Melrose Place to Fernrock

Melrose Place to Fernrock (First Draft)
By Mastiff

The two young men both stood with their backs to the wall of the old stone and timber rail station. Even in the late 1970’s funding cuts had closed the doors, and no attendants were employed to keep doors open and sell tickets. This was well known to both, and because of it, they could stand undisturbed in the portico. They waited, one patient, and the other not so much. He griped a bit about the cold, and Colin, the older of the two chided him for not wearing a heavier jacket. Even though it was June, it was unseasonably cool. Both stood about average height, with Dallas, the younger teen having dark hair and complexion to match. His partner had a lighter complexion and sandy blond hair and a mustache. They were physically fit, not just because the neighborhood demanded it of them, but they were also proficient in martial arts, taught to them by a local sinise. The train pulled in, blowing the fall leaves into the boys faces. one leaf in particular hit Dallas smack in the mouth, and he spat.

“Bleah. Taste like ass.”
“Well, maybe a dog shit on it.” Colin chuckled
“Where are we going anyway?” Dallas asked.
“We're going to get it tool.”
“And what is this tool for?”
“You'll see.” Colin said offhandedly while watching the train roll to a stop.
“Where are we getting this tool?”
“A shop down in Inky.”
“Inky? Just us. We’re just going to waltz on in.”
“We’ll be fine, I have a plan.”
“Great. A Colin Plan. Those always turn out well.”
“Ready?”

Train had blocked their view to the other side of the tracks, and they waited for it to start moving before beginning to run. As they had times before, they took off toward the back of the train as it pulled from the station. What happened next was precisely what they did not want. Northbound train and pulled up just in time to watch them grab their illegal seats on the back edge of the car. They hoped nobody would notice, but Colin the immediately saw a rail worker on the microphone.

“Shit.”
“Do we bail?” Dallas asked.
“No way. We're already at 35 miles an hour, we'd be paste.’
“So what's the plan?”
“We’ll jump as soon as the train slows down at Fernrock.” Colin said after thinking for a beat.
“Think they’ll be waiting for us?”
“Yeah, but they have a whole car length to cover we should be long gone.”
“Should we jump the fence?”
“No, man. We’d get greased if a train comes in the other way.”
“Then they can chase us.”
“Up into the bamboo? Good luck with that.” There was a large patch just a half block away.

They felt the train slowing at Fern Rock station, and got ready for the jump. Since they couldn't go cross the fence, they ran straight up the tracks. They heard the laughs of the conductors who weren’t giving chase. Neither of the young men even bothered to flip them off. Instead, they slowed and crossed the bridge over Godfrey Avenue, and down the steps to street level.

“I really didn’t want to walk on front of the barber shop.” Colin said. They were barely breathing hard.
“Why not?”
“I just don’t. This doesn’t concern them.”
“Okay then…” Dallas replied turning his head to look at his friend. Then he just shook it slowly.

The Phils were a group of guys that would pass for the Philadelphia version of what a barber shop in the Bronx might look like. There were a few Italians, but they were also Irish, Polish, and who knows what else. But, there wasn't much that went on in the parish that they were not aware of, or even had a hand in. They were really the guys in that area that you “went to see” about things. The two teens waved as they walked past. Colin had no intention of talking to them. The place smelled like someone's old uncle, and it disgusted him to walk into the place.

They got next to the corner and opened the door heavy with layers of paint. The bell tinkled to announce their entry. It was Yale’s place. It smelled of burned metal and light oil. With a bit of sulfur it would have been a gun shop.

“Yale!” They both hollered about the same time.
“Hold the fuck on!” A voiced returned from the back.

Yale what was the nickname. It came from the old joke about a guy getting a job who went to Yale name Yonny Yonson. He wasn't named John, but he had been to jail. For some reason, guys out of jail know a lot about locks, so Colin decided to visit the shop. If anyone has the tool they needed, it would be Yale. After what some might consider a heated discussion, Colin and Yale came to terms. Austin went to the back of the store to grab the bolt cutters with a 4-foot homemade extension. As he hunted for it, there was some commotion up front. When he got to the end of the aisle nearest the front counter, he saw a man with a gun. Yale was holding his hands up, and the man was demanding money. He saw Dallas out of the corner of his eye, and waved a little .32 caliber pistol between the two men.

“Come over!”
“No. You ought to leave.” Dallas said as calmly as he could. “The Parish line is at Godfrey and 10th, and you crossed it.”
“Heard no shit about that. I got told to take this place off.”
“Well,” Dallas said as he moved a bit back to be shielded a tad by smoke alarms. “It’s a bad idea.”
“How’s that?”
“Him.” Colin slid behind the boy, grabbed his collar, and put a blade to the side of his neck. “He’ll kill you.” Dallas continued, “Second, you start a fight with the Phils, they call young guys. They aren’t washed out like you think, so respect the lines.”

