Johnson's Roost
"Sonny, get me that other bottle, honey," Mama orders from the couch. "And a Coke. I'm about out."
Mama's drunk again, flat on her ass. She says, and can prove to social services, that her back is bad. Shit, her back's bad from lying on that doc's table while he screws her. That's all what's wrong with it.
Last week, Mama was out back, digging a garden to plant flowers. Her back was okay then. The doc, he don't give a flying fuck since he gets laid for only five minutes of writing a paper. Then she shows the welfare an gets her money.
Me an my sister Janie, along with Mama, have to live off that money she gets, buying food an clothes, an school supplies. The state pays our utilities, so I got all the free water I can drink, needing it to drown the baloney an beans in my stomach.
"I found the Coke, Mama, but can't find your vodka," I call back to her.
We live in a small farming town in mid-Ohio, A-hi-a, as we calls it. It's called Johnson's Roost, named after a black family with money that moved here after the Civil War.
Course they was driven off later by white farmers, but only after they'd cleared the land an built up a farm. My ancestors quickly moved in to claim it, only to be hung for our audacity an thievery an chased off the land itself, only getting to keep the farmhouse. The house, being essentially worthless since it was half-burned down in the fighting, we still own. It's still half-burnt, an that was a hundred and fifty years ago. Well, in our favor, it ain't as bad inside as it looks from outside. Though the roof leaks in my bedroom, it leaks into a hole in the floor. No big thing.
"It's there somewhere, Sonny," she says about the vodka.
I can hear her moving around, the couch squeaking like a herd'a meeses.
"I gotta do everything myself? I work my tush off for you two and get nothing in return."
Mama ain't about to do no manual labor, an ain't, same as the rest of us, got no brains for nothing else. I ain't never had no old man, him being one of a steady stream of guys in the front door an out the back, timed so as not to be seen by the next. Each one leaves a five-dollar bill on the kitchen counter if Mama is sober enough to insist.
Me an Janie ain't got half the clothes we need. I got me two pair of pants to her three, an we share four shirts, mix an match. Me being twenty an her nineteen, an close enough in size, they fit good enough. Our shoes ain't two the same, not even the same color. We keep an eye on trash cans as we pass, hoping to find some what matches. Socks are saved for social functions, standing stiff in a corner of my room until needed.
Mama pushes past me, banging into the kitchen doorway, slamming into the refrigerator an causing all those plastic thingies on top to rattle an threaten to fall. They're supposed to hold leftovers, which we never got any of.
Janie dreams a being an artist when she grows up. Fat chance. She can't barely color inside the lines in a coloring book. Me? I dunno. Maybe just to stay out'a jail as much as I can. We got us three real uncles, all in one jail or another. We still have two stolen cars sitting behind the house where Uncle Jim left them. By the time he gets out he's gonna be too old to get underneath and file the serial numbers off, anyhow.
One of them might run, I been thinking, maybe? I spend a lot of time playing with an working on it. It's a nice three-year-old '69 Caddy. Our family ain't never been nothing, ain't nothing now, an ain't never gonna be nothing.
"Jesus Christ, here it is, empty. What the hell am I going to do, Sunday and out of booze?" Mama complains, shaking an empty bottle.
Maybe stay sober long enough to take a bath, I think, or clean the house?
Back in school, I was always at the bottom of my class. Being so big for my age, I could never fit right in them little desks, neither.
The only thing I was ever good for was fighting. I was always fighting, not for myself much, but to protect my sister. Janie's dumber'n me, if that's possible. Nobody joked about me when I could hear it, but they did her, only if I wasn't around. An I couldn't be around all the time.
I quit school at nineteen, still stuck in the sixth grade, third year running in that same room. Even a Jones can learn something if it's pounded inta his head three times, just took me longer than most to get there, an longer still to give up on it.
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 by the dome light, I keep the battery going with a charger I lifted from a local Texaco station. Sometimes I sit behind the wheel, gripping it, and daydream about just 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 an half a quart of Coke in the other. She staggers to the couch, falling heavily, sprawling out to mix herself a drink.
"Mama. No!" I cry, grabbing at the cleaner.
"S'okay," she says, grinning. "It's gin. I keep it for emergencies."
Mama does that, hides booze all over the house. Still, I stand an watch until she takes a few gulps, just 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 the well outside, me an Janie take semi-monthly baths in a rusty old horse-trough next to it.
While I'm making a sandwich out'a canned meat Mama got from the state, lousy stuff, no 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'd you steal?"
"His pants."
"The principal's pants? You didn't."
"Yep. He was in the student shitter in the basement. You know, the little crapper nobody much uses?"
"That's for boys."
"Uh-huh. Tommy Sanders an me were cuddling in there. Tommy just left. Then Jerky Jackson comes in while I'm cleaning myself up an gets in the booth next to mine. I see these pants sitting on the floor, a wallet sticking out'a one pocket."
"He had 'em off? Why?"
"How the hell should I know why? But they was off."
"An you grabbed 'em an ran?"
"Yep. Figured he wouldn't chase me without no pants."
"So how'd 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 fool reason an grabbed me."
"Oh. Tough shit, huh?"
"Gimme that sandwich, an make me a couple more. I'm getting out'a here 'fore the police come. Jackson told Miss Giglio to keep me in detention till they came to take me to jail. I got a few minutes to grab some money I got stashed in my room, then, zoom. See ya around, kid."
"How'd you get out'a there?"
"Smashed old Giggy in the face with a textbook an went out the fucking window."
