We Ain't Stealin' We're Just Takin' Back

(Second Edit)

They stood with their backs to the wall of the old stone and timber station. In the late 1970’s, funding cuts had closed the doors, so no staff was there. That meant they could stand undisturbed in the portico. They waited, one patient, and the other not so much. One grumbled about the cold, and the other chided him for not wearing a heavier jacket. It was unseasonably cool for June. Both stood about average height, with Dallas, the younger man with darker hair and complexion. His partner had a lighter complexion and sandy blond hair and a mustache. They were physically fit, as their tough neighborhood demanded it of them.

“Where are we going anyway?” Dallas asked as the train pulled in, blowing bits of debris around.
“To get a tool.”
“And what is this tool for?”
“You'll see.” Colin said offhandedly while watching the commuter train roll to a stop.
“Where are we getting this tool?”
“Down in Incarnation Parish.”
“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?”

The 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 many times before, they took off toward the back of the train as it pulled away and hopped aboard. Next, was precisely what they did not want. The northbound train had 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 immediately saw a conductor 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?”
Colin thought a beat.“We jump as soon as the train slows down at Fernrock.”
“Think they’ll be waiting for us?”
“Yeah, but they have a whole car length to cover, we’ll be long gone.”
“Jump the fence?” Dallas asked.
“No, man. We’d get greased if a train comes in the other way.”
“Then they can chase us.”

They felt the train slowing at Fern Rock station, and got ready to jump and run 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 by The Phils.” Colin said. They were barely breathing hard.
“Why not?”
“I just don’t. This doesn’t concern them.”
“Okay then…” Dallas turned to look at his friend. Then he just shook his head.

The Phils were a group that would pass for the Philadelphia version of a barber shop in the Bronx. There were Italians, but they were also Irish, Polish, and who knows what else. They loved the Phillies. They knew what went on in the parish, and they were who you “went to see” about things. The two teens waved as they walked past. Colin had no intention of talking to them. The shop smelled like someone's old uncle, and it disgusted him to walk into the place.

They got to the corner and opened a 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 could have been a gun shop.

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

Yale was the nickname. It came from the old joke about a guy named Yonny Yonson who went to Yale, who was applying for a job. He wasn't named John, but he had been to jail. It also fit because he owned the lock shop they entered. After some discussion, Colin and Yale came to terms. Colin headed to the back to grab the bolt cutters with a four-foot homemade extension. As he hunted for it, there was some commotion up front. When he quietly got to the end of the aisle near the front counter, he saw a man with a gun. Yale was holding his hands up, and the man was demanding money. Dallas had cover behind shelving, and the boy waved a little .32 caliber pistol between the two men.

“Come over!” He demanded of Dallas.
“No... You should leave.” Dallas said calmly. “The parish line is at Godfrey and 10th, you’re across 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 better shielded. “It’s a bad idea.”
“How’s that?”
“Him.” Colin slipped 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. And tell your pals.”

The young man set the weapon on the counter. Colin gave him a little room, and the boy ran for the door. They all did that little nervous chuckle that happens after an adrenaline filled event, and 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 as they left.

“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 the hilly street.
“Terrific. Where are we going?”
“My shop. Brutal is going to meet us there.” They were in sight of 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 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. 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, too?”
“Oh yeah.” Colin replied.

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

The three of them 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 few from the parish to the south joined them at the subway. If there was going to be trouble, it would be when they exited 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 local youth had pulled out a knife, and was about to use it. Colin had a piece of 2” x 4”, and crack his skull first. Luck was with him. The local teen hadn’t died, and Colin was still a minor. Yet, there was a summer when he was noticeably absent, having to spend time at a special camp. It wasn’t 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. So Colin figured he could do what he was planning without permission from the Phils. Still, why not be as quiet as possible?

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 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 cream or sugar at least?”
“Oh, drink it like a man.” Dallas said. “So... what’s up, Col?”
“Well, once 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 know Bot?” Colin said to Dallas as they headed towards 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 entered the conversation.
“Their family moved before you came around.” Colin replied. Brutal was 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 others stopped as well, and they both stared at their guide. They were on a path by the railroad. Dallas licked his finger and held it up testing the breeze. Then he shrugged. Colin asked them to look around and tell him what they saw. Brutal pointed out a rusty coffee can that had .22 slugs pass through it. Dallas thought holes were too small, and said it was probably a pellet gun. They were asked to look closer, but after a minute passed, they gave up with grouchy looks.

