The Plan
Part I
He crouched next to the dumpster behind the Getty station, a half smoked Camel Light in one hand, and a yellow Bic lighter in the other. Harper took shallow breaths, although he was barely nineteen, he easily had the lungs of a forty-year old. His pack a day habit was slowly eating away at him. He knew he had to get his wind back before the rest of them showed up. He leaned back on the heels of well worn navy blue Chuck Taylor Converse All Stars, peering around the green dumpster to look into the parking lot of the American Legion across the street. Nothing; the only sign of life was a plastic Wal-Mart bag; windblown against the chain link fence.
Harper patted the pockets of his dirty jean jacket, checking for the small pocket knife he kept in his coat at all times. He placed his lighter in the opposite pocket; just to make sure he didn’t grab the wrong one in the middle of things. He knew it was supposed to be a fair skin only fight, but Jack and Patrick always fought dirty. Harper wasn’t going to let those boys take advantage of him and his older brother again. One glass cut across Kennedy’s face was more than enough when Jack Callahan didn’t have one that matched.
Harper dropped the butt of his Camel Light to the ground, crushed it with the white plastic of the toe of his shoe, the picked it up off the ground and flicked it into the dumpster, as crude as Harper could be, he knew leaving cigarettes on the ground was gross, and never did it. With his other hand, he felt the small smooth covering of his pocket knife. He pulled it out, rubbing his thumb over the ivory colored cover. He flicked it open, trying to find his reflection in the blade. He couldn’t.
From somewhere behind him the sound of crushing leaves broke his attention from the knife. As he turned he shoved the knife back into his pocket; no use giving secrets to the enemy. Harper caught a glimpse of the boy walking toward him, a fairly tall twenty year old, a good twenty pounds heavier than he was, who had the same midnight black hair and crystal like blue eyes as he did, though his hair wasn’t shaggy like Harpers, but in a tight buzz cut. Harper nodded upward toward his older brother, who nodded downward back. Kennedy wore his pants cuffed to the top of his white Converse high tops, very 1950’s, oh so very Kennedy.
The brothers stood side by side, leaning against the rusting dumpster. Kennedy looked down at his watch. “Five minutes,” He whispered. Harper leaned around the side of the green rectangle smelling of rot, to the empty parking lot. The only change in the scene across the street was a second bag; this one from Subway joined the Wal-Mart one against the chain link. It was unlike Jack and Patrick to be late to a brawl. Maybe Kennedy was lying to him, maybe this was all some kind of set up.
Part II
Kennedy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Five minutes until he told his little brother the real reason they were meeting next to that dumpster; the reason he made sure Harper had his knife. Kennedy shoved his hands into his pockets, and pulled out a tiny piece of paper, small enough for Harper not to want to read it himself, big enough to hold the information Kennedy claimed it did.
“Harp,” he whispered. Harper leaned back against the dumpster. “I got the wrong station; it’s supposed to be in the field by the Shell, not the Getty.” Living in a town with eight gas stations in less than a half mile made this lie easily believable.
“I’ve been waiting out here for a freaking hour,” Harper spat back. “The A-frame’s way different than the Shell. We’ve only lived in Kurtwood our whole lives, how could you mess important info like that up?”
“It’s a small piece of paper,” Kennedy answered, struggling to find something that made sense. “I saw station, figured the Getty, that’s where all the fights go down. I just figured.”
“If we get there and they claim we’re late, we’re fucked. You realize this right?” Harper slammed his hands into his coat pockets, as they walked down the highway to the next gas station. Kennedy tried to suppress a smile, his plan was working perfectly.
Part III
Harper walked three feet ahead of Kennedy, not wanting to hear even his breath or foot steps. His brother may have cost them another fight. Kennedy was always doing stupid things like this. That’s why he had the half moon scar under his eye, that’s why Harper had broken is arm three times in the last eight years. Harper needed to start a mutiny over his big brother, become the brains of the operation. He’d always been the smarter brother; Kennedy was all brawn.
Harper reached the traffic light across from the Shell a good three minutes before his brother. Harper may have the lungs of a forty year old, but besides that he was completely healthy, Kennedy ate at fast food joints on the strip everyday. From across the street Harper could tell there was no one in the field by the Shell either. Jack Callahan’s Chevy Blazer and Patrick’s Ford Focus weren’t in the parking lot. Something was up.
“Hey, moron, they’re not here!” Harper yelled up the street as Kennedy grew closer, breathing heavily. “Check that stupid napkin again! Which station is it?”
Part IV
“This one,” Kennedy said, grabbing Harper’s shoulder. “Mandi Lascars is working to counter; the stupid chick that’s always high as fuck.” Harper looked as his brother confused. “She’s the easiest of the cashiers to over take.”
Kennedy reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out two black ski masks, he tossed on to Harper who caught in with the air. “We’re going to take it. Jack and Patrick would never think to do something like this.”
“Because it’s stupid,” Harper answered, following Kennedy as he dashed across the street. “You’re an idiot.”
“And you’re clearly my accomplice,” Kennedy reached back inside his pocket and pulled out the butt of a hand gun.”
“You’re gonna get us fucking killed,” Harper answered.
“See that minivan, Harp,” Kennedy pointed to a green Ford Windstar pulling up to gas pump number five. “Seeing as we don’t have vehicle, we’re going to need that one.”
“Fucking moron,” Harper whispered, as Kennedy ran into the store.
Part V
Mandi Lascars was sitting on the counter as a masked chubby, dark haired boy, she knew, even though he had a ski mask over his face, as Kennedy Davenport entered. They went to high school together, she’d dated Harper. A boy she could clearly see standing in front of the building smoking a cigarette. The Davenport boys were never far part.
Mandi was filing her nails and chewing gum loudly, “Hey Kenny,” she said twisting her dirty blond pony tail around her index finger.
“Not now Mandi, I’m robbing you.” Kennedy Davenport had clearly never done this before. Normally the robber didn’t tell the rob-ee who they were. “Give me everything in the cash register.”
“Kenny, you’re joking right?” Mandi asked, hopping down from the counter and sticking her emery board behind her ear.
Kennedy pulled out his gun. “No, empty it.” He pointed it toward Mandi, then to the register, then back at Mandi. The scared girl pulled a key out from underneath her shirt, tied to a chain around her neck. She unlocked the register and handed the insides to Kennedy. “Wait til we clear the lot before calling the cops. I know you have to, and I know you know who we are, but seriously Mandi, let us get away.”
Mandi nodded as Kennedy exited the store.
Part VI
As Kennedy exited, Harper ran toward the green minivan. A young pregnant lady stood by the passenger’s side door pumping gas. As she put the nozzle back into the pump Harper struck. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you car.” He said.
Harper pulled open the drivers side door and placed the woman’s purse on the ground, the keys were still in the ignition. “Worst plan ever.”
Harper pulled the car to the front of the building, Kennedy jumped into the passenger’s side, and then Harper sped away. In the rear view, Harper watched the pregnant woman dial her phone. He knew her, one of the down falls of living in a town with a population of under 5000, there was a fairly good chance that the dark green Ford Minivan they stole belonged to the town librarian, who’s youngest daughter was pregnant, and looked fairly similar to the women now holding a cell phone to her face.
“We’re completely fucked,” Harper said, pulling the mask off his face. “Completely and utterly fucked; because you’re a moron.”
Harper turned on to the highway, heading East, as the flashing lights started to catch up with them.
It’s getting easier now, I hope.