"Screw it, Janie." I look around at the mess of our lives an make my decision. "I'm with you. Come out back when you're ready."
I take a minute to throw the open can of meat, a loaf of bread, a jar of mustard, one of generic peanut butter, an a few things from the cupboard into a plastic supermarket bag, then I run out the back screen door, hearing it slam behind me. I throw the bag into the back of that shiny Cadillac, pop the hood, grab a wrench an connect the battery cables.
Hoping it'll start after sitting six or eight months, I pump the gas a few times an, using the screwdriver already sticking out'a the ignition, grind the starter.
It catches, idling rough at first but settling into a hum as I wait for Janie. Running away's been a long-time daydream, so I already got the tank full of gas siphoned out'a all the others.
She comes out, sees me, an runs around to climb in the other side. I ain't no expert driver, but I've driven before an figure I know most of the rules, like what speed limits an stop signs are for. An with a stolen car, I don't intend to go through no big cities.
"Who's gonna take care'a Mama?" Janie asks. "An where's my sandwiches? You didn't make any, did you?" She slumps down in her seat.
"Get going. We ain't got no time to screw around."
"She'll get by. Bag's in 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 with her feet up against the windshield, dipping peanut butter out'a a quart can with her fingers.
* * *
We drive all night, ending up in Backscratch, Illinois, about sunup.
"How much you got?" I ask Janie, who's 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 twenty-nine bucks, myself."
I find a gas station, not a chain, just a small garage with a pump out front, an stop an talk to a guy in dirty coveralls.
"Look, buddy," I say, "I ain't got but this," I show him my change, "but I'll trade you my spare tire for some gas."
"Got a rim on it?"
"'Course it's got a rim, it's a spare."
"Lemme see it."
We go around back of my car, an he inspects the tire close.
"Ten gallon."
"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 up.
"What ya mean, sets sell better?"
"Give ya a full tank for the five of 'em," he says, "an give you four used ones to ride on." His eyes narrow, an he nods at the screwdriver sticking out'a my ignition. "An I won't tell the cops nothing."
Figuring that's probably a good deal, me an Janie stand back an watch as that thief swaps our almost-new tires for a set of bald ones, then fills our tank with low-grade gas.
Tires thumping, expensive engine pinging, we head on our way. Not trusting the guy, I find a spot off the main highway an circle around the small town on back roads instead. If he turns us in, I want the cops searching in the wrong direction. I might be dumb, but I ain't a stupe.
"You shouldn't have made that trade, Sonny." Janie won't leave it alone. "Guys like him don't get along with cops. He was only trying to scare you."
"We need your money for food, an we oughta get rid of this car anyway. Where we gonna go now? An what we gonna do when we get there?"
She shrugs. "Anywhere out of Johnson's Roost, an I don't give a shit. We'll find something."
Janie digs in her bag an comes 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'a her hand.
"Gimme." I drop it on my lap an reach my free hand over to roll down the window. I'm gonna throw the damned thing out.
"It's mine." She grabs it back an jams it down between her legs, closing them tight, hands over her crotch. She knows I won't reach down there. "I got it off a boy. He stole it from his uncle an was afraid his daddy'd find it. It's mine now."
"What'd you give him for it?"
"What the fuck you think? Now drop the subject."
"You ever shoot it?"
"Shit, no. An have the neighbors call the cops?"
"Those bastards is always doing that."
"Yeah."
We drive a while, watching cows on the roadside, them watching us back an chewing grass.
"What you gonna do with it?" I ask, meaning the gun.
"Dunno. Maybe sell it, or rob a bank? What you wanna do with it?"
"Pawn shop, maybe?"
"Selling it'd mean more money." She takes it out, turning it over an over in her hands, polishing it against the seat 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 somebody what wants it an has money."
"I heard on television guys in bars buy guns. This reporter went into some city bars an 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'n 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 ain't scared of the thing, but I don't particularly wanna be driving around in a stolen car with a stolen gun.
A little ways off the main street, we find a small shopping center with a check-cashing place, a supermarket, an what I'm looking for, the three-ball sign of a pawn shop.
"Park around back, Sonny. Remember, this is a stolen car. Maybe we can go in the back door?"
Makes sense to me. Don't want nobody seeing that screwdriver sticking out'a the ignition.
I get a little mixed up which door's which, there's a whole line of 'em in back, none marked. Janie walks close behind me, holding the gun half-hid in her hand. Hoping it's the right one, I shove like hell on a heavy metal door.
We go in an see a counter with a couple customers ahead of us. Damn, we're on the wrong side of it, the clerk with her back to 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. I look up an see the clerk ain't grinning like the customers. Her face is white as paper, an she raises her hands.
"Take it," the clerk says, voice loud an shaking. "Take it an get out. Please. Don't shoot. I don't wanna die."
Take what? I think, looking round. Then I see her glancing down at my feet, an look down myself. There's four cloth bags there, the ones I stumbled over.
I hear Janie saying, "Get those bags an start the car, Sonny," in a loud whisper. "Don't stop to think, an 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's robbing them. I freeze in my tracks, not knowing what the hell to do. Don't stop to think, she's told me, which sounds like good advice right about now.
Loaded down, I stagger back to the car, throw the bags in the backseat, an start the engine. Janie comes right behind, climbs in, an slams her door. She points the gun out her window an says, "Bang, bang," as we drive away, soon out of town an riding 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 headed. How they gonna catch us?"