The young man set the weapon on the counter. Colin gave him a little room, and the boy headed for the door. They all did that little giggle that happens after an adrenaline filled event. But all of them were unnerved. Most of all Yale.

“Thanks, boys.”
“So old man. Trade the gun for the snips?” Yale nodded. They all figured he might need it.
“And Yale, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this transaction between us.” Colin added.
“You got it. No problem.” Yale said to their backs.
“Let’s head up the east side of the tracks.” Colin said as they stepped out of the shop onto the sidewalk.
“Why? It’s kind of off the line.” Dallas meant they would be in the neighboring parish.
“Just for a half a block, then we’ll get on the tracks.”
“Okay, whatever.”
“I especially don’t want the Phils seeing us walk past with this.” Colin held out the bolt cutters a bit.
“Do I even want to know?”
“Probably not, but you will anyway.” They were headed up a steeply graded street.
“Terrific. Where are we going?”
“My shop. Brutal is going to meet us there.” They we in sight of the empty lot next to the tracks. “See? No one around.”
“I’ll feel better when we're tie walkin’, Col.”
“Yeah, I know.”

They arrived at the door to the shop just as Brutal turned down the alley and headed towards them. Colin unlocked the door, waved at Brutal to follow, and went inside with Dallas. The stove was going, and they both went over to stand near it. Colin grabbed a log from a stack, opened the cast iron door, and tossed it in. A few sparks popped out onto the concrete floor and the smell of smoke filled the air, before he could get it shut.

“Mmm… Eau de Oak.”
“You’re the cold one, Dal. You do know it’s June, right”
“It’s damn chilly out there for the season. Hey, how did Brutal know to show up? We were going to Inky.”
“I called him from Yale’s phone in the back.”
“You had those cutters scoped out.”
“Oh yeah.” Colin replied.

Brutal pushed through the door and close it tight behind him. He was a couple inches taller than the other two, but was thin and lanky. His nickname was simply a take on his Swedish last name, and even though he could be counted on in a fight, it wasn’t his forte. He tossed back the hood on his jacket revealing his very blond stringy hair, that was too long, just like his nose. But when it came to fixing something or even inventing something out of the blue, he was definitely your man.

The three of them all attended a magnet school for academics outside the neighborhood, and Brutal was about the third guy to get picked up. There were five when Colin would join them from his front steps, and Dallas would make nine when they cut through his yard to the tracks. They’d end up with about a dozen when a couple friends from the parish to the south joined them and they reached the subway. If there was going to be trouble, it would be when they exited the subway a couple blocks from the school. Aside from one incident, most were minor skirmishes, and broke up quickly before the police could arrive. Colin had paid the price the one time it had gone bad. A small group from the other direction, mostly coming from the Italian section of the city, had been been set upon by a group almost three times their size. A local youth had pulled out a knife, and was about to use it. Colin had a piece of 2” x 4”, and used it on the aggressor. Unfortunately, there was a bolt in the board that came off a bench, and it cracked the skull. He’d sent everyone who hadn’t already run off to school or anywhere else, and waited for the police. Not a name was mentioned, even though convincing the authorities that he had no idea what students had been there, and couldn’t pick any of the locals out of a line up. Luck was with him in that the local teen hadn’t died, and that he was a minor. Yet, there was a summer when he was noticeably absent, having to spend time at a special camp. It wasn’t something that was discussed. However, not only did it give him standing in his own neighborhood, but the fellow student he saved was the son a very powerful and connected man. That led Colin to believe he could do what he was planning without any permission and not have any trouble. Still, it was wise to be as quiet as possible, and hoped only good friends would be involved.

The three had huddled around the stove for a few minutes, and it didn’t take very long to get warm around the hot metal. Two had grabbed cups and poured coffee from the pot that stayed warm on the side shelf of the stove. The liquid was black as tar and it was so bitter both wished they had refrained. Colin knew he’d brewed it the night before.

“Damn, man.” Brutal scrunched up his face. “No creamer or sugar, at least?”
“Oh, drink it like a man.”
“If I wanted shit coffee, I could stay home and drink the swill my mom makes.”
“What exactly are we doing?” Dallas added.
“Well, if you girls are all warmed up, I can tell you while we walk.”
“More walking?
“Yeah, just a little.” Colin headed for the door, opened it, and all of them stepped into the alley.

“So, do you guys remember Bot?” Colin said as they headed toward the street that led to the railroad property,
“Deke’s little sister? Dallas asked.
“Yeah, well she’s not so little anymore.”
“You didn’t.”
“She came sniffin’ around, Dal.” He shrugged and smiled. “What am I supposed to do? Besides…”
“Besides what?”
“She showed me something pretty cool!”
“Who the hell is Bot?” Brutal butted into the conversation.
“Their family moved before you started coming around.” Colin replied. Brutal was just a freshman.
“So were walking out here because you poked some guy I don’t know’s little sister.”
“Not exactly. We’re out here because she was a little sneak, too.” He stopped walking.

