Dark Ride Page 2

He turned the corner onto West Sixth Avenue and saw his car, a Honda Civic, in the middle of the block, right where he'd parked it. It was eight years old when he’d chiseled a guy out of it about a year earlier. The paint was in kind of bad shape and there were a few dents, but the car ran great.

  Marty pulled the car keys from his pocket as he approached the Civic. He unlocked the car and pulled the door open. And that’s when he saw Stevie, fast asleep, curled up in the back seat. His longish blonde hair had fallen across one eye.

  "Stevie," Marty barked.

  Stevie woke quickly, a look of fright flashing across his face. Seeing Marty, he quickly recovered.

  "Marty, hey. I was wondering if they'd let you go."

  Marty reached down, tugged the release lever, and pulled the seat back forward.

  "'Course they let me go," Marty responded as Stevie climbed out of the back. "They had nothing to stick me with."

  "Yeah, yeah, right... good," Stevie said, wiping his eyes.

  "What the hell were you doing, sleeping in the back of the car on a day like this?" Marty asked. "Even with those windows cracked you were getting broiled in there."

  "Yeah, it's hot. Guess I didn't notice it much once I fell asleep," Stevie said.

  "Shit, you're sweating like a pig," Marty observed.

  "Sorry, Marty."

  "So hand over the money," Marty ordered.

  Stevie immediately dropped his eyes and shuffled nervously.

  "What're you waiting for?" Marty asked.

  Stevie slowly reached into his back pocket, withdrew a wad of bills, and put them into Marty's outstretched hand. It took Marty a millisecond to count it.

  "Forty two bucks. There's forty two bucks here," Marty said.

  "Yeah," Stevie said, taking a cautious step backwards.

  "Where's the rest of it?"

  Stevie stared at him, nervous and scared.

  "Where's the rest of it?" Marty repeated, louder than before.

  "I ran into a guy I know while I was waiting for you this morning," Stevie explained.

  “A guy you know,” Marty repeated.

  "Yeah, we’ve done some business before… and I really needed some help. And, well, he had a great price on—"

  "You spent our money on pills?" Marty interrupted.

  "I had to get some, Marty. I really had to."

  Marty rushed forward, took hold of Stevie, and slammed him hard against the side of the Civic. Stevie was as thin as a pencil so it didn't take much effort.

  "Your dealer has all my money now?" Marty shouted. "You spent the rest of my money on your stinking habit?"

  "Please don't hit me again," Stevie pleaded, cowering against the car.

  With disgust, Marty let go of him and shoved him away.

  "I didn't hit you, you idiot," Marty told him.

  Marty paced in front of the Civic while Stevie watched him, frightened that Marty might explode again.

  "I'm sorry," Stevie said. "I really am."

  "Yeah."

  "It was a crappy thing to do," Stevie continued. "You trusted me with the cash and you don't deserve what I did."

  "You shouldn't have done it," Marty said. "You know I need to get out of here. You know I need to get up north. How am I supposed to do that without money? "

  "No, you're right. Ever since I got into town two months ago you let me hang with you. You've looked out for me. You didn't deserve it, man."

  "Shit, Stevie, those dexies are gonna kill you if you keep at it like you are," Marty said, feeling himself calm down a little.

  "Yeah."

  "And how in hell did you fall asleep in the car if you were dropping those things?"

  "I only took a couple," Stevie answered.

  "Shit," Marty kicked the Civic's front tire. "Forty two bucks isn't gonna help me one damn bit. I'm gonna have to find something else, and soon."

  "You know I'll help you with whatever you say," Stevie said.

  "Damn right you will, but not today," Marty said. "All I want to do now is get a beer and then get some sleep. Tomorrow I'll come up with something."

  Marty slid behind the wheel of the Civic and slammed the door shut. Stevie tentatively approached and stood beside the driver side window.

  "Where you going now, Marty?"

  "I told you. I'm going back to my room to get some rest."

