Emily’s Story. Adult. She has a violent mixed up childhood. (standard:adventure, 5581 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jul 06 2020	Views/Reads: 1391/975	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Coming from an abusive family where her mother kills her father, Emily is mixed up about life and love. Why, she ponders, is everything that feels good illegal? She becomes involved with murder and drugs.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

That night, Samuel again stopped at the bar for a few drinks before
going home. While drinking, he imagined every whispered conversation or 
turning of a head when he looked their way was in regard to his 
cheating wife. 

Arriving home, he hung up his coat before stumbling through the house,
searching for Shirley. Finding her sweeping the living room, he 
ordered, "Bring me Love of the Lord." Drunker than usual, a result of 
hearing imagined chuckles at the bar and at work, Samuel could barely 
stand, having to lean against a wall as he fumed. 

"What did I do? I did nothing," she objected. The truth was that he was
correct, and she knew it. It was not a sexual matter, as Samuel 
thought, but of Jasper offering to help her out from under her 
husband's thumb and whip. 

He'd been working on her for months, slowly building up a resolve to
leave Samuel. Her and Emily would move in temporarily with Jasper and 
his family. Deep in her own mind, she knew she deserved punishment. 
"Please. Tell me why you're beating me?" For the first time in her 
life, Shirley had the audacity to stand up to her man's wishes. 

"The Love of the Lord, woman," he repeated in a roaring voice. 

An unexpected anger filled Shirley's breast. She brought the whip down,
turning to see her husband glaring at her while holding onto a doorway 
to support himself. 

Emily, eyes filled with terror at the prospect of her father wielding
that heavy whip -- which she had felt once, herself -- crouched in a 
corner, fearing she would also feel his wrath.  That particular whip 
was very rarely used. 

Turning back, Shirley saw rage on her husband's face. She paused,
feeling an unaccustomed stirring in her own mind. He was reaching out 
for the heavy weapon. A strange feeling came over Shirley. Normal 
nervous shuddering terror seemed to evaporate into the ether, to be 
replaced by a need for vengeance and, yes ... her own anger. 

Feeling an independence, no doubt brought on by Jasper's arguments that
afternoon, a strange rage came to the fore. 

Instead of falling to her knees and offering Samuel the Love of the
Lord, she drew it back behind her shoulder and struck out at her 
husband, feeling the tip hit him in the face, knocking his head back 
against the door sill. 

"Arrrrgggg!" Samuel reached up to his brow, where an eyeball hung by a
few tendons, blood seeping down a cheek. 

Seeing what she'd done, Shirley's fear and rage took over. She beat him,
over and over, long overhand blows. Even when he lost consciousness and 
stopped fighting, she still beat on him, fearing he would rise like 
Lazarus to reek his own vengeance. 

Finally -- herself too exhausted to stand -- she sank to her knees,
panting and staring at her handiwork. Relief and fear searching for an 
unaccustomed outlet, insane laughter replaced weeping. 

Emily sat watching. She was beyond shock, beyond fear, beyond caring.
The tyke felt as though standing outside her own body, watching a movie 
on television. As she watched her father die, then her mother sinking 
into insanity, the youngster tried to understand -- to comprehend. 

Finally, the girl calmly put her shoes back on then walked slowly over
to the neighbors, a hundred-yards down a dirt road. Emily stayed there 
that night. Ignoring emergency vehicles and the jabbering of adults, 
she sat calmly and unemotionally on their back porch, taking in calming 
chattering sounds of woodland creatures in the brush amid the cool 
dampness of a forest setting. 

That was the last the girl saw of her home, or her mother. And she
didn't care. Emily figured the nightmare was over -- if she figured 
anything at all. Her life during the following weeks was to be spent in 
an emotionless daze, simply doing as told. 

After a brief stint in a shelter, a stranger drove Emily to an uncle's
house in another town. From the first, it seemed a better place. Her 
uncle didn't beat her or his own family. Harry had gotten out of the 
coal fields and was employed as an accountant. 

Nice Uncle Harry had a wife, a teenage son, and two daughters. Minor
affection was freely shared between all in that family. As a new 
member, then twelve-year-old Emily was expected to share those 
practices, sometimes three or more of them hugging and kissing each 
other at one time. 

It was where Emily learned about all aspects of sexuality, and at an
early age. Birth control was also practiced by their church, including 
then-illegal abortions. She didn't mind, since being loved was a 
pleasant aspect of life -- one she had never experienced at home. Hugs 
and kisses between one and all as well as freely sexual talk became a 
constant part of her new life. 

