The Under

“Eight bucks, that’s all we got,” Doug says, passing the lukewarm coffee to Johnny.

“Crap in a handbasket, man. Where did it go?”

“We lost fifty on Villanova and another fifty on the Chargers.”

“I told you, Nova on the road was dirty business. And you bought a round of drinks at the bar. I mean what the…”

Doug kicks rocks.

Johnny lets Doug walk the guilt trip for a few moments. “Well, crap. How about some breakfast?”

They walk around the corner, plop into a sticky booth and nod over to the waitress. She wipes down the table before asking, “what can I get you hun?”

“We’ll take the breakfast sandwich special,” Johnny says.

“I love that corset. Where did you get it?” Doug asks with a devilish smile.

“This is old thing, it’s just part of the uniform.”

“It really brings out those beautiful eyes.” Doug says, smile widening.

Johnny shakes his head slightly. Down on their luck, looking like hobos and here’s Dougie boy firing off the charm. But his little brother was always like that. It’s that charm that’s gotten them in, and then narrowly out, of so many jams. 

“You’re too much, sweetie.”

“Hey, would you mind topping off my coffee?”

“We’re not supposed to,” she starts. Doug puppy dog eyes her. “Oh, alright. But don’t tell nobody.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

She blushes before walking off.

“I can’t believe you sometimes,” Johnny says.

“What, she’s not going to get a tip, might as well make her day somehow.”

“You’re something, Dougie boy.”

Doug grins, takes a quick survey of the diner, and says, “You’re six. There’s this older guy.”

“How old, Doug?” Johnny asks, pretending there are boundaries.

“I don’t know. Fifty? He’s got a nice watch on him. I’ll tell you that.”

“So like 70, Doug?”

“Maybe.”

“Damn it, man!”

“You got any better ideas? You got anything more than eight bucks. No, make that three bucks after our breakfast. I’m not saying we mug the guy. Just a good old-fashioned, ‘where’s the bank,’ Johnny Boy.”

Johnny’s stomach rumbles. 

“Alright.”

The waitress drops off the sandwiches and blushes as Doug compliments her earrings. This earns another pour of coffee. They eat slowly, half to savor the meal, half giving their target time to leave. Johnny’s stomach knots. He wonders how they got here. How it got this bad? 

“Ok, he’s leaving. I’ll lead, you follow,” Doug whispers.

Johnny goes to the bathroom. He doesn’t have to use it, of course, he just needs to give Doug a head start.

Doug rushes to the cashier, drops off the check and six bucks. He forgot about taxes. But now the waitress will get a forty cent tip. Quite the gentlemen. 

Johnny paces the graffiti stained bathroom stall, muttering under his breath.

“We don’t need the money this bad.”

“What if we finally get caught?”

“Shit!”

Finally, he secures his nerve with a deep breath and pushes out of the bathroom. The waitress isn’t patrolling the restaurant; must be on her break. He walks past the old man’s table, grabs the ten-dollar tip and drops it on their table. A regular Robin Hood.

Johnny looks left and sees Doug down the block, waiting at the same stop light as the old guy.

“Bout time something fell in our laps,” Johnny mutters to himself.

The light turns green and Doug takes a moderate pace, but not blistering. Eventually, his phone buzzes with a beehive chime. The chime chosen to show Johnny’s ready for action. Doug stops to pretend to check the text.

“Excuse me, sir, do you know where the bank is?” Johnny shouts.

The man turns around, as does Doug. 

“Hey, there you are, wh-” Doug starts, but bumps into the old guy.

The physical contact is all the fog Doug needs to lift the man’s wallet from his back pocket. It’s a blink. 

“Sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t-.” Doug starts sheepishly.

“Sir, are you ok? My friend is such a klutz sometimes,” Johnny asks with a mock of concern.

“Why, um, yes. Yes, I’m quite alright. These things happen.”

“Good,” Johnny says with a cheshire sigh of relief.

