by James Ross
FINISH LINE
James Ross
Copyright © 2008 by James Ross.
ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4363-3327-6
Softcover 978-1-4363-3326-9
eBook 978-1-4500-7001-0
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book was printed in the United States of America.
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Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER ONE
St. Louis May 2007 . . .
Justin Ventimiglia was one of those teenage boys who couldn’t seem to do anything wrong. He had been wise enough to listen to his mom while growing up and for the most part stayed out of trouble. Classrooms and books had not been his forte, but he had advanced through life fairly successfully with his persuasive charm and was not considered a dummy by any stretch of the imagination.
His upbringing had been experienced under modest conditions. For a number of years Tina Ventimiglia ran a single-parent household that included Justin and his older half-brother, Eric. That was until she met Dave Galati in 2004 when Justin was ten. After a brief courtship the two tied the knot. Three years separated Justin and Eric in age and for the most part they had run the house while Tina earned a living as an elementary school teacher. That all changed when Dave came on board. The family was not wealthy, but was regarded as a normal, Midwestern, middle-class household. That was despite the siblings being fathered by two different men. To complicate an already confusing male hierarchy a new step-dad now occupied the premises. His teenage son Ryan, from a previous marriage, stayed as visitation allowed, usually every other weekend.
Dave moved into Tina’s unassuming bungalow on the south side of St. Louis where the Italian Catholics and the Irish Catholics sort of co-existed. The modest all-brick homes blended well with the newer, vinyl-sided editions in the working-class. In short order, Dave started changing the house rules. The normal “man-of-the-house” battles ensued. Justin and Eric naturally balked, and the three males were at each other’s’ throats frequently. It was then when Justin began to understand that the larger and older male in the pack usually ended up the winner of any fight or disagreement. With that discovery, Justin figured out that it was wiser to back off from arguments with his step-dad and assume a more passive role in discussions.
Aside from that, Justin Ventimiglia was a non-stop ball of energy. He was up at dawn and played continuously with the neighborhood kids until he literally fell into bed at night.
If he wasn’t organizing a game of hide-and-seek, he was shooting baskets by himself on the driveway. If Justin couldn’t find anyone to play catch with him, he would throw a ball against the wall and field its return. He was in perpetual motion.
Even though Justin had arrived mostly unscathed and sheltered his first thirteen years, it didn’t mean that he didn’t have a slight rebellious streak . . . especially when it came to the activities that he shared with the mischievous ringleader down the street, Keith Pucchio. For the most part, the pranks they pulled were harmless, but Justin was attracted to the way that Keith thought and how his mind was always planning things that bordered devious. It was safe to say that Keith would barge through the door and Justin would follow closely behind, curious to know what would happen.
If the two of them weren’t beating a neighbor girl out of a glass of lemonade on the sidewalk stand then they might shortchange an elderly lady on a trim job around her hedge. Nevertheless, whatever they did during the summer months always led them back to the Ventimiglia household and a game of one-on-one hoops in the family driveway.
With the excitement of a whole summer vacation on their minds, one of those journeys back to the makeshift basketball court started the whole story. The two boys had finished cutting the grass on several neighborhood lawns. They were hot and sweaty from the surging humidity that had begun to settle into the region. Their practice was to get up early, cut the grass as soon as it was dry enough, and try to finish up by lunchtime—before the real heat knocked them to their knees.
It was late-May and they had only been out of school for a day or two. As luck would have it, one of the lawnmowers wouldn’t start due to a worn out spark plug. After solving that problem, the other mower promptly ran out of fuel. The time needed to fix the predicament put them behind by three to four hours. That meant that they had to finish their work under a blistering sun, which added to their misery.
On the walk home they stopped by the local quick mart and bought extra-large beverages to replenish their fluids. They were sweat soaked, covered in grass clippings, and smelled like a couple of chimpanzees at the local zoo. Moreover, the delay didn’t help their dispositions either.
When it came time to take the sidewalk around Old Man McCormick’s property, both of them wanted to cut through the corner lot rather than walk around it. They had almost
made it when the old man yelled in their direction, “What do you boys think you’re doing?”
“We’re heading home after a hard day’s work,” Keith shouted back.
