Stealing Cars (5)

(started 6/13)

Jeff pulled up near the steps to the train platform.

“You got your ticket?” he asked Stephen.

“I don’t need no tickey. I’m driving back.”

“The hell you are. Even if you had a car – you’re drunk, dude.”

“So many cars here.” Stephen bent his head past Jeff to survey the lot. “There’s got to be one with the keys in the ignition. Or screw it, I’ll just jump it.”

“You don’t even know how.”

“Ha. Watch me.”

“You’re drunk. Go home to your wife.”

“My wife.” Stephen dipped his head, then turned and looked in the other direction. “I think it’ll be that Nissan Z over there. What do you say?”

“I say the train will be here any minute.”

Stephen grabbed the door handle, snapped it back and got out. Then he leaned back into the car, his breath heavy with booze.

“You comin’?” he asked.

“Where? New York?”

“Steal a car.”

“Screw you.”

Stephen laughed, then slammed the door shut. The window was still open.

“See ya,” he said. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Happy B-day.”

“Happy B-day. B-day.” Stephen leaned down against the door. “I am taking a car.”

“Don’t call me when you get caught.”

"I never get caught,” he said, his voice firm. “That’s the shame of it.”

“Right.” Jeff put the car in gear.

Driving over the bridge, Jeff heard the train’s horn in the distance and wondered if Stephen was getting on.

He would.

Probably.

Maybe not.

“Always was an asshole,” Jeff said aloud. Then he turned the radio on to drown out the train.

Stealing cars (4)

Started 6/13

“What we oughta do is steal a car,” said Stephen, pulling himself inside Jeff’s Honda. “For old time’s sake.”

“Old time’s sake? We never stole cars.”

“Why not?”

“Because we weren’t thieves.”

Jeff checked his watch. The last train out of Beacon left in twenty minutes – just enough time.

“I ain’t livin’ in the past, Jeffy. I’m movin’ forward,” said Stephen.

“The booze is what’s movin’,” said Jeff. He laughed uneasily, hoping he wasn't as drunk as his friend.

“We gotta steal a car tonight. That’s what we gotta do.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re outa your fuckin’ mind. You work on Wall Street, for christsakes. You gotta big job.”

“We gotta steal a car.”

Stephen didn’t answer. Neither spoke again until they were three-fourths of the way over the bridge.

"A fast car," said Stephen. "Not a piece of shit."

(to be continued . . .)

Stealing cars (3)

“It’s a miracle we never got arrested, half the stuff we did.” Stephen picked up the shot glass and downed the vodka in a gulp. Then he pushed it across the bar for a refill. Skye was the best you could do here.

“We never did anything they would arrest us for,” said Jeff.

“Shit on that,” said Stephen. The bartender wasn’t responding, so Stephen took out his wallet and unfolded a hundred.

No, I’m paying,” said Jeff. “It’s your birthday.”

“Don’t sweat it, boy. I’m rich.” Stephen held his stare a second, then started to laugh.

“You ain’t rich,” said Jeff, serious, and a little offended.

Stephen laughed even harder. “Who cares?” he said, sticking the hill in the glass like a flag.

...to be continued

Stealing cars (2)

“I can’t imagine doing that commute every day,” Stephen told Jeff when he saw him on the platform at Beacon. “Shit.”

“Shit yourself. How are you?”

Jeff gave him a bear hug and an arm punch, and they were on their way. Stephen was tense, more on edge than in the city a month ago when they’d hit the Stadium together and walked up the block for something to eat. But he shrugged when Jeff asked if something was up, and Jeff dropped it.

"Old place hasn’t changed, huh?” said Stephen as they drove to the river where the restaurant was.

Newburgh had changed a lot, Jeff thought, but he didn’t say it.

“Man, the things we used to do here, huh?” added Stephen.

“We had fun.”

“Newburgh – city of sin. But we made it out alive.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Oh yeah. You’re still a prisoner.” Stephen turned to Jeff, suddenly animated. “Go down Dobbs and over to Johnson.”

"Bullshit on that. This ain’t the place to screw around.”

"Just do it.”

“No way. I value my life.”

“Why?” said Stephen, with an edge. But he let it drop.

(to be continued)

Stealing Cars (1)

Stephen was turning 30 and Jeff decided to do something special, take him out like the old days when they were kids in Newburgh. For the past few years they’d been drifting apart – since Stephen got married mostly – but when they were kids they were tight, knew what the other was thinking by the way he squinted.

Stephen was in finance on Wall Street. He lived in the city but if he didn’t he’d have a house near the river, a big empty place where Jeff’s boss would tell him to add twenty bucks to the standard charge when he went on a maintenance call. Jeff was an AC tech for a local company, had his own truck, doing pretty good in his eyes and compared to most people he knew, except Stephen. Stephen was in a whole other class, able to score Ranger tickets where they brought the food to you and you felt the cold of the ice.

“You want to party?” Jeff asked when he sent the text. “Up here? B-Day????” It took nearly the whole day for Stephen to get back to him. “Ynot?”

(to be continued)