After returning from his sentence of hard labor on the family farm to attend Mora's and John's wedding... Roman has a chance to get to know his new step-father... then Roman tries to pick up where he left off... getting a job at another Texaco Gas Station, only this time, he gets a whole lot more than what he bargained for.
After returning from his sentence of hard labor on the family farm to attend Mora's and John's wedding... Roman has a chance to get to know his new step-father... then Roman tries to pick up where he left off... getting a job at another Texaco Gas Station, only this time, he gets a whole lot more than what he bargained for.
The Texaco Star – Part 2
Mora’s face beamed with pride when she told John about Roman’s news. “He’s going to be working at the Texaco gas station, the one off of Mount Vernon road, after school… isn’t that wonderful news?”
“Congratulations”, John said to Roman and slapped him on his back… “Welcome to the rat race” John smiled and winked. Roman gave John a thumbs up and headed into the kitchen of John’s house, Roman truly liked the old guy that Mora had been dating ever since his exile to the farm…
They had met at a rehab facility… of all places Roman thought and shook his head every time he heard the story…
John worked as a substance abuse counselor his specialty alcohol addiction… he had been a renowned drunk for years by his own admission, growing up in the hills in Kentucky, he was a bona fide hillbilly of the tenth degree… at first Roman mistook his country hillbilly accent as a sign of stupidity… but he couldn’t have been further from the truth. John was a self-taught scholar… his formal education ending at fourth grade… much like his own Roman thought…
John taught himself the basics of reading , writing and rithmatic as he’d say… but in reality he had taught himself Civics, social studies, history, English and mathematics… yep, right up and through Calculus II. He was sharp as a razor.
He was the oldest of four children, acting head of the household since his father had died of Black lung… a form of lung cancer Roman had learned… from breathing in the coal dust working underground in the Kentucky coal mines since he’d been a kid… a few years younger than you, John had said. Can you just imagine?
Roman could he thought. Maybe he didn’t know what it had been like working underground in a coal mine… but back-breaking work like pulpwoodin… Roman could relate.
John said everything changed the day a traveling salesman came to their door… which was highly unusual he pointed this fact out… since they lived in nothing much more than a handbuilt cabin type house on a few acres of worthless land on a steep and perpetually shaded side of the hollow… John pronounced it like Holler.
A valley in between steep and rugged terrain of hills, the Appalachian mountains… where the only door to door salesman were uncles or cousins delivering moonshine and homemade remedies.
By this point of the story John would have his audience in the palm of his hand… this fella obviously from the city with his fine suit and hat was holding out some contraption we had never seen… asked if he could come in and demonstrate it’s use and he’d brought us a gift just for allowing him to do so… Ma did just that and sat down in her handmade cane chair and told the city fella to show her the gift first… Ma was no sucker John said… a bird in the hand and all that you know…
He pulled a small box outta his briefcase and handed it her… inside a little packet was a magnifying glass, the smallest screwdriver John had ever laid eyes on… and several tiny screws wrapped up in a little cloth.
The salesman said it was for repairing eyeglasses when the screws come out or become loose.
He looked around the small cabin at everyone gathered around… and grinned… for Ma. John and his younger brothers and sister all… wore glasses. Most of which were held together with tape.
Ma exclaimed… “this oughta come in handy! Thank you mister.”
“Know what in the world have you got there, she said pointing to the object in his hands that we were all ogling.
“Why this is the most technologically advanced vacuum cleaner ever built he said with pride… this is the Electrolux model E canister vacuum cleaner and sat it on the bare hand-hewn wood plank floor with a mighty clunk.
Now we weren’t ignorant, John said… we knew what vacuum cleaners were… Ma had even used ‘em a few times when she worked as a cleaner (Ma hated the word maid… sounded like a house nigger to her)… and abruptly apologized for using the derogatory slang… John shrugged… it was a different time back then and there.
Roman nodded. And John continued his story…
Ma just looked at the man like he had two heads… “we don’t have any carpeting Mr. incase you didn’t notice”.
He never missed a beat, John said… if you don’t mind me asking Ma’am… have you already cleaned your floors today? What I mean is have you… “
I know what you mean… and yes sir I have… lord have mercy its practically noon… of course the floors have been cleaned.
Ma retorted. almost offended as if his words had wounded her.
I apologise I didn’t mean to offend… would you mind if a showed you what an incredible device this little dynamo can be?
Ma looked at the small gift in her hand and nodded almost reluctantly… knowing she wasn’t returning it.
In one swift motion the salesman bent down and pulled a long cord from it and John gestured towards the electrical socket on the wall.
He would then feign indignation as if the didn’t have electricity in 1950… sure it was only one outlet, but it worked.