Harry's family was part of an isolated enclave outside of Covington,
Virginia. The valley practiced a brand of nonviolent religion to which 
Emily gratefully adjusted. After living with her own parents, it was an 
idyllic time in her life. No wonder, she thought, her father had never 
mentioned his brother, Harry. 

*** 

"You're seventeen, Emily. I'm sure Pa would let you have a date. I did
at fifteen. Your trouble is being too shy. Tommy's a nice boy." Emily 
and new sister Mary were talking during study hall in school. 

"I'm scared. My fath--." 

"Screw your father, girl. You can't carry that weight around all your
life. Not all men are that way. Look at my Daddy." 

"I know. I know. Leave me alone. Okay?" 

"Look. Tell you what. I can talk Mike into a double date. We'll go to
that drive-in movie on North Adams Street. Mike and me and you and 
Tommy. Will that work?" 

"Guess so. Won't Mike be mad?" 

"He'll have to settle for light petting tomorrow night. Like it or not."


A close knit family, Emily and Mary approached Harry. 

"Of course you can. Listen to Mary, though, and don't get into sex at
first. All it does is screw up an early relationship and give you a bad 
reputation. You still have part of a year of high school and don't want 
to be thought of as easy." 

*** 

The talk with Harry and older sister Mary's advice confused Emily.
Frankly, she didn't understand sex ... at all. Her own parents made it 
seem a violent confrontation, like she'd read about spiders -- even to 
her mother killing her father. 

Conversely, living with Harry and his family taught her that sex was a
comfortable activity, fun and filled with love. That it was nothing to 
be avoided. Even the small church in her enclave taught that love 
between its parishioners was a holy event. 

School, though, seemed to imply that love outside marriage was evil and
against the law. The local church also taught secrecy. Harry and Mary 
said that if okay with God, why keep it a secret? It was all very 
confusing to a young girl. 

*** 

Those were Emily's thoughts as she sat in the back of Mike's car with
Tommy, hoping he'd stay on his side of the seat and watch the movie. 
Mary didn't help, gradually moving closer to Mike, both in the front 
seat. Emily shuddered inwardly, afraid it'd give her date ideas. 

She felt a shift in the seat, looking over to see Tommy a foot closer,
his arm over the back of the seat and only inches from her shoulder. 
She couldn't get over any farther, her arm already pressed tightly 
against the armrest on her side. Tommy was looking straight ahead, not 
at her -- but she knew. She just knew what he was thinking. 

Emily pressed quivering legs together, feeling and smelling sweat
trickling down from her armpits. She needed to clasp one knee with a 
hand to keep its shivering from being obvious. 

Oh, God, she thought. On the big screen, Audrey Hepburn was
kissing George Peppard. Right in front of them, Mary's head was lying 
on Mike's shoulder ... and they were whispering. Was it about her? What 
WAS Tommy thinking? 

Is he? Yes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tommy move closer.
Mary's head disappeared beneath the seat back up front, soft giggling 
coming from the front seat as Mike straightened his back. 

"Wou ... Would you mind, Emily, If ... If we kinda we sat clos--," Tommy
whispered, breath hot in her ear. 

"I'd like some ... popcorn. Could you get us all some? And some Cokes?
I'll pay." 

"Yeah. Sure thing." With a disappointed look, Tommy left the car,
slamming the door behind himself. 

"You're gonna need a Coke, Mary," he said, looking down into the front
seat, "to wash your mouth out." 

"Screw you, you pervert." 

"Don't I wish." 

*** 

"You did good, little sister," Mary told her that night in their
bedroom. "On the next date, let him touch your breast and leg. After 
that, two dates where he can feel you up, outside your clothes. See, if 
you give in a little at a time you can have sex and still keep a good 
reputation." 

"What if he wants to go somewhere else; gets tired of me?" 

"That's your job, to keep him on the line and struggling in circles.
Whenever he loses interest and you feel the hook coming out, pull him 
in a little. Maybe a kiss, then pull away. Or drop your hand, 
accidentally, on his jewels. That should keep him squirming." 

"And what if I want it, too?" 

"Do it yourself while imagining him jerking off at home thinking of
you." She slapped Emily on the shoulder. "It's only for awhile. Sooner 
or later you'll be able to screw whenever you want." 

"Yeah. Like you and Mike, sucking it right in front of us. That's what
gave Tommy the idea." 