  "Can I come along?" Stevie asked. "I got nowhere else to hang out right now."

  "Yeah, sure. But you're gonna have to sneak past the desk clerk."

  "Thanks, man. Thanks."

  "Would you hurry up and get your ass in the car?" Marty said. "I want to get unconscious before this damn day gets any worse."

  Chapter Three

  The Mom-and-Pop Job

  After a good night’s sleep Marty found himself in a slightly better mood. He turned the Civic onto Ashford Avenue, drove most of the way down the block and then pulled over to the curb a hundred feet short of the corner.

  "You gonna kill the engine?" Stevie asked from the passenger seat.

  "Not now," Marty answered.

  "So, what're we doing?"

  Marty pointed across the street at the neighborhood mom-and-pop grocery store one door down from the corner. The old, wooden sign above the store front, its green lettering cracked and faded, read 'Ashford Grocery.'

  "I wanted to check this out."

  "The grocery store?"

  "A grocery store where there's usually just one old geezer inside and a lot of ad posters blocking the front window," he answered.

  "We're gonna hit it?" Stevie asked.

  "I'm thinking about it."

  "There won't be much money in there, a place like that," Stevie said.

  "It's a little after 10:00 now," Marty said. "The place gets a lot of business early. People coming in for breakfast stuff, people stopping in on their way to work for stuff. Yeah, there's not gonna be a fortune, but since you blew through all our money I don't have a lot of options here."

  "I'm really sorry."

  "Not as sorry as you're gonna be if you ever steal from me again," he told him. "I told you fifty times I need to head north and I need the cash.

  “Why do you have to leave?” Stevie inquired. “I mean, you never really said.”

  “I just need to, that’s all.”

  Stevie remained quiet for several seconds. "Maybe I could go with you?" he finally said, his voice hopeful.

  "Maybe."

  “I wouldn’t be any trouble and I’d earn my way,” Stevie said.

  “Yeah, maybe, I said,” Marty answered. “But right now it’s about the cash. That’s all we’re gonna do today, look for cash.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes watching the grocery store. A young mother pushing her toddler in a stroller came around the corner and went into the store. Five minutes later she came out with a plastic grocery bag hanging from the stroller handlebar and disappeared in the direction she had come.

  "I still can remember my mom pushing me around in a stroller like that," Stevie said.

  "Good for you."

  "What about your folks?" Stevie asked.

  "What about them?"

  "They still around?"

  "They live in Delaware," he answered.

  "You're from Delaware?"

  "My dad owns a manufacturing plant there."

  "What's he make?"

  "Precision splines and gears… for the nautical industry," he explained.

  "Nautical industry?" Stevie looked baffled.

  "Boats and ships," he explained. "The old man lives high off Navy contracts."

  Stevie pondered the information, looking more confused with each passing second.

  "So, how come you're out here?" Stevie finally asked.

  "What do you mean?

  "You know. Couldn't you be doing pretty well working with your dad?

  "That was his plan," he answered.

  Stevie began formulating another question but Marty suddenly put the car into gear and pulled aw
ay from the curb.

  "The place won't start getting busy again for another thirty or forty minutes," he said.

  "We gonna do it?" Stevie asked.

  "Yeah."

  Marty made a left at the corner, drove halfway down the block and found a parking space. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a switchblade, opened the glove compartment, slipped the knife inside, and closed the compartment.

  "Aren't you gonna need that?" Stevie asked.

  "There's a big difference between robbery and armed robbery," Marty answered. "I never carry. Anyway, I told you there's just the old guy running the store. He's not gonna be a problem."

  They got out of the car, Marty locked it and then led the way back towards the grocery store. Just short of the corner they crossed the street. Marty kept an eye on Stevie. He always expected the guy to get nervous about this kind of thing but he never did. Stevie just walked a little behind him like a faithful dog.

  They rounded the corner and strolled into the store. The old guy was behind the front counter sitting on a bar stool with worn cushions on the seat and backrest. Marty thought the guy must be at least seventy five.