The space age looking design roared to life and Mr. salesman began vacuuming the wooden floor for all his worth.
After a few minutes of going over every nook and cranny of their small cramped home the salesman opened up the little metal canister and removed a see-thru cloth bag a quarter full of dirt, dust and hairballs.
Holding it out so Ma could inspect he went on describing all the benefits of its phenomenal suction power and ability to pull dirt from deep within…
Ma was flabbergasted. After all her sweeping and mopping… to see how much she had missed… now in front of company? She was mortified by the contents of the vacuum bag.
“For as little as thirty-nine dollars… you can have the cleanest in the… your… in the county! He stuttered just a bit there… John noticed.
“Lord have mercy… Ma said ain’t no way I can afford that… no sir.”
And started to hand the salesman back his gift even though he had already said it was hers for the demo…
“I understand times are pretty tight these days… so I’ll tell you what I can do… this is a special one time offer where my boss has allowed me to present only to a few of my best customers…
“what if I told you for as little as six dollars a month spread out over the year I could leave this model with you right now… and as a gift with purchase a set of disposable bags… you’d have everything you’d need to keep your wonderful home clean as a whistle.
John leaned back in his chair by the fireplace hearth and quickly calculated the total cost plus interest. Wow. After 12 months of making installment payments on a thirty-nine dollar “loan” Ma will have paid about eighty dollars when its said and done.
Ma, John said… I don’t know… that’s a lot of money just for well… gesturing at the dirt in the vacuum bag.
“I know son… but it’s my money and keeping this house clean is something I’m proud of… especially since Thanksgiving is coming up and everyone is gonna be here this year.
John shrugged and kept his mouth shut.
As the salesman finished wrapping up the deal John followed him out the door and down the dirt road…
That was something to see in there, wow, you’re really good at that. John told him
Thanks, son… I’m just in the business of helping folks… that’s really all.
If you don’t mind me asking… how much can a guy like you make… you know hypothetically… selling door to door?
The salesman looked at John and couldn’t resist the earnest young man’s face…
Between you and me… I make five bucks for every one of those things I sell outright… but if I sell em on the installment plan? Twenty dollars a pop. No kidding… for each one… that’s some serious commission kid… I drive a new buick… live in a nice house… with carpeting… and date beautiful women who like nice things that I can provide… yessir indeed… not a bad life at all kid.
John shook the salesman’s hand and thought he had just figured out what he was going to do.
After putting himself through school and graduating with his high school diploma he packed a suitcase and headed off to Chicago… where he joined the ToastMasters International organization and within a year became one of the top salesman in the city… John said it didn’t matter what the product was… you’re selling yourself… not it. But at the same time he was always drinking his way to the bottom of the bottle… liquid courage he said… just a little nip… to help me fit in… lossen folks up… greasing the rails to a close…
All I’ve ever tried to do was help folks he said…. But in the process I was killing myself, my drinking was out of control… I had lost my family… more money than I’ll ever remember and everything that was dear to me… one drink was too many and a thousand not enough.
John had been sober going on twenty years when he met Mora at the rehab clinic… where she was working as a registered LPN.
Roman wasn’t sure if the correct word was ironic or what… but the fact was that John was a recovering alcoholic sober for over twenty years working the hell outta that 12 step AA program and Mora… well Mora was a very hard practicing alcoholic and pill popping abuser of pharmaceuticals. Roman knew all to well the reason why… her not so private battle with schizophrenia only seemed manageable when she self-medicated… drowned out the voices in her head with a never-ending amount of gin and tonic… valium… anything to stop the constant chatter in her mind…
Somehow she managed to hold down her nursing job… be a mom… if only to one of her children now that Erin Rose had decided to live with Rob and spend all of her time practicing for the city philharmonic orchestra first chair… that just increased the gaping hole Mora felt in her heart on top of everything else.
At least Roman was doing ok now she thought… at least they could be thankful for that. She was amazed what a different person he had returned as… such a young man now. Evidently the farm had the anticipated result both her and Rob gad hoped for…. So rare these days. Well… his schooling notwithstanding, a little more work needed to be done there but he was applying himself so there’s always that.
Roman didn’t really care what made their relationship work… he was just happy that John had a lot of money and lived in a very cool, chic ultra-modern house on the well-heeled side of town.
How in the hell did they wind up together? Opposites attract? Who knew… but Mora seemed to love John and he adored her so for whatever that’s worth Roman was cool with it.