“We’re in the damn woods. All I see are trees and bushes and shit...”
“Exactly!” Colin exclaimed.
“Exactly what, man. What are you babbling about?”
“Check this out.” He walked about twenty 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 red bulb created a faint glow.

Dallas and Brutal climbed down into the dimness, took in the room, and just marveled. Colin explained that the neighborhood guys ahead of them, who had since moved on, had dug the big hole, filched lumber and materials from an apartment complex going up neaby, and had built it. It had a wood floor, four sturdy walls, and a sturdier ceiling. He said apparently, 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, but 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 around the room there were a couple cigarette lighter receptacles. Anything you could plug into a car could be used in the subterranean hideout.

Dallas looked around.“This is pretty cool.”
“Best part is you’d never know it was here.” He pointed to the trap door. “They even mixed a quart of paint to match the damn dirt.”
“No way. How would you even know that?”
“Bot.” He replied. “She watched them build it.”
“Wow, this is awesome!” Brutal had naturally been drawn to the electrical system. “I even found a hot pot!”
“Did you plug it in?”
“Yeah… it’s heating up. It works!” He had it set on a table.
“I know, genius, you’re about to burn it up.” He pointed at a ring embedded in the floor. “Water’s in there.”
“Really?” He walked over, tugged on the ring, and it 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. Sometimes they had to be down awhile.” Colin pointed. “See the double trap 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. “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 robbin’ trains.” Both his companions just stared at him.
“Does JonDee know about this shit?” Dallas finally said.
“Are you crazy?” JonDee was their dojo instructor. “He’d kick the shit out of me for thinking of doing this.”

Since they had nothing else to say, he began to explain the heist. 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 as well. The tracks followed a long curve as it divided the neighborhoods. This quirk allowed a long train's engine to pass and be out of sight, and for awhile, no caboose could see them, either. The low speed the trains had to observe in residential areas made the whole scheme work. But they had to hit that sweet spot.

One man would run along with the train and cut the lock. 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 face backward, as about half were, because you could dig in and haul a door open against the direction of a moving train, but it was physically impossible to push one open. Since opening the door wouldn’t 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 track directions had challenges. Southbound had plenty of underbrush 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, so fewer places to toss the goods, but several more places to disembark.

It took meetings in their new digs with cases of Yuengling, but they finally decided on a test run, but wouldn’t steal off the rail car even if they opened it. Colin would handle the cutters. Dallas would be the door man. Brutal was to run alongside, and hop in the open door.

It didn’t go as planned. First, it took Colin too long to pop the lock. In fact, he’d barely gotten it to snap when Brutal would have needed to jump. The door would need to be open by then, but 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 the door wouldn’t budge, because he couldn’t quite get his feet down to create the pull needed. They had more discussions, Colin practiced getting the cutters on the lock, but it came down to one damn thing.

Dallas asked, “So, who’s our fourth?”
”Who’s real big that we can trust?” Colin asked the room.
“Who the crew before us use?”
Colin said, “I know. He’s still around, too.”
“No, you can’t mean Mickey.” Dallas shook his head. “He got whacked in the head with a metal milk crate!”
“So?”
“It didn’t phase him. He kicked the shit out of the guy who hit him.” He answered. “You sure we want him?”
“Need. How many six-foot-six guys are available?”
“Guys.” Brutal spoke up. “Does that mean he knows about this place?”
“Yeah.”
"That's disconcerting." Brutal mumbled.

So later, Colin found himself climbing the steps of a big old house. Mickey did what Mickey wanted, so he just had to make him want it. The old carved door opened, and a man towered over Colin.

“Hi Mickey, how you doin’.” He started.
“Who the hell’re you?”
“I’m Colin… 64th and 8th? Heard you ran with a crew there awhile back.”
“Is that right?” He had a hint of an Irish accent.
“”Well, yeah. No one was givin’ names, they just said a real big red headed dude.”
“Did they, now.” He said. “And what was it they said?”
“They said you pinched 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.
“Oh?” The door swung open again. “Then perhaps you best come in.”