The other two came to a stop as well, and they both stared at their reluctant guide. Dallas licked his finger and held it up testing the breeze. Then he shrugged. Colin asked them both to look around and tell him what they see. Brutal pointed out a rusty coffee can that he said looked like someone with a .22 had used for target practice. Dallas thought holes were too small and it was probably a pellet gun. They were asked to look closer, but after a minute passed, they gave up in a grouchy manner.

“We’re in the damn woods by the track, all I see are trees and bushes and shit.”
“Exactly!”
“Exactly what, man. What the hell are you babbling about?”
“Check this out, guys.” He walked about five feet off the beaten path and reached down for a brown painted handle.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Brutal watched as Colin lifted a trap door.
“C’mon.” He dropped into the square hole and soon a click lit a red bulb.

Dallas and Brutal climbed down into the dim red glow and just took in the room and marveled. Colin explained that the group of young men ahead of them, who had since moved on or out, had dug the big hole, filched lumber and building materials from a new apartment complex going up, and built it. It had a wood floor, four sturdy walls, and an even sturdier ceiling. He said he was told an alumnus from their school had wired into a railroad signal box, and they had 12 volt power. The red light was nearly invisible outside, and once the trap door was shut, Colin turned on a brighter light. He also fired up a Coleman lantern and slid it under a pipe that terminated under the shot up coffee can. There was a car radio on a shelf, and round the room there were a couple cigarette lighter receptacles. Anything you could plug into a car could be used in the subterranean hideout.

“This is pretty cool.” Dallas said looking around.
“Best part is you’d never know it was here.” He pointed to the trap door. “They mixed a quart of paint to match the damn dirt.”
“No way. How would you even know that?”
“Bot.” He replied. “She was a little sneak. Not only did she watch it get built, she’d check it out once they left.”
“Wow, this is so cool.” Brutal had naturally been drawn to the electrical system. “I found a hot pot!”
“Did you plug it in?”
“Yeah… it’s heating up. It works!” He had it set on a table by an outlet.
“I know, genius, you’re about to burn it up.” He pointed at a ring embedded in the floor. “Waters in there.”
“Really?” He walked over and tugged on the ring. The door opened with a little hiss.
“Eight foot room, twelve inch beams, and a foot of dirt make that little box ten feet deep.”
“Which means a constant 50 degrees…” Brutal was awed. “They thought of everything.”
“They built it for comfort in case they had to be down here awhile.” Colin pointed. “See the second door?”
“Yeah.”
“They made that to close behind them so no noise got out.” He pointed up. “Acoustic tile.”
“Why all that trouble?” Dallas had found the coffee. “Here, Brute, we can get the taste of his crap out our mouth.”
“”They probably have powdered creamer and sugar for your pussy coffee, too!” He laughed.
“Good!”
“See? You could stay down here for awhile.”
“You said that already.” Dallas said. “Why would they HAVE to stay down here?”
“In case the train dicks chased them.”
“So what? They chased us when we were little and threw rocks at the trains.” He shrugged. “They never caught us.”
“They didn’t want to catch us. They wanted to scare us.” Colin paused. “Last crew wasn’t chunkin’ rocks.”
“Oh?”
“Nope. They were robbing the trains.” Both his companions just stared at him. The silence was deafening.
“Does JonDee know about this shit?” Dallas finally said.
“Are you crazy?” JonDee was their teacher st the dojo. “He’d kick the shit out of me for thinking of doing this.”

Since they had nothing else to say, he began to explain how they worked. First, the best time was either in the evening or before sunrise. The idea was to have the crew keep their night sight, so they could work, while the men on the train would be in lighted areas and not see well. The tracks followed a long curve as it defined the neighborhood. This quirk allowed a decent length train to have the pass and be out of sight, and if there was a caboose, it wouldn't see them. Add to that the low speed the trains had to observe in residential areas, and it made the scheme work.

For success, they would have to hit the sweet spot, have one man run along with the train and pop off the lock with bolt cutters. This wouldn’t be Brutal, as he had the dexterity of a tortoise. The second man would slip off the lock and open the latch as the first peeled off. The boxcar had to be facing backward, as they often were, because you could dig in and haul a door open against the trains direction. It’s physically impossible to push one open toward the front of a moving train. Since that wouldn’t likely be Brutal either, he would have to hop the open car and offload. Ideally, a fourth person would join aboard the train for heavy objects. Both directions had challenges. Southbound had plenty of bushes that would hide their booty, but had only one good jumping off spot. Miss it and you’re out in the open. Northbound had some tight spots where they blasted rock to build the tracks, and it had few good places to toss the goods. But it had several places to disembark.

