Rule of the Bone

FIVE. PRESUMED DEAD

It was around this time that I started missing my mom again. Not really missing her because I knew she didn’t want me back, more like wondering what she was doing at certain times of the day or night while I was doing strange stuff that would have made her think I’d died and gone to hell if she’d known about it. I wasn’t doing strange stuff so much as witnessing it, but my mom would’ve tried to keep me from seeing it if she could. Anyone would’ve.

Like, I’d wake up in the morning on my sofa in the livingroom and one of the bikers, Joker or Raoul or Packer would be over in the corner on his hands and knees with his pants around his ankles humping some female from behind I’d never seen before while Roundhouse sprawled on a chair next to them jerking off and slugging back a quart of Genny. It was pretty gross.

I’d pull my blanket over my head and think of my mom just getting up and coming out to the kitchen in her old flannel robe and fuzzy pink slippers to make coffee and feed Willie the cat. My stepdad would still be snoring in the back bedroom and my mom with these few minutes to herself would flick on the kitchen TV and watch the Today Show and let Willie sit on her lap while she sat at the table and drank her coffee and smoked her first cigarette.

Willie I truly did miss and sometimes I thought about bringing a kitten back to the squat. They were all over town that time of year and people would give you a whole litter if you wanted. But I didn’t trust the bikers not to kill it. So I’d just lie there on the couch all morning and let myself miss ol’ Willie instead.

Meanwhile out in our kitchen Bruce would be standing in his jockstrap at the sink full of old caked dishes and pans shaving the stubble off his huge chest and washboard belly preparing for his daily pump at Murphy’s Gym, and in the bathroom some weird thin gray-skinned pimply guy with a motormouth Bruce’d dragged back to the squat from Plattsburgh the night before was shooting up without the decency to close the bathroom door while he did it. Russ was in his crib with the door locked on the inside where he slept until late afternoon which he said he did because daytime was the only time the squat was quiet enough to sleep but I think he was starting to dip into the crank he was selling and liked to stay up all night yackety-yakking with his customers.

Russ was into the big subjects anyhow, God and the Universe and so on even when he wasn’t high but the meth made it seem like all those things were linked together in this gigantic cosmic conspiracy, like algebra only real and since I wasn’t very interested in math or any of the big subjects in the first place and it was all way over my head anyhow due to my youth Russ liked talking to the other guys instead especially when they were wired on crank. To me it was just talk but to them it was reality.

Most days I hitched up to the mall and hung there with some kids I knew until it closed and Black Bart the security cop or one of his little helpers ran us out and then I’d hitch back to Au Sable and crash at the squat and except when they wanted some of my weed the men of Adirondack Iron pretty much ignored me, like I was their mascot or something. They teased me about my mohawk a lot because to them it was retro but to me it was like my trademark. It was how people knew me.

Once Joker was going to cut it off. Get bald, man, he said, you look like a fucking hippie. Who’s got some scissors, gimme some fucking scissors, he said and he grabbed me by the arm so I couldn’t move.

Nobody had any scissors naturally. Use a knife, one of the guys said. Scalp the little motherfucker. He looks like a fucking Indian anyhow.

You cut my hawk, man, I’ll slice off your balls while you’re sleeping, I said to Joker.

Luckily Bruce was there and intervened. He grabbed onto Joker’s choke collar and said, Release, Joker. Release! Chappie here’s my little buddy and I like him the way he is. He’s my little banty rooster, he said and ruffled my hawk.

Yeah, well fuck you too, I said and he laughed but Joker backed off permanently on the hair thing although he still tried to scare me whenever he had a knife in his hands which wasn’t that often however since he preferred holding guns.

* * *

Then one night I hitched back from the mall late with this guy from town who worked at Sears and all the way home to Au Sable he played classical music from this station in Vermont which was cool and unusual and got me thinking a lot about my mom and Willie and my previous homelife but not my stepfather, so when I came up the stairs to the apartment I was feeling incredibly mellow. This was in April and most of the snow had melted and the black oily water had run off into the river and the mud had dried out and the air was warm and wet even at night and I could smell the buds of the trees and bushes, lilacs and such and the sound of the river a half mile away made me think of little kindergarten kids in a playground for some reason.

The door was locked which was not normal so I had to bang on it awhile until finally it opened a crack and Russ peeks out. It’s only Chappie, he calls back.

Lemme the fuck in, I say.

