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The member of the Northside gang released from prison after 40 years wants to give it one more shot. Go out with a bang, -- make up it to their families for their absences. One more job is all it will take. They were sure of it so Frankie and his gang planned it out. Eager to get paid, they had no idea how much the world had changed during their incarceration until it was too late....

Humor / Action
KE Toppin
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

“Lincoln Park -- Chicago’s North Side were the best times ever! Life was full and worth living. The neighborhood ain’t what it used to be. Kids don’t play like they use to – no more cap guns … cops and robbers. Their lazy asses at those computer thingamajigs ... frying their brains. Youth don’t know how to communicate. Communication key to running a successful game. My word against yours … honor … take it to your grave … the code. Nowadays they can trace and track every god damn thing under the fricking sun ... yo!” Frankie spits out.

Frankie, Dion Jr. and Abe are remnants of the Northside gang released from jail two months ago. They had spent most of their adult lives in solitary confinement away from the jailhouse populace. Media not accessible.

… Milwaukee police officers and FBI agents raided eight homes on the city’s north side, arresting 13 people ...

“You hear this shit. Sloppy; in the good ole days, we’d never let shit fly like those guys. What you say Frankie … huh!” Dion Jr. boasted warming his hands over the flames shooting out from an old gutted barrel. The makeshift tent in the background their residence. A boom-box sputters in and out endeavoring to keep its listeners informed. “Fugitives in the woods … family don’t want nothing to do with us … all for themselves. It’s a new day!”

“So what’s the plan?” Big Abe asks.

“We gotta get our hands on better duds and dough. We look like bums. Deep pockets …” He draws on his cigar. “We ain’t got squat.” Dion Jr. says.

“A bank heist takes lots of planning and I got that, but my energy levels ain’t what it used to be.” Abe remarks yawning and waddles to the back of the tent to take a piss.

“Perhaps if we get a good meal under our belts, my stamina may improve.”

“Shit, man! Thirty years in the slammer and you want to loaf this job off.” Frankie interjects.

“I ain’t nogoodnik! I’ll be the wheel man. It’s the best I can do.” Abe ate and slept his forty years of incarceration away to the weight of 200 pounds.

The remnants of the North Street gang made their way down Main Street to the local church.

“Uh Um! Hey, father.” Frankie calls out to the priest at the head of the altar.

“Can I help you … mass doesn’t start for another three hours.”

“Father, we need a change of duds. Do you think you have something that would fit the lot of us?” Frankie looks to his guys. Dion Jr.; nowhere in sight. hoping for a hand out.

“The Salvation Army … two blocks over. Open from 10 ’til noon today … Sunday you know.”

The men head back to their squatter’s paradise.

“Shit! Don’t yah feel like a foreigner in your own goddamn country? The church ain’t about charity no more!”

“We should start small. Dion Jr. informed. “We hit a local bank in the morn.”

“We don’t have a get-a-way car.” Abe says wobbling out from behind the tent not realizing the guys had taken a ride to the church and back.

“We take the priests.”

“Huh!” Frankie interjects.

“You twit! Where did you think I’ve been going every morning for the past two weeks? And why I didn’t meet the priest with you twos. We’ve already met.”

The following morning Dion Jr. rolls up in a Buick.

“You’re late!”

“Took a bit to figure on the gears … start it. No key … push button!”

“If this is any indication of what the heist is going to be like, we best re-think.” Big Abe insists.

“Aren’t you a bunch of possibilities, pally!”

“Geez … What’s this?” Frankie says peering inside the car amazed. “We take the bank in a hot car. The priest would …”

“The priest’s gone … three weeks.” Dion Jr. tells.

Frankie looks to his boys. “It’s too ambitious. Look! We need to know more about this world before we go knocking off banks. We’ve been out of sorts for … 30 years tops not counting Big Abe’s ten. Let hit a local grocery or liquor store, already!”

“Package store is what it’s called these days.” Dion, Jr. informs.

“What’s called a package store?”

“A liquor store.”

“Yeah! I could see that, Yeah! Yeah!” Big Abe pulls up his sagging birches and zips. Okay! We take the one cater-corner to the sandwich place. The Apple. Its a bank for sure ’cause it’s always loaded with folks … lots of transaction each day like clockwork. Walking around with them computer things you hold in your hand-- not them cellular phones though!”

The blonde behind the counter stares back -- big blue eyes, like she stepped out of the golden era – Ginger Rogers. Her voluptuous knockers inches away from his face umbrella the width of the counter top. He wouldn’t have believe it possible if he hadn’t feel the rise in his pants. How long has it been? His thoughts wild and rampant.

“Hand over the loot, lady!” His speech unravels with a distinct and apparent quiver. It gives Frankie's age away although the mask covers his grey hair.

Customers are crouch at the counters’ bases while Dion Jr. holds them at bay. Handgun threatens. He didn’t know if his father’s gun is functional. Only the rush matters. He can’t remember when he felt this alive. Losing his breath in the excitement, after years of just taking in air to exist but today, he’s breathes for real.

Frankie exasperation explodes in a hard whisper. “Fill the fucking bag, now!” He tosses it onto the counter top.
She didn’t have to do a darn thing. State of the art voice activated alarm wired into the counter; alerted when Frankie made his threat.

“This is a prank! Your gun isn’t real, right!” She squeals out gleefully. “OMG!” The blonde bounces about as she peeks about the room for the hidden cameramen.

Frankie’s hand trembles as he shoves the gun in her porcelain face.

“Lady! This ain’t no joke. What’s OMG? Best dispense with the trickery or I’ll blow your frick’n head off!”

His knees weak. He struggles to hold himself up. He leans against the counter. The adrenaline rush too intense.

Her brows furrow in annoyance with eyes squinting, suspiciously.

Frankie’s bladder relaxes. Warm liquid trickles down his leg. Shit! Loss of nature ain’t good for business. He thinks.

“Hey pops! Need a Depends?” A crouching customer lashes out.

“Shut up or I’ll blow out your shit for brains.” Dion Jr. yells.

“Ain’t this a bitch! You need to take your old ass home!” Another shouts. Dion Jr’s gun discharges shattering the customer’s knee.

“Ahhh!” The man cries out.”

Customers’ screams satiate the store.

“Who’s next?” Dion Jr. exclaims.

“Loot! What’s loot?” Blondie asks.

“Cash … dough! Where is it?” Frankie reiterates, impatiently. His voice accelerates. "Where the fucking money, lady?"

“You can have the debit … credit card receipts if you like. This is not a bank, mister!”

“What? Ah! Shit!” Frankie turns to Dion Jr. with raise eyebrows.

“Apple Store! Duh! You purchase phones here.” Blondie tells.

“Why buy phones … ain’t there enough pay phones about and Ma Bell?”

Arms folded, Blondie stares back dumbfounded. The sounds of wailing sirens intensifying.

Lets get the fuck out of here Dion, Jr. screams. Big Abe wobbles behind. Weezing between words. "We need to give this shit up find regular jobs!"

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