Forced Reincarnation: A Look Inside the Mind of Marcus Jeffries

By Dr. Preston Hayward

Marcus Jeffries thought that he had endured all the adversity that life could throw at him: an early childhood in a broken home; maturation in city gangs combined with drug dealing; an early life abandonment by his Mother and Father; numbers running in high school; turbulence of College life in the middle of the 1960s; baptism under fire in Vietnam; involvement in military drug dealing, and gun fights in Thailand. He had fallen in love with a New York City beauty while in College, and stayed alive because of her love and compassion. Writer Preston Hayward identifies the survival traits developed by Marcus and reveals his affection for Trudy as he weaved his way through a troubled existence. However, his past drug acquaintance become problematic; and he is compelled to revert to a life of undesirable crime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664133969

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 by H. Preston Hayward.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This novel is a work of adult fiction and contains materials that are not suitable for sensitive readers. Characters, names, locals, and incidents are either used fictitiously or solely the product of the author’s fantasy. Any resemblance to actual events at identified places, to persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/01/2020

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

819757

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1     THE PREMONITION

A Foresight

CHAPTER 2     THE FIRST BIRTH

A Fabrication of Morals

CHAPTER 3     LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA

Sins of Youth

CHAPTER 4     ATLANTIC CITY AND TEMPLE UNIVERSITY

The Birth of Romance

CHAPTER 5     TRUDY

A Love Found

CHAPTER 6     THE PRIME DAYS

The Good Life

CHAPTER 7     THE UNITED STATES ARMY

A Civilian’s Transformation

CHAPTER 8     CHICAGO

Communications

CHAPTER 9     A NEW VISION

A Different Rebirth

CHAPTER 10   VIETNAM

A Rebirth Under Fire

CHAPTER 11   THE EMBODIMENT

A Change of Heart

CHAPTER 12   A REINCARNATION

A Plot of Innocents

CHAPTER 13   THAILAND

The Plot Blossoms

CHAPTER 14   GERMANY

A Death Uncommon

The Legal Phase

CHAPTER 15   FINAL REBIRTH

The Decision

Enthusiastically

Dedicated

To

My wife

Lee

and

My daughter

Tarrah

I love you dearly.

CHAPTER 1

THE PREMONITION

A Foresight

M arcus Jeffries never slept that night because Trudy was gone. He had grown-up to love her intensely without continually requiring anything that she would not spontaneously give him. The note she left was still clenched in his hands as he painstakingly thought out his revengeful actions. He hurriedly scribbled a concise answer in their personal chronicles and concealed it in their secret location. The note begins ‘If I don’t see you again in this life’ and terminates ‘With all my love, Marcus.’ Divergent to his uninspiring contemptible childhood, he transiently daydreamed about the many majestic times he had with his lovely lady, Trudy, his daughter, and the troubled lifespan that existed before them. It was 6:30 am when he started to dress, got Brian’s mahogany-colored briefcase, and left his basement sanctuary to clash with his adversary at Rusty’s Restaurant in South Philly.

Friday, the last working day of the week was adequate to produce smiling faces of his neighbors as he waved to them, got in his Benz and, drove away toward Philadelphia. Parking near Broad Street, he walked around the corner to await the number 23 SEPTA bus. The absence of the usual playful movement and chatter of the kids as they waited for public transportation caused a certain calm to exist as the golden sun started its ascent toward the apex of the heavens. Neither the movement of the city transit buses as they twisted and turned their way down the street, nor the typical urban noise, transcended the tranquility that engulfed the moment. As Marc looked out the window of the bus, he could not help but think how loving nature had been to Philadelphia. The trees had just started to turn from the brilliant summer green to the lusty multi-colored hues characteristic of early autumn. The frolicsome movements of squirrels seemed to indicate that they had postponed their busy preparations for winter in anticipation of a long autumn summer. Yes, the late summer – early autumn is the always the most enchanting, the most colorful, and the most inspiriting time of the year for the majority of Philadelphians. It is alive, vigorous, and a time when the ‘City of Brotherly Love’ is to be enjoyed to its fullest. The autumn and Eagles football – it is the greatest.

