The Light In the Dark

by Craig A. Smith

  “Fuck man, they lit up wit security,” he tells Hiram. “But we in the middle of nowhere, so I’d bet it’d take at least ten or twenty minutes for a cop to even get out here and I ain’t even seen a pig since we left camp.”

  Hiram taps Tyrone on the shoulder. “Yeah, it is pretty remote out here and I could use a fucking buzz.”

  “True dat,” says Tyrone, “I really don’t give a fuck if we get caught as long as we got a buzz by the time they catch us.”

  “Can I drive?” Hiram asks.

  “Yeah, when we done,” Tyrone answers.

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” Hiram says. “I’ve got an idea, a really good one too.” Hiram walks over to the Bronco. He continues, “You see Tyrone, most dumb asses drive through the front of the place they are breaking into, where someone can see it and call the cops on their cell, so let’s drive this thing in reverse through the back door.”

  Tyrone is unsure, “Won’t our ride get all fucked up?” he asks.

  “We need to get a new one anyways,” Hiram responds, “we can hit up that car dealership we passed just a minute ago, pop a new ride and then ditch this one,” he confidently states.

  “I don’t know,” Tyrone says, “Don’t you think that they might notice a beat-up ass old Bronco around them new rides and track it back to the Brask?” Hiram pats Tyrone’s shoulder and smiles.

  “We can hide it; didn’t you see the lake right next to the dealership?” Hiram says with a sinister giggle.

  “Ah, I got you,” Tyrone says as he jumps in to the passenger seat of the Bronco. Hiram pulls as far back from the back door as is possible and then simultaneously pushes down both the brake and the gas pedal. The tires roll a thick plume of smoke as the Bronco builds momentum. Hiram releases the brake and the Bronco explodes into the back of the liquor store.

  The glass from the hatch of the Bronco explodes. Shards of glass fly by Tyrone and Hiram. They get out of the

  Bronco and enter a room full of glass and concrete dust. They both start coughing as the dust fills their lungs. They both notice something odd. The alarm isn’t going off.

  “You have to be kidding me,” Hiram says, letting out a boisterous laugh.

  “Where is all the noise at?” Tyrone asks.

  “Maybe it’s a silent system,” Hiram says.

  “Maybe,” Tyrone says, “But let’s hurry the fuck up anyways.”

  Hiram and Tyrone run through the liquor store grabbing as many bottles as they can. Tyrone runs to the front and opens the cash register, which is empty. Hiram quickly fills the back of the Bronco with several bottles of liquor; he grabs a case of beer as well for good measure. Tyrone grabs several cartons of cigarettes and bottles of liquor as well, throwing them into back through the hole where the window used to be. They jump into the Bronco and peel out of the parking lot. Hiram, now driving, looks at Tyrone with a look of exhilaration.

  “Is it just me or was that too easy man?” Hiram asks.

  “I don’t know,” Tyrone responds, “give me a second to marinate on that.” Tyrone pulls out a carton of Newport’s, rips it open, pulls out a pack and lights a cigarette. He leans back into his seat. “Yup,” Tyrone says, “easy enough.” He gives Hiram a five and hands him a smoke. Hiram pulls the Bronco slowly into the car dealership, dims the lights and pulls as close to the waters edge as possible. They get out of the car and look at the wide assortment of vehicles in the dark lot.

  “How many cars have you popped?” Hiram asks.

  “Probably like ten or something,” Tyrone says.

  “Well, I don’t know shit about cars, so this one is on you,” Hiram says, “you find one while I get rid of the Bronco.”

  “Snag the plate off the Bronco first,” Tyrone says, “none of these rides have any tags on em’ and we would get pulled over in a hot minute driving a car without tags.”

  “Shit,” Hiram says, “I never even thought of that, good thinking.” Hiram looks in the back of the Bronco and finds the screwdriver that was originally used to pop the ignition in the Bronco. He unscrews the plate and hands it to Tyrone. He pulls all of the cigarettes and liquor out of the Bronco and hands them to Tyrone, who in turn hides them beside an old Camaro in the lot.

  When they are finally finished emptying the Bronco, Hiram leans back against it to have a brief rest. Tyrone walks over to a newer modeled Mustang and looks in the window. Hiram opens the Bronco door, puts it in neutral and begins pushing it towards the lake. The Bronco doesn’t budge.