Roman was enrolled at the local High school alternative education class and would be taking his freshman year over again, since he had skipped too many days to complete the required courses to move on to the tenth grade. His school records from Branch Creek had a degrading black mark that held him back from moving onward and up…
On the last week of classes Roman got busted for skipping his sixth period class… a science class of all things… Roman secretly loved anything that had to do with the cosmos, he loved looking up at the stars and devouring books with pictures of the solar system and the universe.
But the fact of the matter was that the sixth period class was just in the wrong time slot… it didn’t fit in with his social and economic activities…Roman was designated as a fifth period lunch and as it happened… sixth period lunch just provided more customers… more seniors… that wanted to buy weed. So ever since the first week of school Roman had been ditching his sixth period science class to pull a double lunch shift out among the tall loblolly pines on the back lot of school grounds where all the cool kids hung out to smoke cigarettes, grass, chewing tobacco or dip their Copenhagen… a virtual oasis of tobacco and contraband activities.
Of all people… Mr Vice Principal stopped Roman out of the blue and inquired where was he coming from.
“Lunch sir…” Roman replied
“What grade are you son?”
Ninth grade…
And you have sixth period lunch… not fifth? The vp asked eyeballin roman up and down like a cop would a perp.
Uhhh, yessir that’s right.” Roman said about as convincingly as he could muster which was piss poor at best.
What’s your name?
Roman…
Your full name… as he pulled a walkie talkie from his back pocket.
Roman Caral Bayley…. Sir …. Roman thought that maybe by tagging that sir on the end it might just be the grease that the trick…
Next thing Roman knew he was in the princapls office pleaded his case that he had no sixth period class… so he just thought he got two lunches…
Of course that didn’t hold much water.
Then he was even dragged down to the science teachers classroom… brought out like specimen no 1
In front of the entire class… Roman had a flashback to the third grade… his drawing… being humiliated by mrs. whatshername.
Hopping the train… running away… that dead dog.
Roman desperately felt the urge to run right that minute… and felt like a dead dog.
But to Roman’s surprise, the teacher said very matter of factly that No, Roman was not a student in his class, never had been… at least according to his rollcall or attendance sheets. Science teacher grabbed a clipboard off the wall and scanned every page… No, no, nope… didn’t think so. He ‘s never been in my class…. He said to VP.
Well regardless… this young man was assigned to sixth period science in your class and that’s where he belongs… so take a seat.
Roman looked at the science teacher… he nodded to an open desk up front.
Roman sighed like a man condemned to death and sat down. Summer vacation would begin the day after tomorrow. If it wasn’t for bad luck… you’d have no luck at all. Played on a loop inside his head.
So another school… how many did this make he wondered. Was it six now…? Or seven? He had lost count. They began to feel like perpetual job interviews… a new school… new teachers, new friends to interview for their acceptance into their circle… on and on… it went. New bullies to fight… more secrets to hide. He was about done with it all. Sixteen was the magic number. Sixteen and he could legally drop out and never have to sit in a class feeling stupid or humiliated ever again. He as almost there… his sixteenth birthday was only a few months away.
“It’s no big deal… I worked at a Texaco before… down in Florida.” Roman replied and his mind fondly recalled Charlie’s ’57 Chevy and the stash of pot… he shrugged it off and headed to the kitchen for something to eat, he was famished and still a little high after smoking a joint earlier. His eyes were clear blue though, thank you Visine inventor… you’ve been helping kids hide the fact they’ve been getting high since 1974.
It didn’t take Roman long to see that all Texaco’s were not the same. This one, the one he had just landed the interview for was on the other side of the city from where he lived with John and Mora… the owner seemed pleasant enough, no nineteen yr old manger like Charlie though… which meant no copious amounts of weed stashed about.
Mr. Zamborri… the owner wore horn rimmed glasses, green Texaco shirts, with green pants, he was drinking the Texaco Kool aid and loved it. He was middle aged, ex-army vet from the Korean war, never married and had no kids… his close cropped jet black looked fake to Roman, as if he dyed it or something… and most definitely did not smoke, stash or sell weed as far as Roman could figure. But apart from that he left Roman alone to handle the customers and spent most of the time in his office doing paperwork.
After working part-time for four months every afternoon after school, Roman had mastered the art of oil changes and fixing flat tires. Not that he had learned that at his cousin’s Texaco since Roman had never witnessed Charlie do a single oil change or fix a flat the whole time he worked there…
Roman asked Mr. Z for a raise since he had learned how to basically handle the gas station all by himself… afterall, Mr. Z would disappear for hours at a time and leave roman alone to manage it why shouldn’t he earn more money…
Mr. Z said no... that if he wanted to make extra cash… then he needed to do extra work. Roman was puzzled. What more was he supposed to be doing?
