"I'm not begging, I'm panhandling...there's a difference!"
"Difference or not, we are not gonna beg for money. By the way, I got twenty, lets go eat..."
"I need a joint first."
Joe, the quick study, had overheard some of the revolutionaries requesting "joints" on the "Hill", he quickly figured what the "joint" was. "Pauly, I thought a joint was a place? Do you mean one of those nasty cigarettes you were puffing on last night?"
"Yea man. Its grass and it's better for you than liqueur!"
"How much you need to buy one?" Joe said as he removed his meager resources from his pocket.
"Well an ounce sells for twenty five, but I can buy a nickel bag."
Joe handed Pauly the five and told him he would wait where he was until he came back.
Drugs in California were available 24 hours a day, rain or shine. Everyone seemed to supplement their "habits" with the sales of drugs. Maybe Sam would come into a good score of Hashish Oil and sell it and smoke it and sell it and smoke it--until it was gone...and any money that could have been made. In other words, they would buy to sell to use. One week Sam had it and Linda bought it. The next week Linda had it and Sam bought it.
Pauly returned in no time flat. Pauly said the stuff he bought was treated with opium; he called it "Thai Stick", said folks in Thailand would wrap thin bamboo sticks with potent marihuana and age it in opium-- it produced a rare and potent high!
A strong, pungent odor drifted into the street when he opened the yellow envelope that contained the minute portion of his "Thai stick". "You gonna try some?" He asked of Joe.
"Yea, I wanna see how it feels."
Pauly rolled a small joint with what looked like pure talent. He lit it up, took a heavy drag, and began to turn red as he attempted to keep the harsh smoke in his lungs. Then, he exhaled with a loud swish of smoke, and seemed to relax into a dazed stupor with specks of spittle creeping from the corners of his lips.
The "high" looked like a weakened heroin high. Joe decided he did not desire to become that person he was so long ago and initially refused the joint Pauly held in his extended hand.
"Come on. It won't bite!" Pauly said, holding the smoldering object before Joe's mouth.
Joe had heard that line before, but he knew he was strong enough to try it; besides, he would have to understand its effects if he was to deal with people whom smoked it... and a lot of people did! Grabbing the joint, he took a hard drag and began to choke until his head felt like it was ready to explode. Soon a warm rush flowed his veins and he felt this serene sensation shroud his body. Not like the strength of hard drugs, but strong enough. And then, Joe had the weirdest sensation he had ever experienced in his life: Paranoia and the Munchies. Joe was suddenly sure that Paranoia and the Munchies would make a great title to a movie... so he told Pauly! Soon, both of them were rolling on the ground laughing so hard they could not catch their breath. Anytime one would begin to calm down, the other would say "Paranoia and the Munchies" and the laughing would begin again. An hour later, after the effects had subsided, Joe thought they should take the stuff and force the Presidents and the Joint Chiefs of Staff of Russia and the United States to smoke some: the revolution would surely soon be over--either they would be so stoned and laughing that peace and love would take the place of war, or paranoia would ensue with a launching of the Atom: which would end all of this freaking-stupid-madness! When Pauly lit and handed the remains of the first joint to Joe, Joe just smacked it away.
Joe was sure he would never smoke the stuff again. He got too worried and not in control; anything that made Joe lose control he stayed away from. Meanwhile, his hunger was so strong he stopped with Pauly at the first restaurant they passed and together ate twelve dollars worth of greasy, terrible, fast food... in ten minutes!
It was Joe's turn to stand and hold the sign that said "LA" in black magic marker: Joe took the sign from Pauly, who immediately sat by himself along a fence that bordered the "on ramp" of the "Freeway"; he was not alone long--he lit up a joint!
Joe was amazed at all of the new words he was adding to his vocabulary: Freeway! Now, that was a word...FREEWAY? Did that mean no one paid for a freeway? How did it get built if it was a Freeway? Only in California did words not mean what they were intended to! Well, he would mull that one over later, right now the situation called for action...the standing kind....
Joe was the thirteenth person in a line of people whom held signs informing passing cars of their destinations. 'Democracy in action!' Joe thought The only problem was, they were all headed to LA! Twelve assorted hippies all heading in the same direction was a definitive headache. Lets say, the next one up looked like a mass murderer? What could you do? The cars are not going to stop! No way... Say your the fourth in line...fourth behind this freaky looking guy who in reality is not a mass murderer but a wandering monk! What do you do? Do you rip the sign out of his hands, scribble out "LA" and write "I LOOK LIKE A MASS MURDERER BUT I AM NOT! I AM A $#@#&^% MONK! GOT THAT"? I do not think so, for even revolutionary-barbarian-hippies can get awful mean!
