The Joneses Leave Home 3,000 Two Teens run from the law. (standard:drama, 12086 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 13 2020	Views/Reads: 1396/1027	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Sonny and sister Janie come from a broken home. When Janie faces jail, they take off in a stolen car with a stolen revolver. On the way to a new life, they rob a bank. Settling in another town, they meet three punks....

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

house? 

At school, I'm at the bottom of my class. Me being so big for my age,
the seats don't fit me no more neither. 

The only thing I'm good for is fighting. I'm always fighting, not for
myself much, but to protect my sister. Janie's dumber'n me, if that's 
possible. Nobody jokes about me when I can hear, but they does to her 
-- only if I'm not around. An I can't be around all the time. 

I'm seventeen now, an still in the sixth grade, but doing better this
year. Maybe because it's my third year there? Even a Jones can learn 
something if it's pounded inta his head for a third time. 

Damn, but that shiny green Caddy looks good. For Uncle Jim, an for the
fun of it, I keep it clean, making sure mice don't nest on the motor or 
spiders build webs inside. Since I like to sit in there at night, 
reading comics with the dome light, I keep the battery going with a 
charger I lifted at a local Texaco station. Sometimes I sit on the 
driver side, gripping the wheel and daydream of just'a going. Going 
right out'a this shithole. 

I hear Mama fumbling around in the kitchen. Giving a happy cry, she
stumbles back past me, holding a bottle of drain cleaner in one hand, 
half a quart bottle of Coke in the other. She staggers back to the 
couch, falling heavily to sprawl out an mix a drink. 

"Mama. No!" I cry, grabbing at the cleaner. 

"S'okay," she says, grinning, "it's gin. I have it for emergencies." 

Mama does that, hides booze all over the house. Still, I stand an watch
until she takes a few gulps, to make sure. Besides, we don't need drain 
cleaner nohow. We ain't got no drains in the old house.  Using water 
out'a a well outside, me an Janie take us semi-monthly baths in a old 
an rusty horse-trough next to it. 

While I'm making a sandwich out'a canned meat Mama got from the state,
lousy stuff without even a label -- but free -- Janie comes in the back 
door. She's been kept after school for stealing or something. I don't 
blame her, since I do it myself when I can. 

"I've had it, Sonny," she tells me. "Principal Jackson says he's gonna
prosecute, send me to the Juvie Home." 

"What you steal?" 

"His pants." 

"The principals pants? You didn't?" 

"Yep. He was in the student shitter in the basement. You know, the
little crapper that nobody much uses?" 

"That's for boys." 

"Uh, huh. Tommy Sanders an me were cuddling in there. Tommy, he just
then left. See, Jerky Jackson comes while I'm cleaning myself up an 
gets in the booth next to mine. I see these pants just sitting there on 
the floor, a wallet sticking out of one pocket." 

"He had them off. Why?" 

"How the hell I know why? But they was off." 

"An you grabbed them an ran?" 

"Yep. I figured he wouldn't chase me without no pants." 

"So how did he catch you?" 

"You know that new woman janitor, the young blond one?" 

"Yeah. Kinda cute." 

"I ran into her in the doorway. She was coming in for some fucking
reason and grabbed me." 

"Oh. Tough shit, uh?" 

"Gimme that sandwich, and make me a couple more. I'm getting out of here
a'fore the police come. Johnson told Miss. Gigglo to keep me in 
detention until they came to take me to jail. I only got a few minutes 
to grab a little money I got stuck away in my room, then ... zoom. See 
ya around, kid." 

"How you get out'a there?" 

"Smashed old Giggy in the face with a text and then out the fucking
window." 

"Screw it, Janie. " I look around at the fucking mess of our lives an
make my decision. " I'm with you. Come out back when you're ready." 

Taking a minute to throw the open can of meat, loaf of bread, a jar a
mustard, one a generic peanut butter, an a few items from the cupboard 
into a plastic supermarket bag, I run out the back screen door, hearing 
it slam behind me.  I throw the bag into the back a that shiny 
Cadillac. Opening the hood, I grab a wrench an connect the battery 
cables. 

Hoping it'll start after sitting for six or eight months, I pump the gas
a few times an, using a screwdriver already sticking out'a the 
ignition, grind the starter. 

It starts up, idling roughly but settling down to a hum as I wait for
Janie. Running away having been a long-time daydream, I already have 
the car full of juice siphoned out'a all the others. 

Coming out, she sees me an runs around to the other side an gets in. Now
I'm not a expert driver but have driven a'fore an figure I know most of 
the rules. Like what speed limit an stop signs are for. And with a 
stolen car I don't intend to go through no large cities. 

"Who's gonna take care‘a Mama?" Janie asks. "And where's my sandwiches?
You didn't make any, did you?" She slumps down in the seat. "Get going. 
We ain't got no time to screw around." 

"She'll get by. In the back. Make your own." 

So off we go, two kids in a stolen Cadillac, me trying my best to stay
on the road an at the speed limit. Janie sits, feet up against the 
windshield while dipping peanut butter from a quart can with her 
fingers. 

*** 

We drive all night, ending up in Backscratch, Illinois about sunup. 

"How much you got?" I ask Janie, just now waking with the sun in her
eyes, slumped in her seat. The Caddy drives like a dream. "We need 
gas." 

"Don't you have any money?" 

"Sure. Pennies an dimes." 

"Shit. I got a little over $29, myself." 

Finding a gas-station, not one of the chain stations, only a small
garage with a pump out front, I stop, get out, an talk to a guy in 
dirty coveralls. 

"Look, buddy," I say, "I ain't got but this," I bring out my change,
"but I'll trade you my spare tire for some gas." 

"Got a rim on it?" 

"Sure it's got a rim, it's a spare." 

"Lemme see it." 

We go around back a my car, where he inspects the tire closely. 

"Ten gal." 

"Hey, man. It's brand new, see the little nubs, here?" 

"Twelve. That's all. Don't need many, that size. I fix mostly Fords. Old
Fords. Sets sell better, ya know?" He gives me a questioning look, one 
eyebrow lifted. 

"What ya mean, 'sets sell better'?" 

"Give ya a full tank for the five of 'um," he says, "an give ya four
used ones ta ride on?" His eyes narrow, nodding at the screwdriver 
sticking out'a my ignition. "An I won't tell a cops nothing." 

Figuring that's probably a good deal, me an Janie stand back, watching,
as that thief changes the almost new tires for a set a bald ones, then 
fills our tank with low-grade gasoline. 

Tires thumping, expensive engine pinging, we go on our way. Not trusting
the guy, I find a place to turn away from the main highway, circling 
around to take back roads around the small town. If he turns us in, I 
want the cops searching in another direction. I might be dumb, but not 
a stupe. 

"You shouldn't have made that trade, Sonny." Janie won't leave me alone.
"Guys like him don't get along with cops. He was only trying to scare 
you." 

"We need your money for food, an should get rid a this car anyway. Where
we gonna go now? an what we gonna do when we gets there?" 

She shrugs. "Anywhere out of Johnson's Roost, and I don't give a shit.
We'll find something." 