I still don't like it. I ain't particularly honest, but robbing pawn shops scares me. Now we got a stolen car, a stolen gun, an stolen money, just like Bonnie 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, the perpetrators get away with?"
"A little under three thousand, Mr. Burrows. Most in small change. I was waiting on customers while getting the bills ready for the weekly armored-car pickup. You see," she says, pointing to a coin-sorting machine near the back door, "whenever I got a few minutes without customers, I run loose change through it, to get it out of the way.
"I can't count paper currency till after closing, since the totals change all day. Coins, though, only build up. This is pickup day, an since I was working alone I left the back door unlocked. That way I don't have to leave the front counter to let the pickup team in. I didn't think anybody'd know."
"Kinda screwed up, didn't you?"
"Yes... I did. This is a very small bank extension, sir. Nobody uses that back lot except a few delivery trucks. So... well... I thought it'd be safe for a half hour or so. I was very busy with customers, you know?"
"You think it's an inside job? Maybe an employee, or ex-employee, somebody who'd know about the pickup, or that you leave the door unlocked?"
"Like I said, Mr. Burrows, it's a very small setup. I'm the only employee, an have been for five years. I even sweep up at night. We only do the simple things, deposits, check cashing, making change. No loan activity. The stores around here drop their receipts in an after-hours slot out front. Mornings, I put it all in the safe an credit their accounts. Someone picks up excess currency when I call, an the coins once a week."
"Anybody see them leave?" I ask. I see what might be fear, or suspicion, cross her face, probably thinking she's implicated herself. I'd have to check her background out. With her being trusted so long, working alone an all, it don't seem likely. But you never know. A lonely woman getting on in middle age might... just might... feel like an extended vacation in Europe.
Nah, I reconsider. Not for a few hundred in small change. Wouldn't be worth it.
"I wasn't about to stick my head out back to look, not with that pistol out there. The customers were up at my cage an couldn't see much either."
I get what little I can out of Ms. Simmons, an it ain't much. They got cameras, but not behind the counter, only out front. Same for the parking lot. No cameras behind the shopping center, no reason to waste tape on delivery trucks.
There is one break, though: a restaurant employee was dumping trash out back at the time. He saw a newer-model green Cadillac racing across the lot in front of his dumpster, nearly clipping him in its hurry. He wasn't quick enough to catch a plate number, but he saw two young people inside, a boy an a girl. It headed 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 plays with them.
"Yeah, but how much in cash? What we gonna buy with pennies an dimes, Cokes an chips?"
"It's money. Find a bank or something an we'll change it."
So I stop at every little store an gas station we pass. Most of 'em can use some of the coins, but not a whole lot. Nickel-an-diming our way to gas an eats, we cut across country, no real destination in mind. Altogether, we get maybe five, six hundred dollars in small bills, that an a lot of small junk we buy along the way, candy bars an stuff like that. The back seat of that Caddy is a mess.
We finally, I don't rightly know how, end up in River City. It's a real big place, miles an miles of buildings, some of 'em huge.
"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. Cops are probably looking for it by now."
"I hate to. Kind'a attached."
"You'd hate jail even more, Sonny. An 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 nobody here what buys stolen cars. We gotta just park it an walk away. Get lost in the city. Look for a spot near a bus stop or something."
I spot a bus ahead of us. Following it a few blocks till it stops, Janie sees a wide alley between two buildings, room enough to park an still let other cars pass. I pull over, the passenger side scraping a brick wall.
"Come on. Let's get out'a here," she says.
I get out my side; she hands me two heavy cloth bags full'a coins, no light load. Janie crawls out my door, bringing her suitcase from home an a paper bag of candy an junk food. The rest of the mess we leave in the car. I want to roll up the windows so it don't rain in an lock the doors, but Janie stops me.
"Don't lock it. Let somebody else steal it," she says. "It'll throw the cops off."
So we leave the Caddy, windows down an unlocked, an take the next bus, wherever the hell it's going. We ride for hours, looking out the window at the city. Then we catch another an do the same, in another direction.
"We gotta find someplace to stay, to live," Janie says.
I agree. Letting somebody else drive while I sit back is fine, but we can't live in the back of a bus.
Tired of riding around, we eventually pass through a place something like our small-town slum back home, only this one's bigger, miles long. It's full'a unpainted houses, empty lots dotted with abandoned cars, that sorta thing. Plenty of faded, torn "For Rent" signs, too.
"Let's get off here," Janie suggests. "We got about seven hundred cash an all these coins. Maybe we can rent a cheap room or apartment. If anybody asks, say we're married."
"Nobody's gonna believe it."
"Why not?"
"Who'd marry you?"
"Shut up."
By the time we're back in the business section, we've had to ride the same bus for two more hours, getting hungrier by the minute, not daring to get off in case we can't catch the right one back. Eventually the thing turns around, an we're ready when it swings back through.
"First we'll find a place, then something to eat," Janie says.
"Less we find something to eat first. If we do, I'm getting a burger. Nobody put you in charge."
I forgot how heavy those coins are, even tempted to pitch 'em in a dumpster we pass. One cloth bag's half full'a pennies, maybe ten, fifteen dollars' worth, an weighs a ton.
We find a little taco shop first.
"I'm not going in there. It looks danger..."
I don't hear the rest, since I'm already through the door. Janie has to follow, giggling. We sit down at a table nasty from somebody else's meal, crumbs an junk lying around. I don't give a shit.
I don't know what to order, so I tell the waitress, a nice-looking Mexican girl, "Gimme half a dozen of those taco things."
