by Chuck Crabbe
"Yeah, that's it," Adam answered.
"Can I see some ID please?"
"Sorry?" he asked, as if he hadn't understood her.
"Identification. Do you have it?"
Adam ran his hands over his pockets as if he were looking for his wallet. "Sorry, I must have left it at home."
She looked at him as if he were boring her. "Then I'm not going to be able to serve you, sir."
"You're joking, right?" Adam raised his voice a little. Ezra's stomach turned anxiously and he felt his pores open in a nervous sweat. Adam's voice trailed off as he looked toward Alex and Nick. The man they had followed inside the store was looking directly at him. The chosen father figure was smiling at him. He was on to them and seemed amused at what they were up to. Ezra saw Alex make a quick movement behind the stranger's back. Without alerting Alex that he knew of the crime that had been committed behind him, the man shifted his eyes to let Ezra know that he was precisely aware of what had happened. But how could he have seen? Frightened yet drawn to the stranger's fixed eyes and smile, Ezra stood frozen in front of the counter. There was something in the way he looked at him, some secret he was sharing.
"Excuse me," the woman behind them asked impatiently. Ezra had not heard her the first time she had asked. He looked around for Adam. He was gone. At last he saw him through the large storefront window striding nervously across the parking lot. Stepping quickly out the door, he followed him back to the car. Less than a minute later Alex and Nick jumped inside.
"Did you get anything Nick?" Alex asked breathlessly.
"No, I couldn't." Nick had lost his nerve.
But Alex smiled mischieviously. From underneath his hooded sweatshirt he pulled two bottles. It was wine. Ezra looked at the bottles once, and then again, more closely. Grabbing one from Alex, he turned it around in his hands and, stunned, read the label.
"What?" Alex asked, wondering at his friend's reaction. "You won't drink wine?"
"It's not that," Ezra answered a little dreamily.
"What then?"
"These bottles are from my Grandfather's vineyard."
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah."
The two boys exchanged glances. For a moment all were awkwardly silent.
"Well," Alex broke in finally, "we'll send the old man a thank-you card."
They all laughed, first just a little, and then very hard.
"I think he knows how grateful I am," Ezra said as the laughter died down.
Adam Nayeve took one of the bottles and peeled the label away from the cork. "We don't have a corkscrew," he said. They were quiet again for a moment as they considered the problem.
"It's okay," said Alex. "I have an idea."
That was the way it started. That was the first time Ezra stole and felt the rush of having outsmarted and out-timed the possessors of whatever treasure he and his friends coveted.
Alex was the only one of them to get drunk. The others did not have the taste for it, or perhaps the nerve, and to Ezra wine was only slightly different from water. Having it to drink was insignificant, but the act of stealing it was not.
They showed up at the church after all, and Alex made no effort to hide how drunk he had become. The older members of the group reproached him. They had noticed the music he was listening to, watched the crowd around him shift, and seen his eyes become sharp and hard as they had when he had backslid in the past. Did the devil have his ear again? They said they would go to Pastor Mark. Alex told them he didn't care and they could go right ahead. They approached Nick Carraway and Ezra and tried to convince them to intervene, but they would not. So all four spent the evening under disapproving eyes, but they laughed amongst themselves and took delight in their small act of defiance.
Christmas approached and they began to steal from some of the other shops in Belle River. At first they continued to follow Alex's lead, but soon each of them had developed the nerve to reach out with his own hand and take what was not his. It was much easier than Ezra had thought it would be. He found pleasure in taking without giving, and then more pleasure remembering that he had not lost anything in gaining what was wanted. He was surprised to find a sort of satisfaction in trickery and subtle evils.
