Chapter 4-- The Locusts Descend
The next day was just like any other in Milwaukee. It was surprisingly sunny and seemingly peaceful
in the midst of everyone and everything singing the symphony of repair and clean-up...even Arnold's chipped in after
the hailstorm, with food and water and milk donations galore. Diapers, Baby needs, clothes, bread,
milk, spare oil lamps until complete electricity was restored, and not a single person in Milwaukee wasn't participating,
And that included Fonzie, Chachi, Richie, Potsie, Joanie, Ralph, and Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham.
Suddenly, near the gang's part of town, beyond the suburban row of homes, beyond the oak trees,
beyond the hills, the gang heard an ominous, horrid buzz, the buzz of motorcycles, a buzz Fonzie seemed
to know all too well. But where were these motorcycles coming from? They couldn't be coming from over...the...hills?
Mrs. Cunningham managed to get the TV working an hour ago thanks to Fonzie. While he was working on her
garage door, he stopped to peek in and hear the news...he couldn't get much of it, but he knew the most...
"Many convicts had cooked up a plan and tragically, the prison guards were stifled with cellophane from the prison cafteria,
henceforth the male and female prisoners did escape in a baffling and most mysterious escape plot not yet known to authorities.
These convicts' crimes range from child abuse to dismemberment to assault with a deadly weapon, mostly cutlery, such as knives,
swords and other such things, to decapitation. Coincidentally the owner of a Harley Davidson store on the outskirts of Milwaukee was earlier ago this morning found stifled
in his store and virtually every one of his motorcycles stolen...the authorities have reason to believe the thieves are not teenage
motorcycle hoods, but these convicts, whom they dub, "The Black-Hearted Crew". These convicts kill on sight and the name fits them, tragically all too well.
They are subject to violent mood swings and, like dynamite that is wet and old, explode at the slightest touch. They are armed and dangerous
and specialize in murder, dismemberment and torture."
Fonzie's jaw hit the floor.
He fled into the midst of the gang's own section of the vast symphony of restoration and said, suddenly snatching
the part of conductor from circumstance's hands, "Everyone! Catholic Church! Move!" His plan was to round the gang up into a safe place where, though he wasn't particularly a believer in God,
hoped that some Godly force would keep them all safe from such godawful lunacy. Though the gang looked puzzled, they knew better than not to trust the Fonz.
"Potsie! Round up the Mr. and the Mrs.! Let's moooove it out!" And as they did, like swarms of locusts did the evil descend from the hills.
The gang instictively hurried on foot, but unfortunately, did not get very far. The gang's destruction ranged from smashing windows to destroying and blowing up buildings,
to bullying even the motorcycle greasers to beating up anything under 17, including, shockingly indeed, the younger set, from 2-13
years old, with fists, clubs, bats and even a switchblade. The symphony had turned into a maelstrom of hell at its hottest, as looting and pilfering
and plundering, tragically, prevailed.
Fonzie was busy hurrying everyone to safety, when he suddenly slipped in a mudpuddle. A nearby convict all too quickly snapped a stolen bullwhip around his foot
as he was staggering to get up, then suddenly flipped him over on his back. "Whoa!" He called out as the black motorcycle,
with initials labeled CBA on the side, sped off with him behind.
He shrugged, a little shaken but not too perturbed. "Well, that's the end of *this* leather jacket!" He groaned.
Ralph was hoping to slip in to the grocery store through a smashed open window. "Ooh, ooh, ooh!" He cried out. "Ohhhhhh, shit!" He yelled
the minute he leaped inside, hoping to find cover. What he found, unfortuantely, was another convict, who hurled him out another window
as he had no choice but to scamper along off to catch up with the other gang, before being shot. Another some 30 motorcycles, with cables, yanked half of officer Kirk's
house to bits as he was in the midst of taking his bath. All that was left was his bathtub, him and naked plumbing. "Gosh darn danged nab it! What in blue blazes..."
Two bullies were in the midst of beating up poor Potsie...."Oooh! Oooh! Ow! Oh, the inhumanity of it all! Ooh! Ooh! Ow!"
