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   May be King

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             White Slave Market



  The twins, Tommy & Molly, are participating in a high school scholastic competition being held in Marrakesh, Morocco. Tommy's soccer teammate, Mustafa, is a homeboy raised in the souks of Marrakesh and has been playing tour guide for his friends.


  On their last day in town a group of them are visiting an old Moroccan outdoor market when they witnessed two friends being dealt a fate worse than death. The friends, German blonds, were being kidnapped by a Moroccan cabal know for supplying the sex-slave market with innocent young women.


  Our heroes immediately spring into action in order to save their friends.


  How they accomplish their objective will have you standing and cheering in the isles. This story combines cunning and brute force and delivers a rock solid narrative punch. Once again the resourcefulness and problem-solving by this extraordinary group of friends keeps you turning the pages.


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                                         King Porte


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                                                                Sample Chapter 




                                                                                         “Any time you use threats to cause

                                                                                          someone to act against their own

                                                                                          free will, it's a form of extortion.” 


                                                                                           James Grippando   Found Money




         “Every person who shall monopolize,

           or attempt to monopolize, or combine

           or conspire with any other person or

            persons, to monopolize any part of

            the trade shall be deemed guilty of a

            felony.”  


               Sherman Antitrust Act    1890






Chapter 1 


  Today



  “There's a riot at my hotel!” exclaimed my terrified passenger whom I was chauffeuring from San Diego's International Airport to her hotel, The Hotel M.


  “I can't stay here. It's not safe! I'll never get any sleep!” she declared as I drove up the ramp to The Hotel M's lobby entrance. From the top of the ramp we looked down at San Diego's Harbor Police, in riot gear, attempting to calm and control an unruly mob of what I knew to be striking taxi drivers, all native born Iraqis and Middle Easterners.


  Taking advantage of The Hotel M's distracted staff's uncharacteristic delay in opening my mini van's doors and welcoming their new guest, I turned to my frightened and bewildered passenger and briefly explained what was happening.


  “Some of the independent taxi drivers are striking in an attempt to force The Hotel M and others to stop using alternate transportation companies such as mine. The taxis want an exclusive monopoly on The Hotel M's transportation needs and are using 'in your face tactics' to achieve their demands.”


  “But that's illegal,” said my passenger who appeared to be regaining her composure. “I see the Sherman Antitrust Act opening it's huge mouth and taking a mortal bite out of that idea. The Sherman Act prohibits someone from creating a monopoly and conspiring to restrain competition.”


  Hmmm. Smart lady. Must be an attorney.


  I agreed with her and then pointed out all the hungry conventioneers milling around outside my mini van that were desperately trying to get to their restaurants for dinner.


  “You can cry illegal all you want but nobody has the teeth to chew up the 800 plus independent taxis that troll San Diego. The hotels have little choice but to acquiesce to the illegal demands in order to serve their guests,” I respond.


  At the same time I'm thinking that these hotels have created a huge problem for themselves and all the alternate transportation companies that work in San Diego by not standing firm and demanding that the taxis cease these unlawful disturbances. By allowing the proverbial camel's nose under the tent, the hotels have given a foothold to a very confrontational group of individuals who are attempting to conduct business here in San Diego the same way they have for centuries in their native Iraq and the Middle East; with fanatically partisan tactics. Legal or not, they don't care. These zealots will succeed here if we don't wake up.


  There's the crux of the problem. Our laid back, sun drenched city is most comfortable conducting business in a genteel, respectful and dignified manner. We dislike confrontation.


  Well, it's time to brass up San Diego or we will forever rue the day we didn't.


  To save face I quickly add, “The good thing about the strike is that it's only for a short time. These guys did the same thing last night for about half an hour and then went back to work. They should be ending this strike shortly.”


  As soon as I say this I see a badly smoking taxi wheeze up the ramp. Behind the driver's hostile countenance I recognize the acne pitted face of Omar, the Iraqi born ringleader of the strikers. As he rattles by in his 30 year old Ford he flips me the bird and yells an Iraqi profanity.


  “Did you see that?” exclaims my passenger.


  I politely ignore her question and get out of my new mini van. I open her door and retrieve her luggage out of the back while calling out, “Check in!”


  Within seconds two buffed Hotel M bellmen are on her bags and welcoming their rattled guest. I know that before she reaches her room they will have allayed her fears about the riots and have her tingling with excitement and anticipation as they help flesh out her San Diego vacation.


  God, I love working this hotel. It's the largest in San Diego with 2014 rooms; yet recognized around the world for the familial Five Star service provided by it's friendly and knowledgeable staff.


  I turn to get back into my van and out of the corner of my eye I catch Brian Baines, the Rose Parking employee and Hotel M doorman, bending over to recover two one dollar bills that he had fumbled and dropped when Omar surreptitiously attempted to hand them to him.


  Brian straightens and Omar wraps him in a smothering bear hug which lifts the diminutive doorman off his feet. Setting him back down Omar bends to bestow three Middle Eastern kisses on Brian's smiling cheeks.


  I note that Brian is indeed dancing with the devil and collecting his 30 pieces of silver for masterminding this whole conspiracy they're calling a strike.


  I wonder if the devout Muslim that is Omar realizes that he is kissing cheeks that just this morning were being squirted with cum from a gay, pot smoking Midwest banker that stoner Brian had hustled out of the lobby of The Hotel M.


  Wonder what his Allah would have to say about that?




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