by Yari Stern
Five minutes later, the two came out smiling like they had a sexual encounter.
The sales rep walked over and gave Instructions to the driver to begin unloading.
“I’ve got to admit it,” Yari said as he walked along side Ed, “I’ve never seen anyone with balls as big as you, Ed.”
“Sure you have, everyday at the store.”
“Who’s that?” Yari asked, groping for an image.
“Your Aunt Toby.”
“What’s she ever done?”
“Toby’s thing is scamming the department stores. She goes into a different chain store every week and explains to the manager she’s a volunteer at an old folk’s home who buys all the supplies for the crippled and mentally ill residents.
“I went with her a few days ago to a Woolworth Store. The putz in charge was almost crying by the time she finished telling the story and showing him a phony merchant’s license and tax-exempt forms.
“Then she ran through the store gathering up shit that could be resold at your grandmother’s place, slapping new price stickers, hidden in the cuff of her blouse, over the already lost-leader items.
“When she got to the registers, Toby looked for the dumbest clerk she could find, and started spinning jokes to distract the idiot. But even the moron thought something was wrong with large bath towels marked thirty-three cents. So she waved to the store manager for help. He waves back thinking it was to okay the tax-exempt status. Meanwhile, Toby loads sixty-five dollars worth of merchandise, rung up for twelve bucks, into a shopping cart and heads for the exit.
“Now that’s balls, goin’ into a store with only an attitude,” Ed said, then handed a dolly to Yari, grabbed one for himself, and walked back out to the truck as the first appliance slid down the ramp. “I make ‘em come to me.”
During the following hours, Yari, Ed, and the two off-duty cops worked like demons, as if chased by the devil himself.
“You’re all set,” Ed told Yari as they completed the first load. “Take the quickest route to the Mount Airy warehouse. Don’t stop for nothin’. Ya got to be back here in one hour. Dale will help you unload on the other end.” Ed tossed the keys to Yari. “Don’t fuck it up.”
“It’s already fucked up. This truck is a joke. The thing’s rusted out; the steering link is almost falling off. There’re lug nuts missing from every wheel, and oil’s pouring out of the rear main seal. I’ll probably drop the whole load in the middle of Lincoln Drive.”
Yari walked around the ex-rental van, pushing against the gaping corrosion.
“It’s free, that’s all that counts,” Ed replied. His arrogance rose along with the hot air that spawned it and mixed with the billowing, noxious clouds of fumes from the truck.
As Yari drove off, sparks flew from the van as it bounced off the rear curb, the bumper dragging. Yari felt the worn vehicle was acting like a drowning swimmer flailing for attention.
* * *
Later that day, as the buildings across Kensington Avenue began to steal the late afternoon sun, Ed remarked, “This is the last load. Ya done good today, kid. I’ll be in touch through Toby. And don’t worry, I’ll handle Sylvan.” He spoke with the same assurance he had given the appliance rep.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Fairmount Park. Phila. Pa
The familiar red and blue lights lit up his rear view mirror like the annual Christmas tree on the White House lawn. What could I have done wrong during the past sixty or ninety seconds? I’ve got to think quick. If I can’t figure out what law I’ve broken, how can I come up with a good story? Yari pulled the van off the road and onto the grass.
By then the police officer was out of his car and walking up to the truck with a caution born of years of working the streets of Philadelphia.
Yari stepped out to meet him, buoyed by the knowledge that his father could resolve any difference of opinion.
The officer's tone shut Yari down before the first word was out of the cop’s mouth. "License and registration," he said.
Yari handed him the documents requested, along with the magic card.
Reflexively the officer asked, "Who's the cop?" while eyeing Yari.
After a closer look at the Fraternal Order of Police membership card the officer’s facial muscles began to relax.
"My father, Sam Stern. Twenty-three years on the job; broke Commissioner Howard Leary into the department."
Almost apologetically, the cop responded, "Do you know what you did wrong?"