After the first week, Roman had gone through every square inch of the whole shop trying to find whatever that old Mr. Z might be hiding. Roman had already learned people always hid something. But all Roman ever found was stacks and stacks of porn magazines and sex videos… gross! Roman thought as he pictured old Mr. Z wanking off.
One afternoon Mr. Z called Roman back to his office… “Roman! Come here and check out this new magazine that just came out…”
Roman walked back to his office hoping it was the new Motorcycle sports edition, he dreamed of getting another motorcycle since he had left behind his old Honda CB450. As he turned the corner his eyes couldn’t help but notice Mr. Z’s crotch, anyone could tell the guy had a huge boner and wasn’t even trying to hide it. On his desk in front of him was a magazine opened to a glossy page of a naked woman…
Roman swallowed hard, trying not to acknowledge Mr. Z’s obvious erection and just stared at the glossy page… “Pretty racy stuff, eh?” Mr. Z said. “It’s called, Hustler… this ain’t your fathers Playboy… no siree!”
“Uhhh… yeah, cool… I should probably be getting back to…” What? I wasn’t doing a damn thing out front and he knew it. “Go ahead and check it out, flip through the pages… there’s better than that pic further toward the back.” Mr. Z stated matter of factly and Roman saw out of the corner of his eye that Mr. Z had put his hand over his pop-up tent and was slowly stroking himself.
Gross, gross, gross… Roman’s mind was racing trying to figure a graceful exit out of there. “You probably jerk off twice a day at your age, eh?” Mr. Z murmured. Roman’s mind screamed to run… Too busy I guess… Roman answered. What the fuck are you talking about?! Roman’s mind was reeling… “I gotta go” Roman blurted and turned to leave but Mr. Z in a unexpectedly fast move grabbed Roman by the wrist and pulled him over closer, guiding Roman’s hand to his crotch. “Feel that Roman? That’s what a grown man’s cock feels like… go ahead and touch it.”
Roman tried to pull away but Mr. Z’s grip tightened only stronger. “Lemme go, Mr. Z… let me go… I won’t say anything to anybody.”
Mr. Z held Roman’s hand firmly on his erection, not deterred by Roman’s threat. “Say what to who exactly…? Are you going to tell them that you’ve been stealing from the register? Yes… you think I didn’t know? It’s my business Roman… of course I knew you were dipping in the till… about fifty a week if my math is correct… but I can… overlook such activities… given the proper… motivation.” Mr. Z took his other hand and unzipped his pants pulling out his penis.
“Stroke it, Roman… stroke it until I tell you to stop.” Mr. Z’s grey eyes locked onto Romans daring him to disobey his command. Mr. Z arched his back thrusting his penis up and Roman grabbed his penis with every ounce of strength he could muster. Roman latched on to it for dear life… he pulled Mr. Z’s penis up, and up, and up… until he flipped Mr. Z out of his chair on his back.
“Fuck you, you old perv…” Roman yelled and turned to run. Mr. Z grabbed Roman around his ankle and tripped Roman to the floor beside him… they both started punching and wrestling… one trying to get away… the other desperately trying to hold on. Roman thought that he was about to be raped… unbelievable he thought… it was just an average day doing average work and wham! Out of nowhere… a grown man is trying to rape me.
His eyes landed on a toilet plunger of all things… without a moment’s hesitation Roman grabbed the plunger and jammed it into Mr. Z’s face over and over… as if he were un-clogging a turd and he was… in a way.
Roman kicked him in his stomach. “Screw you perv…” and ran out of the office.
Mr Z got up… as he zipped up his pants and started putting himself back together… he yelled at Roman “You’re nothing but a punk kid… and a thief! Yeah, you’ve been stealing from the till… I know all about that you little thieving punk! No one will believe anything you say… not after I tell ‘em that you’ve stole from me!!
Roman had gone into the back room where his locker was and torn off the Texaco shirt and thrown it into the trash… he changed into his own clothes and grabbed his backpack and turned to leave… he could hear Mr. Z ranting on and on about how he had taken his kindness and generosity only to repay him by stealing…. It was true roman thought as he rounded the corner and went through the door that led to the garage… he had taken money out of the cash register… a few bucks here and there… a little every day… just to buy candy bars and snacks from the vending machine… it wasn’t like he was raking it in… roman thought of it as the cost of doing business… and payment for knowing that Mr. Z was wanking off every afternoon with his porno mags… gross bastard.