Janie digs in her bag, coming out with some sorta gun. I don't know a
pistol from a revolver, but I know a gun when I see one, an this is a 
gun. I reach over an grab it out of her hand. 

"Gimme." Dropping it on my lap, I reach my free hand over to roll down
the window. I'm gonna throw the damned thing out. 

"It's mine," she says, grabbing it back an jamming it down between her
legs, closing them tight, hands in her crotch. She knows I won't reach 
down there. "I got it from a boy. He stole it from an uncle and was 
afraid his daddy would find it. It's mine." 

"What you give him in return?" 

"What the fuck you think? Now drop the subject." 

"You ever shoot the thing?" 

"Shit, no. And have the neighbors call the cops?" 

"Those bastards is always doing that." 

"Yeah." 

We drive a while, watching cows on the wayside, them watching us an
chewing grass. 

"What ya gonna do with it?" I ask, meaning the gun. 

"Dunno. Maybe either sell it or rob a bank? What you wanna do with it?" 

"Pawn shop, maybe?" 

"Selling it would mean more money," she says, taking the thing out,
turning it around an around in her hands an polishing it by rubbing it 
on the cushion between us. "Ain't got no bullets in it anyway." 

"Don't make no difference. Pawn shops don't ask nothing, like where you
got it. You wanna sell it, you gotta find someone what wants it, an has 
money." 

"I heard on television that guys in bars buy guns. This reporter went
into some city bars and bought dozens. It was on tv." She laughs. 
"Maybe we can be on television." 

"We're too young to go into bars," I tell her. 

"You can. You're big enough to pass. Bigger than most guys your age,
anyway." 

We come to a good-sized town an I look around for someplace to sell or
pawn the gun. I'm not scared a the things but don't particularly wanna 
be driving around in a stolen car with a stolen gun. 

A little ways off the main street, we find us a small shopping center
containing a check-cashing business, a supermarket, an what I'm looking 
for -- the traditional three-ball sign of a pawn shop. 

"Park around back, Sonny. Remember, this is a stolen car. Maybe we can
go in through the back-door?" 

Makes sense to me. Don't want nobody else seeing that screwdriver
sticking out'a the ignition. 

I get a little mixed up as to doors, like which is which. There's a
whole line of them in the back, none marked. 

Janie walks close behind me, holding the gun half-hidden in her hand.
Hoping it's the right one, I shove like hell on this heavy metal door. 
We go in, seeing a counter with a couple customers ahead of us. Damn, 
but we're on the wrong side of the counter, the clerk having her back 
toward us. 

"Damn it to hell." I stumble over a pile'a bags on the floor by the
door, almost falling on my ass. I hear Janie laughing an see the 
customers grinning. 

Janie goes around me, toward the front. Looking up, I see the clerk
isn't grinning like the customers. Her face is white like, an she 
raises her hands. 

"Take it," the clerk says in a loud shaky voice. "Take it and get out.
Please.  Don't shoot. I don't wanna die." 

Take what? I think, looking round. Then I see the clerk glancing down at
my feet, an look down, myself. There's four cloth-bags there, that I 
stumbled over. 

As I watch, I hear Janie saying, "Get those bags and start the car,
Sonny," she tells me in a loud whisper. "Don't stop to think, and hurry 
the hell up." 

As I grab them heavy bastards an back up through the door, I see Janie
pointing the gun at the people inside. Damn, I think, she robbing them 
guys. I stop in my tracks, not knowing what the hell to do. "Don't stop 
to think," she's told me, which sounds like good advice. 

Loaded down, I stagger back to the car, throw the bags in the backseat
an start the engine. Janie comes close behind, to climb in an slam her 
door. She points the gun out her window an says, "Bang. Bang," as we 
drive away, soon out of town an riding over those familiar country 
roads. 

"What the hell you do that for?" I yell at her. "Now we're in for it." 

"Shit, Sonny. They never saw us before, or the Caddy when we left. They
don't know which way we went or where we're going. How they gonna catch 
us?" 

I still don't like it. I'm not particularly honest, but robbing pawn
shops scares me. Now we got a stolen car, stolen gun, an stolen money, 
just like Bonny an Clyde. *** 

"Clyde Burrows." I show the bank manager, a chubby brunette woman with a
cute face, my identification. "State Police Criminal Investigation 
Department. How much did the bast ... excuse me, perpetrators get away 
with?" 

"A little under $3,000, Mr. Burrows. Most in small change. I was waiting
on customers while getting the bills ready for the weekly armored car 
pick up. You see," she says, pointing to a coin-sorting machine next to 
the back door, "whenever I have a few minutes without customers, I run 
loose change through to get it out of the way. 

"I can't count paper currency until after closing, seeing as the totals
change rapidly. Coins, though, only build up during the day. This is 
pickup day and since I was working alone I left the back door unlocked. 
That way I don't have to leave the front counter to open it for the 
pickup team. I didn't think anyone would know." 

"Kinda screwed up, didn't you?" 

"Yes ... I did. This is a very small bank-extension, sir. Nobody uses
that back lot except for a few delivery trucks. So ... well ... I 
thought it would be safe for a half-hour or so. I was very busy with 
customers, ya know?" 

"You think it's an inside job? Maybe an employee or ex-employee? Someone
who would know about the pickup ... or that you leave the door 
unlocked?" 

"Like I said, Mr. Burrows, a very small setup. I'm the only employee,
and have been for five-years. I even sweep up at night. We only do the 
simple things like deposits, check cashing, and making change. No loan 
activity. The stores around here deposit their receipts in an 
after-hours slot out front. In'a morning I put it in the safe and 
credit their accounts. Someone picks up excess currency when I call and 
the coins once a week." 

"No one see them leave?" I ask. I see what might be fear or suspicion
cross her face, proly thinking she might have implicated herself. Well, 
I would have to check her background out. With her being trusted so 
long -- working alone, and all -- it wasn't very likely. But, you never 
know. A lonely woman, getting into late middle-age, might ... just 
might ... feel like an extended vacation in Europe? 

Na, I reconsider, not with a few hundred in small change. It wouldn't be
worth it. 

"I wasn't about to stick my head out back to look. Not with that pistol.
The customers were in front of my cage, and couldn't. They didn't see 
much." 

I get what little information is available from Ms. Simmons, and it
isn't much. They have cameras, but not behind the counter, only in 
front of it. Ditto for the parking lots. There are no cameras behind 
the shopping center to waste tape on delivery trucks. 

However, a restaurant employee happened to be dumping trash out back at
the time. He saw a newer-model green Cadillac racing across in front of 
his dumpster, almost smacking him in the ass in its hurry. He wasn't 
quick enough to get a license number, but saw two teenagers in the car. 
It did head east, he tells me. It'll take time, but I'm confident I'll 
track them down. 

*** 

"Look at all this money, Sonny. I ain't never seen so much in my life,"
Janie says. I can hear coins clinking an clanking around in the back 
seat as she fools around with them. 

"Yeah, but how much in cash? What we gonna buy with pennies and dimes?
Cokes and chips?" 

"It's money. Find a bank or something and we'll change it." 