Noticing to the calmness characteristic of that time of year, Marc was able to put out the fire burning inside of him as his mind started to focus merely on every minute detail of his mission. It was his silent efforts to maintain self-control as an interior wit continuously briefed an outer psyche about the details of the undertaking. He fought back to maintain the rigid mental toughness that always got him the desired outcome in his many lifetime combat like situations. The difference was in style and in dress, but the migrainous mental conditioning, the elaborate preparations, the one-shot theory, and the words of Fitzgerald remained identical to this mission. Sure, the crafty old sergeant Fitzgerald took every chance to lecture recruits saying ‘Never, but never, visit your hiding place before attempting your mission because you will become the target. And… wait for the perfect shot.’ Surely that advice must have saved his life numerous times; but, the uncertainty of the urban environment combat and this new and dangerous unfamiliarity with his mission tied knots in his stomach. He struggled to control is emotions, but the painful realities that he alone could understand nearly brought him to tears.

An active mind during the previous two days tended to change his thinking and his inner-soul drastically. Sitting alone in his basement room for hours, focusing on one spot where Trudy’s picture hung on the wall, and going over his mission time after time. He imagined standing outside his own body and painfully watching the rebirth of a cold-blooded combat sniper. Although, he had been reborn as a civilian, something was happening minute by minute as the ominous Friday 11th hour approached. He could feel the incredible mental change from the meaningful life of a family man to that of a man compelled only by his tedious mission - a mission of performing a pre-mediated murder. He felt that society created him to be a killer - a planner with ice in his veins, a craftsman skilled in the use of weapons, and the knowledge and talent to take a life. A man who has not been subjected absolute cerebral anguish and is not acquainted with resorting to uncontrollable rage. These were the cards he was dealt; and, he was always trained to play the game to win. Many assassins have been enslaved by their own insecurities and prohibitions, but those that live long successful lives have not known the recollection of the institution of monetary slavery. Some assassins had acquired harmony after their mental undertakings to forget their history, while others will always remain linked to past mayhem and turmoil of their treacherous craft.

He left SEPTA on Washington Avenue and started a long walk to 6th Street for his breakfast rendezvous with his enemies at Rusty’s Restaurant. The mahogany-colored briefcase that Brian gave him on his birthday several years ago got heavier as he made his march toward Rusty’s. He paused to watch pallbearers struggling to move a shiny coffin up several flights of steps into an old stone church. The stares on their faces suggested that they were burying an old man that lived a good and respectable life. In death he was going where Marc was never permitted to go. Marc’s father’s brother, the drunken bum Uncle Ned, would beat any small children severely if they ever ventured near the forsaken Church. As often as he deemed necessary, he would remind the kids ‘That’s the White people’s church.’ The grieving families rarely bothered to look in Marc’s direction as he stood motionless as the mourners’ precession marched in front of him and faded into the church. Those that looked at him did so briefly and turned quickly and gripped their purses as if expecting to be robbed. Apparently, death was seen in his face and they had seen enough of that for one day. The melody of a solemn hymn rang loud and clear and sent a message of truth to him;

‘Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost but now I’m found, was blind but now I see.’

These harmonizing words of the re-embodiment of a wretch had a distressing effect up and down his spine as a sympathetic voice of a soloist pulsated from inside the church.