It took a few meetings in their new digs, and a couple cases of Yuengling, but they finally decided on a test run. They wouldn’t jump into the railcar even if it was open. Colin would handle the cutters. Both he and Dallas were agile, but playing hockey had given the former outstanding hand eye coordination. Besides, any extra height could help leverage the door open. Brutal was to simply spot the right car and hop the front ladder. If he could do that, he should easily be able to get in an open door.

It didn’t quite go as planned. First, it took Colin too long to pop the lock. In fact, he’d barely gotten it to snap when Brutal made a successful hop onto the ladder. The door would need to be open by then. They figured with some practice, that could be fixed. It was the second step of the plan that was very problematic. Dallas got the latch undone, but try as he might, the door wouldn’t budge, and he couldn’t quite get his feet down to create the pull he needed. They had several more meetings, and Colin practiced getting the cutters on the lock, but it came down to one damn thing.

“So, who’s our fourth?” Dallas asked He breathed in and smelled the wood. The way it was built kept out mold and mildew.
“”Who’s real big that we can trust?” Colin asked the room as well. “Manute Bol is too skinny.”
“Got me, guys, I’m pretty much the new guy.”
“I wonder who the crew before us used?”
“I’m pretty sure I know.” Bot hadn’t known his name, but she had described him. “He’s still around, too.”
“No, you can’t mean Mickey.” Dallas shook his head. “He got whacked in the head with a milk crate!”
“So?”
“It didn’t phase him. He kicked the shit out of the guy who hit him.” He answered. “You sure it’s him?”
“No, but the description fit. How many six foot six guys are around here?”
“Guys.” Brutal spoke up. “Does that mean he knows about this place?”
“I suppose.” Colin replied, “If it’s him. But why would he come here when he has a house?”
“He does?” Dallas asked. “What’s he doing, anyway?”
“Lives in his mom’s old house on Lawnton since she passed. Eating Cheerios and watching cartoons.”
“So he’s out of shape?”
“No, not really. He does piece work for some of the people around.” Colin said. “He stays fit.”
“He’s still crazy.”
“Well, he’s what we got.” They all agreed one of them should see if he was interested.

So two days later, Colin found himself climbing the front steps of a big old house. The street was technically in another parish, but the line was moved by the Catholic church at one point, so it was disputed ground. Particularly by someone who didn’t care about churches, their boundary lines, or who thought they were in charge of what. He owned a house, and he would ally with and work for whomever he pleased. Very few people even pondered giving him grief over it. It was one of the things Colin hoped he could count on as he knocked on the door. That Mickey did what Mickey wanted, he just had to make him want it. The old carved door opened, and a man towered over Colin. He waited.

“Hi Mickey, how you doin’.” He started.
“Who the fuck’re you?”
“I’m Colin… 64th and 8th? Heard you ran with a crew over that way awhile back.”
“Is that right?” He had a hint of an Irish accent even though he was raised in the city. Probably picked up from family.
“”Well, yeah. No one was giving up names, they just said a real big red headed dude.”
“Did they, now.” He said. “What was it they said we were up to?”
“They said you pinched off trains.”
“See there? Now I know you got the wrong fella.” He started to shut the door. “Never did any of that.”
“We found the hideout!” Colin said quickly.
“Is that a fact.” The door swung open. “Perhaps you best come in, then.”

This could end well or very poorly. He hoped for the best and entered Mickey’s home. There was a long discussion about the new crew and how they were wanting to take some swag, but needed a big man. Mickey listened to his visitor without saying much. He did his best to sell him on the idea of piracy, but he wasn’t sure if it was working. When he asked if anyone had talked to the old men at the barber shop, and they had not, Colin figured he’d lost him, and that would be the end of his train robbery caper. His only hope was that being independent, he might need some cash, and it could be lucrative. It all depended what was in the boxcar. Mickey did say he wouldn’t let anyone know they were in the vault, as he called it. It seemed like a good a name as any. As he left, the big ruddy redhead with massive arms said he’d think about the offer, but promised nothing.

It was several day later, and the three high schoolers had about given up on their newest money making idea. The hideout, now being called The Vault, was a prize itself. They knew having a place where they couldn’t be found was a very fine asset. All of them looked up when they heard the entry door given a tug. Then a moment later, there was a quiet knock.