On the way home Roman thought of his options… tell Mora and John about what Mr. Z had done, then Mora calling the police and dragging Roman down to the gas station to confront him… Mr. Z telling the cops and Mora his side of the story regarding the missing cash, roman getting confronted and then coming up with this cocka mamey lie to cover it up… the police may start to look a little deeper into Roman’s afterschool activities… stealing cars and going for joy rides, dealing a small amount of pot on the side, the hot bmx bicycle parts in the back of the shed, etc… hmmnnn… maybe it’ll be wiser just to keep his trap shut this time… keep the police out of his business… and Mora.
(A week later…)
Roman was sitting up in Georgie’s bedroom recycling old roaches that still had a hit or two of weed in them…Georgie had collected them from his old man’s ash tray in his parents bedroom…
“waste not want not” Roman said.
“Yeah… but we need to find a nice bag pretty soon or else it’s gonna be scarce city!” Georgie replied.
I heard that Stevie made like five hundred dollars off that pound of weed he got last week!” and that was just some ol Mexican rag weed too… Georgie continued. If we could just get our hands on one lousy pound… or even a few ounces of high quality ganja… shee-it… we could chop it up into grams and make enough to keep us in high heaven for the rest of the year! He exclaimed.
“Sounds great” Roman relied… only problem is where you got the money to buy it! A pound of red bud last time I checked was like four-hundred dollars… let’s see how much I got (Roman acts like he’s checking his wallet) oh I’m only three hundred and ninety-seven dollars short! How about you?
Georgie just shrugs and waves his hand at roman…
Don’t get lost in the little details… where there’s a will there’s a way right? Aren’t you always saying that?
Look man… if we can get our hands on some decent grass, I’m not talking about Acapulco Gold or friggin’ red bud… but just some good quality grass like that shit we had a few weeks back, remember? That did the trick didn’t it? We were stoned out of our gourds! On that shit.
Roman nodded, recalling how high he had gotten before class one morning. He was sitting in the back row of the alt ed class staring out the window daydreamin as usual… the teacher was pretty cool as teachers go but the material was so boring roman almost nodded off… so he fumbled in his army jacket pockets for some smokes and lit up a Marlboro as if he was outside hangin’ on the streets or something… as he exhaled a large plume of smoke in the back of the class completely oblivious to his surroundings… the teacher yelled at him to put out the damn cigarette immediately and come up to the front of the class and find a seat.
Roman’s mind snapped back to reality… oh shit, he thought… you stupid fuck… what the hell were you thinking? Idiot.
The teacher looked into Roman’s eyes as he came up front and just shook his head in wonder… wow… you’re pretty buttered there aren’t ya? The teacher replied.
Roman looked up and smiled like a stupid, stoned kid freshman he was…. Buttered? That’s a good one Mr. Stanski…
It’s Stanloski… and you can go to the principals office if you don’t shape up right this minute, you understand me? You’re high as a kite aren’t ya?
Roman laughed at that. Yep… I sure am. Then he turned and walked out the door… never to return.
Roman zoomed back in to the present and focused on what Georgie was going on about… if we can find a pound of decent grass for about four-hundred… then we’ll cut it up in dime bags at ten dollars a pop… or whatever…don’t you see Roman? Man, we’ll make a killin’!
I don’t know, Roman said… sounds like a lotta work getting rid of a couple hundred dime bags! Like a couple hundred chances of getting caught if ya ask me…I’m on thin ice as it is at home, ever since I drove that stolen dirt bike through the hallway at Jr high last year… I almost went to jail for that crazy stunt.
We’re not gonna get caught… not if we’re smart about it… we’ll only sell to people we know, like really know.
I don’t know… sounds pretty risky… anyways what the hell are we talking about ? We don’t have four-hundred dollars remember?
Georgie wasn’t easily deterred, one of the things Roman liked most about him… like a dog with a bone… he kept going.
Look… a simple four-hundred investment… two-hundred bucks from the two of us, right? We’ll break it down to a few ounces, some quarter bags and the rest dime bags… if we can get 192 dime bags outta that one LB we’ll make like one thousand nine hundred and twenty dollars off that four hundred dollar investment… well, not exactly Georgie went on… first we’ll have to recoup our initial buy in of four hundred… but that’ll leave us with like one thousand fifteen hundred and twenty dollars… split two ways right partner? We’re looking at seven-hundred and sixty dollars each my brother from another mother… how about that?!
Roman just stared at Georgie in awe… for a stoner, pot head punk kid… Georgie did the math in his head so fast that Roman’s head couldn’t keep up…
Well ok…Roman was already spending his share of the money in his head.
“Why not get two LB’s…? Roman suggested. Double the profits right? Hell with that kind of money I could buy a car! It was getting harder and harder taking John or Mora’s cars to sneak out at night… they were up to his ways these days.
