Latitude 18: A Perfect Storm for the Adventure of a Lifetime

By Michael Levinson

Latitude 18 is a novel about Greg Star and Mark Barrett, two childhood friends in their mid-twenties who were fed up with their routine lives in Baltimore. What began as a desperately needed vacation in the islands of the Caribbean soon set the stage for a totally life-changing experience for the two young adventurers.

The Caribbean has always been dominated by patriarchal figures, those men who unofficially run their small communities in their own style. Greg and Mark unwittingly find themselves entangled with one such individual, Arsne Louis Fleming; who was always loyal to his friends, but merciless to his foes. The young men quickly realize that they are no match for the old-timer that everyone in the region refers to as Sun; that is, until they all discover there is a much stronger force to reckon with in the islands of the CaribbeanMother Nature.

As you follow the adventures of Mark and Greg, prepare yourself for the twists and turns that thrilling, emotional journeys often bring. Love affairs, betrayal, jealousy, and the mighty bond of friendship, which is truly tested to the breaking point, are all features of this exciting adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 26, 2009
• ISBN: 9781440161230

Michael Levinson

Born in New York City in December, 1963, Michael Levinson’s family relocated to south Florida several years later, where he was raised and educated and now lives. He teaches at a middle school in Plantation, Florida. And he ponders the possibility of someday retiring to the Caribbean.

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Prologue

For centuries, the islands of the northeastern Caribbean have allured many with their overwhelming natural beauty and serene tranquility. Emerald green mountains, surrounded by pure white powder sandy beaches that ultimately yield to a crystal clear turquoise blue sea, all prove to be captivating to the heart and soul for those who behold such a feast for the eyes.  The blissfully pristine appearance of these islands cleverly masquerades a bitter dark secret that has existed through the ages. The history of this region is replete with the savagery of men to the greatest of extremes, all for conquest and domination of the land. The carnage began with the cannibalistic Carib tribe of Indians who all but eliminated the more docile Arawak tribe; followed by the onslaught of a host of European settlers who have each fought numerous battles in order to conquer and maintain possession of their prized territories. Indeed, even today, many unsuspecting tourists crowd a popular beach called Baie Rouge, or ‘Red Bay,’ which, according to legend, was essentially named that because at one time, it was entirely colored red with the blood of embattled soldiers. Though savage battles between armies no longer exist in the region, the legacy indeed continues—only now it comes in the form of justice.

The brisk autumn winds were blowing down from the hillside into the small town below with enough velocity that it created a whirring sound through the trees along the way. It was late November 1979, on the island of Saint Martin, and Stephen Gerard James had just arrived at the bustling Calypso nightclub to begin his nightly duties as the club's manager. The owner of the club, Arsène Louis Fleming, a highly regarded socialite known to most of the population of the island simply as "Sun," hired Mr. James to run his club as he became more involved with his various other enterprises. Sun’s most valuable enterprise, the one he undoubtedly devoted the most time to, was his prized cock-fighting arena. Every week, patrons from as far away as Martinique and Dominican Republic came to bet on the vicious killer fowl. The stakes were high and Sun had his eye on every aspect of the action. Stephen James quickly discovered that Sun paid relatively little attention to the Calypso nightclub, since it paled in comparison with his other ventures. Instead, Sun relied entirely on his loyal manager to account for all of the revenues and turn over the proceeds from time to time. Even though Sun took good care of the people he entrusted to manage his affairs, Mr. James just couldn’t resist the temptation and felt compelled to skim the proceeds from the club almost every night. In the beginning, Mr. James was quite nervous about doing his misdeeds. He started off small, only taking a fraction of a percent, or what he thought would be barely noticeable. Over time, his portion gradually increased as he became more comfortable that Sun would never really notice and the club's skyrocketing popularity was sharply increasing the revenue.

This evening was typical for the Calypso nightclub. Patrons began arriving shortly after ten o’clock, each greeting the hostess at the door and paying the five-dollar cover charge to enter. Mr. James was making his usual rounds, first checking the stock at the bar, then the levels of ice in the machine, and finally, that the restrooms were clean and tidy. Afterward, he met with his cashier, Sally.