“Well, we can only hope that’s our guy.” Dallas walked over to the ladder and climbed.
“If it isn’t, someone is back in the parish.” Colin responded. “Hope they aren’t pissed we found this place.”
“No shit.” When he unlatched and opened the door, it was Mickey looming over the entry.
“Well, now we know why the trap door is so big.” Dallas said as he watched Mickey descend.
“Funny guy. Who the fuck are ya?”
“Dallas.” He held out his hand and Mickey’s paw dwarfed the teen’s, who was glad he didn’t squeeze.
“That’s Brutal.” Colin pointed. “He’s our jump man. I handle the lock. I guess Dal can jump now, too.”
“I guess that leaves me the door.” He nodded a greeting to Brutal. “It’s what I did before.”
“Unlike the yard, the tracks are on an elevated rock bed. Dal tried, but he wasn’t quite tall enough.”
“I can reach it, no problem.” Mickey said. “How do you pick your box?”
“Random, I guess.” Colin answered, “We have a scanner, so we hear them coming. If the time is right, we’d go.”
“Not that we ever got one open.” Dallas said, chagrined.
“What time is right?”
“We go either at dusk or dawn. They’re night blind from the lit cabin, we can still see to work.”
“Interesting.” The big man nodded. “We just took our chances in the day.”
“Get chased much?” Brutal asked.
“Oh yeah. But they never could find this place. We heard them tromp right over the ceiling a couple times.”
“I prefer to avoid that, thanks.”
“Your plan sounds good. They can’t report what they can’t see.”

Their first try as a four man team was both uneventful and unspectacular. The lock was cut a bit late, and even running a bit farther than expected, Mickey easily unlatched and opened the door. It left only enough time to toss four boxes before the two jumpers had to bail. They turned out to be low end department store clothes, and they ended up in a church drop box. A few evenings later, things went much smoother. The big red head was loud, but when he saw the refrigerated car, he couldn’t get Colin’s attention. He left his spot and ran toward him yelling and pointing. Finally he saw what the door man was yelling about and gave him a thumbs up. While that type of railcar would be boom or bust, once the door was open and two were aboard, they saw it was the former. Meat. There was lots of boxes of frozen meat. In all, they threw nineteen boxes. They worked quickly through a guy in the parish to the south who got forty cents on the dollar, and after the nickel commission, left them thirty-five. The heavy ice cold boxes were cussed when they ferried them over to the shop, but suddenly that weight put a lot of folding money in their pockets. That was just from the half they sold. That night they wrapped and boxed up various types and cuts of meat, and before the sun came up, they had left it at the doors of local people in need. Out of work, or maybe retired, a large family on a limited budget even made the list. They would be much too proud to take such a gift in person, none of them would let the thawing meat left for them go to waste.

That’s how it went for a while, never knowing if it would be electronics or sneakers that would make some cash, or patio furniture, which really didn’t. But no matter what they pinched, they always gave back to people in the neighborhood. Once the two boys opened a car with appliances. Knowing an older widow had hers just quit, they managed to show a washing machine out the door before they had to hop. They also left plenty of time between jobs, and never followed a pattern. It was late May, and the four were sitting in The Vault listening to the scanner, but not much was happening.

“Looks like we’re off tonight…”
“Sounds like it, Dal.” Brutal replied.
“I have a boxcar number.” Mickey said quietly.
“What do you mean?” Colin looked over.
“A particular car we should snatch.”
“How would you know that?”
“A friend of a friend gave it to me.”
“Man, I do NOT know how comfortable I am with this.” Colin paced. “It was just us four. No one else, Mick.”
“Everyone knows someone is boosting off trains.” He answered back. “They THINK they know who, too.”
“Well, that’s just fuckin’ dandy, isn’t it?” He was clearly unhappy.
“Some guys know I was involved before, thought maybe I knew who it was now. So they tipped me off.”
“No one knows it’s us, Mick?” Dallas asked.
“I don’t think so, not certain, though.”

There was a quiet in the hideaway. It was a tense few minutes while everyone digested the news of the new development. Colin figured that this job, if they all decided to do it, might be their last for awhile. None of them needed the heat, but by the time they could safely snatch goods again, he’d be nearing eighteen and adulthood. No move juvie offenses, it would be for real. So, he mulled it over in his head. If this would be the last for awhile, maybe the anonymous tip was worth it.