"Give me two," 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 the sunshine. From where we're standing, I can see two "For Rent" signs, one in each direction.
Janie leads the way up the stairs to the front porch of the nearest one.
"Me an my husband just moved here," she tells a frumpy-looking housewife who reminds me of Mama, same curlers, same bags under the eyes, same whiskey breath, "an we need someplace to stay while we look for work."
"Pretty young to be married, missy. You sure you're married? I don't wanna run one'a those rendez, ron-day-view, places where you kids throw parties an tear up the place."
"Oh," Janie says, hugging me an planting a kiss on my cheek, "we're married, all right. Been together for years."
The woman looks us up an down, doubt plain in her eyes. Then she shrugs, turns, an walks off down a long hallway lined with doors, a set of wooden stairs at the end. We follow.
"Hear these steps creak?" she asks as we climb, her wide backside level with my face. "I live downstairs an can hear anybody trying to sneak up here. No parties, no visitors after ten at night."
She shows us a three-room apartment. There's some furniture, a refrigerator, a stove, a kitchen table with three wooden chairs. One bedroom has an iron bed frame without a mattress, just springs. A big tattered stuffed chair sits in what oughta be the living room, an one of those old combination radio-television-record-player things. That's about it. It reminds me of home.
"Bathroom's halfway down the hall. Bring your own paper. You gotta share it with the apartment at the other end. No arguing with them, or you're out on your butts. I run a clean house an don't want no cops around."
"We don't like cops neither," Janie says, looking around.
"Didn't say I don't like cops. Just don't wanna see 'em here."
I'm worn out from hauling all those pennies around, up two flights of stairs. I'm glad when Janie pays an the woman finally leaves, still not having told us her name.
Using a bag of change for a pillow, I lie down on the floor an am soon asleep like a baby, my mind 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, what we call our Civil War?" Ms. Peters asks me in history class. I'm fourteen then, in my second year of fifth grade.
"'Cause'a the coons?" I answer. I never did figure that out, the Negroes and the Whites fighting way back before I was even born. Why the hell do we gotta know all that stuff, anyway?
I remember the class laughing an booing, both at once.
"Only coon here's Jones," somebody yells behind me.
"Quiet, Mr. Cabloski. No, Edward," she says, "that was only ancillary to the real reasons, economics 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 confused me, colored, black, white, wop, kike, an all that. They was always laughing at me over it. Wasn't my fault I couldn't get that shit straight. There must be some secret way to remember it, some secret nobody ever tells us Joneses.
"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 negro... an colored? I thought. Now I know they're simply Black. So what the hell? I already knew that. At the time, though, I heard all that shit at home, all the time. Maybe that's one thing about being dumb, knowing all the words but not when to use 'em, I thought.
My mind flashes to another scene, one more typical. I'm a real small kid, playing on the school playground with Janie an a couple younger girls, two grades behind us. We're throwing a ball around. That year, 'cause I gotta repeat, me an Janie are in the same grade. Later, she passes me by.
"What's a matter, Jones, you gotta play with the little girrrrrls? You an your ugly sister," Jimmy Templer yells at me.
I get up an chase him, losing one shoe in the process. My shoes don't even match, two different shades of brown, one a size too big for my foot.
Jimmy hides somewhere an gets away, but somebody steals my shoe while I'm looking. 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 can 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, an drive to River City.
"Burrows, State," I tell the desk sergeant at River City Precinct 12, the one that found the vehicle. There I meet a Detective Harris, who fills me in on the details.
"At ten-seventeen this morning," he tells me, "Car 18, on his normal patrol route, noticed several juveniles clustered around an inside a three-year-old green Cadillac DeVille. It was parked in an alley off Sixth Street, just north of Evans.
"Being suspicious, the officer, Patrolman Second Edward Jablonski, parked behind the vehicle an approached the kids. A quick look showed the ignition was jimmied, a Phillips screwdriver used in place of a key, still stuck in there.
"Questioning the kids, ten to twelve years old, he found several of their pockets stuffed with loose change an candy.
"They told Jablonski they'd found the coins in the back of the vehicle, on the floor an behind the seat.
"Checking the hot-sheet archives, we found the vehicle was stolen last April tenth, right here in this city. A few weeks later it turns up used as an escape vehicle in a botched payroll robbery an shootout, during which a police officer took a bullet in the leg.
"Since we think it may be tied to your robbery too, we called your office. Whoever's driving it, they're dangerous. Maybe all the way from Chicago. We're putting together a task force, an you're welcome to join."
"Anything good off the Caddy?" I ask.
"We got prints, a lot of 'em, an it looks like only two perps. Lab's working the car now, running the prints.
"Talking to residents an clerks, we know it wasn't there at nine fifty-five. A clerk used the alley to reach his shop right about then, barely made it to work on time, took him a few minutes to park an get inside. The alley was clear at that point.
"There's also a city bus stop on the street outside the alley. We've got people checking with the Transportation Authority for drivers who stopped there between nine forty-five an ten-seventeen. Since your robbery points to a young couple, a boy an a girl, one of the drivers might remember them. We should know more by morning."
Jeez, I think. This is worse than I figured. But I'm getting closer.
* * *
I wake to the smell of lilacs. Looking up an flailing my arm, I see a fine mist settling over me an the room. Janie's spraying something around.
"Getting the stink out'a the room," she tells me. It does smell better. The apartment must've sat empty a long time, smelled like mold an spoiled food when we got it.
