No Such Thing as a Free Ride Read Free

snarky response, she turned and walked back into the house taking Ben and Jerry with her.
Unhh!
    I hopped back into the car and drove down to the 7-Eleven. They were out of everything except Drumsticks and, while I’m not all that picky, I do have
some
standards. I ended up driving practically into town before I could find another two for one special.
    On the way back to my car I spied a large group of teenagers hanging out in the parking lot. They ranged in age from about fourteen to twenty, mostly boys with a smattering of girls, all with enough metal facial piercings to shut down an airport. They all had backpacks, jammed full of unimagined crap. One girl carried a Pit Bull puppy in her arms. They were loud and obnoxious, hassling people for spare change as they went into the store.
    A few people stopped and dug into their pockets for change. Most got that fixed stare in their eyes, acting as if the teens were invisible, and kept on walking.
    Pretty soon the store manager came out and yelled at the kids to “get the hell out of there,” but I guess they didn’t
want
to get the hell out of there, because no one made a move to leave. Well, no one except the manager, who apparently had anger control issues. He disappeared back into the store, returning thirty seconds later with a .38 caliber pistol and a mouthful of curse words that would make a drunken sailor blush.
    My first instincts were to
get the hell out of there
myself, reasoning that this was a good time to learn to stop sticking my nose into other people’s business. But I seldom listen to reason—one of my many imperfections. I punched in 911 on my cell phone and then headed back toward the manager.
    “Hi there,” I said, ignoring the gun he held tightly in his hand. “Do you have any TastyKakes? I didn’t see any on the shelves.”
    “I just got a new shipment. Haven’t had time to restock yet. Look, I’m a little busy here.” He waved the gun in the air in case I missed it the first time around.
    I looked over at the teenagers and sighed. “Y’know, guys, this man is just trying to run a business, and I’m sure getting shot wasn’t on your agenda today. How about you just—go?”
    “This is public property,” challenged a tall kid in leather. “We’re the public. We have every right to be here. You got any spare change?” he added.
    I probably shouldn’t have laughed, but it was funny. I slipped my hand in my pocket, extracted a buck and handed it to him.
    “Listen, the cops will be here any minute. Why not save yourselves some trouble and just leave before someone gets hurt.”
    A blond haired girl came up behind Leather Boy and began tugging on his sleeve. She looked younger than the others, pale and vulnerable. I knew her. It was the girl from the gym.
    “Let’s go,” she whispered.
    A cop car pulled into the parking lot and two officers got out, one in uniform, the other dressed in faded jeans and a tee shirt. The one in full cop attire was Mike Mahoe, a six foot four transplanted Hawaiian with an easy smile and congenial disposition. He headed toward the manager while the other one hung back, eyeing me and doing a slow shake of his beautiful, Black Irish-Italian head.
    “Why am I not surprised to see you here?” he muttered, and since it was rhetorical I didn’t bother to explain.
    “Yo, nice to see you too, DiCarlo. By the way, I was the one who called 911. I should at least get some credit for that.”
    Bobby’s face broke out in a slow grin. “Well, that
is
an improvement. It’s good to hear you’re using some common sense for a change.”
    I smiled back. “I think I’ve exercised a great deal of common sense lately. I dumped your sorry butt, didn’t I?” Well,
technically
, he dumped mine, but that was ages ago. Recently, we’d had a reunion, of sorts, but we both realized that the timing or whatever wasn’t right and we agreed to keep it strictly platonic, at least until the dust settled in our mutually crazy