  “Tyrone!” Hiram calls. Tyrone, still looking in the window of the new Mustang is unaware of Hiram’s call for assistance. “Tyrone!” Hiram yells yet again.

  “What?” Tyrone says.

  “Dude, I need your help here,” Hiram says, “help me push this piece of shit into the lake.” Tyrone jogs over to the truck and begins to assist him with pushing it. With Tyrone’s help, it finally begins to roll. The Bronco goes halfway into the water, and then seems to get stuck on something.

  “Damn, it won’t budge,” Hiram says.

  “Come here,” Tyrone says, “let’s see if we can lift the back of it up and get it off of whatever it is stuck on.” The boys try to lift the back of the vehicle, but they cannot get it to move. Tyrone lays down on the edge of the embankment and puts his feet on the rear bumper. He pushes and the Bronco moves a bit, Hiram lies down next to him and mimics his actions. They push together and a scraping sound comes from underneath the Bronco and it finally begins to move. They push with all of their might and the Bronco breaks free from whatever it was stuck on and floats away on the water. They sit for a moment, reveling in their accomplishment. A light comes over the horizon. Hiram’s eyes dilate as he looks back and sees headlights approaching. The boys sprint away from the water and hide behind a bush, both nervous about the approaching vehicle.

  “Fuck me,” Hiram says.

  “You think it’s the police?” Tyrone asks.

  “Shh…,” Hiram whispers, “get down!”

  The boys crouch behind the bush as a mag flashlight shines over the parking lot. The deputy has his window down and is slowly creeping down the road above them. The boys look at the lake, where he has yet to shine his light. They look at the water and see that the top of the Bronco has yet to submerge. They begin to panic when they realize that it is still in the process of sinking. Water finally begins bubbling up around the sides and the top of the truck is still visible. They wait. The light seems to be coming closer to them. Tyrone begins to tremble as he recognizes that the fun is quickly looking like it is about to end abruptly. The light finally has made its way to them. The deputy scans the area just as the top of the vehicle goes under. The cruiser turns its lights on, hits the siren and speeds down the road, obviously on another call. The boys collapse to the ground in relief.

  “Hiram,” Tyrone says.

  “Yeah,” Hiram responds.

  “That was almost it,” Tyrone says, “a couple of seconds earlier and we were fucking done for.”

  “I know man,” Hiram says.

  “My heart is beating like a motherfucker,” Tyrone says, “I think I might be having a heart-attack.”

  “Man, that’s twice in one night that we’ve seen a cop,” Hiram says, “I say we get the ride and get the hell out of here before he comes back.”

  “Let’s do it then,” Tyrone says.

  Tyrone walks up to a brand new Mustang, Hiram approves. “Get that one man, that ride is off the chain,” Hiram says.

  “Yup,” Tyrone says, “that ride is hot, but if the police see two kids like you and me up in it, they are going to try to find a reason to pull our asses over. There is no way we wouldn’t get busted. We need something that won’t attract no attention, something more like that.” Tyrone points to a 1984 Camaro. He walks up to the car and looks into the window. “I can’t believe it,” Tyrone says, “Check it out man, the keys is already in the ignition!” Tyrone walks up to the Camaro and pushes his fingertips into the crevice between the window
and the top of the driver’s side door. He pulls on the top of the window and the window bows out enough for him to slide his other arm behind it and unlock the door. He gets in and unlocks the passenger side. Hiram gets in and slides into the back and unlocks the hatch from the inside. Both boys get out and begin to throw all of the liquor store items into the hatch and backseat. They get back in, breathing heavily. Tyrone starts the car, the engine roars. He slowly pulls out. Tyrone keeps the headlights dim until they hit the street; then turns them on and drives slowly around the curve.

  “Man I haven’t had this much fun in a minute,” Tyrone says with a smile. He waits for Hiram to respond, but it takes a second.

  “Yeah,” Hiram says, “I guess it’s been okay.”

  “What’s with you Hiram, do you still have a problem with me or something?” Tyrone asks, “I was just playing earlier when I called you a spic. Shit, at least we ain’t white.”

