Joe wound up back in Miami and the projects: Living once again in the woods by the canal that ran along the eastern reaches of it's borders. It was a grove of cypress, pine, and palm trees. Bordered on one side by a canal that ran by a boat shop--later to be taken over by The Ted Vernon Car Collection--it was only accessible only by a small coral and limestone bridge: Joe fortified the position.

Joe's first priority was to shave his Mohawk, the second was to clear a twenty by ten area where he built his "house"--which consisted of a cardboard refrigerator box and a plastic tarp. He, and several other runaways whom became his "associates", began spending most of their days hanging on the bridge; shimmying up coconut palms for the hard covered coconuts; playing poker, hearts, and spades with a well worn, "naked lady", deck of cards; making out with rich girls whom shopped at the "mall" type shopping center located on the corner of 79th and Biscaine Blvd. The only time they left this "secure" spot was at night, when they visited the projects or made occasional forays into "the world" to stock up on heisted grub. In short order, Joe's reputation had spread: The Virginia, Indian, and Tennessee stories, added to Georgia and other places, made him the King of the Pack...

Diane clung to Joe's arm as if she were a permanent part of his physical being. The other guy's, noticeably displaying their jealousy at the attention their girls were giving to "The Road Warrior, did not dare interfere with Joe's story telling...even though he had been telling the same story for what seemed like the thousandth time!

"And then.... You know what I did?"

"Ooh! No! What did you do!" Cried the girls in chorus as they fluttered their eyes.

"I jammed the gear in first, popped the clutch, and, as I zoomed off, I fired twenty rounds from my .45 automatic pistol at Pigny and that Fagot, Popa Joe!"

"Wow!... Did you kill them?" Johnny squawked...much to the dismay of the other guys.

"What do you think!"

Thus, Joe reveled in his social status.

Harry, this display of exaggerated masculinity would soon become the cause of a unbelievable chapter of Joe's journey.....

17 years old and already six feet tall, Pete was built like one of those huge, southern truck drivers. He had a reputation for real violence and had become the sole power house of the projects long before Joe had stepped into the picture. His main hobby--when he was not beating up one of the guys on the block--was "ragging queers" (robbing homosexual men) and "sniffing the rag" (a form of getting high from a transmission fluid additive called "Trans-Go"--it was the rage of the streets).

It had all began when he was 14. He was picked up one night, beaten black and blue, and raped by two men. After several repeat performances he began "Hustling" the corner of 81st. and Biscaine Blvd--an intersection men frequented for the procurement of teen age boys. When his hormones kicked in and rapidly multiplied, he lost his youthful appearance; he was subsequently discarded for new blood. His deep seated shame and embarrassment, combined with his anger at being tossed aside and his Trans-Go warped brain, caused him to react in a manner he believed demonstrated his revulsion for those "@#$#@#$ Queers": Pete began to hang out in the back of the mall where the young male prostitutes congregated waiting for "tricks", and, when a "John" drove up, he would frighten the young male prostitutes into refusing to go...the John would have no choice but to offer the opportunity to Pete. Pete would hop in, drive to a location in the industrial area, perform his "trick", and then beat and mug them. When Joe began talking to some of the guys about the evils of selling themselves, Pete took personal offense and waited for the right opportunity to remove Joe from what he viewed as his place...

For several days Pete had been hanging out--watching Joe tell his stories. Joe could tell, between Pete's huffs of his rag immersed in the oily red, strong smelling solution, that he was eyeing the attention Joe was receiving with envy. Joe was intimidated by Pete, but he never showed it. He knew that the situation would come to a head...it did--sooner then Joe desired...

"You @#%$%$#@ idiots believe this $$## that this $%%$#@$ a^%$h^%$^ is telling you?" Pete screamed out, while sitting in an abandoned car along side the canal. "I bet this jerk could not kick his way out of a wet paper bag let alone rob Mafia guys! $#@!, you know the Mafia would have buried him a long time ago! He ain't no Italin. He's a #$@#$%$ spic whose goin out with a $%$#@ nigger!"

Joe, whom was sitting with Diane on the corner of the bridge ten feet from Pete, was struck by the last portion of Pete's comment as if with a sledge hammer. Pete's words were more than a gauntlet thrown at the feet of Joe; more than a challenge to a dual of honor; it was an afront to his lady! Joe immediately recognized the response of the twenty or so others whom were "hanging": Forty eyes turned towards him, each reflecting a lone, solitary, figure--HIS!