He goes, Wait a minute, and locks the door again. So I wait and pretty soon he comes back and lets me inside my own apartment for Christ’s sake. What the fuck’s going on? I say. Right away I notice it’s kind of dark. There’s only candles burning in the livingroom and all the lights in the apartment are off.

Russ says, Just be cool, man.

We go into the livingroom and Bruce and Joker and Roundhouse are there and two other guys who’ve been staying at the squat lately, this guy Packer who’s from Buffalo and has a classic ‘77 FLH with chrome drag pipes and everything and his buddy Raoul who drives a piece-of-shit Chevy pickup and is one of those bikers without a bike like Joker which always seems to put an edge on them, like they’re pissed off at guys who do have bikes and also at guys like me and Russ who don’t particularly want one. I’d barely graduated from skateboards and dirt bikes back then and Russ of course had his Camaro.

You holding? Bruce says to me. All around the living-room were these big unopened boxes that said Sony Trinitron and Magnavox and IBM on them and the guys were sitting around looking tired like they’d just finished lugging the boxes upstairs.

I had a bag of tropicana in one pocket for myself and another in my other pocket for sale so I said sure and passed it over. Forty bucks, man, I said. That’s what it cost me, I said which wasn’t quite true since I’d paid Hector twenty for it. What’s with the boxes? I asked him.

Nobody answered. Then Bruce says to Packer, Give the kid thirty bucks, and to my surprise he did. I’m thinking I should’ve said fifty on account of it was tropicana not northcountry homegrown and maybe I’d have gotten forty and then I could’ve bought my shearling jacket back from Russ.

Bruce stoked up a bong and they all proceeded to get lifted for a while and didn’t offer any to us which was boring so Russ and I went into his crib and split a blunt by ourselves. What’s the deal with the boxes? I asked him.

Be cool, man. Like, you shouldn’t’ve said anything out there. It’s TVs, man. And computers and VCRs. All kinds of shit. Brand new.

This was excellent news because we didn’t have a TV or a VCR in the squat although I didn’t care one way or the other about a computer. But a VCR would be good because I hadn’t watched a video since Russ lost his job at the Video Den. And I was missing my MTV, especially late-night shows like Headbangers Ball and other heavy metal programming.

But the electronics were not for our personal use, I quickly discovered. Bruce and the guys were stashing the stuff until they could deliver them to a guy from Albany he’d met who had a warehouse and sold them wholesale to these Arabs and Jews who had stores down in New York City. Bruce and the guys were paid by the pound, Russ explained. So much for TVs, so much for computers and so on and the boxes couldn’t be opened because they ended up being sold in New York as brand new with guarantees and everything.

Where’d they get them? I asked.

Service Merchandise, man. Up to the mall.

No shit. How’d they get them though? They just break in and steal them?

Naw, man. Took ‘em right off the loading dock while the store’s still open. They just drove up earlier tonight in Raoul’s pickup alongside real customers picking up the shit they’d actually paid for and filled the truck, man, and drove off. The security guy, the black dude, Bart, he arranged it. Bruce worked it out, it’s his deal.

Cool, I said and took a big hit off the blunt.

Russ said, Yeah, I’m trying to get the guys to cut me some of the action. There’s a shitload of money in this and with Black Bart on the inside there’s no way we’ll get caught, man. There might even be something in it for you too.

Cool, I said but I was thinking it was wrong to be stealing stuff on this scale. It was different from me stealing some old coin collection from my mom or the Christmas shoplifting that I got busted for when I was only trying to get back in her good graces. Besides I’d gotten swiftly punished for both those crimes and as long as I stayed away from home I didn’t feel guilty about them anymore. This was different and the punishment to fit the crime was going to be heavy so I didn’t want any part of it. Plus I’d already done enough in my life that was wrong and didn’t need any more.

So it was only Bruce and his gang, Joker, Roundhouse, Raoul and Packer, and Russ if they’d let him, not me who were into stealing the TVs and stuff and for a while every few nights they brought more of it back to the apartment until the place was like a warehouse and all the rooms were filled with these huge cartons so that we had to climb over them just to get in and out. I guess the guy from Albany wasn’t ready for delivery or something. The door stayed locked and nobody else was allowed in the place anymore except me and Russ, probably because Bruce and the guys were afraid if they kicked us out we might go home to our parents and tell them or the cops and besides we were more or less responsible for keeping them in drugs. One or two of the bikers were always in the apartment on guard, usually stoned or asleep though and they sent me and Russ out for food and smokes and on minor errands besides drugs which for once they paid us for.