This could end well or poorly. He hoped for the best and entered Mickey’s home. There was a 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 Mickey asked who had cleared the job, Colin figured he’d lost him, and that would be the end of it. His only hope was that being independent, he might need some cash, and it could be lucrative. It all depended what the boxcars held. Mickey did say he keep the meeting private, and the big ruddy redhead with massive arms said he’d think about the offer, but promised nothing.

It was days later, and the three teens had about given up on their newest money making idea. The hideout, now being called ‘The Vault’, was still 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. 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 for Mickey’s paw that dwarfed his own, and 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 to Brutal. “It’s what I did before.”
“The tracks are on an elevated rock bed. Dal tried, but he wasn’t 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 back when.”
“Get chased much?” Brutal asked.
“Oh yeah. But they never could find this place. We'd hear them tromp right over us.”

Their first try as a four man team was both uneventful and unspectacular. The lock was cut a bit late, but even running a bit farther than expected, Mickey easily unlatched and opened the door. It left only enough time to toss four boxes, then the 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 saw the refrigerated car, and went for Colin’s attention. He yelled and pointed. Finally, he saw what the Mickey was yelling about and gave him a thumbs up. That type of car would be boom or bust, and once the two were aboard, they saw it was the former. Meat. It was boxes of frozen meat. In all, they threw nineteen. They worked quickly through a guy in the parish to get forty cents on the dollar. The cussed the heavy frozen boxes as they ferried them over to the shop, but it put folding money in their pockets. That was just from the half they sold. That night they wrapped 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, even a couple large families on a limited budget made the list. They would be too proud to take such a gift in person, but none of them would let the thawing meat 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 if possible, they always gave back to the people. Once the two boys opened a car with appliances. Knowing an older widow had hers just quit, they managed to shove a washer out the door before they had to jump. They left plenty of time between jobs, and never followed a pattern. It had really warmed up, and the four were staying cool in The Vault listening to the scanner, but nothing was happening.

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

It was quiet in the hideaway. It was a tense few minutes while everyone digested the new development. Colin figured that this job, if they decided to do it, might be their last. None of them needed the heat, and he mulled it over in his head. If this would be it for awhile, maybe the anonymous tip was worth it. It would be his job to get the right car.

There was a way to open a forward facing car, according to Mickey. While physics precluded someone from pushing the door open, they had devised a way to pull it open. It consisted of clothesline and a railroad spike, easily obtained from backyards and the tracks. The length had to be fairly long, so usually several lengths were joined with knots. Brutal knew about a dozen, and figured out which held the best. The concept was fairly simple, but included an element of danger. Tie a couple hundred feet of line to a sturdy tree near the track, then tie a spike to the other end. Take the end of the rope and wait for 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 first man wraps the spike around the handle and wedges it in. Then it is duck and cover. It 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. And it can break anywhere!

“Deke was the first and only victim.” Mickey said. “Before we knew to get down.”
“What happened?” Dallas asked.
“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. “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...”
“Unless you’re into a good whipping, yeah.”

They prepared, but the train would be coming through in broad daylight. Dallas purloined lengths of rope from backyards without incident. Colin got a tow hook in Olney, because it was better than a spike to secure the door. Brutal knotted the ropes to one another, attached the tow hook, and tied the finished product to the tree. They figured they would have just under a minute instead of the usual 90 seconds, because the speed limit went up in daylight. They had red, then green, flags in the trees. One to warn, one to jump. They felt ready.

They couldn’t see the engine, as it hadn’t come around the curve far enough, but they could hear it coming. They got down, but passing engine wasn’t likely to see them. Colin stood back to watch for the numbered car. He saw it, and yelled to Mickey to grab the rope, because it it faced forward. The two started running with the boxcar, and Colin managed to pop the lock in good time, and the rope had been threaded through the ladder by Dallas. Mickey wrapped and secured it. Colin yelled to get down and dove flat, but Mickey kept speed with the train. 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 and whizzed over Colin’s head. Then he was up and running down a trail to hide the most obvious purloined boxes. They cleared the whole car, and when the red flag went by the big man was last to jump. He rolled, got up, grabbed a box and headed up a trail.

“C’mon!” He called back to them.
“We’re coming!” Dallas yelled. They both got up and followed.
“Stash the boxes!” Mickey said loudly putting the box he carried down behind a bush.
“Okay!” But the train had no caboose.
“Cool!” Let’s go meet Colin and Brute.” He grabbed a box. “These won’t fit down the hole.”
“Yeah, not most of them anyway.”
“So what do we do with them? It’s afternoon and won’t be dark for six hours.”
“No idea.” Mickey answered. “I’m a little curious what you smart guys come up with...”