Silence descended the grove, the deadly kind, the kind of silence that patiently awaits for the first motion or movement to break out into a rabble of conjecture and psychic thought as to whom would be victor and whom the conquered.

Joe's first reaction to the situation was a total shut down all thought other than his response to the situation: For several days, the bantering between Pete and Joe had gone on, but, Pete's attacks had been aimed above the waste, Joe had been able to feint his way through the abuse with keen savvy; but this time, by including Diane into the fray, Pete had issued an ultimate challenge of domination. The crowd was tasting blood. All of them had spent many a thought on someone kicking Pete's butt, but the odds were not in Joe's favor, and so, the majority of the crowd began to hedge their bets. Joe's thoughts must have slipped past his facade, for the crowds reaction was swift and to the point....

"Yo! Mike... you don't wanna @#@# with Pete..."

"Yea! Better forget it..."

"Hey, Mike. Pete is crazy..."

Joe could see the familiar envy and jealousy of the guys converting into a savage need for someone's blood... Joe's blood...

The girls soon became excited by the guys response; an excitement much stronger than the men... which excited the guys further!

Joe had multiplied his adventures so much that he had built up an image which would crumble in an instant unless he acted immediately: "You know, Pete, your $#%%$# up. You should shut your mouth, your in no condition to fight!" Joe said, though he was sure that this face saving statement--one he had used on several other occasions when the aggressor really did not want to do battle--would not work: Pete was usually at his best when he was stoned and felt no pain!

Joe knew that it would take a moment for his statement to seep into Pete's warped brain, and so, he launched his attack... and tore at the car the instant Petes face disappeared into the red rag. As he grabbed the mettle rim of the window to pull the door open, Pete, whom was feinting while waiting with his right hand on the arm rest/door handle, allowed the door to open but several inches before he slammed it closed...

BAM!

The only thing that kept it from closing entirely were eight digits of Joe's hands!

Pain rained through Joe's hands like a bolt of lightening; his fingers swelled into stumps as Pete casually removed his person from the car with a large grin that conveyed imminent disaster!

Now Harry, you may think these stories are just that: stories, but allow me to inform you, they are fact... some even Legend!

Joe could see the crowd changing directions, though no one had yet to vocally cheer Pete on--which would have been the "right thing" to do for a group of street urchins whom played the power game! The mood was definitely thumbs down for the short gladiator with the stumpy hands!

Joe began to back away in his effort at composure and thought. His mind was spinning with a million calculations....

Pete, savoring his victory, was so sure of his position he began to taunt Joe; to verbally abuse Joe; to verbally abuse Diane. Relishing the sadistic pleasure screaming from his very being, he began to concentrate his energy into whipping the crowd into a pack of sharp fanged wolves closing on the kill when...

Joe stood straight and stiffened his hands into the karate chop way of Kato: the Green something or other that he had read in a comic book when he was in the mountains of the Poconos....

Pete turned towards him, took a whiff of his rag, and began to slowly walk towards him... ready to strike the final blow...

Joe crouched in a bent knee judo position he had seen in some book on Japanese--or was it Korean?--martial arts...

Pete was approaching, still several feet away, when he stopped, spread his arms like a barbarian brain cruncher, and ....

Was that hesitation? Did Joe sense Pete's confusion at the odd sight of Joe, in crouched, karate type position, with a mean and evil intention blasting from his eyes?

It was all Joe needed. With a horrifying battle cry, one he used with success at Spotford, Joe--as surprised as Pete was--advanced in one, swift and complicated movement, twisting 180 degrees, he slap-chopped with the edge of his right hand into Pete's surprised and exposed larynx: In one swift moment, Pete's Adams apple hit the back of his neck and then popped back out as Pete hit the ground gurgling and desperately attempting to gasp for air!!!