“Yes, quite alright. Chase bank is on fourth avenue. Couple blocks that way.”

“That’s great! Thank you so much.” Johnny says.

“Freeze!” It’s not Doug.

Johnny’s heart tries to vanish through his chest, but before he can turn around, Doug grabs his shoulder and pulls him. 

“Let’s get the hell out of here!”

“Split,” Johnny replies.

“Split,” Doug confirms.

If it’s the cops, then it’s just split up and flee, at least one of them should get a way. If it’s not the cops, then split up but see who gets chased. 

The stranger isn’t wearing a uniform, so Doug slows his jog just enough.

“Got you! I saw what you did to that old guy back there!” The man screams.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“BS! You picked that gentlemen’s wal-”

Whack. Johnny’s Billy club lands a perfect blow, and the man crumbles like chunks of ice. 

“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Johnny yells.

“Wait, let’s see what he has?”

“Are you kidding! Let’s go!”

Doug rakes through the man’s pockets and pulls out his wallet, before muttering, “Oh shit.”

“What?”

Doug holds up the opened wallet. A badge.

“Let’s get the hell out of here!”

They sprint to the nearest alley and high-tail it to the park. Johnny goes to their secret spot and throws Doug’s bag at him. Chest heaving like a bass drum.

“Wait a second, Johnny.”

“Have you lost your mind? We need to get out of here. Now!”

“If we keep running, the cops will find us for sure.”

Johnny puts his hands on his head and begs through his lungs for breath.

“Where’s a good place to hole up?” Doug continues.

“The quarry. Let’s change out of these sweaters and head out in different directions.”

Doug throws off his sweater in consent. They give each other a quick nod.

As Johnny shuffles down a sleepy street, a myriad of thoughts pepper him.

Did that just happen?

What if the cop is dead?

What the hell are we going to do?

Did they catch Doug?

I can’t do this anymore…

As Doug saunters down the street, a lazy canoe of thoughts floats through.

I’m sure that cop is just fine. He’ll wake up and get some ice.

I wonder how much money is in that old dude’s wallet - can’t check now, but…

I hope Johnny is not making himself a mark running down the street.

The under on Carolina is a lock.

Johnny makes it to the quarry first and makes hours out of minutes. His head pounds with the consequences.

We mugged a cop.

I can’t go to prison, they’d eat me alive.

Johnny hears dirt scuffling and hides in the corner. 

“Johnny? Are you here?”

“Damn it, Doug! You made it.”

“Of course I made it.”

“Of course?”

“We’re here. We’re fine. Take it easy.”

“Take it easy? Have you lost your mind?”

“They aren’t calling America’s Most Wanted, ok? Let’s see what the old guy had.”

Doug goes for the wallet, but Johnny grabs his arm.

“We need to get the hell out of this city and never come back. Do you hear me?”

“What? No. Hey, I was thinking, the North Carolina under is a lock tonight. An absolute Baldwin.”

“Have you lost your mind? This needs to stop. All of it. We just robbed an old guy and knocked out a cop.”

“We didn’t know he was a cop.” 

“Who cares? That’s not the point. The point is that we’re degenerate drunk bastards who need to pull up. We need to leave Dodge and fix this. That’s if the cops don’t catch us and throw away the key first.”

“What are you talking about? Go back to live with mom and get a job at Subway? Huh? We lived this morning. You think any of the shadows walking to their boring jobs have felt that alive in a year? Yeah, we’re broke and we have to rein it in a bit, but normal life isn’t for me.”

“Doug, listen to me, please. That’s the degenerate boozehound in you talking. Those people are going to their jobs, so they feed their kids. So they can have a life. This isn’t a life, man. This is us pretending we’re romantic adventures when really we’re hobos who sleep in parks and quarries. It’s insane!”

“That’s where we differ. Every day is an adventure for us. Every day. Yeah, conditions aren’t the best, but I’d rather feel alive and have fun, then be a nine to five dead man walking.”