They all met by The Vault. Brutal arrived last, and carried a box, too. They would finally have a chance to see what all the fuss was about, and opening the package, they understood. Fireworks. Not the little spinners you could buy anywhere, no, these were the big boys. This was a jackpot.

“Okay, what do we do until dark?”
“Well,” Colin started. “Any of the smaller boxes bring right here. We can take them down The Vault.”
“What about the big ones?” Brutal asked.
“Well…” He thought a moment. “It’s out of the way, but ol’ man O’Connor puts his leaves behind his hedge, stack and cover them until we pack it out tonight.”
“Wish we had a dark tarp.” Dallas said.
“Will a camo net work?” Mickey asked. “There’s one down below.”
“No there isn’t.” Brutal said.
“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 off.

The boxes were hidden, and all they could do is wait for nightfall and hope. Colin spoke when they were all settled. He told them that he wanted their Olney man to sell the fireworks in their parish, and only to people who could afford it. They’d take care of the rest. He said they needed to make packages for people with limited funds, especially if they had kids. No one objected. They would surreptitiously deliver packages over the next 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 hanging for the Fourth?”
“We going to climb the old water tower again?” Dallas asked.
“Nah, it’ll be boring with just us.” Colin answered.
“Then where?”
“You guys ever been 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 when I was fourteen, and we cashed our check at the bar and drank.”
“Yeah, I did the same thing.” Dallas said. “They always serve me.”
“Of course, getting served and being invited up to the patio aren’t the same.” Colin said.
“I’ve done some work for him.” Mickey looked away, then back. “I can get us up.”

The restaurant was packed, and they found the bar was no better. Eventually, Tommy, owner of Tomasso’s Italian Ristorante, entered the room. Mickey caught his attention, and Tommy smiled and waved him over. The crew followed at a discreet distance. Mickey had a short conversation, and Tommy nodded. They followed the host up a short flight of steps, then down a hallway off a banquet room. When the kitchen doors would open, the smell of tomato based sauces mixed with seafood odors made mouths water. At the end of the hall, a spiral staircase led to the roof. The outside had been decorated beautifully. It had covered wooden decks, lit perfectly to be able to see and relax. The final touch was the fragrant planters of herbs Tommy used in his kitchen. Tommy told them their money was no good there, and to enjoy. He turned and left, and the hostess led them to a private alcove. Next to the parapet, they could look down to the tracks that ran beside the building. There were tales of people going off the roof and hitting the tracks just before a train happened along. Colin shivered, and it wasn’t from a 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 drawn 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 were test shots, but everyone was waiting for full darkness. It was amazing… sky rockets in flight. It lasted somewhere between forty-five minutes and an hour, then it slowly tapered off. The quartet drank, and were pouring from bottle number three. Colin looked for their waitress who had disappeared.

“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 when drinking, but they all heard the door open.
“It’s Tommy.” Dallas had a slight slur. “Hope he doesn’t have a bill!”

Tommy stopped, not smiling even a little, and sent Mickey off. Colin thought to himself that could be a good thing. If anyone was going to toss them off the roof, it would be the giant Irishman. Tommy grabbed a chair spun it 180 degrees and sat.

“Youse have my money?”
“What money?” Dallas replied. “You mean the tab?”
“C’mon, I said that was on the house.” Tommy gave an odd smile. “My fireworks money.”
“Erm.” 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, sending him hustling for 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… no... So why aren’t we?”
“Well, it ain’t your connection in South Philly.”

He didn’t look angry, and both had worked in his kitchen, where he was often angry. He had planned to have the train pull onto a spur and offload the fireworks a few miles away. He was pissed he didn’t sell them for ten times as much as the price down south.

“Why aren’t you dead? Because you made sure people who couldn’t pay got some, too. You also took off a reefer unit then gave boxes of meat to 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. Now, here’s what you’re going to do with it. 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 is too close. You have the summer to decide. Same goes for you, Dallas. You just have an extra 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. Capisce?”

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

He got up to leave and told them 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 and asked him what he was going to do with his last summer in the city.

“Study for the SAT, man. Study to retake the SAT…”

WC: 5991