Yari caught himself and slowed down for a moment before answering. Gotta be careful, maybe it’s a trick question. I didn't run over any nuns; I wasn't dragging a live puppy from my back bumper; the truck isn't stolen, at least not by me. "No, officer."
"You were driving a commercial vehicle through Fairmount Park, cars only. The tags are expired. You were riding more on the left side of the street than the right. Your van is dangerously overweight. The inspection sticker is expired. And your license isn’t valid for a class two vehicle."
Whew, what a break, for a moment I thought I was in trouble. "Well sir, I was only helping a friend, it’s his truck."
"Let's see what's inside," he said with a “Just doing my job” tone of voice.
As the officer opened the rear doors, the creaking that was evident while they spoke became more pronounced. The load: washers, dryers, air conditioners, refrigerators,
TV’s and stereos was shifting, and it seemed to Yari that the few pieces of metal still holding the rusted body to the frame would break loose, causing a paper work nightmare sure to spill beyond the end of the patrolman’s shift.
"I never saw so many appliances outside of Sears before,’ the officer said as he looked inside. “You got paper-work for all this?”
“Well…I…it’s just--.” Yari had lost his confidence. The answers didn’t flow like before. He looked within, stunned by the realization that he wasn’t in control of the situation, that he wasn’t even in control of himself.
“I know your dad. You’re risking his reputation and your freedom moving this crap.”
“But--,“ Yari stumbled, unable to create his typical masterpiece story.
“I don’t want to hear it,” the cop cut him off. “You’ve used up whatever favors you had left. If I see you again, you’re going in, and nobody’s going to save your ass. Now get out of the park and out of my district,” he said as he turned and walked away.
Yari got back in the truck and slammed an open palm against the steering wheel. How far down do I have to go before I can start back up again?
* * *
With the last load delivered and secured, Yari swung onto Broad Street, and headed home.
By the time he approached Spring Garden Street, he was at the gates of hell. He slowed to watch prostitutes lure their johns. Bars, two and three to the block, acted as flypaper for every non-productive member of society. The night had tempers on the street flaring and a ready audience from every window above: voyeurs looking for erupting action.
Then, the hairs on the back of Yari’s neck rose up. Off to his right, on the sidewalk, five men were holding and hammering one scared little runt. They were using trashcan lids, a chain, and their fists on their victim who was pressed up against a tavern window.
Is that who I think it is? He backed up till he found a driveway and floored the four ton truck as it jumped onto the sidewalk.
There is justice in the universe, and I’m going to dispense some, right now. Yari had the van going thirty miles per hour by the time he was on top of the thugs.
By hugging the wall until the last second, he subtly suggested to the perpetrators that they move away from their incoherent victim. The frozen look of fear he saw etched in their faces gave Yari assurance that he’d taken them by surprise. At the last second he swerved outward and blasted into the crowd of men like a bowling ball into plastic pins.
They went flying like rag dolls in a Chinook wind. He saw it all transpire in slow motion: men attempting to run
in zero gravity while the background traveled as fast as a Charlie Chaplin movie.
Yari stopped a few feet past the carnage and looked back at the scene through his rear view mirror. Satisfied that he had scored a strike, he got out of the truck and walked back to the scattered bodies. People who had viewed the incident turned from him with facial expressions that said, “I didn’t see nothin’, I don’t know nothin’, dis ain’t got nothin’ ta do wit me.”
He casually observed the three victims lying on the pavement. The other two were able to run away. Yari strolled over to the one he recognized. A light kick in the side got the man’s undivided attention. “Boy, that sure looks like a bone stickin’ out the side of your leg. It must hurt bad. And that arm looks more like a pretzel. Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it, Snake?”
“Fuck you, man,” Snake replied through a sneer contorted by both hate and pain.
“I don’t need any more incentive to kill you,” Yari said as he pulled out a .45, slid the chamber back, and stuck the barrel in Snake’s face. He stood over him for an instant, teetering on the brink. But it was his own image he saw, no longer that of Snake.