His dark gray polyester suit got warmer, Marc continuously tugged nervous at his dark red tie – incessantly loosening and tightening it. Abnormally stressful as if approaching the boundary of psychological destruction, he was greeted with a few kind words from a cop on beat who asked if he was okay. Responding positively, Marc started to relax himself as crossed at the corner of Eighth Street and entered a small alley behind the first row of houses. With a bandit’s attitude he searched the surroundings for observers and moved quickly to an abandoned house fully two and a half blocks from Rusty’s Restaurant. Catlike, he scaled the back-alley fence, put on his plastic gloves, broke into a boarded-up door, and climbed to the second floor. The place was dusty and dirty, and contained an odor that is associated with fresh rain on decaying timber. The floor was completely covered with thousands of dead cockroaches as if it had been rapidly and suddenly saturated with toxic spray causing all cockroaches to die in place with legs sticking neatly toward the ceiling. Moving forward from the rear of the building while clearing an excess amount of spider webs and listening to the ghostly crump of cockroaches under his feet, he was reminded of quiet sounds of the Vietnamese forest as he crept closer to some unsuspecting enemy.

His rapidly chosen hiding place seemed perfect. There were abandoned buildings on either side and rear alley exits to Seventh or Eighth Streets were convenient for a speedy getaway. All sides of the second floor were completely boarded up; but a small opening was forged in the termite infested front window boarding to permit a telescopic picture window sighting of all patrons at Rusty’s Restaurant – about one hundred yards away. It took only a few seconds to remove his telescopic rifle from his mahogany-colored briefcase and fully connect all parts. He loaded it. After clearing a place on the floor, he acquired the prone position and started to scan all of the patrons at Rusty’s restaurant. His target was sitting, sipping from a cup, two table rows inside of the picture window with the full right side of his face exposed. To his left at the same table was an unidentified male companion and two other men were sitting across the table. A complicating factor was the position of a family of four including two small children sitting at a table straight away inside the window. The possibilities existed that they would be showered with broken glass, that the window glass would dangerously redirect the projectile, or that any quick movement of the kids would put them in the line of fire – Marc paused. He removed his finger from the trigger and reached for his handkerchief to remove the sweat from his brow. He would wait for the solo shot.

The time was minutes before his 11 am rendezvous. It seemed endless before he completed the forehead wiping task; but, when his attention returned to the telescopic scope, the family of four had magically vanished. At last, the shot could be taken. The moment was instantaneous and eminent as the trigger got tighter on his touch and the crosshairs settled on ear of the target. Marc was contented with the knowledge that he had never missed with one head shot at this distance. He relaxed, breathed deeply, thought about how important the next second in his life would be, and how much better the world would be following the death of another crunchy cockroach.

Lying motionless temporarily, the annoying schizophrenic voices outside of him demanded rhythmically – ‘exterminate him, exterminate him’. As if he was about to die, his sometimes violent, sometimes tranquil life flashed before his face. Equally as quickly, he tried to reason what life circumstances brought him to this place and time. The reasons his Graterford Prison friends, serving time for murder, enlightened him - uncontrollable rage, self-defense, revenge, money, insanity, and honor or duty. Marc’s story was different; but, scenarios in his earlier life caused the present death sentence and execution to be the only answer. He silently waited for the ‘perfect shot’ as his life flashed quickly before his eyes.

Marc had matured strong willed and thick-skinned. His mother had often acquainted him with her serious life particulars as a teenager saying ‘I cannot take care of you and the girls without your father. You must leave the moment you graduate from high school. I don’t want you here anymore; and, I don’t know who your father is anyhow. Three men raped me before you were born; but, I fought hard. Still, they overwhelmed me. You would not be here if I had more strength to fight them off. But I know that Joey, my first child, and your sisters are my husband’s children.’ Nevertheless, Marc contemplated as a child that she didn’t really mean all she said when she was angry. He grew to love peer competition and swore to be the best at everything for her. Secretly, he named himself ‘Marc, the Conqueror’ after comic book characters that he had read about and vowed to keep his head high to make his mother proud – he loved her eternally regardless.