“Don’t you know that it’s against the law to trespass on people’s property?” It was as if the old man relished the boys giving him something to complain about.
“We’re not harming anything,” Keith said without regard to a temper that flared at the slightest little annoyance. The hot temperature and flowing perspiration added to his short fuse on this afternoon. “It’s not like we’re dumping a load of dog shit all over your yard!”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” McCormick bellowed, “you little low-scale hoodlum.” He made a move from his flower bed to confront the boys face to face. The old man’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as he set his eerie gaze upon them. His receding hair line heightened an already high forehead while a long mass of gray covered his neck and seemed to grow into his shoulders and back.
“Come on,” Justin urged his friend. “Let’s get out of here and move on down the road.”
“I’m not going to take his crap,” Keith retaliated. “We’re not hurting anything.” He turned to the approaching old man and screamed, “Go screw yourself!”
“I’m not about to listen to that kind of language from two punks,” McCormick continued. “I know who you are and where you live.”
“And what are you going to do about it?” Keith persisted in no mood whatsoever to take lip off an old man.
“I’ll call the police,” McCormick shouted as the two came eye to eye. Justin thought that calmer heads should prevail. He didn’t necessarily desert his friend, but he found his way to the edge of the property and observed the confrontation.
“What kind of fool are you?” Keith roared back, intent on standing his ground. “Do you think that the cops will pay any attention to a petty incident like this?”
“Then you obviously don’t know who I am,” came McCormick’s reply as he inched closer to Keith, “or who I’m connected to.”
Keith suddenly fixated on his confronter’s two-day stubble and the short bursts of hair that exploded from his nose. “I can see that you’re hairy enough to probably have hair on your butt,” Keith blurted, “and it’s probably in your butt crack too. Go ahead. Lay a finger on me old man,” Keith challenged. “If you touch me, I’ll have a good reason to smack you down to size.” For a thirteen year old, Keith talked a good game.
“Come on, Keith. Let’s get out of here,” Justin called. “It’s gone far enough.”
“Keith, huh?” the old man said. “That will be some helpful information for the cops.”
“I thought you said you knew who we were anyway.”
“It won’t take too long to figure it out now, will it? Now I suggest you change your tune and get off my property.” He glared at the teenager.
It had been a long day. Keith was tired and sapped of energy. He didn’t really know why he had been so confrontational to the old man. He did a double-take and relented. “Maybe that’s a good idea after all.”
“I’m glad that you’re starting to see things my way,” McCormick kept going.
Keith backpedaled and made a move to join Justin. “Whatever.” The two boys headed down the street, their lawnmowers in tow. Keith turned and yelled a parting shot over his shoulder. “You’re disgusting. I bet you smoke cigars, too!”
“And I don’t want to see you around here again!” Old Man McCormick yelled. “Stay off my property!”
“I don’t want to see you around here again,” Keith facetiously mimicked to Justin. “That won’t be the last time he hears from me.”
“Let it go, Keith. It’s been a long, hot day.”
“No way I’m going to let that old fart get away with running me off like that,” Keith said. “Cutting across his lot didn’t cause him any harm.”
“What are you going to do?” Justin asked. He never knew what sort of crazy idea would come out of Keith’s head.
“Meet me over at my place on Friday night,” Keith said.
One side of Justin wanted to walk away from the situation and let bygones be bygones. His other side wondered what sort of thrill Keith would introduce him to next. “What’s up your sleeve?”
“Be on time and I’ll show you. But make sure it’s after dark.”
“My mom won’t let me stay out too late,” Justin countered. “Besides, I have a new step-dad and I don’t want to get in trouble. He and I don’t get along too well as it is.”
“Then tell them we’re going to a late show and you’re going to stay at my house on Friday night,” Keith responded.
“I wish that I knew exactly what we’re going to do.”
“Show up and you’ll find out,” Keith said as he flashed his friend a devilish grin. His mind had already concocted a devious, mischievous scheme.
CHAPTER TWO
Sometimes it is better to use solid judgment and walk away from petty incidents that don’t mean a whole lot in the grand scheme of things. Justin, however, was going through adolescence and had started to question authority. He had been such a model child, but his hormones were starting to kick in and the excitement of being exposed to a friend that liked to be a little daring seemed appealing to him.