The Sheriff was blown up in his own home.
The next day was just like any other in Milwaukee. It was surprisingly sunny and seemingly peaceful
in the midst of everyone and everything singing the symphony of repair and clean-up...even Arnold's chipped in after
the hailstorm, with food and water and milk donations galore. Diapers, Baby needs, clothes, bread,
milk, spare oil lamps until complete electricity was restored, and not a single person in Milwaukee wasn't participating,
And that included Fonzie, Chachi, Richie, Potsie, Joanie, Ralph, and Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham.
Suddenly, near the gang's part of town, beyond the suburban row of homes, beyond the oak trees,
beyond the hills, the gang heard an ominous, horrid buzz, the buzz of motorcycles, a buzz Fonzie seemed
to know all too well. But where were these motorcycles coming from? They couldn't be coming from over...the...hills?
Mrs. Cunningham managed to get the TV working an hour ago thanks to Fonzie. While he was working on her
garage door, he stopped to peek in and hear the news...he couldn't get much of it, but he knew the most...
"Many convicts had cooked up a plan and tragically, the prison guards were stifled with cellophane from the prison cafteria,
henceforth the male and female prisoners did escape in a baffling and most mysterious escape plot not yet known to authorities.
These convicts' crimes range from child abuse to dismemberment to assault with a deadly weapon, mostly cutlery, such as knives,
swords and other such things, to decapitation. Coincidentally the owner of a Harley Davidson store on the outskirts of Milwaukee was earlier ago this morning found stifled
in his store and virtually every one of his motorcycles stolen...the authorities have reason to believe the thieves are not teenage
motorcycle hoods, but these convicts, whom they dub, "The Black-Hearted Crew". These convicts kill on sight and the name fits them, tragically all too well.
They are subject to violent mood swings and, like dynamite that is wet and old, explode at the slightest touch. They are armed and dangerous
and specialize in murder, dismemberment and torture."
Fonzie's jaw hit the floor.
He fled into the midst of the gang's own section of the vast symphony of restoration and said, suddenly snatching
the part of conductor from circumstance's hands, "Everyone! Catholic Church! Move!" His plan was to round the gang up into a safe place where, though he wasn't particularly a believer in God,
hoped that some Godly force would keep them all safe from such godawful lunacy. Though the gang looked puzzled, they knew better than not to trust the Fonz.
"Potsie! Round up the Mr. and the Mrs.! Let's moooove it out!" And as they did, like swarms of locusts did the evil descend from the hills.
The gang instictively hurried on foot, but unfortunately, did not get very far. The gang's destruction ranged from smashing windows to destroying and blowing up buildings,
to bullying even the motorcycle greasers to beating up anything under 17, including, shockingly indeed, the younger set, from 2-13
years old, with fists, clubs, bats and even a switchblade. The symphony had turned into a maelstrom of hell at its hottest, as looting and pilfering
and plundering, tragically, prevailed.
Fonzie was busy hurrying everyone to safety, when he suddenly slipped in a mudpuddle. A nearby convict all too quickly snapped a stolen bullwhip around his foot
as he was staggering to get up, then suddenly flipped him over on his back. "Whoa!" He called out as the black motorcycle,
with initials labeled CBA on the side, sped off with him behind.
He shrugged, a little shaken but not too perturbed. "Well, that's the end of *this* leather jacket!" He groaned.
Ralph was hoping to slip in to the grocery store through a smashed open window. "Ooh, ooh, ooh!" He cried out. "Ohhhhhh, shit!" He yelled
the minute he leaped inside, hoping to find cover. What he found, unfortuantely, was another convict, who hurled him out another window
as he had no choice but to scamper along off to catch up with the other gang, before being shot. Another some 30 motorcycles, with cables, yanked half of officer Kirk's
house to bits as he was in the midst of taking his bath. All that was left was his bathtub, him and naked plumbing. "Gosh darn danged nab it! What in blue blazes..."
Two bullies were in the midst of beating up poor Potsie...."Oooh! Oooh! Ow! Oh, the inhumanity of it all! Ooh! Ooh! Ow!"
The Sheriff was blown up in his own home.