Hey, Sally, remember what we talked about. Let's not wait until the till is overflowing tonight, before the cash goes into the vault, okay?

Yes, Mr. James, she replied.

As soon as the bills reach the top of the tray, you wrap it and call me and I will come to take the cash to the vault for you.

Yes sir, Mr. James, she replied. Sally was hired about a month earlier by Sun. It was widely known that Sally was given the job as a special favor for the manner in which she took care of Sun. They had known each other for many years, and when Sally had her first child, she needed the extra money to help out. Sun felt as though he could trust her with his life, so naturally the cashier job seemed most logical. Mr. James didn't seem to mind having such a beautiful girl in the cashier's box, and that, Sally certainly was. Well-endowed in all the right places, with soft brown hair that was recently highlighted at the beauty salon located on Sun's property, Sally was a real knockout and attracted the attention of many of the club's patrons.

As the night wore on, the crowd inside was swelling to huge dimensions. There didn't seem to be an end to the line of people outside waiting to enter the club. Sally called Mr. James at least five times and each time he carried large straps of cash to the vault. Mr. James could barely keep up with the pace. When he wasn't carrying Sally's funds, he was at the busy bar, taking the excess cash from the drawers over there. By around three o’clock in the morning, the club is so packed it is actually difficult for the guests to move around and it is even more difficult to find room in the vault for all of the bundles of cash. This night is clearly one of the busiest the club had ever seen. Then, by about four o’clock, the crowd finally started to thin out and the lines out front had completely vanished. Overwhelmed by the fists full of money being thrown at her from every direction, Sally was completely exhausted. She wanted to just sit down for a moment and relax. Seeing that there was nobody out front, she left the cashier's booth and headed for the ladies room.

Stephen James was in his small office standing in front of the vault behind his desk, flipping through some of the straps of cash. The door to the office was closed, but not completely. On the way back from the restroom in the rear of the club, Sally stopped momentarily at the door to Mr. James' office; since it was slightly ajar, she gave it a slight push. She peered inside briefly and saw Mr. James with the straps of cash. With his back to her, he was stuffing several of the straps into his jacket pocket before reaching down for his drink that was set on the desk behind him.

In shock, she quickly closed the door before he had a chance to see that she was even there. Sally stood by the door and leaned up against the wall for several minutes, replaying what she had just witnessed over and over in her mind. With each mental replay, she became even angrier with Stephen James—he was obviously stealing from Sun, who had become her very close friend in recent months. Suddenly, the door popped open and Mr. James walked out and saw her standing there by the door.

Oh, Sally, is there something I can help you with? he asked her.

No, Mr. James, I had just come from the ladies room to let you know that I am going to close the front booth, she replied with a surprisingly hostile tone.

Okay, go ahead and bring the entire money tray into my office so I can lock it in the vault, he told her. Sally didn’t even look at him when she replied, Yes sir. At a quarter to seven in the morning, with the rest of the crew already gone, Mr. James locked up the club and goes home to get some badly needed sleep. Fortunately, he only lives a short distance away and is home asleep in less than ten minutes.

The tiny fishing village of Grand Case is known for many wonderful things that are so typical of the Caribbean islands. From guesthouses to restaurants, from art galleries to quaint little cafés; the difference being that this is also a traditional hometown, where everyone in the village knows one another very well. This is also the place Sun calls home, where he lives in the house he grew up in—the very same house his mother transformed into a magnificent guesthouse many years earlier, just after her husband had passed away. Mama Fleming certainly enjoyed entertaining her guests and she worked painstakingly hard to ensure that all were comfortable and well-fed.