So I stop at every little store an gas-station we pass. Most of them can
use some, but not a whole lot, of the coins. Sorta nickel an diming for 
gas an eats, we cut across country, no real destination in mind. 
Altogether, we gets us maybe $5 - $600 in small bills. That an a lot of 
small junk we buy on the way, candy-bars an stuff like that. The back 
seat of that Caddy is a mess. 

We finally, don't know how, end up in River City. It's a real big place,
miles an miles of buildings, some really-big ones. 

"It's gonna be easy to get lost here," I tell Janie. "We can get jobs an
make a good life in a place like this." 

"We better get rid of this car, though. The cops are probably looking
for it by now." 

"I hate to. Kind'a attached." 

"You'd hate jail even more, Sonny. And you can't take it in there with
you." 

"Guess so. What we gonna do with it? Sell it?" 

"Uh, uh." She leans forward, shaking her head. "We don't know anybody
here what buys stolen cars. We gotta just park it and walk away. Get 
lost in the city. Look for a parking space near a bus stop or 
something." 

I see a bus ahead of us. Following it a few blocks until it stops, Janie
sees a alley between two buildings, a wide one, room to park an still 
let other cars pass. I pull over, passenger side scraping against a 
brick building. 

"Come on. Let's get out'a here," she says. 

Me getting out my side, she hands me two large cloth shopping bags
containing coins -- heavy fuckers. Janie then crawls out my door, 
bringing her suitcase from home an a paper bag full'a candy an stuff. 
The rest of the shit we leave in the car. I wanna roll up the windows 
so it don't rain in an lock the door, but Janie stops me. 

"Don't lock it. Let someone else steal it," she says, "and it'll throw
the cops off." 

So we leave the Caddy, windows down an unlocked, an take the next bus,
wherever the hell it wants to go. We ride for hours, looking out the 
window an seeing the city. Then we get another one an do the same, but 
in another direction. 

"We have to find some place to stay, to live," Janie says. 

I agree. Letting someone else drive while I sit back is okay, but we
can't live in the back of a bus. 

Tired of riding around, we eventually go through a place something like
our small-town slum, this one much bigger, even miles long. It's full'a 
unpainted houses, empty lots spotted by abandoned cars, that sorta 
thing. 

There are also plenty of faded and torn "For Rent" signs. 

"Let's get off here?" Janie suggests. "We have about $700 cash and all
these coins. Maybe we can rent a cheap room or apartment? If anyone 
asks, say we're married." 

"Nobody's gonna believe it." 

"Why not?" 

"Who'd marry you?" 

"Shut up." 

By that time, we're back into the business section. We have to ride the
same bus for two more hours, getting hungry an hungrier, not daring to 
get off to eat cause we might not get the right bus the next time. 
Anyway, the damned thing finally turns around an we're ready to get off 
when we get back there. 

"First we'll find a place, then something to eat," Janie says. 

"Less we find something to eat first. We do, I'm getting a burger.
Nobody put you in charge." 

I forgot how heavy those coins are, even tempted to throw them in
dumpsters we pass. One cloth bag is half-full a pennies, prolly' only 
ten, fifteen, dollars worth an weighing a fucking ton. 

As happens, we find a small taco-shop first. 

"I'm not going in there. It looks danger...." 

I don't hear the rest, me being already through the door. Janie has to
follow, hee-hee. We sit down at this table, nasty from another meal, 
loose crap lying all around. I don't give a shit. 

I don't know what to order, so I says, "Gimme half a dozen a those taco
things," to the waitress, a nice-looking Mexican girl with huge 
titties. 

"Give me two of them," Janie says. "I'll try anything." 

After we eat, my stomach tied in knots, burping an farting, I pick up my
bags of change an follow Janie out into sunshine. From where we stand, 
I can see two "For Rent" signs, one in each direction. 

Janie leads the way, up the stairs to the front porch a one. 

"Me and my husband just moved here," she tells a frumpy-looking
housewife reminding me of Mama. Same curlers in her hair, same bags 
under the eyes, an the same whiskey breath, "and need some place to 
stay while we look for work." 

"Pretty young to be married, missy? You sure you're married? I don't
wanna run none a those randil ... ron-day-view' ... places where you 
kids have parties and tear up the place." 

"Oh," Janie hugs me, planting a kiss on my cheek, "we're married,
alright. Been together for years." 

The woman looks us up an down, doubt showing in her eyes. She turns,
shrugs an, leaving the door open, walks down a long hallway with 
several doors spotted along its length, a set a wooden stairs at the 
end. We follow. 

"Hear these steps creaking?" she asks as we go up, balloon-like butt
level with my face, "I live downstairs and can hear anyone trying to 
sneak up here. No parties or visitors after ten at night." 

She shows us a three-room apartment. It has some stuff in it like a
refrigerator, cook stove, an a kitchen table with three wooden chairs. 
One bedroom has a iron bed in it without a mattress, only springs. A 
huge tattered stuffed-chair sits in what should be the living room. Oh, 
and one'a those big old radio, television, record-player things. An 
that's all. It reminds me a home. 

"Bathroom's halfway down the hall. Bring your own paper. You gotta share
with an apartment at the other end. No arguments with them allowed or 
you're out on your butts. I run a clean house and don't want no cops 
around." 

"We don't like cops, neither," Janie says, looking around. 

"Didn't say I didn't like cops, just don't wanna see them here." 

I'm tired from hauling all those pennies around, an up two flights of
stairs. I'm glad when Janie pays an the woman leaves, still not 
introducing herself. 

Using a bag of change for a pillow, I lie down on the floor an am soon
sleeping like a baby, my mind drifting, drifting back to school 
days.... 

*** 

"Edward Jones. Can you tell the class why the United States split into
two factions to fight in the War Between the States -- which we call 
our Civil War?" Ms. Peters asks me in history class. I'm then 14, an in 
my second year in the fifth-grade. 

"Cause'a the Coons?" I answer. I never did figure that out, I mean 'bout
the Negroes and the Whites fighting way back before I was even born. 
Why the hell we gotta know all that stuff, anyway? 

I remember hearing the class both laughing and booing. 

"Only coon here is Jones," someone yells behind me. 

"Quiet, Mr. Cabloski. No, Edward," she says, "that was only ancillary to
the real reasons, of economy and politics. And please don't use that 
word in this school. It's abusive to our Colored students." 

"Ain't no Coons in this class," I remind her. That always confuses me,
Colored, Black, White, Nigger, Wop, Kike, and all that stuff. They was 
always laughing at me. Ain't my fault I can't get that shit straight. 
There must be some secret way to remember, some secret nobody ever 
tells us Jones'. 

"Do not ever use that word in that context, Edward. Never, ever, in this
school." Ms. Peters was mad, an I still can't figure out why. Ain't a 
Coon a Nigger an a Negro ... an Colored? I thought. Now I know they're 
simply Colored, or Black. So, what the hell? I knew that already. At 
the time, though, I heard all that shit all the time at home. Maybe 
that's one thing about being dumb -- knowing all the words, but not 
when to use them? I thought. 