Each time he stole there was a moment, one that repeated itself over and over again, that began to isolate itself in his senses. It came at the moment he was about to make his escape, the moment on which everything depended. Ezra would go into a store with his friends, and they would spread out to make it more difficult for the clerk to watch them. Stealing glances at the man or woman behind the counter, he would fill his pockets with candy bars, football trading cards, a can of pop, condoms, or perhaps something as meaningless as cough syrup. After the theft he would walk around the store to try to ascertain whether or not the clerk had seen him. If so, there was still time to act as if he meant to pay for what he had. But once he was convinced that he was not suspected, he would make his way to the door, and it was then that the moment came. There, at the exit, with his back turned toward his opponent, the possibility of being caught was paramount. He was alone on a wire, over an abyss that both thrilled him and terrified him. If the confrontation were to come, it would come now.
"Hey! Stop right there!"
Would the voice ring out behind him and name his crime? What would he do if it did? Run. Just run and run and run. Would the clerk give chase, leaving the store unattended? How fast would the clerk be able to run? Surely, not as fast as he. And where would the chase end? Ezra saw the clerk giving up, out of breath, and cursing him as he disappeared around a corner or down some nearby street.
And so, deep in his body, each time Ezra approached this threshold, and each time this question threatened him, his heart would leap like a hunted animal at a gunshot. But the moment always passed...in silence. He would step out the door and into the sweet smelling air of escape. There they would show each other what they had stolen.
As their exploits progressed, greater dangers and profits were courted. The boys moved from convenience stores to breaking into parked cars at night. One Saturday, close to midnight, while they were searching through a pick-up truck parked outside a local bar, the truck's owner came outside with two of his friends and saw the truck's interior light. They were drunk but it didn't take them long to figure out what was going on. The boys took off, and the three men gave chase. Ezra and Nick ducked off of the street, jumped a fence then sprinted through a series of backyards, barely seeing clotheslines and dodging doghouses. The two older boys took off toward the pier. Stopping to catch their breaths behind a rusting shed, Ezra and Nick crouched and listened for the men who were pursuing them. At first they heard nothing. Then, a street or two away, they heard them cursing loudly. They were in a parking lot looking between cars. Presumably, they planned to hold court in the street. If they caught them there definitely wasn't going to be any police report. Nick and Ezra crept away quietly and met up with Alex and Dave on the railroad tracks by the lake.
Nick was shaking and didn't say a word all the way to his front door, not even goodbye. The other boys left him and each went home on his own. That was, more or less, the end of Nick Carraway's crimes. Alex chided him, but Nick had had enough. He still came out with them from time to time, but after that night it was, in effect, just the three other boys: Alex DaLivre, Adam Nayeve, and Ezra Mignon.
All of his life Ezra's conscience had attacked him at night. It came with stones and curses and accusations while he lay in bed trying to fall asleep. Previously the smallest oversight or transgression had caused him to tear at his sheets and sweat out his guilt, but during these months it seemed that some hidden hand had silenced his accuser. He lay in his dark room and his mind was blessed with dumb silence. The crimes he was committing, and the people from whom he had stolen, meant nothing to him. The thrill of the friendships he finally had, the intoxication of danger, and the ecstasy of the fall became the center around which his thoughts and actions moved.
He
no longer concerned himself with the way Gord and Elsie would have reacted to what he was doing. Until now, Elsie's voice had never been far from him. Even away from her he imagined her praises, criticisms, or indifference for each situation or conflict he faced. It was not that way now. All the usual inhibitions and tensions that had plagued him had vanished. The prayers and paternal image of God he had clung to during the past two years were cast aside. The words in which he had found nourishment gathered dust and turned to ash.
Alex was fired from his part-time job and couldn't pay for car insurance anymore, so Adam Nayeve drove them in his dad's car. The three of them drove to different parts of Windsor where Adam would park on the outskirts of some poorly lit parking lot and Alex and Ezra would try car doors. When they found one that was not locked, one of them would act as lookout while the other went through the car, checked the glove box and under the seats, and stole anything of value or interest. It was cold and wet that winter, and they never attended the youth group or church anymore. But Ezra did keep up with his altar boy duties at St. Mark's.