Like the story one of the hikers told Joe and Pauly earlier: A group of docile hippies were standing at the entrance to a freeway conducting themselves in the prescribed manor--each one waiting their turn. The next one "up" was a young girl of perhaps fourteen, hiking with a "temporary" partner of thirty five (temporary partners were individuals that would mutually agree to join together for a limited trip, say Frisco to La, and part afterwards). A new Mercedes Benz pulled over and it's driver informed the male "temp" partner that she did not pick up men, but would offer the girl a ride. When the man refused, she offered the next individual a ride--whom was a woman of perhaps twenty. The male, whom thought he had been "rebuffed" by this helpful person, went bonkers and attacked her car! Now Harry, you figure that one out.
After nine hours of Joe and Pauly taking turns standing and still seventh in line, Joe knew this form of hiking would never work for him. The situation called for Democracy's partner.... Capitalism! Good Capitalists always had a plan; they developed new or better ways to accomplish an objective better then the other guy. Hippies did not like Capitalists; to them Capitalists were in reality cannibals... they believed that they just consumed one another They believed Capitalists were pigs in a blanket...good for roasting only! Joe regarded the true Hippie with great understanding and compassion. But Joe was unsure their great ideals for the wealth of the community to be shared by all would go well with the Capitalists whom sometimes used fraud and law breaking as their main commodity....
Joe called Pauly aside and told him they were going to hike in the old way. Snatching Pauly's duffel, Joe and he tromped up onto the freeway and headed south.
"Hey man. You can't do that. It's against the law!"
Joe, whom learned a few Capitalist ways in his travels, continued walking in the Capitalist way.......
...dropping them out side a small town fifty miles south of Frisco, the trucker roared off with a loud toot of his air horn. It was pretty late and the traffic had died down. Joe was upset he had not left Frisco earlier. He should not have stood in that line! He could have been in LA by now. He was tired and hungry and knew Pauly would be twice so... for he had smoked all the dope!
"Pauly, there's a barn down there..." he said pointing to a building in a field. "...we can get some rest in there and start out again in the morning."
"I'm starving Joe."
"Hey, get used to using Mike! If we get stopped I have to use my fake ID! Listen, get used to your hunger also... it comes with the job. Let's get some sleep and I will figure the food thing later..."
"Sorry man."
Joe acknowledged the reply with a nod of his head and they began the trek down the sloping embankment towards an abandoned, rusty looking, tin-capped barn...
After climbing through some broken windows in the rear of the building, Joe was greeted to a sight that gave all indications the barn was a favorite "road house" for hitchhiking wanderers: Trash, old, worn and mildewed, tie-dyed sheets and blankets were strewn across the floor; empty cans, some rusted out, some looking recently abandoned, were tossed into huge heaps in each of the corners. He noticed, above their heads, a loft hung in precarious fashion which was piled with straw. Old farm implements hung in disarray upon the walls, which had huge gapes which allowed the weather to penetrate.
As Joe began climbing the rickety ladder to inspect the loft, a sudden and immense fluttering of pigeons, dashing in escape of their intruder, caused Joe to leap and land right on top of Pauly--whom was scavenging the cans--Bang!
"You all right? Hey...Pauly...Pauly you OK?"
Pauly, lying on his back, the wind knocked out of him, struggled to catch his breath.
"Hey Pauly you OK?"
Pauly slowly sat up. His face was red but he was breathing and seemed to be just fine. "You came down real fast. I did not even have time to move. Look, I landed on this...."
Joe followed Pauly's hand towards the stack of cans he had landed into when he saw what had caused Pauly to suddenly break off his statement. In the center of the pile, partially wrapped in oiled paper, a glint of silver poked in contrast to the rust color of the degrading cans. Joe immediately reached down and picked up the object... "A .22 caliber revolver... and it's loaded!" He cried!
"Wow, check it out!" Pauly said as he began to look and act more like the Pauly Joe knew. "What is a gun like that doing in an abandoned barn?"
"I don't know, but it is a find. We can sell it."
"Sell it? What, are you crazy? We should keep it ... might come in handy Let me see it."
Joe handed the revolver to Pauly with a warning not to fire it and went back to his original objective of scouting the loft.