  "Good morning," the old man greeted them.

  "Morning. Where's your orange juice?" Marty replied.

  "Refrigerator case at the back," the old man pointed.

  "Thanks."

  Marty took his time heading towards the back of the store with Stevie tagging behind him. Reaching the back aisle Marty strolled from one end to the other, casually glancing down each of the aisles leading to the front. The store was empty.

  They started back towards the front of the store. Marty grabbed a Batman comic book from the shelf and thrust it into Stevie's hand.

  "Lean in the doorway and keep watch," Marty instructed, leaning in close to him. "Look like you're reading your comic."

  Stevie nodded.

  The old man looked up as they approached the front of the store. He looked a little puzzled.

  "Couldn't find the orange...?" the old man began, trailing off when he saw Stevie walking towards the door holding the comic.

  "You haven't paid for that," the old man called to him, sliding off the bar stool.

  "Don't worry about him," Marty growled.

  Marty reached the end of the counter and hurried around it.

  "You can't come back here," the old man said, his voice cracking.

  Marty smashed his open palm into the old man's chest, sending him stumbling backwards into an old cigarette rack. A dozen cigarette packs tumbled to the floor as the old man grappled wildly for something to keep him on his feet.

  He had no sooner steadied himself when Marty grabbed his arm and jerked him over to the cash register that looked like a leftover from the late sixties.

  "Open it," Marty ordered, anger in his voice.

  The old man slowly keyed the register until a bell jingled and the drawer slid open. Marty shoved the old guy hard again and he banged hard into the storage shelf set into the wall, again staying on his feet.

  Marty quickly cleaned all the bills from the drawer tray and then lifted the tray to look beneath it. Lying at the bottom of the drawer among a mess of register receipts were four plastic cards. He snatched them up, thinking he'd scored some credit cards. But looking closer he realized they were no such thing.

  "What the hell is this?" he waved the cards at the old guy.

  "Gift cards...for Oceanside Park," the old man answered, his voice heavy with fear. "For my son and his family."

  "Shit," Marty cursed, shoving the cards into his back pocket.

  "Leave them, please," the old man pleaded. "They're for my grandchildren."

  "Where's your safe?" Marty asked, his voice angrier and more impatient.

  The old man pointed feebly to the floor in the corner.

  Marty changed his position and saw a small floor space.

  "Open it," he ordered.

  "There's nothing in it," the old man assured him.

  Marty took hold of the old guy and threw him into the corner. He cried out as he hit the wall and fell to the floor on top of the safe.

  Stevie leaned back into the store to see what was happening.

  "I said open it," Marty snapped.

  The old man struggled to his knees and opened the metal floor plate exposing the safe dial. He dialed in the combination, took hold of the latch, and pulled open the safe.

  Marty leaned over him and peered into the small container. It was empty.

  "Where's the money?" Marty asked, feeling really pissed.

  "No reason to put any in yet today," the old man wheezed. "Not enough business."

  "Son of a bitch," Marty cursed.

  Without warning Marty slapped the old man across the face, the sound echoing through the store.

  "I want you to listen to me," Marty told him.

  Marty backhanded him hard, drawing another cry from the old guy.

  "You listening?"

  The old man nodded. "Yes," he managed.

  "You never saw me today," Marty said. "You never saw me at all. Get it?"

  The old man bobbed his head, fear dulling his eyes.

  "'Cause if the cops ever get us together again, and you show even a little that you might know me... I'll kill you. Nobody goes to jail very long for this kind of bullshit business, so I'll be back. You understand?"

  The old man bobbed his head again.

  "Good," Marty told him. "You just stay down there a while."

  Marty gave the old man a final, vicious kick in the side. The old man moaned and fell back on the floor.

  Marty hurried around the counter and made his way to the door where Stevie was waiting for him. They left the store and headed back to the car, moving at a good pace but not running.