My mind flashes to another scene, one more typical. I'm a real-small
kid, playing on'a school playground with Janie an a couple of even 
younger girls, two classes behind us. We're throwing a ball around. 
That year, cause I gotta take all my classes over again, both me an 
Janie are in the same grade. Later, she passes me. 

"What'sa matter, Jones. You gotta play with the littler girrrrrrrls? You
and your ugly sister," Jimmy Templer yells at me. 

I get up and chase him, losing one of my shoes when I do. The shoes
don't match, two different shades of brown, and one was even a 
different size -- too big for my foot. 

Jimmy hides somewhere, gets away from me, but someone steals my shoe. I
spend about a week going to school barefoot before Mama finds another 
one -- that one black. Mama needs her money for other things, like 
drinking. "You lost it, you have to suffer," she tells me. 

*** 

The police in River City recover the Cadillac used in the Greensville
First Security Bank robbery. I check out advance expense money, get 
into an unmarked state vehicle and drive to River City. 

"Burrows, State," I inform the desk sergeant at River City Precinct
number 12, the one that found the vehicle. There, I meet a Detective 
Harris, who fills me in on the details. 

"At 10:17 this morning," he tells me, "Car 18, on his normal patrol
route, noticed several juveniles clustered around and inside a 
three-year-old green Cadillac De-ville. It was parked in an alley off 
Sixth Street, just north of Evens. 

"It being suspicious, the officer, Patrolman Second Edward Jablonski,
parked behind the vehicle and accosted the children. A cursory 
examination showed the ignition was jimmied, using a Phillip's 
screwdriver in lieu of a key, said instrument still inserted in the 
ignition. 

"Upon questioning the children, between 10 and 12 years old, he found
several of their pockets filled with loose change and candy. 

"The children told Officer Jablonski they had found the coins inside the
back of the vehicle, lying on the floor and behind the seat. 

"Checking 'hot sheet' archives, we found the vehicle had been stolen
last April 10th from this city. A few weeks later, it was used as an 
escape vehicle after a botched payroll robbery and shootout during 
which a police officer was shot in the leg. 

"Since we also think it may have been involved in your robbery, we
called your office. Whoever was driving, they are very dangerous 
characters. Maybe all the way from Chitown. We're putting together a 
task force and you're welcome to join." 

"Anything good from the Caddy?" I ask. 

"We have prints, a lot of them, and they look like from only two perps.
The lab is working on the car now and the prints are being checked out. 


"Talking to residents and store clerks, we know it wasn't there at
09:55. At that time, a clerk used the alley to get behind his shop. He 
barely made it on time for work and said it took a few minutes to park 
and get inside. At that time, the alley was clear. 

"Also, there is a city bus-stop on the street outside the alley. We have
people checking with the Transportation Authority to find bus drivers 
that stopped there between 09:45 and 10:17. Since your robbery seems to 
indicate a young couple, man and woman, one of the drivers might 
remember them. We should know more by morning." 

Jeez, I think. This is more serious than I've thought. But I'm getting
closer. 

*** 

I wake to the smell of lilacs. Looking up and thrashing my arm, I see a
heavy mist settling over me an the room. Janie is spraying some shit 
around. 

"Getting the stink out'a the room," she tells me. It does smell better.
The apartment must not have been used for a long time, smelling like 
mold an spoiled food when we got it. 

I get up an go to the kitchen, finding Janie has been shopping. Empty
bags are piled up on the table, along with fresh bread an a jumble of 
cans an food boxes. It's obvious the place has been fixed up a bit, 
looking cleaner than at home with Mama. How come, I think, Janie always 
pitched a bitch about cleaning that kitchen, yet does this one on her 
own? 

"We still have coins left and a few-hundred bucks in bills," she tells
me. "You gotta go out and get a couple mattresses, sheets and stuff. 
I'm gonna ask around about jobs for us. I'll get a newspaper." 

"Why me? You're my wife an should get house stuff." 

"Cause you're bigger and can carry it. I'm smarter and can look for
work." 

"Bullshit." 

"You mean you ain't bigger than me? That's stupid, which makes me even
smarter, see?" 

"Bullshit." 

"Bullshit isn't an argument, which also proves you're dumber than me." 

I don't answer, since I'm already in a fridge, checking out the food. 

She gives me $50 an I take some of the coins to exchange. A couple a the
stores go ape-shit over the pennies, taking all I have with me an 
wanting more. 

I find a used-stuff store an get some cheap shit, hauling it back
upstairs, seeing the landlady's eyes in one'a her doorways. She don't 
say nothing an neither do I. I'm lucky that store's on the same block, 
but across the street, cause it takes me four trips. 

The second time up, she asks me, 

"What you need two mattresses for?" 

"I like it soft," I tell her. 

Janie comes back in the afternoon. 

"I might have a job in a supermarket. 'Artie's Foods,' over on Edmond
Street. Not much, stocking shelves for customers and carrying groceries 
outside for old people. The manager said they'll teach me how to work 
the register sometime, when they got a chance. And I got the name of a 
factory that might be hiring. It's across town, though, miles away. You 
can check it out tomorrow." 

She looks around at my stuff. 

"Not bad, Sonny. You forgot sheets, though. And check out that
television and record player thing. If it works, we can pick up some 
records somewhere. It'd be nice to have music up here, Mama don't like 
it, but Mama's not here." 

"I found someplace that likes pennies, so we can finally sell them," I
tell her. The pennies, by far the most an the heaviest, have been a 
pain in'a ass. I'll be glad to get rid a them. Quarters are easy, dimes 
not so bad, an nickels impossible to get rid of. Nobody uses nickels 
anymore, an we got us hundreds a the things. 

"Good. Take them with you tomorrow on the way to the factory. Oh, and
get them out of those bank bags. We gotta find a way to burn them 
damned bags." 

"I ain't gonna nickels, though. Nobody wants those things an they're
heavy." 

Janie gets her job stocking shelves. It don't pay shit but she finds a
way to hide cans an stuff behind a dumpster. After the store closes, we 
go down an bring it home, so we at least got plenty to eat. 

I get a factory job, closer than the one she wanted but only paying what
they call "minimum wage," same as Janie makes at her store. I ain't got 
nothing much to steal though, so she still comes out ahead. 

Although we don't have much, it's better than at home with Mama. Until,
that is, Janie starts her own drinking. 

"Damn it, you're getting like Mama," I tell her. "Half our money goes
for your vodka, just like Mama does. We ain't never gonna get ahead 
this way." 

"Face it, big brother, us Joneses ain't never gonna be worth nothing. We
might as well get with the program and be Joneses." 

"Fuck it." Maybe she's right, a Jones is a Jones, and will always be a
Jones. I go in the bedroom an hit the sack. 

Despite that setback, we're doing all right. Then we get a visit from
these two guys that I've seen around, living or hanging out in the 
basement of a closed store down the block. 

They haven't been friendly, me an them ignoring each other an going our
own ways. When we first moved in, I tried to talk to one'a them. He 
called behind his'self an two more come up from the basement an try to 
look mean, scowling an stuff. One is a nice-looking dark-haired girl. 

"What you want, butthole?" the first one says. 

I look at all of them, leaning against the building an glaring at me. 

"Just want to say hello, that's all." 

