THE SUBLIME SEVEN
By Nicki Huntsman Smith
Copyright Notice
Copyright © 2019 by Nicki Huntsman Smith
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Terms and Conditions
The purchaser of this book is subject to the condition that he/she shall in no way resell it, nor any part of it, nor make copies of it to distribute freely.
All Persons Fictitious Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the following:
Lori, my editor, proofreader, and grammar consultant extraordinaire. Her contributions elevated this book to a level I wouldn’t have achieved otherwise. She is not allowed to die before me.
My beta readers, Al and Lisa, who provided advice, suggestions, and top-notch cheerleading.
Colby for his help with my Italian words and phrases. Merlin for his invaluable insight into the process of forgiveness.
Lastly and most importantly, my husband Ray, whose encouragement and support makes my books possible. I owe him everything.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 – Integrity
Chapter 2 – Unconditional Love and Forgiveness
Chapter 3 – Courage, Bravery, and Leadership with a strong Work Ethic
Chapter 4 – Creativity with a Bit of Humility Thrown in
Chapter 5 – Responsibility and Accountability with a Moral Restraint Rider
Chapter 6 – Curiosity and Sense of Humor with a side helping of Gratitude
Chapter 7 – Kindness with Compassion and Empathy, and Patience, Benevolence, and Tolerance too...they all seem to go together.
Epilogue
Prologue
“Where am I?”
“You’re in the In Between. Are you comfortable? Do you need anything? A Coke? Maybe a cigarette?”
“Why would I want a Coke or a cigarette if I’m dead?”
“They can’t really harm you at this point. If they offer comfort, you may enjoy them now.”
“How? I don’t have a mouth anymore.”
“Sure you do. You’re talking with it.”
“It’s more the suggestion of a mouth. Or maybe the memory of one. That’s what it feels like, at least.”
“Well stated. It’s true your physical body was left behind in that other place, but taking on its form again here serves a purpose. It will make all this easier to get through. Do you think you can manage that?”
“Let me try.”
“Ah, there you are. You were quite handsome in your previous life.”
“You’re drop-dead gorgeous. Are you an angel?”
“We’ll get to all that soon enough. Let’s talk about what happened. Before you died.”
“I think I got shot in the chest. That Kwik Shop clerk had a sawed-off shotgun behind the cash register.”
“He did, but that’s not what I’m referring to. Let’s talk about your life leading up to its tragic end.”
“Where do you want me to start?”
“At your first Pivotal Moment. That’s the place in time where, in hindsight, you can see that your life took a Very Good Turn or a Very Bad Turn. Can you identify it?”
“Oh, yeah. That was the summer of ’63 when Toby Malone taught me how to shoplift.”
“That sounds perfect. Let’s begin.”
Chapter 1 – Integrity
Hutchinson, Kansas – 1963
“What if we get caught?” Johnny said.
“What if we don’t?” Toby replied.
Toby was the new kid. Because he had moved from glamorous Hollywood, California, to unglamorous Hutchinson, Kansas, he enjoyed elevated status at Liberty Junior High from the first ear-splitting ring of the 8 o’clock bell. And it didn’t hurt that he looked like a younger, blonder version of Ricky Nelson.
Johnny gravitated to him for other reasons, though. The new boy wasn’t merely exotic. He was dangerous and therefore worthy of attention. Perhaps even respect. He carried a Swiss Army knife in the front pocket of his Levi’s, and smoked Marlboro Reds after school next to the bicycle rack. He frequently snuck out of his bedroom window in the middle of the night while his parents were asleep, and he owned an impressive collection of Superman comic books, which he claimed were mostly stolen.
Among other things, Toby was a thief. A good one, if you believed his stories.
“But what if we do?” Johnny said. “My dad will beat my ass, and I’ll be grounded the rest of the summer.”
Johnny hated to be the voice of reason, but the other two boys weren’t taking on the role. Toby had been accepted into their small group of friends at the end of the school year. Now, summer sprawled before the four boys as languid and enticing as Miss May, 1963, the most recent Playboy edition, and topmost on the hidden stack of Johnny’s father’s dirty magazine horde. Everyone was excited by the prospect of summer days filled with sleeping late and pickup baseball games at Grover’s Field, where they gathered now.
That evening, the four friends had the place to themselves. The drone of the cicadas was dwindling, and they were discussing an adventure. A nefarious, thrilling, vaguely illegal one that would take place that night, if Toby got his way.
“Johnny-boy, you’re looking at this all wrong. You’re not gonna get caught. This will be a cake walk. Trust me.”
“What’s a cake walk?” Timmy asked, breaking the tension.
Timmy was the smallest and dumbest member of their group, but he had a big heart. And a big house with a swimming pool. Thus his admittance into the Thunderbirds, named after the coolest automobile ever made and immortalized in the greatest song ever written. Nobody was cooler than The Beach Boys, not even Bobby Darin.
“Man, you’re stupid,” Toby said.
“Don’t call him stupid,” Johnny said. “He’s just slow.”
