Chapter 4
Guido Bartoni was worried. He had butterflies in the pit of his stomach and expected at any moment for something to erupt and wake up the neighborhood.
Nothing did.
Now that the plan was in the act of execution, he wasn't feeling very good. Talking about busting a scene and actually doing it wasn't quite as exciting. Not near so much as when Victor first talked about it. Guido had never engaged in burglary before. This was something the fellows always talked about, making it sound very easy and very wild. He remembered the stories of the thrill, the excitement, the kicks of climbing a wall, breaking a window and entering into the unknown.
It wasn't quite that simple.
They had climbed a fence and entered the yard but it didn't seem so thrilling. Someone could be watching them and perhaps even be calling the police ... and it didn't seem a bit easy.
Guido was scared.
It was rumored that Joe Dent kept dogs in his wrecking yard. Ferocious dogs with sharp teeth, trained to stop a man. Guido Bartoni didn't like dogs, not dogs that were trained to bite. He hung back, trying to wrap himself in a cloak of darkness and hide from the realization that he was doing wrong.
Leonard coaxed him in an anxious whisper, urging him to stay close and he followed along behind, trying vainly to see in the dim light, bumping objects in his path and wishing heartily that he had gone home as first intended. He felt a tinge of conscious and wondered what the others would say if he simply cut out and went home. He mentally rejected that idea also, he was much too afraid of invoking Victor's wrath by mentioning the idea.
Victor Zigler gave every indication of being experienced in what he was doing and was enjoying it. He hammered a nail into the wooden door jam just beyond the edge. It slanted upward and in where, as it progressed, the tip would push against the beveled tongue of the latch forcing it back. He tapped lightly and patiently, after each series until the door pushed free. Then he opened the door slowly and inched inside. It was now too dark to see without a light and he struck a match, holding it high in order to get the most from the feeble glow. Guido watched intently as he moved about the room.
"Turn on the light." Victor said, pointing to the switch.
"Light?" Guido wasn't certain he had heard right. He looked to Victor for reassurance.
"Yeah man! The daylight stuff-make with the brain, like right now!"
"But a light!" Guido was sure that even a glimmer would bring the law dashing in on them.
Victor was irked by his attitude. "You scared?" he demanded.
"No," Guido said. He was too worried to say much more.
"Then make with the light, man."
The teenager moved toward the swtich, stumbled against a chair, knocking over an ashtray stand and sending it clattering to the floor in a burst of noise that sounded more like a bathtub than a small dish.
"Jeeeeezusssss!" hissed Victor and turned to see what was causing the commotion. "Quiet man, you want to wake everybody?"
The offender cringed against a wall while Victor lighted a new match, then reached up and flicked the light button. The illumination burst with a brilliance that made the three boys blink.
Victor was elated. "Jackpot!" he cried in triumph and headed for the nearest shelf of parts. Guido still held back, feeling uneasy and frozen momentarily so that he could only watch as his two companions began advancing to the shelves. The sudden view of the room in the light made him feel even more uneasy and strengthened his realization that he shouldn't be there. He knew they were trespassing and could guess what his folks would say if they ever found out.
"Come on creep," Victor said glaring at him. "Grab a handful," and he motioned to the shelves of accessories. Guido obligingly headed for the rows of packages and used parts.
Leonard Felton shuffled forward reaching for a shelf and the items on it. He was familiar with the merchandise except that this stuff was dirty and greasy, just as it had come from the wrecked automobiles in the yard outside.
"What do you want?" he asked of Victor, "This?" and pointed to an item on the shelf above. "You want a carburetor, creep! Help yourself."
"This junk," muttered Leonard in disgust. "Not for my car."
Victor reached up and lifted a device from the upper shelf. He held it out so Leonard could see it.
"Four barrel with over linkage. Try it chump," and he pushed it in the boy's direction.
Leonard surveyed the item. It was covered with a black layer of accumulated dirt and grease. He reached out to touch it and then drew back as his fingers sank into the goo of the dirty metal.
"Not me," he said. "I want something good," and put a strong emphasis on the word good.
"You like how the Imp runs?" Victor asked peering at Leonard over the rim of the used part. He was leering sarcastically and the glint in his eyes irritated the younger boy.
"Sure ... That's...."
