Main Street, Salisbury, MD, Wednesday, 6/25/25

Jack wanted to turn pro—that’s why he came here to train at the Main Street Gym all the way from Cumberland, MD. Uncle Jay had told him that Hal, that old school trainer, would see him right. He had it written down on actual paper as well as marked in his phone—which was dead. The 400 pound woman sitting by the window prevented him from charging his phone. How glad he was that he had listened to Uncle Jay—poor dude coughing the last of his lungs out in that memory care place.

‘Closed,’ said the sign hung on the door. Uneasily setting the pack on his shoulder and the gym bag in his left hand, hope sank within his young chest. His mouth opened slack, retard-like, and a tear wanted to form; realizing of a sudden how weakly alone he was. Jack had rehearsed in his mind how he would offer to clean the gym, sleep in the ring, do whatever it took. Dad was twenty years dead, Mom whacked out on pills, stealing from him, her only son. Saying goodbye to Uncle Jay gave him a direction, a point of redemption that was now a dead end.

His ears began to ring with the stress. This had happened often since being stopped in that smoker up in Union Town—never even felt that left hook; like a power outage for one, and Uncle Jay couldn’t be there. Some drunken Dominican fighter, whose bout had been canceled, a good dude, cornered for him.

“Jack,” the voice came to him clearly through the ringing in his ears from the right. He turned his block head, looked right, and saw a 40-year-old cruiser weight, built more for MMA than boxing; a money dude, a dressed up dude, some good looking poster dude, like a TV preacher in white shirt, black tie, slacks and shoes, extending his hand with a soft, comforting smile.

“Jack, relax. Hal is retired. This will take some time to get up and running.”

“My name? You know my name?” he said as his hand extended almost of its own will.

“Yes, Jack. Jay Bennett, your uncle, we called him Arty Jay in Hagerstown Facility. We go back. He thinks highly of you.”

“You, you boxed together?”

“We were cellmates, briefly. I believe you were thirteen at the time. You look fit, strong—twenty-one?”

“Yes, Sir,” he answered, dazed, still shaking that strong hand.

The hand went to his back while the other reached for his gym bag, “May I, Jack? I have a home gym, a bunk, a job, an excellent cook and… well, Jack I have hope, for you and, for all of us who are being replaced.”

“Okay?” drooled Jack, letting go the bag.

Taking it in his left hand the man took Jack’s hand again, shook it just right and corrected himself, “Will, Will White, Jack—honored to meet you. Old Jay was a mentor to me when I was up with the Feds. I promised I’d be there for you, since his stroke. How is he?”

“Drools a lot—eats as much chocolate as possible.”

They walked, the other man just over six feet, Jack just under.

“Jack,” he said, nodding to a white Ford Diesel, an F-350, and holding out the keys, “I need a driver.”

Jack took the keys and started, “But I don’t have a…”

“A driver with a license, Jack. Jay told me he had you driving stolen rigs when you were seven.”

A plastic card was then placed in Jack’s palm, on top of the ivory boxing glove key chain, A Maryland Real I.D. drivers license. There was his likeness, the same as had been taken for his now lapsed learner’s permit, in two forms, along with his shitty signature. Only the name was wrong, “Jack S. White.”

He looked up into those caring blue eyes under those blond brows on heavy bone and began to ask a question that was answered before it came out of his mouth, the finger of Will pointing to his name, “S, for strong, Jack and White because we are family, you and I. Get in… and relax, BROTHER.”

Jack felt so good, had always wanted a brother, a father that wasn’t firing heroin even. His wavy red hair felt like it was atingle with hope, with the assurance that he was at least up for another chance…

…

106 White Street

“Always back in to the parking pad, Jack, always… Very good.”

Jack turned off the awesome engine and looked right and realized, that he knew this guy somehow, “I’ve seen you before, when I was a kid!”

“Twice:” assured the man, “once when you visited Jay in Hagerstown with your mom, we passed in visitation. You were thirteen. And, this past March at that smoker in Union Town. Jay wanted me to corner you. But, I needed to know how you held up on your own, in a bad spot, in the Mud. You did well, only five seconds short of dropping the decision, with a drunk Dominican corner man. That Jack, that natural ease above the Muds, that the low IQ Mud was drawn to assist you and your poise in moral command, that is important to our work, Jack. Dismount—we don’t linger in targets. The Man has this world zeroed in.”

They dismounted. As Jack stepped to the back to get his things, Will already had them. Nodding to a trash can he said, “Will, you have everything you need inside, Beginning with Lana, the housekeeper. She has already prepared your quarters and selected new clothes. I have a burner phone for you.”

The man held the high school back pack and old gym bag up and shrugged.

‘Hell yes,’ he thought, took the bags, walked to the trash can and dumped them in.

The house was painted white.