“So, anyone got a plan for thi…” Colin started, but there was a tapping on the door.
“Mickey! What the hell did you do?” They all listened.
“Not a damn thing! SWEAR, I did not tell a soul.” They heard the door tugged, then another knock.
“Might as well see who it is. If it’s the man, we’re caught anyway.”
“I’ll do the honors, guys.” Mickey headed up the ladder, slid back the bolt, and popped the door.
“Hey there, Mick the mick…”
“Oh, no way!” He laughed. “Get down here, kid!”
“Bot?” Dallas said with some shock. “What are you doin’ here?”
“Oh, I just dropped by to see what was up, you know?” She smiled. “Hi Colin.”
“Hey.”
“So what are youse doing? Planning another heist?”
“Heist?” Brute questioned.
“Yeah. You know, stealin’.” She winked at Brutal. “Everyone knows, but no one here talks.”
“I was just told no one knows it’s us.” Dallas cut in.
“Well, your names have been kicked around at the sewing circle. My grandma still lives here.”
“Might as well know.” Mickey said. “We were thinking about one last job. Then we retire for awhile.”
“I’m in.” She said.
“Whoa! No no no… Not a chance!” All three teens were chiming in at once.
“Calm down now.” Mickey said quietly, for him anyway. “We need another jumper.”
“Why would we need three?”
“You don’t have three.” He walked over to a cupboard and pulled out walkie talkies. “You need a spotter.”
“Why is that?”
“Go down to your spot, wait for a train, try and read the box number… then catch it to pop the lock.”
“Hmmm. I could see how that would be a challenge.” Colin admitted while his friends snickered.
“The spotter, I suggest Brutal, gives you the color of the car and what’s in front of it.” He held up a radio.
“Wait, why not have her spot?” Brutal replied and Colin agreed.
“Because you have the speed and agility of a spastic on ‘ludes, and I run track for ‘Nova.”
“So you’re fast, so what?”
“I compete in the heptathlon, so I’m fast, with endurance, and strong as fuck. Arm wrestle for it?”
“This is bullshit.” He scrunched up his face in anger.
“

It turned out there was a way to open the door of a forward facing car. While physics precluded someone from pushing the door open, there had been a scheme devised to pull it open. It consisted of clothesline and a railroad spike, easily obtained from backyards and the side of the tracks respectively. The length had to be fairly long, so usually several lengths were joined with one bend knot or another. Brutal knew about a dozen or so and tested some of them on one long line to see what held the best. The concept was fairly simple, but included an element of danger. Tie a couple hundred feet of line to a nice sturdy tree next to the railroad track, then tie a railroad spike to the other end. Take the end of the rope and walk as far towards the oncoming freight. Two people run alongside the select car, one slips the spike through the forward ladder while the other unlatches the door. Dropping back, the rope is then wrapped around the handle by the lead runner and wedges the spike as best they can. Then it is duck and cover. The trick works because the forward motion of the train takes the slack out of the rope, and since it’s wrapped around a forward pivot point, it slides the door open. The problem arises shortly thereafter, when the rope reaches maximum tensile strength and snaps. Usually it breaks at the metal ladder or the tree, both which have their own backlash, but it can pop anywhere.

“Deke was the first and only victim.” Mickey said. “Before we knew to get down.”
“What happened?”
“Were you around when we called him ‘clothesline’?” He asked. “Everyone thought it was football.”
“I was kind of on the periphery.” Colin said. “But I remember.”
“I had to sew him up.” He continued. “He was the first man and was headed back up the trail.”
“It snapped at the ladder?”
“Yep. Wrapped halfway around his arm and bled like hell. After that we got down until we heard the twang.”
“So keep down until the twang.” Brutal monotoned.
“Unless you’re into a good whipping, yeah.”

They had three days to prepare, but much to the chagrin of the teens, the train would be coming through in broad daylight. Dallas and Bot purloined lengths of rope from backyards where residents hung laundry with little problems. They had crossed the tracks, so they were raiding, but not many people cared about rope. Colin decided to filch a tow hook from the local auto parts store in Olney. It was bad form, and if caught there would be hell to pay. But he wanted something better than a spike to secure the rope to the door. They replaced the batteries and tested the radios for distance and clarity. Brutal knotted the ropes to one another, attached the tow hook, and tied the finished product to the selected tree. They figured they would have just under a minute instead of the usual 90 seconds, because the speed limit went up in daylight. Instead of a watch, they had a red, then green, flags in the trees. One to warn, one to jump. They were ready.

They couldn’t see the engine yet, as it hadn’t come around the curve far enough, but they could hear it coming. The radio crackled to life on Colin’s belt. Brutal reported that the car number was bright yellow with pink and black graffiti near the front, and it faced front. It had two black petroleum cars in front of it. After repeating the information, Colin radioed back that he copied, then shut off the walkie and stashed it under some brush. He got down to be invisible to the passing engine. Once it was clear, he stood to watch for the yellow car. The tankers came into view, and Colin judge that the engine would be just clear, and couldn’t see the target. He yelled to Mickey to grab the rope, because it wouldn’t come easy. The two started running with the oil cars, and Colin managed to pop the lock in good time, and the rope had been threaded through the ladder and it was being wrapped and secured with the hook. Colin yelled to get down and dove flat, but Mickey keep speed with the train and the rigged door. When it started to open, he got a hand in and pulled himself up and in, crawling as deep into the car as possible. Seconds later the rope snapped at the ladder and whizzed over Colin's head. Then he was up and running down a trail to try and hide the most obvious boxes tossed out. Later, Bot and Dallas would say Mickey was a man possessed, and cleared half the car in 45 seconds. They had nearly cleared the other half when the red flag went by, and the big man grabbed the last box and jumped with the other at the green flag. He rolled, got up, grabbed the box and headed up on of the three trails.