Then they started hanging out with a couple of boys that lived with foster parents on the road that led out to the marina. The first one was a Jamaican kid named Javont, younger than they, but thick and muscular. Brandon was the other boy. He was Chinese-Jamaican, wore his hat too high on his head, and was the tallest and strongest of the group. These boys and their friends that came from Windsor spoke of guns and drive-byes and girls that they were fucking or using for money. They showed Alex how to use porcelain from spark plugs to shatter car windows and gave him a few small pebbles of it.
One afternoon they went to Windsor to meet up with a bunch of other boys that Javont and Brandon knew. They were group home kids too, mostly Jamaican, who had been removed or kicked out of their parents' homes and were now Crown Wards or in the custody (distant custody) of the Children's Aid Society. They were violent and challenged anyone they saw as weaker. Alex liked them and fit in with them right away. They made Ezra nervous but he tried to hide his discomfort. Walking toward a pool hall, they saw a twenty-dollar-bill on the seat of a car that was parked alongside the road. One of them tried the door but it was locked, so Alex dug one of the pieces of porcelain out of the pocket of his jeans, cocked his arm back fast and threw it at the window. The glass split, but didn't break. He had on his Raiders hat and hoodie, so he dropped his head, drove it right through the window, and then grabbed the money off the seat. The boys took off down the sidewalk and then slipped into the pool hall. Inside they laughed and congratulated Alex. Ezra watched the way the others treated Alex, and he was envious. Alex spent the twenty-dollar bill on three packs of cigarettes, which he split up amongst the boys. He gave one to Ezra and he smoked it without inhaling.
Gord and Elsie stared at him gravely as he sat opposite them. Gord leaned back in his chair and put his feet up. He had put on weight lately.
"We've been meaning to talk to you, Ezra", he began, "but we wanted to do it together."
"About Alex," Elsie added, as if Gord weren't getting to the point fast enough.
"What about him?" said Ezra.
Elsie leaned forward in her chair. "What's Alex up to, Ezra?"
"He's not up to anything."
"Has he been drinking?"
"No. Not around me at least."
Elsie nodded. "I was talking to Mrs. Carraway last night, and she said she found a bottle of whisky in Nick's things. He told her it belonged to Alex."
Ezra looked up at her. "I don't know."
The feeling out period had come to a close. "There's more going on than you're telling us, Ezra. And it's not just drinking... I've known you your entire life, and I know when you're not being honest with me."
"I am being honest," he came back defensively. He played absently with the lining of the couch cushions. "I don't know what you want me to say."
"You know," Gord said in a tone a little less confrontational than Elsie's, "that if Alex gets caught doing anything, and you're there, even if you're not doing it yourself, you'll be held responsible."
"No, I won't."
"Of course you will, Ezra," said Elsie.
"So you're saying I'd be blamed for something I didn't even do?"
"Yes."
"I don't believe it."
"Alex has a talent for taking care of himself that you don't have, Ezra. And you might not believe it, but if he had to, he'd cut you loose in a second."
"It's not only that," Gord continued, "but if it were anything illegal, any chance you'd have of playing football, or getting a scholarship and playing in the States, would be ruined."
"The drinking wasn't all Nick's mother told me about, Ezra."
He was becoming more and more agitated. He took a deep breath to try and suppress his anger. "What else did she say?"
"That he's been in trouble with the police before. That he was caught dealing acid at the high school a couple of years back."
"I don't know."
"Don't play stupid, Ezra. We weren't born yesterday."
"So he made a mistake."
"He was dealing drugs."
"Olyvia was arrested when she was young, but that didn't stop you from giving her our house."
"Who told you that?" Elsie asked, taken aback. Memory took her away for a moment.
"She did."
Elsie shook her head at her sister. "Olyvia is not the point, Ezra. That was a long time ago. We're talking about you. In the present!"