"Fuck off," another one says, so I do. 

This time, the two guys knock on our door. 

"We wanna talk a minute," one says, shoving me aside an going in. 

I kinda get mad, but am curious. I'd still like to be friends. I think
of that, too. So I follow them in to my own home. 

"Hey, sist'a," one of them is standing in front of Janie, her in her
normal position in front of the tv with a drink in hand. "We gotta get 
together some time," he says. 

That sounds friendly to me. 

The other one is already sitting on a couch I bought. 

"Since it seems you're gonna be here a while," he tells me while I'm
still watching the one with Janie, "you gotta start paying us something 
every week. See, there are a lot of bad people around here. So us guys 
that live on this block, we got us together. If it wasn't for us, 
things would be busted up around here, women raped and men beat up on 
the street. You must have read about those things, right?" 

"Yeah, in'a newspaper." 

"Well, we keep them bad guys out of here, kick their asses if they even
put a foot in our territory, all so you guys can walk around here, safe 
like." 

"Thanks. We appreciate it." 

"The thing is, the thing is, we gotta eat too. Like soldiers, we got to
be paid to protect you. So everyone on the block has to chip in a few 
bucks, like, to feed us soldiers. You get my point? What's your name, 
anyway?" 

"Sonny Jones," I reply, his message finally getting to me, an I don't
like it none, "and my sis ... wife, Janie. You mean protection money, 
right? I pay you not to beat us up on the street. Is that what you 
mean?" I have to smile. I can't help it. 

He smiles back at me. "Exactly." 

I look over, seeing the other boy sitting with Janie, her drunk as
usual. He has his hand on her leg. I take time to go over to a table, 
open a drawer, and bring out that fucking gun -- then show it to them. 

"You," I say real loud, "take your fucking hand off my wife." I look
down at the other guy. "Get a fuck out'a here," I tell him, "no six a 
you punks ain't a gonna kick my ass. You fuck with my wife an I'll tear 
you a new asshole." 

They don't say nothing, but ain't smiling as they leave. 

*** 

Me and another detective, a city one named Perkins, Andy Perkins, have
our section of town to cover. I joined the task force, fully expecting 
that since I was from state level to be in charge. 

That didn't last long. As soon as it was determined that the crimes had
crossed state lines and a bank robbed, the FBI came in and took over. 
That means I'm demoted to footwork, asking questions, filing reports, 
meetings, and stakeouts. All the crap the FBI flunky, a woman yet, 
named Edna Trampkins -- a real tramp -- dictates. 

Today, me and Perkins have a block on Evens Street to cover. Someone
around there has been cashing in one hell of a lot of coins, trading 
them to local stores for folding money. 

Our task force is making progress. The bus drivers didn't pan out much.
One of them vaguely remembers picking a young couple, in their late 
teens, up at the bus stop near the Caddy. He couldn't give much of a 
description and they'd asked for a transfer, so it was hard to tell 
where they went from there. 

We haven't gotten any good fingerprints from the car, only smudges, as
though someone wiped the car clean and recently waxed and detailed it. 
They're good enough to mean only two subjects, but not enough for 
database comparison. That, along with their history, seems to say 
they're professionals. At least they act like it. The only lapse seems 
to be two cloth bank-bags with "Greensville First Security Bank" 
printed on them, lying under a seat. 

Today we're getting very good descriptions of the male, looking to me
like the same perp wanted for all the felonies. Whoever he is, he's 
indicated to several clerks that he lives in this area. Depending on 
what the other teams find, we might blanket this entire street again 
tomorrow, knock on doors and narrow it down further. Right now, I'm 
hungry and it's about time to go back for our daily coordination 
meeting with the tramp. 

"Let's talk to some of those guys over there before we leave, Clyde,"
Andy suggests, nodding his head in the direction of several teenagers 
standing in the doorway to a basement. "Gangs like them see everything 
on the block and might cooperate now for a little leniency later when 
they're caught at something." 

Two boys and a girl wearing a torn tank top, ripped in a way that gives
glances of one of her nipples, stiffen as we approach. They've no doubt 
been watching us since we parked, easily identifying us as police 
officers. 

"What can we do for you, officers?" one of them asks. "We ain't done
nothing wrong." 

"We're not looking for any of you ... today," Andy tells them, "but
would appreciate any information you have on a couple, about your age, 
that have recently been on a rampage. We think they may be living or at 
least sleeping around here." 

"What for? What they been doing? I haven't seen anything in the paper
and I read it every day," the girl says, obviously interested. 

"We want them for shooting a police officer. Also both payroll and bank
robberies, auto theft, crossing state lines in order to perform a 
felony and a bunch'a minor charges," I tell them. I give the girl my 
business card while Andy pumps the boys for descriptions and other 
information. 

*** 

The factory is shut down for maintenance. Us newer guys are shit out'a
luck, getting a week off without pay. Janie is at work, now learning to 
use the cash-register while at the same time carrying bags to cars. So 
far, that gang's done left us alone, maybe because a the gun or my 
size. Or they simply think screwing with us ain't worth the pain and 
effort. 

I sit myself down for some breakfast, pouring a bowl full'a "Captain
Krunchy" crap. I try to pour milk on'a stuff. All that comes out is'a 
dribble an then lumps. Damned stuff is sour. There's a pack'a hotdogs 
in'a fridge so I throw all four a them in'a pan on the stove. 

I hear a crash outside, so I go over to the window to see what's up. Two
cars done smashed and there's a couple a guys punching each other, so I 
watch what happens. As I'm watching, I smell something. The fucking 
hotdogs are burnt too bad to eat. 

"Screw it," I tell myself. Getting dressed, I figure to go down to that
Mexican place down'a block. I ain't got much, but enough for a couple a 
tacos or something. 

On the way, I gotta pass by that gang place an that girl is outside,
sitting on a steps that go upstairs. She is nice-looking with her shirt 
open to the last button, titties almost showing, an wearing tight 
overalls. I want to just pass by an ignore her, but can't resist 
looking down that "V" shaped opening. 

"See something you like?" she purrs. 

Since I don't want nothing to do with that bunch, I keep on walking. The
fucking Mex place is closed, though. I think about going to the grocery 
store, but ain't got enough money to make it worth the four-block walk. 
So I turn around to go home. There must be something to eat there, like 
a can a soup, maybe? 

I try to ignore the girl again, but she jumps up in front of me, skinny
arms stuck out to the sides. She looks me in'a eye. I try to shuffle to 
the side to get around her, but she moves fast, staying in front of me, 
a huge grin stretching a reddish painted mouth. 

"What you want?" I say. 

"Just wanna talk. Come on, and sit down a while." 

"What about?" 

"You know? Whatever." 

She grabs my shirt an pulls me over to the steps, shoving me down ... an
I don't fight it. 

"So, what you doing? I see you was just at the Mex place. I'm a gonna go
up and have some breakfast. I figure maybe you're hungry an can use 
some? How about it?" 

"I dunno. I got something at home." 

"You don't think I can cook? That's probably the only thing I can do
real good. I use'ta cook for Mama, Papa, and six brothers. Come on. 
I'll show you." 