“So what will it be, gentlemen?” Frank was in his spy phase that summer. When nobody but the Thunderbirds were around, he spoke in a British accent, like Patrick Macnee. He could get away with it because Frank was the smartest kid in school, with a caustic wit that could cut you off at the knees. He had brawn to match his brain, too. You didn’t mess with Frank unless you wanted to be embarrassed in front of the other kids, or end up in a choke-hold with your lungs exploding.
“I thought your club was supposed to be cool,” Toby said, gazing steadily at Johnny. “Come on, guys. Do something daring for a change.”
The word choice sold Frank. “I’m in. Spies need to know how to escape houses without waking dogs or parents. And I’m certain they need to be able to navigate cemeteries in the dead of night as well. This sounds like something a spy would do.”
Timmy stared at Johnny, his eyes puppy-like behind the thick-lensed glasses. Timmy would follow Johnny’s lead.
“Knocking over tombstones seems wrong, Toby. It feels...disrespectful,” Johnny said, hearing the lack of conviction in his own voice. Everyone else heard it, too.
Toby rolled his eyes. “Those people are moldy old bones now. They won’t know and wouldn’t care if they did. They’re dead.”
“Fine. I’m in,” he said finally, feeling a sense of relief after giving in to the relentless peer pressure.
“I’m in, too.” T
immy grinned.
“We’ll meet back here at midnight,” Toby said. “Wear black clothes and dark sneakers. Don’t be late.”
***
“Meatloaf again?”
Family dinner was something to get through before Johnny’s midnight adventure. Nerves had transformed his stomach into a sloshing goldfish bowl of acid.
His mother narrowed her eyes. “Starving children in Africa would kill for this meatloaf.” She placed the casserole dish on the kitchen table, stabbed a steaming wedge of ground beef mixed with god-knew-what, and slapped it down on his plate.
Thank goodness for ketchup.
“Would starving African children have the strength to actually kill someone?” replied Johnny’s father with a covert wink in his direction.
“Very funny, Al.”
“It’s a valid question.”
Johnny snickered.
Carol was not amused. “Starving children are off limits from smartass commentary.”
“What about starving hyenas, Mother Nature’s version of Don Rickles?”
“Hyenas are disgusting, as is Don Rickles. You may disparage them both with impunity,” she replied.
“Don Rickles isn’t disgusting. I think he’s funny,” said Johnny, pushing the meatloaf and green beans around on his plate.
“He’s rude.”
“That’s his shtick, Carol.”
“I know, but insulting people isn’t entertainment to me. I don’t understand his appeal.”
Al shrugged. Johnny sighed. When his mother got her panties in a wad about something, it was best to change the subject. She could be relentless in her quest to find “teachable moments.”
Johnny said, “My stomach hurts a little. I may be coming down with something. I don’t think I can clean my plate.” It wasn’t a total lie. His stomach really did hurt.
“Oh, no,” his mother said, placing her hand on his forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”
“Maybe it’s botulism. Or the plague,” Al offered. “Don’t breathe on me son. I can’t miss any more work. Your mother will divorce me and marry someone more worthy of her beauty, brains, and exceptional backside. I must say, those lavender pants look magnificent when you’re walking away.”
Carol smacked her husband on the head. It was a loving smack.
Beneath the surface of the running divorce joke, Johnny felt his father did worry about it. His parents’ combined income placed them at the low end of middle-class. Johnny believed his mother when she said she didn’t care about material stuff – she disparaged ostentatious displays of wealth, as she put it. But Johnny couldn’t help that he was envious of Timmy’s pool, Frank’s European vacations, and Toby’s fancy department store clothes.
And here he was forced to save chore money for a new baseball glove, an item most parents provided without demanding hard labor in return.
Johnny frowned at his meatloaf, thinking about the upcoming adventure later that night. Maybe Toby was right. Maybe those dead people wouldn’t really care about toppled gravestones, and if the mission were successful, he’d have bragging rights for months.
He almost smiled when he thought about the respect it would earn him that fall with the other kids at school. Instead, he frowned, acting like his stomach was killing him, and went to bed. He intentionally didn’t think about what his father – and especially his mother – would say if he got caught. That only made the goldfish bowl slosh more.
12:37 AM
“You never said anything about this part, Toby,” Johnny whispered.
The boys huddled elbow-to-elbow in the oldest section of Fairlawn Cemetery. The graves here weren’t maintained like the newer ones near the front gates. No faded silk flowers nor manicured grass in this area, just a smattering of tilted granite slabs positioned at odd intervals. Four of the tombstones now lay supine upon the cracked, bare soil – the sprinklers didn’t extend this far in Fairlawn.
“You’re getting a bonus,” Toby replied. His eyes, night-gray and dilated, glittered in the sparse moonlight.
Johnny shivered, despite having sweated through the armpits of his black t-shirt. “We’re not killing a cat,” he said, plucking the tabby from Timmy’s scrawny arms.
“It’s just a stray,” Toby replied. “We’ll swear a Thunderbird oath with its blood. Brothers forever, right, Frank?”