"Just like your's," Victor said interrupting. "Just like this," he held the carburetor out so Leonard could see. "Christ man, how do you think I can afford the Imp? I don't need money, I have friends," and he laughed again in the high falsetto which was becoming unnerving to both Guido and Leonard.
"Don't want it," mumbled Leonard. "I think I'll go home."
"Me too," Guido decided, suddenly remembering that he had extra work to do tomorrow. He pulled his eyes away from the carburetor and tried to bring a smile to his face. "I think I better go now," he added.
Victor's attitude changed from one of disgust to amusement. "Let's go home," he snickered. He removed his dark glasses, folded them and tucked them in the pocket of his shirt. For the first time, he looked at the world without them.
"You guys for real?" he demanded. "Where's your guts," and then he snickered again.
Guido removed his dark glasses and placed them in his pocket, copying almost motion for motion, the same action as his friend. He started at the single light bulb hanging from its cord and wondered vaguely if he should snap off the switch. "I don't care," he stated with a sudden surge of determination, "I'm scared."
"Go man!" blurted Victor. "If Mama says run, you run. Don't stay with me man ... if you want to run, you run." He was climbing the shelves, removing articles he wanted and placing them in a cardboard box from behind the counter.
"Move man!" he snapped to the two transfixed, insecure thieves. "Help yourself." All the while he was selecting articles from shelves, showcases and placing them in his box. "Hurry." He said. "You better hurry."
Guido began scooping up articles of his own with abandon. Parts, accessories, side view mirrors, radio antenna, anything he could pickup and dumping it in a pile beside the box. Leonard watched with a drawn face and appeared as though he might be about to cry. Outside, a loud barking broke the stillness, followed by a mournful howl.
Victor paused, one arm outstretched, a foot seeking a new foothold on the shelves. He listened for a moment and then dropped to the floor.
"Let's get out of here," he ordered and bent over to pick up his box. He hoisted it to his shoulder and headed for the door through which they had entered only a few minutes earlier.
"Go man!" he said quickly. "You want to stand an early seven! Move it creep!" and he hurried through the door into the darkness toward the fence they had just climbed and which now could be the beginning of their imprisonment. Guido trotted along behind, carrying the carburetor. In his mind's eye he could see it sitting atop the intake manifold of the old Chevy delivery truck. The aging motor always needed something done to make it run better and Guido had just made up his mind that this was a good time to start doing something about it.
Leonard scurried along behind, aware that the dogs were barking at full volume and up the street, people were probably looking out their windows and wondering what was causing all the commotion.
A black shape bounded across the yard, darting between hulks of wrecked automobiles. Two burning eyes searched for an opening in the fence. The object moved toward Victor, passing between his legs, pausing only long enough to claw at this new menace and then hurtling up the fence and over the top. A wavering 'Meeoow' floating back its defiance.
Victor Zigler stumbled and then caught his balance as the box dropped from his grasp. It crashed to the ground in a jumble of rattling metal. The sounds echoed and re-echoed across the yard and the boys quivered in indecision.
"God damn!" bellowed Victor and danced about in pain. He lifted his foot to rub the ankle where a metal object had bounced off on its way to the ground.
"Hurry," pleaded Leonard heading for the fence.
"Right behind you," Guido said in encouragement as he reached for the tip of the wooden boundry.
"Don't leave, Victor," cautioned Leonard, stopping at the fence looking back. "He might need help."
Victor was back on two feet and hurrying toward them. He had neglected to retrieve his box or any part of it's contents. In the aftermath of the accident and the urgency of escaping whatever it was that had discovered them, he had forgotten the box and its contents. The boys had no further desire for anything other than climbing that fence and finding the Imp as quickly as possible. Except Guido....
He clutched the carburetor to his bosom as he scrambled up the fence and over to the other side. He had come this far to get it and had no intention of returning home without it.
Bunny Harris had expected that sooner or later, they would be getting around to her. Someone had mentioned in a course of casual conversation that two plainclothesmen were doing some investigating around the neighborhood. They had also mentioned it had something to do with the three boys, Victor, Leonard and Guido.
Now that they were here she couldn't see anything to be so shaken up about; after all, they were only men and she could expect to have them eating out of her hands in at least five minutes or so.
She surveyed them with calculating eyes, asked them in and wondered what to tell them. The older one she definitely decided was cute, with the gray hair in his temple showing up with just the right degree of prominence to make him look distinguished. It also made him look older.