The ocean is particularly calm and relaxing this fine Sunday morning. Sun had walked over to his little place on the beach across from his house, where he had planned to meet Sally. He brought with him a delightful lunch that he prepared for them both to enjoy while watching the waves gently break onto the shore. Under the palms swaying in the wind, the sounds of the breaking waves and whirring wind provide for the most relaxing and serene setting anyone could ever imagine. Sun also brought two folding chairs and placed them both side by side under the palm trees. Shortly after twelve noon, Sun spots Sally walking down the beach toward him. She slowly makes her way over toward Sun's chairs, and after giving Sun a peck on the cheek, she sat firmly in the other chair and buried her feet in the fine powdery sand. Sally was wearing a yellow and orange striped bikini bathing suit, which revealed nearly her entire body. This is very appealing to Sun, who admired the way she looks, despite having given birth a year earlier. Sally turned her head and lifted her round-shaped sunglasses to reveal her large brown eyes. She smiled at Sun and said, So, how are you doing today, sweetheart?

Oh, I'm doing just fine, darling. You know, this is one of my favorite places on the earth. This is the beach my mama used to take me to when I was just a small boy, Sun said with a sigh as he briefly reflected on his distant past. Before long, he focused once again on the pretty lady sitting next to him. So, tell me Sally, how can such an energetic lady such as yourself be so exhausted? Was it really that busy last night at the club?

Sally's face suddenly revealed an expression of anxiety. Oh Sun, it was a full house, and I mean packed to the corners. There didn't seem to be an end to the line of people at the entrance! Sally told Sun. And to top off the busiest night I'd ever seen there…

Sun abruptly interrupted her, Really busy, huh? That's strange; the revenues for the night don't seem to be any greater than the last three nights and Stephen told me how slow they were.

Well, I think I can tell you why, Sun. I was so exhausted that I went to the ladies room just after four in the morning and, on the way back, I looked into Mr. James’ office and I saw him stuffing money from the till into his jacket pockets.

Sun's head immediately turned to her and his eyes were now focusing intently on her moving lips. His eyebrows shrugged together as the anger and disbelief collided in his head like a clap of thunder.

"Oh, the mudder's cunt! How could the bastard steal from me? I pay him better than anyone else too, because I don't have the time to attend to that place as I'd like to," Sun yelled out in a rage.

I was just as shocked as you are, Sally said sympathetically and then went on to ask, So, what are you going to do about it, Sun?

Oh don't you worry, my little darling. That man will regret the day he was ever born, after stealing from Sun Fleming.

Sun couldn't sit still the remainder of the afternoon. What had started off as a time of rest and relaxation had become a session of plotting and planning. While Sally slept peacefully in her chair, having still not recovered from the busy night before, Sun ate his lunch, kissed Sally goodbye and returned home to ponder his situation. Once home, Sun got on the phone and started discussing the situation with a couple of his long-standing buddies. When something was bothering Sun Fleming, those that meant anything to him heard about it.

I've got to get him, Sun told them with a feisty tone, And I want him to pay dearly. Sun was practically a native Saint Martiner, who never knew anyone to steal from him before. During those days, nobody even bothered to lock their doors. In a small village like Grand Case, it was simply unheard of that someone would be robbed. Sun kept thinking about his business and wondered how long Mr. James had been stealing from him—as he quickly became more and more furious. He invited his buddies over to his home for dinner and then he would devise his plan for Stephen James.

Painted in perfectly pastel green with pink trim and accents, Sun's large house stood prominently on Grand Case Boulevard in the center of the small village. The double front doors opened widely inward from the covered front porch into a large salon. On the walls around the salon were images of Sun's family—portraits of his mother and father, his brother and other relatives. Over the decades, this room had seen many occasions, both happy and sad, for the Fleming family, which had migrated from the main island of Guadeloupe in the late 1940's.

