Go Deep Yankee Trash

William P. Singley

Description

Don Neworth, International dead-beat and Ruth Cohen, a deadly double agent, have a stand-off on the snow and ice covered stairs of the treacherous HolmenKollen Ski Jump in Oslo. Rest assured, they aren't there to sight-see.
In the winter of 1993, Don Neworth, international dead-beat, and Ruth Cohen, infamous double agent, are having a stand-off on the snow and ice-covered stairs that lead up/down the famous HolmenKollen Ski Jump in Oslo, Normandy. They are not there to sight-see. She wears gloves. Don doesn’t.
To Don, that’s not fair.
Ruth is an undercover Hamas operator passing herself off as Mossad, the Israeli FBI. Don is a newshound who wants the big story so he can return to the USA in an explosion of literary fame instead of being a guy who dodged the Vietnam draft, drinks too much, and is always, always on the make.
They met in Frankfort where Don worked for Stars & Stripes, Europe. He was covering an anti-Semitic incident involving him and she was posing as a member of the Mossad. Ruth’s extraordinarily beauty mesmerized Don into forgetting his quest for the big story. Maybe, he should have guessed something was wrong after the third time she drugged him and set him up ala Lee Harvey Oswald, “Deranged American Newsman Blows Up Oslo Accords.” He’d take the blame for the explosion that was designed to wipe out the Arab and Jewish peace negotiators. Don, in spite of his avowed cowardice, reluctantly tries to save their lives by driving them in a beat-up taxi with a blown-out windshield, through a snowstorm, dodging Uzi bullets, playing bumper tag at high speeds, and hiding in the famous Vigeland Park. All of which leads to the two antagonists’ rendezvous on the icy ski jump stairs. Really, it would only be fair it he had gloves too.
Maybe he can take hers after she’s dead.

Sujets

• UZI
• Casa Blanca
• Hamás
• Stars & Stripes
• Oslo Accords
• Hamas
• Skinhead (homonymie)
• White House
• Murder
• Stars and Stripes
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: iUniverse
• Date de parution: 06 septembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781663240446
• Langue: English

Extrait

GO DEEP YANKEE TRASH
 
 
 
 
 
WILLIAM P. SINGLEY
 
 
 
 

 
 
GO DEEP YANKEE TRASH
 
 
Copyright © 2022 William P. Singley.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
 
 
 
iUniverse
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.iuniverse.com
844-349-9409
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
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.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6632-4043-9 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-4044-6 (e)
 
 
 
 
iUniverse rev. date: 11/08/2022
CONTENTS
Acknowledgements
Introduction
Dedication
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
Epilogue
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There’s a wide net of people who have contributed to Yankee Trash . Reg Kenner comments department. Meg Sullivan, morale. Mahoney & Breslin insights. Howard Vance, long time critic, unfortunately no longer with us. A special thank you to the editor Diane Margolin, the driving force behind the Santa Monica Star, who can spell and add ‘commas,’ any place and time!
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR:
 