There was a fair amount of money flowing then, expense money from the Albany guy I figured or maybe some sales to private individuals on the side so for the first time I had enough cash on hand to indulge in some amusements at the mall like video games and the occasional movie. Russ bought a set of new sheepskin seatcovers for his Camaro at Pep Boys and screwed a girl who was a senior at Plattsburgh High on them the first night and told me about it later. It sounded like fun but I still wasn’t ready for that.

Russ talked a lot about the TVs and all. The whole deal really had him stoked and he wanted to be a partner in crime with the bikers and bring me in as a partner too but the men of Adirondack Iron were not interested in cutting Russ or me a piece of their pie so to speak and they got very pissed off whenever Russ tried to talk them into it especially Bruce.

Then one night when they were lugging another load of boxes into the apartment Russ ran down to help them and grabbed onto a box and Bruce said, Get the fuck outa here, kid! Don’t you ever touch this shit! You understand me? Ever!

I was standing at the top of the stairs holding the door open for Raoul and Joker to carry this huge 27 inch Zenith inside and I’m thinking Russ should not push this, Bruce is the one guy not to cross. But Russ keeps it up. He goes, Hey, c’mon, Bruce, I’m cool, and besides, I’ve Already been incriminated. You might as well make me a partner and put me to work like the other guys. Adirondack Iron, man! he says with a grin and gives Bruce a power salute with his tattoo showing.

I start down the stairs to see if maybe I can distract Russ or something before he gets in too deep but Bruce has already gently set the box he was carrying on the tailgate of Raoul’s pickup as if to free his hands to beat the living shit out of Russ and he says, Just what the fuck do you mean incriminated?

Well, you know what I mean, like I’m in the presence of stolen goods, man. So I’m an accomplice to a crime. I mean, I could always say I didn’t know what was in the boxes or where you got them, but who knows, they might not believe that.

Are you threatening me, you little asshole? Are you?

Moi? Mais no, man! All I want is the same as the other guys’re getting, since I’m running the same risk as them. You can use the help anyhow. Like, whaddaya say to only a half a share? Since I’m a minor and all and can’t be charged with a felony.

Bruce sees me on the stairs a few steps behind Russ and he says, What about you, Chappie? You in on this shit too? Are you threatening me like this asshole?

I didn’t want to abandon Russ so I tried to answer in a way that might help him without necessarily hurting me. He’s just high, man, I say which was true anyhow, Russ had been gobbling inhalers all afternoon and was speeding pretty good. C’mon, Russ, let’s go cool out, I say and grab his arm but he yanks it away.

Nobody’s threatening nobody, he says. I’m negotiating, that’s all.

Bruce goes, I don’t fucking negotiate with assholes. I fuck ‘em. I fuck ‘em with my fist. He leans in real close to Russ then, Do you know what that is, kid? Fist-fucking?

I don’t know if he did, I sure didn’t but it sounded real undesirable so I said, He knows, man, don’t worry, he knows. He’s only high, I said and grabbed Russ by both shoulders hard now and practically dragged him away from Bruce although Russ didn’t resist this time and was secretly glad probably that I was there to save him without him having to back down on his own.

Although he didn’t admit it of course. He acted like I had saved Bruce’s ass instead of his. I got him into the drivers seat of his car and pretty soon we were driving down 9N along the Au Sable River toward Jay and Keene, country villages where everyone had long since gone to bed. Russ’s Camaro was the only car on the road, a good thing because he was wired and pissed and the combination made him a good talker but a lousy driver. But he didn’t object or even seem to notice whenever I reached across and adjusted the steering wheel and got us back onto the road which was pretty narrow and windy and had the river on our left.

Russ wanted to get even but he also wanted to make a profit at it and he had this new idea how we could get both, although I definitely did not like his use of we. What we gotta do, he said, is take one or two VCRs at a time and sell them ourselves. Just the VCRs, man. They’ll never miss them, those assholes don’t even have an inventory. The VCRs don’t take up much room, we can stash them in my trunk until we unload them. We specialize in VCRs, see, and sell them one by one at half price. New they go for what, three hundred, four hundred bucks apiece. We’ll sell ‘em for one fifty, or less, even. No matter how much, it’ll still be one hundred percent profit. We can split two ways, seventy-five twenty-five, since I’ve got the car and I’ll be doing most of the negotiating with the buyers.