“Why don’t we make a cut in our palms? Isn’t that the way they do it in the movies? Why do we need a cat?” Frank no longer bothered with the British accent. They were all alarmed by Toby’s sudden divergence from tombstone tipping to animal mutilation. The poor animal with the terrible timing had meandered onto the scene as the fourth slab was toppled.
“Because when you sacrifice a life as part of a blood oath, it becomes stronger. Think about it. It’s no worse than dissecting frogs in biology lab. This cat is starving to death anyway. Look how skinny it is.”
All eyes turned to the purring bag of bones in Johnny’s arms.
“The frogs are already dead,” Johnny said, looking down at the scruffy ears and not at Toby’s smoldering gaze.
“Fine. I have something better in mind,” Toby replied.
At that moment, the sudden squawk of a nearby police car startled everyone, prompting Johnny to drop the cat. With a flash of gray stripes, it vanished into the night gloom, fleeing in the opposite direction of the approaching circles of two high-powered flashlights.
“Run for it,” Toby said, knocking Timmy to the ground before taking off.
Frank scrambled after Toby with a backward glance of dismay.
Johnny helped Timmy to his feet, then the two boys followed, barely escaping the snare of those spotlights.
Two days later...
“I still can’t believe you did that to me,” Timmy said as the boys huddled in an alley off 17th street in downtown Hutchinson. Both hands of the Town Center’s giant art deco clock pointed straight up.
The button-down shirts and chinos chaffed in the heat – their Sunday clothes worn on a Thursday, per Toby’s order.
Toby shrugged. “I did it because we’re not blood brothers. If somebody was going to jail, it would be the slowest one. Not me.”
“It’s called survival of the fittest, old chap.” Frank patted Timmy’s narrow back. Two days after the cemetery incident, Frank still wouldn’t make eye contact with Johnny.
“It doesn’t matter. Nobody got caught. Now let’s focus on the task at hand, my friends.” Toby’s grin was shark-like. Johnny liked it even less than the normal cocky one. “I haven’t told you the best part of today’s plan. The key to not getting caught is to buy something. It’s simple but ingenious. How much money do you have on you?” Toby reached into the pocket that didn’t contain the Swiss army knife. “I have thirty-seven cents.”
Timmy said, “I have a nickel. I forgot to ask for money this morning.”
“Sorry, mates. I seem to have left my wallet at home.” Frank pulled empty pocket linings inside out as proof.
Johnny narrowed his eyes at Toby for a full ten seconds, then dug a grudging hand into a front pocket. “A buck fifteen. I was saving up for a new catcher’s mitt.” It had taken him three weeks to save only one-fifth of the price of the dreamy Ted Williams Pro model.
“Good. We can pool our money, then everyone will get a little. After we stash the candy, we’ll find stuff to buy. Bulky stuff that will cover the lumps in our shirts. Maybe those rubber balls in that chicken wire cage in the far corner. You know the ones?”
Timmy’s head bobbed.
Frank arched an eyebrow just like Sean Connery in Dr. No, then nodded.
Johnny scowled. “If we’re pooling our money to buy junk, why don’t we just buy the damn candy?”
“Because this is about learning a skill. Get it? The sweets are a bonus. If you get good at this, there’s better stuff out there. Like that glove you want. You learn how to do this right, and you won’t have to save up for it.”
“Stealing is a skill all spies must acq
uire,” Frank said. “They have to be able to slip into fancy dinner parties and purloin documents from the desks of villains. That’s why they also know the tango and can drink gallons of champagne without getting drunk. Maybe we can shoplift some champagne tomorrow.”
Frank was on board with Toby’s plan.
Toby said, “You’ll have Lemonheads and Fire Balls to last a month. We’re going after the big bags,” he added with the rakish grin that made all the seventh-grade girls turn into giggly goofballs.
“No way. Those won’t fit in my pockets,” Johnny replied. The economy-sized packages were as large as a Pomeranian.
“We don’t put them in our pockets. We’re going to stuff them inside our shirts. Like this, see? That’s why I told you guys what to wear.” Toby fiddled with the three lowest buttons of the madras plaid shirt. The gaping hole revealed a tanned belly sprouting five curly hairs. Of course it would be Toby who got the first pubes. Johnny didn’t even have armpit hair yet.
“Fine. I’ll do this,” Johnny said. “But if we get caught, you’re out of the Thunderbirds.”
The alley extended along one of the many Renaissance-revival buildings of downtown Hutchinson. All the structures were connected and existed in various stages of decay or gentrification. Mel’s Grab ‘N Go sat in the center of the longest block on 17th Street. That meant that if they had to flee, there would be a half-block of hauling ass before they reached their bicycles, chained like abandoned pets to a Victorian lamppost. From the opposite direction of their targeted destination, the tantalizing aroma of popcorn drifted out of the grandiose Fox Theater. Johnny wished they would scrap the stupid shoplifting idea and take in an afternoon matinee instead.
The temperature had climbed into the low nineties. If it weren’t for Toby’s stupid plan, they would be sporting cut-offs and white muscle shirts, the standard, comfortable summer uniform for most teenage boys – even those without muscles.
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