The following dawn, Joe and Pauly awoke to pigeons roosting along side of them in the deep pile of straw they had used as bedding; at their first movement, the birds flew off --showering the duo in a storm of feathers and dust. Coughing and sneezing, Joe and Pauly rapidly descended the ladder, shaking and pounding their hands all over them selves in an effort at removing the contamination that carried a rancid odor. As they stumbled through the opening and into a crisp, cool dawn, the two wanderers looked--and smelled--like they had been living in a pigeon coop.
"HA, HA, HA! You should see yourself!" Joe cried at the sight of Pauly standing deep in a pocket of fog, feathers sticking in all directions. "You know, if a hunter was to pass, he would, with out a doubt, shoot you! You look like a damn ostrich. HA. HA. HA!"
"Look whose talking.." Pauly shouted with mirth. "You look like a W.O.P. pigeon eater! HA! HA! HA!.."
"I bet we smell as bad as we look. We need to find some where to take a bath!" Joe said as he turned on his heels and began the trek up the hill towards the road with Pauly following.
Reaching the road, they began to walk south, occasionally turning and sticking their thumbs out when ever they heard a car approaching from the rear. After walking for several hours--with not one of the hundreds of cars which passed them offering a ride--they decided to find the nearest creek to dive into and remove the excess, unwanted baggage which clung to them with so much tenacity...
"COLD! That damn water is COLD!" Pauly shouted as he squished up the bank of the pond Joe and he had discovered several hundred feet from the Freeway entrance. "Now your gonna have to sit like a duck in a pond while we wait for some hick to pick us up!"
"Boy you complain to much. At least we will get a ride now." Joe replied as he wrung out his pants and shirt.
Unlike Pauly, who, because he had extra clothing in his duffel, had just dived into the water clothing and all, Joe had stripped entirely before he took the plunge into the green tinged water of what looked like an irrigation pond; washing his shirt and pants afterwards. As Joe hung them on a tree limb that jutted over the pond, he viewed the brilliant, rising sun as it began it's morning chores: clearing the lands of the protecting and nourishing fog that blanketed everything with in a cool, moist, low hanging cloud; energizing life into action--it had fully risen above the distant peaks of snow capped mountains which formed an impressive wall between Joe's old and newly discovered worlds. In shorts, socks, and his old and worn windbreaker, he sat upon a decaying stump, soaking up it's warming rays. Though it was the end of January, the sun burned bright and hot; only in the shade was one reminded of the fact that a slight chill had invaded the valley and it's complacent inhabitants. So, there Joe sat, silent as a mushroom on a stump, viewing the developing picture, storing energy for thought... and thought had begun it's favorite past time: nagging Joe.
Harry, during the past years experiences, Joe had discovered that when ever he became lonely, frightened or hungry (physical or mental hunger), he would become entranced within his mind; rolling over and over, past and present events and circumstances which led to his predicament. This form of thought only led to further loneliness, fear or hunger. Joe had begun to experiment with the views and sounds around him as "food for thought"--as stimulants: A harsh, cold, landscape, devoid of active life, could produce thoughts of a warm, soft bed or the death of his father; a lush, tropical forest, chattering with delightful, rainbowed creatures, could produced vibrant thought of Ginny and Georgia or Miami and the pervert. The factors which determined which thought would rule in this symbiotic relationship between his mind and eyes, was his own determination to block out the loneliness, fear or hunger. He would mull his thoughts over and transform them into what he desired by concentrating on the good experiences rather than the bad--utilizing the picture of life before him. Though this "newly discovered program" was a way to withdraw from the agonies of his life, and enabled him to temporarily "forget" his loneliness, fear or hunger, he lacked the knowledge to physically change the situation--thus his "created" thoughts ruled his actions. When facts and realities caused his emotions to play the strongest tune, intensifying his circumstances, he dropped them into a void and utilized his gift to alter his mind: "I'm starving"... SEE THE RESTAURANTS AND THEIR SIGNS?...THINK "That all you can eat buffet, bread, pancakes..... food"--He now could remain in thought, overcoming his hunger for incredible amounts of time; "I'm so tired"....SEE THE WINDING, TWISTING ROAD? THINK... "The gentle hum of that super-charged engine....breezing the road.... comfortable... I'll just snooze the way"--He now could walk incredible distances regardless of his tortured feet and ankles.
