The Fence
Gray walls, gray bars. Painted gray bedframe, gray metal toilet. Plain white cover on the thin mattress. I’m holed up in the county jail, and that’s just for a quick holiday until the trial. I’ll be living in this plain gray world for quite a while, I’m sure. Let me tell you my story to pass the time.
I grew up in Chicago, the fourth of five children. My Pa was a truck driver, he was barely ever around. My Ma was a waitress, on the good months, usually working two jobs every day just to keep food on our plates and clothes on our backs. The clothes were all hand-me-downs for me. Every once in a while there would be a pair of new shoes under the christmas tree, or some jeans on a birthday. My brothers and sisters and I, we had it hard, and we all looked out for each other. We had to.
Even so, every few weeks somebody would come home with a black eye, or worse. Most kids, even the bullies, were smart enough to know that the other two brothers would take care of you if you messed with one of us, but some just couldn’t back down from a challenge, or had something to prove. It was my two sisters that had it the worst. They usually wouldn’t even tell us who it was. Or sometimes they pretended that the son of a bitch was really her boyfriend. We pretended to believe them, because we didn’t want them to hurt any more than they had to.
Only two of us finished high school. I was one of the lucky ones. After school was over, I was always out somewhere looking for work, but nobody ever seemed to want a kid like me. I spent so much time out on the streets looking for someone with an open job who wasn’t a racist, one day the streets just felt like where I belonged. Ma never would have approved, but with her at work more than she was at home, it was easy to hide it from her. I ended up joining a gang. They didn’t discriminate, long as I did what I was told.
My brothers were the only people who I actually told where I went all the time. From day one, they told me it was a bad idea, but they never convinced me. Who’d have thought that they would have been smarter than me, with the diploma, when both of them were dropouts? Either way, when I needed it, they would still cover for me. Like I said, we all looked out for each other.
Life with the gang was a lot of what you would expect, as long as you haven’t watched too many of those fluffed up shock-umentary shows on TV. Family is great and all, but having the gang to turn to, having the guys there each day, and just living the action, it’s addicting man. The documentaries say that we just join the gang because we want to have a place to belong. That’s a half truth. Plenty of us want that, and get that, but that’s not the only reason for any of us. It just plain feels right. When you know the boys have got your back, you’re more confident. The whole world is just a better place to be in.
For my first few weeks, I didn’t see much action. Mostly they sent me out to tag our turf. That was something that always needed attention, ans it’s perfect for the rookies. Some days, they’d have me run lookout for one of the guys dealing pot on the corner.
About two months in, I was in the right place at the right time. One of the boys was missing, so I got to fill in on my first robbery. They handed me a mask and a gun, and before I knew it the car was speeding off. It all happened faster than I could handle. It was over and we were back, a few hundred dollars richer, before I caught my breath. The only thing I knew for sure was that the rush felt better than anything I had felt before.
It took hard work for me to build up enough respect to get back into the robberies. I was dedicated though, and it was all worth it. I couldn’t get enough of the power, the quivering store clerks just begging us to take their money. You probably seen those videos on TV, of the clerks with the guns and the bats and all. That ain’t real, that sort of thing happens one in a million.
It was the puzzle of figuring how to get in, grab the stuff, and get out that really hooked me. Just like with my brothers and sisters, with the Stompers I was one of the few people around with a high school diploma. It didn’t get me much early on, besides an extra reason to get put down or beat up.
Once I finally got to do some of the arrangements for the gigs, that’s when things really started going good for me. Whatever it was that gave me what it took to get through school, it gave me an edge over the other brothers. They were impressed when I planned a gig and it went down without a hitch. Most of them did. Everybody says they love the action, but nobody really likes it when things go wrong. They like a smooth running operation.
In short order, I was setting up all the robberies that the Stompers were running. I’d make suggestions and the boys would listen to me. Before long, the Faces, that’s what we called the guys in charge, were paying attention to me too. Once I was in charge, the stunts got riskier, but the payouts were five and ten times better than what everyone was used to before. And they were fun damnit! I had the guys working for me, eating out of my palm. I remembered the few months back, like another lifetime, when I was pounding those streets for a regular job. All those high end shops that wouldn’t have me for a clerk, they became my inspiration. I decided that I wouldn’t stop until each and every one of them was working for me, instead of me for them. One way or another.
I arranged special teams. The smash and grab sort of guys, they got the robberies that they enjoyed. I can’t blame them, it’s a thrill. But then there were the better guys, the ones that could keep things cool. They became my marketing department. They were the front line. Either the shop owners agreed to buy from Stompers Warehouse, as I fondly referred to it, or they became the suppliers. It’s surprising how many of them refused at first. And how many of them came back later, to change their tune, when their stuff started disappearing. Those were the best ones, by that point they’d do anything to stay on our good side.
We had some close calls now and again. You never know when a clerk has more balls than brains, or which shop heard about us and installed a new security system. The silent ones are the worst. When our scouts didn’t notice them, we lost a brother or two to the pigs. That was by far the worst. Everyone stayed in on my schemes either way. The cash was too much for any of us to turn down.
It was that great success that finally did me in. See, in our gang, there were the Faces who ran things, and everyone knew it. Anyone who didn’t know it learned quick, or else. Like I said, I ended up being one of the Faces. Plenty of the guys, they just like the action, and they need a place to belong. The guys that did the best work for me were those sort. Every once in the while, you get a power hungry sucker. They’re the problem. They take extra breaking in, to keep in line. Some of them are just too dumb to learn though.
One of them turned. It was this short kid named Jared. There were a couple times he got a lesson, I didn’t think he was getting back up. He always did though. And he always had that hungry look on his eyes. When the Faces kept him in his place, he’d try to take over the gigs and put himself in charge. We didn’t like that at all. He didn’t like being taught how to behave.
As best as I can piece together, he had the balls to wear a wire on the day of a big robbery. He got the whole planning session on tape, and he had the cops waiting for us around the corner. I wasn’t there, of course, but they snatched up all but one of my guys. Jared must have worked hard to swing the lineup in his favor; there were some of the biggest cowards we had there that night. Why didn’t I notice that?
So with Jared’s tape, and enough guys to point me out as the Face for the whole operation, I wasn’t a free man for much longer. I won’t ever forget the sneer on that detective’s face when he strolled into that interrogation room.
“So, you’re the fence huh?” he asked. A vein in his forehead bulged like it might burst any moment as he slammed his fists on the table.
“What? That don’t make no sense man. Nobody called me no fence before.”
“You fool, a fence is someone that traffics stolen goods. From what I hear, you’ve been doing a hell of a lot of that. Not to mention the stealing to get the scam started.”
I knew how to handle myself in an interrogation room, since I had slid by on plenty of minor charges in my days coming up. I was confident at the time, even. I didn’t know about that wire Jared had worn until later.
Turns out, five or six of the boys that been out there smashing the windows, grabbing the loot, and running the rackets pussied out and ratted to the men in blue. They got off with petty charges, while I’m here in my gray jumper suit that blends in with the walls, looking at a certain ten to fifteen.
It was one hell of a roller coaster ride while it was going, but now I wish I had listened to my brothers.
Prompt: ACWclub #61.