Who’re you gonna sell ‘em to? I asked swerving the car back onto the road with my left hand and just missing a parked van and a whole row of maple trees.

Well, lemme think. For about ten seconds he thought. Rudy LaGrande for starters, he said. Ol’ Rudy used to tell me how he wanted to rent out VCRs from the store only he couldn’t afford to buy new ones and used weren’t any good because you hadda keep paying to have ‘em fixed. Yeah, Ol’ Rudy’ll probably want five or six at least.

Bruce’ll notice five or six gone.

Not if we take them outa the squat one at a time and from different stacks. We just walk out with ‘em early in the morning when whoever’s there is sleeping and the next day we take another and so on. Simple.

I don’t know, man. It’s risky with those guys. They all got guns, man.

Chapstick, he said, we’re already risking being busted so we might as well profit from it. Fuck those guys, man.

Yeah, but it’s stealing.

Stealing from thieves is not the same as stealing from straights. Remember, thieves are not victims, man. Besides, he explained, this is kind of a step up. Morally speaking.

What d’you mean, a step up? I said and grabbed the wheel again and pulled the car back to the right and avoided hitting a railroad crossing sign by maybe a foot.

From dealing to stealing, man. I mean, which is better? Think about it. They’re both fucking illegal so which is better? Didn’t your parents teach you anything?

Not about the difference between dealing drugs to asshole bikers and stealing already stolen VCRs from them, I said. But that don’t mean there isn’t one.

One what?

A difference, man. I was thinking like Russ’d said there was a lot about right and wrong that my parents hadn’t taught me and now due to my situation I was having to work out most of it myself. Everybody, Russ and the bikers, Black Bart and Rudy LaGrande and probably Wanda too and that creep Buster Brown at the mall who tried to get me to act in his porn movie and my stepfather and Maybe even my mom, everybody but me seemed to think the difference between right and wrong was obvious. For them I guess what was right was what you could get away with and what was wrong was what you couldn’t, but it made me feel stupid that I didn’t know it too. It was like the difference between dealing small-load weed and dealing crank— there was one, I knew but I didn’t know what it was. The whole thing was scary. It made you feel like once you stepped across the line you could never get back and were doomed from then on to a life of crime. Since everybody stepped across the line and did a wrong thing at least once in his life then everybody was doomed. Everybody was a criminal. Even my mom. You had to be a cat like Willie or a little kid like I once was not to be a criminal and for a human being like I was now that was impossible.

I decided that for the time being I didn’t want to be any worse a criminal than I already was so I told Russ I wouldn’t help him steal the VCRs from the bikers. He thought I was being stupid and a wuss but basically he was relieved I think because now he could keep all the profits for himself although I had to convince him first that my lips were sealed so to speak. And they were. No way I’d fuck over my best friend, my only friend actually if you didn’t count Bruce and the bikers and some kids I knew a little up at the mall.

We drove along for a while and then he said he was worried about me because of how I wasn’t taking advantage of opportunities to advance in the world.

I said, like stealing stolen VCRs from psychos with guns.

It’s freight forwarding, man. That’s all. I’m into freight forwarding, and it don’t matter to me what I ship or where it comes from or where it’s going. That’s someone else’s problem.

It matters to me, I said.

Yeah, well, that’s the difference between us, Chapstick. Which is what worries me about you. You can’t spend your life dealing weed to Adirondack Iron, man. You’ve got to start thinking about the future. Biker gangs, they come and go, man.

I said yeah but I didn’t mention that the main reason I hadn’t gotten one of those Adirondack Iron tattoos of a winged helmet on my arm was exactly that, biker gangs do come and go. They really aren’t your family.

Afterwards we didn’t talk much and finally Russ turned around in Keene and drove back to the squat where to my surprise Bruce and the guys seemed glad to see us, I guess because in our absence they’d gotten scared and had figured out that we’d respond more favorably to kind treatment than to harsh. They were dumb but not totally dumb. I could tell they were nervous about having all that stolen stuff on their hands and two kids around who knew where it came from.