Well, I am hungry, an she is a good-looker. "Ain't none'a those guys up
there, is they? I don't feel like a fight right now." 

"Na. They crash in the basement. Come on, Sonny. I don't bite none." 

I shrug an follow her up four flights a stairs. Why the hell not? I
think. She looks as good from behind as in front. 

I sit as she fries up half a dozen eggs an some bacon. Somehow, watching
her at the stove is more interesting than when Janie does the same 
thing. The stuff ain't even burnt, which is more than Janie can do. I 
don't like the way Sis fries eggs, either hard as hell or burnt an 
runny at a same time. 

"My name's Sonia," she tells me as she shovels the stuff on'ta two
plates an sits down across from me at a little table. "Oops! Done 
forgot." She gets up and throws a loaf a bread an a dish full'a butter 
on the table, along with forks and knives. "Ain't got no toaster. I 
busted the last one on Jeff's head and never got around to finding 
another one." 

"Jeff one'a those guys?" 

"Yeah. He tried to get in my pants and I didn't wanna." 

"He your boyfriend or something?" 

"Hell no. I don't have nothing going with those guys. The only reason I
hang out with them is there ain't nobody else around here. A gal's 
gotta talk to someone. Can't sit here and look out'a the window all 
day." 

"You don't have a job? I work at that Wibble Parts factory over on
Jackson Street." 

"My parents got me down for a bad back. That gets me a monthly welfare
check." 

"No shit? My Mama, back in Ohio, does the same thing." I'm a wondering
if she has to screw the doctor for hers, too. Jeez. Maybe I should do 
that shit too? I ain't about to screw the doctor, though. 

"It gives me enough to live on if I'm careful. Ain't got none for movies
or that kinda thing, though. And if I get a job I'll lose the free 
money. It kinda puts me in a bind. If I worked for minimum wage I 
wouldn't make very much more than now, and I'd probably lose medical." 

"You ain't sick, though? I don't worry about that sick crap. It happens,
it happens." 

"Well, I got this heart problem. Medicine's expensive. I get a shit job
and I have to pay for it myself. I figure in everything and, what the 
fuck, I might as well stay on welfare as not." 

"Your friends work or something?" 

"Na. They steal what they can, you know? The two of them moved into the
basement, don't pay rent or nothing and found a way to turn electricity 
on down there. I don't know. Maybe it was left on before. 

"Anyway, Jeff and Steve, the other one, are trying to get a gang
together but can't find nobody around here. There just ain't no nobody 
to recruit except me and some little school kids. They did get a few 
places -- like the used-goods store around the corner -- to give them a 
few bucks for 'protection.' I guess it makes them feel dangerous." 

*** 

We finish the meal. I watch as she clears the table, putting dirty
dishes in'a sink. 

"I wanna show you something, Sonny. Come on." 

She leads me through a door an into a bedroom. First thing, I notice her
bed is fixed up, maybe the first time I ever saw one with the covers 
straight like on television. I'm still using just a mattress, sometimes 
a sheet, at home. There's some kinda big stuffed animal, looks like a 
rat, on'a bed. It has something written on it, so I bend down a little 
to look. It says, "Oscar." Now, I wonder, who the hell would name a rat 
Oscar? 

That's when she jumps me, landing on my back and knocking me flat on'ta
the bed, shoving my face into Oscar's. 

When I roll her off, we're face to face, hers jamming down on mine, lips
meeting lips. I gotta tell you, that's the first time a girl's kissed 
me in my entire life. Her arms go around my neck, like to keep me from 
pulling away. No fucking way I'm gonna do that, try to get away. Not 
with that suction sealing us together, her tongue jamming against the 
back a my throat. I can hardly breathe an don't even know if I want to. 


"Muuuuughh," I go as I feel her hand clutching around at the front of my
pants. 

My cock is a stretching to get out, but she seems to know what she's
doing. Lips sealed, her front rubbing across my chest, she still 
manages to loosen my belt enough to get her hand on my dick, grabbing 
it like a broom-handle to jerk me even closer -- as if I could get much 
closer. I feel her legs wrapping around mine. 

Well, we roll around for a minute, a sweet minute, and somehow end up
naked as jaybirds. I dunno how, as tight as we are, but she flips 
around, cunt in my face as I feel moist lips, only moments from my own, 
now wetting down my shaft. A second, much sweeter, breakfast in front 
of me, I dig in. 

*** 

"But we know this one guy turned in over $1,000 in coins to a bank over
on Hillstead," Detective Triposki argues. 

"And the teller said it was an old man, saved them up for years,"
Special Agent Edna Trampkins, says. "A patrolman checked it out and 
called in a minute ago. Something you should have done at the time." 

Someone in the back of the room laughs loudly, causing her to stop and
glare him down before continuing, "I go for those shops in the South 
Adams Street area. I want everyone we have available, that doesn't have 
other tasks, to get down there and comb that neighborhood." 

She stands, stiffening thin shoulders, and calls out, "Let's get
moving." 

*** 

When I get home, I find Janie already there. On the way, she must have
stopped at a store, because there's two half-gallon bottles of cheap 
vodka on'a table. Janie, for a change, is sitting at the kitchen table, 
feet splayed out an glass in hand. I notice there's another glass 
there, too, half-full. 

"What you doing here so early?" I ask, looking at the clock over the
fridge. "An you brought someone else here?" I'm curious, you know? 

"I got fired. Mr. Gotto, he was taking trash out and found our stash
behind the dumpster. He talked to someone and found it belonged to me. 
Someone in the stockroom must have noticed and squealed." 

"Bastards. Now what?" 

"Now I gotta find another job, is all. No big problem. We got the rent
for next month." 

"Guess we gotta, so we gotta." 

"Hey! Man. Like how you doin'?" 

The sound comes from behind me. It's that guy, Jeff, Sonia was talking
about. 

"How you get in?" I ask. He better not think he's getting anything off'a
me, I'm thinking. No fucking way, Jack. 

"We got to talking, and I invited him up for a drink," Janie says,
pouring herself another an adding some soda. "Did you hear? The cops 
here are looking for us." 

"When you hear that?" I ask, giving her a glare. 

"Jeff, here, says so. They questioned him yesterday. Don't worry, they
can't find us here." 

"And what if someone decides to tell them, like this character?" I turn
to see Jeff settling on'a kitchen chair, looking over at Janie. He 
turns around an smiles at me. 

"Jeff told me about you and that girl. They saw you go upstairs with her
this morning, and you was still there when I came back. Was you 
watching tv or something?" Janie smirks, almost suppressing a giggle. 

"He probably was. That bitch's a cold fish. She ain't giving nothing
out." Jeff laughs. 

"Wham." I pull that sucker to his feet, swing him around an, seeing his
bugged-out eyes, pull back my fist. I can't see. Janie throws her drink 
in my face, splattered over all three of us. I have to let the bastard 
go to wipe the sting of alcohol out'a my eyes. When I can see, he's 
across the table, standing behind my sister. 

"Cut it out, Sonny. Damn it. Sit your ass down ... you hear me?" she
says. 