CHAPTER 2

THE FIRST BIRTH

A Fabrication of Morals

B orn in Philadelphia at Jefferson Hospital, Marc relocated with his family to Princess Anne, Maryland at the age of four. He met and befriended a neighborhood boy named Johnnie and they played with crudely constructed bows and arrows in the woods behind a one room house built by his grandfather for his mother. Johnnie’s mother considered Marc as part of the family and he sent many nights at their lovely home and numerous evenings at their dinner table. Although, Johnnie’s family members were Blacks, they were very fair skinned - similar to Marc’s mother. Marc was not as fair skinned as his mother nor as dark as his father; and, even at five years old, he was taller and thinner than Johnnie. Johnnie, nicknamed ‘Bad Feet’, because he had bad feet, was tragically burned to death with his family early one morning as Marc slept at home. Not until several years later did he fully understand what actually happened to Johnnie and why he was never permitted to walk the half mile to play with him.

The peaceful atmosphere of the one room house where Marc lived was often the scene of very violent arguments between his parents. He would huddle in fear in a corner behind a bunk bed with his older brother and sister and younger sister while his father completely tore the place apart. He would turn his anger on the children if complete silence was not maintained or if his mother warned his father not to hurt the children. Marc remembers flying across the room as he took the brunt of his father’s rage; and, once his father had cut his brother’s hand to the bone. The basis of the arguments was the gambling debts generated by his father; and, his mother’s refusal to use her earned household money to support his habit. The children had always blamed the mother since their father had often promised to return the money when he had sufficient winnings. His father rarely worked; but, once his mother received her paycheck from the cleaning job in a neighboring small town, his father would demand the money.

Early one evening after a violent confrontation, his mother took the children for a walk to his grandfather’s house. The returned walk covered about a mile, and Marc’s sisters stayed behind at his grandfather’s house at their request. On that return trip after darkness, some perpetrators started throwing rocks out of a cornfield across a small ditch at the trio. One of the rocks hit Marc just above the eye on the left side of his face, and others hit his mother in the head and face just below the left eye. As his brother Joey picked up rocks and started to toss them in the direction of the assailants, Marc’s bleeding mother protected him from the incoming rock onslaught by cuddling him against her chest and running toward the lighted parts of the town.

After returning home and giving first aid, his mother packed some clothes, took the boys, and boarded a Trailways bus bound for Philadelphia. That small part of his life was bought to a close; but, he never forgave his father for not being there to protect the family during the rock attack. At that young age, he realized that the attack had devastated his mother, and, she was not the same again. It was as if she simply never cared about disciplining the children again, and had left Marc’s sisters with their father who came to Philadelphia one year later.

CHAPTER 3

LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA

Sins of Youth

I n the city the family existed in abject poverty; and, everyday was a struggle basically to eat and survive. Some of the neighborhood kids, comprising a gang, would perfect their weird skills by breaking into cars to steal items like flashlights, change, and tools. One night, Marc and his brother broke into an automobile shop and vandalized several cars by letting the air out of the tires and smashing windows with a small jackhammer. Also, the lights were systematically broken by jabbing through the glass cover with the point of the jackhammer handle. It was difficult to poke the outer cover exactly accurate so that the bulb on the inside would be destroyed. After several attempts, Marc was able to complete the job with scientific precision; and, he prided himself that he could do the job in almost complete darkness. When the kids were discovered, they run south on 42 nd Street and left Marc to defend for himself as they made their escape. However, he was able to slide under a truck as several men run out of the shop to chase the other kids. He emerged almost directly behind the men and made his escape by running north on 42 nd Street. In spite of the difficulties encountered, the gang, named the Power, offered security and education in the art of aggressive fighting and evasions. Another lesson learned was that the means of effectively dealing with violence was to employ superior acts of brutality suddenly against an adversary and not surrender to beatings as his mother had done when his father approached.

When Marc’s roller skates were taken by a group of older boys, his brother and cousins retaliated when he identified the perpetrators. The kids were severely beaten and forced to surrender coats and gas masks they had obtained from the army’s surplus store. Marc wore the confiscated army coat with pride and played with the gas masks many times. The confrontation was considered as essential since street protection was a necessary evil; and, he vowed to join the military as soon as he could. Although, cowboy guns were his favorite, rifles, tanks, and other military equipment interested him as well.