The crowd switched sides in the instant victory of the unbelievable Karate Kid from NY! Whom not only traveled the country on his own... Not only rode with bikers and lived with REAL INDIANS... Not only worked with the Cat Man and fought Godfathers!. But defeated the OGRE PETE.........IN ONE BLOW.........WITH BOTH DOGONE HANDS AS SWOLLEN AS A WATER LOGGED SIDE OF BEEF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Harry, remember Joe's success at the DUEL? Do you? How his true duels seemed to end in defeat? Harry, we are not including that thing with Rikers Island or Esposito! That was luck in the draw of a darkened alley way with no honor nor witness! Nor are we talking about the jail situation. We're talking about the Knightly kind... save the Princess kind!

Joe had actually won his first Knightly battle, in front of a crowd of fervent worshipers, in front of Diane--his Miami Princess. He had the honor of doing so against all of the odds! Do you know Harry, long after this event, long after the cheers and legends of the "14 year old Man of Respect from NY whom had" melted into an eventual quagmire of memories and chipped thoughts of those whom viewed this extra-ordinary and stunning event, long after they had been replaced by new memories of growing up, of moving on, of responsibility and social duty, Joe could recall this event with the full clarity of every one of his senses, down to the sweet, sticky odor, of Pete's Trans-Go--every moment of his first "real" victory would remain crystal clear!

But, Harry, I forgot to tell you, sometimes a victory can equate into a defeat...

From that day forward, Joe was at the top of his world. He could move freely about Miami; into the hardest, meanest streets of the bleakest, most terrifying areas, with out worry nor fear. It was funny, the word traveled so rapid emissaries came in droves from as far west as Liberty City; as far south as Opa Locka; as far North as Hallendale; just to hang with Joe and his guys.

With all of this "hero worship" pouring upon a lost soul whom desired to "be like Joe-Pep", Joe kept thinking of returning to New York and exacting his revenge; this whole affair had instilled in him some sort of Super Hero type syndrome... yet, it was this very feeling and situation that kept Joe from leaving... at least for now!

One warm and sunny day, at the greatest height of his "success", when thirty or so kids were hanging with Joe, bringing him tribute, making him feel like a king, a shouting, excited voice, tore through the pines and palms of "Joe's Castle Grove".....

"Their here! Their here! Bonnie and Clyde...Their here..." The messenger ran into the clearing, panting, his brow beaded with perspiration, and stopped. Standing slightly bent over as he rested his hands on his knees, he began to excitably deliver a "fantastic" story between short gulps of air as he fought to catch his breath....

"Bonnie and Clyde? Don't you know that Bonnie and Clyde died in the thirties... I know, I read about them a long time ago. They are DEAD!" Joe said as he shook his head at such an absurd statement.

"But I saw them...and their guns! Even their body guard. I saw their body guard!" Tommy repeated as he made every attempt to prove that Bonnie and Clyde had been resurrected and were currently staying in the projects while they nursed injuries they had recieved in a shoot out with the cops!.

Harry, it was not long before the traffic to the grove began to diminish....

Once again, an entire episode of life played heavy on Joe's mind: Joe had been assured of prominence and respect; he had become a central figure in the world of the streets--a world he carved out of it's poverty, violence, and uncertainty. A world where love came in the form of the deference and nobility one recieved as being a "King of The Pack....

Joe had "Friends"; a "Princess"; Tons of "Tribute".... His cardboard house had been traded in for a small, two person, pop-up camper--the type which is pulled behind a car--given as payment by some guys from the Liberty City Housing Projects for a brief excursion where Joe recruited twenty of his guys to back them up in a rumble on their turf. He thought he was set! And now, someone was trying to steal his respect and honor!

As Joe sat in his camper, the rain, which tore in sheets from huge and heavy black clouds, poured through the thick canopy of the grove. Cold, wet, and miserable, he had not had more than several of the guys visit in the last week. And, when they did visit, all he heard was stories of the travels of the Bonnie and Clyde Gang. He was losing the loyalty of the projects: for loyalty on the streets had to be enforced through domination--he had to have someone to dominate! It seemed that whom ever was masquerading as Bonnie and Clyde, they were receiving the honors and...the tribute which was critical to Joe's survival! NO WAY!

A crowd surrounded the doorway into the apartment. Voices, held in murmur of respect and awe, sweeping along wisps of air towards Joe, told of the reality and truth of what he had known all along: it was not rumor but fact that someone or somebody's were holed up in the projects. He only had doubts of their identities: 'Bonnie and Clyde were dead...so whom was sequestered inside?'

