Buffalo Blacque
by Books by James M. Russell
Twenty-two-year-old Lucius Henry, a bookkeeper by trade, longed to see the world but had never been out of New York City. So you can imagine how excited he was when the Maple Leaf Transcontinental pulled out of Penn Station on its way to frontier Canada, where Lucius was to take up the job of managing a 10,000-acre bison ranch. Unfortunately for Lucius, a homidical F.B.I. agent by the name of James Sullivan has been sent by the Bureau to follow Lucius and ensure, by any means necessary, that Lucius and the ranch fail. On the way to Smoky Lake, Lucius meets Kristine, and together they just might defeat Sullivan and turn the broken-down ranch into a success.
More books by Books by James M. Russell
The Cop, The Clown and The Chef
Three stories from my Los Angeles
I grew up mostly in smoggy Los Angeles, then, when I was twelve, my parents moved us to Altadena in the hope of easing my frequent asthma attacks (it worked). Although I like L.A., I never had any desire to live there again after I left, and now I only visit the U.S.A. to attend a relative’s funeral.
I did return, however, in 1991 and spent a year or so trying to convince Hollywood to option one or more of my screenplays. Of course, like the other billion screenwriters knocking on Hollywood’s door, I slaved away at a barely minimum wage day, which was, in my case, a job selling rolls of 35mm film to photographers and X-Ray sheets to hospitals and medical labs. That job lasted about eight months before I quit in shock and shame when I realised that the film I was flogging was outdated (the company sold the rolls unboxed) and the X-Ray sheets were expired. During my Hollywood adventure,
During my 1991-1992 return, I lived in an apartment above the three-car garage behind Nana Stewart’s duplex on Victoria Avenue, where I spent most of my pre-teen years before we moved to Altadena. Before work each morning, I would walk through my neighbourhood, painting over gang graffiti and picking up trash (re: story #2, ‘The Democratic…”).
My grandfather, L.L. Russell (I never discovered his first or middle name), was the first or second black officer hired by the Los Angeles Police Department (re: story #1, ‘The First…”) in the late 1800s. He lived on a street off Exposition Boulevard, died in the early 1920s, and often took the Red Car to work, according to Nana Stewart.
Regarding story three, I was never a chef. The story was inspired by the popular song, ‘Duke of Earl’ recorded by Gene Chandler in 1962. Although a kid named Leonus was my best friend when I was growing up on Victoria Avenue.
I hope you enjoy these three stories, and thank you for reading them.
Sincerely, James