RainbowChaser and the Great American Experiment (eBook)

E.J. Hullana (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
360 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-9831-3 (ISBN)

Infos

'RainbowChaser' is a gripping tale of addiction, integration, immigration, and freedom. This inspiring true story is told with astonishing humor and shares a powerful message through historical, cultural, and personal events of how hope can triumph over devastating circumstances.

E.J. Hullana's programs have received numerous accolades including The Governor's Award for Vocational Rehabilitation of the Disabled, The Boys and Girls Club National Recognition for At-Risk Youth, and honors by the Department of Labor for Guidance of Foster Care Youth. The Napa/Solano Psychological Association awarded his programs for the wellness of the community, and the Certified Authorized Rehabilitation Facilities (CARF) nationally accredited him four times with exemplary service.

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"e;RainbowChaser"e; is a gripping tale of addiction, integration, and freedom. The son of proud Filipino immigrants, Chaser ventures astray distributing cocaine and abandoning old world customs. Drugs give him power over prejudice and second-class citizenship. His grandiose lifestyle led him to incarceration in Hawaii. He hallucinates haunting comatose dreams in the darkness of solitary confinement, rummaging for answers to his addiction and fractured identity. Chaser relives powerful ethnic portrayals of men, women, and children bound in farm labor. He witnessed Cesar Chavez and Larry Itliong inspire families to become powerful forces for human rights. Chaser was sentenced to one year, miraculously escaping 150 years in three states. His resilience guided him to his unlikely redemption found leading innovative programs for the homeless, mentally ill, PTSD Veterans, and the disabled to their vocational dreams. He empowered gangs with tools of recovery, offering a reconstruction of his past destructions. This inspiring true story is told with astonishing humor and shares a powerful message through historical, cultural, and personal events of how hope can triumph over devastating circumstances.

Textauszug

CHAPTER ONE

Treasures and Shipwrecks

Life is a shipwreck, but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats.

– Voltaire

Florida’s Hollywood Sands Hotel are footprints from shoreline. The RainbowChaser visualizes his childhood fantasies… Pirates of the Caribbean plundering beaches for treasures, rum, and fair maidens.

The sinister images of Bootleggers scurry on the same beaches during Prohibition. Swift Bimini boats shuttling spirits appearing from the obscurity of darkness…paving the way for illegal trafficking.

But tonight, the waters on the coast loom with drug-smuggling vessels, yachts and cigarette boats. Payload hulls jammed with millions of dollars of cocaine and marijuana… the cartel seething to pillage American souls.

Hollywood, a resort town between Fort Lauderdale and Miami, is a city saturated with big bucks, fair-skin Chiquitas and deviant behavior. On this sultry night, drug trafficking infects jungle fever from shorelines into city streets.

The Sands Night Club transforms into a Cuban cabana. The ceiling fans spin lazily over white linen tables. Smoke hovers over dance floors, stage lights zoom streams forming mystical clouds. The scent of Cuban cigars wafts through the establishment.

The relentless pulse of congas and timbales seduces the villagers. Women exhibitionists signal sexually receptive performances. Men, mano e mano, prisoners on imaginary islands…the natives are restless tonight.

Thumper and the RainbowChaser are in awe drinking atop an elevated bar surveying the chicanery. Thumper is mesmerized by spectacles that beckon him. Their visions collide, severing the spell, and they hoot and howl like college boys during spring break. Fearless young pirates toasting to treasures and pleasures. They guzzle rum like schoolmates playing swashbuckling buccaneers in the schoolyard at recess.

They survey the arrogance throughout the Cabana, reminiscent of a surreal movie set on script performing scenes from Scarface by Oliver Stone. The nightclub crowded with drug deals consummated with cupped hands whispering into ears and bowed heads. Young immigrant Latinos flaunting cash and parading their ethnicity.

Chaser looks to Thumper, nodding in disgust. “My ancestry came in boats, indentured in fields and held oppressed in farm labor camps…these bastards don’t have a clue.” Paradigm shifts of two third-world cultures that search for the land of milk and honey that only America can offer.

The little pirates are to rendezvous with their connection at midnight. Mickey, the middleman is in a corner booth entertaining several Latinas. The thatched roof of palms and banana-leaf dividers provide privacy amid the vibrance of night life in the tropics.

The drug connection snaps fingers flamboyantly. He flicks his head to come sit, his over-dramatized machismo annoying. He flaunts diamond-studded rings. He strokes his jet-black hair with both hands into a pony tail…but it’s bizarre that both pinky fingers are severed.

The wild and kinda crazy guys strut in silk aloha shirts and Stetson cowboy hats. Thumper’s face, a full moon over Miami. A thick-neck Samoan over 300 pounds towers at six-foot-six.

Tony Lama snakeskin boots give Thump attitude. His strides replicate a bow-legged bull-riding rodeo champion. When their boots touch Miami International Airport, the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) have the boys under surveillance, stalking them as West Coast drug-seekers.

The club is at fever pitch. Risqué feathered women samba arousing erotica, summoning the supernatural. The primates are anxious…Carnival is less than forty-eight hours away.

Chaser is captivated by an olive-skinned “deslumbrante belleza” (hot Columbian girl). Her flesh swathed in black fishnet, she stands tall in spiked heels and saunters like a purebred quarter horse. Her fiery glances target him. She thrust her silky hair in the direction of the dance floor. Everyone is captured in her rapture.