"Hey, Mike...Mike!" A voice, coming from inside the apartment rose above the heads of the crowd. Joe looked up and saw it was Tommy and he was motioning Joe to come inside.

Joe cautiously made his way through the throng and into the apartment. Tommy led him into a back room where Joe was initially shocked by the sight that greeted his eyes....

An individual, huge, with blood soaked bandages wrapped tightly around his chest and abdomen, sat wheezing in an arm chair. Joe did not have to guess at the future of this man. It was apparent he needed to be in a hospital. Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth indicating his chest wounds were severe. His breath, coming in shallow spurts, told of his declining situation. Joe gasped out loud before he could catch himself.

"So, is this Mike from NY? The one whom has traveled the country and worked with Jack?" Came a voice, sweet and alluring.

Joe looked towards the voice and for the second time he gasped out loud. She stood about five-foot eight. Long, flowing, golden hair. Sharp blue eyes which twinkled with a perpetual misting appearance. Full, bright red lips, moistened frequently with sexy provocative movements of her tongue. Golden, even textured skin, peeking through a snowy white terry-cloth robe with every slinky movement of her body--demonstrating she was completely naked under the robe and had no reservations at exposing her long, sexy, elegant legs. Joe felt a wave of embarrassment along side a wave of passion course his body; one ending in the bright redness of his face--the other centering in his pubic area. Standing like a thermometer with an erection, his first reaction was to move his hands in a down ward, sweeping action to shield his obvious arousal and embarrassment.. which only directed her sharp eyes...

"Ummmm... What are you hiding behind your hands?" She purred.

Joe was thrown for a loop. Here was this totally "sexy/crazy broad?" flirting and stroking her captive youth as a man struggled for his life!

As Joe struggled with his composure--which he was sure had left the premise entirely--another voice, this one deep and masculine, barked an order: "Hey, Tommy, get the car... we gotta move Mark!"

The man whom gave the order for Tommy to get the car was the male twin of the lady from Venus. He was six foot, muscular, with blonde hair and strong, masculine features. Joe was now sure whom these folks were! They were not Bonnie and Clyde. Heck No! They were something else: Damn #$#@^%$ Barbie Dolls masquerading as Bonnie and Clyde! That's what they were! A pair of reject Barbie Dolls whom were created in an experiment... they had a beauty of body in shape, color, and texture, but something had gone wrong: they inherited a Jekle and Hide mentality combined with Jack The Ripper and the Pied Piper!

The Barbie twins were known as Harry and Deborah. They were Bonnie and Clyde wannabes whom were well known in the underworld for small time jewelry heists, armed robberies of dry cleaning establishments and liqueur stores, and a host of violent yet petty crimes. The key difference between the genuine Bonnie and Clyde and these cloned Barbie dolls, was the fact that they did everything with spontaneity and a rash, brash, attitude that left no room for maneuver. Hardly anything was ever planned. If they were short of cash, they simply pulled into a liqueur store and robbed it. In fact, that's just what happened to Mark!

Deborah had driven into the parking lot of a large liqueur store to let Harry and Mark out to "take it down" and waited...not for long! A concussion of glass, spewing in a multitude of sharp fragments, erupted into the parking lot not two minutes after the duo entered the store. It seems that there were ten people in the place---four of them armed with semi-automatic hand guns! Mark was hit no less than four times...he would have been left there to die if Bonnie and Clyde did not think he would "spill the beans! In any case, he would die anyway!

Joe was impressed more with the sexiness of Deborah than what she stood for. As for Harry, whom was strong and determined with every one except Deborah, he felt no respect nor hero worship.. only a deep jealousy and envy at his stature and limited passport to Deborah! When ever Harry appeared, she would launch into this super sexy "do me" attitude with whomever-what ever-no matter the age person that was within twenty feet of her! Though Deborah never shared her self with anyone other than Harry, she kept his leash short and tied to her ankle by controlling Harry with her body and mind. In fact, all men seemed to be controlled in one way or another by her uncanny perception of their weaknesses--which she used to her own advantage. With Mark gone, she needed another flunky to drive, steal, and tease. What Joe could not know at the time was that they were broke and in desperate need for some dough. With the police aware of a duo of Barbie look-a-likes bungling amuck in the fair city of Miami, shooting at the merest sign of perceived danger--including firing two rounds into the legs of someone whom, mistakenly kidding around, said he was an undercover agent. They were forced to remain in hiding as they contemplated which of these "Project Warriors" they could use.. or rather abuse!