I get up an go to the kitchen, finding Janie's been shopping. Empty bags are piled on the table, along with fresh bread an a jumble of cans an food boxes. The place looks like it's been picked up some, cleaner than at home with Mama. How come, I think, Janie always pitched a fit about cleaning that kitchen, yet does this one on her own without being asked?
"We still got coins left an a few hundred bucks in bills," she tells me. "You gotta go out an get a couple mattresses, sheets, stuff like that. I'm gonna ask around about jobs for us. I'll get a newspaper."
"Why me? You're my wife, you should get the house stuff."
"'Cause you're bigger an can carry it. I'm smarter an can look for work."
"Bullshit."
"You mean you ain't bigger than me? That's stupid, which makes me even smarter, see?"
"Bullshit."
"Bullshit ain't an argument, which also proves you're dumber'n me."
I don't answer, since I'm already in the fridge checking out the food. She gives me fifty bucks, an I take some of the coins to change. A couple stores go ape-shit over the pennies, taking everything I've got an wanting more.
I find a used-goods store an pick up some cheap stuff, hauling it upstairs, catching the landlady watching from her doorway. She don't say nothing, an neither do I. Lucky the store's on the same block, though across the street, still takes me four trips.
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 at a supermarket. Artie's Foods, over on Edmond Street. Not much, stocking shelves for customers, carrying groceries out for old people. Manager said they'll teach me the register sometime, when they get a chance. An I got the name of a factory that might be hiring. Across town, though, miles away. You can check it out tomorrow."
She looks over my haul.
"Not bad, Sonny. Forgot sheets, though. An check out that television-record-player thing, if it works, we can pick up some records somewhere. Be nice to have music up here. Mama don't like it, but Mama's not here."
"I found a place that likes pennies, so we can finally sell 'em," I tell her. The pennies, by far the most an the heaviest, have been a pain in the ass. I'll be glad to be rid of 'em. Quarters are easy, dimes not bad, nickels near impossible to unload. Nobody uses nickels anymore, an we got hundreds of the things.
"Good. Take 'em with you tomorrow, on the way to the factory. An get 'em out'a those bank bags. We gotta find a way to burn them damn bags."
"I ain't taking the 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 at least we got plenty to eat.
I get a factory job, closer than the one she wanted but only paying minimum wage, same as Janie makes at her store. I ain't got much to steal there, 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 she did. We ain't never gonna get ahead this way."
"Face it, big brother. Us Joneses ain't never gonna be worth nothing. Might as well get with the program an be Joneses."
"Fuck it." Maybe she's right, a Jones is a Jones, an always will be. I go in the bedroom an hit the sack.
Despite that setback, we're doing all right. Then we get a visit from two guys I've seen around, living or hanging out in the basement of a closed store down the block.
They ain't been friendly, me an them ignoring each other, going our own ways. When we first moved in, I tried talking to one of 'em.
He called behind him, an two more come up from the basement to try an look mean, scowling an all. One's a nice-looking dark-haired girl.
"What you want, butthole?" the first one says.
I look at all of 'em, leaning against the building an glaring. "Just wanna say hello, is all."
"Fuck off," another one says
This time, the two guys knock on our door.
"We wanna talk a minute," one says, shoving past me into the room.
I get a little mad but I'm curious, too. Still hoping to be friends, I follow them into my own home.
"Hey, sist'a." One of them plants himself in front of Janie, who's in her usual spot in front of the TV with a drink in hand. "We gotta get together sometime," he says.
Sounds friendly enough to me.
The other one's already sitting on the 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's a lot of bad people around here. Us guys on this block, we got together. If it wasn't for us, things'd get busted up around here, women raped, men beat up on the street. You read about that kinda thing, right?"
"Yeah. In the paper."
"Well, we keep them bad guys out'a here, kick their asses if they set foot in our territory, so you guys can walk around safe."
"Thanks. We appreciate it."
"Thing is, we gotta eat too. Like soldiers, gotta be paid to protect you. So everybody on the block chips in a few bucks, feed us soldiers. You get my point? What's your name, anyway?"
"Sonny Jones," I reply, his meaning finally landing, an I don't like it none. "An my sis, wife, Janie. You mean protection money, right? I pay you not to beat us up on the street. That what you mean?" I can't help but smile.
He smiles back. "Exactly."
I glance over an see the other boy sitting with Janie, drunk as usual, his hand on her leg. I take my time walking to a table, opening a drawer, an bringing out that gun, then I show it to them.
"You," I say, loud, "take your hand off my wife." I look down at the other one. "Get the fuck out'a here. Six of you punks ain't gonna kick my ass. You fuck with my wife an I'll tear you a new one."
They don't say nothing, but they ain't smiling when they leave.
* * *
Me an another detective, a city man named Andy Perkins, have our section of town to cover. I joined the task force fully expecting, coming from the state level, to be put in charge.
That didn't last long. Soon as it was clear the crimes crossed state lines an a bank got robbed, the FBI took over. Now I'm demoted to footwork, questions, reports, meetings, stakeouts. All the stuff Special Agent Edna Trampkins, a real piece of work, dictates.
Today, me an Perkins have a block on Evans Street to cover. Somebody around here's been cashing in one hell of a lot of coins, trading them at local stores for bills.
The task force is making progress. The bus drivers didn't pan out much, one of 'em vaguely remembers picking up a young couple, early twenties, at the bus stop near the Caddy. Couldn't give much of a description, an they'd asked for a transfer, so it's hard telling where they went from there.