Mary laughed. "You're kidding. He had that idea ever since asking you
out." 

"How do you know? You can't read minds." 

"Honey. They all do." 

*** 

One afternoon, waiting for Tommy to pick her up in his 1934 Ford, she
was surprised when he arrived in a new bright-red 1960 Cadillac 
convertible. She almost didn't recognize him with a haircut and clean 
clothing. He normally dressed in the same clothes he wore to work at 
Elmer's Garage. 

“Emily,” he told her, “pack a few things. We're going to California for
a few days.” 

“What you talking about? Audrey Hepburn's on at the Jiffy Drive-in. I
can't just pack up and go -- there.” 

“I'm serious, honey. A guy I know is paying me to take this Caddy to
Frisco. He gave me $200 for expenses and said I'll get two more and 
another car to drive back.” 

“So?  Then go ahead. Bye. I don't need you. Allen'll take me to the
movie.” She turned to go back to the house. 

“Aw, Emily. Don't be that way. Think of it as an adventure. A few days
of seeing the sights.” 

“And he just picked you out of the sky, I suppose? Who is the guy,
anyway?” 

“I dunno. Really. He stopped at the garage and asked Elmer if he knew
anyone willing to do it. The guy said he had things to do here and 
couldn't deliver it himself.” 

“And you said, ‘Sure, I'll go'?” 

“Yeah. Things are slow there and I have some time coming. So, I figure,
why not? Won't cost but thirty-forty for gas, the rest for us.” 

She was undecided. But, then, she didn't have anything better to do. Her
worry was in becoming emotionally involved with Tommy, like with having 
to sleep with the guy. Maybe ... just maybe ... she could hold him off? 


“Come on, honey. A week of seeing the sights, eating in good restaurants
and having fun.” He grinned. “And in a brand-new Caddy.” 

The picture was too much for Emily. “Okay. Wait for me to pack a bag.” 

Mary walked in as she was packing. Emily told her what was going on. 

“Watch it, girl,” Mary said. “Drug dealers get young fools to move their
stuff that way. They'll pack a car with dope then recruit some idiot to 
drive it across state lines.” 

“Tommy probably thought of that.” 

“Tommy's a fool. People don't trust guys like him with their new cars.
He might drink on the way and wreck the car, or take it and sell it 
somewhere.” Mary laughed. “I wouldn't trust that kid with my old wreck, 
much less a brand new Cadillac.” 

“I won't let him drink.” 

“Can you stop him? And what about you? I'll bet you're both drunk the
whole time. Hey, girl. I don't trust you to hold MY beer for me while I 
take a pee.” 

*** 

The wind felt good on their faces as they sped down a four-lane highway,
heading west. 

“Let's stop for a six-pack?” Emily suggested. “The sun makes me
thirsty.” She glanced over at the speedometer. “This thing can go 
faster than that. It says up to 180. Step on it.” 

“I promised not to speed. We've got plenty of time.” 

“Awwww.” 

They stopped at a gas station, filling the tank and stocking up on beer,
cheap Thunderbird wine, and snacks. In accord with Emily's demands, 
Tommy increased his speed to the point where they stopped to put the 
top up. 

Eventually, Emily popped open the glove compartment on her side of the
single bench-seat. Back then, there were no seat belts to fumble with. 

“What's this? It yours?” She showed Tommy a semi-automatic pistol. 

He shook his head. “Must be the owner's. Put it back.” 

With the top up, an unpleasant smell invaded the passenger compartment.
Not all that annoying or bad enough to open windows, but strange, like 
rotten meat. 

“Check that stuff from the store, Emily, honey. Something might be bad.”


She sniffed the snack foods, especially the beef jerky and a small pack
of salami. They seemed all right to her. “Nope. It's all okay. Maybe 
it's in the trunk? Did you look in the trunk?” 

“Uh, uh. Didn't bother. We have new tires, so I didn't think it was a
problem.” 

“Who, exactly, does this thing belong to?” 

“Guido something, I think. The papers are in the glove compartment.” 

Emily checked and found a small plastic envelope under the pistol. The
title was in the name of Guido Camposi. Emily wasn't an expert, never 
having owed a car, but the papers seemed okay to her. At least they had 
current dates on them. 

They stopped at a truck stop for lunch. There was a bar behind a
partition at one end of the restaurant, so they had a few beers before 
returning to the car. 

“Check the trunk out, Tommy,” she said. “Something in there stinks.” 