  “Nah,” Hiram says with a chuckle, “I just kind of want to get back. I do want you to know that I am sorry for what I said earlier, you are alright.”

  “You alright too man, sorry I jumped on you like that. Anyways, we’ve got to get some more shit before we go back,” Tyrone says, “we can’t eat liquor and cigarettes; you know what I’m saying?”

  “I guess,” Hiram says, “I just don’t want Drake and Kris thinking that we dissed them.”

  “Man, don’t be worrying about them man,” Tyrone says, “because I guarantee you that if they was the ones out and about right now, they wouldn’t be caring about hurrying the fuck back.”

  “I guess so,” Hiram says, “whatever.” Tyrone looks down at the gas gauge. The car is almost on empty.

  “Fuck, I can’t be believing this,” Tyrone says.

  “What?” Hiram asks.

  “We are gonna have to do a gas-n-go,” Tyrone says, “We are almost on empty.”

  “Hell no,” Hiram says, “That’s way too risky.”

  “So is running out of gas and getting stuck in the middle of nowhere when everybody is looking for us,” Tyrone says. He notices a mom-and-pop gas station up the road. He pulls up to the pump. The rusty sign on the canopy reads Mulberry Gas, Bait and Eats. Tyrone looks at Hiram.

  “Well, get out and pump it man,” Tyrone says.

  “I don’t want to,” Hiram says.

  “I’m driving man, if I pump then I have to run all the way back across the car, get in and speed off. That don’t make no sense. Just get out pump the damn gas!” Tyrone orders.

  Hiram gets out and begrudgingly begins to pump the fuel. An old man comes out of the store and approaches them. It is Old Man Mulberry, a short and pudgy man in his early eighties. He is wearing a pair of dusty overalls and has an old railroad engineer style baseball cap on. He slowly makes his way towards a nervous Hiram.

  “I like that there car right there, how much did ya’ give for it?” Old Man Mulberry asks, spitting his chew on the ground.

  “I bought it last year for about four thousand,” Hiram nervously says.

  “Too rich for my liking,” the old man says, “is she fast?”

  Hiram giggles, “Yeah, she’s fast alright sir.”

  “Hmm,” the old man says as he slowly walks around and stares at the vehicle. The pump stops.

  “Well we’d better go inside and settle up,” the old man says. Things are not going as planned, Hiram had hoped that he would pump the gas and then just get in with Tyrone and they would drive off. Now this old man is getting in the way. A solution is not coming to him quickly enough, so he begins to walk towards the store with Old Man Mulberry. They go inside the store and the old man goes behind the counter. The store has a cozy antiquated feel to it. Not a camera within sight, no credit card machine and even the cash register seems to be manually operated. Hiram looks around the store and sees fishing, military and Kentucky basketball memorabilia. The décor is unlike anything he has ever seen.

  Old Man Mulberry punches the buttons on the cash register and looks up at Hiram. “That’ll be forty four dollars and twenty seven cents,” the old man says. Hiram thinks about running out of the store and speeding away, but the old man has seen the car and could easily give a detailed description of him. He has to think fast, he reaches into his back pocket.

  “You are not going to believe this sir, but I left my wallet at home,” he says. Old Man Mulberry raises his bushy eyebrows at him, reaches under the counter and quickly produces a shotgun.

  “You think I just fell of the damned turnip truck boy?” Old Man Mulberry asks. The meaning behind the saying escapes the young Hiram and he puts his hands up into the air in fear.

  “What turnip truck?” Hiram asks, “I don’t know what you are talking about sir. I don’t think you fell off of anything.” The old man puts the barrel of the shotgun to his head; Hiram’s legs begin to tremble. He is seconds away from losing control of his bladder.

  “Stupid… do you think I’m stupid son?” the old man asks.

  “No sir,” Hiram says, “I just forgot to bring my wallet with me tonight, I’m not trying to offend you or nothing, I just want to go home.” The old man pulls the barrel back and gives Hiram a stern look.

  “It looks like I’m gonna have to bring the law into this,” the old man says as he picks up the phone.

  “No, you can’t do that,” Hiram pleads. The old man puts the phone back down and raises his shotgun back up to Hiram’s chest.