We haven't gotten any good prints off the car, only smudges, like somebody wiped it clean, waxed an detailed it recently. Good enough to tell us it's two subjects, but not enough for a database match. That, an their track record, says professionals. At least they act like it. The one lapse: two cloth bank bags stamped "Greensville First Security Bank," found under a seat.
Today we're getting solid descriptions of the male, sounds like the same perp wanted for all the felonies. Whoever he is, he's told a few clerks he lives around here. Depending on what the other teams turn up, we might blanket this street again tomorrow, knock on doors, an narrow it down. Right now I'm hungry, an it's about time for our daily meeting with the tramp.
"Let's talk to some of those guys over there before we head back, Clyde," Andy suggests, nodding toward a few young people in a basement doorway. "Gangs like that see everything on the block. Might cooperate now for a little leniency later, when we catch 'em at something."
Two young guys an a woman in a torn tank top, ripped enough to give a glimpse of one nipple, stiffening as we approach. No doubt they've been watching us since we parked, pegging us for cops right off.
"What can we do for you, officers?" one of 'em asks. "We ain't done nothing wrong."
"We ain't looking for any of you today," Andy tells them, "but we'd appreciate any information on a young couple, twenty or so, who've been on a rampage lately. We think they might be living, or at least sleeping, around here."
"What for? What they been doing? I ain't seen nothing in the paper, an I read it every day," the girl says, interested despite herself.
"We want 'em for shooting a police officer. Also payroll an bank robberies, auto theft, crossing state lines to commit a felony, an a bunch'a minor charges," I tell them, handing the girl my card while Andy works the boys for descriptions an anything else they know.
* * *
The factory's shut down for maintenance. Us newer guys are shit out'a luck, a week off without pay. Janie's at work, learning the cash register while carrying bags to cars on the side. So far that gang's left us alone, maybe on account of the gun, or my size, or maybe they just figure messing with us ain't worth the trouble.
I sit down for breakfast, pour myself a bowl'a some crap called Captain Krunchy, an try to pour milk on it. All that comes out is a dribble an then lumps. Sour. There's a pack of hot dogs in the fridge, so I throw all four in a pan on the stove.
I hear a crash outside an go to the window to see what's up. Two cars have smashed together an a couple guys are throwing punches, so I watch a while. By the time I remember the hot dogs, they're burnt past eating.
"Screw it," I tell myself. I get dressed, figuring to head down to that Mexican place down the block. I ain't got much, but enough for a couple tacos.
On the way, I gotta pass the gang's place, an that girl's out front, sitting on the steps. Nice-looking, shirt open near to the last button, tight overalls. I mean to just walk on by, but I can't help looking down that V-shaped opening.
"See something you like?" she purrs.
Not wanting nothing to do with that bunch, I keep walking. The Mex place turns out closed, though. I think about the grocery store, but I ain't got enough to make the four-block walk worth it. So I turn back, figuring there's gotta be something at home, a can'a soup, maybe.
I try to ignore the girl again, but she jumps up in front of me, arms out to the sides, looking me dead in the eye. I try to shuffle around her, but she stays put, grinning wide, her mouth painted a garish red.
"What you want?" I say.
"Just wanna talk. Come on, sit a while."
"'Bout what?"
"You know. Whatever."
She grabs my shirt an pulls me down onto the steps beside her, an I don't fight it much.
"So, what you up to? I saw you headed to the Mex place. I'm about to go have some breakfast myself. Figure you might be hungry toohow 'bout it?"
"I dunno. Got something at home."
"You don't think I can cook? Only thing I'm any good at, honestly. Used to cook for Mama, Papa, an six brothers. Come on. I'll show you."
Well, I am hungry, an she's a good-looker. "Ain't none'a those guys up there, is they? Not in the mood for a fight right now."
"Nah. They crash in the basement. Come on, Sonny. I don't bite none."
I shrug an follow her up four flights of stairs, figuring, why the hell not.
She fries up half a dozen eggs an some bacon while I sit an watch, an somehow it's more interesting than watching Janie do the same thing. The food don't even come out burnt, which is more than my sister manages, she can't fry an egg without either scorching it or leaving it raw an runny.
"My name's Sonia," she tells me, shoveling the food onto two plates an sitting across from me at a little table. "Oops, forgot." She jumps up an sets down a loaf of bread an a dish of butter, along with forks an knives. "Ain't got no toaster. Busted the last one over Jeff's head an never got around to another."
"Jeff one'a those guys?"
"Yeah. Tried to get in my pants an I didn't wanna."
"He your boyfriend or something?"
"Hell no. I don't got nothing going with those guys. Only reason I hang around 'em is there ain't nobody else out here. A gal's gotta talk to somebody. Can't just sit here looking out the window all day."
"You don't got a job? I work over at Wibble Parts, on Jackson Street."
"My folks got me down for a bad back. Gets me a monthly welfare check."
"No shit? My mama, back in Ohio, does the same thing." I wonder if she has to screw a doctor for hers too. Jeez. Maybe I oughta try that. Nah, I ain't about to screw no doctor.
"It's enough to live on if I'm careful. Nothing left for movies or nothing like that, though. An if I get a job, I lose the free money. Puts me in a bind. Minimum wage wouldn't get me much further ahead than now, an I'd probably lose the medical."
"You ain't sick, though? I don't worry much about that stuff. It happens, it happens."
"I got a heart problem. Medicine's expensive. Take some shit job an I gotta pay for it myself. Figured it all out, an what the hell, might as well stay on welfare as not."
"Your friends work or something?"