The doorbell rang and Sun's housemaid, lovingly referred to simply as ‘Doodoo,’ opened the door. She greeted Sun's dinner guests and told them he could be found in the kitchen preparing the dinner. Obviously, Sun could have easily had a chef prepare his meals, but cooking had become a passion of his. His mother taught him how to prepare many of her signature dishes, which made her and the guesthouse famous over the years. Sun finds being in the kitchen to be comforting and preparing the cuisine to be equally therapeutic, simply by freeing his mind of some of the stressful events in his life. The beautiful kitchen was well-equipped with many of the latest machines, gadgets and utensils from both America and Europe. Large windows surround a quarter of the kitchen and, from the kitchen sink, there was a sweeping view of the courtyard in the rear of the house. Sun was standing in front of the kitchen sink, mindlessly rinsing vegetables and gazing out the window, when he heard the voices of his friends at the entrance. He turned his head and said, Oh, gentlemen, thank you for coming over. His hands were wet, so he didn't shake their hands at that moment, but rather, lifted his hand and waved.

So, Sun, looks like there's a little trouble in paradise, said his friend Jean-Charles Hodges, who Sun called Chas. Though all considered to be Antillean, many of the inhabitants of Saint Martin have traditionally French names, but are seldom referred to by their full name.

Oh Chas, my blood has been boiling ever since this afternoon when Sally told me that the manager of my club has been stealing from me, Sun said with the look of utter disgust.

Sun's other friend, Luc Maynard, moved in front of Chas and spoke up, "Well, Sun, you can't let this mudder's cunt get away with that!" He said while pointing his finger at Sun to add emphasis. The old expression, ‘mudder's cunt,’ as vulgar as it may sound, is commonly used in the region to express a meaning similar to ‘son of a bitch.’

Well, that’s why I called you both over here, Sun replied. He shuts off the kitchen faucet and grabs a towel to dry his hands. Motioning the two toward the salon, he asked his friends, What can I get you gentlemen to drink? They all walked slowly into the grand room, where there was a well-stocked bar in the corner.

"Can I trouble you for a ti'punch?" Chas replied. This is a special concoction, originating from Guadeloupe, made with smashed lemon slices, ice and agricole rum poured over top.

"No problem, Chas, and you, Luc?

Oh, I'll have some of that as well, Luc said. Sun immediately went into the kitchen to fetch the lemons and ice. While Sun prepared the drinks, they each begin making suggestions for dealing with Mr. James.

You know, Sun, Chas started, I think you should get a couple of the guys in there and bust him up real good. You know, break his legs or something. Sun handed them both a glass of ti'punch, before settling down on the sofa in front of his two friends. Luc, who was still very upset about the situation, made a stronger suggestion: "I think he needs to be dropped into Le trou de David!" Le trou de David, or ‘David's hole’ is a deep well near the coast of Baie Rouge. Abandoned nearly twenty years earlier, it was only really known to some of the old-timers. Sun displayed a big grin when he heard the words come from Luc's mouth. That was the first thought that crossed my mind today when Sally told me what that no-good mudder's cunt was up to, Sun told the two men. Luc and Sun were both very serious about the plan. Chas remained a little apprehensive. The three later retreated to the dining room, where Sun had presented a wonderful Chicken Colombo dinner, which is very similar to the ‘curry-style’ found in Jamaica. Colombo spices are actually derived from curry, but refined with other spices in Guadeloupe to be a sweeter, more subtle blend.

During the dinner, the three friends discussed each other's families and friends, plans for their vacations and how well business was doing. By the time they got to the business part of their discussion, Sun started thinking about his problem once again.

So, here's my plan to handle Stephen James… Sun explained his plan to the guys and they each pledged to keep it amongst themselves. At the end of the evening, they all stood on Sun's front porch for a few moments and his dear friends thanked him again for inviting them over. They were really there to listen and offer support, but Sun was clearly in charge of the situation. Everyone who knows Sun well, and is close enough to him, knows he has a heart of gold, but once crossed, he is a relentless adversary.

