on he had a favor to fulfill for his friend Patty, who’d be showing up for his meds about four o’clock. Patty had been ‘burned’ by a young Spanish guy to whom he’d loaned money. Pat was a nice guy and a really good friend, but he could turn very deadly in the blink of an eye if need be. He was middle-aged, had a pot belly, and his hair was slicked back with Brylcreem, like Dracula. Patty had a few objectives to accomplish that afternoon; to retrieve his money, and to administer a nasty revenge beating, thereby sending a message to the junkie community.

Zero, I need you to take his partner out of the picture so I can tend to business without interruption. Can you watch my back? He’ll probably be packing.

Me too, hoss. I’ll take care of him Pat, don’t worry.

Pat concealed himself close to a spot on a side street where the two Puerto Ricans usually parked. Zero loved predictable targets, and they came right when expected. Patty stayed hidden, because his appearance would be an immediate tip-off of danger. On the other hand, they knew Zero by sight, so he would be able to approach them head-on without arousing suspicion. They didn’t know he was Patty’s friend.

Que pasa? He greeted them and approached with a smile, as they locked their car doors.

When the guy’s partner mounted the curb, Zero stepped into him and quickly jammed his pistol into the jawbone ‘V’ under his chin, forcing him back on his toes against a car. He cocked the hammer.

Don’t even inhale, maricón!

Patty jumped out then, wielding a pipe about two feet in length, and he cracked his target on the head. He went down like a sack of potatoes. Once down, Patty also gave him a shot across his shoulders, and another across the back of his thighs. No matter, he’d already decided to take a nap!

Zero smiled at the guy he had against the car, while he relieved him of the .38 holstered in his belt at the small of his back.

How’d you feel about a third nostril, Slick?

To his credit, Slick stayed pretty cool and said, I’ll stick with what I got, thanks.

This guy’s got balls! That could mean trouble, Zero noted.

He dug the gun barrel in a little tighter for emphasis. Meanwhile Patty paid himself back from the other man’s wallet, but took no more than that.

Stay cool, Slick. I’m not gonna hurt you unless you give me cause. This is just business, comprende?

He grunted in acknowledgement. After Patty finished, Zero left Slick healthy as promised. On the way home he joked with Patty.

Ward, don’t you think you’ve been a little hard on the Beave?

Pat thought that reference to Leave it to Beaver was hysterical.

After the madness of his day was over, after what seemed like light years since the morning, Zero lay next to his sleeping wife that night. He thought about the well-meaning, but empty commitments that he’d made to himself the previous night about doing something about his drug problem. He idly wondered what Connie’s day had been like, because they rarely spent them together. His mind was racing, and it was starting to get light outside. Zero began to flog himself as part of his usual dawn procedure. He mocked himself, You’ve had a busy, productive day, haven’t you, dude?

His stomach was knotted with anxiety and despair as he mulled over the actual events of the day. Zero wallowed in shame.

Gotta shake this off so I can get some sleep. I got lots to do when I wake up.

Unfortunately sleep was no match for his tension and depression, so he got up and went to his stash for the last couple of pills. Soon he felt the all-too-familiar numbness of narcotic stupor relaxing the knot in his stomach. As he drifted over the edge into the void, into the waiting arms of Morpheus, the Greek god of dreams, Zero made a mental commitment again to start getting his life in order when he woke up.

Yet tomorrow always wound up being an unending succession of yesterdays. The details of his personal nightmare were in constant flux, but the results at the end of the day were still the same. Zero always found reasons to run one more hustle, do one more score, crack one more script, or otherwise sabotage any inclination he had to start moving in a more positive direction. His life remained in a self-destructive spiral downward.

Chapter 2: Clinic Fallout

The methadone clinic staff had heard rumors about the ‘Leave it to Beaver’ episode, and felt compelled to do something about it. The next time Zero showed up for medication he was brought into the office of the director for a weird confrontation.

Zero, did you pull a gun on another patient? Did you assault someone with a pipe?

Whatcha talking about, Shanika? I don’t know what you’re referring to; got any witnesses? I haven’t been charged with any crime, you know.

She wanted to talk about apples, but he’d rather talk about potatoes. It was like a scene from a bad comedy movie. Instead of answering her questions, he asked her some of his own.

Hey, how’d your boy like that pound of weed I sold him last week? First class stuff, huh? What’s your cut for brokering the deal? I always handle the money with you, and you’ve asked me to never to discuss price with them. Why’s that? I mean I really don’t care; it’s not my business as long as I get paid. I’m just making conversation. How about we both promise to be a little more discrete about our business?

Zero didn’t know much about Shanika, nor did he care. She had a Master’s degree in some kind of counseling capacity, but obviously seemed to be looking for fulfillment elsewhere. She liked cocaine, money, and weed, in that order. They each knew all that was necessary to exploit one another. Zero was Shanika’s principal supplier of large quantities of a variety of drugs, and had been for some time.