The very next morning bright and early Russ started up his freight forwarding company. I was on my couch asleep but when he walked past I woke up and with one eye half open watched him scoop a Panasonic VCR off a stack of boxes by my head and put it under his arm and stroll out the apartment door with it like he was taking out the garbage. I didn’t move until he was gone and then I slowly lifted my head and peeked around the corner into the next bedroom where Bruce was crashed face down and bareass except for his jockstrap on a mattress on the floor snoring like a chain saw. I looked back at the stack of VCRs beside me but even though I’d seen Russ take one away only a few seconds ago the pile seemed the same size as before which relieved me a lot although I was too nervous to go back to sleep afterwards.

But none of the guys noticed anything missing. The next morning Russ did it again, and the morning after, and even when he took two VCRs one each from different piles and then one day a portable computer it was the same. The livingroom and the rest of the apartment still seemed to be filled with big unopened boxes of electronics. I myself could see the difference of course because I’d watched him take them. But every day around ten or eleven the bikers’d eventually wake up and start prowling around the place looking for food or a morning beer and cigarettes like they usually did and no one noticed anything missing.

Except Russ, he was missing, which was unusual and noticeable even to bikers so finally one morning Bruce says to me, Where’s your buddy? He got a job or something? The fucker usually stays in his room sleeping all day.

Beats the shit out of me, I said but I could see Bruce was suspicious although he didn’t say anything, just stood there in his jockstrap by the kitchen door with a half-empty jar of this powdered muscle food he mixes up in a quart of orange juice and drinks every morning. He had his own special glass and everything that nobody else was allowed to use but he never washed it so who would. He poked the door to Russ’s crib open a ways with his foot and looked at around inside and then went back to mixing his breakfast.

He didn’t lock his door like he usually does, he says.

Must be coming back soon, I said but I’m thinking Russ probably didn’t lock it so they’d think he was inside sleeping instead of up in Plattsburgh or someplace peddling stolen electronics.

If you see him today find out can he get me a dozen hits of acid by tonight. ‘Cause tonight we’re finally gonna deliver all this shit, Bruce says. And I’m gonna party hearty, man.

No problema, I say. That was an expression I’d picked up from that guy Buster Brown at the mall and I noticed that I used it only when I was wicked scared.

Yeah, he says laughing and chugging down his orange grunge and wiping it off his chin with the back of his hand. No problema. You are one funny little dude, Chappie, he says taking a few steps toward the livingroom. One funny little piece of shit. But then his expression changes like an unfamiliar and not particularly welcome thought has penetrated his brain and he goes, You been moving any of this stuff around, Chappie?

Me? No way, man. You told me not to touch any of it. I obey you, man.

Yeah, he said and then he walked slowly into the livingroom where I was lying on the couch with my blanket wrapped around me up to my chin and he studied the scene carefully. Something’s wrong here, man. Something’s very wrong.

I decide to say nothing. I’m thinking just be ready to run even though I’ve only got my underpants and a tee shirt on. I’m thinking up my escape route via Russ’s crib which I can lock from inside, then out the window onto the back porch roof and down to the ground and out to the street… and then where?

It looked pretty hopeless. I was almost wishing Russ would walk through the door and see what was happening and confess everything and save me but I knew he’d never do it.

Bruce says, You and your little buddy, I believe that you have stepped in some very deep shit, Chappie.

Whaddaya mean?

All kinds of stuff is missing from here. VCRs it looks like. And some of those portable computers. Which makes sense. Everything else is too big for you two little assholes to swipe without someone noticing. You’ve been lifting stuff from me, Chappie. Amazing!

I of course denied everything which was half the truth since I myself had not stolen anything off of Bruce and half a lie since I said Russ hadn’t either. Not that I knew of. I added that. I guess to cut down on the lying part a little. But the second I said it I felt lonely because I was separating myself from Russ and then I felt guilty, real guilty because I knew how Bruce would hear it. The more power you’ve got the more you’re able to do the right thing which is whatever you can get away with and at that point in my life I had no power whatsoever, I couldn’t get away with anything so I had to do the wrong thing and tell the truth. I was the ultimate little dog and it was all I could do to keep from pissing down my own leg.

Not that you know of, he said. Yeah, right. Thanks very much. I was gonna do the both of you just to be sure I got the guilty party but now I’ll only have to whack the one. I always liked you better than him anyhow. Whacking Russ’ll be easy, the little bastard.

joker was standing next to Bruce now and I guess he’d heard the whole conversation. If you whack one, he said, you got to whack the other, man.

Yeah, you’re probably right, Bruce said sighing. Unless you help us out, he said to me.