"Nah. They steal what they can, you know? The two of 'em moved into the basement, don't pay rent or nothing, found a way to get the electricity turned back on down there. Maybe it was never shut off.
"Anyway, Jeff an Steve, that's the other one, been trying to put a gang together, but there ain't nobody around here to recruit 'cept me an a few little school kids. They did shake down a few places, like the used-goods store around the corner, for a little 'protection' money. Makes 'em feel dangerous, I guess."
* * *
We finish the meal, an I watch her clear the table, stacking dirty dishes in the sink. She catches me watching an don't look away.
"You wanna see something?" she says, wiping her hands on her shorts.
She leads me through a door into a bedroom I ain't never seen, the bed made up neat, first one I ever laid eyes on with the covers pulled straight like something off a television commercial. There's some big stuffed animal propped on the pillow, looks like a rat, an it's got "Oscar" wrote on it in marker. I'm still bent over squinting at the thing when she pulls me down onto the bed beside her.
Nobody's ever kissed me like that before, like she means to keep me there. Her arms go around my neck an she don't let up, not for air, not for nothing, an I sure as hell ain't fighting it. Whatever else is wrong with my life, right then there ain't a single thing wrong with that room, or that bed, or her.
We stay up there most of the morning. What happened between us is ours to keep, I'll just say it was the best few hours I'd had in longer than I could remember, an leave it there.
* * *
"Think they'll help?" Sonia asks, sitting outside on the stoop with Jeff an Steve. It's a hot day; she's got on shorts an a green t-shirt she's cut a couple of strategic circles out of, under the arms. She's been giving it up to Jeff once in a while, so he ain't all that worked up over her chest anymore, but she likes watching Steve an the passing foot traffic sweat over it.
"I dunno, honey-babe," Jeff says. "Don't think he likes me much. Might, might not."
"You did come on pretty heavy that first time, remember?" Steve adds, eyeing Sonia sideways, wondering just how soft those curves really are. "We don't need 'em, but we could use that gun they got."
"I'd feel better with more'n two of us inside," Sonia says, puffing her chest out for Steve's benefit. "You gotta stay with the van, you know? Ain't got time to unlock it, climb in, an get it started after. An in that neighborhood, leave it running by itself an it's gone in a minute flat, even locked. Some thief just grabs a brick an busts the window."
"There might not be many customers," Jeff adds, enjoying the show between his buddies, knowing full well how soft her chest was.
"Bull. Payday, remember?" Sonia says. "That place is packed all day. Couple factories pay out at noon, an the armored car don't come till one-fifteen. We hit 'em after the money gets there, before they pack it up. In, grab, an gone."
"If they don't lock that little gate," Steve says.
"They never lock it. I stood in line two Fridays running, watching." Sonia shakes her head. "Clerk comes out to the Coke machine or the restroom, goes right back in without locking a thing behind her. Happened three, four times."
"Hope not," Jeff says. "We can work it from outside the counter, but it's easier walking right in. That way we ain't dealing with the line out front, me sticking a gun through the window an praying no hero's standing behind me. That's why three or four beats two."
"If it looks dangerous, no sweat," Sonia says. "We just wait another week."
"Only got one gun, though, unless those two come through," Steve reminds them.
"Tell you what," Sonia says. "I'll go up early tomorrow, see Sonny, find out where they stand. If they won't help, I'll find a way to get their gun. Borrow it, maybe."
"Hope they do," Steve says. "That guy on Jefferson, with the van, he works eleven to seven. I'll grab it then. Still sitting there last night, not sold yet."
"See you guys later. Good show coming on tonight." Sonia heads upstairs. She sometimes has sex with Jeff, when the mood hits, but it's on her terms, she don't want those two actually living with her. After the robbery, she's got plans to keep all the money for herself. So do they.
* * *
The next morning I forget Janie lost her job, an go in to wake her. She's out cold from the night before. I keep shaking her till she opens her eyes.
"Lemme alone, Sonny. Ain't gotta work. Remember? Got fired for stealing."
"Yeah. Forgot."
She drops back off, asleep again. Guess I gotta fix my own breakfast. Easy enough this time, box of candy bars an some soda in the fridge. I grab a handful an a bottle an go watch television. Factory's still shut for maintenance, so I ain't got work either.
Again I sit on that damn bag of nickels. "Crap." I heave it onto the table. "Gotta do something about those things."
Later, while I'm watching Tom and Jerry chase each other around the screen, I hear Janie banging around in the kitchen, probably after water, then going back to her room.
Not long after, a gentle tapping comes at the front door. I go see. It's Sonia, in a man's shirt stretched pretty far out in front, wearing a shit-eating grin.
"Can I come in, Sonny boy?"
I step aside, catching a whiff of perfume as she squeezes past to drop into the big chair. I go sit on one of the armrests, we ain't got another stuffed chair, so it's that or a kitchen chair or the couch, an right now I wanna talk to her, save myself the walk over there.
"Well? You in, or out? Jeff an Steve wanna know. We're doing it this afternoon."
"Uh-uh. I don't wanna get into that shit. Me an Janie just wanna live a normal life."
"It's too late for that. You already got the cops after you. Might as well help us an make some cash. Can't hurt you none."
"We'll work our asses off an give that other money back. It was a mistake anyhow. We wasn't gonna rob that bank. We only wanted to pawn the gun. Just happened that way."
"Ha! You gotta be kidding. Don't work like that. They want you, not the money. What about the other robbery, the stolen car, shooting a cop? Can't give none'a that back. No way, Jack."