“So, you’ll just keep going like this? That’s your plan? You can’t run forever, Doug!”

“What do you mean you? It’s we. We’ll figure something out. Yeah, we’re down on our luck, but we’ve bounced back before. We’ll hit Carolina tonight, you’ll see.”

“I can’t man. What if we killed that cop? And we robbed another old guy. What the…five years ago we were both going to school, dating somebody, and had friends. Remember that? Maybe this is actually what I needed. Man, I’m done.”

“Nah man. That’s not me. I like who I am,” Doug says, but his tone tells a different story.

“Please Dougie, please.”

Doug turns and faces the wall.

“Come on Doug, we’ll still be the best bros around, but we can’t do this shit anymore.”

Doug pulls out the wallet. “Two hundred and forty bucks. Here’s your half.”

“Just give me sixty. That should cover the bus and some grub.”

Doug hands over sixty dollars and stares at the ground again. 

“Come here,” Johnny whispers and pulls Doug in. “I love you, man. But, I have to go. I’m so scared, ashamed, and lost that I have to go. I have to.”

Doug looks up to meet Johnny’s eye. “I know you do, man. But not me.”

Johnny pulls Doug in one last time and whispers. “Keep your phone on. I’ll text you.”

“Alright, man. Wish me luck with Carolina,” Doug says with a smile that screams, ‘I don’t know what I’m doing, but this is all I got.’

“Go Heels,” Johnny whispers before wiping his eyes.

Johnny takes a deep breath, gives his brother a punch in the arm, then walks out of the quarry.

Johnny walks eight miles to the bus station. 

He cries a sigh of relief once the bus departs.

He pounds tears when mom picks him up.

He spends the worst month of his life drying out.

He spends two years following mom’s rules and finishing his degree.

He’s a private instigator.

Doug never returns his texts.

Doug walks to the bank and deposits the money, then bets it all online.

The under doesn’t under.

He robs the wrong guy.

He spends eight months in jail.

He finds fentanyl.

He doesn’t remember his phone number, let alone the last time he saw it.

The bells jingle as Johnny hangs ornaments from his mom’s tree. He’s months into his new gig and has enough for his own apartment, modest digs, and a used Taurus. He has a girlfriend, a pretty one at that. He has a life.

“Dinners ready,” his mom hollers.

Mom lays the meatloaf on the table before praying. Doug gets mentioned twice. She gives Johnny a strong squeeze while saying, ‘Amen.’ They quietly eat their dinner and talk about nothing. But with every stab of the fork, his mom’s face softens. Her mind is on Doug. It’s always on Doug. One prodigal son coming home isn’t enough.

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey,”

“I want to go find him.”

“Who?”

Johnny pauses until she locks eyes with him. 

“You know I paid that man to go looking for him.”

She stares at her plate.

“That man wasn’t blood.”

“He said those boys he’s running with are dangerous Johnny.” She quivers on each syllable.

“I’ve cracked four cases in six months. Boss calls me Basset cause I can track anything.”

“I don’t doubt you will find him. It’s when you find him; I can’t lose you again. I can’t.” She’s crying now.

“You won’t, mom. But I can’t stand that look on your face. The pain in every word. I can’t, ma.”

She bites her lip for a few minutes. “I can’t lose you.”

Johnny walks to his mother, bends and bearhugs her. “You won’t.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

She stands and hugs Johnny so hard he thinks is fixing to lose a rib.

“I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.”

Johnny knows where Doug’s at - a crack house on Travis street. That was always the going to be the easy part. Getting him out isn’t. It’s one thing to get in and convince him to come. It’s another to get past the enforcement. His source told Johnny that people living at the house have an arrangement with the owners. Favors for fixes and parting ways with tenants isn’t on the agenda. And Johnny isn’t dealing with the United Way.