Sure. Whaddaya want me to do?

Where’s Russ at right now?

Joker stood leaning against the doorjamb fondling his little blue.38, his pussy-pistol. I could hear the other guys getting up in the back bedrooms. Roundhouse stumbled into the room rubbing his eyes with one huge fist and scratching crumbs and other items out of his pelt with the other. Wussup? Chappie goin’ out for food?

The little assholes’ve been stealing our TVs and shit, man, Joker said.

Wow. Jeez, that’s pretty fucking stupid.

Bruce asked me again where Russ was and I said I didn’t know which was the truth and I think he believed me. Then I told him I was asleep when he went out which was a lie but he knew not to believe it. So me and him were at least still communicating. Bruce said for Roundhouse to get some duct tape from his toolbox which Roundhouse did and then he taped my hands together behind my back and my feet at the ankles and lifted me up and slung me over his shoulder like I was a lamb ready for slaughter and carried me into Russ’s crib off the kitchen and put me down gently on Russ’s mattress.

I don’t know yet what I’m gonna do with you, he said. We’ll just have to wait and see what Russ says for himself when he gets back. But for now this’ll keep you out of trouble.

Joker stood behind him watching. When Bruce stepped away he brought the barrel of his gun down close to my head and smiled and said, Bang. Then he laughed and went back into the livingroom with the others.

From the door Bruce said to me, If you keep your mouth shut I won’t tape it. Not one fucking peep, you understand?

I nodded yes and he went out and closed the door but I could hear them talking in the livingroom trying to figure out what to do next. Joker was clear on what he wanted to do which was blow me away and then Russ but the other guys were undecided and a little scared, I think. Even Bruce who was maybe into a lot of things but not murder. He was secretly gay or S and M or something like that because he liked to hassle gay guys when he saw them in public and make fairies in parks or the Greyhound station bathroom give him blowjobs and then he would beat the shit out of them and brag about it, and despite his body building and health foods he was a drug addict, plus he was a serious thief. But unless you’re a true psycho like Joker everyone draws the line somewhere and I think Bruce drew the line at cold-blooded murder of teenaged boys. I did not take a whole lot of comfort from this however.

For a while I lay there looking up at Russ’s Anthrax and Metallica posters. Russ’d decorated his crib to make it home-like, lots of nice domestic touches like the yellow and brown plaid curtains he’d found in somebody’s trash and hung over the one window and the iron floor lamp and busted easychair. Pretty soon though I was getting cold because of only having my underwear on and no blanket so I hollered for Bruce to c’mere a minute which must have sounded like I was going to tell him where Russ was.

He came right in but looked disappointed when he found out all I wanted was for him to turn on Russ’s electric heater and give me my blanket. Also it pointed out to Joker and the other guys that I could holler for help if I wanted to risk it so they told Bruce to tape the little fucker’s mouth shut, meaning me which Bruce did, being careful not to block my nose so I could breathe okay. Then he got my blanket from the livingroom and tossed it over me. He unplugged Russ’s box by the window and plugged in the space heater and flipped it on high.

He picked up the stereo and a handful of tapes but when he got to the door he stopped for a second and looked down at me like he was saying goodbye forever. I blinked twice for goodbye, once for hello, but he didn’t get it. He just shook his head like he felt sorry for me and disgusted at the same time. Then he closed the door and locked it on the outside with Russ’s padlock which wasn’t too smart since Russ had the key. But I never really thought Bruce was smart anyhow. Just interesting, and maybe not as dumb as the other guys.

Pretty soon I can hear Megadeth thumping through the walls and I can smell dope smoke and pizza and can hear the refrigerator being opened and closed and the top-popping of beer cans. Adirondack Iron is having its breakfast and I know it’ll last till tonight when the guy from Albany finally comes for his stuff or Russ makes the mistake of his life and returns home, whichever comes first.

Somewhere around the middle of the afternoon guess it got really hot in Russ’s crib so I squirmed my way out from under the blanket and realized that I could actually move around a little. I managed to stand up and then I hopped over to the window and with my head pushed the curtains back so I could see out. Directly below the window Raoul’s beat-up old Chevy pickup was parked in the narrow driveway that ran between the Video Den and the old abandoned state liquor store. I thought maybe if someone looked up they’d see me all taped up and blinking like crazy to come up, come up and save me.

