Before Bride of Frank

Before Bride of Frank

.. . .

Meyer was to become the victim of a horrible crime.

Before Newport Centre was built, the Hudson River waterfront in Jersey City
was pockmarked by a series of abandoned warehouses and railroad yards. One
of the most prominent of the ruins was the old Sioux Pork warehouse, just
south of the

Holland Tunnel.

I was walking on Henderson Street towards the Holland Tunnel, along the
perimeter of an empty lot that originally was the parking lot for the Sioux
Pork warehouse. Sheets of corrugated metal were tacked up as a fence.

I heard a funny sort of sobbing noise. I thought that perhaps a box of
puppies had been left in the weeds. Seeing that one of the sheets of
corrugated metals had rusted free from its wooden frame and was now
rattling in the wind, I

squeezed through.

Looking around, I didn?t see anything but dead weeds. I then thought that
perhaps the sound was coming from the center of football stadium-sized lot.
There I saw what I took to be a discarded mannequin.

At that point everything took on a sharp, electric focus, as if in a dream.
Without remembering walking there, all at once I was staring at the strange
object. Suddenly I realized that the figure was a human being. The limbs
were twisted

into absurd shapes with jagged edges of broken bones sticking through torn
and burnt rags of clothing. I stared at the dark face of what I took to be
a deceased African-American.


I almost fainted; it was Meyer. Meyer was Caucasian. His skin was burnt

"Frank, I?m going to call the police."

I looked up at the abandoned warehouse. I thought that a gang must have
beaten Meyer. I imagined them inside the dilapidated building, staring out
the gaping holes that once were windows, watching my every move.

I ran.

Getting to Henderson Street, I called the police from a pay phone. I then
ran up onto a railroad embankment and hid in the weeds while waiting for
the police.

An unmarked police car skidded to stop. I ran down and led the detective to
Meyer. The officer drew his revolver and took out a walkie-talkie.

"Go back to the car and tell the other police where I am."

.. . .

To read the complete story, please visit

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Second Thief, Best Thief is a collection of short stories by Anthony
Olszewski, many about the Tunnel Bar in Jersey City, NJ during the late
1970s and the 1980s.