“There ya go… now you’re talking!” Georgie said beaming his irresistible smile that worked like magic on all the girls in his class… Georgie got more pussy than Hugh motherfuckin Hefner Roman surmised… he was only six months older than Georgie but Georgie was ten years older when it came to sexual conquest. Roman had never seen anything like it… Georgie could just look at a girl and smile… ten minutes later he had their designer jeans on the floor. Roman didn’t have much going for him like the way Georgie did… his teeth were still fucked up from the dirt bike crash… and all the fights he seem to get in lately didn’t help his looks… he felt uncomfortable around most girls, never knew what to say when he was with them…
Alright big shot… Roman said… and where pray tell are you gonna get two hundred dollars from, ask your dad for a small business loan?
Don’t know… yet. But I’m working on it. Give me a couple of days to work on it. What about you? Any ideas on how to get your hands on some dough?
I don’t know maybe…Roman was thinking of those nightly deposits Mr. Z made in his floor safe… there had to be several hundred dollars in there on any given day he thought. Roman had only told one person about what had happened at the Texaco station when Mr. Z had tried his bullshit… Georgie thought they should beat the shit outta him for that… wanted to take a Louisville slugger to him but also agreed with Roman best not to poke the hornets nest with Mora… and the cops. So they just dropped it.
What about the Texaco…? Didn’t you tell me that Mr. Z keeps all the cash in that floor safe… that once a week has to make his deposit at the bank…? what if we robbed him when he was in the safe? There’s gotta be lots of cash… more than enough to buy a couple of pounds of weed Georgie said excitedly.
Ok Einstein… Roman retorted. Rob him with what? Our fingers poking out from our jackets? Ya think he’s gonna just let a couple of punk kids walk in there and take his money? For someone who can calculate math in his head you’re dumb as shit sometimes… I swear…
Fuck you… Georgie shot back.
Fuck your momma… Roman said smiling
You wish you faggot… GEORGIE vollied back. Roman didn’t mind when Georgie called him faggot, or queer or homo… he knew it was just joking, just a punk kid talkin shit to another punk kid… no harm no foul. But let some other person or punk kid call him that…? Oh hell no… blood would spill.
Georgie said, “I know where we can get some guns! My grandpa had a bunch, all kinds if I remember… pistols, rifles, shotguns… Grandma put them all away after he died… but I bet she still has them somewhere… probably stashed them in his closet.
Roman stared at Georgie and Georgie him… were they really talking about doing this? Robbing Mr. Z? With real fuckin’ guns? Like a couple of outlaws? Who were they… John Dillinger… Al Capone… Josey Wales??
Adrenaline rushed through his veins like lightening crackling across the sky… the hairs on the back of his neck stood up…
Are you serious…? Roman said looking at Georgie.
“Why not…” Georgie said. “Fuck that old perv… I think it’s just compensation for what he tried to do to you. Why should he get away with that shit and you get nothing? Fuck him is what I say.
Roman looked into Georgies eyes and like all the girls in school he fell under their spell as well… “Fuck him” Roman said. “Let’s do it.”
A few days later…
4 a.m. and a little fog was started to drift in as Roman picked Georgie up in the alley behind his grandma’s house… in a car that he had just stolen from the parking lot of a grocery store across town… a 1978 Toyota Celica GT motor trend car of the year… dark blue with the keys left in the ignition as if God wanted Roman to have it for their little caper.
Nice wheels! Georgie said as he climbed in… where did ya get it?
Kroger’s parking lot off of Division… Roman said.
Sweet…
When we’re done I’ll just drop it in the ghetto somewhere… let someone else take it for a joy ride.
Perfect.
So what did ya get…? What’s in the sack? Roman felt like a kid at Xmas.
Georgie pulled out his grandpa’s old army colt 45 acp and handed it to Roman.
Holy shit it’s heavier than it looks… Roman said.
How do you shoot it… he asked Georgie.
Fuck if I know… shoot what dickhead? It’s just for show! You start waving that around and old Mr. Z will probably piss himself.
Roman jerked back when Georgie pulled out a pump shotgun next…
Holy fuck, Roman exclaimed. Is that thing loaded?
Again, Georgie just looked at him. What do I look like… GI Joe …. How the hell should I know?
It’s a shotgun… I’m guessing there’s bullets inside… who cares! When the fuckin pervo sees this bad boy leveled at him he’ll hand over whatever we tell him to.
Roman put the car into drive and sped down the alley.
As the criminal enterprise spied on the Texaco station’s early morning activity from across the way… ready to pounce as soon as they saw Mr. Z open the floor safe like he had every Thursday morning when Roman worked there… the fog now blanketed the city and gave them the much needed cover but it was a double edged sword… for it was making it even more difficult for the two of them to see what the old guy was up to inside.