For a long time I stood up there in front of the window like a store dummy advertising boys’ underwear but I was waiting to see somebody, anybody, a passerby, a cop, Rudy LaGrande, Russ parking his Camaro behind Raoul’s pickup or a Video Den customer, anybody but one of the bikers and just as I felt myself starting to fall asleep I saw Wanda come out of the Video Den and lock the door, closing early I guess. She didn’t once look up and was making her way down the driveway toward the street so I banged my head against the windowpane which caused her to stop and look around for a second like maybe the noise was coming from inside the store. I did it again but that just told her it wasn’t coming from the store so she went on and disappeared around the corner.

Pretty soon it was dark and I knew no one could see me in the window now even if they happened to look up at it. Hopping backwards over to the floorlamp I managed to turn and tip it toward me with my hands and flipped it on, then dragged it back by the window so it shone on me. The party in the livingroom was still going so no one had heard me.

Finally about an hour later I saw Russ’s Camaro pulled into the driveway and park behind Raoul’s pickup. He shut off his headlights and I couldn’t see him anymore but as soon as I heard the car door shut I started banging my head against the window glass. I did it in a steady but varied way so it would sound intentional but after three or four minutes I figured either he heard me or he didn’t and it was too late if he didn’t, he was already coming up the stairs and walking into the livingroom where the bikers were lying around stoned listening to his tapes and waiting to kill him first and me afterwards.

Suddenly there was a tap on the window next to my head and I jumped. It was Russ standing on the roof of the back porch. He grinned at me and lifted the window open and climbed into the room like he did it every night. The wind blowing through the open window was cool and fresh and I’m thinking freedom, man, freedom.

Russ smiles and looks me over and says, Yo, wussup? I just shook my head and rolled my eyes in the direction of the livingroom. You look like a fucking mummy, he said and proceeded to pull the tape off my hands and ankles. I undid the tape around my mouth myself because it yanked on my hair and earrings and hurt a little.

Don’t talk, I whispered to him as soon as the tape was off my mouth. We got to get the fuck outa here, man. They found out about you stealing their stuff. They’re gonna kill us.

Russ scoped the room a second and listened to the noise from the livingroom. Where’s my padlock? he asked. They use it to lock you in?

Yeah, but hurry up, let’s get outa here. And keep it down, man, they’re next fucking door!

Chill. They’d hafta break the door down to get to us. Wait a minute, he said, you oughta put some clothes on. It’s cold out.

Forget clothes, man, I’m just trying to save the body.

But he went over to a corner where there was a pile of clothes and pulled out some old jeans and a flannel shirt for me which I quickly put on and rolled up because they were too big. He also had some socks and a beat-up pair of sneakers. Then he did something strange. He took off my shearling jacket and gave it to me.

It never fit me right anyhow, he said. Too small. Where’s my jean jacket? he asked looking around the room.

In the livingroom, man. Don’t even think about it.

He shrugged and smiled and went into the pile of clothes and pulled out an old Islanders hoodie which he put on.

Okay, c’mon, let’s book, he said but when I turned to the window I suddenly smelled smoke and saw that the curtains were blackening along the bottom where they lay against the space heater. It was my fault, I’d pushed the curtains against the heater myself.

They were probably made out of some highly combustible man-made fabric and they’d heated up to the burning point and with the breeze and fresh air blowing from the open window they looked like they were ready to burst into flames. And then sure enough just as I moved to pull them away from the heater a flash of blue zipped up one side and crossed over the top and shot down the other and the curtains practically exploded like they had been covered with gasoline or something.

Oh shit, let’s go! Russ said. He dove out the window like a circus lion jumping through a ring of fire and I followed him straight into the darkness.

By the time we got to the edge of the roof and turned to shinny down the pole to the ground the flames had completely filled the window and it looked like the whole room was burning. It was a combination of beautiful and scary probably like war. The room went up like one of those smart bombs’d hit it and when me and Russ reached the ground we turned and stood there and looked up amazed at the sight.

We should’ve gotten into Russ’s car and beat it the hell out of there but I guess we wanted to watch the fire. We staggered backwards away from the house across the yard to the garage where the Harleys were and a few minutes later we saw Roundhouse and Joker and Raoul and Packer come running down the stairs from the apartment so we slipped away from in front of the garage into the bushes on the side.

