Piece of Cake

Yeah we gotta split he said. At the Corner of Dreams there was nothing, no bums, no lobos, no nothing. Charlie Matthews had left his De Soto at the DX Station twenty minutes away, between Cincinnati and Main. Where the hell is Charlie? Should be here any minute…, oh yeah? Yep. The fact that the big oilman Gilcrease wasn’t there guarding his temple of money didn’t make the boys smile. It was a lot of dough alright but it wasn’t a laugh. Strange kinds of dogs were barking under the iconic golden driller, running fast from nowhere to be shot by the man. And they were finally shot, a whole bunch of crazy pitbulls just before the boys had climbed over the fence.

One hundred thousand dollars wasn’t too bad for 1957, not bad for a lonely old man and three no-good juveniles. The money bag was lying on the boardwalk between their booted feet. A piece of cake they thought, and looked at each other to be sure they all agreed with it. They did but there was no Charlie down the road where the dawn was slowly rising moisturized by the Arkansas waters. The lonely man knew it was always a matter of time: they all could dodge the bullet now that there were no guns, and the black wells were still breathing in that night when the high buildings along the Broken Arrow were watching them from above like silent instruments of doom.

Swear to God, whispered the man and "lemme take care of him", said the shortest kid spitting brown saliva on the asphalt. The Twin, the only one who knew Charlie, held his heater under the belt smelling with doubting eyes the warm scent of sugar coming out from the Avalon of Black Gold, Tulsa Oklahoma.

Why in a hurry? He thought. Why don’t we just walk home? It’s so quiet in here… but it’s gonna be quieter at the old man’s living room. Shorty was staring at him. He was secretly bothered by his calm and abruptly asked what was his take on Charlie. Don’t have any, the other said keeping his eyes away from Shorty. He dig okay and that’s all... and Shorty went: well, you have to do something about your attitude dude or I'm gonna teach you when to shut up or talk with some respect! Yeah? And who’s gonna make me huh? You? You bet I will! Shorty shouted like an angry kid. The old man slapped him and looked at the other as if he was hiding some secret knowledge from everybody, as if he was the real enemy: I need to know whose side are you on here kid… you’re the only one who knows Charlie and I need you to tell me if he is or ain’t what and where we expect him to be tonight. We ain’t got time to lose okay? The Twin stared at the old man's face for longer than ever. He knew Charlie, he was his buddy, and he should have known better before that, now that the cards were on the table. They had spent together an entire childhood sneaking inside the big Admiral drive-in for a movie and a nice bottle of Cherry Cola and gin, driving crazy in the sunny street every evening, chasing somebody else’s girl. They had always been one thing together, one thing only, and they sure asked for trouble this time. But the street was talking that night, suggesting somehow in a low whisper what to do, where to go, what lies to tell and finally split and take his boots up to Owasso, or Sperry, in those parts of the town where a poor boy could dream and have a house of his own with a nice stove in it, a TV and a car. Charlie was waiting for him up there, the Twin knew it, ready to play dominoes he would have waved his hand from the porch as if anything had really happened that night. He’s not a rat, the Twin said to the man. If he’s not here something must’ve happened to him...

And we’re supposed to walk our asses downtown and steal a fucking car just because he’s not a rat? He’s not here now son, that’s all it matters to me… The man lit up his cigarette and never said a word again till it was out. You gonna get you share now boys and we’ll part right here! He handled a bundle of maybe twenty-thousand to each of them and kept the big slice for himself. Nevermind though, it was a big piece of money for those boys, more than they ever imagined.

The Twin was heading north dreaming Crutchfield playground when a black shiny Brougham pulled over and a white face said hello to him. He got scare, he knew those men, the oilmen from whom they had stolen that money. Here’s your money, I don’t need it sir… I don’t want no trouble and I should’ve called it quits right from the beginning… He passed the money to an elegant hand and stood there waiting to be excused, a dummy in the middle of the street. A pale driver drew a gun and shot him in the face, then the car went on and did the same with the rest of the boys. The old man was found in his warm living room with no arms and his dick stuck in his mouth, the money still in his pocket.

As for Charlie Matthews, he had finished to change a flat tire ten minutes after his friend was shot by those men. He turned to the Corner of Dreams and looked for them. A deep silence and no police. The town really seemed to be owned by the shadows. Charlie saw his friend’s body, he put him in the trunk an buried him in Crutchfield playground, right beneath the broken maypole they used play with. Then he parked his red De Soto, stepped on the porch and had a cigarette watching the stars. He was broke, didn’t have a woman and a friend now, but he wasn’t a rat.