  “And why is that, are you a wanted fugitive or something?” Old Man Mulberry asks.

  Hiram looks around, trying to find any way to get out of this horrible situation. He suddenly gets an idea; and if this idea doesn’t work, he is either going to end up in the hospital or in jail.

  “You can’t call the cops,” Hiram says, “because if you do they are going to kick us out of the Army.” The old man slowly lowers the shotgun.

  “You two boys is in the military?” he asks.

  “Yes sir,” Hiram responds, “U.S. Army.”

  “Where is your military I.D. then?” Mulberry asks.

  “It’s in my wallet, which I don’t have with me,” Hiram says. The old man puts the shotgun back behind the counter.

  “How do I know that you aren’t making this up?” he asks.

  “Why would I lie to you sir?” Hiram asks. “Me and my buddy here are shipping out to Afghanistan next week. We are up here with a bunch of other troops on leave. We just picked up a ton of alcohol and were heading back. That must be where I left my wallet… at the liquor store.” The old man thinks of a question that only a military man would know.

  “What is your M.O.S.?” he asks. Luckily, Hiram has a cousin Juan in Iraq and is familiar with the term.

  “Small arms repair specialist,” Hiram says, “just got back from a tour in Iraq last fall.”

  “Well, I must apologize,” the old man says, “sometimes in the summer we get low-lives down here that like to steal off of you. I thought you was one of them people, not a serviceman like myself.” Hiram cautiously puts down his hands.

  “What branch were you in?” Hiram asks.

  “Marines,” the old man says, “did a tour in Korea and one in Vietnam.”

  Old Man Mulberry walks around the counter and leads Hiram to a wall full of pictures taken by the old man throughout his life. He shows Hiram a picture of himself taken during one of his tours in Korea. He shows him a black and white framed photo of a muscular and handsome man wearing fatigues standing in front of a tent holding a rifle.

  “I was a handsome fella, wasn’t I?” the old man asks.

  “Yes sir,” Hiram responds. The old man stands there, reminiscing.

  “I believe that back in those days I saw more ass than a toilet seat,” the old man jokes making Hiram laugh. “Here, let me get a picture of us before you ship out.” Old Man Mulberry walks behind his counter and pulls out an old Polaroid camera. He wraps his arm around Hiram and leans back and takes a picture. “Come on,” he says as he shakes the picture and puts the camera
back up, “let’s get you back to wherever it is you need to be.” He slowly walks Hiram to the Camaro with the picture still in his hand. Hiram notices that Tyrone has fallen asleep in the driver’s seat. When Hiram gets in, Tyrone is awakened and startled. Old Man Mulberry leans into the car through Hiram’s side and sees all or the liquor in the backseat.

  “Looks like you boys are set to light up the town,” the old man says. Tyrone looks into the backseat, wondering what the hell is going on.

  “You could have some of this if you want… you know to make up for the cost of the gas,” Hiram says. The old man pats him on the shoulder roughly.

  “No son, them days are quite a bit behind me,” the old man says, “you two run off and get some fun in while you still can. I’ll tell ya’ what, if things ain’t changed there is a cruisin’ strip up in Pinewood where you boys could catch more pussy than a fast dog.”

  “I will be back tomorrow with the money sir,” Hiram says. Old Man Mulberry shakes his head.

  “Don’t worry about it son,” he says, “Your money ain’t no good here.”

  “You two boys take care,” the old man says, “I hear that it’s pretty dangerous over there.”

  “We will,” Hiram says, “thank you for the gas.” The old man gives him a smile.

  “Twas the least I could do for two fine boys such as yourselves,” the old man says.

  Tyrone starts up the Camaro and slowly pulls away. Hiram looks in the rearview mirror and sees Old Man Mulberry waving goodbye. He waves back at him and tears begin to fall down his face. Tyrone looks at Hiram with condescendence.

  “What the fuck man, are you crying?” Tyrone asks with a non-judgmental inquisitiveness.

  “Fuck off,” Hiram defensively says as he wipes away his tears.

  “What in the hell was all of that about?” Tyrone asks.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Hiram says.

  “I’m just wondering how you pulled it off, that’s all,” Tyrone says. “You are lucky; I was fixin’ to leave your ass when you walked into that store with that old man.”