The older guys in the gang considered Marc as a nuisance and a liability because of his inability to fight for himself, in general, during the gang’s wars. Joey started to make Marc remain in the apartment when the gang was out on ‘dangerous missions’ including robbery and murder. During those times Marc interested himself in other endeavors and amassed an impressive collection of comic books through trades and purchases; and, he would spend hours reading books on history and science. Studying and memorizing the lyrics to many of his favorite poems and music occupied much of his time; and, he led his 1st grade class in academic achievement throughout elementary school. The struggle to maintain scholastic leadership kept Marc out of trouble in elementary school; and, his physical education teacher in junior high school noticed that Marc had natural basketball skills during introductory lay-up drills. That was the first time that Marc ever handled a basketball in his life, but there was promise. He started shooting and other basketball drills in a playground near his home and would spend long hours alone polishing his skills. He continued his superiority throughout junior high school; and, would spend his summers on his Grandfather’s farm in Maryland. His uncles taught him to hunt rabbits and to swim in a small river near the town. Guns became an important part of summer experience and his uncles would kick and punch him whenever he missed a shot at small game animals such as wild rabbits and birds.

Back in Philadelphia for school, everyone was happy, that is, except Marc’s Mother who would cry very often and was subject to long periods of depression. The depression resulted from her failed marriage, difficulties at work, the absence of her daughters, and a belief that her estranged husband was responsible for her facial injuries from the rock attack in Maryland. Marc never clearly understood her feelings at that time; and, Joey had the opinion that angry Whites had attacked the family, not their father. Marc would point his finger at his Mother as she shielded her tearful eyes and would say jokingly Mom is crying again. Little did he know that his Mom would abandon the boys and leave for California when Marc was twelve and Joey was sixteen years old. When his Mother left, alcohol, drugs, and teenage girls flowed like water in and out of the apartment. Joey stayed off the contraband and insisted that he handled the drugs for profit only to take care of the family. Joey’s approach and reasoning for abstinence from drugs and soberness concerning alcohol effectively controlled Marc’s mind-set at the time because Joey’s illustration seemed extremely real to Marc.

When Joey was asked about drugs and booze, he was quick to point out to Marc:

You really don’t want to turn out like old Uncle Ned, do you? Remember the beating he took at the hands of the Power because he was drunk and full of dope on a park bench. You start this and we will treat you the same way. Look where he is now – pushing up daisies.

Marc was just old enough to vividly remember the severe beating that the Moon gang administered to the intoxicated bum, Uncle Ned, when they found him sitting alone on a sidewalk bench. Whenever Joey reminded him, a bizarre picture of that day would be painted in Marc’s mind. He could visualize his drunken uncle screaming in fear ‘Old man, old man’ as the young gang approached with baseball bats and blackjacks generally used for young opposition; could remember the delirious low-life creep circling his arms above his head in a fruitless protective posture before the first blow was struck; and, could hear the rhythmic ‘klump’ of the blackjacks, each followed by screams – ‘ohoooo’ from the old man. The beating continued endlessly; the intense screams faded as the old man slumped slowly into unconsciousness. The re-occurring mental portrayal showed that the hapless old Uncle Ned never moved or grunted when Reds delivered a final kick to the rib-cage of the grotesque figure on the sidewalk – somehow everyone knew that he would not survive. Marc would answer Joey’s inquiry by saying ‘that will never happen to me because I am going to stay clear of the stuff.’

The brothers remained in the apartment for ten months until their mother’s brother forced them to live with him in the Wynnfield section of the city. His uncle would tell Marc about the exciting times he had in Italy during World War II and about the beautiful women he dated as his Division pushed toward Germany. The impressive account of his uncle routing some German soldiers out of bunkers with his flame thrower was impressive to Marc. Uncle Mackie was also a military boxer after enlistment, and had later purchased an array of punching bags and weight equipment for his basement. It was so inspiring to spend many hours a day graphing his repetitions and punching the lights out of the bag as it hung from the basement ceiling. Very often his uncle would enter the basement after work and give Marc some pointers on combination boxing, counter punching, boxing defense, and weight lifting. With encouragement and patience Marc started to enjoy the sport and looked forward to becoming a prize fighter someday.