Joe sat on the sofa watching TV. He could hear moaning and groaning and hard, rusty spring movement coming from the bedroom's open door. Tommy, whom was nineteen and slightly handicapped, seemed more in tune with the Howdy Doody Show then the excitement of the ravishing that had been continuing for nearly two hours! Joe tried to concentrate on his thoughts: He knew the Miami thing was finished; dead in the waters of that rain last week. It was time again to hit the road... but why was he just sitting here doting on the "dumb" smart blonde...

Harry, Joe did not realize he was her prey; that he had been marked and was being indoctrinated into her nightmarish thoughts by this very act of love? making. She had pre-planned this episode to fortify all of her previous actions--such as running naked to the bathroom no less than twenty times in three days; flashing Joe on every occasion she could; brushing her hard, tight body against his when ever she accidentally could! His personal thoughts were rapidly being extinguished...and she and Harry new it! Her pleasure required another player: her orgasm only approached if she has a captive, unsuspecting, third party. And, in this circumstance, an almost fourteen year old would do...

"So Mike, how long did you work with Jack The Cat?"

"Oh, a long time. We did some great work. The Diplomat. The Four Seasons. The Castaways--we hit that place fifty times at least! Oh! And a big job on Golden Beach ... all with out a gun...."

The last remark caused Deborah's eye to twitch. "Are you telling me Jack never carried a gun?"

"No, I'm not saying that, only that I know how to get the bucks!" Joe said, feeling a sense of pride that they were actually conversing with him on a subject concerning their "work".

"You seem to know what you want.... Want me?" She said coyly as she muffed a pose that sent desire flowing through Joe's veins.

"Uh, um, well ... um ... well I just know I would, um ... I would like to be a part, a part of, of, your gang... You know ... I know the road and stuff ... I have friends all over the whole, entire, place. The country. Every where! I can do anything and I just wanna ..." Joe's stuttering spread to his mind, his thoughts you know. His brain stuttered in silence He could not summon the courage to say what he wanted to: "Hey Lady, Yea! I Wanna..."

For the next week the program proceeded as planned, with Deborah alternating her sexy body with complement and question, and Harry, telling stories of wealth and success: how the Bonnie and Clyde gang stretched from Florida to California; how most were in hiding until the heat died down; how, if Joe could prove that he belonged ... they might let him join!

Joe began to envision his return to NY as a wealthy member of a "real" gang--along with many stories of his journey and fame--to rescue his family! Joe began to move once more like a Bantam Rooster... squawking and prancing around--like that time when his father had told him on the phone that he was the man of the house, except in this instance, Deborah and Harry were the ones allowing Joe to DEVELOPE until he was "ready!".

"Hey, Joe. We been talking. Deborah and I. About you. You know....about joining. We feel that maybe your not ready ... We have to move on and we just think you might have been just kinda swept into the thing...."

"You kiddin or what."

"Well, I have been thinking... maybe our way is not like yours. Maybe your too young. Maybe we ought to just forget it ...no hard feelings ... OK?" Harry said as he turned to walk away.

Joe had been talking it up. He had been day dreaming. He had been sure that he would zoom away to their next job; one that would deliver thousands and thousands of dollars. His stature with the people of the street had reached the highest acclaim anyone could imagine... and now...

..a flash of memory and the bikers... "HEY, I CAN PROVE IT. I CAN PROVE THAT I CAN DO IT! JUST NAME THE PLACE. GO ON. NAME THE PLACE AND I WILL TAKE IT DOWN!"

Harry, the plan for his "proving" would come the next evening: Deborah and Harry drove him in a car to a hotel at the corner of 38th St. and Biscaine Blvd. Once there, they showed him the place where he would flag the cab from, and then, where he would direct the driver, and then, where they would be waiting for him. They briefly went over the etiquette of the cab robber: How to tell him he was being robbed; What to tell him to do and how to do it, and most of all, where the cabby usually kept his money and how to shoot the .38 they gave him!

So Harry, Joe's "proof" was to be a cab robbery on busy Biscaine blvd. in front of a packed hotel---in the early evening of rush hour traffic....