Harry, like I said before, the problem was that this fantastic power, with out proper education, became his weakness as well as his power; he continued to drop into unbelievable situations because he had yet to come face to face with cause and reaction: when his mind asked, 'Why had this thing occurred?', he would place blame on his family, bury it away, and then produce a good and favorite memory in its place! He would just eliminate the pain, misery or suffering and therefore he became "immune" to reality. Like a child whom continues to initiate fights with neighborhood children and then rushes to his parents for relief, Joe's mind became his parent; it supplied the relief, and yet, it was Joe whom ultimately controlled the very parent! He would refuse to slow down, rushing from one situation to the next, all the time driving his memories deeper and deeper into that file labeled-- Accident: personal. One day, it would blow up in his face, but, until that happened, he would journey on a road to experimentation and event with out cause nor worry....
"Hey, Jo...Mike, how long you gonna sit on that damned log? I'm starving and cold!"
Joe's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a shouting Pauly. He was just about to sit down to a great Italian feast: ravioli, the cheese, meat, and olive stuffed kind... his favorite!; veal cutlets, lightly breaded and fried in olive oil; a side dish of tomatoes, smothered in olive oil, oregano, with a touch of red wine vinegar; Italian bread, dipped in garlic flavored olive oil.... He had implemented the thought when, through the evaporating fog, laid out in neat, orderly fashion on the slopes of the rolling hills, an olive grove appeared. It all had begun with his mind telling him he should return home...but home brought those memories of sitting at the dining room table... with Aunt Connie! He got up and dressed in his damp clothing and then informed Pauly he would figure their breakfast arrangements shortly.
Up and running once more, Joe and Pauly walked to the on ramp. After climbing up the embankment to a bridge that overlooked the entire area, Joe began to scout. From his vantage point, Joe could plainly see they were 200 yards from the edge of a town which contained thirty or so structures. No signs identified the name of the town nor did it look busy. Joe scanned unsuccessfully for a truck stop and, as far as he could tell, none were within walking distance. He knew better then to venture directly into the town. His experience thus far forewarned of small towns and eager cops; not a good combination for two runaway pupils of the revolution! But to his right, not thirty yards from where they were, stood a restaurant: The Steak and Egg. Joe could see cooking smoke coming from a huge chimney in the roof. 'They must be preparing breakfast!' His mind immediately began to "think" of a way to join in....
They approached the restaurant like two Green Berets in a jungle, deep behind enemy lines, on a great and secret mission!
Using hand signals and grunts, they made their way to the rear and discovered, much to their joy, that a door to a storage area, separated from the kitchen by double, swinging doors with one small window, stood wide open. And, not ten feet inside, a huge walk in freezer stood with it's door unlocked. Moving into position to view the kitchen interior, Joe entered the room and looked through the window; from his vantage point, he could only see a small portion of the actual kitchen, but no employees were within view, so he checked the huge walk in freezer. 'What a find!' thought Joe as he went to the door and signaled Pauly to go to the swinging doors and watch...
Joe, his stomach turning and nerves on edge, sprinted to the freezer. After slowly opening the door, he turned and grabbed two huge, commercial type, potato bags--which were heaped in a corner--and returned to the freezer door. Looking once at Pauly to let him know he was "going in", he scurried into the cold and packed room.
Huge amounts of lunch meat, pies, bread, and other items of interest, were piled in every nook and cranny. Joe, his hunger made more prominent by his "find", began stuffing huge amounts of supplies into his bags: Large blocks of cheese; Ham; PEPPERONI!; Pies; what ever he could lay his hands on he dumped into the rapidly filling sacks. When he had both of the containers full, he made his way out.
Up the hill they made their way; a couple of heavily burdened pack rats, scurrying to find refuge from discovery and feast on their "captured" prey!
When Pauly saw the first plastic wrapped hunk of pepperoni come out of the bag, with "Not For Sale-Restaurant Use Only" stamped in prominent series all along its length, he just snatched it up and took a huge bite...through wrapper and all!
On the grass which bordered the on-ramp, upon a large "ROCKAWAY BEACH, NY" towel, the feast was displayed: cheese, meat, pie, bread.... by the time Joe and Pauly had finished devouring--even some frozen apple pie--they were bloated. Pauly wanted to nap before they did anything else, but Joe, whom realized that the chefs might notice the theft and call the cops--which would lead them to the culprits hiking only 90 feet away--urged Pauly to dump whatever he did not absolutly need from his large duffel bag so they could stash their horde. At first, Pauly objected, but after Joe turned the thing over, spilling its contents all over the on ramp, Pauly agreed.
The contents of the duffel bag were as diversified as the substance of a teenagers room... and that's just what was in the duffel: Comic books; Electric shaver; Two model areoplanes--still in the box; Fifty letters; Ten pairs of jeans (of which only three fit Pauly?); and....