“C’mon!” He called back to them.
“We’re coming!” Dallas yelled. They both got up to follow him on the low path behind the brush row.
“Stash the boxes like we talked about.” He said loudly as he put the box he carried down behind a bush.
“Okay!” They all got to it, but when they saw the end of the train had no caboose, they quit.
“Let’s go meet Colin and Brute.” He grabbed a box. “You know these won’t fit down The Vault door.”
“Yeah, not most of them anyway.”
“So what do we do with them?” Bot asked. “It’s afternoon and won’t be dark for six hours.”
“No idea.” Mickey answered. “I’m a little curious what the smart kids will come up with.”

They all met near The Vault. Brutal was the last to arrive and he carried a box like the other four. They finally had a chance to see what all the fuss was about, and when he opened his package, he understood. It was fireworks. Not the little spinners you could buy up north, no, these were the big boys. This was a jackpot.

“So, smart guys, what do we do until dark? And then where?”
“Okay.” Colin started. “Any of the smaller boxes bring right here. We can take a chance and take them down.”
“What about the big ones?” Brutal asked.
“Well…” He thought a few moments. “It’s out of the way, but ol’ man O’Connor puts all his leaves behind his hedge.”
“Isn’t out of the way good?” Dallas made more a statement than a question.
“Until we pack it out tonight.” Colin said. “I wish we had a dark tarp.”
“Will a camo net work?” Mickey asked. Colin nodded. “There’s one in The Vault.”
“No there isn’t”
“There’s a closet in the west wall. You have to know how to open it.”
“Okay then, let’s get packin’” Dallas said and headed down the trail.

The boxes were stowed in the hideout or were covered with leaves. All they could do is wait for nightfall and hope. Colin spoke when they were all settled in with a cold beer and a shot. He told them that he wanted their man from Olney to sell the fireworks only in their parish, and only to people who could afford it. If there was any left, he could unload it wherever he wanted. For his trouble, he would keep a dime instead of a nickel, and Colin figured they could get 50 cents on the dollar. Also, he’d want part of the take to be brought to The Vault. He said they needed to make packages for people with limited funds, especially if the had kids. No one objected, and their fence was happy to make double his fee, and he said it was almost like the neighborhood was expecting him. They assumed good news just traveled fast.

Their Olney guy made his last visit to the shop the morning of July 4th, which happened to be on a Saturday. They split up the rest of the cash and added it to their rolls, except for Brutal, who may have buried his other proceeds in a coffee can somewhere. They had surreptitiously delivered packages all over the place over the last couple days. They felt good about giving to folks in need, having a good bit of money, and knowing it was going to be a hell of a night,

“So where are you guys going tonight?” Bot asked. “I have to jet soon, friends to meet.”
“I have no idea.” Dallas said. “You want a ride? That’s a lot of scratch to carry around.”
“Nah, I’ll grab the bus up the block. No one else knows what I have in my pockets.” She got up.
“See you soon, eh?” They all said their goodbyes as she left the shop.
“So, we going to climb up the old water tower platform this year?” Dallas asked.
“Nah, it’ll be boring if it’s just us.” Colin answered. “Besides, all the fireworks are up here, not Olney.”
“Then where?”
“You guys ever been up on the patio rooftop at Tommy’s?” Mickey asked. “You can see the whole parish.”
“I can’t go in a bar.” Brute looked at Mickey. “I’m fifteen!”
“”I started shuckin’ oysters there when I was fifteen, and we cashed our check at the bar and drank.”
“Yeah, I did the same when I turned fifteen the next year.” Dallas said. “They always serve me.”
“Of course, getting served in the bar and being invited up to the patio aren’t the same.”
“I’ve done some different kind of work for him.” Mickey looked away, then back. “I can get us up.”

So around 9:00 o’clock that night, after cleaning up and changing into nice clothes, they met on the apartment steps across from Murry’s Pizza. It was one of those spots where everyone of their age group would meet. Once they all arrived, they crossed the street and walked the half block to the bar. They saw the restaurant was packed as they passed, and when they opened the door, they found the bar was as well. Eventually, Tommy, owner of Tomasso’s Italian Ristorante, passed through the room. Mickey caught his attention, and Tommy smiled and waved him over. We followed at a discreet distance, and when the two men met they hugged. The had a short conversation, and Tommy nodded. We followed a way from our host, and went up a short flight of steps, down a hallway off a banquet room that was also full. When the kitchen doors would open, the smell of tomato based sauces mixed with seafood odors and would certainly make mouths water. At the end of the hall was a spiral staircase that lead to a small room with a door and safety glass windows. Outside had been decorated beautifully. It had covered wooden decks, open areas, all lit just right to be able to see and relax. The final touch was the planters of herbs Tommy used in his kitchen that smelled wonderful. We were told as friends of Mickey, our money was no good, and to enjoy ourselves. He turned and left and the hostess led us to a private alcove. They could see over the parapet down to the tracks that ran within a few feet on the side of the building. There had been tales of people going off the roof, falling the two stories and the twenty foot cliff to the tracks, just before a train happens along. Colin shivered, and it wasn’t from the chill in the air.