Newly acquainted friends like Leslie, Maynard, Cobbs, Johnny, Beck and the Parsons Brothers started to show Marc and Joey the ropes when they were introduced to the 58th street gang that ruled the area. The activities of the ‘Moon’ gang were spray painting half-moon graffiti to mark its terrain, property destruction, and initiating fights to prove their manhood. Later, Joey and Beck tried to start a new 58th street area gang, renamed the Power, without the philosophy and command structure of the old Power gang; but, the property destructive supremacy of the old gang was eliminated.

The theory of the Power was self-defense; and, the Power only fought if superior odds were in its favor – otherwise they would flee. A nearby playground was seen as neutral turf where rival gang members played together in harmony despite bad blood; but, off the playground trouble occasionally broke out. The old Moon 58th street gang rarely had little trouble defending its turf; but, unlike the Power, the gang would go for the kill if opponents were obviously defeated and fled in fear of their lives. The Power stayed clear of the Moon for fear of superior numbers and the propensity for violent conformations. After some time, the ranks of the hardcore members of the 58th Street Moon gang decreased as Randy Parsons went to jail for killing his brother, Jimmy, and Cobbs was reduced to a wheelchair in a suspicious community alarming beating by White police officers. After a while as Joey and Beck assumed command of the Power, the group would pride themselves in the art of auto theft and evasion instead of fighting and would joy ride stolen cars as far as New Jersey.

Sonya Lawrence was a cute little ninth grader that lived around the corner from Wanamaker Street where Marc lived. She became emotionally involved when Jimmy Parsons was killed; and, Marc was there to comfort her and take her home. It was amazing to see her become so moved by the death of someone that she hardly knew. As time passed the parents of Sonya allowed Marc to take her and her girlfriend, Joyce, to the movies. He would listen to music with Sonya and Joyce in Sonya father’s basement; and, while Joyce watched the entrance door, he would experiment with sex with Sonya and reverse the process with Joyce. After many such episodes, Marc learned quickly to please and enjoy the girls. Additionally, because Sonya was so elegant academically, Marc started to re-interest himself in learning and spent much of the time studying his favorite subject - science. At graduation from Junior High, Sonya received the highest grades in the class, but Marc was second due to his lack luster performance in history class. To celebrate, Marc purchased some grass from Officer Phil who worked out of the 62nd and Vine Street Police Station with cash he earned carrying groceries at the Supermarket. After a movie he mentioned the idea of getting high to Sonya and was instantaneously rejected by her. Both Sonya and Joyce blamed the so called ‘weak moral ethics’ on his previous associations with 58th Street gangs and appealed to Marc to break all the grotesque associations.

Although, Marc was no longer associated with 58th Street gangs, the choice was now clear to him; and, gangs, in general, had to go. But, no one was allowed to quit under the code of the gangs and no one ever did. Marc informed Joey of his decision to leave the Power and was surprised when Joey wasn’t strongly alarmed. It seemed that Joey wanted him to leave. Moreover, Joey decided that a meeting would be held in the schoolyard where the members would discuss the issue of quitting the gang. As Marc, Joey, and Beck made their way toward the school the next day where about fifteen members of the gang had assembled, Marc supposed that it was simply ludicrous to be going to the schoolyard for the announcement. But, he didn’t believe that Joey or Beck would allow the gang hurt him. After the announcement, Eddie Maddox approached and informed Marc that the code of conduct of the 58th Street gangs was a life-long agreement. Marc responded Eddie, please take the code of conduct, write it up neatly, type it up perfectly, put it correctly folded in an envelope, and immediately shove it up your ass.

Eddie angrily responded with an attempted left jab at the right side of Marc’s face that Marc easily avoided. But, a perfectly