“Aw. We probably ran over a possum or something. At the garage, we run
into that all the time. Some squirrel or something gets caught in the 
undercarriage.” 

“Do it for me, honey." 

"Yeah, okay, but it'll shake its way loose.” 

Tommy went through all the keys on the ring, but couldn't open the
trunk. “It takes another key.” He thought a minute, looking over to see 
a sort of general store next to the restaurant. “Wait a minute. I have 
an idea.” 

“It's no big thing, Tommy. We don't want to break anything or scratch
the car.” 

“I've opened hundreds of trunks at the shop.” 

He spent a few minutes in the store, coming out with a hammer,
screwdriver, and a flat piece of metal like a spatula. It didn't take 
long to pop the trunk. Inside, a thick roll of tar paper held a human 
body. They could tell by a pair of shoes sticking out of one end. 

“My God!” Emily said. “No wonder they kept the key.” 

“Let's call the cops. Before they catch us with it.” 

“And be stuck hundreds of miles from home with no way back? They might
think we're involved.” Emily shuddered, afraid to touch the body. “I 
don't know about you, but I can't take this ... thing ... all the way 
to California. We've gotta do something.” 

“What's this?” Tommy, maybe to show his manhood, grabbed the corpse by a
leg, shoving it aside to reveal several brick-like objects wrapped in 
green plastic. 

“Who the hell cares? Maybe h -- he was a seller or whatever they call
it? Leave them things alone.” 

“It might be our answer, honey. We don't have enough money for another
car. This one is probably hot.” 

“So? A hot car? Just what we need. Three-hundred miles from home, a dead
guy in a hot car.” She shivered, looking at the glove compartment, "And 
maybe the gun that killed him." 

“Get in. We're out'a here, girl. I have an idea.” 

*** 

Alfredo Galenti spoke on the phone with a contact in San Francisco. 

“Yeah, Sammy. Our pal Guido's on the way. I found a sucker to drive his
Caddy. I stayed long enough to watch the kid and his girlfriend hit the 
expressway.” 

He listened for a moment. 

“The stuff's in the trunk with him. Ninety-percent. Good stuff. You get
rid of Guido and can keep five-percent for yourself. Give the rest to 
Danny at the Green Dragon.” 

Another pause to listen. 

“The pistol I used? Christ.” He slapped his forehead. “I forgot and left
it in Guido's Caddy. Make sure you get rid of it. It might still have 
my prints on it.” 

A pause. 

“You bastard. Okay 7%, two for the gun. Don't fuck with me, Sammy. I may
be in Jersey, but I have friends in your area.” 

Another pause. 

“Might happen. He'll be ripe by then. I'm gonna be hard to find for
awhile, until you tell me you got those packages. If the cops stop the 
car I'll be up shit creek. Damn, but I screwed up with the gun. Let me 
know when they arrive. Right?” 

*** 

Tommy drove carefully, as though hauling a load of eggs, down I-40 and
into Greensboro, North Carolina. Finding a good-sized shopping center, 
a rarity at that time, he parked in the rear of the lot next to a car 
wash. Luckily for them it was self-service and a windy day. Guido was 
beginning to stink. 

They paid for three washes, scrubbing the car as much as possible.
Nobody was around so, after taking their property out and stripping the 
glove compartment, they washed it again with the top down, hosing and 
scrubbing the interior. 

“Don't forget the drugs,” he admonished her. “We can sell them and have
plenty of money for another car. Then back home. Let the cops find it. 
It can't be tied to us.” 

Using handkerchiefs wrapped around his hands, Tommy then parked in an
out-of-the-way slot and they walked away. It was a good idea, except 
for several facts. They had no idea of the intricacies of modern police 
work. They were in an unfamiliar environment, one with no friends. 
Also, they had no ideas on how to sell large amounts of drugs or how 
dangerous it could be. 

“There's a bus stop.” Emily pointed. “Let's get far away from that
thing. It makes me nervous.” 

“Same here. If the cops find drugs on us, and the car, they'll figure
we're connected. First, a hotel until we figure out what to do.” 

“Alright, Tommy. How much money we have left?” 

“I have a little over $170 and you said you brought $20.” 

“I spent some of that on beer and food.” 

“Still, enough for a hotel.” 

Anxious to get away from the Caddy, they took the first bus to come
along, getting off when they saw a cheap hotel from its windows. They 
rented a room as a married couple, Tommy's idea but one she agreed 
with. She didn't want to be alone, not for one minute. It wouldn't be 
the first time for them, but was the first where they spent the night 
together. 