Will held the door for Jack. As he entered, a beautiful blond woman, about 30 years old, wearing a white nursing uniform, under a white apron, greeted them with a worried smile. Her figure was athletic and perfect, her eyes big and blue, a tablet in her hands—white, of course. Everything was white inside, even the carpet. Looking at Will she smiled, in a Russian accent, “Master, news,” holding up the tablet.

‘Master?’

Will walked out of his shoes, like a circus trick, as he took the tablet and turned up the sound.

“I am Lana, Jack” she said, as she took to her knees and unlaced his sneakers, “the carpet catches everything, you know, like us, our people, all the dirt sticking to us.”

‘She’s even peeling off my sweaty socks! What woman does that?’

The tablet sang with the voice of Trump, “...two countries that have been fighting so long and so hard, that they don’t know what the FUCK they are doing!—do you understand that?”

Will spoke deeply, “He’s a man, a King, I’ll give him that—how does that equate to bad news, Lana?”

She stood, perfect and polite, Jack’s sneakers in her hands, “Oh, that was to lighten your mood. Druze pinged me and sent out a last message. ‘Tariff Police,’ on the high seas—Trump Agents, some special service, were boarding the Boudicca in international waters.

“Master Will, I am so sorry. But the seven Ukrainian women my sister recruited for wives for your men, for the new begin—they will not arrive.”

A flash of deep, cold anger passed over Will White’s eyes like storm clouds. Jack could see the teeth clench and grind, knew that this dude was no man to mess with—ever. The storm in those eyes subsided as Lana did a slight knee bow and asked, “Apology for stating so blunt with a new man—But he is Jack, we know him from afar, one of us.”

‘This is some weird shit. Did that fat black bitch on the bus have LSD in her hair?’

Will calmed down, “Lana, you are right. Without women to marry, I can’t bring more men here yet. I will get some. In the meantime, your overdue potential shall not be wasted.”

“Thank you, Master,” she stood at attention, as for orders.

‘What a perfect woman!’ he thought.

Will came to them, took the shoes from her hands, dropped them in the foyer, placed his hands one on each at the shoulder and said, “Jack, Lana is my Sister. I insist you take her to wife—make us Double Brothers. For marrying Lana I give you this house, that truck, and all within. I know you will look after your little brothers and sisters as they arrive—we have to multiply, Jack. Do you understand, Jack?”

He did not have to take another look at Lana to ascertain that she was the perfect woman, almost a dream girl from some pulp novel that Uncle Jay would read, “Yes, yes, Sir,” he numbly agreed. How do I support her—I didn’t finish high school, got no college—”

Will put their hands together and hissed, “Jack, Lana is here to help, to hold back the Mudslide. The scheming Yizidi banker scum have convinced you not to multiply in body until you multiply their money. They even have The King as their pawn. He is a worthy adversary—but taxing pussy, taking the future wives of OUR men in an act of dysgenic piracy as they worship Muds slouching among us… Jack, Lana; that’s a bitch too far! In the name of My Father’s People, I give Lana, my Sister, taken by might, to my Brother, Jack, Jack White.”

Their hands released, Lana kissed Jack’s palm and then placed it on her hip and cooed, “Thank you, Master Brother, for my very own Master Jack, who, if he is not faithful to me, I know you will kill.”

‘Oh—snap!’ Jack could feel the shackles of the ball and chain Uncle Jay had always spoken of, claps around his entire life.

He assured Lana, “I will not cheat.”

She smiled and bowed her head, ‘And my life to defend, I know. You are a man.” Then she pressed her lips to his, her words and kiss combining to place a deep fear of her in his soul.

Will laughed heartily and slapped Jack on the back as the savage Russian woman hunted for Jack’s tongue with her own serpentine one, “Jack, she is our boon and our bane—we have the best women. But their will is hard to contain.”

Will then snarled into the tablet, “I declare war on thee, Trump!” and then set the tablet down and somehow slipped back into those shoes as Lana pressed Jack to the wall, much stronger than her 120 pounds would suggest.

The door opened as she began to purr and leaped up on his hips like a child on a circus ride. “I shall return with breakfast,” noted Will, in an odd, deadpan tone as she wrapped her legs around his waist like some jiu jitsu babe from paradise and cooed, “Last door on the right, Jack White.”

‘If this is a shroon trip—I’ll take it,’ and Jack carried her across the white living room carpet and down the white ceramic tile hallway, the dull echo of the tile on his now heavy heels sounding like destiny.

106 White St, Salisbury, MD 21804 - Zillow

 www.zillow.com/homedetails/106-White-St-Salisbury-MD-21804/37695142_zpid/

106 White St, Salisbury, MD 21804 is currently not for sale. The 1,952 Square Feet single family home is a 4 beds, 2 baths property. This home was built in 1952 and last sold on 2023-03-15 for $231,000. View more property details, sales history, and Zestimate data on Zillow.