After an eight-hour drive, the exhaustion of sitting on his rump is replaced with punches of adrenaline. Travis street is well known, and for all the wrong reasons. And it’s not everyday someone tries to break into a crack house. He parks at the end of the block.

Johnny pulls a picture from his back pocket - it’s Johnny and Doug after winning the little league championship. 

“Come on Doug, it’s time to come home,” Johnny whispers. 

Johnny walks calmly up to the front door and knocks gently. It cracks slightly, only two inches. But it’s enough.

“What the hell do you want?” a barrel of a man barks.

“I’m lost. I’m trying to find the IHOP. Is it close?”

“Hell no! Get the hell out of here!”

Johnny scans the inside of the house. A large living room, dining room and stairs on the west side. “GPS said th-”

“F your GPS man. Now, if you ain’t buying, you need to step!”

“Geez, sorry, I was just trying-”

Door slams.

Johnny turns to leave but sneaks a peek back.

“Two windows, two rooms,” he mutters to himself. “Same as the back of the house.”

Johnny sits on the edge of his hotel bed, a spring stabs his backside. He stares at the .44 in his hand, a gun that’s only seen the firing range.

I should have never left him here. I should have made him come home.

He slicks down the barrel with a shammy. His dull reflection spies back with every stroke.

What if I have to use this? 

Johnny inspects the clip for the hundredth time.

What if he doesn’t come home?

Johnny pops the clip back in.

Doesn’t matter, it’s time to get Doug.

It’s 7:00 AM and there’s nobody around; folks are coming down hard or they’re so nuked they couldn’t tell what year it is. He cracks his neck, throws the car in park, and pops out to a morning sweet with fog.

Time to get Doug.

Johnny pulls the mask over his face and cinches his hoodie tight around his head. His breath coils in his chest, ready to spring from all the adrenaline. He cracks his neck before strolling, as best as his thumping chest will let him to the door.

Knock, knock.

The door cracks open.

“Yo, can I get a two for ten?” Johnny asks in a husky voice.

“Show me the money.”

Johnny flashes a five and five crinkly ones. He has to look the part. The door man opens the door.

“Is that Terry?” Johnny asks.

Just enough to distract the doorman. Crack. Johnny smashes the butt of the .44 on the man’s head. The man slides down the wall like drying rain on a spring morning. Johnny scans the room. Nobody but zombies passed on the floor. He walks slowly, quietly up the stairs. Easing up every creaky step. 

He gets to the top and steels himself. This is the wrong game of Monty Hall. He spreads open the first door handle, so slowly his hand looks frozen, and peaks in. A younger woman, no older than twenty. She doesn’t move. The stuff must be good.

Johnny goes to the second door and icily cracks open the door.

“Hey! Who the hell are you?” a voice booms. A gun fires. Johnny ducks before busting into the third room. The man pops into the room and fires two more rounds. They whizz by Johnny. But Johnny’s shots don’t miss. One in the shoulder, one in the thigh. The big man falls grasping at his shoulder. 

“You know who you’re messing with?”

“Roll over!”

He does.

Johnny tingles as he looks down at the person in the bed.

“Dougie!” It’s him.

Doug stares at his big brother, but nobody’s at the wheel.

Johnny throws Doug over his shoulder and sprints down the stairs. Shots fire; It’s the door guy. Johnny puts a slug in his leg and screams fill the house. Johnny finds a new gear and sprints out the front door. Halfway across the lawn and another bullet whistle’s from God knows where. Then another. He throws Doug into the back seat before jumping behind the wheel. Two more shots, one shatters the back window. Johnny peels out. More shots. Another window. He rips a right at the end of the alley. More shots. But they are distant now. Facsimiles of those at the crack house.

Doug sleeps.

Johnny drives eight hours.

Doug can’t look his mother in the face.

Doug sleeps for weeks.

His mom holds him when the withdrawals take him to madness.

Doug heals.

Doug never takes the under again.