"But it is the point! You're trying to say that someone who got into trouble shouldn't be trusted, that I shouldn't be friends with Alex."
"I don't think I want you hanging around with anyone from that church anymore."
"It's a church! They're my friends."
"I know that."
He sat back on the couch and turned his head to the side.
"The only reason we're confronting you is because we're concerned, Ezra," Gord said.
"Listen," he said, gathering himself again, "for a long time after we moved here I didn't know anyone. So I'm not walking away from the friends I have now."
"We know it's been hard on you," Elsie began again. "And we know, especially at your age, how important having friends is."
"What about family?" he came back defiantly.
Both Gord and Elsie were taken aback. "What's that suppose to mean?" she asked.
Ezra turned away again.
"We just want to know that if something is going on that shouldn't be going on that you'll have enough sense to walk away from it," Gord said finally.
"I will," he said.
Elsie breathed out.
"Can I go now?"
"Yes," Gord said, "you can go."
"Ezra," Elsie said as he reached the doorway.
"What?" he huffed.
"Where did you get that ring you're wearing?"
JASON B. PRISM
Alex, Adam, and Ezra had spent most of the night hopping cars. Alex had become more and more daring. Two nights before he had resolved to simply walk into a convenience store, snatch the cigarette stand on the counter, and run out of the store. Adam and Ezra waited down the street with the car running, far enough away so that if the person behind the counter decided to give chase he wouldn't be able to identify the license plate. Alex burst out of the doorway. He ran hard, with pumping arms and legs. Ezra kept his eyes on the door of the store, but no one came after him. Alex jumped into the car, but instead of a cigarette stand in his hands he had a fistful of cash.
While he had been inside waiting for an opportunity to grab the cigarettes, a man had won some money from a lottery ticket. The clerk had been counting out the winnings on the counter, in cash, when Alex snatched it up and flew out the door before either of them could even get a good look at him. Of the two hundred and fifty dollars, Alex gave Adam and Ezra seventy-five each and kept one hundred for himself.
The night they stole the car they also had been stealing change from car consoles. Once again cloaked in th
e anonymity of the local McDonald's, they sat in a booth eating hamburgers. It always seemed to smell of grease and dirty, melted winter slush inside. He slid his boots around on the brownish water under the table. After they'd finished eating, they crumpled up their wrappers, threw them onto the tray, and got up to leave.
"Where to now?" Alex asked.
"Home for me," Adam said. "I've got to get the old man's car back."
"Where's your dad gonna go this late?"
"The casino. He's always going to the casino now."
"What's he play?"
"Roulette. At least that's what he says."
A woman rushed in through the doors as they were walking out. Alex stepped to the side to let her pass. It was cold outside and it felt like it was raining and snowing at the same time. Ezra and Alex followed Adam to his car, but as soon as they stepped off the sidewalk they stopped as if the same thought had occurred to both at the same moment. A compact silver four-door, empty inside, still running... Alex checked inside. It must belong to the woman who had just run past them, he surmised.
"What do you think?" Alex asked Ezra.
Ezra looked the car over. The exhaust drifted up and clouded the cold air. "I don't know."
They looked at each other, wondering if they really had it in them to do what they were both thinking.
"Let's go!" Alex had chosen for them both. He was sitting in the driver's seat before Ezra had even tried the passenger door. It was locked. Alex put the car in reverse as Ezra knocked desperately on the window to let him know he couldn't get in. Already moving, Alex hit the brakes and reached over to unlock the door. Ezra jumped into the car, but as soon as he looked up he saw the woman standing dumbfounded on the other side of the glass. She knew her car was being stolen. Her hair tossed to the side as she turned to call for help, and he thought of the way he had seen women in old movies throw their hair like beautiful waves. Then the car swung violently onto the road and Alex pushed the gas pedal to the floor. Ezra looked around wildly, expecting the police to already be trailing them.