When Joe actually viewed all of the "stuff, he felt kind of sad for Pauly. Pauly was a rough and tumble guy, ready for anything, yet this exposure demonstrated the unique difference between him and Pauly: Pauly had a great family; a mother whom worked for the power plant, Con-Edison, and made a decent living; a father whom was a successfull contracter whom did business with racketeers... Pauly had all of the things which Joe wanted--down to the areoplanes and comic books! "How could someone leave all of that?" He wanted to ask him. "Why are you here, three thousand five hundred miles from your warm and caring family, with your memories dumped into a dogon, muddy green, duffel bag? I would trade lives with you in a heart beat...Can we trade lives?" He wanted to ask him questions which he would never have even dared to think about! But Joe's sorrow--and his hidden compassion--overruled such absurd questions. Heck, what would Pauly think of Joe after a conversation like that?... he had become weak! Instead, he decided to attempt to limit the damage he had caused by dumping his one and only friends life all over the dusty, debris scattered, on-ramp... "How did you fit all of this in this small bag?"
Pauly did not answer; with a weird, lost look on his face, one at a time, he began picking each object off of the pavement, giving it an intent stare, then replacing it back into the bag!
It was then that Joe realized they were going to have to carry the supplies in the potato sacks which had the restaurant's name emblazoned all over them! They had enough grub for a week--most of it able to remain edible--and there was no way Joe was going to dump it! So, Joe began looking for a place to stash the bags--somewhere they could retrieve them the moment they were offered a ride. 'Over the fence in the bushes!' He thought, viewing the heavy foliage over the four foot chain-link fence separating the Freeway from the ramp!
Joe grabbed the sacks--and what remained in them--and hopped the fence which blocked the ramp from view in order to stash them. As he was pushing them into the bushes, he heard a car come up and a familiar squawking and chattering....
The Highway Patrol Officer whom exited the black and white patrol car was six-two and dressed as sharp and neat as a Marine Drill Sergeant. With long, slow, deliberate steps, he sauntered over to Pauly--whom was freaking out.... most of his stuff still dumped all over the ramp... along with the towel and the remnants of "breakfast" strewn all over it!.
"What have we here? Does this road look like a breakfast table or what?" He yelled as he kicked food down the ramp. "You know what's worse then a tie-dyed., communist freak, hitchhiking, California hippie? He asked a wavering Pauly.
"I..I.... I dddon't know..."
"A tie-dyed, communist freak, hitchhiking, NEW YORK HIPPIE WHO DIRTIES MY DAM FREEWAY! Who the hell gave you a right to have a picnic on my road?" And then, just as Pauly was about to light out of there, the Trooper grabbed him, cuffed him, and had him on his face in the car.
"Who was here with you?" He asked Pauly.
"No one..."
'Don't give me that, I can tell there was more then one of you! There always is! Where is your partner... or partners?"
"Oh, Go ^%$% your self!"
The old Pauly had broken through, the one in whom fear had no meaning... it's opposing force the word loyalty. Yet for Joe, those items tumbled upon the road would always testify to Pauly's true strength... his ability to hide his fear in a muddy-green duffel bag....
The trooper reached in, pulled Pauly from the car, and smacked him around. Then he began to walk towards the bushes.....
Joe, whom was shaking in the bushes, was both angry and terrified he would walk over and discover another rodent in the bushes... but he stopped suddenly, he didn't budge, he had seen something.... the gun was lying in plain view!
The ramp was soon the scene of a policeman's convention...
Five cars of various law enforcement agencies sat chattering away as the officers whom drove them drilled Pauly as to where, when, how and whom.
"Take him out of the car." A plainclothes officer demanded of the trooper.
Standing in the middle of the group, Pauly, though nearly six foot tall himself, looked small. He kept covertly glancing at Joe's position as if to say: "Don't worry."
"Well, this gun was stolen in an armed robbery three miles up the road. It occurred two days ago. We had this town shut up as tight as a squirrels ass... how did it come into your possession?"
"Hey, I just got here. Been here since last night. I can prove I was in Frisco yesterday! Hell, would I be eating breakfast on "your road" if I just robbed some place... and have the gun sitting in plain view? Hey, I found it, I swear, man..."
"Listen, you can swear all you want. The fact is, one robber was tall like you and the other shorter. We had reports of two guys swimming in Johnson's irrigation pond? Ring any bells?"