For Stephen James, life had never been better. He had a lovely little apartment on Grand Case beach at the end of town, a good paying job where he often made his own bonuses and a reasonably good social life. On his nights off, Mr. James frequented the old Pirate's Club, a dark place in the hills of Orléans, where prostitutes were known to conduct their business. A few weeks had passed since Sally informed Sun about Mr. James’ activities. It was a rainy and miserable Tuesday night, at about eleven o’clock in the evening, and Mr. James was on his way over to the Pirate's Club. With money in his pocket, he was longing for the best-looking whore with whom he wanted to share a truly pleasurable night. Arriving at half past eleven, Mr. James encountered a full parking lot and the attendant in front directed him to park his car across the street. Mr. James reluctantly obliged and found a space about fifty feet down the road. Pelted by the raindrops and walking briskly towards the entrance, he waved at the attendant, paid the cover charge to the cashier at the front and entered the crowded club. Once inside, he slowly made his way, being gently pushed and shoved by the crowd, toward the bar on the north side of the building. At the bar, he ordered his usual gin and tonic and then turned around to look at the bustling mass of people. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of strong perfume. In the background, over the din of the many patrons, there was also the sound of the fast Latin rhythm of a local band. Mr. James took a sip of his drink and slowly moved toward the end of the bar. He set his eyes on a tall woman who had light brown colored skin, brown eyes with long thick black lashes and wore a red skirted dress that had a very revealing slit up the side. He stopped dead in his tracks and said to the woman, Well, hello there honey. Are you new here?

Oh, yes dear, I just came from Dominica last week, the lady told him, as her ruby red lips seemed to pucker as she formed the words.

Oh, I see, well are you available this evening?

What did you have in mind, sweetie?

I was thinking we could go around back and spend a little time together. I've got a hundred reasons to be with you, Mr. James said with a big smile. Known only to the subscribing members, in the back of the club were small rooms to accommodate the resident whores and their member-clients. Sometimes even non-members can get in, but it required some fast money in the hand of the manager.

"Okay, sweetie, I'm going to be in room thirteen tonight. You must give me about ten minutes to freshen up and get ready and meet me in there, okay?" she told him in her sexiest voice.

"Super! That’s my lucky number!" said an excited Mr. James, as he took another sip from his drink and stared at her large sexy legs as she walked away. On the way to the back, the lady stopped at the manager's desk and gently whispered something in his ear. She looked back at Mr. James, who was still staring at her and tipped his glass to her. She smiled back and winked.

Mr. James waited with great anticipation for the entire ten minutes. He raised his glass of gin and tonic over his head and gulped down the remainder. Then, Mr. James casually strolled toward the rear of the club and exited through a narrow steel brown door that was marked ‘Private—Member’s Only.’ Once inside, he showed his worn ID card to the attendant and headed down the hallway looking at the numbers on the doors for the number ‘thirteen.’ As he anxiously walked down the dim corridor, he could hear the sounds of others in the act of enjoying passionate moments; and those sounds only added to the surge of adrenaline that seemed to be circulating throughout his body. In his mind, he was already visualizing himself with the fine lady he encountered and, with the thought of what he intended to do with her, he was starting to get very excited. Finally, he arrived at the door with the large number thirteen painted on it. He reached down, turned the knob and pushed the door in. As the door opened, in the very dim flickering candlelight, he could see the lovely lady sitting on the small cot in the corner of the closet-sized room, staring at him nervously. All of her clothing were scattered on the floor and she was wearing nothing but an extra-long yellow nightshirt that extended past her knees. He advanced slowly toward her as he began unbuttoning his shirt.

Hold on mister, she told him, Are you forgetting something? He stopped and said, Oh yes, I'm sorry, and then reached into his pocket and handed her a crisp one-hundred Dollar bill.

Okay, honey, let's go, she yelled out loud.

Mr. James unzipped his trousers, letting them fall to the floor and pulled off his shirt. Still wearing his black bikini briefs, he knelt down in front of the woman. He placed his right hand on her muscular leg and slowly began moving it upwards, under her nightshirt, toward the inside of her thigh. Her light brown skin felt silky smooth, as though just recently shaved, and Mr. James quickly became very excited. The lady could feel his warm sweaty hand advancing up her thigh, and as he pressed up against her leg, she could feel his hard erection. The lady stared intently into the eyes of Stephen James as his hand slowly reached all the way up her thigh and then in her crotch. Mr. James abruptly gasped and his eyes grew wide; he suddenly realized that what he has just placed his hand on could never belong to a woman. He shouts out, "What the h-e-l-l is…" At that very moment, a pair of hands reached from the darkness behind Mr. James and covered his mouth and nose with a moist cloth.