They merge into swing with the dramatics of tango. A night club owner in California, he’s in command like Travolta on a Saturday night. The Columbian girl surrenders as if they’d danced for decades. The audience enchanted by his West Coast moves.

Chaser met Mickey through his brother, who attended Chico State University in California. They partied after hours in the club. Behind bolted doors they inhaled endless trails of cocaine down the long oak bar.

Mickey’s a disco hound, relentless flaunting high roller. His effeminate mannerisms make Thumper uneasy. “Ya sure Mickey ain’t one of them gay caballeros? I can feel him checkin’ me out,” the Samoan says with a nudge, insecure.

“You been on your horse’s ass too long, paniolo (Hawaiian cowboy), cover that fat red neck,” he chuckles.

“Well…I seen’em checkin’ you out, he loves a horse’s ass!” The cowboy hoots like a drunken trail hand, punching playfully at his partner’s chest. Chaser’s chair tilts; he catches himself with elbows on the table. The Samoan’s fists are gargantuan, his nickname from violent all-state hits on the football field…but his legacy originates from Black Belt thumps in Tournament Championships.

Mickey supports a manicured pencil lead mustache. Beads of sweat nestle above his worm-like stash. Several Gold Miami Cuban link chains circle his neck and hang on his fury chest. Mickey defines Disco Hound aka Disco Dog.

The women of the tropics are generating heat for high rollers. They brazenly consume cocaine behind menus. Chaser needs to get Mickey to the cartel penthouse for a private conversation, the Latin brass and bustling distracting.

“Yeah, let’s get some privacy at the top of my world. I’ve got a freebase pipe that’ll take you to another planet,” Disco Dog boasts. Mickey and his entourage shoot to the tenth floor in an elevator of mirrored walls and brass railings. The cabin swelters with the scent of triple pikake wildflowers.

Brazilian funk vibrates as they jettison to the moon. The ping of the Agogo and Cuica, the Latin percussion absorbs their souls. The girls escalate their Samba rituals. They dip gyrating buttocks down to spike heels to the beat.

The Samoan cowboy stoops, his head smothered between glittering breasts and long-legged mulattoes. Their blonde and red hair whips sweat, thrashing his face in a rhythmic tandem. He hyperventilates, pounding his chest like King Kong unchained.

“My brother… need air?” his partner in crime shouts above congas.

“Who-who-who me…who-who me?” the sex-intoxicated ape grunts. With a Howdy Doody grin, he crouches behind feathers, sultry backs and swinging derrieres. He squeezes his head between gyrating hips. He gooses them between the buttocks.

Giant Amazonian women of the rainforest leap aroused. The women of the wild become jungle squirrels discovering the buccaneers’ little treasures of buried nuts!

“Oh yeah…oh yeah…oh yeah,” the tempestuous scream gyrating at climactic pitches. The untamed don’t miss a beat, whipping hair and spinning sweat into the air. They squat, spreading their thighs, peering upward eye-to-eye at Thump. The Amazonians elevate slow thrashing flowers across his face in tandem, moaning, “mas… mas…more…more…give me more!”

The cowboy is way over his head with scantily clad wild women in Stiletto spike heels. They cling to his arms creating heat, sliding their genitalia up then down his thighs. They spread their legs dipping to his calves.

The Passistas (skilled samba dancers) shimmy slithering up … peek-a-booing each other. Their loins spread like butterfly wings. They flutter thighs open and shut, to the beat of the congas and the Apito.

Once they arrive at the penthouse, Chaser is uncomfortable conducting business in front of the aroused concubine. He gathers Mickey venturing to the magical views of the balcony. They have a fleeting glimpse of tropical showers, the sultry air refreshed. They peer ten stories down; the city pulsates with the pounding of Latin percussion and faint screams of women in nirvana.

“So, what do you tink about Flawdah?” Disco Dog is smug. He places his lips onto a translucent hookah pipe, and inhales a marble bowl of glitter like a Bolivian ritual. He holds the hit for eternity, staring into the stars over the Bermuda Triangle.

He exhales puckering his lips, jettisons a billowing trail into space, encompassing them with the scent of free-base cocaine. Disco Dog is narcissistic. His consumption is melodramatic with pipes, lighters and paraphernalia. Over time it was entertaining, humorous and finally a ho-hum.

He hands an amjid (ornate tip) of the hookah to him. The free-base vapor circles, the liquids gurgle. A tiny windmill in the translucent pipe twirls as streams of chemicals swirl into his lungs. “Mickey, I love Florida but I feel the heat…the DEA surrounds us.” He shares his concerns, exhaling the toxic vapors.

“Eeee’s my yob to kep it safe and kep everyone separated to ensure no narcotics agents or rip-offs,” he responds with self-absorbed authority. His Colombian accent becomes prominent with each hit of the base. “I ned ten gran’ for a half poun’ sample,” he demands.

The California connection counters, gazing over the same devil’s triangle, “I have five grand. My people want to do two kilos, they’re asking for a quarter-pound sample.” Shorebirds shrieking, flocks zoom past the balcony. Silence...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 6.5.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Biografien / Erfahrungsberichte
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-9831-3 / 9798350998313