*** 

It didn't take long for the Greensboro police to find the Caddy, along
with poor Guido. A patrol car noticed two teenagers attempting to 
hotwire it. While one officer called for backup to take their prisoners 
in, the other stood, leaning on the trunk. One whiff and he recognized 
a dead body. Police are funny that way. 

Even while Tommy and Emily were on the bus, an investigation had been
set in motion. Since it was an out-of-state auto, presumably containing 
an out-of-state body, the FBI was called in. 

*** 

On their first day at Greensboro, the two spent more time looking out
windows than watching television. The bricks were hidden on the top 
shelf of a closet. During the second day, Tommy, feeling more 
comfortable, left Emily to watch the drugs and explored the town, 
actually a medium-sized city. He was surprised to see the Caddy already 
gone. 

He visited a few seedy bars in the vicinity of their hotel, trying to
ask around about drugs. 

“What does that shit sell for?” he asked a new drinking buddy. 

The man shrugged. “Depends on what kind you got and how much. What's
your choice?” 

“I dunno. I found a little beside the road and only want to get rid of
it. That's all. I don't know one from another. It's white and in a ... 
wrapped in waxed paper.” 

“Tell ya what. Bring it in and I'll maybe take it off your hands.” 

Tommy ran back to their room, frantically searching for a roll of waxed
paper. Emily had wrapped her toothpaste and brush in the stuff. He 
broke open a brick and hurriedly scratched an ounce or so off onto the 
thick paper, twisting both ends. 

“What you doing?” she asked. 

“Tell you when I get back.” 

Back at the watering hole, his new friend, named Eddy, felt, tasted,
sniffed and otherwise field-tested the powder. 

“Well? What is it, really? Is it worth much?” Tommy was anxious. Their
future depended on it. 

“It's good heroin,” Eddy said. “I'll give you you $20 for it. I never
touch the stuff but have friends who do.” 

Tommy sat back, mind in a whirl. Twenty-dollars would help, pay for a
night's lodging for them, but it would cost much more to get home. 

“And if I had more? How much would they pay for a few pounds of the
stuff?” 

“Just how much do you have? Come on, buddy. You can tell me.” 

“I didn't weight it. Maybe ... maybe four pounds ... or more?” 

“A lot of shit to find on the side of a road.” His eyes roamed around
the room as he considered. “Jeez. I dunno. You give me that cut and I 
can look around. A pound might bring ... let's see ... I don't really 
know, but maybe a few thousand.” Eddy grinned. “Of course I'd have to 
find someone with that much money.” Eddy did know of a dealer, an 
honest one as far as he knew, that worked with pound amounts. At that 
price, he figured, there shouldn't be a chance of violence. Eddy was 
already on probation for fraud and sure as hell didn't want to go back 
inside. 

“You look, then. I need money more than that stuff. It doesn't do me any
good as is. I got me three bricks of pressed powder.” 

“How can I get in touch? If I find a buyer?” 

“Me and my girl are staying at that Royal Kingdom place, room 306.” 

“I better get started. My friend works afternoons. Maybe I can catch
him.” 

*** 

“He's an honest, god-given fool, Jerry,” Eddy said, laughing. “Doesn't
know shit from Shinola about drugs. We can get that shit for one or two 
thousand a pound and he won't even know the difference.” 

Jerry had used more accurate testing, finding a strength of slightly
under 92%. 

“Use your head, Eddy. This is pure heroin, off the fucking boat. That
fool didn't find it along the road. He ripped off someone.” 

“So?” 

“So, that someone is probably looking for him. At $10,000 a kilo, they
sure as shit are. Also, why light in a place like Greensboro?” 

“You tell me.” 

“I will. Greensboro has no mafia, no Mexican gangs, no large motorcycle
gangs, but does have enough users to sell to. He also knows that 
someone new breaking into retail will be noticed by police and current 
dealers. 

“He's looking for a one-time sale then to get out before being found by
that ‘someone'. By the time that influx of heroine is found, he'll be 
in California or Texas, maybe Mexico.” 

“Okay. I'll bite, Jerry. But why so fucking cheap?” 

“That's an asking price. If I can afford ... say ... eight big ones for
four pounds, I'm heavy enough to pay more during negotiations. He'll 
also know I've tested it and am aware of its value. Expect him to raise 
the price later. Right now, he might be talking to Robinson from the 
South Side or Jefferson Adams. The fucker's probably wanting a bidding 
war. He can act like an idiot while scooping up the money.” 