“Now or never” Georgie said and pulled his ski mask over his face while picking up his shotgun.
Roman nodded, and did the same… his mouth was dry as dust… and every hair on his body was standing up… electrified. The rush of adrenaline was beginning to course through his veins as he firmly gripped the pistol in both hands (he had to otherwise it was too heavy to hold it up for long) and both he and Georgie jogged the short distance to the diffused Texaco star lights shrouded by the fog…
Their timing couldn’t have been better. When they came through the door shouting “get your hands up! This is a robbery!” roman wasn’t sure why they felt the need to state the obvious… but that’s the way it was on all the tv shows or movies so…
They had him dead to rights. Mr. Z was kneeling on the floor in front of the safe with a bank deposit bag in one hand that looked to be stuffed with money, his other hand on his knee…
“What the hell… Mr. Z said completely surprised
“Give us that bag you ol’ perv” Georgie yelled at him.
Mr. Z’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the two punks before him.
“Like hell I will” and got up from his kneeling position quicker than Roman would have guessed possible.
“Shut the fuck up and hand it over” Roman growled as menacingly as he could… pointing the forty-five caliber pistol at his former boss. Goddamn it was heavy as hell was all roman could think of… as his woolen ski-mask itched his face.
Mr. Z smiled then, “I know you… little fuckin cry baby punk… get the hell out of here before I call the police you little snotnosed shits”… “I ain’t giving you nothing, except maybe some of this” and grabbed his crotch beginning to laugh at the two punks in front of him.
Georgie made the first move… he lunged at Mr. Z with his shotgun as if it were a stick, trying to make him drop it perhaps… Roman wasn’t sure of the reasoning behind it… but neither he nor Georgie had expected what Mr. Z did next…quick as snake his hand shot out and grabbed the barrel of Georgie’s shotgun, trying desperately to wrestle it away… Mr. Z gave it a sharp pull and Georgie fell right into his hands.
As Mr. Z and Georgie wrestled for control of the gun… Roman bent down and retrieved the bank bag stuffing it into his army jacket.
“Let him go!” Roman roared at Mr. Z… “Let him go… now!”
Mr Z never acknowledged Roman’s demand and continued struggling with Georgie.
It looked like Mr. Z was getting the best of Georgie when Roman decided he had had enough… this was going on far too long already. Anyone driving by the gas station could see all the commotion going on… “Let him go goddamnit!” Roman screamed at Mr. Z.
This time it got his attention. Mr. Z put Georgie in a choke-hold like he’d been taught to do in the marines, while fighting in the Korean War, infantry… Oo-rah! And started to choke him out cold.
“You’re next you little faggot…” Mr. Z said to Roman
Before he could draw another breath Roman brought the forty-five down upon Mr. Z’s head… over and over he used that heavier than fuck pistol and beat the old man until he let go of Georgie.
“Come on… we gotta go… we gotta run!” Roman shouted at Georgie still groggy for being choked-out.
“What about the…” Georgie started to say
“I got the money! Let’s get the fuck outta here!” as they stumbled and ran out the door… leaving Mr. Z in a bloody heap behind them.
“Holy shit…” Roman said as they jumped into the car. “Holy fuckin shit… that was insane… fuckin totally insane!”
Roman’s heart was in his chest beating like a locomotive… Georgie was coughing and trying to catch his breath…
Roman dropped the Celica GT into gear and laid rubber as he peeled out and down the road away for the Texaco star.
“Slow down” Georgie said… you’re going way too fast!”
Roman glanced at the speedometer and Georgie was right… eighty was way too fast on a road with a 35 mph zone. Roman slowed down just as the patrol cars blue lights came on…
… now here’s a bag full of money sitting in his lap… thousands of dollars to do whatever he wanted… go wherever he wanted. Fuck this town… Roman thought.
He’d lose this cop car just like he had done so many times before… and floored it. The GT howled as it’s powerful turbo engine pushed its limits…. 60, 70, 90… there Roman saw it… a gravel parking lot in front of the discount tire store He swung hard over to just barely make it and as the celica started sliding sideways dust billowed up behind them blocking the cop car’s view…
As Roman tried to wrestle the car back under control one of the tires blew out… he slammed on the emergency brake and he and Georgie bailed out and ran.
The chase was on.
