As he hauled up I-93, Curtis ripped drags off a cigarette, glancing back from the road to the letter. I-93, no matter what time of day, was congested. And at this particular time of day, the tail end of rush hour, he was almost at a standstill as he approached the Tobin Bridge and tunnel trying to pass through Boston. He was convinced that it may very well be the worst highway in America, and the fact that it traversed one of the most densely populated cities in the country validated his theory. I don’t understand why they haven’t redesigned this fucking highway! Automobiles ahead abruptly stopped every ten to twenty feet; the red flash from tail lights caught the corner of his eye, and he kept slamming on his breaks trying to finish the letter.

Curtis dialed the law office on his quickly draining cell phone; the battery was low, and he hoped there was enough juice to at least finish the call. The office picked up and patched him through. As he sat waiting on hold, his mind darted around the argument with Amy, and the guild of what transpired gave him an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. On an average visit, they’d be too busy avoiding one another for a fight to ensue, but this was something much different—much different. He had only seen such aggressive spark to her otherwise calm, benevolent demeanor once before, and it startled him.

Attorney Russell Foley finally picked up his line after an abnormally long hold time.

“Curtis? How’s it going—hey, did you really just tell my assistant you needed to speak with a “Mr. Raw-dog”? Unamused.

“You mean you don’t go by that at the office?” Curtis, highly amused by the old nickname.

Russell sighed. “No. Nobody refers to me by that here. We went over that last time we spoke.”

Curtis loved to give Russell a hard time, especially now, since he’d gone soft. They’d been friends since the tenth grade, a time when Russell was the ball breaker, before finally coming into his own, finishing school and settling down with a girl he met first year of law school, now his wife and mother of triplets. As with the many nicknames that get thrown around during adolescence, some worse than others, as one may wonder how long a name may stick—so to speak—this particular one did. Unfortunately for Russell, the esoteric nomenclature happened to be remembered by Curtis, who refused to let it go. Russell was branded as Raw-dog Russell due to his tenacity of persuading women to have unprotected sex through high school and college. His ability to debate started at an early age.

“My apologies, Raw. So, what’s going on? You seem busy over there. You gotta minute, orrr…?”

“Uhhh, yes—yeah, I can talk, what’s up?” Russell was shuffling papers around his desk and inhaling the last quarter of an Italian combo sandwich.

“Amy fax you a letter a week or so ago, she said?”

“Umm, let me look. Yes, yes, she did. Hold on…” He called over to his receptionist and asked about the letter as if he had forgotten it came. She produced it and ran it over to his desk. “Yup, yup, I have it right here. What is it you want to know?”

“Well, how bout, what the Christ does it mean!? It looks like someone wants to buy my house? They must think I live in the projects. Did you see what they want to give me?” Curtis laughed.

“Yup, okay, now I remember. Yeah, she sent me this almost a month ago. I looked into it. This particular letter is an offer on the house, but it’s only the beginning.” Russell warned.

“Whaaa—whattaya mean?”

“Well, I’ve seen these letters before. It looks like there’s a private enterprise looking to purchase the remaining properties and the surrounding land around your property.” He said, glancing over the letter again as if he’d missed something.

“Uh… Okay?” Curtis, flabbergasted.

“It looks like they already started.” Russell, skimming through notes he’d written weeks ago. “There’s the two houses on your street already vacant, and it looks like they’ve been targeting your other neighbor, uhhh—Cavanaugh? They made some sort of offer to him three months ago.”

“Really? I didn’t even realize the other families moved.” Curtis wondered how he hadn’t noticed, especially with the chaos of the Cavanaugh incident.

“Yup, they did. They took low offers for whatever reason and moved. But all of them were longtime homeowners, though—no mortgage to worry about, right? Now, I’m guessing this is the first step. What it looks like they might consider if you refuse to sell, of course, is to take legal action to try and force you and your neighbor out.”

“What? They can’t fucking force me out of my own house. What are we in, Russia? No. I owe twice as much as what they want to give me. Did you see that shit? And then what, I’m supposed to finish paying a mortgage on a house I don’t even own!?” Curtis gripped the steering wheel with such force, his knuckles whitened as he worked up.

“They’ve done it before, dude. They’re going to try to use the power of eminent domain to seize your property if you don’t take the offer.”

“What in the curious fuck is that?”

“What? Eminent domain?”

“Yeah. That.” Curtis’s mind went blank. He was so infuriated, he could no longer think straight.

“Basically, it’s the legal taking of property, generally by a state or a government municipality for what they call, public use, which ultimately translates to anything they deem worthy for the benefit of economic development,” Russell explained.