  "Did you have to hurt the old guy like that?" Stevie asked.

  "Shut up."

  In less than two minutes they were back in the Civic. Marty pulled the amusement park gift cards and the cash register money from his pockets and handed them to Stevie.

  "Count it," he ordered.

  As Stevie began counting Marty got the car started, pulled out of the parking spot, and headed down the street.

  "How much?" Marty asked, his tone impatient.

  "Just a second."

  Stevie shuffled through the bills and then sighed.

  "There's only sixty eight bucks here."

  "Are you kidding me?" Marty almost exploded.

  "That's all," Stevie said.

  "Shit," Marty said. "This penny ante crap is killing me. I'm never gonna get out of here at this rate."

  "What're we gonna do," Stevie asked, his voice timid.

  "Let me think, will ya?"

  They drove in silence for a few minutes, Marty had no idea where he was heading.

  "There's sixty bucks worth of Oceanside Park gift cards," Stevie said, obviously hoping the added value would make a difference.

  "Can we spend that sixty, you idiot?"

  "No."

  Marty started thinking about those cards, and the more he thought the more he liked the idea that was forming.

  "A lot of money changes hands in that place, in any amusement park it does," he mused. "I think this looks like a nice day to spend at Oceanside."

  "We're going to Oceanside?" Stevie asked with childlike enthusiasm.

  "We disappear in the crowd and keep an eye out for any easy money at the same time," Marty continued. "With any luck, by tonight I might have enough for me to get the hell out of this city."

  "I guess it was kind of like destiny that you scored the passes, then," Stevie said, pleased.

  "Yeah, destiny, that's it."

  Chapter Four

  Oceanside Park

  Marty took in the sights as he and Stevie walked under the intersecting, twenty foot arches supporting a towering statue of King Neptune. The warm weather had brought a big crowd out to Oceanside Park, and that was good for a lot of reasons.

  A cacophony of music and the mechanic
al din from the different amusements cascaded over parents with their snot-nosed kids, teenagers that practically ran from ride to ride, servicemen and women strolling along in small groups, and the thirty-somethings hoping to revive some of their childhood memories.

  Marty was quite proud of his idea. The park would be a good place to hang out for the rest of the day. It was an L-shaped twenty five acres running along the shoreline and making a right angle onto the huge pier extending over the bay. Yeah, it was a good place to get lost in.

  "Hand over your pass," Marty instructed Stevie.

  Stevie reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew the park gift card. Marty pulled his card, and the two extras he had stolen, and threw all of them into a nearby trash bin.

  "If anybody asks, we paid cash to get in, get it?" Marty said.

  "Yeah, sure," Stevie nodded.

  They took their time, strolling through the crowd, enjoying the cool breeze blowing in from the water.

  "The rides are included in the entrance fee," Marty said. "But a bunch of the walk-through attractions charge admission. We'll check out those, and maybe some of the concessions."

  "Okay," Stevie said.

  "If we do things right we might be able to hit two or three ticket booths, or a concession stand register drawer before we get out of here tonight," Marty said. "A little planning, some good timing… it’ll all work out."

  "I don’t know," Stevie said, not even trying to disguise his nervousness. He pulled a plastic bottle out of his pants pocket, twisted off the cap, pulled out a couple of tablets, and popped them in his mouth.

  "Don't start that shit on me," Marty said. "I told you. We just have to be careful. We'll be okay."

  Stevie, unconvinced, stuffed the bottle back in his pants.

  "I just need a little push," Stevie said.

  They were walking around the back of the Ferris wheel when Marty caught a glimpse of two blue uniforms through the crowd. He quickly hooked Stevie's arm and moved around to the other side of the ride.

  "What the hell, Marty?" Stevie asked.

  "Over there, by the diving bell ride," Marty pointed. "My old pal Officer Larkin, and his partner."

  "You're friends with that guy?" Stevie asked in surprise.

  "No, stupid, but he knows me," Marty answered. "Come on."