“Still. Even at $8,000, it's a damned good deal. I do believe that part
about him being in a hurry. that someone's looking for him.” 

“There's that.” 

“Maybe we should surprise him, you think, Jer? 

“Maybe we should check it out. If he wants too much for it ... well,
we'll see. There might even be one good package, the rest crap.” 

“I don't like violence, man.” 

“You want to be rich, right? Only as a last resort.” 

*** 

“We'll get them, Agent Tompkins,” Detective Jones of the Greensboro
Police Department said over a fresh cup of coffee. “There weren't any 
serviceable prints inside or outside the Cadillac, but the trunk had 
quite a few. Most were Guido Camposi's, but several partial prints on 
his final wrappings belongs to a mobster named Alfredo Galenti from 
Jersey. 

“The police there can't find our Alfredo. He's hiding, but they're
looking. 

“You guys have traced the car from there to a few miles out of town. Up
until West Virginia, gas was paid for with Guido's credit card, though 
not by Guido. Descriptions suggest Alfredo. After that, questioning of 
gas-station attendants is spotty, though some agree on it being two 
teens, a man and a woman. That car did sort of stand out. They might 
still be here in town, for all we know.” 

“They might have relatives here, or friends, and be anywhere,” Tompkins
observed. “Without more information, we're lost in that respect. If 
they took a train or bus, they're long gone. We're trying to determine 
Camposi's movements in his last few days. Especially in regard to 
teens.” 

A few days later, the FBI found Alfredo, or at least part of him. An arm
turned up at the city dump. Fingerprints matched. 

“Word is he owed money to his boss, the Genovese family, then tried to
skip,” Tompkins said. “We're looking for the rest of the body. 
Apparently it was run over multiple times by a bulldozer at the dump, 
mixed and matched with other garbage.” 

*** 

Jerry and Eddy waited until a resident left by the back door of the
hotel, running up to catch it before it closed. They found themselves 
in a small foyer, a staircase leading to upper floors. A few doors were 
open with sounds of television and radios coming out, though they saw 
no people. 

Room 306 was open. Jerry, holding a suitcase, set it at his feet as Eddy
silhouetted himself at the opening, knocking gently on the door sill. 
“Tommy. Is Tommy here?” 

He could see the back of Tommy's head above a chair. The boy was
watching television. At the sound of Eddy's voice he spun the chair. 
“Hey. Eddy. You find someone, man?” 

At the exchange, Emily came out of the bathroom, carrying her purse, and
stood beside a table. 

“Yeah.” Eddy motioned for Jerry to come in, ignoring Emily to lay his
bag on the table next to her. He kept one hand in his trouser pocket as 
he stood across from her, trying to see both Tommy in the chair and her 
in his peripheral vision. 

“Let's cut to the chase, Tommy. We're ready, right now, to pay seven ‘k'
a pound for up to four pounds -- if you have that much. No more and no 
less.” He shrugged. “A little low but, under the circumstances, a fair 
price.” 

Slowly, Tommy stood, going over to the suitcase and opening it. The bag
was half-full of money. “Good enough,” he said, shuffling through 
different-sized stacks of multi-denominations, some old, some new. He 
had an urge to count it but held off. It was obviously enough to buy a 
car and get back home. No question about that. “I'll get the bricks.” 

As he entered the bathroom, Jerry, feeling a jolt of nerves, drew a
pistol and started to follow. This was, he thought, the time for Tommy 
to double-cross them. 

“Blam!” Jerry felt a quick breeze across his face, along with the sound
of a bursting lamp across the room. 

“Don't move,” from Emily. She'd fired the gun that killed Guido. 

Nobody moved, or made a sound, until Tommy returned with a doubled paper
bag containing the drugs. He gave it to Jerry who, still shaky, had 
trouble holding on to it. 

“Take your stuff and get out,” Emily told them, which they did. Happily,
as it were. They anticipated a good profit. 

After checking the stairwell and seeing their visitors leave, Emily
said, “Now we can get home.” 

“First, though,” Tommy said, closing and picking up the suitcase, “I'm
gonna buy a brand-new bright-red Caddy convertible of our own to take 
us to California.” 

“Let's.” They were already packed, leaving the smashed lamp on the floor
as they left to finish their vacation. 

The End.


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