"Hey, Junior. Check these food wrappers out! There from the Steak and Egg down the hill!"
"Where did you get these? Huh? From Frisco? Or does your family always send you food which is wrapped in plastic with the name of our one and only restaurant painted all over it? I think your gonna escape... How do you feel Phil?" He asked one of the Local cops whom stood behind Pauly.
"Yea, I think he ran...."
Pauly began to worry, Joe could see his eyes as clear as day. But, if he ran.. they would surely shoot him. But what if he did not run, what then? As Joe contemplated what the results of their conversations would be, three officers moved off and huddled in a group. They began talking and pointing towards the restaurant, the stuff lying on the ground, and Pauly. Soon they were arguing so loudly that Joe, eyes intent on the situation, failed to see a sixth cop whom had made his way behind Joe...
'Put your $%%$$##$% hands on your head and don't make a move or I'll blow your head off..."
Joe did as he was ordered and soon he was cuffed and literally thrown over the fence.
"So, who is this?" Junior asked Pauly. "And why does he have these bags full of stuff from the same restaurant!"
"I think we just blew our case wide open. Both fit the description. Damned hippies!" Fred said with his voice reeking jubilation at busting both of the subjects.
"Hey, you can call him a hippie." Joe yelled as he pointed to Pauly. "But I'm not a damned hippie... do I look like a hippie... dress like one? What he said is true. We just came down from Frisco. Slept in a barn. Found the gun. Swam in the pond. And that's it... PERIOD!"
"Then explain these sacks? You can't! Any way, it don't make no.."
Joe knew he had to think of an explanation fast. He knew it had to be the best "line" yet. So he cut Fred off... "Heh, I found the food on the ground behind the restaurant. It was dumped in a pile there. I took it... I thought they were throwing it out! You ought to check it out yourselves! We're only guilty of being hungry, not robbing people with guns!" When he had finished telling the "truth", Joe realized just how stupid his gross lies were: he had stolen more than he needed, in fact, he got greedy and stupid... what a combination! He knew his prayers--the ones he was reciting in his head--would fall on deaf ears!
And then, four of the officers, leaving two to guard both Pauly and Joe, huddled once again in a circle. After talking, often pointing towards them, the food, and the restaurant, they adjourned and informed the original officer they were going to checkout the restaurant to see if all was OK.
"Hey, Fred, you and Sam keep an eye on them, we'll be right back.."
They scurried down the hill. And, with swat like movement, they converged on The Steak and Egg....
And then, a funny thing happened on the way to... LA!
Joe could see two of the officers, guns drawn and ready, move to the rear of the restaurant as the other two approached the entrance. He was already forming his thoughts into the situation that lie ahead: being that both he and Pauly were runaway "juvees" they would more than likely be returned to NY... at least they would not be charged with an armed robbery they did not commit! And then, as he began to think of Aggie...
"BAM! BAM! BAM!" Shots and orders rushed up to the ramp.
Both of the officers guarding Joe and Pauly split in a dash down the hill leaving them cuffed and wondering what the hey was going on...
Not for long. The gunshots stopped, and three guys came barreling out a side window of the restaurant. But, with six cops drawing dead shot beads on them, they had no choice but to give up!
"No thanks, this will be fine." Joe told Fred, whom had just finished packing ten pounds of food into a brand new, small gray gym bag and asked if he wanted more! And then, Joe watched as Pauly, excepting twenty dollars and an apology, shook hands with nine police officers and the owners of The Steak and Egg Restaurant. With stomachs once more bulging, this time with two orders of steaks and fries--each--the crime busting duo from the "Great State Of New York"--at least that is the way Fred had phrased it when he awarded the duo with the proceeds of the collection--got into the cruiser and rode, first class, with sirens blaring, the twenty miles to the county line...
"If luck had a name, Pauly, it would be called The Steak and Ale!" Joe said between hand slaps, back slaps, and a whole bunch of leg slaps.
"Can you believe that the restaurant was being robbed as we were stealing the grub? I mean what are the possibilities of such an event occurring?" Pauly yelled back.
"And, can you believe we found the gun, the one linking those guys to the other robbery? I mean, it sends chills through out my body when I think about it. It was almost heaven sent!"
"Joe, we got forty damn dollars each, new clothing and gear, ten pounds of food, and a ride in a cop car with sirens blaring and no cuffs!"
"Or arrest!" Joe interjected.
"Well, lets put our backs to the north, and our thumbs to the south, and catch us a ride to PARTY TOWN, LA!"