Russ said, C’mon, follow me, and we climbed through a broken old fence and came out behind the abandoned liquor store. He walked up to a rear door and opened it and we went inside this large storage room where we could safely look out the side window and watch the fire. All around us were these empty whiskey and wine cartons and then in the center of the pile I noticed a stack of ten or twelve unopened boxes. VCRs and laptop computers. I touched Russ’s shoulder and when he turned I just pointed to the boxes.

He goes, Oh, yeah, I know. I had a little trouble unloading them locally. I thought maybe I’d make my own deal with the Albany guy. You know what I’m saying?

Yeah, I said and turned back to the fire. Already there were two fire engines blocking the driveway. Lights were flashing and sirens and cop cars were pulling up and firemen were running hoses down the alley and driveway and rushing up the stairs with their axes.

The bikers still stood in the shadows at the front of the garage looking up at the apartment. Bruce wasn’t with with them I noticed. They were only a few feet from us and I could see they were scared shitless, even Joker who was telling them they had to book. Forget the electronics.

So where the fuck’s Bruce! Roundhouse said in a loud voice, very upset.

Packer said, I think he went back for the kid.

Fuck the kid! Joker said. Fuck Bruce. Fuck the stuff. We gotta get outa here, man. There’s cops everywhere.

Moving fast Roundhouse and Packer rolled their bikes out of the garage and got the engines started. Joker’d climbed on behind Roundhouse and Raoul got on behind Packer and the two huge Harleys and four bikers went roaring down the driveway past the pickup and Russ’s Camaro bumping over hoses and dodging firemen and at the street they turned right and disappeared.

You hear that? I said to Russ.

What?

Bruce is still up there, man. He thinks I’m locked inside your crib. He’s trying to save me!

Yeah. And I’ve got the key, Russ said in a strangely calm voice.

I gotta tell him I’m okay!

But when I turned to leave Russ grabbed my arm and said, You can’t get up there, man. It’s too late now.

I looked back at the fire and he was right. The whole apartment was in flames and the attic above and the empty storefronts and even the Video Den were burning now. A couple of firemen who had gone up the stairs to the apartment came stumbling back out the door and got safely down to the ground just as the whole staircase and porch fell in a huge shower of sparks and flame.

The noise of the fire was incredible, like a jet plane taking off with sirens and firehorns and firemen giving orders over loudspeakers. They had hoses snaked all over the place and were shooting hard heavy streams of water into the fire but it was like the fire was alive and the water was its food that only made it grow larger and hungry for more. I spotted Wanda and Rudy LaGrande out on the street with a crowd of people but then the cops pushed everyone back out of sight and a third fire truck pulled into place. On the far side of the street I thought I saw a bunch of people I knew, including my mom and my step-dad but I think it was an optical illusion due to fear and excitement.

Pretty soon the firemen must’ve realized there was no way they could save the house so they started spraying water on the buildings on either side of it including the one me and Russ were in to try and keep them from going up too. I could hear the water pounding on the roof and a bunch of firemen ran past the window toward the back. The storage room was filling with smoke and we were coughing from it and our eyes stung and sparks were starting to float down from the darkness near the ceiling like fireflies.

We better book, man, I said.

He goes, What about my stuff? I can’t leave my stuff!

It’s not your stuff. Never was.

Bruce and the other guys, they’re the ones who stole it!

Yeah, and you stole it from them. Now Bruce’s dead and the other guys’re gone.

Like it’s the first time he’s thought it Russ says, The cops’ll think I stole it too.

Fucking duh, man. Let it burn. It’s our best chance.

What about my car? I need my car.

Forget it. We’re criminals, man. You’ll have another chance. Maybe we’ll get lucky and people’ll see your car and think we died in the fire too, I said and ran for the door thinking that was the way it should be, me and Russ and Bruce burned up in the fire together, our bodies turned into three piles of char surrounded by burned-up tons of stolen electronics.

I didn’t know how Russ’s mom would take it but mine would be sad at first and then she’d get over it and my stepdad would be secretly happy especially since he could carry on like he’d lost something important to him.

Nobody else would think much about it though. Except Black Bart maybe since he’d lost a lot of freight forwarding business with the bikers plus a homeless kid who used to sell him his daily blunt. But nobody else’d care.

Russ was a step behind me and when I pushed open the door I freaked a pair of firemen who had their axes all ready to chop their way in.

Jesus! What the hell are you doing in there! the lead guy hollered. Get the hell outa there! he said and I said, We’re gone, man! and we were.