"You bastard," I start for him, forgetting I have to go through Janie. I
stop, eye-to-eye with her. Fuck it. I backup an sit down. "You. Get the 
fuck out'a here," I tell him. 

"He's got a proposal for us, Sonny. Hear him out, okay?" 

"Why? He ain't got nothing I wanna hear, cept'in the door slamming on
his ass." 

"Just listen. For me, okay?" 

"Then start talking, asshole, an fast. Remember, watch that clock on'a
wall, though. If you're still here in five minutes, I'm tossing your 
ass out'a window." 

"Look, man. Me, my buddy Steve ... Sonia, too. We been talking about
ripping that Currency Exchange on Adams street. You know? The one with 
the big red sign over the door." 

"He wants us to go in on it. We hit it on'a Friday morning. It's got all
that money for cashing weekly payroll checks, then," Janie says. "With 
the cops this close, we gotta move anyway." 

"I hear they got $40,000, $50,000 bucks there before they cash all those
checks. Rich people, they got bank accounts, see? Those illegals at the 
factories around here, they don't have bank accounts, and use that 
place." Jeff is excited, like. "You should see them, man. After work, 
at five, five-ten, they're lined up for two blocks, just to cash them 
checks." 

"What makes you think we wanna do that shit?" I ask. 

"We heard. The cops told us all that crap you did already.  You with us,
we got it fucking made, man. And you got a gun, too. All we got is one, 
my old man's from that war before. It's rusty as hell and might not 
even shoot, man. We even got a car, a van, we can like borrow. The 
other day, Steve takes this used van out for a drive, like to maybe buy 
it, you know? 

"It belongs to a guy over at Jefferson Street. Stevie went to a
Woolworth's and had an extra key made, then took it back and told the 
guy 'no.' If he ain't sold it yet, we got ourselves a van." 

"Sonia? She say she's in on it?" 

"Uh, huh. It was her idea. We was just going along with her. She wants
out'a here, just like you do." 

"She know you're talking this shit?" I ask. Was this morning a setup for
me? I'm wondering. Was she going to ask me later, after another 
screwing? "$40 - 50,000?" 

"At least." 

"I gotta think about it," I say. I look to Janie for help, an all she's
doing is sitting, a stupid grin on her face. 

"Let us know pretty quick, man. Tomorrow, we get the van. The next day
is Friday, and we hit the place, with or without you." 

"Yeah. Sure. Now get the hell out so we can think." 

"Yeah, Okay. See ya, Janie." He backs out'a the room. A moment later, I
hear the door close. 

"You ain't serious about that shit, are ya?" I ask Janie. 

When she doesn't answer, I look closer. She's passed out. I shrug. No,
fucking way, I figure, am I going in with that asshole on anything. As 
far as I'm concerned, he can piss up a rope. 

I make a sandwich, pour myself a rare drink of Janie's vodka, add soda,
an go in to watch television. 

Damn it, I think, sitting on something hard. It's that damned bag a
nickels. I dunno why Janie has that out. Probably because I was 
supposed to get rid of them this morning an forgot. I throw them aside 
an sit down again. Screw a bunch'a nickels, I think. 

*** 

"Think they'll help?" Sonia asks, sitting outside on the stoop with Jeff
and Steve. A hot day, she's wearing shorts and a green t-shirt -- one 
from which she's cut a couple of strategic circles under the arms. 
She's been giving ass to Jeff once in a while, so he's not all that 
interested in her chest -- but she likes to see Steve and passing 
pedestrians sweat. 

"I dunno, honey-babe," Jeff replies. "I don't think he likes me. He
might, or might not." 

"You did come on pretty heavy that first time, remember?" Steve adds,
looking out of the corner of his eye at Sonia, wondering how soft those 
mounds actually are. "We don't need them, but we could use that gun 
they got." 

"I'd feel better with more than two of us inside," Sonia says, puffing
out her chest for Steve's benefit. "You gotta stay with the van, you 
know? We ain't got time to unlock it, get in, and start the thing 
afterward.  And, in that neighborhood, you leave it run by itself and 
it's gone in one-minute, flat. Even if it's locked up and running. Some 
thief, he's just gonna grab a brick and break a window to get in." 

"There might not be many customers?" Jeff added, enjoying the interplay
between his buddies, and knowing damned well how soft her breasts were. 


"Bull. Payday, payday, remember?" from Sonia. "That place is gonna be
packed all fucking day. A few of those factories pay at noon and the 
armored car, it don't come until one-fifteen. We hit them after the 
money gets there and before they can unpack it. In, grab, and long 
gone." 

"If they don't lock that little gate," Steve says. 

"They never lock it. I stood in line on two Fridays, watching." Sonia
shakes her head. "A clerk would come out to the Coke machine or to use 
the restroom, going right back in without locking nothing behind her. 
Happened three-four times." 

"I hope not," Jeff says. "We can do it from outside the counter, but
it's easier if we walk right in. That way, we don't have to deal with 
that line in front, me sticking a gun in the window and hoping no 
asshole standing behind me wants to be a hero. That's why three or four 
is better than two." 

"If it looks dangerous, no sweat," Sonia says. "We just wait another
week or so." 

"Only one gun, though, unless those guys come through," Steve reminded
them. 

"Tell you what," Sonia says, "I'll go up early tomorrow, visit Sonny and
find out. If they ain't gonna help, I'll find some way to get their 
gun. Maybe borrow it or something?" 

"Hope they do, though," Steve says. "That guy on Jefferson, the one with
the van, says he works eleven to seven in'a afternoon. I'll grab the 
van then. It was still there last night, wasn't sold yet." 

"See you guys later, uh? Good show coming on television." Sonia turns to
go upstairs. Although she sometimes has sex with Jeff -- when the urge 
hits her -- it's on her terms, and she doesn't want those creeps living 
with her. After the robbery, she has plans on keeping all the money. So 
do they. 

*** 

The next morning, I forget Janie lost her job, an go in to wake her up.
She's out like'a light from drinking the night before. I keep shaking 
until she opens her eyes. 

"Lem'me alone, Sonny. I ain't gotta work. Remember? I got fired for
stealing." 

"Yeah. I forgot." 

She drops down, an is asleep again. I guess I gotta fix my own
breakfast. This time, it's easy. There's a box of candy-bars an some 
soda in'a fridge. No sweat. I grab a handful an a soda bottle an go in 
to see what's on the television. My factory's still closed for 
maintenance, so I don't gotta go to work neither. 

Again, I sit on that damned bag a nickels. "Crap!" I pick it up an heave
it onto a table nearby. "I gotta do something about those things.” 

Later, while I'm watching Tom & Jerry screwing around on'a tube, I hear
Janie banging around in the kitchen, probably for a drink a water, then 
go back in'ta her bedroom. 

Not long after, I hear a gentle tapping on'a front door, an go over to
see. It's Sonia, looking nice in'a man's shirt, sticking pretty far out 
in front. She's also wearing a shit-eating grin. 

"Can I come in, Sonny boy?" 

I step aside, smelling some sort'a perfume as she squeezes by to slam
her ass down on the big chair. I go over an sit on one'a the arm rests. 
We ain't got no other stuffed-chairs in'a room, so I ain't got no 
choice, except one'a the kitchen chairs or the couch. Right now, I 
wanna talk to her -- save me the trouble a going over there to their 
place. 