1. Hook-Up/B ragg
2. The Good Seats: (a Tommy Palmer s tory)
3. Didja’ Hear, Danny Devlin’s Dead: (a Tommy Palmer s tory)
4. Downb each
5. The Southern Sky
6. The Bali Hai Enchantment Spa Murders: (a Tommy Palmer s tory)
7. Camp Boardwalk/ Sometimes We couldn’t Even Get Ice
8. Mother’s Day: a war s tory
INTRODUCTION
In the winter of 1993, Don Neworth, international dead-beat reporter, and Ruth Cohen, infamous double agent, are having a stand-off on the snow and ice-covered stairs that lead up/down the famous HolmenKollen Ski Jump in Oslo, Norway. They are not there to ice skate or sight-see. She wears gloves. Don doesn’t. To Don, that’s not fair.
Ruth is an undercover Hamas operator passing herself off as Mossad, the Israeli FBI. Don is a newshound who wants the big story so he can return to the USA in an explosion of literary fame instead of being a guy who dodged the Vietnam draft, drinks too much, and is always, always on the make.
They met in Frankfurt where Don worked for Stars & Stripes, Europe. He was covering an antisemitic incident involving him and she was posing as a member of the Mossad. Ruth’s extraordinarily beauty mesmerized Don into forgetting his quest for the big story. Maybe, he should have guessed something was wrong after the third time she drugged him and set him up ala Lee Harvey Oswald, “Deranged American Newsman Blows Up Oslo Accords.” He’d take the blame for the explosion that was designed to wipe out the Arab and Jewish peace negotiators. Don, in spite of his avowed cowardice, reluctantly tries to save the negotiators’ lives by driving them in a beat-up taxi with a blown-out windshield, through a snowstorm, dodging Uzi bullets, playing bumper tag at high speeds, and hiding in the famous Vigeland Park. All of which leads to the two antagonists’ rendezvous on the icy ski jump stairs. Really, it would only be fair if he had gloves too.
Maybe he can take hers after she’s dead. (240 words)
GO DEEP YANKEE TRASH
“Yankee Trash”: Noun. One of many names used to describe Vietnam War draft dodgers who avoided prison time by moving to other countries. The young Americans flooded the hostels and cheap hotels and even lived in tents in the popular European capitals like Copenhagen, Berlin, Paris, Barcelona, and Rome. Also, Canada took in many deserters who wanted to stay closer to home. Some were treated as celebrities for standing up to the ‘man’ for refusing to serve in what was called an unjust war. In June 1997, President Carter gave them all unconditional pardons and they slowly returned to the States. Some did not return, having created new lives for themselves. The term ‘Yankee Trash’ faded away.
DEDICATION
Thank you to all those who have surrendered their lives attempting to settle the Israeli and Palestinian conflict, both with weapons of war and treaties of peace. The world awaits that momentous day when the violence halts and peace becomes a daily non-descript event for all concerned.
CHAPTER ONE
Don’s hangover kept him from questioning why someone would be pounding on his door in the middle of the night. He understood losing one’s keys it had happened to him too many times, but that doesn’t make it fun ever. The drumming had penetrated his dream, causing him to lie in bed until he knew the difference between the dream and the noise at the door.
“Son-of-bitch. Idiot.”
Some asshole Kraut student at the wrong door again. A common event in his over-crowded apartment complex in the university section of Frankfurt.
On his way through the dark he cursed himself for drinking too much cheap German wine when he had half dozen of Australia’s finest snuggled in the bottom of his closet cum wine cellar. The Aussie wine was for special occasions. Tonight, hadn’t been one; he had stopped at Jimmy’s American Cafe’ after work for a few beers and sometimes maybe a stray female tourist which always led to a few more beers. On the way home he bought a sausage roll and the wine from the Greek grocer. At some point during the re-play of last December’s Patriots-Jets game he had fallen asleep and now ….
“I’m coming for Christ’s sake! Don’t knock down the door!”
What time was it?
As he unlocked the four deadbolts on the steel door, wearing only his briefs, he strained to see the kitchen clock but could not get a clear look. So what. He opened the door and asked, in German, what’s going on?
No answer. Just two thick hands hit him in the chest, shoving him backwards, then two young men with shaven heads came at him, one of them rapidly spinning a bicycle chain like a propeller, lashing his arms and head, driving him to his knees by the wall and against the tattered couch, warning him, him the Jew pig, to stay away from German women.
He remained huddled on the carpet, not daring to look up while shouting, pleading, for them to stop as they ravaged his apartment. Every few minutes one of them passed and swung the chain or kicked him.
They had turned on the lights.
Two youngsters, one tall, the other shorter, were dressed in tight jeans and leather jackets stitched with metal buttons. They strutted around the apartment, lashing at whatever fancied them. The chain snapped through the aquarium and the television screen, shattering glass into thousands of pieces like the dreams portrayed on the screen.
They grunted more than talked and Don prayed they wouldn’t kill him. Most of their threats involved him being Jewish and chasing German girls.
His thrift shop pole lamps were beaten as if they might confess something. Several cheap vases disintegrated under the spinning chain. Don’s souvenir ash tray stolen from the George V Hotel in Paris more than ten years ago was smashed into plaster chips as well as the miniature Christmas tree he left up year ‘round.
He stopped his feeble protests and wondered why they were accusing him of being Jewish. He didn’t live like one. Look like one. Hang around with any.
But, they knew he was.
They found the Australia wine. He didn’t realize it until one of them poured some on him. From nowhere, he consoled himself with a taste test; Barossa Valley, the home of Australia’s finer wines, a chardonnay, and suddenly he sensed would live through this bad dream.
The first man through the door knelt beside him and grabbed him by his long hair, twisting his head around and spit in his face. Then, again, labeled him a Jewish pig and ordered him to stay away from German women.
He knocked Don’s head hard against the wall, twice, and stood up. He and his pal came to attention, arms extended in the well-worn Nazi. “ Seig Heil!”
Don focused on their work shoes, too frightened to look up. The wine burned his cuts. They discussed killing him. “Next time,” was their decision.
All his hardback book collection was swept off the shelves that lined the one wall. The books were doused with wine and kicked around the room like soccer balls, then they turned, laughing hysterically, pissed on the books, and were thoughtful enough to save some for him. CDs followed, flung against the walls like dishes at a Greek party.
Maybe, thought Don, they would set the books on fire like the good old days?
As quickly as they came through the door they were gone. Leaving the door open, but shutting off the lights as they went out. Gentlemen to the core.
A long silence.
Don Neworth, American expatriate, draft dodging, ex-hippie squeezed himself more tightly against the co