Mr. James struggled to get free of the tight grip but suddenly saw darkness, as he was overcome by the ether in the cloth. His entire body went limp as he passed out and fell to the floor. The man in drag immediately jumped up from the cot. He wasted no time pulling off the wig and cleaning his face of false eyelashes and lipstick. Shedding the nightshirt, he swiftly put on his street clothes that were stored under the cot and then said to his accomplice, Okay, hurry up, and let’s get him the hell out of here. With his arms dangling over each of the men's shoulders, Mr. James was carried out of the building through the rear exit door, where there was a car waiting. The two men threw his half-naked body on the back seat and while one drove the vehicle, the other tied his hands behind his back, his legs were also tied tightly together and then he proceeded to gag him. The car was headed to Terres Basses, or ‘the lowlands’ where they would go to the old abandoned well, Le Trou de David. Once at the site, the two men dragged Mr. James’ body out of the vehicle and brought him alongside the mouth of the well. At that moment, Mr. James started to regain consciousness. He began thrashing about and making loud vocal noises through the gag in his mouth. The two quickly lifted his body up in the air, resisting his opposing movements, and heaved him up and into the mouth of the well. As they fled the scene, they could hear his body hitting the sides of the well and his loud muffled screaming during the two hundred foot drop, followed by a loud splash and then silence. The two men drove away quickly, trying to avoid being seen. A few miles up the road, they stopped at a public telephone, where one of the two men made a phone call. With a low-pitched voice the man simply said, Mission accomplished, hanging up abruptly and returning to the car.

The disappearance of Stephen Gerard James has been a mystery for the authorities on the small Caribbean island for the last thirty years and it seems will never be solved. Sun and his cohorts were the only souls on earth who knew the real truth and have each vowed to carry the secret to their graves. During recent days, however, a tale has been spread about the legend of Le Trou de David, where some believe there are spirits lingering from the battles of the past.

Chapter One

The sun was shining brilliantly through the open window in the small upstairs bedroom. A solemn diagonal beam of sunlight struck the rear wall and ricocheted towards all four corners of the room. The dangling white curtains offer no interference to the beam of sunlight as they barely swayed in the cool gentle late-fall breeze. Greg Star lay sound asleep in his small twin bed in the back of the room. His slender, tall, muscular body, clad only in white cotton boxer shorts, stretched across from one end to the other, with his right arm hanging over the side and the other clutching a pillow against his bare chest. At the age of twenty-seven, Greg has a boyish appearance with short receding dirty-blond hair and hazel eyes. Mark Barrett has known Greg since they were both four years old, when his family moved from Cleveland to the apartment building just down the street from the house where Mark and his family live. Although the two are physically similar, Mark is slightly taller and boasts thick brown hair and dark brown eyes. Growing up, they went to school together, attended the same community college and always got jobs working in the same place. Over the years, the two friends have built a solid relationship on a foundation of trust and common interests that has endured an untold number of hardships. It is now twenty-three years later and the two young men still consider themselves to be the very best of friends.

It was eight o'clock on Monday morning and Mark arrived just in time for what has recently become the daily ritual of trying to awaken the dead in order to get him to work on time. They both work in the mailroom at the Baltimore Tribune, sorting and delivering the company mail. It isn't the kind of job one would write home about, but it came with a promise that once they were in the door, there would be plenty of opportunities to choose from.