"This is Sergeant Cunicheck," he said introducing his partner. I'm Inspector Hamilton."
"Charmed," Bunny said, scanning the room for suitable places to sit. She wondered vaguely if they were here on business or for kicks, after all, they were men and, well, men were men.
"We want to ask some questions," began Mr. Cunicheck. "Hope you don't mind?"
"Not at all," Bunny said and decided she liked the younger man better. Perhaps with a little urging he could turn out to be a pretty good mark. He looked in his early thirties, a dark muscular man with the build of an athlete but appearing none too bright. He was giving her the eye and that was good. He was also following the lines of her body like he was drawing a picture and from the expression on his face, he liked very much whatever he was drawing.
"How old are you, Miss Harris?" he asked when she had motioned them to a seat on the davenport in the tiny living room.
"Twenty one," she lied, looking him straight in the eye without flinching.
"You sure?"
"Of course," she said adding to her first lie. "If you don't believe me, ask my mother."
"Where can we find her?"
"Anywhere there's men. Just look around. She might even give YOU a date." The girl laughed with a half catch that sounded more like a sob. "She doesn't have time for me anymore. Afraid I might take one of her boy friends away from her."
The girl settled onto the one remaining chair and crossed her legs. That was a good position for men. Something about it made them breath harder and that always helped when it came time to ask for money. The tight skirt drew up above her knees displaying a large expanse of leg and shiny stocking. Above the knee in the. tunnel of the skirt, a flash of white thigh drew the attention of Mr. Cunicheck. He looked quickly, turned away and then looked again. His superior noticed his confusion an decided to take over the questioning.
"Where is your father, Miss Harris?" he inquired striving to ignore the leg below the skimpy skirt. His gaze traveled up and down her body and for a moment their eyes met. A flush of color mounted his cheek, he coughed and then cleared his throat.
"Cripes!" muttered the girl. "Call be Bunny. This Miss Harris stuff makes me feel positively sticky."
"All right Bunny, where can we find your father?"
"He left home years ago-back east somewhere-ran off with some little flip young enough to be my sister. That's what Esther says."
"Esther?" The Inspector looked puzzled.
"My mother," Bunny said in disgust. Why did they always need a picture drawn of everything. Can't a person have some things kept secret?
"Oh," Mr. Hamilton said as though he understood but the look on his face proved he didn't.
"She didn't like me calling her mother or mom or anything like that when any of her men freinds were around, so...." The girl toyed with a lipstick on a side table and looked dejected. " ... so I called her Esther. She liked that."
"Was she the one that was known as the lady of Nebraska Street?" inquired the sergeant. The inspector looked sharply in his direction and frowned.
"They called her the Bitch who ran at the head of the pack," replied Bunny. "Isn't that a marvelous thing to live up to!"
The sergeant coughed while the inspector looked embarrassed.
"It doesn't matter." Bunny said. "I'm used to it." and she began dabbing her fingers with a brush from the bottle beside her chair. A bit of moisture appeared in the corner of her eye but she wiped it away.
"We want to know what happened the night you went down on the beach."
"Oh that...!" She was working with her skirt, trying to pull it down over the expanse of leg showing above the knee. Cunicheck was deeply engrossed in the proceedings. Her eye caught his, a look of understanding passed between them and she shifted on her chair so her legs pointed more in his direction. Then she recrossed the nylon clad attractions, tugging the skirt just a bit higher to permit the partner a full view of what she had to offer.
The younger officer blushed, lowered his eyes and turned his head away. The girl in the chair was puzzled and couldn't understand for a moment, then she remembered that she had failed to don the most important garment of all in her haste to answer the door. She smiled at the officer and placed her feet flat on the floor. He looked disappointed so she recrossed her legs again and waited for him to turn away. He didn't. She smiled and turned her attention to the older man. She had already won one battle and was in a mood to launch another.
The Inspector was looking also, his eyes darting from the knees, up the tunnel between her legs to the bare anatomy displayed and then back to the knees.
"You think I have nice legs?" Bunny asked in all seriousness. She had a bit of a smile coursing her face and her eyes began to grow bright. "Do you think so?"
"Yes I do, Miss ... Bunny. I really do." The Inspector paused in confusion and then continued his questioning.