“They can do that!?” Curtis huffed, bewildered.

“It’s the Federal Government—they can do whatever the hell they want. It’s not terribly uncommon. It’s just that you don’t really hear much about it. ”

“What about my rights?” The cigarette fell out of Curtis’s mouth, down his shirt, rolling to the floor. He bent down, grabbed it, then resurfaced, slamming on the breaks, skidding out of the lane onto the shoulder. The traffic had slightly let up, moving at twenty miles per hour; the car in front of him had abruptly stopped. He was mere inches from colliding. The phone dropped, but Russell kept speaking as if nothing had happened.

BEEP! BEEEEEP!

“GO AND FUCK YOURSELF!” Curtis yelled from his window as the car behind him laid on the horn. “Sonova-cocksucker…”

“You alright over there, man?”

“This fucking Bullshit Boston traffic is going to be the death of me, I tell ya.”

Russell giggled. “Deep breathes, buddy. Deep breathes. Well, anyway, that’s the beauty of the Fifth Amendment, my friend. It sure as hell wasn’t meant to benefit the taxpayer. Well, maybe initially they were. These clauses were written with enough loopholes, so they can be basically bent to their will.”

“Heh… Land of the free!” Curtis quipped and smiled with disdain, exhaling cigarette smoke.

“With the constitution, there’s nothing the government really can’t destroy, you know? You’ll like this. You ever heard of double jeopardy?” Russell further illustrating.

“Yeah, I—I don’t do game shows.” Curtis joked.

“It’s another fun clause. It states that a person cannot be charged with the same crime twice, right? So, we had this case a few years back involving a kidnapping, not far from here, over in, um, Litchfield County. Amber alert went out, you know, everyone panicked, which lead to this unnecessary manhunt, and the suspect was picked up days later outside of Boston. Turns out, it was the child’s father who picked the kid up from school and decided on a weekend getaway. He was an ex-con who had minimal custody rights, and the mother being nothing more than spiteful, had him arrested. Anyway, he was acquitted of the charges but later charged again and convicted of kidnapping—on the federal level because of transportation between state lines. Served three years. Tell me that isn’t just shit luck?”

“How’s that even happen?” Curtis asked as he felt his blood pressure rising.

“Oh, funny you should ask. Something called a dual sovereignty doctrine. Basically, it just negates the double jeopardy ruling and screws the defendant. But anyway, I digress… You don’t remember when all that eminent domain stuff happened? God, when was it, eight, maybe nine years ago? It was big news, man.”

“I moved here seven years ago.” Curtis lit a fresh cigarette with the tip of the one he had just finished.

“However, the whole thing was such a huge, goddamn disaster, the Supreme Court subsequently made it very difficult for any entity to seize private property.”

“Where was this?” Curtis had a hard time believing what he was hearing.

“Uhhh, give me a second to think…” Russell continued to multi-task, going through files of another case while entertaining Curtis. “Yeah, they had a concise time frame to vacate, too. Actually, I remember I had a potential client who told me some people completely trashed their places, left behind cars, all sorts of shit. They didn’t even bother shutting their front doors when they left. He told me he heard some families didn’t even take anything. They took the check and just took off. His name was Lavigne, and I only remember that because his family owns a popular seafood restaurant on the Old Saybrook shoreline. He came to see me for representation—he’d just moved in the year before and dropped like thirty-K in renovations. He was not happy.”

“So, what happened?”

“I didn’t take the case. My small firm isn’t equipped to take on big pharma. I felt bad. The guy had a pregnant wife and two young kids. I remember now—It was the neighborhood of Laurel Hill if I recall.”

“Laurel… Laurel Hill? You mean that deserted street right down my road!?”

“Uhhh, yeah, that’s right! You’re right by Hock Pharmaceuticals, aren’t you?” Russell recalled. “I don’t really remember the details, but basically, they forced the people out of their homes, paid them very little, then did nothing with the land. I believe the facility shut down not long after. There was some sort of accident, then hundreds of people lost their jobs, I think? They have the New London office, which they originally built as a replacement, anyway.”

“Really? From what I saw this week, it looks like the island is in full operation.” Curtis recalled.

“I don’t think it ever really closed completely. It was originally a government-run facility back in its heyday, and for whatever reason, they closed operations, and a pharmaceutical company moved in. Look, I gotta get going. I need to close up this office and send everyone home before this storm comes. Call me if you receive any more letters or anything you feel that is of a threatening manner. Take care of yourself.”

“Thanks.” Curtis tossed the cell phone in the passenger seat.

Next Chapter: CH. 12 - MONDO-MART