Next he also had to get questioned by the senior counselor about the same thing. But he was into Zero for a couple of hundred dollars’ worth of drugs. This counselor was an ex-heroin addict who was on methadone himself, but had developed a taste for cocaine recently. George stammered and stuttered, and couldn’t figure out how to begin the conversation. It was hard for him to confront Zero when he was his coke connection. George had previously put up a brand new snub-nose .38 Smith & Wesson revolver as collateral until he could straighten out his tab.

Zero, it’s my job, I mean I’m supposed to question you…

Look George, let’s cut to the chase; there’s no witnesses or police report, and I didn’t do what they’re saying anyway. I’ve already heard a lecture from Shanika. As far as our other business is concerned, don’t worry about it, the snub-nose wipes the slate clean. You can stop ducking me, and you can even buy more coke if you want to, but no more credit, it’s ‘cash and carry’ only, okay? Is there anything else we need to talk about? If not, I gotta go.

Everybody had their roles to play in this farce.

Chapter 3: Zero, Guns and the Pig

Zero was involved in another shady business, the sale of handguns. It was riskier than most other illegal enterprises in his world, and it usually brought him to the worst parts of the Bronx and Harlem. The key was to act like you belonged and had a right to be wherever you were, no trepidation, no lack of eye contact, but also no overt challenges either.

Presentation and appearance could be important for a player, but there also had to be substance behind it to persevere. Street hustlers of all types, junkies, thieves, and dealers had to learn how to react to the smallest nuances in a dangerous, jungle-like environment. They became very intuitive like animals. Consequently their senses had to be very sharp because their very survival depended on these skills. But at the end of the day the only thing that really mattered was action; not necessarily how physically tough you were, but how mentally tough. How far were you willing to go to protect your interests?

Zero was in a very rough bar on 147th Street and Bruckner Blvd. hoping for an opportunity to get an introduction to a certain new businessman that hung out there.

Another patron told him, That guy over there is Johnny-Boy Gomez, who just got out of Attica after doing twenty years on a double homicide.

Johnny went upstate when Zero was still straining into his diapers. He had a scar that ran across the bridge of his nose onto his right cheek, and a Roadrunner tattoo on his neck. He was also pumped up from prison weight-lifting. He was an intimidating-looking guy. Later on someone who knew them both introduced him, which was supposed to be an honor and kind of a recognition that Zero was an ‘up and comer.’

He said, What’s happening, Johnny? Welcome home, nice to meet you. Zero believed that murder usually occurred as a situational response to fear or anger. In either case it stemmed from a loss of control of oneself, or circumstances. It was always unfortunate and regrettable, though sometimes unavoidable.

Then Zero turned and walked away, but he meant no disrespect to the man. That would be insane! He told the bartender to get Johnny a drink on him, then he explained his behavior to the guy who’d done the introduction.

I’m not impressed just because he’s a double murderer. I know guys in my own neighborhood that have clipped people. Some got caught, some didn’t. It certainly isn’t an accomplishment to be envied. Introduce me to somebody who can make me some money. Introduce me to Martin Kelly.

Martin Kelly was a smooth-talking little guy who was always shaking hands with everyone, and he kept a perennial smile on his face. If there were babies in the bar, he would have been kissing them like a politician running for office. But he was also known to sell high quality handguns at discounted prices, if you bought in volume. That was a man Zero was interested in. In fact he was the reason why Zero was drinking in the bar that night.

It’s nice to meet you, Martin. My mother’s Irish family was from Hell’s Kitchen. The Westies gang was from her neighborhood. Can I buy you a drink?

The Westies were the Irish version of the Mafia.

As they had a few drinks, they played ‘Getting to Know You,’ and engaged in a little light conversation about whom they knew in common.

Lemme ask you, can we do a little business, you and I? Zero eventually asked him. Martin became one supplier, but his product was for a certain caliber of clientele, no pun intended; those that could afford superior merchandise. However most of the ‘meatballs’ on the street were more interested in ‘Saturday Night Specials.’ These were bargain-basement cheap pieces that were basically garbage if you were concerned about accuracy and dependability. So he also had to cultivate a connection for the ‘flash and trash’ pieces. Zero knew such a guy from the Clauson Point Projects nicknamed Piggy Red, or the Pig for short.

The Pig and Zero probably did business leading up to the unfortunate incident about ten different times, and they never had any problems. Zero had been to his apartment several times, and had even fronted him money on occasion. This time he gave Piggy nine hundred dollars on a consignment basis for the purchase of six Saturday Night Specials. Delivery night passed without merchandise or word from Piggy Red. The next day Zero called his house.

What’s up, Pig?

I don’t know, Zero. I gave my boy two grand and that’s the last I heard from him.

And I don’t get a heads-up call from you last night, Pig? We both know that’s not how the game’s played. Maybe you should find out what’s going on and get back to me. The explanation sounded fishy!

I’ll do that and call you back, Zero.

He still didn’t call, so Zero had to call him again. Then Piggy gave him another update.