Keith acted out things that were on the far edge of how Justin had been raised. The mischievous instigator offered Justin the chance to stray from the goody two-shoes image that he had up to then. When the boys were together, Justin felt free and justified to let loose and have a little fun. It was as if Keith supplied the tank and the fuel and handed the matches to Justin. All he had to do was light one.
Under the bright sky of the blue moon, Justin headed over to Keith’s house. It was the second full moon in May that year. He remembered his mother showing him on the calendar that when there was a full moon the first or second day of May there were enough days left for another one at the end of the month. Having two full moons in the same month was special; it only happened every thirty-three months, hence, “once in a blue moon.” This would be a special night.
If the boys knew what was in store for them, perhaps they would have chosen a different night. But the old man had angered Keith and he was not going to go away without getting a tiny bit of revenge.
“Take one,” Keith said as he offered a Marlboro pack to Justin. “Go ahead. One won’t hurt you.”
“Where did you get those?” Justin asked.
“My old man has a carton of them. He won’t even miss them,” Keith explained. He had been stealing them from his dad’s stash all spring and was still a relatively inexperienced smoker. “Now go ahead and try one.”
“No, I don’t think I want to start that,” Justin said as he backed off. He wasn’t so sure that Keith’s idea about smoking was going to influence him after all the harmful things that he had heard about smoking while growing up. Keith lit a cigarette and took a huge puff. He tried to express his bravado, but a cough exposed his greenness. “Maybe you shouldn’t smoke either,” Justin suggested as he forced a chuckle at his buddy.
“Whatever,” Keith stammered under his breath as he put out the cigarette. That seemed to be the one-word catch phrase in vogue. “Here, wear this,” Keith said to Justin as he threw a camouflage vest in his friend’s direction. “It’s bright out tonight so we’ll want to wear clothing that won’t bring any attention to ourselves.”
“What are we going to do?” Justin asked.
Keith strolled over to the rear of the garage and grabbed two paint guns. “We’re going to decorate for a little party.” Keith raised the paint guns above his head and then handed one to Justin. “You know, we’re kind of limited in our options. We can go and tee-pee the house or fire bottle rockets at his windows. But I think this will be a lot more fun.”
“Where?” Justin asked, knowing but fearing the answer.
“The old man’s house!” Keith snapped back in disbelief. He knew that his friend had lived a sh
eltered life, but this was no time to play stupid.
“We don’t need to do anything crazy,” Justin said. “Besides, what will your folks say?”
“They won’t even know. They’re out for the night,” Keith continued as he strapped on his own vest. He grabbed a couple of stocking caps and tossed one in Justin’s direction. “I know it’s hot out, but put this on too.”
“We look like terrorists,” Justin said. “Are you sure we’re not taking this too far?”
“We’re just going to have some fun, make a little mess, and give the old guy something to really bitch about,” Keith persisted. He bolted into the house. “I’ll be right back.”
Keith continued into the kitchen and down the stairs that led to the basement, jumping two at a time. He ran over to the freezer, reached inside, and grabbed two frozen packets. He pressed on the outside of the bags to make sure that the contents were frozen, then high-tailed it back up the stairs.
Justin, in the meantime, was examining the paint gun that Keith had handed to him. He had always been non-confrontational, and second thoughts were running rampant through his head. Even though the paint gun was harmless as far as killing something, it still represented violence. Yet, Keith always promised a little excitement, so he’d go along with things just to see what was going to happen.
“Here, these will get the job done in a big way,” Keith said as he rushed through the door and flipped a frozen packet to Justin.
“What is this?” Justin asked as he examined the contents.
“Frozen paint balls,” Keith explained. “When they’re hard they do a little more damage before they explode.”
“I didn’t think that we wanted to cause any damage.”
”We aren’t, but we want to let the old guy know that somebody’s been there,” Keith rationalized. “If he wants something to do, then he can get the hose out the next day and wash paint off his house.”
“ . . . But these things are as hard as a rock,” Justin said. He wasn’t so sure that Keith didn’t have an ulterior motive for this prank after all. “If these hit somebody, it will feel like a bullet, not an exploding paint pellet.”
“Come on. Quit worrying. I’ve got everything under control,” Keith persisted. “We have to be prepared and these will make sure the job gets done.”