You’ll never get me, Yari decided. He slipped the gun in his belt, turned and walked back to the truck. In heavy traffic, he maneuvered his battering ram off the curb, onto the busy street, and home to a good night’s sleep.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Ridge Ave. Phila. Pa.
Yari maneuvered the T-Bird into a tight spot in front of Stern’s Specialty Shop and slipped inside. “Well, look who’s here,” Bub said as she nodded toward Yari who was back at the store for the first time since his head and face returned to normal. “Where have you been, boytchika?” An air of concern shaded her usually severe voice.
“I ran into some old friends,” Yari explained, while tugging up on the collar of the jacket he wore to hide the deep marks still etched on his throat.
“Come here and give your grandmother a kiss.” Bub reached out with both arms. He leaned over, held his breath and pecked her on her thick sideburns.
For the next hour, Yari entertained the family with his recent escapades, leaving out the near death experience.
Then Trixie yelled out, “Eighty six.” Working at the front of the store, she saw something enough out of the ordinary to sound the alarm. Three men in dark suits walked in, one right after the other.
“Those guys aren’t selling encyclopedias,” Yari told his brother Carl. “I’ll hang out over there.” He walked calmly to the side of the store and ducked behind a counter, positioning himself so he could still see and hear.
As the men approached Bub, Carl, Irene and Toby moved their work a little closer. The first man reached in his jacket pocket, pulled out a badge, and flashed it at Bub. “FBI,” he said, then asked, “Where’s Yari?”
“I don’t know,” Bub responded without hesitation. “Would you like some lunch, young man?” She stuck her arm out to hand the agent a half-eaten corned beef special with mayonnaise and coleslaw dripping down her wrist and onto the floor. The agent shook his head in disbelief.
“It’s important, ma’am. He’s been indicted for interstate transportation of guns and their use in an attempted murder.”
“We don’t sell guns, young man,” Bub replied, “only linens and staple goods.”
There was a brief huddle between the agents. A moment later, the man and his friends left, but not before handing over the summons to Bub and saying, “This is for Yari…when you see him.”
Hiding behind heavy wooden shelves, in the recesses of the store, Yari was mentally packing his bags. One more roadblock on the highway to freedom, he thought as he stood up and walked to the front of the store.
“We don’t need this,” Toby said as she confronted Yari with a raised hand. “We’re all willing to take risks, but this is too much,” she said, grabbing a hold of Yari’s jacket and shaking him.
He twisted her hand away, then hesitated, holding a clenched, throbbing fist at his side.
Irene rushed forward and slapped Yari hard in the face. “You’re going to shut us down with your madness.” She quickly withdrew her hand and looked at it as though it were possessed by the devil. “Think about what you’re doing to yourself, and your father, and this family,” Irene pleaded.
“What’s the difference if the store stays open or not? We’re just selling crap anyone else could.” Yari tossed the socks he was holding into a half-full plastic container on the counter.
“This store put food in your belly and clothes on your back. And sent you to the best schools. We’ve endured since before the Depression,” Irene said. “You’ll never know the sacrifices necessary to keep this store going in the early days.”
“I can’t listen to this,” Yari said as he attempted to walk around Irene and Toby and leave the store. His mother blocked his path.
“Yes you can,” Irene said, thrusting a resolute finger into his chest, “and you’re going to. When business got so bad during the Depression, your father and Morris took stock from here and drove to the farmer’s market in Berlin, New Jersey to try to bring in more income. Coming home, the fog was so thick, Sam had to walk out in front of the car with a flashlight so they could get back.” She took off her glasses to wipe her face. “That’s what went into creating this business. It’s not just shelves of towels and socks, it’s dedication and a legacy to you, and your brothers and cousins.” Her tone dwindled to a prayer. “You’re not going to destroy it,” she called out to Yari’s back as he fled the store.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Germantown section. Phila, Pa.