After first being welcomed in, Mark had his morning chat with Linda Star, Greg's mother, who managed to chew his ear for nearly fifteen minutes about her important functions with the local civic organization, the Baltimore Women's Club. Mark stood silently in the living room, his eyes darting back and forth between Mrs. Star and the gigantic Maplewood grandfather clock in the corner. With each movement of the golden swinging pendulum inside, Mark knew his chances of getting to work on time grew slimmer, but his politeness prevailed and he continued to listen. This time, it seems that she is heading up the fund-raising committee and plans to propose a host of events in order to meet their aggressively optimistic financial goals. At fifty-three years of age, Mrs. Star was as much attractive as she was a strikingly determined woman, who believed whole-heartedly she could change the world, one small step at a time. Her blond hair, softly styled to lie neatly against her neck, complimented her sparkling blue eyes. Naturally, Mark offers his support to her and for her cause, and Mrs. Star was visibly delighted to hear his wishes for her success. Since Mark was such a close friend of her son, it was only natural that Mrs. Star looked upon him as another member of the family. She appreciated the fact that, unlike her own children, he showed some interest in her civic pursuits.

Having said good-bye to Mrs. Star, Mark proceeds up the stairs and finally makes his way into the small bedroom where he sees Greg laying in his bed, fast asleep. Wake up sleepy-head, Mark yells loudly, knowing perfectly well this would be of absolutely no use. Greg slept like a log and definitely was not a morning person, by any stretch of the word—Mondays were always a real problem for him. His own family has come to believe that there isn't an alarm clock in the world that would manage to get him up in time for work. Finally, Mark reaches down and grabs hold of Greg's hair, shakes his head and watches as he looks up and mutters, "What's going on? I'm up! Leave me alone!"

Come on sleepy-head, we're gonna be late for work again, Mark tells him. Greg responds, What time is it?

It’s time to get up. It's nearly eight-thirty. Mark can see he's already got his eyes closed again and is beginning to fall asleep, so in a preemptive strike, Mark pulls up on the flat sheet on the side of the bed and then hears a sudden thump on the other side of the bed where Greg's body has just hit the hard wooden floor. "Ouch! Oh man, why'd you do that?" he grumbles. At least now Mark is sure he's really awake this time.

Come on, let's get the show on the road, Mark shouts. Greg stumbles as he gets on his feet and then slowly makes his way over to the bathroom. Mark tells him he'll wait for him downstairs, as he hears the toilet flush and then the water in the shower turned on.

When Mark returns downstairs, he walks over towards the kitchen where Gwen, Greg's younger sister, is sitting at the table, sipping a cup of coffee with her nose buried in a text book. Gwen Star is a petite girl with curly light-brown hair, a pudgy face and pretty bright blue eyes. As Mark approaches, she picks her head up and says, Oh, hi Mark, how's it going? He tells her everything's going to be fine once he gets her brother out of the house and they are headed to work. Gwen rolls her eyes. She knows how hard it is for her brother to get out of bed in the morning. She can sympathize because she has always had to deal with her brother's sleeping late. When they were little children, the two were almost always late for school because Greg couldn't get up on time.

"You’re such a great friend of his to come over here every day and get him up for work," she says while taking another sip of coffee.

Well, it's on my way and if he loses this job, it's going to be really hard on us both, Mark tells her. She nods in agreement. Can I get you something to eat while you wait? Or would you rather have a cup of coffee? she asks.

No thanks, I don't think he'll be that long. He knows we're late already, Mark replies as they both hear footsteps scurrying around from above.

Greg finally appears in the kitchen, jeering at Mark, "You know, you didn't have to push me on the floor. I was awake!"

Oh sure Mark tells him, "You were awake all right, in your dreams! Gwen snickers at this remark. Greg says, Whatever…let's get out of here," grinning at his sister.

The two young men make their way out of the apartment, walking briskly enough that they can feel the cool, crisp morning air brush their faces before getting into Mark's car, which was parked in the parking lot directly in front of the apartment. Matt Star, Greg's father, had already left for work an hour earlier leaving a space available in an otherwise crowded lot. Mark was accustomed to parking his red Pontiac Grand Am in Matt Star's space, since he