"What other robbery? What cop? My uncle stole that car, not me."
"Oh sure he did. You only hold up banks with somebody else's gun an drive cars somebody else steals. Yeah, sure."
"We'll work something out. Maybe Mexico, though I don't wanna eat that Mex food the rest of my life. We'll figure something."
"Well, can I borrow your gun, at least? Let us use that much."
"It's Janie's, an I know she won't let you."
"Come on, Sonny? I'll pay you back first, right now, a way I know you like."
She scoots over, throws her arms around me, an pulls me down into another kiss, an this one don't stop at the couch, we end up back in the bedroom, tangled up together same as before, an it's near as good the second time as the first. Whatever else I think of her,
I can't say she didn't hold up her end of a bargain. When I finally wake, hours later, I find Sonia gone.
Going out to the living room, I check an see the gun's gone too, along with that bag of nickels. As far as I'm concerned, good riddance to both. Could've used the money, but they'd both been a pain in my ass. At least she didn't stick around trying to talk me into that deal.
* * *
"I got the pistol. We can do it alone. A three-way split beats a five, any day," Sonia says.
"I dunno. I'd rather have more of us. Maybe I could get Spike an Tommy, now we got two guns? Tommy's got an air pistol, looks real," Steve says.
"Screw it. I'm tired of waiting an talking about it. Money's gonna be there at one, an we oughta be too. Let's get this over with," Jeff says.
"Agreed. We've spent a month talking. Time to do it," Sonia says. "Steve, take this bag of coins with you when you go steal the van.
That discount store on Jefferson, same street you're getting the van from, will change it for folding money. Big places can always use change."
"Why don't you or Jeff do it? What are you two gonna be doing while I do all the work?"
"Shut up an take 'em. No reason all of us gotta run around like chickens. We'll clean the guns an get ready. Need 'em nice an shiny to scare the clerks."
Grumbling the whole way out, Steve takes the nickels with him to the bus stop, waits for the Downtown bus, then transfers to the Jefferson Street line, which drops him at a shopping center an the air-conditioned comfort of a busy Buy-and-Save.
"Damn." A line's formed in front of the Service Desk. He shifts the heavy bag to his other hand an shuffles forward till he's finally at the window.
"Been saving these up for years. You need 'em?" he asks the clerk, sliding the bag through the little opening.
"We can always use coins." She unzips it, looks inside. "Gotta be in wrappers, though. We can't take loose coins, ain't got a sorter here." She zips it back up an slides it to him, along with a rubber-banded bundle of nickel wrappers. "Fill these, two dollars each, an I'll be glad to take 'em off your hands."
"Shit," he mutters, checking his watch. Nine a.m. Figures he's got time, but better hurry. "Got someplace I can work at?"
The clerk points to an empty set of shelves nearby. She smiles at him, waits till he's turned, back to her, dumping coins out an stacking them, then the smile fades an she reaches for the phone. A notice on the bulletin board across from her cage warns about coins from that bank robbery. The bank's name, printed right there on the bag, jogs her memory.
Steve's three-quarters done when a hand lands on his shoulder. He turns to find three big detectives standing over him. Two from River City, one from the State Police.
At the station, Steve wastes no time telling them everything about the plot. What he can't tell them is anything about the moneybag, neither of the others ever explained where it came from. He's only known Jeff an Sonia a couple months an knows precious little about either one's history.
* * *
"Looks like they're both in there. Saw a woman cross past the window," Detective Andy Perkins tells Clyde Burrows of the State Police.
The two, along with four motor patrolmen, have the apartment surrounded. Confirmation comes over the radio, an they're ready to move.
"They won't be expecting us. One of the guys out front'll call to them on the bullhorn, that's when we hit the rear door. They oughta both be looking out the front window by then," FBI Special Agent Trampkins instructs. "That's when we go in, hard. Clyde, first, to the right, you kick it. Andy, left. I come in last, center.
"Remember, these two are dangerous. They already shot one officer. Don't take chances."
The three stand, nerves climbing as the seconds tick by. Pistols out, they crouch, right legs forward, ready to move.
"You, in the second-floor-front apartment. Yes, I mean you. Come to the front window an show your hands. Now!" booms through the walls from the street.
At the sound, Clyde kicks out, his heel catching the hall door just below the lock. It flies open. Andy leaps in first, angling left. Clyde staggers, regains his footing, an strides in behind him. The FBI agent follows, all three crouched, pistols out, sweeping for targets.
Sonia an Jeff, over by the window, spin at the noise, guns already raised. Sonia pulls the trigger at Trampkins, a soft click, lost under the sound of the officers opening fire.
It's over in seconds. Both of them down, hit multiple times.
"They shouldn't have shot at us," Andy says, his pistol still shaking in his hand. "They shouldn't have. Why? They shouldn't ha..."
"Get hold of yourself, detective," Trampkins says, disgust plain in her voice. She's been through this before. "It was their choice to die. Not ours."
Clyde crosses to check the two of them, finds no pulse in either. He picks up Jeff's German Luger, some war souvenir, an tries to eject a round to clear it. "This piece of shit's rusted shut." He turns it over, the magazine's empty. "Not even loaded."
"Jesus," Andy whimpers, lifting the other weapon by finger an thumb. "Bet this is what they shot the patrolman with. Same type an caliber."
"You did good," Trampkins tells him, trying to talk him down. "This closes out that whole string of robberies. We got the couple that did it, the bank bag, an the weapon."
Down the block, nobody's looking out of another apartment. Sonny an Janie have already gone.