“I thought you told me you spoke to Sylvan and got everything handled?” Yari, with Reggie by his side, confronted Ed and his two henchmen at Ed’s auto repair shop on Germantown Pike. In the background, cars were being worked on even at 10:00 p.m. Yari waited for a reply but got only morgue silence. “He’s been calling and it doesn’t sound like anyone straightened out shit,” Yari insisted. “This deal was my out.”
“Things didn’t go so well,” Ed replied.
It was far too short and flimsy for Yari. “What the fuck are you talking about? All I needed was fifteen grand out of three hundred and seventy-five large.”
“It’s all gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Uh…we got ripped-off. The warehouse got broken into.” Ed’s voice trailed away.
Reggie stepped forward, fists ready. One of Ed’s henchmen reached inside his jacket for what surely was a gun. Yari grabbed Reggie, pulled him back, and asked, “How could eight truck loads be taken out of a warehouse with two inch thick steel doors, no windows and a neighbor who’s on your payroll and doesn’t sleep at night?”
“What can I tell ya kid, there’s nothing left. I gotta start over from scratch. I even lost the money I used as a deposit with the appliance companies, seventy-five big ones borrowed from Sylvan. I’m in deep shit too. I can’t save myself, let alone you.”
Yari turned to Reggie and, in a voice loud enough for Ed to hear, said, “Lying mother-fucker.” The two then walked out of the yard, cautiously looking back over their shoulders as they retreated. “I’ll see you around, Ed,” Yari called out menacingly when they reached the fence.
Larceny in the heart is like a cancer in the body, Yari thought as he stared back at the smirking men. First you rip off big businesses and cheat rich strangers, then you rationalize burning little guys and people you don’t know too well. Pretty soon, you’re feeding off everyone: friends, family, neighbors. You can’t help it. Once thieving’s in your blood, it just spreads. Maybe I’m already infected like Ed and Sylvan but just don’t want to believe it.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Ardmore, Pa.
Yari retreated to Ardmore after unsuccessfully searching the deserted streets of North Philadelphia and his own desperate mind for solutions. Despair filled his soul, leaving little room for breath or hope. The dearth of options narrowed his path back to his rented home and his roomma
te.
“Bruce, remember that deal we talked about a few months ago?” Against increasing odds, he was still determined to get out, even if it meant getting in just a little deeper first.
Bruce did not acknowledge Yari’s presence, but continued grooming himself, holding onto the sink by the weight of his distended abdomen hanging over the porcelain basin.
“I haven’t got time to watch you pop every pimple on your face,” Yari said as he reached over and rammed his roommate’s head into the mirror, cracking the glass into shards and sending small slivers flying in all directions. “You gonna stop fuckin’ around now?“
“Hey, what the hell is wrong with you?” Bruce asked.
“What’s wrong with me is the clock’s ticking down on my life.”
“Well my problem is that Annie won’t talk to me anymore since she met you.” Bruce stood up and held his hands on his hips in feigned confrontation. “I was the one who helped her and her mom.”
“You introduced me to her. I never asked to meet a high school bitch from the Main Line.” Yari’s “strictly business” tone cooled his roommate.
“Maybe you’re right. I just wanted to lick her backside so bad,” Bruce said.
“You can fantasize about her later. Right now I need to know if your connection at the crusher is still in place.”
“Yeah, my man’s there. He works third shift, all alone. So, what are we offering as today’s special?”
“Magic. The old ‘Now you see it, now you don’t’ deal,” Yari said as he walked into the living room.
“He wants two hundred a car for every one he makes disappear.” Bruce turned toward the mirror and began picking pieces of glass out of his hair and beard.
“Sounds like the guy’s getting greedy. It was a C-note last month.”
“He says there has to be more juice. The cops he pays off have fewer stores to collect from after so many burned down in the riots.” Bruce stuffed several Oreo cookies in his mouth, spewing crumbs out along with his last few words.