Another police car joined in, then another. Roman was trying to figure out how he was going to lose them… Roman told Georgie they had to split up… he pointed to a wooden fence in the back… go jump it… we’ll meet up later…
There were trees and bushes all along the back of the store next door to the tire store, Roman ran into them to hide. He had to find something better, the cops were right behind him… he could hear them yelling to one another. Roman scurried behind a dumpster keeping his head down and wedged himself in between some empty oil drums hoping he wouldn’t be seen crouched down in the shadows behind the building. He stayed hidden and held his breath. So far it was working… he’d seen a cop run right by him without so much as taking a second glance at his hiding spot. But this wasn’t going to be good for much longer, Roman knew that much.
He counted to ten then crept out from the shadows and started to run…
“One more step and I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off!” The cop yelled at Roman.
All Roman saw was the barrel of the cop’s pistol staring him right in the face… it looked big enough for him to crawl into… the huge black hole seemed to beckon Roman to enter… just take one… more… step.
Handcuffed and in the back of a cop car Roman’s mind was reelin’…
You’re in the big leagues now.
As the cops drove him back to the Texaco station to get id’ed by Mr. Z… he heard over their radio that they were still searching for Georgie… Keep on runnin Georgie! Roman silently prayed keep on runnin…
Mr. Z stood there holding a bloody towel to his head and pointed at Roman.
Yep… that’s the two-bit punk that robbed me… assaulted me… I had a hold of his accomplice almost had em both… thought they could just steal my money… HA! I hope you rot in jail punk… Mr Z yelled as the cops drove off with Roman.
Roman was held in a private cell in the back of the Cook County Jail… since he was just a juvenile… sixteen…. They didn’t want him in with the regular criminals… afraid of what might happen to him roman wondered ? Roman almost laughed….
The deputy jailer turned in his chair to look at the trustee who had just made a remark to another trustee… “Why that white boy get a cell all to himself? If you ain’t white you ain’t right, the other trustee replied and shook his head.
The deputy jailer said; “How bout you fellas worry more about cleaning the floors than how I run the jail…
For your information Jones… that white… boy… back there just pistol-whipped a grown man, an war veteran, beat the poor guy half to death with a forty-five… barely a day over sixteen. Would you rather I toss him in with the likes of you? Deputy jailer spun back around and concentrated on the paperwork that Roman had created for him.
What a heapin pile of shit this kid put on his desk… it was a minefield dealing with juveys that commit adult crimes like he had… too dangerous to stick in with the juvenile prisoners but too young to throw in with the adult prisoners.
The deputy sighed heavily as he picked up the phone to contact Roman’s parents. That’s why I’m making the big bucks… right.
Mora and John were beside themselves. Absolutely horrified of the crimes Roman was being charged with…
1st degree armed robbery… assault with a deadly weapon… fleeing from the police… resisting arrest…. They just went on and on.
Once Mora was finally allowed to see Roman she was speechless… she began to cry inconsolable tears streamed down her face. John sat beside her with his arms around her doing his best to comfort her…
“Oh roman, roman… what have you done? Mora whispered through the phone as she stared at him through the thick plexiglass partition.
Roman fixated on the top button of her blouse… unable to meet her eyes… he just couldn’t, no way… he’d never stop the crying that would flood forth.
How could he explain himself now? It was too late… too late to try and tell her what had happened… that he was almost raped by that… that all he wanted was to settle the score, sort of balance things out you know… Roman thought a big bag of money would be just compensation for the… for what Mr. Z had done to him.
Now though… with everything layed out under the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the visiting booth… Romans reasons seemed to pale to warrant such a response… so he just sat there like some dipshit punk kid in jail.
As the guards ushered Mora and John out Roman heard her say, “we’ll get you a lawyer… don’t worry… we get you out of there I promise Mora wailed as the steel door slammed shut.
Roman heard from Mora during one of their phone calls that the police had eventually apprehended Georgie… it had taken almost three days but with the help of several different law enforcement departments they tracked him down in Indiana… hiding out with a distant relative… he had made a critical mistake… calling home to talk to his mother.
Mora had said that Georgie’s father had pulled some strings with the local authorities and Georgie was given one year on probation… sent to a military school for boys somewhere in Michigan… that they had been lenient on him since he hadn’t actually struck Mr. Z in the sense of assaulting him so he wasn’t being charged the same as Roman was.
Roman… you’re in very serious trouble son… I don’t know what you think you know about what’s going on… but they’re the state is going to try you as ana adult… do you realize what that means?? Do you?
You’ll go to prison… with convicted hardened criminals… you’re just a boy for gods sake… how can they even think that? She began to sob into her handkerchief.
Roman didn’t know what to think.
To say that he was scared… was an understatement of the largest order.
He was petrified of what might lay in front of him. Prison? With grown ass men? Major dudes… murderers, rapist, real honest to god pervs… not your small time Mr Z perv… this was a whole nother level.
Welcome to the big leagues…. Roman whispered to himself.