"Well? You in, or out? Jeff and Steve wanna know. We're gonna do it this
afternoon." 

"Uh, uh. I don't wanna get into that shit. Me an Janie only wanna live a
normal life." 

"It's too late. You already got the cops after you. You might as well
help us and make some cash? It can't hurt you none." 

"We'll work our asses off an give that other money back. It was a
mistake, anyway. We wasn't gonna rob that bank. We only wanted to pawn 
the gun, is all. It just happened that way." 

"Hah! You gotta be kidding. It don't work that way. They want you, not
the money. And what about the other robbery, and the stolen car, and 
shooting a cop? You can't give all of that back. No fucking way, Jack." 


“What other robbery, an what fucking cop? My uncle done stole the car,
not me.” 

“Oh, sure he did. You only hold up banks with someone else's gun and
drive cars someone else steals. Yeah, sure.” 

"We'll work out something. Maybe Mexico or something, though I don't
wanna eat that Mex shit the rest of my life. We'll do something or 
other." 

"Well, can I borrow your gun? At least let us use that." 

"It's Janie's, an I know she won't let you." 

"Come on, Sonny? I'll pay you back first, right now, in a way I know you
like." 

She scoots over, throwing her arms around my waist an pulling me down
on'ta her for a long violent kiss. We move into my bedroom to enjoy the 
rest of the gift. It goes on for maybe a hour, both of us falling 
asleep in each other's arms. 

When I wake, I find Sonia gone. Going out to the living room, I check an
see the gun's gone, too, along with that bank bag a nickels. As far as 
I'm concerned, good riddance to both. I could use the money but they've 
both been a pain in the ass. At least she didn't stay to try to talk me 
into that shitty deal. 

*** 

"I got the pistol. We can do it alone. A three-way split is better than
a five, any day," Sonia says. 

"I dunno. I'd prefer more of us. Maybe I could get Spike and Tommy, now
that we got us two guns? Tommy, I think, has a air-pistol, looks like a 
real one," Steve says. 

"Screw it. I'm tired of waiting and talking about it. The money's gonna
be there at one, and we should be, too. Let's get this shit over with, 
uh?" from Jeff. 

"I agree. We've spent a month talking. It's time to fucking do it,"
Sonia says. "Steve. Hey, take this bag of coins with you when you steal 
the van. That big discount store on Jefferson, same street you get the 
van, will give you folding money for the things. Those big places can 
always use change." 

"Why don't you or Jeff do it? What you going to be doing while I do all
the fucking work?" 

"Shut up and take the damned things. No reason all of us should be
running around like chickens. We can clean the guns and get ready.  We 
need them nice and shiny to scare the clerks. 

Complaining as he leaves, Steve does take the nickels as he heads for
the bus stop to wait for the "Downtown" bus. From there, the "Jefferson 
Street" one takes him to a shopping center where he goes into the 
air-conditioned comfort of a busy "Buy-and-Save" discount store. 

"Damn." He sees a line in front of the Service Desk. Changing the heavy
bag to his other hand, he slowly shuffles forward until finally 
standing in front of the window. 

"I been saving these up for years. You need the things?" he asks the
clerk, shoving the bag through a small open window. 

"We can always use coins." She unzips the bag and looks inside. "They
have to be in wrappers. We can't take loose coins. Ain't got a sorter 
here," she says, zipping and shoving the bag back at him along with a 
rubber-banded bundle of nickel-wrappers. "Fill these, two-dollars worth 
in each, and I'll be glad to take them off your hands." 

"Shit," he mumbles to himself, looking at his watch. Nine AM. Thinking
he has time, but better hurry, he asks, "You got someplace I can work 
at?" 

The clerk points to an empty set of shelves nearby. Smiling at the boy,
she waits until he's standing at the shelf, back to her, dumping coins 
out onto the space and stacking them. Then, smile fading, she reaches 
for a telephone -- to call the police. A notice on a bulletin board 
across from her in the little cage warns about the coins from that bank 
robbery. The name of the bank, vividly displayed on the bag, jogged her 
memory. 

Steve is three-quarters of the way done when he feels a hand on his
shoulder. Looking around, he finds three large detectives standing 
around him. Two are from River City and one from the State Police. 

At the police station, Steve loses no time in telling all about their
plot. What he doesn't know is anything about the moneybag. Neither one 
of the others had bothered to tell him how they got it. Also, Steve has 
only known Jeff and Sonia for a couple of months and knows damned 
little about the backgrounds of either. 

*** 

"It looks like they're both in there. I saw a woman walk across the
window," Detective Andy Perkins tells Clyde Burrows of the State 
Police. 

The two, along with four motor-patrolmen, have the apartment surrounded.
Receiving confirmation by radio, they're ready to go in. 

"They won't be expecting us. One of the guys out front will call to them
on his bullhorn. That's when we hit the rear door. They should both be 
looking out the front window by then," FBI Special Agent Trampkins 
instructs. "That's when we hit the door, hard. Clyde, first, to the 
right. You kick it in. Then Andy to the left, and I'll come in last, in 
the center. 

"Remember, these people are very dangerous. They've already shot one
policeman. Don't take any chances with them." 

The three stand, becoming ever more nervous as the seconds tick away.
Pistols out, they slump forward, right legs forward, ready to leap. 

"You, in the second-floor-front apartment. Yes, I mean you. Come to the
front window and show your hands, Now!" comes through the walls from 
the front of the building. 

At the sound, Clyde kicks out, sole hitting the hall door alongside and
just below the lock. The door flies open, Andy leaps into the room, 
angling off to his left. Foot dropping to the floor and staggering to 
the left, Clyde regains his equilibrium and strides forward. The FBI 
agent follows, all three crouching inside with pistols extended, 
searching for targets. 

Sonia and Jeff -- in front of the window -- spin around at the noise
behind them, their own guns extended. Sonia tries to fire at Trampkins, 
the weapon giving a soft click, unheard as the police open up. 

It's over in seconds, both potential criminals down, hit by multiple
rounds. 

"They shouldn't have shot at us," Andy says, pistol still shaking in his
hand. "They shouldn't have. Why? They shouldn't ha--." 

"Get hold of yourself, detective," Special Agent Trampkins says to him,
disgust in her voice. She's been through the same scenario before. "It 
was their choice to die, not ours." 

Clyde goes over to the two, checking and finding no pulse in either. He
picks up Jeff's German luger, souvenir of WWII, and tries to eject a 
round in order to clear the gun. "This piece of shit's rusted shut." He 
turns it over, seeing the magazine-chamber empty. "Not even loaded." 

"Jesus!" Andy whimpers as he picks up the other weapon with one finger
and thumb, "I'll bet this is the pistol they shot the patrolman with. 
It's the same type and caliber." 

"You did good," Trampkins tries to console him. "This solves that string
of robberies, too. We got the couple that did it, the bank-bag, and the 
weapon." 

Down the block, nobody's looking out of another apartment. Sonny and
Janie have already left. 

The End. Charlie Thrun


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