“Can I get you something to drink?” She asked.
“A fifth of you best Irish whiskey and four shot glasses!” Mickey said with vigor.
“And a lager on tap.”
“Make it two.”
“Three.”
“Hell, lagers all around, too!”

They ordered mussels in red sauce that tasted vaguely like the Atlantic Ocean and tangy red sauce, shrimp drenched in butter that had a perfect crunch, and ravioli that melted in your mouth as a cheesy meat delight. But mostly, they drank. They were well into the second bottle when it started in earnest. There had been some tests shots, but everyone was waiting for pitch black. It was amazing what the sky could look like if everyone had a fright load of sky rockets. Listening to the reactions of the others on the roof was almost worth the trouble by itself, but the money was nice as well. It lasted somewhere between forty-five minutes and an hour, then it slowly tapered off. The quartet kept drinking, and were pouring from bottle number three, and since the attentive waitress kept the table clear, they had no idea how many rounds of beer. They talked in hushed tones into the night, and when bottle number three, Colin looked around for their waitress.

“Uh, Dal?” He looked over. “Where is everyone?”
“Wellll…” He craned his neck to check out the whole rooftop. “Looks like they all went home!”
“More for us!” Brutal became garrulous and loud when he drank. But they all heard the door open.
“It’s Tommy.” Dallas had a slight slur. “Hope he doesn’t have a bill!”
“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Mickey said, and Colin didn’t like how he said it, but he had no chance to say anything.

Tommy had arrived at their table, and he wasn’t smiling even a little. He dismissed Mickey by telling him to go to the bar and have a couple beers. Colin thought to himself that it could be a good thing. If anyone was going to toss them off the roof, it would be the giant red headed Irishman. Of course, he could come back, but why worry about it now. Tommy grabbed a chair spun it 180 degrees and sat.

“You have my money?”
“What money?” Dallas replied. “You mean for the drinks?”
“C’mon now. I told you that was on the house.” Tommy put on an odd smile. “My fireworks money.”
“Oh.” Colin said quietly. “You obviously know where we got them, but how are they yours?”
“Generally, just because I say so.” He set a .45 on the table. “But I actually had those loaded in NYC.”
“But why?”
“You want explanations, I want my money.” He said sternly. Dallas set his roll in front of him. Colin flipped his on the table.
“Mine is at my house!” Brutal blurted.
“I suggest you get it.” Tommy said. The youngest of all of them hopped up and hustled to the door.
“Will he be okay?”
“They’ll take his money and scare the shit out of him.” Tommy assured him. “You should be dead, though.”
“Me? I didn’t know it was your stuff!”
“Did you ask? Did you check with the Phils, or me, or even tell JonDee?”
“I… did not.”
“It isn’t because of the friends you have at the south end of the Broad Street line, either.”
“No?”
“No.”

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and smoked his menthol. He didn’t look very angry, and both had worked in his kitchen, where he was often angry. He insulted them by calling us the dumbest smart kids he’d ever met He had planned to have the train pull onto a spur and offload the load a few miles away. He was pissed he didn’t sell them for three times as much as the price in South Carolina.

“But you know why you’re alive? Because you made sure people who couldn’t pay got some, too. You also took of a reefer unit then broke up the boxes of meat for some people who needed it. What, you Robin Hood?” He paused. “But who can be mad at that. I even heard you gave an old lady a washer. You guys are regular philanthropists! That's why your alive. This neighborhood hasn't seen that kind of celebration in decades. Now, here’s what you’re going to do with it, my gift to you. You’ll graduate with good grades and leave the city. I don’t care if you have a scholarship to Penn, you leave. Penn State might be too close. You have the summer to decide. Same goes for you, Dallas. You just have one more year. I trust you’ll pass this along to your young friend, and while you are allowed to be here, stay out of my shit. Capisci?”

“Capisco.” Colin replied.
“Good. Stay, enjoy another drink or two, just don’t drive.”
“Thanks…”

He got up to leave and told us the bill was payment for offloading his freight. There wasn’t much more to say, so the pair poured a couple more shots and drank in silence for a bit. Dallas looked at Colin as he poured them one more round, and asked him what he was going to do with his last summer in the city.

“Study for the SAT, man. Study for the damn SAT…”

(WC - 899 Written prior to Nov.1, 2018)